Good evening and good morning, readers. This was a difficult chapter to write. Hunter and Snape are unhappy, uncertain, and generally unmotivated. Not an easy place to be. But the good news is, I'll have another chapter to upload, probably tomorrow. Once things begin to settle into place and these two get motivated, things might just move forward again.
As always, thank you for your reading and your reviews. I got one that suggested I was too JKR. Not sure if I should consider that a criticism or compliment! I'll go with compliment for now, at least until I'm writing my own materials. Offer your thoughts. Hunter and Snape still have choices to make. What would you do?
Enjoy!
DN
Hunter was surprised at the arrival in the lab of two shame-faced 6th-years when she and Snape resumed their research the following week. Snape greeted them as coldly as she'd greeted Snape upon arriving.
"Diggins and Sanchez, good of you to arrive. I'm sure your friends will fill you in on the happenings from the afternoon on your return. As you will, no doubt, report on your own activities. Dr. Hunter and I are working on variations of a deadly poison, Tincture of Twilight, and require help measuring their effectiveness."
Jane Diggins and Hector Sanchez lost their color and weaved slightly on their feet, but did not run. Hunter broke in, casting a look of horror at Snape's unusual teaching style.
"Pardon me, Professor Snape. You are mistaken. We are working on variations of Auralite potion. The other students, the volunteers, have prepared those arrays for today."
Diggins and Sanchez still remained anxiously at attention. Snape consulted the parchment in front of him, lazily running a finger down until he reached the specific point he apparently was looking for.
"Ah, my mistake. You are correct, Professor Hunter." He peered at the two students, to whose facial color was slowly returning. "That will be next week. A fine detention for those foolish enough to befall my ire this coming week."
Dr. Hunter cast him an accusing glance which he returned only with a blank face, then began demonstrating the equipment and ingredients. "This is a New World potion. Does anyone know its properties?" She had hoped, in vain as it happened, that Snape might have read about this item and had his classes make it in their earlier years, but no one raised a hand, not even the Granger witch, who might be relied upon to raise her hand with any inquiry. "This item allows the take to visualize others' auras. Does anyone know what an aura is?" At this question, several hands were raised, including Granger's. She opted to give someone else a chance, selecting one of the two Misses Patel, not sure if she was Padma or Parvati.
"It's a kind of energy that person gives off with different emotions. It's usually described in colors."
"Correct." Hunter was pleased that this week's array was of Auralite, a New World potion. At last they would begin with a New World potion and see what tweaks could be made, using Old World ingredients or techniques. As this potion was among her specialties, she was particularly keen to see if it could be made to last longer than the 2 hours that was typical, or if the taker would be able to see with greater resolution and nuance. She strode around the room as the students got the variations set up, adding capsaicin extract, ground minerals, and beetle carapace flakes into the boiling mixtures. This being a New World potion, Snape had little to say, which suited her just fine. She circulated among the benches to observe technique (good), timing (precise), and measurements (exact). Snape's students were among the best she'd worked with, but the small glimpses she'd had of his teaching methods left her wondering to what extent fear was their motivation, rather than learning and understanding.
"Auralite potion, when done right, will allow the taker to see another's true intentions." She continued her lecture. "A blue aura, seen as a light glow from the taker's face, suggests truth and honesty, a noble heart. Green is deception, red is hidden anger, orange resentment. Gray suggests death is imminent. Yellow is fear and abandonment and purple represents a feeling of superiority or self-importance."
Snape had considerable respect for this New World potion. If it had been available and effective during the time before the war, it might have been more difficult for anyone to mask their true loyalties. He researched it extensively after reading Hunter's research proposal, seeking an antidote or mask for it and had intentionally selected Old World ingredients with the intent to defeat the effectiveness of it, limit the length of its effect, or to make it more responsive to surface feelings. Hunter, on the other hand, was seeking ways to improve its resolution, to allow for greater nuance, and to allow for a more lasting effect. There was strategic value in having both options available to the Potions Master, depending on the circumstances.
