Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion Chapter 10   The week passes by rapidly, lost in a blur of coursework and extracurricular cramming. I have managed to convince my advisor that my new cross-bred project is worth pursuing as a formal topic of study, though not without difficulty; she is one of the many witches who frown on ‘polluting’ a craft this way. Still, this will make it easier to devote the kind of time to it I will need to do in order to progress quickly enough to help people like Molly, and possibly anyone hit by an Unforgivable during the coming conflict. I hope that I can convince Severus to let it help him, as well.   I’ve had several owls from Professor Sinistra, and Professor Vector as well; she is on vacation in Greenland but was so intrigued by my project as described in the owl I sent her that she wrote back immediately. There is less Arithmancy in my work than astronomy, but still, it’s good to have the input. What with all the help I’ve gotten, I’m finished with the equations. Now we just have to wait for the stars to align properly, with a planet in the correct location. Then we can try brewing a batch of the potion with freely given soul.   Ron has agreed to be the donor, fiercely overriding Ginny’s similar offer. I am mildly surprised, if pleased, to see that he has come a long way toward trusting Snape, even if he still doesn’t much care for him. It is all arranged; I will owl Ron and Ginny, as well as Snape, when the time is set; once I have done the last set of equations to predict the best time, I will do that, and we will all meet on Salisbury plain. Snape will bring the nearly- completed potion for production.   I had suggested using other volunteers for the donation of soul, but Snape thinks- and I am inclined to agree with him, now that I have heard his explanation- that it is easier to obtain soul from someone who has a vested interest in the potion working. He also thinks the donor’s wish to help may strengthen the potion in other ways entirely. Molly is still having a few residual symptoms, and if this potion finishes as we hope it will, it may resolve them entirely without need for further doses.   The time is set for nine days from now, which is just enough time for Snape to get the potion ready. I send an owl to him first, and then to Ron and Ginny. Harry has also asked to come along, out of concern for his friends, and I have agreed, after asking Snape for his opinion. His reply had been less than polite, but it was not a denial, and so Harry will join us. It’s nearly time.   But my calendar is not clear up until the moment of truth. The fact remains that I have a lunch date on Saturday, and it’s one to which I am rather looking forward. I am quite keen to see how Severus will act after the most intimate scene that took place at our last meeting. I don’t imagine he will behave any differently than usual, but still- it’s a question that has piqued my curiosity. Which, I suppose, is why I dress with such care before Apparating to Diagon Alley.   Snape is there before me, though to judge by his expression, not by more than a moment. He smiles faintly when he sees me, and wordlessly indicates for me to precede him into the café. The waiter seats us, this time in the back of the café near one of the side windows. We order quickly- I am not surprised to find that Snape, like myself, is one of those people whose first visit to a restaurant produces a prioritized list of The Next Dish To Try. It is a matter of five minutes, two glasses of iced tea, and a basket of rolls until we are left in peace, and I am delighted when the first words out of his mouth are,   "Thank you for what you did last week."   I’m delighted, yes- but speechless as well. How does one accept thanks from Severus Snape?   "You’re very welcome, Severus," I reply. Judging from his expression, frank and short is the way to go. He nods briefly, and then hesitantly says,   "It’s been a very long time since anyone did anything so nice for me. I’d forgotten what it’s like." His voice holds a timbre I’ve not heard in it before; something like tenderness, but not quite. I know him well enough to realize that he likely thinks tenderness from him would be unwelcome to me. It’s time to disabuse him of that notion.   I know my expression is nowhere near as nonchalant as I’d like for it to be, but I say what’s in my heart anyway. "Then I’ll consider it my job to remind you, when you need it."   He opens his mouth, clearly intending to decline my offer, but no sound emerges. He seems startled by this, and the bafflement on his features is endearing to me. I smile at him, and after a long, flustered moment, he smiles back.   It’s incredible- when he smiles, for real, and it touches those dark eyes, I feel my breath catch in my chest. He’s handsome then, in the way that matters most. Small wonder he never lets anyone see him like this; he’d never be able to maintain order in his classroom if the women of Hogwarts knew he could look like this. There is something utterly compelling about the gentle side of such a stern, grim, irascible creature as Severus Snape, and I know I am not the only woman to think so. I am more grateful than words can say that- at least to my knowledge- I am the only woman to know so from personal experience.   