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"I'll take peppermint, thank you."
Peppermint.
The word seemed to call forth an unfamiliar meaning to him, like a name one hadn't heard in years. It was bizarre, he could tell his mind was trying to pull forth a memory, the sensation of a light switch being flicked on in his brain. For the life of him he couldn't figure out which room it belonged to. For some reason, it seemed to tug at a place in his heart he didn't think of often - a strange longing that he desperately wished would cease. Utterly perplexed at the sensation, Snape was so busy pondering the thought that he didn't notice the pop of apparition and the appearance on the side table of rich tea biscuits and two heavy mugs. Blinking back into reality, he spied the drinks left by the house elf and leaned in to grab his own. The warm, herbaceous smell of chamomile swam through his nostrils and filled his senses, but not for long as another scent took over. Replacing the familiar comfort of his own tea was that of Miss Granger's, and the sharp intoxication of it sent his mind spinning.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
Peppermint.
The realization smashed around Severus' head like a bludger, ringing in his ears and through his very soul. Where a moment ago a thick fog clouded his mind, now in its place sat a memory that seemed to blind him. That damnable Amortentia! That day should have been nothing more than a routine foray into the unpleasant memories that were his past but instead he had found the familiarity muddied by new and uninvited smells. At the time he had been confused and unsettled by the change in the potion's effect, but now the answer seemed to be creeping up on him too quickly and confusion had been replaced by horror. Try as he might he could not stop his brain from following that path. Too many things were being pushed into place all at once; realizations, revelations, ideas that his brain screamed were truths but that he refused point blank to accept. Without prompt or invitation, every encounter he had had with the witch seemed to replay behind his eyes, his mind willing him to focus on the things he would never think about - the glint in her hazel-honey eyes as she laughed with her friends, the delicate furrow of her brow when she stumbled upon a problem she couldn't quite solve, the sleek curvature of her upper arms that he caught glimpses of when she rolled up her sleeves to work-
She is a child, he roared into the abyss of his mind. She's of age, a betrayal in his psyche whispered back. Damn that to hell, he thought bitterly. Then another memory flashed - of the girl, lying broken and battered in a hospital bed. Her body cut open for all the world to see, and the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she clung on. He had ignored the pain he'd felt when he saw her that night, so intensely focused on the need to heal, to fix what he could. But now, the ache that sat in his heart before was suddenly sharp as a knife and all he could think of was that one god awful idea. That he had cared. If he could, he would have scrubbed his face to shake himself out of the stupor, but he couldn't afford to let Miss Granger think that anything was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to throw her out, this ridiculous invitation of tea and biscuits as if he were the girl's grandmother seeming so ill-conceived in that moment. He had thought of it before their session, remembering his own experiences of having someone prod around in your mind to be incredibly unsettling. If the lessons were to be a success, the space they occupied needed to seem comforting despite the work they would do. Tea had seemed fitting, and although it went against everything he portrayed as the cruel, disinterested professor, he was aware that they both knew that persona wasn't entirely true to life. It mattered not though, for what was important was what he planned to do now.
He took a moment, one he imagined he didn't have unless he wanted to look out of sorts. He calmed his breathing, worked to organise his thoughts, and began to take every little immoral thought that had crossed his mind in the few seconds that had passed and file them away into a large strongbox. Shut away the thoughts, the ideas, think no more on them. He would be what she needed him to be - a teacher. He might even go so far as to use the word mentor, such were the lessons they had come to have, but that was it. He was not a friend, not a companion, and he was still very much Severus Snape. That was how it would stay, why on earth would it ever be something more?
"Professor?" Her small but sure voice rang through him like an alarm clock, he was out of time. "Your tea will be getting cold." His eyes focused back into the room, his occlumency shields slamming firmly back into position to give his face a look of complete neutrality.
"My apologies, what I just witnessed has given me a lot to think on." In more ways than you know, he added in his head, sighing internally. He could see her tense up, and changed tact. This was not the purpose of this activity, she needed to relax.
"That topic is one we will not be discussing tonight. It would be unwise after such.. Raw exposure, to attempt to tackle it. Instead, we will revisit that particular event when emotions are not so high." He could see she wanted to retort, to angrily claim that her emotions were fine, thank you very much - but she held her tongue. He supposed she realised the truth of his words, even if she didn't feel them.
"So.. what do we talk about?" She shifted in her chair, the cup of tea held firmly between both hands, the smell so horrendously personal that Snape wanted to groan. Her eyes were still red, and her face was paler than before.
