Chapter Six

Harry Potter waltzed into Snape's quarters at exactly four-fifty-eight post meridian, two minutes before the potions professor scuttled out to the library for a few hours of emotional reprieve from the stresses of the day after his epic failure of manhood.. It irritated Snape that Potter had so perfectly arranged to arrive just as he arranged to depart. It was cruel.

"Evening, Snape."

Potter's words were terse and overly polite. Still, if this was how the game would be played, Severus couldn't say he minded. It would be nice to have an easy target for a few moments, something difficult to come by when one had no wand.

"What do you want?" he asked, clipping his words to a honed sharpness.

"I wanted to speak with you. About the final battle. About… the memories," Potter whispered indiscreetly, trying to keep the guard from overhearing. Clarence had the day off and was replaced by Reginald. Snape wondered where their parents had come up with such prissy names, and had pondered the psychology of wimpy-named bohunks.

"Mr. Potter, I have no desire to discuss the details of such things. I have no time. I am going to the library, and in case you didn't know, I don't have much time to idle about in hallways."

"I am not here to ridicule, Snape."

Snape paused and looked at the gangly, boyish man before him. "I do not wish to discuss the motive behind my previous actions. Those memories were private, and I have every desire that they should remain so."

"I know. I haven't told anyone beyond Ron and Hermione. And the Wizengamot, of course. But I do want to know more."

"More about what? Potter, to say anything more would be an embarrassment to both of us. Do you really want to know more? About how I humiliated myself and failed to woo the only woman I ever loved?! How I made terrible mistake after wretched mistake, trying to win a woman who was irreparably lost? No, Potter. I am going to the library."

"I came to talk to you. I went through my overseer at the Ministry, the Hogwarts guard, McGonagall, and your guard, and I am not leaving until we discuss it. I do not want to humiliate you!" Harry almost screamed as Snape tried to walk away. "I want to know more about my mother."

"Potter… She is too painful a topic. I can't… I can't keep reliving my times with Lily Evans. Suffice it to say she was a charming woman and you should be proud to have such a witch to call mother."

"That isn't enough, Snape!" Harry was heated, almost shouting as Snape walked out of the door of his quarters. The halls reverberated with the noise.

"What do you want to know, Potter? Do you want to know what it was like to watch her hair gleam in the sun? Do you want me to tell you how wonderful every word that left her mouth sounded, how beautiful she was when she laughed? How much it burned inside me when I saw her with your father? Because I won't tell you. I just want to be left alone to live out the little, pathetic shred of a life I had left, and right now that is entirely dedicated to going to the library. Good night, Potter." He spat out the last words like they were poison, turned on his heel, and walked away, leaving the Golden Boy, the saviour of the magical world, gaping sadly, awkwardly, after him.

When Snape reached the corridor that led to the library, he stopped and leaned against the wall. His leg burned with trails of fire, but the more intense pain had nothing to do with his leg. His face was hot and red, his eyes were smarting, and his hair was a wreck from the constant presence of his restless hands. Still, he limped down the hall, the staff in his hand shining as an ignored beacon of hope. At that moment, it was simply a walking stick.

The library was nearly empty when he entered quietly. The peace calmed the rapid pace of his heart and eased the squeezing band around his heart. He walked to the restricted section and perused the titles, lightly searching in hopes of finding a quality read. At least Minerva hadn't taken away his right to use the restricted books. Two or three students wandered the shelves nearby, whispered and giggling now and then. Madam Pince peeked in on him every now and then, looking nosy and flustered.

Finally Severus chose a particularly thick, dusty volume on dark magical theory, one he had read as a teen but revisited from time to time. He took a seat in the centre of the shelves, where a grouping of tables sat fairly uninhabited. One person sat at the farthest table, but all that could be seen was the reader's book cover, which was red and rather generic from a distance. His chair faced this person, but soon he was too absorbed in his book to notice anyone.

Just as he was reaching the end of his favourite chapter, the one about theories on death and resurrection, there was a cough intended to grab his attention. He looked up from his book and discovered at his eye level the slim waist of Hermione Granger.

"Can I help you?" he asked in such a way to imply that there was no way on earth he would come to her aid.

"Well, no, not really, Professor, but I do have a question. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Her voice raised in pitch at the end, making her words almost incoherent.

"This library is open to all Hogwarts staff and students, as well as half the wizarding world, Miss Granger, so I--"

"It is Professor Granger, now, Professor."

"So… Sorry… Professor Granger. I suggest you refrain from attacking me in a public setting. It is not as if I have done anything wrong that I should avoid you. If anything, it is you who should be avoiding me."

"No, with all due respect, it was your fault this whole disaster happened. If it weren't for you, you with your pathetic limp and magical impotence, I would never have--"

"Let's avoid the topic of impotence, Granger. I find it nauseates me. And refresh my memory: who was it that fell upon whom last week in your quarters? Because I seem to recall that it was you that acted like a hormonal teenager.

Hermione looked shocked, like she had been slapped across the face, but the gaping look only lasted a moment before it turned to rage. Her words came out in an angry whisper.

"As I recall, both of us were equally responsible! You were not pushing me away, at least. And I have the bruise to prove it, Snape!"

Severus's face turned pale but for spots of high colour on the tops of his cheeks. "Fine, we are equally responsible. Now can we just forget the whole ordeal and continue our lives as professional co-workers and nothing more?"

"Fine. Good day, Professor."

When Hermione was gone, Snape eased back into his seat, prepared to return to his book. Before he even read the first word, however, his own thoughts began to tumble over each other. That so much could happen in the short time of an hour amazed him. First a confrontation with Potter, then with Hermione Granger. When would the lunacy end?

