Sunday night, 15th of October, 1996
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
On Sunday night, Severus leaves the Headmaster's office and returns to his quarters in the Dungeons. He picks up the scotch and his packet of cigs and mopes until the sun has risen. He lingers in limbo, between the present and the past.
The Dark Lord drifts in and out of his mind's eye, clenching his deathly fingers around his deadly wand.
Fuck Dumbledore.
Fuck the Dark Lord, fuck Granger, fuck Minerva, fuck morality, fuck propriety, fuck his own fragile heart that is too weak to carry out a simple task. Fuck opening up, fuck showing hisgolden heart, whatever that might mean. Fuck showing his weakness again and again, as if he were back at school with Potter Senior.
Never again will he demean himself to showing weakness. Whatever he must do, he'll do it from a position of power.
By the time he puts on a fresh shirt, he has already figured out his next move.
He will look suspicious if he starts behaving differently all of a sudden. He refuses to play nice and cajole her, not for as long as he can avoid it. Additionally, he needs to check her limits, see what makes her tick. He'll need all the information he can get, if he is to play her psyche like a violin.
But most importantly, he needs to maintain a professional distance. The one a scientist has towards his lab rat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ … 3 days later… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wednesday, 18th of October, 1996
Professor Snape's office, Hogwarts
The man just stares at her with his bottomless eyes.
Now that the door has closed and shut them off the living world, she is starting to feel how secluded his shadowy office is, hidden away in the bowels of the castle, with nothing but a lone candle striving to break the surrounding darkness. His face looks deathly-pale, the black rings that shadow his eyes are thrown to an even sharper contrast. She also realises it's the first time she finds herself in the same room with him, outside the relatively safe environment of a classroom. For the first time in their six-year acquaintance, Hermione is completely and utterly alone with Professor Snape.
But Hermione is a Gryffindor; she refuses to be intimidated into forgetting the injustice that put her in this uncomfortable, metal chair.
After what feels like an endless staring match, the man finally opens his mouth.
"Stop staring daggers at me, Ms Granger, and tell me why you are here."
"I'm here for de-…" the full meaning of his question catches up with her. "…tention…"
The man raises his thin brow. "Statement or question?"
Adrenaline fills Hemrione's veins, as it does everytime she's faced with a chance to impress a professor. Even this professor. Perhaps it's even more important to impress him, because praise from professor Snape is scarce and therefore twice as valuable.
She never answers on a mere hunch, however, as she does now.
"Statement."
The professor's eyes slowly roll to the back of their sockets. "It seems your intelligence is indeed overestimated. I was right to publicly humiliate you as I did."
Hermione is haunted by her classmates' expressions of gleeful malice; she hears taunts and whispers as she walks the corridors, as rumours spread with quickfire speed through the student body. She has even imagined noticing suspicion in the faces of professors like McGonagall and Flitwick, even though they know her too well to believe such lies.
"You misunderstand me, professor." She says in quiet vehemence, pretending it's not tears that threaten to cloud her voice. "Statement as in, I am not here for detention, period."
If the professor is annoyed by her cheek, he doesn't show it.
"Then why are you here for?"
Oh, I don't know… because you need a punching bag?
Hermione has been surrounded by bullies ever since she can remember herself. She knows what the man wants her to say, just as she knows why he purposefully let her wait before admitting her into his office.
It's a power play. He's forcing her admit shedoesn't knowwhy she's here, and that holds her to a disadvantageous position.
"I…" She starts slowly, "...know… I did nothing to deserve…" public assassination of my character. "…Detention."
"Spare me your juvenile drama, Ms Granger. Do you know how many eyes are on me? How many are on you? How many people watch you every hour of everyday, reporting where you go, what you do, with whom you speak?"
Hermione must be going mad, because professor Snape sounds like he might be… defending his inconsiderate actions?
"Well, yes, I—"
"Or are you naïve enough to believe I called you here just to play games with you?"
If he calls her naïve one more time, Hermione will bite his aquiline nose off.
"Then why would you orchestrate all this. Sir?"
"Orchestrate, Ms Granger? No grand scheme was necessary, I assure you."
He speaks as if Hermione is deluded to believe herself important enough for someone like his majesty to invest additional effort. Hermione wants to scoff at his face.