"First, you eat, and you drink. That session was particularly draining and it would be wise to recoup some of your lost energy." She nodded and drank deep from the cup, one hand leaving the ceramic to grab a biscuit. "And then," He schooled himself for what he was preparing to do, the side of her he was preparing to show, despite his internal assurances to the contrary. "We shall talk about your studies."
Hermione raised her eyes to meet his, a confusion settling on her brow. That Professor Snape had seemed different to her this year was very evidently an understatement. That he had even read her letter to begin with, and was now not only working with her to hone her occlumency skills but sitting drinking tea with her and asking about her school work?! She had half a mind to determine whether he was under some sort of curse. Odd as it may be, she would never pass up an opportunity to discuss an interesting topic, and so took another deep drink of her tea and quickly ate a biscuit, reaching for another before she simply said. "Okay."
Seeing her more at ease, he began to ask her questions about the upcoming year. The subjects she was enjoying, the subjects she struggled in - the latter a question he imagined there would be no answer to. It surprised him to hear that two subjects she had originally excelled at - potions and defence - were the ones she worried about the most.
"I suppose it's the way my brain works." She started, nibbling the inside of her lip as she looked towards the fire. "As I said in my letter, my memory is almost eidetic. I assume you've heard of that?" There was no sarcasm in her voice, Snape was well aware that the phenomenon of an eidetic memory was distinctly muggle and she had no cause to assume his childhood had been less than pureblooded.
"Indeed. A memory such as that is incredibly rare, although you say yours isn't quite complete?"
"No, it's not anywhere near as thorough as someone who truly has that gift, but it's good enough to guarantee I succeed in education." He noted a slight bitterness in her voice, as if she thought that fact somehow made her useless. "The subjects I do the best in - charms, transfiguration, history of magic - they are all based in theory. Theory, by design, is no more than an elaborate memory test. The knowledge is there, plain as day. One need only commit it to memory. However, something like potions or defence, those subjects need something more. Instinct perhaps?" He nodded to her, defence especially required an instinct that was not easily taught. She smiled at his understanding.
"Take defence. In the midst of a duel, I am able to call into my head at least 10 spells which would all have the required outcome against my attacker. The problem is that I don't have the required instinct to know what to choose. The time it would take me to sift through the amount of spellwork I know and then cast the desired spell, well in that time I'd probably already be dead." She rubbed her collarbone once more. "This has served as a heavy reminder of that fact. If I had the instinct needed for battle, I wouldn't have gotten hurt." Determined not to let the melancholy feeling from her Ministry battle sour the mood anymore that evening, she pressed on. "Potions,on the other hand, is something different. It's not instinct but more, an understanding. It goes beyond theory, beyond what books can teach you. It requires you to really understand how the ingredients you are using fit together, how they play off each other. I don't think I have that understanding."
"Yet." The word was quiet but pronounced. Hermione could have heard it a mile away.
"Sorry?"
"You do not have it yet, Miss Granger. I have studied your potions work for the last five years, and have spent many years before your time doing the same with others. I am quite capable of determining who has - and doesn't have - talent in the subject." He settled back into his chair, his tea completely forgotten in his hand. "Just because you feel the intricacies of such knowledge are beyond your reach now, does not mean they are lost to you forever."
She had left shortly after that, the conversation reaching an easy finishing point. She thanked him warmly for the tea and biscuits, and asked if it would be a regular feature of their lessons. Snape had wanted to scream that she could never show her face in his office again, but came up short. He had instead told her in a familiar clipped tone that yes, the relaxation and subsequent clearing of one's mind was a necessity in lessons such as these, and would be a permanent fixture. He told himself that his tone of voice was who he was, how he always spoke to her. He told himself that what he had said about tea was the truth and not something he had concocted just to see her smile back at him. He was Severus Snape, after all. He retired to his rooms and spent the remainder of his night quietly disentangling the emotions he had felt during their session from the events that had played out - and then banished them to the strongbox never to be felt again. What he kept however, and if asked he would never explain it, was the memory of that Amortentia lesson, which he replayed over and over until sleep took him.
Hermione had felt overcome with weariness when she returned to Gryffindor Tower, and oddly nervous even though she was out for a completely legitimate reason. She had declined to tell Harry and Ron about her new lessons, instead making out that she needed to spend extra time in the library to work on a project for Professor Flitwick - since they both knew how much Hermione excelled at Charms it had felt like an easy lie. Still, as she crept back in through the portrait she kept an eye out for her two friends, wanting to avoid unnecessary questions. She really didn't have the energy.