Still, try as he might, Severus could not return to his book. There was too much to think about. Of course those two smug little brats would cause him misery. They always had been a pair of thorns in his side, with Potter always making trouble and questioning his loyalties and Granger always being too smart and looking like Lily.

Lily. That was the problem. They both cropped up such painful memories, though they did so in two very different ways. It was ridiculous. Lily Ev-- Potter should not be bothering him twenty years after her death. He should have let go of that childish crush years ago.

But then, he knew it was no crush. Such love was rarely found, such dogged admiration. Why couldn't she have seen that? Why didn't she understand that beneath his somewhat crusty exterior, he held a divine regard for her, brimming on idolatry? When she married, it was as if his goddess had been compromised, but he had still protected her in every way that he could, to the point of humbling himself and breaking vows to Voldemort, Dumbledore, and himself. She would never know the pains he took to preserve her safety.

Stupid Potter. With his cursed green eyes. Those eyes had a similar light in them, but it was less a look of intelligence and more a look of dynamic impatience. Some might call it charisma, but Snape called it personable ignorance. It was the eyes of Hermione Granger that truly embodied Lily Potter for him. They were brown instead of green, but there was intelligence and life and spunk in those eyes. It almost hurt to look at them because he knew his own eyes were old and dead. It was like receiving a beautiful, perfect gift and having nothing to give back, not even a card.

Disgusted with himself for once again wallowing in ancient history, Snape got up and returned his book, then reported to the Great Hall for supper. He didn't eat much that night, mostly because Hermione came in late and was forced to sit beside him. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he got up and walked over to Minerva, who gave him a nod of acquiescence before he even asked.

In bed later that night, Snape found himself feeling disappointed. The day had gone poorly. His students all seemed incredibly dense, and every personal encounter of the day had ended badly. His dissatisfaction led to trouble sleeping. An hour ticked by as he tossed and turned.

His mind continually turned back to Potter and Granger, and thinking about Hermione led his thoughts to that Weasley creature. It would never fail to amaze him the mistakes young people made. After a month of being quietly broken up, the news had trickled into the newspapers and magazines of the wizarding world, creating a buzz in the school. Pictures of Ron with slinky girls and no ring led to wild speculations, most of them pointing to Hermione as the cause of the break-up. The poor girl had grown slightly rosier in the last week without the pressure of a crumbling relationship, but she had seemed very upset at dinner when the professors intentionally refrained from speaking about anything that could lead to the topic. Conversations stopped cold when the chattier teachers mentioned Ron or marriage or even Hermione.

It almost made him want to laugh, if he hadn't been there to hear her crying her eyes out over what she and her fiancé had been. That stupid redhead didn't deserve a girl like that, and if he was going to throw her away he deserved whatever sexually transmitted disease he got.

This thought disturbed Severus, so he sat up in bed, lit a lamp, and pulled a book from his side table. Reading didn't help much, though. His eyes lit upon the shimmering staff on the chair near his bed. When he tried to get up, however, he received an unpleasant shock.

All right, then, he thought. I'll have to think of some other way to get it.

This led to some rather awkward manoeuvring, but he found that as long as some part of him stayed beneath the blankets, he was fine. Unfortunately, just as his hand brushed the staff, Clarence walked in.

Clarence surveyed the scene before him with curiosity, then amusement.

"Sorry, Professor. I heard noise and I thought you might need help."

Snape's face reddened slightly. His legs were holding him up while still keeping contact with the bed, and he had obviously walked over to the chair using his hands, leaving him precariously perched between bed and chair. As Clarence spoke, Snape's arms began to shake under the abnormal work, and he collapsed, sending the staff into the air and his pyjama-clad body crashing to the floor. Fortunately, his left foot remained under the blankets. Unfortunately, the staff landed on his head.

"Ouch!" yelled the unceremoniously sprawled Potions Professor. "Bloody bugger, that hurt!"

"Do you need some help, Professor?"

"No, I do not, Clarence," Snape spat between gritted teeth. Clarence was then treated to the awkward attempts of Severus Snape to get back into bed without getting another shock. He paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"Are you sure, Professor?"

"Quite," Snape panted.

Somehow, though Clarence wasn't sure how, Snape managed to wriggle into bed unharmed and with his staff in hand. He arranged his blankets and sat up, attempting to look dignified despite his twisted shirt and tousled hair.

"Thank you for your concern, Clarence, but I am quite all right. You may leave, now. And do not enter my rooms again unless you fear for my life or are required to by the law."

Clarence walked out, mumbling about insane old bats and interrupted sleep.

Meanwhile, Snape returned his focus to the staff before him. It was an aesthetically pleasing piece, elegant and masculine. It amazed him that Hermione had matched his personality so well in its physical characteristics. He took the staff in his wand hand and waved it in what he hoped was a graceful manner, silently summoning book on his table. It wobbled a bit, but the book came to him with little hesitation. He transfigured the book into a pillow, then into a cat, and finally back into a book. That worked very well. He turned the book back into a cat and silently stunned it. The cat did not react at all, though it did brush against him affectionately. He tried the tickling charm. Nothing. Bat-bogey hex. Nada. He decided he would dare to try the Cruciatus. And still, there was no response in the car. The creature just sat, purring and blinking.

"What on earth…" Snape murmured under his breath. He had an inkling of what was wrong, but he hoped to Merlin that he was wrong. Somehow he had to go through Ollivander's letters again, but that meant seeing Hermione Granger once more.

Was it worth it? He debated. Perhaps, if only to irritate her.

It might even be fun.