A/N: A longer chapter to compensate for the lack of Severus-Hermione interaction in the last two chapters and to thank you all for being such a wonderful readership and for reviewing my work so generously! Enjoy! :)
Chapter 18: Emotional Troubles
"Rise, my servant," the Dark Lord hissed.
Severus rose from where he was kneeling before the megalomaniac. His heavy robes kept him warm in the presence of the dark wizard who exuded chilled waves. Today, the meeting room was more or less sparse, only the innermost circle gave the man company.
"Tell me, Severus, how is your Mud-blood wife serving our cause?" He said in another hiss. The wizard's red eyes were emitting morbid amusement as 'Mud-blood wife' rolled through his tongue.
"As the girl had only had a little more than one day with the Potter boy, My Lord-"
"Is she convinced to do my bidding?" The Dark Lord asked gravely.
"Of course, My Lord," Severus pulled all the conviction in his tone. "She knows well not to go against our cause." Then he added, "Against me." And felt sick at the insinuation.
The lunatic wizard displayed a twisted grin. "You seem to be enjoying my gift to you, Severus."
"My Lord had been extremely generous," Severus bowed before the wizard, putting every shred of his self-respect at bay and under his Shields.
"I want results," the Dark Lord said in his sibilant voice. "Will you give me the expected results, my loyal friend?"
"It would be my pleasure," he said with feigned earnestness.
"When will you bring your wife to me?" Another sickening smirk spread through his deformed face.
"Whenever My Lord wishes," Severus knew the drill.
"It will be soon enough," he announced. "I want you to present a well-tamed Mud-blood slave before me, who is willing to offer her life to me, if I desire it. Or I would have your head."
His Shields kept him from exuding his distress. "I would expect nothing else," Severus inclined his head as a gesture of reverence and submission.
He would have to double the pace to prepare Granger. If not his, for he was far too important a pawn, the twisted wizard would have her head.
UUUUUUUU
Last evening had been hard on Hermione, including the entire day today. The whole student body and teachers had witnessed her abrupt exit from the dinner last night, following her very apparent state of pain.
Hermione had headed straight to the Hospital Wing after the pain had subsided. Madam Pomfrey had released her just before curfew. Hermione had hoped that her friends had retreated to their dormitory by the time she returned, but Harry, Ron and Ginny, along with several other students, had still been in the common room.
It had taken her lesser time than usual to erect her Occlumency Shields to remain calm and composed while narrating a lie that it had been a muscle sprain. Ginny had seemed convinced, but Ron and Harry had hardly been.
She had received odd glances and curious questions from many of her Housemates later, in the morning. There was no Defence lesson scheduled for the day, so she did not have to face Snape. But she did have an Occlumency lesson with him that evening.
On Wednesday evening, after dinner, when Hermione was making her way to Snape's office, she was aware of another headache that was brewing behind the man's eyes. In the past four weeks, she had also been cognisant with more than eight muscle spasms he had experienced. Sometimes, she wondered how the man was even managing to walk, let alone conduct himself with that imposing dignity.
Last night, just as she was slipping away in a restless sleep, she had gained the knowledge that Snape's forearm was burning. She instantly assumed it to be the Dark Mark. But it had quickly subsided and she believed Snape to have answered the summon. It had not happened since she had found him injured after a call. Involuntarily, fear creeped up in her being at realising that she would, too, soon have to be present before the Death Eaters and the deranged wizard.
With the incident at the dinner last evening, the feeling of worthlessness had been so strong in Hermione's heart that it was almost tangible. The feeling that she was being used! That she had not much meaning left to her person, but had been reduced to a puppet, for lack of a better word.
Since the morning of September First, the despair and desolation were only engulfing her more and more into their clasps. Maybe because she had no distraction left—no Muggles, no strangers to talk to, to feel almost normal for some time... Among those familiar faces, all possessing a long, sleek wood capable of wonders beyond man's imagination, Hermione found herself alone, only with her thoughts to accompany her. Joining Harry and Ron's chess quarrels or Ginny's bantering gossip felt beyond her.
Hermione reached Snape's office, having told her friends that she had another shift with Madam Pomfrey, she knocked softly.
"Enter." At Snape's call, Hermione went inside the office and closed the door behind her.
She had never been to Snape's office before, having never received a detention from him, or any of her Professors—almost. She glanced around, her eyes lingering on the shelves of jars, glass and crystal, containing potion ingredients and dead insects whose sight would nauseate one with less curious a mind—but not Hermione—lined by the wall. It was a spacious room, unlike his Lab back at Spinner's End. Snape's table was clean but for the stack of essays he was grading and a bottle of red ink and unelaborated feather quills. Most of his books were neatly kept in the bookshelves.
She did not know how to greet him. Since the attack back in the summer, Hermione had never been respectful towards him. Now, after knowing that he had given the intel to the Headmaster's, she was confused. Every time she thought of it, Professor McGonagall's words echoed in her ears. She needed to watch Snape's memories to be free of the lingering dilemma once and for all.
Not able to come up with any other way, Hermione only nodded to the man. He returned the gesture with a terse nod of his own.
"Miss Granger," he cleared his throat. "There are a few pressing issues that need our attention before the Occlumency session."