Hermione realised that she had been blissfully unprepared for just how taxing mind work could be. Even as Professor Snape had taken a leisurely stroll through her imaginary library, it still felt as though she was concentrating hard than she ever had just to deal with his presence. When her walls had finally fallen, it felt both like a torrent of water breaking through a damn and a balloon fit to burst. The mind, quite rightly, was not designed for two people to reside, and the ensuing headache coupled with that horrific nightmare was almost enough to make her curl into a ball and weep. She hadn't, of course. It was incredibly important to her that Professor Snape think her capable of learning the skill, and crying after a basic session - one where force wasn't used - would be disastrous. Still, that offer of tea had been surprising and strangely welcome, and it made her head spin.
That crippling nightmare. Her most uncomfortable fears laid bare in front of someone she respected, and even worse she had made him experience it too! She would need to go back to the library and research how mind magic could possibly have tapped into a dream. For now though, she needed to figure out how she felt. Her brain had unhappily laid bare a whirlwind of emotions that ranged from crippling fear to blushing joy, all within the space of an hour, and now as she sat in her bed within the familiar claustrophobia of the Gryffindor Tower girl's dormitory, she started to un-muddle how she felt. Curtains drawn in around her, she sat in the middle of her bed and began to slow her breathing, patiently waiting until the mindless chatter from her roommates had died down and the last of the lamps had been extinguished. It wasn't long until the only sound penetrating the fabric walls around her was the soft snoring from Lavender, and she took this as her queue to begin.
What was she sure of? When Professor Snape had answered her letter, she felt excitement. She felt the same nervous energy that happened upon her every time she received homework back - the feeling that perhaps she had failed miserably after all. It had given way to elation at the prospect of getting to work with him on a project of her own creation. Yes it had been for the Order, yes it had been born of her worries over what she might need to do to protect Harry, but it was her idea and she could own that. She wouldn't need to pretend around him anymore. Then, of course, came the nerves. Waves and waves of anxiety and trepidation flowed through her like a great sea, all the way up until she stepped inside that classroom. All she could do was recall every horrible thing he'd said to her, every biting remark, every look of disdain at an essay or potion, and all of a sudden this had been a terrible idea; she was walking into the lair of a dragon who had no desire to keep her alive and she felt a fool. She had nearly bolted then and there.
How wrong she had been. Her experiences so far with the potions master had been almost too familiar, as if he were an uncle or a kindly neighbor. There was no malice, no bite to his words, and a resounding note of patience. He had seemed genuinely interested in her reasons for pursuing occlumency, and although he mentioned several times the idea that their lessons may not continue, it was as if he'd already planned for an entire year's worth. All through their encounters, he had seemed almost.. Gentle. His instructions had been sharp, to the point, but not harsh. There was no sense of impatience, and it felt like he wasn't rushing to get her out the door. Perhaps that was her imagination, this was Professor Snape after all. Nothing between them had happened to make his feelings towards her - slight disdain, annoyance, perhaps exhaustion at having to put up with her constant requests - had changed. So why did it feel like something had?
Shaking those uncertainties out of her mind she instead focused on absolutes. He had accepted her request for lessons. He had spent an age wandering around inside her mind, fascinated at the creation she had built. And he had been the one to spend time ensuring that her mind relaxed back to its previous state, had not pried about the contents of her continuous nightmare, and had requested tea. She sighed. He had done what any of her other teachers would have done, the only reason this felt different was because of who he was. The more she thought about it, why was that so odd? She was well aware of what the potions master was being asked to do, day in day out. It was quite understandable that he was being asked to play a part, and was it such a reach to assume that this part included a change to how he treated his students? After all, it was much easier to pretend you were on the side of the dark if you treated everyone with the same disgust, save for those that walked in the same pureblooded circles as You-Know-Who. Honestly, she was probably just getting ahead of herself and reaching for something that wasn't there. Better to spend her time worrying about her NEWTs and Harry's insane new obsession with Draco Malfoy, not whether or not Professor Snape thought of her as a 'friend'.
The latter worry was giving her the most concern - ever since his run-in with Malfoy on the train, Harry was convinced the Slytherin boy was up to something and insisted on keeping tabs on him whenever he could. Not that Hermione could disagree - it was quite probable that Draco had it out for Harry. After her confrontation with Lucius Malfoy in the Department of Mysteries, it was easy to think that the apple might not fall too far from the tree. However, as it stood Harry had only his dislike of the boy and the fact that he'd been jumped on the train as evidence, and Hermione wasn't about to jump to conclusions, no matter how realistic they were.
Sighing, she settled back into bed and rested her head against the pillow. Just this once, she would like to spend a year at school without having to worry about ulterior motives or sabotage plots or deadly enemies. Was it too much to ask?