I gently steer the conversation toward the upcoming experiment, and he willingly accedes to my unspoken request to let what lies between us rest, for now.   "I have the potion nearly ready," he says, toying idly with his swizzle stick as he speaks. I admire his fingers, deft and graceful, and let the sparkle of light through the ice in his glass hypnotize me for a moment. I nod in silent acknowledgement, and sigh a little.   "I’m so geared up for this that if it doesn’t work, I just might go nuts," I admit.   Snape chuckles dryly. "No, you won’t," he says surely. "You’ll just go back to your desk and work out another attempt. If you were the quitting sort, you’d have given up on Potions after your not-so-brief stint as a feline in your second year. "   I snort. "You don’t know how close I came to doing just that," I shoot back. "But this, what I’m working on now- this is the most likely arrangement of planets and factors, and I hope it works. For everyone’s sakes. I’m not sure what else could be tried, if it doesn’t work."   Snape looks at me for a long moment, his eyes clear and his expression open. "Then it will work," he says simply. "I’ve yet to see one of your ideas not work, Miss Granger. Do keep up your faith in your own abilities; they’re the least likely thing to give out on you."   There is nothing to say to that. Where Dumbledore’s faith unnerves me, Snape’s faith makes me feel invincible; this man is no optimist, and his vote of confidence means all the more for his harsh standards. This time it is my turn to be flustered, and I drop my eyes to study the intricate chasing on the glass vase between us on the table.   When lunch is over- and today we splurged on a large slice of chocolate cake in raspberry sauce for dessert- we stroll up Diagon Alley together, reluctant to part and return to the dull routine of our day. Nooke’s is not far up the street, and I nod in the direction of the store.   "It was your comment that led me to the book that started all of this," I tell him. "You mentioned finding interesting books there, and so I went back after our last visit to browse. That’s when I found Sentient Energy. I’m so glad I went back."   Snape’s stride breaks beside me for a moment, and then he is calm again. "So you’ve made your first purchase at Nooke’s," he says. "You’ve taken your first step into the land of Not Enough Bookshelves, then. Welcome to the club." He smiles wryly. A moment passes, then he casually asks,   "Did Mr. Nooke put you on his Book of the Month Club list?"   "Yes," I reply at once "It sounded intriguing, and I’ll admit I wonder what that spell of his will pick out for me. Despite my distaste for Professor Trelawney’s methods, I will admit to wondering if I’ll find sudden insight into myself from an unexpected and foreign source."   To my surprise, Snape does not belittle the idea. "I know how that feels," he says solemnly. "I’m forever wondering if someone else knows more about me than I know about myself. Vol- er, certain people certainly seem to." He glances briefly around. "Heaven knows the Headmaster does a good job of seeing into everyone’s head, which does nothing to dispel my childish hopes for an answer from the powers that Be. But still- it’s never panned out, has it?"   It is a rhetorical question, and I shake my head with a small moue of disappointment.   "I haven’t had the first book arrive yet," I say, "but I’m most curious."   "Indeed," Snape says, his tone full of something I can’t pin down. "Let me know what he sends you."   Today’s the day. It’s irrepressibly sunny out, which is unusual for this part of Britain, and I’m not letting myself hope that this is a favorable omen. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about omens, it’s that once you start looking for them, you can’t quit thinking you see them. Lack of raintaint would have one seeing an ill omen in the fact that the peel-back foil on one’s yogurt didn’t come off in one piece that morning. Which would leave me in a bad situation, so I won’t contemplate omens today, thank you very much.   Ron, Ginny, and Harry are coming for dinner. We can’t perform the experiment until 10:28 tonight, so my friends are wisely coming to keep me occupied. Seven years of watching me prepare for final exams has taught them that distraction is by far the most effective technique. They know perfectly well that I’m prepared, and part of me knows it as well, but is afraid to anger the gods by thinking so consciously. It’s just too much temptation for them to resist. And this is too important a project to screw up because of divine pique.   