Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion   Chapter 16   Harry is glad to see me- that much I can tell from the way he hugs me. If he thinks it's odd that I've just leapt out of our former Potions teacher's bed, which still contains a definitely-not-dressed-in-the-usual-manner Potions master, he doesn’t show it. I suspect Dumbledore has already told him all that has gone before, because he quickly looks over my head to where our former Potions teacher is sitting on the edge of his bed.   "Severus," he says then, and his tone is completely free of the faint traces of reserve it had heretofore held when addressing the Potions teacher. "Are you all right?"   Snape nods once, curtly, in grudging reply; I know it's a formality, and so does Harry. I doubt Snape has ever been quite so close to 'not all right' before. "Yourself, Potter?"   Harry shrugs, towing me over to the chairs drawn up to the bedside. "Nothing new to report," he says calmly. "Unlike you. Albus told me."   I perform a semi-controlled collapse into one of the chairs, my legs flailing out as I land on my backside with a soft 'oof'. Harry turns a questioning glance my way, and I wave a hand in dismissal. I don't want Severus to realize just yet what it's costing me to help him, or even to figure out that I did help him; I know he'll be consumed by concern- and likely guilt- for my condition, which we can't afford. I hope Harry will pick up on my cue.   "Henge work," I say simply, and he slowly nods.   But Severus is nothing if not clever, and I think he may just have put two and two together. He is regarding me with something between awe and dismay, and the look is foreign on his severe features. He seems to pause for a long moment, and then, as if making a decision, relaxes. He's apparently decided not to ask the question I don't want to answer. I smile at him encouragingly when I see this, and while he does not smile back, there is a faint warmth in his eyes that I don't think I've seen before.   Harry seats himself in the chair beside mine and faces Severus. "Mind if I just double-check the salient points?" he asks quietly, and I'm glad to see him treating Professor Snape kindly. It doesn't take long to give him a successive string of 'yes' answers to his queries on all the points Dumbledore relayed to him.   When it's all done, he can't help but exclaim over Snape's little plot.   "Bloody brilliant," he crows, and Snape and I both start a little; it's the first time we've heard anything this positive about the Potions teacher come out of Harry's mouth. He catches our disbelief, and laughs. "Oh, come on," he insists. "It is brilliant! It's just what we need! And you've convinced Albus to make the move! I don't know how you did it- it's just the thing-"   "Harry," says Snape softly, and this time Harry and I start. We've never heard Snape call Harry by his given name, unless it's pronounced with a snide tone and followed by his surname and a load of unspoken loathing. "This is going to be hard. What I've done is not nearly as much as I wish I could have done. It's a chink in his armor- no more. We must still be cautious."   "But at least now we can be cautious while doing something," says Harry determinedly, and I privately agree. Wise as Dumbledore is, I sometimes feel that the war with Grindelwald left him slightly stranded on the moral high ground. Which is no place for a ship of war.   Snape nods, and looks at the purple flask standing on his bedside table for a long moment.   "You had that in your mouth," I say then with a nod toward the Reversal of Fortune potion. "Is it harmless to the rest of us?"   "Mostly," he says. "My mouth went numb for an hour or so after I had it in my mouth, but that was a good thing."   I pause, not wanting to sound defeatist. "Do you have any more?"   "Some. Why?"   "Well, if Voldemort hasn't figured out why he's getting weaker, it might be helpful to toss a little more all over him in case…" I hesitate to even suggest this- "in case we need a second shot."   Harry and Snape both nod wearily. "It's a good idea, Hermione. I hope we don't come to that, but it's a good idea." Harry's voice is fervent on this last.   "What's a good idea?"   The three of us turn to stare at the doorway, where Ron and Ginny Weasley are standing.   "Never been down here before," says Ron as he comes to take a seat on the floor beside Harry. Ginny comes to sit beside me.   "There's a good reason for that," says Snape dryly. "I live here."   "Ah," says Ron, leaving it at that. He's been far more tolerant of Snape's snarkiness since the Cleve Potion helped his mother. He looks around at the room, which- now that I notice it- is not as stark as one might expect, given the man who lives in it. "Nice place."   Snape snorts, but a faint smile curves his mouth, and he looks away.   