Hermione wordlessly sat on the offered seat, across from him, and kept her satchel beside her. The straight back chair and hard wooden seat made her wonder if he deliberately condoned that sort of furniture to dissuade visitors.
She looked at him expectantly.
"I was summoned last night," he began. "The Dark Lord is rather impatient. I assume that he will call you before Halloween."
"That's about eight weeks away..." She said feebly.
"The amount of preparation that is needed will far surpass eight weeks time," Snape said, as he capped the ink bottle on the table. "Until now, you are only able to erect your Shields to hide a memory that I target. With the Dark Lord, you need to learn how to show him a specific memory, keeping it above the Shields that conceal the rest of your mind."
"Oh," she mumbled in understanding. In all honestly, neither her mind nor her heart were in the discussion or the exercise that was to follow.
"Also, the most imperative part of our subterfuge is taking false memories to the Dark Lord, consisting of your spying on Mr. Potter, as well as, you exercising a rather pessimistic, let us say, influence on him, to weaken his resolve." He explained. On her look of confusion, he elaborated further. "The Dark Lord is under the impression that Mr. Potter is thoroughly depressed due to the demise of Black. If he remains so, it will be easier for the Dark Lord to strike, probably using you as a means to drive him off the path. If Potter is unable to fight, the Dark Lord will have no hurdles, whatsoever."
Her head shot up. "I'm not going to influence Harry in such a way!" Hermione stated. "And for all we know, he might actually be depressed after Sirius... If I-"
"There is a reason it is called a subterfuge, is there not?" Snape raised a brow. "You need memories to show the Dark Lord. Those memories need not be procured through your actual interaction with Mr. Potter."
"What do you mean?" Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Polyjuice." Snape said simply.
"You mean...somebody will... Oh, I understand," she nodded. That was a risky plan what with acting and pretending, but a good one, she could not deny. "Who?"
Snape raised a brow again, "As unfortunate as it is, except for us, nobody but the Headmaster and your Head of House are aware of the plan, none of whom would be able to play Potter—or anyone for that matter—as subtle as they are."
"You will?" Her eyes widened at the mere mental image of Snape projecting as Harry.
"Naturally." He drawled with some derision. "I will need his hair."
"I'll get that," she mumbled, feeling awkward. The idea was so absurd to her that she could hardly even process it in her mind. She was pathetic at acting, that she had known since taking part in dramatics in her Muggle school. Moreover, her acting was supposed to convince Voldemort... Or Snape's cover would be blown—provided, he had any and was not double-crossing them—and the Order would be without intelligence, as Professor Dumbledore had said.
Not only for Snape's sake, it was Hermione's battle just as much! It was her chance to fool the lunatic wizard and avenge not only her parents' death but also that of countless other innocents.
She realised that Snape was eyeing her warily, and dragged herself out of her thoughts. "I'll do whatever it takes."
"Very well," he stood up, and Hermione followed. He led her to the couch in the corner of the room, sitting opposite to two armchairs and a coffee table. Black Dragonhide stretched smugly over the cushioned furniture, reflecting in the firelight. Hermione dimly admired the complex rose vines that were carved on the edges of the black, glass coffee table. A Pensieve was kept atop it for her use, the same Pensieve they used back at Spinner's End.
Hermione, now that she could use her wand again, extracted her own memories from her mind to leave them in the basin. She suppressed a shudder at the uncomfortable ticklish sensation that always accompanied the action.
She took her seat on the couch while Snape stood behind one of the armchairs as he usually did. She closed her eyes and readied herself. She drew a few deep breaths and constructed a base of water so that as Snape targeted a memory, she could instantly conceal it.
"Ready."
"Legilimens."
UUUUUUUU
When Severus entered Granger's mind, a fresh surge of despair swept through him like a gush of cold breeze. He recalled passing through the ghost of Bloody Baron in his First year as a student. She was just as cold, frigid.
That had never happened before. Yes, among her myriad of emotions, Severus did often felt himself surrounded by all the strong sensations, but not such a strong gush of just one, that too despair that overtook him with its piercing intensity.
Granger had not been herself, anybody could tell. But the sudden change in not only her demeanour but also her very mind were unnerving. And very unhealthy, not to mention. Severus could not help but notice the hollows gradually forming in the place of cheeks and the shadows of circles under her eyes.
He decided that viewing the memories of the forefront of her mind would help him solve the mystery—if she had not deposited them into the basin. Had he been a person with better social skills, he would have directly asked her. Of course, the girl would not have confided in him, but it would have given him an idea.
He selected a memory that was swimming somewhere near the forefront.
On landing, he could only feel Granger's coldness and numbness surrounding him. He caught a glimpse of the Great Hall and Potter's voice before Granger's Shields concealed the memory firmly.
That progress would have been appreciated, had Severus not been looking to find the reason for Granger's sudden desolation.
On landing into another memory, he met with the similar emotions again. In the background, he could hear the voice of Granger's father, but on looking around he could only see an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express. He quickly realised that the voice was playing in Granger's head while she was in the compartment—but why was it empty?
