Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

Chapter 12 – Another Saturday Night

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don’t recognize.


Hermione watched as Dr. Snape played a game with his daughter. She felt deeply touched by the depth of emotion he showed her. Even though the Severus Snape she’d been with the past two days was quite different than the one she’d know as her professor, there was a closed off reserve that had been totally abandoned in the presence of his little girl. When their play had become too rambunctious, he’d taken her home to put her to bed.

She felt a little pang, but couldn’t identify what was causing it. Was it jealousy of the other Hermione? Was it sadness that she’d soon be heading back to a world where her mother was widowed? Dare she explain to her that Dad was alive and well and living the good life with a woman exactly like her mum?

And then the world went through a sudden change. She was in the infirmary at Hogwarts with Poppy who was explaining to her that although it was very nice that Hermione had come and visited, she did have plans for the evening.

Hermione shook herself to adjust to the return to her own realm and then noticed that her body was sore. Damn, what did her alternate self do, she wondered, shag an entire Quidditch team? She stood up and hugged Poppy, grateful that at least she was wearing knickers to catch the liquid now trickling out of her a second time that day!

Leaving the school, Hermione performed a spell to clean herself up. It so uso unfair, she brooded. What was it with her other self? Rubbing her nose in the fact that the other two Snapes were drooling over her like some bitch in estrus? She stalked down to Hogsmeade in a royal snit. It hadn’t helped that after her father found out about his demise in her realm, he got very sad that his other self never got to know his granddaughter. Hermione felt hurt and betrayed. dn’tdn’t her parents appreciate her accomplishments, which she did all by herself and not riding on the coattails of the Potions Master? No, obviously they didn’t, because immediate after that her mother asked if the Snape in her realm was married. It was humiliating to see them so damned enamored of the child and husband and not caring the least bit that she was about to be a Medi-witch.

Hermione continued to walk at full speed in spite of her body being damnably sore. She had just gone into The Three Broomsticks when the thought hit her that he must be quite large when erect to inflict so much damage. And then she saw the man in question. Blushing madly, she stalked over to him.

He was busily writing something down on parchment while eating a sausage roll and drinking butterbeer. She stood there until he looked up.

“So what is it about that bloody cow that you can’t keep your damned hands off of her, even in my body?”

Snape returned to his writing.

“No, no, I didn’t touch you, it must have been him. And frankly, if you must know, she’s not a cow she’s an absolute Goddess.”

“SHE IS A JAMMY COW.”

Rosmerta came striding over. “Look, Miss Granger. You all may be the thing up at Hogwarts, but one more problem from you, Hooch, Trelawney or Snape here and I will personally raise the wards against you. Understood?”

Hermione stared speechlessly at the normally good-natured barkeep. She nodded quietly and sat down. “What got into her?”

“You would know better than I. You were here last night.” He continued writing.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault.” She played with a grease spot on the wooden table. “I was drunk, but I wasn’t the one who wrote the dirty limericks in the loo. That was Trelawney. And it was Hooch that…”

“Ask me if I care, Miss Granger? Now could you please?” And he gestured with his hand for her to head off to another table.

Hermione had a sudden intuition and grabbed one of the finished scrolls.

“Here now-- stop that.” Snape tried to take it back.

Hermione recklessly pushed him away while she read it.

“You… did… it…!” She stared at him open mouthed. “You’ve got the Lycanthr—“

He clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Hush. And no, I don’t have the whole thing,” he hissed at her. “It’s incredibly complex and I need to write what I do have while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded. “Yes, of course, Professor. You can come right now to my flat. I’ll make sure you are undisturbed.”

“I have no desire to go to your flat. I’ve been to your flat and it is very uninteresting.” He went back to his writing and Hermione went to the bar to order some snacks and pumpkin juice for herself. She sat at his table, leaving him plenty of space and watched him write-- totally obsessed with the idea that here was history in the making. When he ran out of ink, she anticipated it and provided a new bottle. Quills, parchment as well, she’d run out and gotten it all for him. He didn’t need to think or do anything but write. And his cramped handwriting documented the cure that would save Remus and others.

People came, people left. The place became busy and crowded and then slowly cleared out again. Hermione kept guard and even risked Rosmerta’s renewed wrath to protect him from interruption. If he wanted to write it here, fine. But she was going to be a part of this. However he needed her, in whatever capacity, they would do this together.

Finally, fingers ink stained and shaking, he threw down the quill and covered his face with his hands.