Harry looks at me as if asking whether I want to tell the story, and I shake my head. He plunges into the narrative himself, and I find myself smiling inwardly; hearing it told from a second-hand perspective is decidedly odd, as Harry is free to embellish and blow our horns as neither Severus nor I could feel comfortable doing. We sound downright heroic, and I am mildly surprised to hear Harry extolling the bravery of Snape's actions. When I take a quick peek at Severus, I see my own surprise mirrored in his face, and he glances my way with a small glint of disbelieving amusement in his eyes.   When the rest of clan Weasley arrives, each within thirty seconds of the previous one, I call a halt to the retelling.   "I think we're expecting a lot more people," I say when people object, "and it will be simpler to tell it just once." I try not to flinch as everyone looks me over and detects my severe fatigue- after all, that is why I only want one retelling. I don't think I could handle more.   The Weasleys step into our circle and start looking for seating, the twins good-naturedly grouching about being 'kept in the dark and standing to boot'. Harry and Ron scoot over to make room for the visitors, and realizing that none of the new arrivals will take a seat on Snape's bed beside Snape himself, I move over to take that place myself. It might be more accurate to say I leap at the chance.   Leap being, of course, a figurative description. Snape has to hold a hand out to help me across the floor, and because of my need for support, I park myself right up against his side. I'm not sure I could stay upright without him to lean on- but hang on a second.   I feel slightly better sitting next to him. I can't decide if that's just because I like being with him, or if it's because it's as close as I can get to the part of my soul in the potion I made for him.   Well… almost as close as I can get.   Hold that thought, Granger, I tell myself. Be scientific for a moment. I am surprised to find that, when I'm next to Snape, I can hold myself steadier and sit up without support. Curious. I wonder if Ron and Molly noticed this after the first Cleve experiment.   People are arriving in a steady stream now: after the Weasleys, Remus Lupin arrives; then Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody, and Sirius Black. Hands are shaken and greetings exchanged; more people arrive, and I realize I don't know them. The room is getting crowded now, and people are drifting toward the Potions classroom to find seating. The soft murmur of conversation begins to fill the air, and it's soothing to suddenly be surrounded by the feel of a crowd of friends.   Hagrid's arrival prompts the virtual evacuation of Snape's rooms, as he takes up most of the available space. He is wearing his moleskin coat, and his pink umbrella is firmly tucked under his arm.   "Hello, Harry," he says cheerfully. "Ron, Hermione. Good to see yer." He looks us all over, his sharp eyes missing nothing in my pale face. My smile reassures him, however, and he turns to look at Severus.   "Professor Snape," he says respectfully. "I do hope as you've taken no serious harm this evening."   "Nothing that can't be mended with a little time, Hagrid, thank you," says Severus cordially. I'm surprised that they're so polite to one another- but then, Hagrid has always respected Snape. I remember the three of us insisting that he was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, back in our first year, and being told quite firmly that Hagrid believed none of it. And given that Hagrid had once been blamed for something he hadn't done, when the Chamber of Secrets was first opened, it stands to reason that he would understand Snape in a way that the rest of us can't quite manage. Hagrid nods solemnly to Snape and turns toward the classroom, looking for a spot in which he can stand up straight- or a chair, if that's what it takes.   There must be forty witches and wizards assembled by the time Dumbledore returns.   "If you don't mind, Severus, perhaps we could use your classroom?" he asks deferentially, and Snape nods. We get to our feet and follow the Headmaster back through Snape's living room and into the Potions classroom, full to the brim with chatting people.   Everyone falls silent as Dumbledore's tall, silver-haired form moves to the front of the room. I glance around and find only two free seats, right at the front of the classroom where Neville and I usually sat in our school days. Harry and Ron are in their old places as well, looking as if they're enjoying reminiscing, even if it is in the Potions dungeon. I can't help wondering whose seats they are now.   I slide into my seat, my eyes upon Dumbledore, and am puzzled when his gaze turns toward me with amusement. I frown for a long moment before I realize that he isn't looking at me.   "I never thought I'd see you sit in thaat aat again, Severus," says Albus, and a ripple of laughter goes through the room. Turning to look beside me, I start when I see the stern face of the Potions Master, now seated beside me in Neville's old chair. He sits in it with a lanky sort of grace that is at odds with his expression; clearly he does not enjoy the irony of his current position.   "Since you have taken my customary seat, it would appear that you are teaching this class, Albus," replies Snape with a dry tone. "This is the only other seat I've ever had in this classroom. But I wouldn't recommend waxing nostalgic and assigning homework. I fear I've developed a bit of a rebellious streak since my student days- push it and I will make the Messieurs Weasley over there-" he jerks his chin at Fred and George- "look like a pair of marble cherubs."   His mouth curls a little in a grin; the façade is melting, and I'm beginning to see just who Severus Snape really is under all that prickly exterior. Now that's a tantalizing thought.   Laughter again, this time laced with memory; many of Snape's former students are among the wizards in the room, and most of us recall Snape's disciplinarian ways. To even imagine him misbehaving in class is almost obscene.   "The point is taken, Severus." Dumbledore smiles at the Potions master, and there is relief in his gaze. When I sneak a quick look at Snape out of the corner of my eye, it's all I can do not to jump.   He's smiling. It's a tired expression, one that hasn't had much practice in the last two decades, but it's honest, and it makes the stark lines of his face less harsh.   That mask whose presence I detected not long ago is gone. Or at least crumbling. He's tired of being someone else, tired of the charade and the abuse and the loneliness. How wonderful… I can barely breathe with the sudden, sharp blaze of fierce gladness I feel on his behalf.   Dumbledore is speaking now, retelling the tale we learned from the Pensieve. This time, Snape listens with composure; it is only with careful observation that I see the faintest clenching of his jaw at the more painful moments. Naturally he has the strength it takes to maintain his calm in front of all these virtual strangers, people who know even less of him than Harry and Ron. I suddenly feel even more privileged, to know that he is comfortable enough around me not to feel he must keep up appearances.   When Dumbledore reaches the point in the tale where Severus is brought home, he sends the faintest glance our way, and glosses over the rest with a simple remark about my healing skills being responsible for Snape's continued presence among the living. I am grateful that he has not said anything about the henge; most of the people here tonight know I studied with Madam Pomfrey in my seventh year, and hopefully they'll overestimate my skills with a wand rather than question how I could have healed such catastrophic ills with only a wand. Another swift peek at Severus tells me he is staring down at his laced fingers, sitting utterly still. Whether he has overestimated my wand skills, or is questioning their extent, is beyond my ability to tell.   Other people are looking his way, too; that must be why he's not looking around. It is as if people are realizing, for the first time, what this man has endured for the last twenty years in order to bring us to where we sit now. All the pain, the sacrifices, the frustration- in this one instant, they finally grasp the faintest hint of what these things have been to Severus Snape. They can't imagine the full scope- but that they even consider it is a huge step forward; they may soon begin to realize the greatness of spirit it took for a man who didn't have much reason to like them as individuals to do what he did for them as human beings.   "Perhaps you could fill us in on what the potion will do, Severus," says Albus politely, and Snape nods once, but does not rise. Instead he turns partway around in his seat to address the room at large.   His voice, in his classroom- it amazes me how alike, and yet so profoundly different, tonight is from every other Potions lecture I've had in this room. He is as soft-spoken as he always is when he lectures, and yet the velvet, cultured tones reach every corner of the room. I hear the words, but my brain doesn't process them this third time through the story. Instead, I focus on him- his hands, his face, his back in the firelight, his smooth, velvet voice. I hear the room laugh aloud- he has just mildly remarked that he will not be quizzing us on this material, no matter that he would dearly love to do so- and that helps me focus again.   And it's a good thing, too; I've started to lean precariously to one side. Severus seems to have noticed this before me; he has not stopped speaking, but he has reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder to steady me. When this is not enough, he gently guides my shoulder back to rest against his chest, and I'm leaning into him, soaking in the warmth and the solidness of him. I know he's conscious of all the eyes on him, but it hasn't stopped him from helping me. Part of me wonders if our close contact has given anyone ideas; I can't help hoping it's given Severus ideas.   