'Oh, yes, I think a few letters arrived for you this afternoon, L-'
At least he could tell that it was related to a letter—probably Albus' letter, but he failed to understand how much could the discovery of the letter push her into despair now. He could not connect the dots rather well. Or perhaps he could not find a particular spot to point. How much of a difference could the Headmaster's letter make even if she had found it? It was a mere chance that she did not read it before the Death Eaters attacked her house. Not like she had purposefully disregarded the warning. But then again, Granger was a very different person from him. Her emotions worked differently than his—if his did, at all.
Again, the Shields concealed the memory well. But Severus decided to change the tactics a little. He began trying to crack the Occlumency Shields.
He managed to draw ripples into the water that was the element in her Shields. For a moment, he felt Granger's panic and smirked. He could use that panic to draw access to the memory again.
'Oh, yes, I think a few letters arrived for you this afternoon, Love.'
'Oh, I've read them. They were from Ron and Harry."
'I think there were-'
But as the panic had come, it vanished away. The ripples died, leaving the smooth surface of undisputed water hiding the memory and the emotions tied to it.
Severus tried to break her resolve again, but to no avail. Her Shields were unexpectedly strong, and he realised that she truly did not want him to see anything, that was providing her with strength. That would also aid her before the Dark Lord.
He chose another memory. Now, Granger took even lesser time to erect the Shields. Severus, himself, had taken at least four months to learn Occlumency. But Granger had hardly had a month's worth of time to practise. In that short time, she had come a long way with the skill.
Her mind was well-organised from the start, he thought. Whereas his own had been an assortment of too much to hinder his progress.
Before lodging onto the next memory, Severus pretended to be withdrawing from her mind so as to let her lower her guard.
When he felt that she had relaxed enough, Severus struck again. Landing into the fourth memory, he was surprised when it was concealed just as quickly. If Granger had lower her Shields earlier, it did not show.
Now, Severus was getting frustrated. More than the lesson, he was adamant upon finding out the cause for Granger's sudden moroseness. So, he waited. The girl, though quick, was not experienced of feeling a presence in her mind for long. Severus decided to take advantage of that shortcoming and strike.
Gradually, he could sense Granger's confusion which eventually turned into annoyance. Severus swiftly landed into another memory, catching the girl off-guard. Her sudden panic did not aid her to conceal the memory.
Severus found himself in the girls' dormitory of the Gryffindor tower. He momentarily hesitated before strictly telling himself not to behave like a moronic teenager.
Granger was sitting on the floor, watching her cat eat. There was nothing remarkable about the memory except her train of thoughts that was implying how irresponsible she was.
He could only listen to a brief part of her stupor before her Shields covered the scene with a jolt. The water hid the memory with staunch determination.
After that, Severus did withdraw from her mind, highly impressed but only covertly. Perhaps he could offer a simple word of praise, if only to maintain a healthy environment of learning. Though he was irked as he was yet not able to find the reason of her despair.
Granger was sitting on the couch, a little out of breath, but not particularly panting anymore. When she realised that he had left, she opened her eyes.
"You did well-"
"I need to conceal my memories before you target one," she said before he could commend her on her progress.
"Yes," he said awkwardly. "Practice will do the trick, I believe."
She nodded. Severus watched her close her eyes again, and after a moment, she said, "Ready."
He was taken by surprise again. She usually took a few minutes to compose herself after one session. Perhaps, her persistence was the result of his pronouncement of going before the Dark Lord soon. Yet, he could not expel the feeling that her determination was stemming from her dolor rather than perseverance.
He pointed his wand at her again. "Legilimens."
UUUUUUUU
After three more sessions, Snape called it a day. Hermione was relieved. She was feeling rather tired, and wanted to have an early night.
By the last session, she was able to keep her Shields intact throughout, not letting Snape get access inside any memory. But it was not subtle, and Voldemort would instantly know that there were memories in her mind that he could not look into.
She needed to practise keeping her Shields such that her memories were all concealed, leaving only a few selected ones on top.
Hermione restored her memories from the Pensieve. She thought of asking Snape to lend her his basin again, but she did not want to take chances of him getting suspicious. She knew he would not gladly approve of her witnessing his memories of the night—no matter if he was at fault or not.
If he directly refused her to watch them, she would feel very uncomfortable breaching his privacy. But if he did not know...she could still convince herself that he might have let her as Professor McGonagall had said—it was her right to.
As she moved towards the door, Snape's voice stopped her. She turned back to face him again. Had she not known better, Hermione would have found Snape looking...hesitant.
"Yes?" She asked expectantly.
"I might be going ahead of myself, Miss Granger," he cleared his throat—like when he did to hide his discomfort, "But I have gathered a little insight into your recent change of demeanour. Would you like to address the issue of the Headmaster's letter?"
Hermione was caught off-guard. Of course, Snape must have gathered as much, no matter how hard she had tried to conceal everything. But a discussion on those lines, she feared, would send her into a panic.
"No," she dismissed bluntly. "No, Sir," she amended. "I am well."
He weighed his next words before speaking. "I believe your Head of House will oblige a conversation, if you were to approach her."
"I... I will see," she said quickly.
Snape appeared to be wanting to say more but, to Hermione's relief, only nodded.
Feeling out of place, she decided to leave before the discussion could escalate further but his voice again stopped her.
"I believe, I should extend my apologies for last evening," he said, maintaining an impassive expression on his face.
