Soul Searching

This is the first time I have ever been to Albus's private quarters Soul Searching By Quillusion   To Goddessnmb1: You're right, long times in bed can absolutely knock one out. Part of my RL job involves getting said deconditioned folks back on their fand and home after hospital stays. Fortunately, however, Hermione wasn't entirely bedridden. As Madam Pomfrey pointed out, she was getting up to go to the bathroom and to eat; she was just so wiped she doesn't really remember it all. Still, you're right- she's out of shape. I, for one, am wondering if that banister will help her get back upstairs… To Josie421: If you like angsty Severus, this chapter will provide some pleasant reading material… To all who have read and reviewed: your comments help keep me going! I read each and every one, and comments are taken quite seriously. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and for those of you with constructive criticism, it helps me make the tale better. Thanks so much, all of you- especially those of you who give feedback after each chapter!   Chapter 25   This is the first time I have ever been to Albus's private quarters. They aren't attached to his offices, like other professor's rooms often are, but rather tucked away in an odd little corner of the castle with a lovely view of the lake. Harry and Remus are sitting with the Headmaster when I come in, and Albus holds out his hands in delight.   "Hermione," he says warmly. "It's so good to see you again. Poppy has been keeping me apprised of your condition, and I'm glad to see that my faith in my Potions master and my mediwitch are not misplaced." He rises easily from his chair to greet me.   at at all," I smile, and impulsively move to hug him. After what we went through a week ago, I hardly feel that I can make do with just a handshake.   "I came to ask what we ought to do about explanations," I say after I've gotten myself together again and wiped away the faint trace of moisture that lined my eyes at the sight of the Headmaster, looking entirely like himself and giving every impression of impatience at his confinement. I perch on the edge of a couch beside Remus and turn my face to Dumbledore's, waiting- like always- for the wisdom I know he has to impart.   "Ah, yes," says Albus with a twinkle in his eye. "The age old question of how much to tell, how much to leave out. Perhaps we ought to begin with outlining what is already known to the general public."   Hlds lds up his hand and starts to tick off points.   "One. Voldemort is dead, and Harry here has shown them the proof. Two. I was gravely injured and still have not been seen in more than the briefest glances since the event. We allowed that much, simply because we thought that rumors of my death could be rather harmful, but we felt it prudent that I not be widely visible or available, as I could not divulge anything without having spoken to you first, and the pressure on us would have increased tenfold with each passing day. Poppy has been using my recovery as an excuse to buy us time, and Severus has kindly allowed us to impose upon him further by asking him to turn away requests for information in his inimitable fashion. I suspect we will have to release a statement soon, however, or he will be accused of obstructing an investigation and possibly of holding me prisoner. Three. The names of the involved persons are all known, along with the fact that you were somehow transported to the site of the battle and wounded as well. Four. The castle on the coast has been almost entirely destroyed, and by magic that the Ministry cannot trace."   He holds up his other hand then. "The things that are not gelly lly known are that Severus was nearly killed the night before the fight, and that he was healed with the help of the henge and your potion. No mention of his double role has been made to the public. Also, the fact that you directed the force of the stones to destroy Voldemort has been kept quiet. The exact details of the fight are also sketchy, although I've heard some fascinating variations through the grapevine."   The Headmaster's gaze is thoughtful as he studies me for a moment. "And I almost forgot to mention this- but the entire school appears to have been watching when you kissed Professor Snape goodbye at the school gates. That little event set off rumors of the wildest sort, which hopefully have not pained Severus overly much in the past week. He does not usually deal well with public speculation about his private affairs, although I must admit that I think this particular scenario is entirely without precedent."   Did Albus Dumbledore just wink at me?   He moves to take a seat again, and he cocks his head faintly. "Ah, yes, I believe the last few of our number are arriving now."   