The aura of classroom has not escaped anyone's attention, and hands raise in the air to ask questions of Snape and Dumbledore as if class were in session once again. That it is Snape's classroom in which we are having this discussion reinforces the sense of structure and normalcy; I daresay that if we had been in the History of Magic classroom, there would have been far less calm and order, and far more hysteria from some of the members of the 'class' who fear an outright war.   "I assume you're thinking we ought to move up the timetable," says Bill Weasley, and Dumbledore nods.   "I think there is little question in that matter. We have no choice. Severus has told us that time is up for the quiet little conflict we've enjoyed till now; either we make the first move offensively, or we are forced to defend on Voldemort's terms." He studies the crowd contemplatively.   "I propose to make this a pre-emptive strike, with the objective of ending a war rather than starting one."   His voice is no longer the benevolent rasp of an aged Headmaster, but the quiet, determined voice of a hero. He has seen war, has defeated a Dark wizard; he, more than anyone, knows what this means. Now, in these circumstances, Albus Dumbledore's tall frame seems taller, sturdier, less aged than I've ever noticed before. He is not bent by cares, but fueled by a cause. He looks every inch the legendary wizard warrior we know he has always been, under the kind, dotty exterior he has crafted for himself.   This man is no less a master of disguises, I realize, than Severus Snape himself. But the mask has fallen away, and a general stands before the students whom the glamour has fooled for decades. If they will not follow him into this fight, they will not follow anyone.   A murmur goes through the room at that, and I feel Severus tense slightly behind me. This is where the idea will fly or fall; if everyone goes for it, we roll. If people are reluctant, then what Snape did will go to waste. Unless, of course, the Dream Team does its usual rush-off-to-face-the-Dark-Lord-by-themselves routine again.   The soft murmur of the crowd gradually rises in pitch, but it is not the anxious whine of reluctance that I hear. No- this is the sound ofitemitement, of anticipation unleashed- of the promise of action.   They're ready. To judge from the comments I'm hearing, they have been for a while.   "About time!"   "Let's do it!"   "Too right!"   "Let's fight this one on our terms!"   And then it is thunder in the Potions dungeon, a rising tide of energy and willingness, and awareness that what lies ahead is a dark time. But there is hope in knowing that we are not powerless, that we are choosing to carry a light forward to fight the darkness, rather than huddle and wait for our candle to be snuffed out by the storm that is rising.   There is hope in knowing something that Voldemort does not.   Dumbledore is smiling now, and spares a brief glance for me. Behind me, I can feel Severus's muscles slowly relaxing, the coiled-spring tension draining from him by degrees. I glance up at him, over my shoulder, and see his mouth set in a grim but satisfied line. From his seat at the desk behind me, Harry catches my eye, and in his fierce expression, I can see his father's image. His scar is dark against his pale skin, and his eyes- Lily's eyes- burn with determination in the face of the man Harry Potter has become.   It's payback time.   The next hour is spent in careful planning. Dumbledore yields the floor to Snape as soon as it is agreed that we must strike quickly, and the Potions Master resumes his usual lecture pose, leaning on his podium. I can't help but notice that, away from me, he seems a little drained. Perhaps this feel-good closeness thing goes both ways.   Item one on the list is: Where in the World is Tom Marvolo Riddle?   This question has been the one most of the crusaders now present had worried we would not be able to answer. However, Snape- not surprisingly- has this one down cold.   "When Voldemort summoned us-" everyone but Harry, Ron, myself, and Albus flinches when he says the name- "he used our Dark Mark as a way to call us to his side. We would Apparate, and be automatically directed to wherever he was. Naturally we could not activate the Mark in reverse, and we could not Apparate to his side without it. He usually kept his location secret." Snape allowed himself a small smile.   "However, I was able on many occasions to bring with me a Muggle device not well recognized by the wizarding community. It utilizes satellites- Muggle contraptions that circle the planet and can receive and send signals around the world- to identify a location. It's called a Global Positioning System." He reaches into the pocket of his clean trousers and produces a small black object about the size of a hand tape recorder; I can see the words "Magellan" stamped on the front. "It's quite accurate, and is not detected by spells or wards meant to deactivate Location Charms."   