"What had happened?" She asked, though she did have an idea. But as Snape still looked hesitant and thoroughly discomfited, she herself offered, "You forgot to eat the jam?"
"Yes, precisely," he conceded.
It was a shock that Snape was apologising for something, taking responsibility for doing something. He had never really apologised before, had he? Two months ago, she would have given anything to see that regret on his face, however concealed, but now that he was apologising to her, she knew what he had done last evening was not deliberate.
The man had eaten that unpalatable excuse for jam without letting on anything until she herself ate it. Had he truly wanted to hurt her using the bond, he would have, long ago. But as he did not—to Hermione's puzzlement—she knew last evening was unintentional.
His hesitance or embarrassment did not sate her. She felt rather detached, not even feeling any hint of rage at his carelessness. All she had felt the day before in regards to the incident was empty save for the nagging sense of being used.
"That's alright," she said simply. For a very brief moment, something akin to shock flickered on his face, too brief that had she not been looking at him directly, she would have missed it.
As she started turning back to the door, he spoke again, "Also, you did not have to prepare another jar for me, Miss Granger."
She didn't turn to face him again, but simply shrugged. "I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."
With that, she left his office, without any formalities of a 'Good night' for she never said so to him, and couldn't find a reason to start now.
UUUUUUU
Weeks passed quickly as the term began. Students found themselves busy between new curriculum and a slew of assignments. The Sixth years had thought that the year after their OWLs would be a relief. But if anything, it was an early preparation for their NEWTs.
With Snape taking over DADA, the classes. albeit useful, were proving to be quite difficult for many. With the introduction of Non-verbal magic, many students were at their wits-end, not able to concentrate. But for Hermione, she found, Non-verbals quite approachable.
After an Occlumency lesson with the said Professor, she had gotten to know that due to her ability to perform some form of Wandless Magic with intense emotions at work, both Wandless Magic and Non-verbal spells would come to her with relative ease. How ironic, she had thought ruefully, to excel at a skill she spent most her days sulking over. In better circumstances, she would have tried to learn performing Wandless Magic without the aid of emotions. Though she had earlier reading on the topic, and discovered that Wandless Magic demanded a lot of energy out of one. So for the time being, she had let the topic to rest.
In all honesty, she could not find it in herself to start anything new. Yes, she had no time to spare with her shifts with Madam Pomfrey, Occlumency and her regular classes. But also, the time that she did have to herself went in deep stupors that ended with dark thoughts that she was finding harder to abstain from.
The worst were her tears that did not practise discretion. Anytime, anywhere, just a thought or a far-fetched allusion, and her eyes would become moist. Many nights, she found herself crying softly in her pillow even when she had been involved in a little banter with her friends only half an hour ago. Some days, though, were better than others. When she got so tired that sleep took over immediately, not giving her time to think or cry.
Most days, she could only recall a day as being reluctantly awaken by the chime of the clock, swallowing a few morsels of food, going to class and returning to her bed while waiting for another morning to come.
Hermione also brew in the Hospital Wing as a part of her training. After lessons with Professor Slughorn, she was relieved to be getting more practice. Not that the teacher was not competent, but after taking classes with the brewing standards of Snape, Professor Slughorn's classes did not bode all that well with her.
On their first Potions class of the year, Harry and Ron had had to take spare copies of the Potions books from the class cupboard as they had not expected to take the class for NEWTs level. Harry's book was a tattered, old copy, with scribbled pages. After some consideration, Hermione had exchanged her new copy with him due to Harry's bad eyesight that was proving to be an issue.
On opening the book, she had found 'This book is property of the Half Blood Prince' scribbled on the first page in an oddly familiar handwriting. Many instructions that were printed on the book were rewritten in that same handwriting. On testing the other methods of brewing, she found them more effective. On further reading, she also discovered some spells in the books, otherwise unheard of. Whomever the book belonged to, she decided, was a genius.
Slughorn was so impressed with her that he had extended an invitation to her to join the 'Slug Club', too—which Hermione had politely declined. Some years back, she would have jumped to grab the opportunity. But now, she had had a good taste of real life that needed all her time.
As for her Occlumency lessons, she was finally able to conceal all her memories from Snape. But above her intact Shields, no memories weighted, that was giving away her use of Occlumency. Keeping a certain few memories above the water was proving very difficult.
In one of the lessons, she had also asked Snape what if Voldemort decided to use the Veritaserum on her. To that, Snape had replied that before going to the Dark Lord, he would give her the antidote. Snape, for his part, had attained immunity against the truth potion. But that would take years for her to attain.
One morning, during breakfast, a familiar owl delivered a letter to her. Hermione, in return, had stroked his feathers and offered a strip of bacon that was appreciated by him. She knew the letter was from Snape because Amber had delivered it.
"Who's it from?" Ron asked, eyeing the letter.
"I ordered a few books from Flourish and Blotts..." She said simply. That seemed to have satisfied him as his focus went back to the omelette on his plate.
Hermione opened the letter.
Miss Granger,
Our lesson today will take place in the Come and Go Room on the seventh floor. I believe you are aware of its location. Right after dinner. Please be on time. Also, bring Potter's hair along.
S.S.