Hunter had few opportunities to observe her colleague after his greeting of the detention students, but what she saw left her confused. His suit still bore the burn mark from his pledge. Why hadn't he repaired it or put on a fresh jacket? He'd worn exactly the same jacket every day since their little walk, like it was a hairshirt. He was distant now, detached, coolly professional at all times. Their exchanges were solely what was required to be said to execute their research and to forward her teaching, nothing more. He hadn't been exactly warm and chatty before, but he'd taken his economy of words to a new low.
Her rage was beginning to subside, it being difficult to maintain that level of raw anger for very long without physical consequences, like sore muscles, cracked teeth, and high blood pressure. She'd taken to trying to be outdoors as much as possible these days, recognizing that they were getting shorter in a hurry. Even less light than usual made it down to her classroom and this lab, and she considered moving the research times to evenings, rather than afternoons, the better to take in the available light. But evenings were for astronomy class, study hall, and homework. The schedule for the entire school could not be re-written to suit her needs.
At the conclusion of the experiments, the Auralite samples sealed and stored, the equipment clean thanks to the diligence of the two detention students, Hunter closed the stores and departed, not to be seen or heard until dinner.
Snape cursed himself yet again as she strode from the room. He had no problem with directing the cleanup, which seemed to fall to him more and more as she exited as quickly as possible. His renewed zeal at assigning detentions from his classes meant that there was usually an available scapegoat to handle the less desirable tasks.
His curses were primarily aimed at his utter stupidity in using Legilimency on Hunter. Had he wanted to chase her off, he could hardly have chosen a more successful method. His pledge of respect seemed to have no effect on her. He kept his distance at all times, attempted to be as deferential as possible in the lab, and generally made no pest of himself.
The weekend of her lecture at the Ministry of Magic was one of bleakness for Snape. His long-practiced habits of privacy and isolation, reading and studying in either his office or private quarters no longer felt like a peaceful escape from those who might pry into his affairs, but rather empty spaces that wished to be filled. And not with just anyone prattling on, but with Morgan Hunter. He was captivated by her mind, his own mind making effort to keep up when they discussed their plans. He had hoped that perhaps some of those plans would not be directed solely at potion-making, but those hopes seemed far dimmer now than before.
He mulled over what work needed to be done. His research notes were written, his grading up to date, the school business taken care of. Slowing down his typical strenuous pace of work might be a wise preparation for her times away.
He opted to take a turn around the Quidditch pitch. The October skies were overcast, a chill wind at his back, the trees bending. Ordinarily, he enjoyed watching students attempting to fly under such demanding conditions. Even the most arrogant Chasers would struggle to maintain control. Today, he found the practice round between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to be of no interest to him. Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams were in the stands to observe and study their competition, but he had no desire to stop for small talk about strategy, despite the excellent training that Quidditch was to high-speed flying, dodging hexes, and maintaining a good aim while in the air. He wondered idly if this generation of witches and wizards would even need such skills again. Technically, he hoped not, for that would only be as a result of another rise of Dark Witches and Wizards, with the accompanying death and destruction such conflicts which invariably scarred families, souls, and buildings. But there was another part, a deeply hidden part, a part shameful and revolting to him, that longed to be challenged again, to be able to rise to such a challenge.
But he had challenge enough in Morgan Hunter, he reminded himself. And he seemed to be an utter novice there, failing in spectacular fashion thanks to his hubris. Hunter now fulfilled her obligations, but no more. She arrived in the lab at the appointed times and departed upon completion of her notes, leaving him to direct the clean up with the students. She attended meals, but sat near the end of the staff table, as far away from him as possible. He couldn't blame her, although had he wanted to repeat his mental invasion, the distance would have been irrelevant. He attempted to at least overhear her conversations, but wasn't able to without using magic, given the din from the students. And had she discovered him eavesdropping, the consequence might have been severe. The image of her, leaving on the Hogwarts express out of Hogsmeade, away forever, kept him from any attempts. He had watched from a basement window as she left for Hogsmeade, and that had been torture enough.