He glances down then, and deftly presses the buttons on the unit he's holding. This is plainly something he's done before; I find myself wondering if he and my father would get along. Dad loves gadgets and has a GPS exactly like the one in Snape's hand. It occurs to me to wonder just where Snape purchased his- and with what Muggle currency. But before I can go down that road, he's talking again.   "According to this, the location of Voldemort's most recent court is in the ruins of a coastal fortress that predates the arrival of the Romans in Britain. It is perhaps forty miles from here. Which, to me at least, suggests rather strongly that he truly does intend to move against Hogwarts soon. His last two meeting places were in Bilbao and Prague." He holds up the display, and Arthur Weasley nearly comes out of his chair with excitement. Bill and Charlie pull him back to sit normally, and Snape continues.   "I would be very much surprised if he's moved. He prefers to settle in and stay put for six weeks at a stretch, most times. I've kept track. And given what he's likely to be feeling right now, he won't have the energy to Apparate anyway. As I can safely say he's not the sort of man to enjoy showing weakness by having to ask someone to perform third-party Apparition for him, I think it almost guaranteed that he will still be… here." He looks down at the GPS again, an odd smile on his face.   "I find it ironic that Voldemort is so scornful of Muggle items." He pauses, looks at the faces before him for a long moment, his expression tinged with sadness. "I have not always been able to say what I really think in the past twenty years," he says quietly. "But I'm rather impre by by some of the things Muggles have figured out. Backwards as so many of them are-" here he sends me an apologetic glance- "they're some of them clever, nonetheless. In fact- I've managed to, er, tweak thne tne to give directions to magical objects, like Portkeys."   I smile in genuine admiration at Professor Snape. He knows perfectly well that everyone in the room has spent the last two decades despising him, and he knows he'll probably never change their minds. But that doesn't stop him from being who he really is- now that he can.   Which is not to say that the Professor Snape I knew in school wouldn't be delighted by the look of poleaxed disbelief on the faces of George and Fred Weasley.   Hmm. Perhaps he won't change as much as one might expect. This time, my smile is for myself as I savor that thought.   Dumbledore is speaking now, outlining the plan that has been drawn up in the scant few minutes he's had free since Severus returned to us from Death Valley.   "We will arrive in a group, at a point outside the fortress," he says. "We have enough numbers to successfully gain entry and neutralize as many of the Death Eaters as we can."   Snape interrupts quietly. "You'd better be plain, Albus. Everyone is used to your being a benevolent sort of god." He looks at the crowd before him, his face blank for a long moment before he speaks to them in a slightly louder tone.   "I am afraid you'll have to kill them," he says. "They will not change their minds or their allegiances." There is heavy sadness in his voice, and I realize with a faint shock that there was likely a time when Snape counted these people as his friends. In a very real way, what he is doing tonight is betraying them.   "Are there any who might be persuaded?" I ask softly, and he starts slightly.   "Yes," he says slowly. "MacBurran might. And so might Draco Malfoy, believe it or not."   A murmur goes through the room at this, and Dumbledore nods.   "Then, if we find them, they will be taken into custody rather than killed." He takes a long breath, studies the backs of his hands for a moment, and looks out at the students he has known as children, then adults. When he speaks, his tone is so serious that all trace of humor drains from the men and women in the room, and for the first time an air of momentous solemnity hangs over us.   "Severus is right- there are very few people here who remember the war with Grindelwald, let alone the man I was then. Certainly Severus doesn't, which tells me how perceptive he is to have noted the difference. For, no matter what the history books and Chocolate Frog cards have taught you of my past, you have never known the man who did those things. It took me decades to mellow into the individual who stands before you now. And suddenly, I must all in an instant undo a lifetime of your perceptions and ask you to see me as the sort of man who can pick a fight and mean it. But I am asking exactly that.   "I must stress to everyone here- this is a war. Possibly the gravest one into which we have ever entered. We must leave behind our old ideas of what is right and good. We must be incredibly careful, but we also cannot afford to be too lenient. Clemency is good, but remember this. When in doubt, act to save yourselves. You might be the only one able to do what must be done, when the time comes."   