Come and Go Room? Hermione folded the letter and kept it safely in her pocket. The Room of Requirements, she understood. 'Also, bring Potter's hair along.' That sounded so...morbidly funny for some reason.
"Hermione, will you come to watch the try-outs today?" Harry asked.
"Sorry, I have my shift after dinner," she said sheepishly. "But best of luck."
"What? Again?" Ron cried. "How'd you do it? We hardly see you these days."
"I have a schedule to follow," she said casually.
"We just thought some fresh air will do you good," Harry added.
"Yes, but... You know I have to report to Madam Pomfrey..." Hermione said wearily. They were right, she hardly spent much time with her friends anymore. Even the time that she could spend with them, she did not feel like interacting.
"But you have Saturday free, right?" Ron grinned. "We can go to Hagrid's."
"Good idea!" Harry agreed. "I haven't seen him since the term began."
Hermione had never been too garrulous, but now, talking just seemed to be a chore, at best. She did not like meeting people or worse, having a chat. Since the Headmaster had told the Professors about her parents' murder in a Death Eater attack, she had gotten so many words of consolation that meeting Hagrid seemed to be a horrible idea. Every time somebody said—'It will get better' or 'You can talk to me'—she felt even more miserable. Because neither was it ever getting better nor could she ever confide in anyone with the full extent of the events.
"I'll tell you... Sometimes, I have to report on weekends, too..." She did not put much emphasis on it for now.
That conversation broke when Ginny came and sat beside Harry. "Three weeks into the term and I'm already dying to get out."
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "When is the Hogsmeade weekend planned?"
"Around Halloween, I think." It was Harry who answered. "It'll be a relief, really."
"Oi, we have try-outs today, yes?" Ginny beamed. "That should be fun."
"And hectic," Harry sighed. "With so many of our players graduated, it is going to be tough to rebuild a team so strong. Our first match is in the first week of November, against Ravenclaw."
"Oh, c'mon!" Ginny drawled. "Gryffindor has best players, anyway."
"Yeah, and even Chang has left the team now, so no competition there, Mate," Ron winked at Harry, who blushed scarlet.
"What am I missing here?" Ginny looked from Ron to Harry.
"Nothing!" Harry quickly said and grabbed his goblet of pumpkin juice to hide his face behind it.
"What's up, Harry? Need something wet for your dry throat?" Ron put special emphasis on wet, that even made Hermione smile amusedly.
By the end of breakfast, they had a very confused Ginny and a very red Harry, glaring daggers at a very smug Ron. Hermione smiled at the exchange, it was good to know that they could still find some happiness in these tough times.
UUUUUUU
That evening, the seventh floor was empty of anyone but a certain man with billowing black robe. The scowl on his face was enough to drive any wayward students, anyway.
When Hermione appeared near the Room of Requirements, Snape came out from the shadows, that almost startled her. She gave a customary nod to him, that he returned.
He looked across the corridor for good measure before turning to her. "We need the setting of your Gryffindor common room."
Without questioning him for she did have an idea what was to follow, she walked by the wall as needed. After a short while, a door appeared. Hermione entered to find a replica of the Gryffindor common room—so like the actual room that had it not been absolutely empty of her housemates, she would have thought that they were standing in the actual room.
Snape followed her insults and closed the door behind them. "I believe you have the hair."
Hermione fished into her satchel and pulled out a small plastic zipper that contained strands of black hair.
A few dates ago, Hermione had planned to surreptitiously get some of Harry's hair for the Polyjuice. One evening when he had sat playing chess with Ron in the common room, she leaned over his shoulder to watch the game. It was then that she cut some strands from him with the help of her wand. Harry did not even notice, so engrossed was he in the game—that he eventually lost, much to his chagrin and Ron's haughtiness.
Snape took the zipper from her. "Now, as you need to begin working on keeping a certain few memories above your Occlumency Shields, the memories that the Dark Lord would desire to witness are to be created.
"The Dark Lord believed that Potter had attempted to claim his own life this past summer, owing to his depression following his Godfather's demise."
Hermione couldn't suppress a gasp, but Snape pointedly ignored her. "Your job, in the Dark Lord's eyes, is to encourage Potter in his endeavour that was remained unfinished, as well as to spy on him in general."
From his pocket, he pulled out a bottle that supposedly contained the Polyjuice Potion. "While I impersonate Potter, you will approach me with the intention of stealthy driving me more into desolation."
"That's pathetic," she muttered. She was glad that Harry was not made a part of the plan or she would have never been able to act her part with him.
When she turned to the man again, she all but jumped at finding a very disgruntled-looking Harry, wearing Snape's black teaching robes that were pooling around his shorter frame. Although, his posture quickly gave him away. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl, Hermione had to fight hard not to gape.
If ever Harry saw this...
With a wave of his wand, Snape turned his robes into Harry's Gryffindor uniform. "Your friend is practically blind."
Hermione realised he was squinting without Harry's glasses. But he conjured a pair to wear. With that in place, Hermione's bespectacled friend stood before her.
"I believe we shall begin." In Harry's voice, the words sounded so unfamiliar. "You will have to memorise the scene well for further references, Miss Granger." With that, he went and sat on one of the armchairs by the fireplace, though Harry in reality never preferred that spot and complained to often get itchy skin in fire heat. But he was not Harry, Hermione told herself. She would never play this said part with Harry.