He was certain that if he'd requested her presence in his capacity as Headmaster she would come as a matter of professionalism, but he knew that would win him no success in this matter. To the contrary. She would see right away that he was being heavy-handed, further driving her away.
Instead, he observed her whenever it was possible, but remained unseen. Even his thoughts of being present in corridors between classes seemed absurd (as well as obvious), so he contented himself with random observations when the opportunity presented itself organically.
"I heard Snape made a move on Professor Hunter."
The rumor mill had been working overtime. Luna, who always seemed to know more about happenings than anyone else, especially those that weren't published in the Daily Prophet, recounted what she'd heard to an overly alert audience in study hall the following week.
"They went for a long walk last Hogsmeade weekend, but she came back on her own. He didn't come back for hours."
Dean snorted from across the table. "What's that got to with anything? They were probably just getting stuff from the forest, like snails or worms or some other creepy thing."
Luna looked at him like he was a slightly slow child. "How did you get an O in Potions, Dean? Everyone knows that the best time to get ingredients for potions is midnight. Mid-morning would be the worst time to get things, they'd be at about half potency. Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter wouldn't waste their time on that."
Harry and Ron exchanged worried looks.
"That would explain a lot, if he's been given the cold shoulder," said Ginny.
"Explain what?" Ron wanted to know.
"He eased off detentions there for a while and asked for volunteers to help with his and Dr. Hunter's research. Now he's back to his old habits. He's even giving Slytherins detention now."
"I'll believe that when I see it myself," Ernie MacMillan said.
"Believe it," Harry said. "I was working on getting stuff ready for the next day's class when they were doing the research brewing, and Hector Sanchez and Jane Diggins were there, and not as volunteers. They had to clean up the whole thing, 20 different formulas. And no magic."
A collective "ewww" was shared, most remembering their own detentions in years past. Clean up with no magic was among the worst.
"And I never see him in the halls between classes anymore. Usually he stands around and yells at the little kids to move faster or glare at a few who are late to someone else's class." Luna's comment was met with a general nod of agreement.
"You're his apprentice, Harry, what else have you seen?" Harry grimaced at Ron's suggestion. He wasn't prepared to tell them the way Snape had been staring at Dr. Hunter throughout the research session. Harry only knew because he was looking at a reflection in a polished silver plate. Snape had been very careful that neither Hunter nor the other students notice. Whenever she was lecturing or was turned away from him, he remained fixed on her. Harry wondered what Hunter would think if she knew, if she'd given him the brush-off.
"Nothing, other than what you've all seen."
"Don't you see him outside class? You're his godson, after all." Harry's discomfort increased at Anthony Goldstein's comment. The truth was, after the Binding, he hadn't seen Snape at all outside ordinary classes and meals. He would soon enough, now that the applications deadlines for Wizard College were approaching.
"Snape doesn't like to show any favoritism." This comment earned him a derisive snort from Ginny. "He treats me just like anyone else." That was certainly true. Other than the few words of praise Snape let slip at the beginning of Occlumency and Legilimency last week, Harry had difficulty seeing any real difference in his relationship with him.
Luna brought the discussion back around. "It would seem that we would be wise to keep on his good side, if he has one. Love, both returned or unrequited, can make people do strange things."
Harry had to agree with Luna, a strange feeling.
Halloween had arrived.
Hunter considered approaching with the Headmaster just after the morning's memorial ceremony, but decided against it, given the degree to which he seemed to want to be alone, even more so than usual. Praising those who'd fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, then reading the names of those who'd died was clearly difficult, particularly when the names were followed by "Hufflepuff House" or "Ravenclaw," rather than a profession. He stopped speaking several times. Students hugged one another and cried softly, remembering those lost. At the conclusion of his talk, he turned and shot an arc of silver sparks from his wand out over the lake. The students and staff did likewise, filling the morning sunrise with the heat and light of their grief.