I’ve been thinking over the last few days about what else this lovely potion of ours might do. Not only has it released the Starling Countercurse, but it also appears to have assisted in resolving a minor memory problem that started when Arthur had to Obliviate Molly after he accidentally let something slip about a classified project at the Ministry. I’m not entirely certain, but I wonder if perhaps this potion will help reduce the effects of strong memory charms (both the necessary and the nefarious). I also can’t help thinking of Neville’s parents, in St. Mungo’s with devastating post-hex mental instability. If their affliction is the result of a lingering effect of the curse, perhaps it will improve with the potion?   One thing at a time, Granger. Concentrate on dinner.   I’ve made a stew and a loaf of bread; kneading dough is a great way to work off anxious energy as far as I’m concerned, because when you’re done, you’ve got comfort food to show for it. I’ve foregone wine, as I don’t know what effect it might have on our work this evening. Instead, I have a bottle of sparkling cider to share after dinner, with an angel food cake and strawberry ice cream. It smells good, and for once, even after cooking all afternoon, I am looking forward to the meal.   The doorbell rings at eight, and soon the four of us are feasting. I’m a decent cook, though I don’t often expend the effort for myself; it’s a good feeling to see my friends enjoying what I’ve made. Somehow, knowing I did this right makes me more confident that I’ve gotten the calculations right.   "This is great, Hermione," Ron says as he dishes out a second bowl of the stew for himself and Harry. "We should do this more often."   "Sounds good to me," Ginny agrees around a mouthful of bread, then laughs as she struggles to swallow. "Only you can’t cook, Ron."   "I’ve never really tried, have I?"   "Given the results of your Potions classes, I think that’s just as well."   "Ha, ha," said Ron good-naturedly. "And I suppose you think you could do better?"   "I could do better with no wand and one hand tied behind my back," Ginny says coolly. There is a gleam in her eye, and I smother a grin.   "You’re on," says Ron cheerfully. "Three weeks from now, on Friday night, at your place."   "Count me in," says Harry, smiling at Ginny encouragingly. "Me, three," I chime, dividing the last of the stew between myself and Ginny. I’ve always had a knack for knowing just how much to make, and it’s good to see my instinct hasn’t curled up and died from lack of use. "But you-" I pin Ron with a glance- "have to bring the dessert. Can’t have all these wild, unsubstantiated claims of culinary cluefulness without proof."   Harry chuckles gleefully as Ron turns red.   "All right," he agrees. "But Gin has to tell me what the main course is. I don’t want to poison anyone by serving baklava after Chinese."   "There are worse ways to die," Harry observes, sitting back with a sigh of completion.   "I hope you saved room for dessert," I remark, and all three of my fellow diners groan.   At ten o’clock, we make our way to the henge, softly casting the spell that will wrap us all in a blanket of charms to hide us from any potentially prying Muggle eyes. The sky is clear, with stars visible now that no Muggle could see- part of SCAI’s standard charm template includes a rarification charm that reduces light and atmospheric pollution in the window over the henge. Useful, that one; I know several people in Arizona who would kill for it.   We walk once around the stones, staring at them in the starlight, gleaming dully with secret energy. Between the planets above and the ley lines below, they are the focus of considerable power, and I only hope I have planned this right to let us safely harness that strength. As confident as I have always been in myself- as scornful as I have been of others’ inferior understanding of things- I am very aware of the arrogance I am displaying in daring to do this. If I’ve left out a relevant karma factor, I may be in debt in a major way very soon.   No sense going there. A faint wind ripples across the plane, and then Snape is there, darkest black against the soft midnight of the sky. I catch the faint whiff of nearly- completed Cleve Potion, and sigh with relief. Soon this will be started, and I will forget myself in the work.   "Good evening," Snape says calmly, and a measure of his calmness spills over to me.   "Good evening," I reply. "I think we’re all ready. Shall we get set up?"   I lead Ron across the circle to the altar stone, where I indicate for him to have a seat.   "Relax," I tell him with a smile. "This won’t hurt. You’ll feel tired afterward, is all. Nothing new for this hour of the night, right?"   He gives me a tight but reassuring smile. "Should I think of Mum while we’re doing this?"   I nod. "That might help. And Ron-" I hug him fiercely. "Thanks for doing this."   Harry and Ginny move to stand outside the circle where they can see Ron, and he him. They can do little but be moral support, but the strength of that support is tangible.   Snape carries the cauldron to the heelstone outside the ring, where he sets it down and conjures a fire beneath it. He draws his wand and then stands quietly, looking at me.   "Right, then," I say flatly. I draw my wand and march to the center of the circle, where one of the stones has a slit in it. Muggles think it’s supposed to have a sword thrust into it during Druid ceremonies, but that’s rubbish.   