What's this? An update? So soon?! It appears my muse has been on my side and I have already blitzed through a ton of chapters for this book, so I figured you could get one right on schedule instead of holding off for a week. I've also been playing with how I want the events of this book to go, and I've changed a couple of things from my initial plan which I hope you really enjoy!
Someone commented that they were scared to see how book 6 ends, and I don't blame you! All I would say is, trust in their trust. They're stronger than we might give them credit for, even if things are going to get a whole bunch worse before they get better :)
All the reviews/favorites/follows, they're all amazing and honestly make writing this an absolute joy above what it is already, so thank you thank you thank you! Now, without further ado, let's see how our players are doing...
She was running. Her feet had never moved faster, the floor beneath them seeming to melt away as she went. In that moment, she focused her mind purely on the noise of her ratty trainers hitting the stone and counted with every hit - 1..2..3. It delayed the terror of what was behind her, the danger she tried so desperately to escape. She rounded a corner, a distraction, somewhere new, something else to focus on. This corridor was long, unending, a dim purple from sconces on the wall providing the only light. It cast shadows in front of her as she ran, purple shadows in a purple hallway, dancing and jeering and telling her she would never get away. She could hear the pursuer behind her now, the heavier footsteps slower than hers but catching nonetheless. She willed herself to move faster, telling herself she would allow every bone in her body to break from the stress if only it meant she could escape. It was no use, the bargain was rejected. She could see the shadow of the danger encroaching on the others now, murky black a stark contrast to the purple. She knew she had run out of time, but still she kept going. She would have to turn around at some point, she would have to face her attacker. She knew she wouldn't be allowed to leave unless she did, and as she realised this harsh truth the fear truly kicked in. She began to shake, tears streaming from her eyes and her voice barking out sobs as she ran. She couldn't see from all the water in her eyes, perhaps that would make it easier to face her attacker. The end of the corridor came into view, no other paths to go down, the only way was back. Reaching it, she placed a shaky hand on the cool stone and drew a staggered breath. Turning, she saw the attacker. A silhouette of evil, eyes dancing with malice and cruel glee. It towered above her, her body shrinking as she was engulfed. As her vision started to disappear, her mind was filled with the otherworldly voice.
"Alone."
Hermione retched up in her bed as the nightmare slowly faded and died and the room swirled into focus, sweat dripping through her entire body. Her hands were shaking, her breathing ragged. She scanned the room, checking every nook, every cranny, every shadow - a ritual she had performed nightly for the last month. She knew there was no one there, she always knew but something willed her to check anyway. It was her experience that if she didn't check, the images and noises and sensations would never dissipate. Finally satisfied with the security of her room, she sat back against the headboard of her bed and dug the palms of her hands deep into her scrunched up eyes, thankful for the distracting heady pain it provided. There was a dim light coming through the curtains, it must have been early morning. She looked around the room once more, the frequently disused bedroom from her muggle childhood painted the image of a girl very different from the one now using it. Soft pastels coloured the walls, soft teddies sat on shelves and in corners, soft.
Soft was a world away from how she felt.
It was a month into the summer holidays. Hermione had returned home to visit her parents who had welcomed her with open arms and tears and all the emotions one would expect from a muggle mother and father who were - for the most part - excluded from the majority of their daughter's life. They had asked questions, wanted to know every little detail of the school year. She told them about her studies, her extra potions lessons, she had even brought up the DA for which they had been very impressed. She didn't bring up Arthur Weasley's poisoning, the difficulties with Ron and Harry, nor the Ministry battle. It was almost a given that had they known about the injuries she'd sustained during that fight, she wouldn't have been allowed back at school. No matter, it was little more than a memory to her now anyway.