The blue eyes are like flint, cold and hard, and now I can see why Voldemort is afraid of this man. I'm a little afraid of him myself, and I know he's on my side.   "We will find Voldemort, and confront him without his followers. Unfair of us, perhaps- but you know what they say about love and war. Remember that Voldemort has killed innocent and helpless people before, and he has tried to kill Harry with far worse odds than we're giving him."   "And Harry escaped," points out Remus Lupin. "We must make sure that Voldemort does not."   "Oh, don't worry." Snape's voice is soft and steely. "He won't. Not if I have a say in the matter."   Dumbledore watches him for a long moment, then nods once, as if a decision has been made- or, more likely, confirmed. "Very well. Once inside, we'll concentrate on Voldemort, and the rest will fall out as it may. You can't plan the sort of duel I think we'll be having." A smile crinkles the corners of Dumbledore's eyes, startling me.   That's when I realize that Albus, too, is looking forward to this.   Mum was right. Men are nuts.   I tune out the rest of the conversation as posts are assigned and Portkeys made. Wizards and witches pair off, to work in teams, and find seats around the room to work out plans of their own. I'm dimly aware that Harry and Ron are standing between Snape and Dumbledore, their faces tense with concentration as they lay their plans. Just watching them is tiring me dreadfully. Ordinarily I would be indignant that they would not automatically include me, but I'm not so ignorant of my own appearance that I don't know they're afraid I'll keel over if they get me out of the chair in which I'm sitting. I don't have the energy to protest, either. I lean forward onto my desk, feeling exhaun ovn overtake me as I never could have let it den Ien I was a student in this seat. My head touches the cool surface, and a moment later I am asleep.   I have no idea how much time has passed when I wake up. A warm hand is on my shoulder, and I look up blearily into the face of the Headmaster.   "You had a short nap, Hermione," he says kindly. "It's only been about half an hour. We're coming up on 4 AM; you might want to consider getting to bed."   I nod groggily, and the Headmaster is gone before I can drag my mind to the present and blurt out, "But I don't live here anymore."   "It's all right, Hermione. If you don't mind, you can stay with me. It's closer than Gryffindor Tower anyway. And Merlin knows you're in no shape to go back to Salisbury tonight."   Snape. His voice is soft, mellow, completely free of the icy edge I've always expected it to have. Part of me is glad- I don't think I couandlandle a high snark factor right now; but part of me misses it. He's no more Snape without the snark than a pickle is a pickle without vinegar.   "On the other hande sae says with just the faintest hint of his old tone, "if you'd rather sleep in a puddle of drool on your old desk, Miss Granger-"   Smiling, I drag myself upright and struggle to my feet.   He studies me. "I don't think so," he says, and before I can ask what he means, he's lifted me in his arms.   "I promise I won't tell anyone if you won't. We've our reputations to consider, after all." His tone is teasing, light, and I laugh aloud as he carries me back through his living room to his bedroom. There it is- that chair in which he sat, all unknowing, on that first night when everything changed. It's pulled up close beside the fireplace, and he lets me stand for a brief moment as he transfigures it into a bed for me. I obediently settle into it, albeit giggling under my breath, and he draws the covers up to my chin with only an arched eyebrow for my odd behavior .   That's when he looks me in the eyes, and I can see in those dark depths the full awareness of what I've done for him. Silly me- there's no fooling this man.   "Thank you for everything you did, Hermione," he says quietly, and all I can do is nod in reply. "I know it was a great deal- Albus told me about the henge- and I… well, based on what we learned with Ron Weasley-" I try to wave it away, but he won't let me. Not altogether. But it would seem that he will allow me a reprieve.   "We'll talk later. You're clearly exhausted." His hand gently brushes my hair away from my face, and his touch sends tingles down my spine.   "Good night, Hermione," he says softly, and I think to myself,   Yes. It was. A/N: You reviewers out there are awesome! I've gotten some great feedback, and it means a ton to me as a writer. Pleaselet let me know what you think of the progress as we go along. For those of you starving for lemons: there's a healthy dose of vitamin C in the next chapter. (Pucker up.) And that won't be the last of it, either! I will be posting Chapters 17 and 18 together, because I just have to. You'll see why.