Hermione looked at the parchment. The writing had ended mid-sentence.

“That’s it?”

He looked at her with disgust, “That’s as far as I got in memorizing the cure before I was summoned back to this body.”

“No. It’s not complete?”

He cracked his back and neck. “No, the last two pages are missing.”

“You, you can recreate it, of course.”

He stood up and collected the materials.

“You can. You must. I’ll be right there helping you.”

He turned away from her only to have his path blocked by her, “Leave off, woman!” he said with his eyes flashing.

“You have to come back with me.”

“Bollocks!”

“The Ministry of Magic released you into my custody.”

He stood stock-still, going pale. “Why?” He whispered and then, “shite” as the world started its old familiar spinning around him.

“Everyone thought that you’d been—“ she had just enough time to throw a cushioning spell before he hit the ground, “driven mad.” She reduced the parchments and tucked them into her pocket. She then kneeled by him and Apparated to her bedroom. She left him on the bed and covered him with a blanket. She then got into her own nightgown and headed to her couch with a quilt.

She lay on the couch, reading the notes. They were fascinating. She was shocked that the two of them had come up with it in only months, not years.

And how in the world would Snape and she finish it? She read and re-read the list of ingredients and felt fairly certain that she understood the theory behind their choices. Yet some of it was just way too intuitional. She wished that she could speak with him. Have one last little conversation with Dr. Snape and say, By the way, how do you end this potion and spell? But that wasn’t possible now, was it? Her father had told her that the Miry wry was notoriously slow in setting up Transconveyance Departments in new realms. There were simply too many people who either wanted to visit dead loved ones or liven up a marriage.

She had fallen asleep and was dreaming that she was fighting a duel with her evil double. They had their wands out and the students and faculty of Hogwarts were watching them. The room was evenly divided between her supporters and those that favored the other. The other dared to laugh out loud at her.

“Give it up, stupid bitch. I got their love and what do you have? A Medi-witch certificate?” She sent a spell at Hermione and it struck her, spinning her higher and higher in the air. She landed in a painful heap. Snape, dressed all in black, ran to her. “You can’t win,” he whispered, “she’s a Goddess.”

“No. You wanted me, not her,” Hermione feebly protested.

“A pale imitation, Hermione.” He shook his head with a smile playing around his lips. “You are nothing, if you are not loved.”

“I’ll show you,” and she pointed her wand at him, only for it to explode in her hand. She sucked on the blisters and cried as everyone laughed at her.

His scream woke her up. She ran back to the bedroom to find Snape tangled up in sheets and blankets.

His eyes were open, but unseeing and he was babbling. “I’ll tell you anything… Anything you want to know. Gods, please let me make a deal.” She shushed him to no avail, so she headed into his room to find some Dreamless Sleep. She poured the contents into his mouth and he settled down. She stroked his short cut hair into place and tried to understand what all of this meant.

Taking the quilt from the living room and placing it over her, she lay next to him on top of the covers.

His steady breathing relaxed her while she attempted to put the puzzle pieces together:

One: Prof. Snape had been working for the Order. For some reason, small groups of Death Eaters kept cropping up in spite of the destruction of Voldemort.

Two: Prof. Snape was lured into a trap and held captive and tortured by someone who wasn’t trying very hard to create the illusion of Death Eater torture.

Three: There was an anonymous owl to the Ministry letting the Aurors know where Snape could be found. (Hermione noted that although Snape had been in bad shape, he was in no danger of actually dying from his injuries. The starvation and dehydration had damaged his liver and kidneys. But again, repairs were easily accomplished. Had they simply become bored with their prey? Or was the torture leading up to the Transconveyance Curse as the final event?)

Four: A Transconveyance Curse sent Prof. Snape into an alternate realm bringing Dr. Snape here. (Two notes to self, thought Hermione. 1) Was it an accident that brought the Lycanthropy Cure to this world? Or 2) was there some kindly Providence at work?)

Hermione couldn’t find a pattern and her mind started to swirl into sleep. But just as she nodded off, head resting on Snape’s chest, the thought occurred to her. Why has no one ever heard of Transconveyance? Had there really not been enough time for Dr. Snape to find the book?

The comfortable feel of the steady rising and falling of Snape’s chest rocked Hermione to sleep. This time there were no bad dreams for either of them.


&&&


Dr. Snape sat on his daughter’s bed. A full day and night with the grandparents had worn her out. Still, it was book reading time and Snape couldn’t be sure who looked forward to it more.