She absentmindedly touched the scar poking out from behind her pajama top. It wasn't as ugly anymore, and the colouring had settled down, but it was still there. It still hurt every day. It would always be there, she wondered if it would always hurt, just a little. She had suggested numerous ways to remove it, but Madam Pomfrey had reminded her that the severity of the dark magic used had eliminated any chance of that. It was a part of her now, a reminder. She let out an angry breath, a reminder that was weak. Too weak to go up against Death Eaters, too weak to help defeat You-Know-Who. She was nothing but a confused, bossy little girl who had no idea how to fight in a war, never mind win one. All her brains and brilliance were useless against the enemy, it was ridiculous to think that she would be any help. She thought back to her ideas of joining the Order last year and realised how little help she would be. How the headmaster thought she could be of any use to them or Harry was beyond her.
She thumped her fists down onto the sheets around her, god she was being pathetic. It would do her nor anyone else any good to sit here self-deprecating into oblivion. Think, Hermione, do what you do best. She was weak physically, but strong mentally, so how could she use it? She was a competent brewer, nowhere near the level of Professor Snape but capable enough to hold her own, and she was advancing rapidly with arithmancy. She wasn't a strategist like Ron, but she could solve problems better than either him or Harry. It was her logical, muggle brain that had gotten them through Professor Snape's challenge during their escapade to find the Philosopher's Stone back in first year - it tickled her that he had been the one to conjure up that test. She could request to be allowed in meetings, she supposed, perhaps her ability for critical thinking might help with planning? She would speak to Dumbledore when she got back to school and get his thoughts on the matter.
As she finished with that line of thought, another cropped up. She had been forming an idea since before the term finished, but hadn't gotten round to putting it in motion. Perhaps now was the opportune moment? She stretched out her arms and back, yawning, and swung her legs out of bed. Padding softly over to her desk, she grabbed the quill she had set up and some parchment from a drawer. Looking at the blank page, she began to chew the end of the quill, she had never written to a professor before.. How did one start? Tapping the desk and humming to herself, she began:
Professor,
Apologies for writing during your holiday, I imagine the relaxation at this time of year comes primarily from not dealing with students. However, I would like to request something from you and as I would like to get started as soon as the new school year begins, I thought it better to get the particulars sorted before then. I would like to officially request occlumency lessons with yourself, sir. After watching Harry's disastrous attempts at mastering the subject last year, I spent considerable effort learning the basics during my free time. I believe I have begun to craft barriers that could withstand a weak probe, but they need to be stronger, and at this point there is nothing else I can do on my own. The lessons we had together during my last year were some of the most informative I've ever known, and I don't doubt that is largely down to your teaching. I'm sure you know from our previous lessons that my dedication to a task is second to none, and I can assure you I will be a much easier student to teach than Harry ever was. (I am also acutely aware of the need for privacy where memories are involved.)
If I could have your answer either way before term starts I would be incredibly grateful, along with any exercises or preparation you require of me.
Yours,
Hermione Granger.
She reread the letter and was fairly pleased with it. She had been courteous, professional, but familiar enough that she hoped he would see that she was coming to him not just because he was the best legillimens around, but also because he was someone she could trust. Although some of her potions lessons had been nothing short of disastrous, there was something about the man that drew her to him and although she wanted - no, needed - these lessons, another part of her relished the time they would get to spend together. Folding the parchment, she sealed it in an envelope and neatly wrote out 'Professor S. Snape' on the front. Tapping on the window, it wasn't long before a small grey owl appeared outside, waiting to be let in. She had purchased Orestes for her parents in her third year, after they complained about the inability to keep in contact with their only daughter throughout the year. The notes she sent home didn't quite compare to the stories she would tell when the holidays arrived, but it was better than nothing and served to keep her spirits up throughout the year when homesickness reared its ugly head. Tying the letter to the owl's leg, she watched the bird soar out into the early morning sky, hoping that she'd be successful in her endeavor.
