Chapter Eight

Forgetting someone exists is terribly difficult when that someone works in the same haunted castle as you do. It is also difficult when that someone is always late and you always have empty seats beside you because you are so disliked by your peers. Additionally, it was made even more Herculean a task when the person you are trying to forget speaks to you on a regular basis, trying to pry information you have no intention of giving.

Snape gave it up as a lost cause. He decided to be cold rather than ignore her. This methodology worked better. She asked him questions, and he acknowledged her, but he also answered with stinging, snide remarks that would frequently shut her up if she didn't end up leaving in a huff. It was much more satisfying.

Nonetheless, speaking to her reminded him of so many painful things, and he tried to avoid her when at all possible. It escalated to a searing agony when Potter visited, which was so frequent that Snape began to envy the prisoners of Azkaban, for surely he was the more miserable of the two groups. Hermione always observed his pained expressions with interest, and it bothered him that she was taking psychological gleanings from his distress.

She had not even really been aware that he was trying to ignore her. She continued to talk to him as usual, and when he began to respond, it surprised her a bit. These responses were always witty and biting, and she took them as a very troubled mind striking out in defence. His reluctance only encouraged her. Still, she knew there was a faster way, and she began looking into it zealously. He continued to strike out, and she continued to probe, both with less-than-satisfying results.

The stalemate could not last, however. Snape was several hours short in his required service to the school, and Hermione was beginning to feel frustrated by his coldness toward her. She had decided the time for a confrontation was ripe, so she arranged with Minerva for Professor Severus Snape to enter her office at exactly six p.m. Friday evening to "assist in heavy labour." Hermione had told Minerva that to prevent questioning. Where Snape-baiting was concerned, Minerva McGonagall was all in.

When Snape was told this, his face fell. He knew she had done it on purpose, specifically retained his services for four hours as a means of torturing him. It was going to be terrible, but he had no choice. Why hadn't they just given him the Kiss and finished it?

Friday was quiz day in Potions. Snape held high-pressure, excruciatingly difficult tests over the material they studied in the week, leading some students to crack under the pressure and others to nearly fail his class. Very few ever did well on his quizzes, and when he did his planning for the next quiz day, Snape was feeling particularly cruel. He decided to give a pop quiz on a potion from two weeks ago, one they had only brushed over lightly due to its insignificance in general. It was particularly diabolical of him, but he revelled in the shocked faces of his students, smirked as some of the brightest in his classes broke down in tears trying to remember the obscure ingredients and minutely detailed instructions.

Well, he enjoyed it until Minerva McGonagall swooped into the room. Her normally tight and excruciatingly neat bun was off centre and frazzled, her cloak was askew, and her shoulder was dark with dampness.

"Students, class is dismissed. Whatever you have done today will not be counted toward your final grade. Tell your friends," McGonagall nearly shouted. The students left, some with relieved tears streaming down their faces.

"Minerva, you cannot dictate how I grade my students, and you cannot--" Snape began.

"Do not dare to tell me what I can and cannot do, Severus! You have crossed the line this time! Clementine Welles just came into my office, crying her eyes out. The most brilliant witch to come through this school in years, and you put her in tears! Students have been sending in complaints, writing home with complaints and then having their parents complain to me, and crying in the corridor about this quiz. It is in your rules, Severus, that you will not be a tyrannical… a tyrannical… well, a tyrannical bastard, if I have to put a word on it. Your classes have been called off for the week. In that time you will come up with lesson plans with the assistance of Miss Granger, the only teacher who would even think of spending any time with such a disgusting specimen as yourself. Until you have lesson plans for the rest of the year, you are confined to quarters. Except, of course, tonight when you go to help Hermione, and only because I owe her for accepting the task."

"Minerva, this is outrageous! It is a quiz, not the end of the world. It only accounts for five percent of their grade! There is no reason to react so drastically. Everyone has blown the whole thing out of proportion, and do you know why? Because I was on Voldemort's side. Because I gave in to Dumbledore's request for a Kevorkian death. All of this is a direct result of--"

"I do not want to hear your conspiracy theories, Severus. All I require is your obedience, and that is beyond your control. Good night, Professor." Without even waiting for a response, Minerva billowed out of the room, her frizzy head held high over her rumpled robes.

Snape sank onto his stool in the front of the room. The day had quickly degenerated from the pinnacle of his teaching career to the most tortuous day of his life. Brilliant.

That evening Snape limped up to the Muggle Studies wing and arrived twenty minutes early, expecting Miss Granger to be involved in some menial teaching task, or rather, asleep on top of some menial teaching task. He was actually looking forward to seeing whatever horribly embarrassing position she had put herself in this time.