She looked around the empty room. "Won't it look suspicious that nobody else was there in the common room when we- when I talked to Harry?"
"Add an excuse in a dialogue," Snape-turned-Harry said coldly. She hardly thought that the man could ever act as Harry convincingly. But as Voldemort obviously did not know of Harry Potter's usual demeanour, he would not find out.
She realised that Snape was looking at her expectantly and she mentally shrugged herself out of her thoughts. "Right," she mumbled to herself.
UUUUUUUUU
Severus sat with his hands clasped in front of him, with his elbows set on his knees. He set a grim expression on his face, one that he believed an adolescent lad would maintain when sulking.
Behind Potter's infernal glasses—without which, he discovered, the boy was almost blind—he watched Granger approaching. She seemed hesitant and uncertain.
"H-Harry?" She practically swallowed before speaking. Such hesitance could be mistaken for her unwillingness to do the Dark Lord's bidding in the eyes of the said wizard.
"More confidence is required," he remarked. "Start again."
The girl nodded wordlessly—something that she did more these days. He hardly ever heard her speak, abd not just to him, but also during meals. Even in class, she only ever answered when nobody else could or would. He hoped Minerva was observant enough to have talked to her student yet. Granger had seemed particularly reluctant to talk to him the last time—and the only time—he tried to start a conversation about Albus' letter. So he had let the matter drop in the hopes that Minerva would handle it. Though he was not certain if the discussion had even taken place yet.
Granger approached him again, with less hesitance now. But she also needed to convincingly feel that she meant to be loyal to the Dark Lord. "While you speak, Miss Granger, also maintain it in your mind that whatever you are doing, it is to please the Dark Lord. When he watches your memories, those thoughts would help keep our subterfuge intact."
"Alright," she mumbled, and approached him for the third time from the door.
"Harry," she said, walking to him, "What are you doing here, alone, in the common room, when everyone else in the school is...having dinner in the Great Hall?"
Pathetic. The girl was pathetic at acting. "Be natural, Granger!" He snapped. "Do you truly speak in such elaborate sentences to your friends?"
"I..." She shook her head and sighed. "Again, then."
She walked to him again. "Harry, why didn't you come for dinner?"
It did feel a bit forced but only if the Dark Lord focused too much on minutiae—which he did not, or Severus' cover would have been blown decades ago.
"I wasn't hungry," he replied tersely, maintaining the morose tone.
The girl looked a little shocked, probably having discovered how years of playing a double agent aided him at acting. "Why are you here?"
"I..." She hesitated again, "I came to look for you."
"I'm not going down," he declared, looking away from her. "You can leave."
"Harry, but you need to eat," the girl said with insistence that seemed to come to her naturally. "You cannot stop eating like that-"
"Granger!" He snapped again. "You are not supposed to console Potter!"
"Oh, right..." She bit her lower lip. "I just... Sorry, once again?"
"Obviously," he said tersely.
After the initial round of asking why Potter did not go for dinner and him replying grimly, Granger sat on the chair next to his.
"Harry," she began, "I know you're... I know how you're feeling after...Sirius-"
"I don't want to talk about it, Hermione." The name sounded forbidden on his tongue. But being delivered in Potter's voice, it also sounded familiar.
"It won't help you to bottle your emotions up, Harry," her voice was soft, softer than he had only ever heard when she addressed her cat or his owl or perhaps it was the tone she took with those she considered friends. "If you just talk about it-"
"I said, I do not want to discuss it!" He feigned Potter's frustration. "I just want some time alone, is that too much to ask?"
"You've had too much time alone," Granger sounded natural now. "Letting me help you will not lessen your-"
"I don't need help," he stated.
"Yes, you do," she said softly. "I know what you...did...during the summer..." That hesitance made the conversation seem normal, he decided.
"What?" He abruptly turned to look at the girl who jumped. "Who told you?"
"Who... Professor Dumbledore did," she said quickly.
Severus ran a hand down his face in annoyance. "Miss Granger, you are working for the Dark Lord. When you talk about the Headmaster, you must express contempt, not respect."
"But I always..." She began but trailed off. "Again?"
"Do keep in mind that I do not have the whole day to waste watching you miserably fail at acting your own part while I am playing your imbecilic friend with relative ease," he barked.
Then, he froze. He watched Granger blinking quickly to...refrain herself from crying! He had been so much more acerbic to her in the past, but that never seemed to have elicited such a response.
He was relieved when Granger quickly retreated to the door, having no desire to witness another sobbing session of her, while he could do absolutely nothing but uncomfortably watch.
Perhaps, impersonating Potter, his words had hit too close.
The entire scene played again with some obvious changes in the dialogues. At least, Granger was becoming more convincing with every attempt.
"Who told you?" He repeated, exuding anger.
"Dumbledore did," Granger said. Severus also noticed a slight change in her voice when she said the Headmaster's name, maybe an attempt to make herself sound contemptuous. But not quite doing so. But it was a very minor detail and he let it slide.
Truly, the girl was as pathetic at acting as she was at cooking.
"Of course," he said bitterly. "He will never fail to broadcast my life!"