"You came to stand too close to me on purpose, you whispered some poppycock that I was cheating, right at the moment when I needed to concentrate, and when I panicked, you exploited-"
"I needed a believable excuse to call you to my office-"
"You could have called me to discuss my essay!"
"WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE THAT, GRANGER?"
Hermione almost jumps out of her chair.
"WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY TO BRING YOU HERE FOR AN ADEQUATE AMOUNT OF TIME TO EXPLAIN TO YOU WHAT THE SITUATION IS?"
Professor Snape is a dangerous man, she knows. It is why her body is wound tightly like a coiled spring. He was a Death Eater in his youth.
The ex Death Eater takes a deep breath, in an obvious effort to regain his calm. "For the last time, Ms Granger. Do you know why you are here?"
Professor Dumbledore always assures this man is trustworthy. But in her position, Hermione can't help wondering:Can someone stop being a Death Eater?
"I can't— I… don't know... Sir."
"Three little words, Ms Granger. Not sohard, was it?"
It's the first five minutes she has ever spent alone with the man, and her nerves are already so wrecked, she's holding back tears.
"Let me enlighten you then." The man rises out of his seat. Hermione watches his fingers trail the wooden surface of his desk as he circles around it. For the second time in three days, professor Snape elects to stand close to her, rather than as further away as possible. He leans against her side of the desk, his robes almost touch her left knee.
The man towers over her in all his intimidating glory and something in Hermione's abdomen clenches.
"You are here for…" He says, in his tone as smooth as silk. "Detention."
"Det-" Hermione stammers, choking on how infuriating all this is. "But you just said-"
"You are here fordetention,Ms Granger. That's what you will tell Potter, if he asks. That's what you'll tell Weasley. That's what you'll tell your family, your teachers, your friends, your boyfriends, your girlfriends. That you are here fordetention, scrubbing my cauldrons with your own bare hands until they're spotless, because you're a deceiving little Know-It-All and you deserve it."
He leans even closer to her, bending his back to bring them eyeball to eyeball; Hermione is leaning as further away as she can, the chair's metal is digging into her back painfully.
"Am I clear?"
Dolohov's piercing voice starts whispering in her ear again, like he does every time she's stressed or crowded. Hermione is back at the Department of Mysteries, running from one strange dark room to a stranger and darker hall. Dolohov's curses singe her hair, his taunting voice draws nearer; he comes so close, she can hear his panting breath, she can smell his sweat. Even though she jumps out of the way, his curse hits her at last. In the daze of her inconvenient flashback, phantom pain burns over her chest, spreading like fire. The purple scar over her left breast smarts and tugs at the surrounding skin.
Snape is watching her keenly. What has he figured out? Hermione doesn't want anyone to know, especially a black-hearted man such as him, who will definitely use her weaknesses against her, first chance he gets. She forces her eyes shut so tightly, little lights start flickering beneath her eyelids. She buries her own fingernails on the flesh of her inner hand; she needs to focus. She needs to put her mind to use, instead of whimpering like a little girl.
"You ask for discretion." She hates how her voice trembles.
"More than." The man mutters, his intelligent gaze sweeping through her face. "Not even Potter and Weasley can know what our meetings are really about."
He has withdrawn a bit, possibly in a subconscious attempt to give her some space. Hermione doesn't want his pity; she wants him to crowd her again, bring his face close enough for her to count his eyelashes. His scent is an unexpected mix of sandalwood and jasmine. It's far too pleasant for such an unpleasant man, who never even tries to behave with a basic level of civility.
"No one can know, Granger. Give me a verbal indication of your understanding."
"You've made it clear you want me to keep these meetings secret, sir." She grits out. "The only thing you haven't made clear is what these supposed meetings are actually about."
Finally, he moves away. He turns his back to her and Hermione can breathe again. She wants to close her eyes and concentrate, take her time to push down the trauma of her short life. But she's unwilling to let Snape out of her sight.
It's Snape now. Not professor Snape, not anymore. Not after this.
He moves through the darkness like he's just another shadow, quick and agile, blending in and out of Hermione's focus. Her disrupted attention follows him to the right wall, where lines after lines of shelves are carved into the stone. Hermione can discern one of his long fingers, so pale it's a glowing contrast to the dark scene. The finger quickly traces the hard backs of thick tome after thick tome, never faltering until it has reached the one he supposedly seeks. The finger lingers there, as if its owner is having second thoughts.