Severus Snape was in the middle of the most stressful summer holiday he'd had in years. The botched attack in the Ministry of Magic had left the Dark Lord's presence out in the open and many of his loyal followers back in Azkaban. This, especially, had enraged the megalomaniac, considering it had only been months since a successful breakout had occurred. The result of this was an anger and viciousness that Severus had not witnessed since before the end of the first war. As one of the few remaining in Voldemort's inner circle, Severus had taken the brunt of many punishments over his follower's inadequacy at gaining traction, and to top things off it put him in much closer proximity to the psychotic Bellatrix, someone he would happily never lay eyes on again so long as he lived.
Another downside of this new crazed streak was that Severus found the trust levels he had worked to carefully build up had tumbled down. He had been correct in his assumptions that Voldemort had deliberately kept the Ministry attack a secret from him, which had helped when it came to explaining how the Order knew to turn up and 'save the day'. However, it seemed that Severus had done little to regain that trust and with so little news coming in from Hogwarts - the end of term being the quietest for information - it had only served to make matters worse. He had been gifted a house-guest - Wormtail. The sniveling waste of space had taken up residence in his spare bedroom at Spinners End and was tasked with keeping a frantic eye on him, making sure he didn't sneak off or betray his master's brittle confidence.
So it was that his holiday had been spent brewing whatever mad concoction the Dark Lord required, and challenging himself to read every book he owned. He still had a multitude of tomes he'd never started, a bad habit he'd picked up when he'd finally been able to afford to buy books on a whim. It meant that most evenings he would sit in front of the fire, nestled into his large weathered armchair, a mug of tea on the side table and a book in his hands. To start with whiskey had been the drink of choice, but the inebriation that followed the delicious drink was unwise around someone as devious as Wormtail, and he had switched to tea quickly. It would have been bliss if not for the rat lurking in the corner.
One such uneventful evening found Severus retiring early to bed, book in hand. He found that there was only so long he could abide Wormtail's presence when trying to enjoy a good read. Changing into a pair of loose pajama bottoms, he deposited the book onto the pillow beside him and crawled under the covers, willing himself to relax. As per usual, his bedroom door was locked, warded, and silenced for good measure. If he had to put up with his unpleasant guest during every waking minute of his day, the least he could do was to pull back some privacy where he slept. After devouring a good portion of the novel, he doused the lights and closed his eyes, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep. He was restless, different images assaulted his brain and crowded his dreams. Green flashes, green eyes, screams, hateful laughter. Not long into his pitiful attempt at slumber he woke, careful to keep his breathing steady but his heart thudding painfully in his chest and a sheen of sweat covering his temple. How he wished Dreamless Sleep was a permanent solution to his nightly problems. Growling, he flung the covers off himself and pushed himself up. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair, his eyes suddenly drifting to the letter sitting on his side table, and the parchment baring his scribbled response. Why would his mind turn to that after such an intimate nightmare? He had written his reply weeks ago, almost immediately after the owl had happily deposited the letter through his window, with the intent to send it straight away, and then he changed his mind. Then he changed his mind again, and again, and again.. A voice whispered that he was now out of time. The new term was only two weeks away and if this plan was to go ahead he would need preparation on both their parts.
Of course it had been Miss Granger. Who else would feel the need to write to him in the middle of the night to discuss something so trivial as occlumency? He had to admit, at least it was well written. He'd smirked at the mention of relaxation, if only she knew. His brow had furrowed when she'd mentioned memories, briefly recalling how that particular piece of knowledge had found its way to her, but had to chuckle when she spoke about privacy. That offhand comment meant she had disapproved of Mr Potter's venture into the pensieve, and a small part of him held onto that fact. Why on earth would she want to learn occlumency? Well, other than it being Miss Granger, resident know-it-all with a hunger for knowledge that rivaled his own. If this was just another notch on her belt, then he had no interest. The fact that she had already begun constructing barriers was of no surprise, he knew of several books in Hogwarts' library that contained the information to do it, and he couldn't help but find himself intrigued as to just how good they were. His first instinct had been to flat-out refuse the request, of course. It would put an increased strain on his spying, leave even less time for his teaching commitments, never mind what barmy requests Albus would drop on him this year. He was finally getting the position he'd dreamed of, Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that meant completely new lesson plans to finalize, and Albus had requested he still brew for the hospital wing as his replacement, Horace Slughorn, was too old to keep up with the workload. Still, a part of him wanted to see how capable she really was, how talented the brightest witch of her age could be, how great he could make her. An even smaller part of him wanted to peer inside her head, although he refused to entertain the reasons why.