When Granger did not speak, he decided to give her an opening to follow. "If you're here to offer me false comfort, just go."
"No, Harry, I... I will not tell you that everything will be alright," she gained a morose tone herself, "Because it won't... Things just don't get better like that," she continued. "And it's hard to move on."
Her tone took up a steely tint that disturbed Severus. As if it was more than an act...
"Yeah, I don't think I can ever move on from..." He deliberately trailed off.
"I just want to tell you, Harry, that whatever you did..." she said at length, "I don't think it was...wrong..."
"Really?" He looked up at the girl with expressions of faux hope. "You're the first person who understands me then."
"Yes," she said uncomfortably. "S-Sirius died and...you think- And it's your fault... I can't do this!" She abruptly got to her feet, and Severus followed with an exasperated huff. "How can I? What am I supposed to tell him? That it's his fault and he should...die!"
"Granger!" He hissed. "You are acting! Potter is nowhere around to hear you, for Merlin's sake!"
"Why don't you better write me a script, because I don't know how to tell my friend to just...give up!" She declared defiantly.
"Oh, for the love of Merlin! Do shed this inane compassion, and focus on the task!" He said sharply. "Your self-righteousness will not help you when you present yourself before the Dark Lord!"
She averted her gaze away from him and to his horror, Severus discovered her rapidly blinking again. Damn it!
If there was anything he was afraid of, other than being discovered as a spy, it was of people crying before him! Insolence, he could handle. But hysterics? How was he supposed to handle that!
But Granger seemed to have composed herself quickly. "Please, Sir, write me some dialogues that I can learn and speak."
On cue, a parchment and quill appeared on the table. Severus inwardly sighed. As miserable as the girl was at acting, not writing the dialogues would only mean wasting time.
"Very well," he conceded. That would also give Granger enough time to control her emotions.
He sat writing a plausible conversation that could take place between the Potter boy and the girl. Meanwhile, he watched Granger standing in a corner with his peripheral vision.
It took him some time to frame the sentences, keeping in mind the boy's nature and the part Granger had to play. He could never understand the girl's inclination to be so damn compassionate! How difficult could it truly be to play the simple part? Not that the boy was there to listen, anyway.
When he had prepared a satisfactory script, he looked up to find Granger still in that corner, as if having imposed a punishment for self. Her face betrayed nothing as she gazed at a distance. Occlumency, he instantly recognised. Granger was using Occlumency to keep herself composed.
Surely, he had not been that harsh, or even half as harsh as his usual self. He pinched the bridge of his nose, disconcerted. Except the younger Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws, nobody had as such outwardly cried on being subjected to his wrath, even if they did so in private, fazed after a good chastising from him. They had stuttered and fumbled and stammered and sputtered, even blurted apologies and pleas not to send a letter home, but never cried. Especially coming from Granger, Severus couldn't digest her reaction.
Meekness, Severus sighed inwardly. Granger had become contrite and meek since returning to Hogwarts. But why? The young woman who had confronted him after the attack on her parents was far from contrite. He felt as if that young woman was left behind at Spinner's End.
What an absurdly maudlin thought!
Shrugging himself, he re-read the script, scrutinising the words for feigned veracity.
"Miss Granger," Severus called in a controlled voice this time. "Please, memorise this."
Granger took the parchment warily. She read quietly and quickly. Severus had no doubt that she would remember it word by word. He watched how her face gradually lost the remaining colour while her eyes skimmed over the text. But she never vocalised a complaint.
When she was ready, she folded and kept the parchment in her pocket. Severus took another swig of the Polyjuice and adapted his role of the grim teenager.
The initial part went as intended. Severus noted that Granger's shields were helping her remain confident and calm, just as his did. But Severus was so adapted to keeping emotions hidden that he had to make efforts to show them, if ever. That proved unhealthy in the long run, and he did not want Granger to practice such rigit Occlumency at all.
"I can understand how it feels, Harry," she said with smoothness. Her voice sounded more steely than soft, and quite unlike her person. "You feel guilty, don't you? For Sirius' death." She leaned forward, "You feel like had it not been for you, he would still have been alive and well..."
Speaking his words, the girl did not resemble Hermione Granger by any means. He realised how unlikely it was for her to truly turn so dark as to convince her friend of his guilt.
"You want it to end, don't you?" She went on. "To see him again, to see your parents again, to get rid of this guilt?"
"Yes," Severus spoke in a tone that could be mistaken from a grim mesmerisation. Inwardly, he was frowning for she was adding subtle modifications to his text. But as long as it remained plausible, he decided, he would not interrupt her.
"You wonder how it would feel to just let go," she said silkily. "To be with them once more, safe and happy."
"Yes," he nodded, keeping his voice quiet. Severus sensed a tinge of wishfulness in her words, the naturalness of the tone alarmed him slightly. "You understand me, Hermione."
"I do," she said in a whisper. "And I am with you, in whatever you choose to do."
Severus looked at her with questioning eyes, seeking reassurance on Potter's part and seeking an explanation on his own part.
"I promise, Harry," she said solemnly. "If it's release what you crave, I promise to help you."
"Thank you," Severus gave a sad but appreciative smile. "I think I'll just...sleep for now..."