I fit my wand into the stone and close my eyes. I’ve only used thnge nge once before, with the help of one of my advisors, and it was incredibly powerful- so much so that it nearly overwhelmed me. I hope I’m better prepared this time.   I have the star chart committed to memory, and when I look up and see all the planets aligned correctly, my heart leaps in my throat and throttles my voice. I swallow dryly and croak,   "Now!"   The henge leaps to life beneath my hands, the silent stones seeming to writhe with excitement as I focus them on the planets above. The plain is still except for the wind that rises to whip through my hair, and despite the darkness I can somehow make out the red of Ron’s hair, the green of Harry’s sweater, and the faint blue color of the stone before me. My nostrils are full of the smell of crushed grass underfoot and the scent of the Cleve Potion. At least, I hope it’s the Cleve Potion, and not rain. The ozone smell is getting stronger.   My eyes are closed now, but the soft gold traces of Snape’s incantation on the sides of his cauldron are sifting onto the blackness behind my eyelids. I can hear the stones singing, singing softly in some deep, slow, ancient tongue no mortal has ever understood, and I can feel Ron’s soul around me, youth-bright and powerful, untarnished and wonderful. I can’t tell where the henge is channeling this power, but I don’t have the energy to try to look; all I can do is ask the henge for its help.   And it seems to want to help me. Vaguely, I realize that I am not doing this; the henge, the stones, the earth, the planets around us are. I am only asking, and beingen aen a gift. Thankful, I pour my affection into the stones, and feel the power increase tenfold. With every pass of Snape’s wand over the simmering cauldron, I can feel the potion forming in a way I wish he could share; I’ve never felt this attuned to anything in my life before. I can almost see the magic knitting it together. It’s beautiful, so beautiful….   The magic goes on for what feels like hours, carrying me along with a current almost as tangible as that of the sea, rising and falling on tides of song. I feel exhilarated and humbled by turns, and it is only after a long time has passed that I realize that I never tried any of the things I had so carefully planned. I can’t bring myself to care, not when it seems to work so well without any interference from me. And I would be interfering, I can sense that in the beautiful order with which everything flows around me, the pattern and dance of stars in the heavens and stones on the earth.   When the song fades at last, I come to leaning on the great monolith, my wand still pressed into it. It is holding me up in what is almost an embrace, its hard surface subtly curved to fit my body exactly. I am fairly certain the stone was not shaped that way when we began, but I can’t think about that now. I wish fiercely that I could remember the song, but I can’t, it’s gone; all that’s left is a feeling of sleepiness and contentment. With one last affectionate touch for the stone- Thank you- I turn to check on Ron.   He’s tired, but I think he, too, felt the exhilaration I did.   "That," he says quietly, "was worth it."   We trudge over to where Snape is inspecting the cauldron’s contents with awe.   "It worked," he says simply. "Well done, Miss Granger." He pauses, then meets my gaze fully, his eyes full of respect. "Well done, indeed." He takes up the cauldron and steps away from the stone, then bows to it in the formal style of fifteen hundred years ago.   "Thank you," he says, and after looking questioningly at me and receiving a small nod, he Apparates back to Hogwarts. I know he will bottle and deliver the potion the next morning.   How interesting that he, too, knows that it is the stones to which we owe our thanks.   "Chocolate," says Ron succinctly, and I agree with all the energy I can muster.     A/N: I have visited Stonehenge, and somehow, this seems to me to be as likely an explanation of the purposes to which its builders intended that it be put as any I’ve read. Besides, now I can look at the photos we took and say, "Look, there’s the bare spot at the base of the heel stone where Snape’s conjured fire singed the grass!" My apologies to anyone with greater working knowledge of the monoliths on Salisbury Plain than I; no disrespect was intended, certainly not to people who can lift rocks that big without cranes. I would also like to apologize to SCAI, which I have created and proceeded to denigrate. You're a neat place, even if you're not Hermione's perfect school. It's not your fault you don't have Severus Snape on staff. For those of you who have eaten at P. F. Chang’s China Bistro, the dessert in this chapter was inspired by the delicious Great Wall of Chocolate on their menu. For those of you who have not eaten at P. F. Chang’s before: do not try to eat this dessert alone. Consume with a friend- even medichocolate must be taken in controlled doses….