And sure enough, a moment later his chamber door opens to admit Ron, Neville, Sirius, and Minerva.   "Forgive me, my dear," Albus says to me. "I realize that your work has been secret until now, but I felt that if anyone were to be due a complete explanation, it would be those who witnessed the results firsthand."   I nodwly.wly. "I think that's more than fair," I say. "And I could use some help. I don't know what to put out for the world to know, and what's too dangerous for general knowledge. On the one hand, if everyone thinks that Harry or Albus defeated Voldemort, it adds to your credibility. On the other, the power of the henge could be valuable if others were able to study it. Personally, I don't care whether or not I receive any credit for what happened at Voldemort's castle; I would only like to retain control over my method of using the henge. I almost feel that I have no right to hide what I've found, because it could be so useful in the right hands."   "Or," comes Severus's soft voice from the doorway, "it could be devastating in the wrong ones."   I turn around in my seat to see him standing, arms crossed across his chest, just inside the door, as if he is reluctant to come in from the fringe. I ponder his comment for a long moment. The power I felt in the stones was in response to me. I never felt anything like judgment in that power, never recognized any kind of restraining hand or governing principle. It was just… power. Power that be be shaped, molded, and guided by the mind that summons it. And Severus must have felt it, too. After his own experiences with power gone wrong, it's small wonder this little snag occurs to him.   "Point taken," I say in a tired voice.   Albus puts a reassuring hand on my arm. "Hermione," he says kindly. "What we tell the world about the events of last week will depend entirely on how much we think it is safe to reveal about the stones' power. I trust your judgment, and as you and Severus are the only two with any experience, we must be guided by your wisdom."   I look at Severus for a long moment, and as I stare into his dark eyes, I see understanding there. He's right, and we both know it. The stones beneath my feet whisper to me in their soft tongue, and the decision is made. I keep my eyes on Severus as I speak.   "I think it would be best if we report our research only to the Ministry at the highest level," I say at last. "I would like to be able to research it further, but I would not want the wrong people to learn about the results. This sort of power would be devastating in the hands of Death Eaters still at large. As for what we tell the public-" I pause.   "Tell them that when we all called upon it, an ancient magic rose up against Voldemort and defeated him. That suggests the presence of powerful magic that will last far beyond even you, Albus, or you, Harry. And even if we're passing up the chance to increase confidence in one or another of us, we'll be offering hope to those who come after us and lack the strengths we ourselves might possess. Almost a King Arthur for the wizarding world, perhaps."   Albus is smiling at me with quiet satisfaction, and suddenly I feel as if I've passed a test. Even Severus's face has relaxed from its usual stern lines, and the impression of a trial successfully completed strengthens.   "What?" I ask apensiensively, and Albus shakes his head and laughs.   "Severus?" he says invitingly, and the Potions master snorts a little.   "Miss Granger," he says, "I never thought I'd say it of you, but your ability to restrain your typically Gryffindor urge to be honest and open about everything, and to instead consider the best way to take advantage of the situation, would do a Slytherin credit."   My mouth arcs in a smile of its own. "I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose," I say dryly, and Sirius laughs with ironic appreciation.   "As you should," says Albus with a twinkle. "I believe that is the first time that Severus has ever accorded a Gryffindor such a compliment. You must have truly made an impression on him, my dear."   "Speaking of impressions," says Severus, and moves with his usual silent grace to stand before me. One deft hand reaches under my chin to tilt my face up to the light, and he leans slightly to examine my neck.   "No further pain? Or tingling?" he questions, his quiet murmur feeling far more intimate than the clinical question seems capable of allowing.   "None," I confirm. "I had a very good healer."   Severus arches a brow at me in what looks like a cross between teasing and disbelief, and I let my face lean into his touch with the slightest of pressures.   "I am glad to hear it," he says, and then he releases me and turns away.   