Snape is having second thoughts?!
The man inhales himself back to life and finally pulls out the book he has been staring at. He returns to his previous intimidating position and she's ready to have a book hurled at her face with no warning.
He only flicks his lean wrist toward her, holding out the book to her inspection. Shielding in the mental arts, the title reads and Hermione is familiar with that book. Finally, some facts she can focus her troubled mind on. A puzzle she can invest in, to stop feeling so utterly cornered.
"Am I to pass on a message?" She speculates hastily, a catch in her breath still. "Are you to continue your lessons with Harry?"
The man's top lip trembles and curls. "Try again, Granger."
He flicks his wrist again and Hermione accepts the book; it's probably the first time in her life she hesitates for that long already. When she looks up, she finds him looking at her in that uncomfortable way again. His cold, analytical gaze sweeps across the features of her face; Hermione finds herself suddenly trying to remember when was the last time she plucked her eyebrows.
Concentrate, Hermione!
Soon, he's off again, circling around her chair, his robes brushing against her.
"I expect you to have read the first five chapters by Friday afternoon, when you will return here, at 8 o'clock sharp, to put theory into practice."
Put theory into practice?!
He has returned to his side of the desk, but instead of sitting down, he stands behind his chair and makes a point of flicking his wand over the wall behind it. With the sound of stone grating on stone, a patch of wall withdraws and slides to the side.
A dark, narrow passageway is revealed.
"To avoid unnecessary spectacles like the one on Monday, this is the way you'll be attending my lessons. It leads to the Headmaster's corridor in the 7thfloor, not far away from the entrance of your common room. At Friday, when our meeting has concluded, I will escort you back to show you the right turns you need to take; I expect you to memorise the route at once and not force me to give you directions a second time. When the time for your lesson has arrived, you will knock three distinct times on the stone and I will let you in. I expect you to show the same level of discretion concerning this passageway as well."
Then man flicks his wand again, and the wall returns flawlessly to its place, merging with the surrounding wall as if it was just another innocent part of it.
"You are allowed one question, Ms Granger. Use it wisely."
Hermione looks at him. Then she looks at the invisible door on the wall. Then the book she holds in her hands, then at the door that enticingly waits behind her, and can guide her away of this mystifying man's company and away from her own inability to control her own mind.
"You want to teach me Occlumency."
The man's lips curl as if Hermione had implicated he was after the pleasure of her company. "I don't want to do anything at all with you, Ms Granger. I don't want you in my office, I don't want to see you, I don't want to be in the same room with you-…"
The man pauses, grits his teeth to swallow the intended ending of his sentence. For the second time, he endeavours to regain his calm…
Regain his calm? Snape? Regain his calm instead of lash out at the nearest available human being, no matter how undeserving?
"We haveboth… been assigned.. atask." He resumes, in that drawling way of his. "We'll need to… brace… ourselves… and rise above the…disheartening…..circumstances… so we achieve it as quickly.. as.. possible."
Even though his enunciation takes a century to complete a simple sentence, the man has the gift of keeping his audience's attention. Even in her current state of utter befuddlement, Hermione can't help giving him that.
"Now to your question."
"My question."
"Yes."
"Why...?"
"The headmaster asks that you learn Occlumency." He replies, not even allowing her to phrase the rest.
"Why would I— why would he-!?"
"I said one question. Close the door on your way out."
He's drawn his pile of parchments in front of him and is already uncorking a vial of red ink.
"That's it?" She asks, and can't help the disbelieving edge in her voice.
"You'd say it's not enough?" The man speaks in surprising softness. He is still not sparing her a glance.
Leaving now would be the wise, self-protecting thing to do. But Hermione has recovered enough of her Gryffindor courage.
"Forgive me, sir, but under these circumstances, I cannot assent to these.. lessons."
His scratching of quill on parchment ceases abruptly and a silent moment ticks by dangerously. She can feel another round of intimidation coming her way, so she bursts in speech before Snape beats her to it.