Sarah snuggled down amid her pillows and numerous stuffed Hippogriffs, Kneazles and even a cartoonish Flobberworm or two and looked to her father with bright-eyed anticipation.

“So Granny and Grandpa went and bought you some Muggle books! Let us see. Both by the same doctor, well, well. Hmmm. ‘Hop on Pop’. No. I don’t think so. There will be no ‘Hopping on Popping’ if I have any say. Well, here, this looks a bit better, ‘Green Eggs and Ham.’ A cautionary tale, I assume.

“I am Sam… Sam I am… Sam I am… (egotistical fellow eh what? Here we go—)That Sam-I-am, that Sam-I-am. I do not like that Sam-I-am. (Quite right, I don’t care for him either.) Do you like Green Eggs and Ham? (Dangerous egotist, peddling rotten food! And he replies,) I do not like them Sam-I-am. I do not like Green Eggs and Ham. (Excellent example. You see you cannot trust everyone you meet. Especially if it is rancid eggs and ham they are trying to give away.)”

Snape continued reading even when he sensed his little girl had entered the land of Nod. He got to the end and said, “Well, it seems there was a problem with the printing press.” He waved his wand, “(Much better) Say! I loathe Green Eggs and Ham. I really do, I hate them Sam-I-am. And I won’t eat them in a boat (etcetera, etcetera. Hmm. Final page: here we go…) I do so loathe them Sam-I-am, (and we’ll just adjust this picture to have the fine, sensible fellow blast Sam-I-am with his wand. Perfect. Those Muggles really need to get better quality control.)”

He closed the book and placed it on the table. He kissed Sarah on her dimpled cheek and set the night-light low. He walked down the hallway and to the bedroom.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, love?” She was getting ready for bed and was wearing her sheerest negligee. For a minute or two Snape lost his train of thought as he admired his lovely wife. Then he remembered he was going to say something about the books.

“Oh, never mind.” And he took her to bed.

He was kissing her with a fierce hunger when a sudden paralyzing fear came to mind. “You and my counterpart?”

“What?” Hermione opened her eyes. “What did you say?”

“Did anything happen?” He watched her carefully, his heart in his mouth.

“What do you want to hear?” Hermione blushed. “I don’t think you have the right to ask those questions with your history.”

“Then something did happen?”

Hermione looked stubborn and simply stared at him with her chin raised.

A furious, insane jealousy started to spread through him. The git... The git touched his wife, done more than touch her! He got up, suddenly afraid that if he stayed he’d physically assault her. He walked stiff backed out of the room and into the guest room. He quietly closed the door and set up such a convoluted set of wards that it would have taken Albus Dumbledore himself hours to break through. He also put up a silencing spell. If she wanted him, he didn’t want to hear it. Nor did he wish her to hear the screaming and wholesale destruction he was about to level on the room.

Hermione started to tremble. The look on his face of dark rage was unlike anything she had ever seen before and it had scared her. She knew Severus Snape to be a deeply insecure man. It was reflected in his craving for the finer things in life and taking all too much pride in little accomplishments, not to mention the major ones, and his tremendous vanity, in spite of not having the best of physical appearances. That he was jealous too, had crossed her mind early in their relationship and she was careful never to give him cause to feel insecure. Until now—Hermione, shivering, slipped under the covers knowing that she was in terrible trouble. She felt very young and alone. She had married young, become a mother young, and had never had fun except in her husband’s company. And she’d had no regrets, until now. She’d been so dependent on her husband that when she lost him she’d clung onto his replacement, barely thinking of what the repercussions could be. Oh, she could have said she only had sex with him not knowing it was the other Snape, but the voided annulment would show up that lie.

She ran to the guestroom and began calling to him. She pounded on the door, waking Sarah. She gently escorted her daughter back to bed complete with glass of water. Then she returned to her husband’s door and did a revealing spell. The wards were thick upon it, along with one that would keep all sound from crossing the threshold. Hermione dashed to the toilet and threw up. In all their time together, he’d never rejected her, not like this. He loved her. She was his precious, clever girl. He couldn’t stop loving her, could he? Sitting on the cold bathroom floor, she asked herself a question.

“Oh, sweet Merlin, what am I going to do?”

A/N: Special hugs and thanks to: LittleBird, FriendlyQuark, Rilla, Deb, Jkrazed, Snapeaholic and Genrou.