Albus stands up. "W Her Hermione," he says pleasantly. "Now that you are up and about, and we know what we wish to say to the world at large, perhaps you would be so good as to explain to the rest of us exactly what happened that night. And then we can draft a statement to release to the Ministry, at which point the real bureaucratic nightmare will begin as we are 'debriefed' and then struggle to return to our normal routines. I, for one, wish to get back to work as soon as possible; your prolonged nap necessitated my seclusion for longer than I had anticipated." The sunlight glints off the frames of his glasses, and he smiles benevolently at me.   I cast an eye around the room, looking briefly at each of my friends' faces. Minerva and Severus look nearly done in, and Albus's comment reminds me that their extra workload was the result of my incapacitation and Albus's forced seclusion.   No longer, I think with determination. With an arched eyebrow in Snape's direction, I say, "My apologies, Albus- and I must apologize to Severus and Minerva as well, for the length of time I've inconvenienced them. They've run themselves ragged, I'm sorry to say- and so I'll start talking when the two of them are seated and in possession of a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I doubt either of them has eaten more than one meal a day since we got back."   Minerva does not protest, but Snape starts to open his mouth.   "Here, Severus," says Albus helpfully. "This should fit." He hands the Potions master a sandwich out of thin air, and more out of annoyed inability to be rude to the Headmaster than anything else, Severus accepts the sandwich and sets about eating it. It doesn't take more than a bite or two for his expression to change from one of resignation to one of appreciation; he really is hungry, despite having just eaten dinner. Minerva, too, is quietly eating without complaint.   "Well," I say at last, feeling woefully inadequate. "It will come as no surprise to any of you to learn that this all started with a book."   And so I plunge into my tale.     It's nearly an hour later when I finally come to a halt, drinking an entire cup of tepid tea to soothe my voice in the sudden silence. Everyone is pondering the things I've said, wondering what will happen next, and wondering how on earth I did what I did. I have no idea, and I've told them as much- and I suspect that we'll soon be murmuring to walls to see if the castle can hear anyone.   Which reminds me. Hesitantly, I tell them about the bannister ride.   Even Albus seems surprised.   "Hermione!" Sirius whoops. "You? Sliding down a bannister, and I missed the sight? You must try to get the bannister to do that again!"   Lupin studies me for a moment. "Hermione, can you talk to the castle?"   I blink. "I don't know," I say slowly. "I haven't tried. The floor in the bathroom sent me feelings of reassurance when I was uncertain, and the bannister somehow knew I was running late. But I never tried to speak directly to the stones of the castle."   "Perhaps you should try now," suggests McGonagall, and Albus nods solemnly.   Is it my imagination, or are they all leaning back a little? No, no, Harry's leaning forward. Neville is cowering back into the Queen Anne chair by the fireplace, his face pale with nerves. Ron is watching me intently, and Lupin is sitting still, his expression neutral.   I turn to find Severus's gaze with my own. He is sitting gracefully in his chair, hands curled over the carved wooden armrests, head tipped back. He meets my gaze and calmly, ever so slightly nods.   Stretching my palms out, I carefully spread my fingertips over the soft warm stone of the buttress beside me. Cautiously, as afraid of success as I am of failure, I feel for the presence of the stones.   There it is- softer, mellower here at Hogwarts, perhaps because it has been awake and alive with no long sleep such as the one as I am beginning to realize Stonehenge has had. The song is varied here, with soft notes and rustlings like wind through tree leaves, and the castle reaches out to touch me with a familiarity that warms me to the core.   "I can feel it," I say softly, and Albus replies,   "Good. Will it respond to you?"   I frown a little with concentration. Then, unbidden, the memory of Voldemort resisting Harry's command rises in my mind. My flash of anger, my sudden transformation of emotion into action- and the hand had reached out from the stone face to shove the Dark Lord into the crevasse.   That was me. Not the stones- me.   That hand was mine.   Goodness.   With a lightness I somehow feel is right, I reach out with a single fingertip, hovering a few inches above the surface of the stone wall. And with a subtle shifting, like sand in a steady wind, the surface alters, morphs, and there- fingertip touching mine, Adam to Abraham on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel- there is a stone hand arcing out to touch my living one.   