With no further words, the Headmaster turned and hiked back to the castle alone. All the other staff (who knew him far better than she, after all) had glanced in his direction with concern in their eyes, but continued back to the castle at a respectful distance. Hunter walked with McGonagall and Trelawney and listened respectfully as Minerva shared some memories of the war and their roles in it. The difficult tasks of both protecting students and fighting the Death Eaters had been incredibly taxing, but they had considered student safety a first priority. She longed to ask for more details, but it seemed like prying to ask about such a delicate, personal matter. She listened and tried to imagine the battle and months leading up to it. There were Death Eaters on the staff, as well as attacking from outside the school. It had been so recently and she still was reading back issues of the Daily Prophet about those who died or were jailed. She was never sure what to believe from that time period, as the paper had a reputation of being a propaganda outlet of the Ministry of Magic, which during that time had been taken over by Dark Wizards and Witches loyal to Voldemort. Now, Kingsley Shacklebolt was serving as Minister of Magic, but she didn't know if that meant the paper could be trusted.
The fact that this had taken place only a few months before was still foreign to Hunter. The repairs to the castle, while not 100% complete, had ceased. What remained unfinished might remain so for a long time, she supposed, given so little budget for staffing. At least there were windows in place now, and thank Merlin. The days were distinctly chillier now, and the nights cold.
After a modest and somewhat hasty lunch, she spent a portion of the afternoon with Celeste Sinistra, the astronomy professor, talking about tonight's evening sky.
"Orion will be ascending, making this a good time for those who hunt. And the moon will be waning at three-quarters, giving good light, but not the blaze and discord driven by a full moon," she noted, sipping the herbal tea Hunter had brought up to the tower.
Hunter took a slow sip of the tea and remembered the discord of the full moon at the equinox. She had carefully monitored herself in the intervening weeks, with no sign that her feelings were anything other than genuine. She had even taken the steps of reversing any charms that may be on her (none) and performing a two-week cleanse with lots of energized mineral water and a rather excessive amount of aloe vera and chia seeds. Although her feelings about her guts had changed quite a good deal during this time, her feelings for the Potions Master had not. She had taken a lot of time to decide whether to forgive him or not for his intrusion and had been grateful to have her time traveling to get away and consider her options without interference. His regret and pledge seemed genuine. Perhaps a second chance was reasonable. This entire year was a kind of second chance for her. But deciding to forgive was also risky. At this point, her staying on might be forwarded by his owing her something. If she forgave, there was plenty of time for things to go wrong and her to find herself on a southbound train come June anyway. With the amount of time they spent together on their research, however, she found her feelings were only intensifying, though why was anyone's guess.
She reminded herself that she knew only very little about him, from their few interactions (notable though they were) and what she'd read. The rest of the staff seemed to be unwilling to gossip about the Headmaster, despite their zeal in speculation about everyone else. His difficult teaching style seemed not to be the standard for the school as a whole, but his own making. She'd had the chance to observe several of the other teachers in class, and only Sinistra approached him in style. And yet she was perfectly charming outside class.
He hadn't pressed his case on her, which she appreciated for a bit, but then considered if it meant he'd lost interest. That was a risk she hadn't considered before now. Maybe he was done with pursuing her. The entire arc of their relationship had really only been bluebells, Amorerverselixir, then his Legilimency. Not much of a foundation. Perhaps he'd simply thought the better of it.
She bid good day to Sinistra and headed back to the staff wing to prepare for the evening. Cutting through the gardens, now a little bit warmer with the afternoon sun, she drew her wand stealthily and put a series of small Boldness Boosting charms among the trees and bushes. Not enough to make anyone foolish or rude, but just a light dusting to stave off adolescent anxieties. She had seen this work well in Sedona many times; it made for many a warm memory for students at these kinds of events, rather than a residue of regrets of what might have been.