Much to his disappointment, when he entered Granger was sitting behind her desk, glasses perched at the end of her delicate nose, reading a paper. She had a quill in her right hand, perched over a bottle of red ink, anticipating a mistake. An exceptionally large mug of tea sat near her, and she looked perfectly comfortable and prepared for his coming. When he shut the door she looked up.

"Hello, Professor," she said in a soft and polite tone. "Do have a seat. I just want to finish up this one paper before we begin."

"Begin what, Professor?" Snape said, mocking her gentle inflection.

"The heavy labour, sir," she answered, her eyes smiling as she returned to the paper before her. Snape decided it would be best to just wait and see, rather than question her further, so he eased into the leather chair and stared at Hermione in hopes of making her uncomfortable as she graded.

She was wearing a muggle dress, which was odd, since muggle clothes were so rare in Hogwarts. It was very feminine and soft-looking, and the dark colour made her skin look exceptionally pale and soft. Her hair was braided neatly, but a day of wear had loosened some curls around her face and neck. He wanted to tuck them back in for her.

Quickly Severus averted his eyes, turning his mind to his surroundings. There was nothing interesting about the office, other than its massive bookshelves well stocked with histories, spell books, potion manuals, and other non-fiction, but he had seen her personal shelves, and knew that they were in no way so serious. They were chock-full of silly muggle novels, a few of them with scandalously clad lovers on the covers. Some were fantastical fictions, others were just plain odd, but the majority of them were romantic.

He remembered the time when she had left him alone in her rooms to retrieve something from her classroom, leaving him to his own devices for several minutes. Naturally he was gravitated to her bookshelves, and he had discovered countless paperbacks whose titles he had never heard of. Reading the blurbs on the back, he had discovered a recurring theme of two people, completely at odds with one another, finding passion and romance due to extenuating circumstance.

Snape began to chuckle at the memory, but Hermione's head snapped up, causing him to abruptly stop. She looked at him for a moment with a deeply puzzled look and then returned to the paper. After that Snape simply stared at his hands while she finished.

"I'm done, Professor. Now, to work." Hermione rose from her chair and began walking around the room, casting spells that lit incense and candles all around the room until it began to resemble the divination classroom.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Setting the proper tone. According to Trelawney incense opens the subconscious. Not that she knows anything, but it can't hurt. I like the way it smells, anyway."

"You honestly dragged me here so you could try to open my subconscious?"

"Oh, Severus, I am not going to try. I succeed at anything I set my mind to do. Surely you must have noticed by now? And I have been researching magic of the mind. We are going to make a lot of progress in the next week." She pulled her curtains and locked the door.

"Shall we begin?"

- - - -

The sessions had started with her conjuring up a sofa and taking a seat in her own desk chair, which she pulled around to keep the desk from separating them. Two tea cups appeared on the table nearby, and Hermione hadn't said a word for a while, letting Severus get slightly antsy.

"So, Professor, to make this easier I would like to put you under the influence of a calming spell. Also, perhaps some Veritaserum to keep your tongue loose. There is no reason for you to refrain from giving me your total confidence. The war is over, after all."

"I refuse to be put under the influence of who-knows-how-many potions and spells in order to make this extremely ridiculous affair easier on you."

"Well, then, Professor, perhaps I should tell Minerva you are being uncooperative to my disciplinary efforts and we need another week…"

"That is not necessary, Miss Granger. I will cooperate. To an extent."

"Excellent!" Hermione chirped, a pen and quill flying into her waiting hands as a huge grin seeped onto her pale face. "I hope you don't mind if I jot a few notes… Just to keep the facts and details straight, you understand."

"I don't think my opinion will make a difference at this point," Snape remarked snidely.

"You are absolutely right. So where shall we start? Childhood would be best, I think, don't you?"

"It was unpleasant. Next topic, please."

Hermione clucked and took a dignified sip of her tea.

"At this rate we will get nowhere. Do you want to solve your problems with magic or not?"

"Fine, Miss Granger. Where would you like me to start? Childhood is a rather broad subject. Perhaps you want me to scientifically narrow it into categories for ease in note-taking."

"No need to get cheeky, Severus. Why don't we start with your mother, Eileen Prince?"

Snape winced slightly, but in a slow, even voice, he began to tell Hermione Granger about his mother.

- - -

Back in Hermione's office the desk was a wreck. Above the blend of papers, ink spots, books, and incense ash, Hermione Granger rifled through papers despite her exhaustion. Her attempts to open Snape's mind were successful to a point that she didn't know how to organize all the information she had received.