"Occlumency isn't part of Hogwarts' curriculum. Nobody forces me to accept your lessons, which I am sure will be quite taxing and time-consuming. And since I have been given no satisfying reasons on why I should accept, I feel I have the right to reserve my decision until I have a clearer understanding of the particulars."
"Don't play games with me, Ms Granger."
"I am not playing games."
"You will never best me no matter how hard you tried."
He's looking at her with that malicious way of his again, as if it would physically wound him to be nice.
"I'm not trying at all. I speak honestly."
"One of the most accomplished Occlumens in the country is offering to tutor you for free and you want to have clearer understanding of the particulars?"
He's so convincing, Hermione actually wonders for a moment if she's wasting the chance of a life-time.
"All I'm saying, sir," Hermione resumes after a slight shake of her head, "is that no self-respecting person would ever consent to opening their minds to a stranger, without even be given sufficient explanations."
His emotionless mask is broken by the upward tilt of a thin eyebrow. "And how would a self-respecting person proceed now, if you're so all-knowing?"
"If you're unwilling to give me the explanations I need, I suppose I'll need to bother the headmaster. Since all this is his idea."
"You don't seriously imply that this ridiculous scheme is my initiative and I'm merely using the headmaster's name to manipulate you?"
"I… never said that."
"Don't underestimate my intelligence, Ms Granger."
"With all due respect, sir, I could say the same to you."
He looks at her like a shark, his fathomless eyes cold and emotionless. He expects her to back down, comply to his commands immediately. But Hermione has surrendered to enough bullies in her lifetime; she doesn't look away. She stands her ground.
"What you do in your free time is your business, Ms Granger, as long as you're back here at Friday, 8 o'clock."
"Oh." She hasn't actually expected he would give in without a fight. "Right."
"You can leave."
"Thank you. I mean… I will." She gathers her bag and carefully stands on her own two feet; she finds her legs in a much less jelly-like condition than she anticipated. One more reason for her, to lift her chin proudly.
"Good evening, professor Snape." She greets in terse politeness.
"The book, Ms Granger." The man reminds her in a tone dripping with boredom, never looking up from his poor students' essays which are scarred all over by his red ink.
"I've already read it. It's the book you gave Harry last year, sir. I've also read Advanced Guide to Occlumency and Fortress of Thought."
That would teach him to underestimate her. Hermione wonders if the cracks in his unreadable mask are traces of begrudging surprise.
"Occlusus Magnus?" Asks he in his baritone voice.
"Browsed through it, but it felt like a reverberation of the others. A poorly written one."
"Poorly written?"
"It is my opinion."
"What about it didn't suit your tastes?"
His enquiring tone is… surprisingly neutral.
"Well… its…ehm, its literary outbursts, for a start. The author was supposed to be relaying the results of his experimentations, and suddenly he would break into a fit of proze. I mean, literature-wise it held some points of interest, but-"
"Don't try to justify him, Granger. That book is an affront to scientific research and rational thought in general."
"Right… Yes, that is..."
"Are these the only books you've read on the subject, or did you break into the Library's forbidden section as well?"
Of course he'd know what Occlumency books were available to the student body.
"I considered it pointless, sir."
"How come?"
Are they really having a civilised conversation?
"Occlumency was never going to help, Harry, was it? Not before many years of ceaseless practice and he might-…"
…might not have years to spare. Hermione feels blood rush into her face.
"Occlumency wouldn't save theSaviourno matter how much time he had in his disposal." Snape scorns, but in surprising quietness. "Second bookcase from the left, second shelf from the top."
"Sir?"
"Choose one book, Ms Granger." He has returned to butchering the essays. "Make note of your questions and we will invest half an hour each week to discuss some of them…If you deign to assent to my lessons, of course."
Severus glances at the princess's back as she walks out. The moment the door clicks shut behind her, he takes out the two small vials from the inner pocket of his robes and sets them on the desk. Both of them are short and narrow, containing only the maximum quantity of a single dose. The one on the left is a deep rich red, almost like the colour of an eggplant, but warmer. The other is a light blue, almost translucent.
After the success of tonight's experimentation, Severus fears he'll need to proceed with the red one.
As Hermione closes the door behind her, she carries the book Snape let her borrow form his own private collection. When she's walked a safe distance away, she sags against the nearest available wall and takes a big, satisfying breath.
What the hell is going on?