Her put her wand away and made her way to her rooms, where she hastily got ready. She had spent more time in the pleasant company of Professor Sinistra that she had originally planned, and now she had run out of time. She could Magic some beauty, but that always seemed cheap to her. Besides, any Witch or Wizard with reasonable skills could see through the charms easily, and the school was filled with talented and experienced staff. She brushed out her hair, changed into more festive robes and set off.
Snape spent most of the remainder of the afternoon in the Headmaster's office, having no papers left to grade, no detentions to administer, no Quidditch game to observe, and no pressing business to attend to. Bina's small desk was uncharacteristically empty. He eyed the Pensieve warily and decided the memories he could retrieve without assistance were troubling enough without dredging up the ones he'd had the comfort of forgetting. There were few that needed saving that he hadn't already stored, but several came to mind. He removed a few ready vials from his numerous pockets and drew the silvery threads from his temple with his wand, transferred them to the vials, wrote a brief label and date, and stored them carefully away in the cabinet beside Dumbledore's portrait. As was common on sunny days, the old man was nowhere to be seen, but would most likely be in the first-floor corridor facing the courtyard or in the astronomy tower facing south to the sun.
He touched the series of silvery vials, particularly the large one labeled with Harry's messy scrawl. Before that night, he'd never saved a memory, it being dangerous to have them outside his immediate control at all times. It was certainly not his intention while the blood seeped from his neck to provide the opportunity to reminisce in a future that seemed lost, but here he was nonetheless. The days spent under Poppy's care had given him plenty of time to both dredge up unpleasant reflections, but also to organize and preserve them. Some could be used against him, but others would act to exonerate him, should it ever have come to that. But he would have to make that choice and he knew those would stay where they were unless someone assaulted them. So many memories, so many choices.
He turned one vial over and over again in his long fingers and pictured throwing it against the stone walls. He felt satisfaction imagining the silver droplets dissipating from the glass shards. Destroying these captured memories from his days as a Death Eater, obliterating the silver threads, wouldn't erase them from his mind nor undo what was done. A Obliviate Charm would be the way out for a weaker man, a Forgetting Potion for the potion man, but he chose to allow the melancholy of those memories wash over him. So many innocent people. He once again reminded himself that he also worked against the Dark Lord, saved many lives, and that this redeemed him in the eyes of some. Though not all.
He closed the cabinet and locked it, placing the weighty silver key back in the drawer. A few charms accompanied by a little wand-waving and the seals were secure. The sad musings of an aging man, time wasted looking backward. Choices were made, hearts were changed. He had been ready for the end, to go to the other side, welcomed it even, but was sent back. For a second life sentence. There was a future ahead of him, probably filled with more sunny days spent alone indoors lamenting.
He closed the desk drawer with a snap and swept out of the office, surprising a group of Hufflepuff 7th and 8th years talking animatedly about their dates for the ball. They immediately fell silent under the unusually stern glare from the Headmaster. Not breaking his stride, he heard Ernie MacMillan say "Worse day than usual, I guess." Hannah Abbott, "Probably because of the memorial." Another agreed, saying "I know how he feels." As was his long-practiced habit, Snape scoffed, but the truth was these students had lived through the war, maybe fought, probably lost friends or family, definitely felt terror and loss. Maybe it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they did know how he felt, at least in small part.
Back in the protection of his personal chambers, he braced himself for the evening ahead. Despite his abhorrence of attending such functions, he yet again subverted Severus Snape the man for Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Headmaster. It was hard to imagine that the staff or students would be pleased to see him nor that his presence would be missed should he fail to make an appearance. However, it was his job and if there was one thing he knew well, it was duty. The image of himself dressed in some sort of costume (perhaps as Longbottom's grandmother?) and the shocked reaction this would generate brought a small smile to his face, but he opted instead for just washing up. He combed back his hair in a now-familiar motion and fastened it with a small leather strap.