Sighing, he grasped the parchment and began to roll it up, before stopping himself. Instead, he pulled out another, smaller piece of parchment and scribbled something else quickly, before placing it on top and rolling them both up together. Tying it with a length of green ribbon, he strode to the window of his darkened bedroom and opened it up, tabbing on the windowsill to summon his owl. After a brief minute, the large tawny owl swooped into sight and landed gracefully in front of him. The creature watched as Snape reached out to attach the message, his head tilted as if waiting for something. Severus glanced at the bird and shook his head.
"No treats tonight, I'm afraid. I'll double them tomorrow." The owl ruffled his feathers and hooted something that sounded very much like disappointment. Still, when the roll of parchment was firmly in place, he murmured "Take this to Hermione Granger" and watched him fly off into the night. Slumping back into bed, the covers pulled back up around him, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to think of what might await him when term began again.
Hermione reread the letter again. She put it down on her bedside table, thought for a moment, and then picked it back up and reread it once more. She was grinning, she was nervous and excited and just a little bit happy at what was written. There had been two letters from her Professor, delivered by a beautiful tawny owl that seemed incredibly grateful to receive a handful of seed when he arrived. She had read the larger one first, assuming it held the most importance.
Miss Granger,
Six years into your education at Hogwarts and you still appear blissfully unaware of the workload a teacher has forced upon them. I had hoped that your foray into extra curricular potions had put you off the idea of ever asking for my help again, and yet here we are.
Occlumency is an art form reserved for those with exceptional talent and ability - good occlumency, that is. Knowing you I imagine you are aiming to be the best, in which case you are correct to ask me. However, know that I will not be easy on you, and that I expect a great deal of work from yourself outside of our lessons. I will know if it has not been completed.
There are several meditation exercises you will need to perform nightly, even if you feel you can clear your mind at will, these should still be done. It is a practice best kept for life. There are also several books, of which I have enclosed a list at the bottom of this letter, which I expect you to have read and understood prior to our first lesson. I also expect vigorous notes to be taken from your studies prior to the start of term, and 20 inches on your understanding of the subject to be delivered to myself after the welcoming feast.
You are correct in assuming that we should get started as soon as term begins, however, I will not disclose the nature of our lessons until I have viewed your shields and understand your current ability. Be very aware that if I deem your skills to be lacking, that the lessons will not proceed.
Be prepared to apply yourself, Miss Granger. As you know well enough by now, I am not an easy teacher.
Regards,
S. Snape.
She could practically hear the disdain in the first half of the letter, but she didn't mind. He had agreed to teach her! She looked at the reading list and a light gasp escaped her - these books were likely expensive, and there were a lot. She'd need to make the trip to Diagon Alley as soon as possible. She also winced slightly at the amount of work she needed to do before term started, he was aware she only had two weeks right? Even for her, a self-professed consumer of knowledge, this was a challenge. Laying the letter down, she went to get up, almost forgetting about the enclosed note. Her eyes widened as she read, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
It wouldn't be a true test of your skills if the time limit wasn't decidedly unfair. My final request - impress me. (Check the letter's date)
S.S
She looked back at the letter and for the first time noted the date it had been written - almost a month ago! The amount of work she could have done in that time was staggering! Leave it to Professor Snape to move the goalposts, even if it was to help her show off. Stretching, she hopped off the bed and made to get ready for the day. She had a shopping trip to plan.