Tying Severus Snape down with a requisite meeting, a lie, had seemed like a terrible idea at first. In fact, it had come out as a joke between her and Harry. They had been complaining about Snape over a bottle of wine, which was nearly empty by the time the topic came began by mentioning his confrontation with Snape on the way to the library a few weeks ago. He related to her Snape's coldness and blatant refusal to talk about Lily. Then Harry started to cry because he was drunk and missed his mother, and Hermione had comforted him to the best of her very limited ability by patting him on the back and murmuring about what a jerk Snape was, how he was a sick, sick man who needed help but refused to accept any. Then she began to the end they both ended up weeping and laughing about the clever torture methods their inebriated minds dredged up, which always happened when they got drunk together. There was something about handcuffs, wasps, and honey, as well as paying for an ugly prostitute to relentlessly attempt to seduce him. That one got a good ten minutes of expansion and hysterics.

Finally Hermione confessed her desire to sit him down and pick through his memories with a fine-tooth comb. Harry had snorted at the idea, but then he told her about his lessons in legilimency in sixth year, and how he had seen one of Snape's memories. He went into further detail, and Hermione was fascinated. No wonder Snape had trouble performing spells. He was so bogged down with emotional baggage that it was amazing he could find the strength to wake up every was the one who said she should lock him in her office and give him Veritaserum. They had laughed and changed their target to Trelawney, but the idea had stuck in Hermione's mind when she woke up to a massive hangover. So she had done it. She had locked her old teacher in her office, put him under the subtle influence of a few mild relaxation spells, and loosened his tongue just a smidge with another spell, making once-upon-a-time carefully guarded Severus Snape a virtually open book.

Still, it amazed her that he had been so unprepared. The fact that he had so readily opened up indicated… trust… but that surely couldn't be. After the whole hot-and-heavy make out session, he had seemed nothing if not hostile toward her, and she happened to know from personal and second-hand experience that Severus Snape trusted no one.

She shook the idea of trust out of her head and continued to rifle through her notes. Maybe he had just been tired, or worn down from giving his students complexes all day. She began to sort through her notes and place them in a neatly labelled binder that read "Severus Snape" in block letters.

That binder was full of his thoughts and memories. It blew her away that a person could have such an eventful and tragic life. From his birth until the present he had been hit by wretched miseries. He was an unwanted child in an abusive home who had then grown up into a misfit, a brilliant student despised by his peers and even most of his teachers, and then a confused man using his mental capacities for the wrong side.

Still, she had not lost sight of her mission. Rome was not built in a day, and Severus Snape's troubled mind could not be unwoven in a week. It might take years to truly get him onto a normal mental track, but she simply wanted to unravel his tightly knotted mind enough that he could do the rest on his own, and maybe when he got everything figured out, he could begin to perform spells on living creatures once more.

It was going to be a long week.

Still, as she was cleaning up she happily remembered that Harry would be bringing the booze tonight and the two of them would have a different kind of therapy. It was funny, but since Ginny had gone to spend some time with Charlie on a sort of internship, the two friends had gotten closer. It was fun, having Harry back with her and no Ron to distract him and knock off the dynamic.

As she retreated to her own rooms, she began to make a mental checklist of her needs for the night. Her quarters were equipped with muggle technology that ran on magical power, including a refrigerator, microwave, stove, etc., so she decided to make something to go with the large amount of alcohol they would likely consume.

Just as she popped a frozen pizza in the oven, Harry walked into the room. She greeted him happily and glided over to give her best friend a hug.

"Wow," Harry said, putting the large bag on her kitchen counter. "You had a good day, huh? Pizza and a hug."

"I had some luck with Professor Snape today. That's all. His own devilish plans to torture innocent students blew up in his face to my advantage."

"Sounds like a lovely story. I would love to hear it while slightly more under the influence." Harry pulled out some butterbeer and firewhiskey.

"What a good friend you are," Hermione said with a smile, pulling out a pair of tumblers.

A half hour of slow, sensual imbibing later, Hermione was a bit beyond tipsy, and Harry was cross-eyed drunk.

"I mish her, 'Mione!" he lamented. Harry was frequently a sad drunk.

"I know, baby, I know," she said, patting his wild hair and handing him a slice of warm pizza.

"She was always so nice… Great kisser. Why did she have to go to Romania for a whole year?"

"She just did, Harry. She'll be back for Christmas. Don't worry about Ginny. She wouldn't want you to be sad about her."

"I know. But I am. I am so sad. I am so sad, 'Mione. It hurts. Why do I miss her so much? We're not even that serious," Harry moaned, still slurring slightly and now chewing obscenely. A quarter of the bottle of firewhiskey was gone, and she had only had about five ounces of it.

"I think maybe you like her more than you want to say, and now that she's gone… What do they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"That's what they say. Cheers!" He lifted up a glass so full that it sloshed and quaffed the entire thing in a few gulps.