Granger, too, gave him a smile—steely and sad. For a stretched moment, He then got up and walked away, willing the scene to come to an end.
"That much should suffice," he announced.
Looking back, he saw the girl staring into space with the same impassiveness. She gave a small, almost imperceptible, nod.
Severus eyed her, unable to suppress the solicitude he felt for her state. "Miss Granger," he said despite his resolve not to interfere, "Are you...quite alright?"
lThat was all he could manage to say, owing to his deplorable social skills.
She snapped out of her stupor and for a moment, looked as if she wanted to say a slew of things that were exerting her under their burden. Severus took a step towards her.
But again, she was blinking and looking away from him. As her Shields concealed her again, Severus knew he would remain in the dark.
"I am fine, Sir," she mumbled. "Good evening."After which, she got up, picked up her satchel, and left hastily.
While the effects of Polyjuice wore off, Severus sat in the make-shift Gryffindor common room. His thoughts wandered around Granger. It had been three weeks since the term had begun, and Granger was deteriorating at best. Granted, her skills were honing but otherwise, she was losing herself. The witch who had just left her presence seemed to be the shell of the girl who he had known earlier. Even though angry at him, Granger was confident and curious by nature. Not resigned and fragile.
Could he, on his part, do anything to cheer her spirits up?
UUUUUUU
"Hey, Hermione," Ginny sounded tired as she came and plonked down on the chair beside her.
Harry and Ron followed suit, and sat heavily around her. Hermione closed the book she was staring at, and noticed their brooms. "How did the trials go?"
"Pretty good," Harry replied. "Dennis made it to the team. And McLaggen, too. But we still need another Beater."
"Turner got injured and all today," Ginny told. "So Harry can't decide whom to take between him and Rover."
"Oh, you'll hold the try-outs again, then?" Hermione asked, forcing herself to sound interested.
"Yeah, next week," Harry said, leaning comfortably in his chair. "Where were you, by the way?"
"In the Hospital Wing, I told you," she said lightly.
"No, you weren't," Ron sounded accusatory. "We took Turner there. You were nowhere around."
"My shift got over early and I went to the Library," she said quickly. Before they could inquire more on that, Hermione got up. "I think I'll just have an early night today. Goodnight."
"Wait, Hermione," Harry stopped her. "You're coming to Hagrid's tomorrow?"
"I...have my assignments to finish tomorrow..." She focused on not biting her lip. "You know, I don't get all that much time during the week..."
"Only for a hour, Hermione," Ron insisted.
"No... Sorry..." She mumbled. "Maybe next weekend."
Ron started saying something but Harry stopped him. "Alright, then." He was eyeing her with concern as he often did nowadays.
She gave him a small smile and retreated to her dormitory. Glad to find her two roommates still absent, she took a quick shower and went to bed.
Crookshanks came and curled up near her. She drew the duvet to her chin and curled up in a ball.
The day had been so exhausting. Especially the entire acting-fiasco with Snape. She was feeling more or less numb after having kept her shields erected for so long. But keeping her mind concealed had been important for her control over her emotions was slipping dangerously. She had found herself close to tears more the once. Snape had been worse with her in class, and with the recent events it was not like she was expecting him to be anywhere near comforting—that thought in itself was ludicrous. He had been way more scornful in the past. But disturbingly, it had affected her greatly today.
Not that he had said anything too close to home, but perhaps the tone had taken a toll on her. Now that she thought, it had had nothing to do with Snape. She had been feeling overwhelmed for a very long time. Often she found herself close to breaking down by the simplest of conversations.
A word of sympathy by a teacher, a look of worry from her friends, a word too rough by Snape—and Hermione found it difficult to refrain herself from falling apart. Thus hiding herself behind water Shields was imperative, even though now she was feeling numb, uncomfortably so.
Crying was better because at least she could release. But penting up everything with the inability to cry, she was feeling stuffed and suffocated. A tear or two that demanded to escape in her weaker moments brought no relief, but only a rush of self-pity.
Hermione laid awake hours after her roommates settled in their beds. Her mind remained playing her pseudo-conversation with Snape-turned-Harry. The words still affected her greatly.
'You feel like had it not been for you, he would still have been alive and well...'
'You want it to end, don't you?'
"Yes, I do," she whispered to herself, her voice muffled in the pillow. A stray tear rolled down her right temple, leaving a spot on the cotton pillowcase.
"Shut up, Hermione!" She chided herself. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to overcome her, so the thoughts could stop.
A/N: We're one chapter short of reaching our "big event". Also, it's not going to be jolly, you have been warned. But it will shape our story further, as NAP is essentially a love story, the impact will mostly affect that aspect.
Also, in this chapter, I have attempted to show Hermione's state of mind as best as I could... Please do let me know if I'm the hitting the point or just typing mundane words without making sense.
rmpff: Hey, thanks for your review. To answer your question—yes, we're only about 20% into the story till now. Although we've already reached around a 100k words. This story is going to be long. I haven't decided how many chapters there'll be, though I'm currently way ahead in my writing. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Looking forward to hear more from you. :)
To all my wonderful readers, a tight virtual hug to everyone for reading and leaving a review. I can't explain how happy your words make me. They encourage me beyond imagination to continue posting. :)