"Slow down, Harry!" Hermione cried, digging in her fridge for dip to go with the crisps she had found.

"But I wanna get drunk! That was the whole idea of coming over! To drown my sorrows…"

"Are you sure this is about Ginny, Harry?"

"Yes!" he nearly yelled. "But no. I think I love her, 'Mione, but that's fine. No, it's great. But I just… I don't know. I forgot."

"Why are you so sad if everything is so wonderful with Ginny?"

"Because, 'Mione. I just… I just… I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Life has no meaning anymore, not without Voldemort and the Dark Side to fight all the time. Everything is so good now," Harry slurred with disgust.

"But Harry, that's a good thing. That's what we fought for two years ago."

"But peace isn't good for me, Hermione! I don't know what to do. Why should I hone my skills if I'm not going to fight? Why should I even be an Auror? I am training all this time to fight petty thieves and smugglers, not real threats. I'll be the big, shiny face of the Ministry. The big, shiny, useless face."

"That isn't true at all. Your face is not shiny. In fact, your skin is rather dry." Hermione snorted at her own terrible joke. "But really, Harry, peace can be good, too. And every petty thief and smuggler you take down could have been the next Dark Lord. Remember that he just started small, stealing little things and doing little things to hurt people. You could save some other poor witch or wizard the trouble of defeating the next Dark Lord. You aren't useless at all."

"I don't like doing little things. I want something big. An adventure."

"Then go to Romania and train dragons," Hermione suggested lightly, pouring out another tumbler of whiskey.

"I tried. Ginny said if I did she would break up with me and send me back home. She said I needed to get my own life before we brought ours together."

Hermione started chuckling lightly.

"Oh, Harry, you've got it bad."

"I know."

The night continued in much the same way, with the two friends getting plastered and sharing stories about their week. Harry spiralled down the evening as he always did, in a cloud of alcohol-induced self-pity.

"I have no mum, no dad, no friends--"

"What am I, then?"

"--No life. I live for Auror training, which is nothing like I had hoped it would be. And there is no point to what I do."

Hermione got aggravated at this point.

"Harry, you have a whole troupe of people that love you, an entire country full of witches and wizards that admire you, and a beautiful, talented girlfriend. What in Merlin's name are you complaining about?"

At this point, Harry burst into tears.

"You're right!" he blubbered. "I am an ungrateful sod. You might as well call me Snape, that's how pathetic I am."

"Severus Snape is not pathetic, Harry. He is just extremely troubled. And you need to get control of yourself. You're acting more like Cho Chang during fifth year than anyone else."

Harry promptly passed out at this point.

Hermione was not anywhere near as drunk as he was, so she levitated him to the sofa, tucked him in, removed his shoes and glasses, and went to her own bed, shaking her head at her own pathetic state. She wondered when she and Harry would stop being apathetic twenty-somethings and start their lives for real. She wondered if she would always teach at this school. She wondered what Severus Snape was doing at that very moment, and for once she didn't stop herself. She could envision him sleeping. It was a nice thing to think about. She put herself to bed and fell asleep with the strong half-awake dream of Severus Snape wrapping his arm around her as she nuzzled into his chest. It was a lovely dream.

- - -

The next morning Snape saw the pair stumble in, blinking and wincing at light and loud noises. The fact that they came in together bothered him most, though. He tried to tell himself that it didn't, but it was undeniable that it really did.

Granger plopped down and downed a goblet of water post haste, and Potter merely groaned a bit over his plate.

"We need to stop doing this, 'Mione. It just hurts in the morning," Potter muttered into a cup of tea.

"But it felt so good at the time," she whined.

"Well, next time we should slow down. Doing it so face just leaves me a passed out mess with carpet burns."

"How did you get carpet burns?"

"I would rather not say in present company. It's rather embarrassing."

Severus had just listened in astonishment until he could take it no more. An angry, roaring beast had arisen in him, and he wanted to rip off Potter's face. Instead, he sneered at his bacon, trying not to listen while also managing to hear every word they said.

"I think we would do better if you brought less… you know," Hermione said, throwing a meaningful glance at Snape to show that she didn't want to say aloud.

"Maybe. That would keep us from doing it, certainly. But what can we do instead?" Harry asked, his brilliant green eyes flickering up from his plate to Hermione's face.

"I don't know. Play a board game? But it's not nearly as pleasurable."

At that, Severus Snape made a noise of disgust and rose from the table. Hermione and Harry stared, slightly baffled.

"Do you thing he's a prohibitionist?" Hermione asked, staring at his retreating form.

"I dunno," Harry answered with a shrug, and feeling slightly more cheerful once the black mood of Snape was gone, he dug into a plate of scrambled eggs.