Lupin smiles at the sight. "Cool," he murmurs, and Sirius shakes his head in wonder. Harry and Ron come to stand beside me, hesitantly touching the stone of the hand, and they seem startled to find that it is as solid as a statue. Neville and McGonagall come to examine the hand as well, and Albus simply watches the rest of us.   Severus has his eyes closed, and I feel a curl of sadness sweep around my heart.   "Are you all right, Severus?" I ask softly, and he nods without opening his eyes.   "Just remembering," he says, his voice a little rusty. "It was incredible, wasn't it?"   "I don't think there are words for it."   "No, there aren't. Neither are there words for what you can do with it, Hermione. That's going to be the real issue in the weeks and months, evenrs, rs, to come. Can anyone else do this? And what will you do with it?"   I turn to take a seat beside the Potions master, considering his words. He's hit the nail on the head, and I know I will have to think carefully about this very matter before we draft that little press notice Albus mentioned earlier.   "You know the answer to the first question, Severus. You did it. You know what it's like. There must be others who can do what we have done."   Albus's soft voice carries easily to us across the room.   "Severus, can you hear the castle?"   The man beside me stills, his eyes cast steadily upon the floor.   "I haven't tried," he says calmly. "I don't much care to, if it's all the same, Albus. I don't feel particularly safe having access to such power. Given my history, I think that the less I have to do with this, the better."   "You're not a bad person, Professor Snape," says Harry into the awkward silence that follows, and those words in that voice startle me a little. "I think, if anything, I'd trust you more than most people with this sort of power. I know you've had enough experience of the harm that misuse of power can do. And despite the fact that I've had to bear the brunt of what might well be considered misuse of power during my student years in your classroom, I can't quite believe it was all genuine. Was it?" He waits expectantly.   Snape pauses for a moment. His expression, for once, is unguarded, even with the Boy Who Lived still in the room. A parade of emotions flickers across his face- irritation, anger, amusement, chagrin, regret. Plenty of regret.   "No," he admits at last. "Not all of it. I'll admit, Potter, I was not one of your greatest fans when you came to this school. Mostly because the wizarding world seemed to think you were its salvation, and I knew perfectly well how vulnerable you really were. The fact that you made regular attempts to get yourself killed is responsible for most of the grey hairs on my head. I may not have gotten along with your father, but I did owe him my life- and I wasn't able to repay that debt to him before Voldemort murdered him. If I'd had any knowledge of what Pettigrew was doing-" he breaks off. His fists are clenched, and Harry's expression softens a little.   "I feel somehow responsible for the fact that you're an orphan, Harry Potter," Snape says after a moment. "Even though I had no idea it was happening, and nothing whatsoever to do with the event itself. I feel as if I should have known, somehow. It's illogical, and impractical, and self-defeating, but I cannot help it. And so, even aside from Dumbledore's wishes that you be under the protection of all the staff, I have taken some small measure of comfort from the fact that I think I've paid my debt to James about six times over. "   Harry laughs, and Ron stares at Snape with wide eyes.   "Six?!" he asks with incredulity.   "Six," confirms Harry quietly. "So you can see why I wouldn't have a problem trusting you, Professor. If you can do what Hermione does, it seems to me that it would be a shame to ignore the talent. We need to know more- especially if the stones might be a way to help protect the wizarding world from another maniac like Voldemort in the future."   Snape sighs, sitting up a little and running his hands through his hair. It's a gesture his students have never before seen him make; it is too rife with uncertainty for him to permit such a thing. "You have a point, Potter. I have to learn to trust myself sooner or later. And it will at least give me something to do." He rises from the chair, moves to stand by the window. His expression is sober.   I snort with incredulity. "Something to do? Teaching a full Potions schedule and managing Albus's duties in your remaining time isn't quite enough for you, Severus?"   "Not quite," he says, his tone rather dark. He turns to pin me with a sharp look, and the combination of uncertainty and pain in his eyes whisks away all the amusement I was just feeling.   "I'm not worried about this week, Miss Granger," he says softly.   So we're back to last names again- I'm not sure what to make of that. But he's not done speaking.   "I'm worried about next month, and next year. I've spent the last twenty years of my life playing a part, and I no longer really know where the character ends and the actor begins. Now that Voldemort is gone, I don't know how to stop being who I've so thoroughly pretended to be, and go back to being who I am. I'm not entirely sure there's a difference any more; I lost the ability to tell about ten years ago."   His words are brittle and bitter now, and no wonder. It must be horrible to finally have to face the long-suspected possibility that, somewhere along the line, you might have stopped pretending to be a dreadful person and actually become one.   Severus moves to face us again, and his face is controlled once more, revealing little of the emotional storm I now know is raging behind those eyes. It's been raging for a decade, and no one- from Albus Dumbledore on down- had any idea of it, to judge from all of our expressions. Just who was he really wounding with each cutting remark, each horrible disregard of fairness and kindness?   He turns to look at Harry, whose dismay at Snape's inner demons is clear.   "Do I really loathe Potter, or is it part of the act? I have no idea. Do I actually want students to be afraid of me, to hate me as they do? I couldn't say. Would I be teaching here at Hogwarts if not for the events of two decades ago that landed me here as a double agent? I certainly can't answer that one. I do like teaching-" he breaks off to look at Ron- "whether or not you can believe that- but I don't know if it's what I want to do with the rest of my life. I don't know where to go from here, and the matter is weighing rather heavily on my mind. There are just too many choices to be made, and I have no idea where to begin."   So that's it. That's what's been bothering Severus, making him seem so distant. No wonder he took on Albus's workload; anything to keep from having to look at what might come next. It's the intellectual's form of denial: if you're busy doing legitimate work, no one will suspect you're hiding from something. It works pretty well, as I have good reason to know. But it won't work very long for Severus Snape. It's plain enough he's tired of the role he's played, and if he doesn't want to play it any longer, he's going to have to rewrite the script. Soon.   And I thought puberty was difficult?   The soft sound of rustling s fis fills the air, and a moment later Fawkes has settled on Severus's shoulder, dripping pearly tears on the man's cheeks to mingle with the faint tracks of his own, which he must have hidden by facing the window. He did it so skilfully that I couldn't see the signs till now. I don't think anyone else can see them at all, and that makes me grateful; Severus would be mortified to show such vulnerability to anyone, especially given what he has already confessed. He might not acknowlethe the fact if pressed, but I know that if he is this disturbed over the idea that he might actually be the bastard we all thought him to be as students, then he most likely isn't. Not completely. Harry sensed it, and he brought the matter up; I'm glad he did, because now we all know the difficulty Severus faces, and we might be able to help him see that who he might have been if things had been different does not matter. All that does, is who he chooses to be now.   Harry must be thinking what I'm thinking, because he smiles softly. He's remembering a night long ago when he stood with that same phoenix nearby and heard a wise man's advice on the same problem. Rising from his chair, he moves to stand before his former Potions master.   "A very wise man once told me that it is not our abilities that make us who we are," he says. "It is our choices." He turns to glance at Albus, whose glasses are glinting merrily in the firelight. "I was afraid that the Sorting Hat had put me into the wrong House, because I had asked it not to put me in Slytherin. I was afraid that being suitable for Slytherin made me like Voldemort. But I was wrong- my choice was to join Gryffindor, and it made me different from Voldemort. Who you choose to be now is the measure of your character, sir. Not who you had to be, or who you might have been. I'll never know who I might have been if I'd joined your House, but it doesn't matter. I am who I am today because I asked to go to Gryffindor."   Severus laughs then, and Harry looks startled. The Head of Slytherin shakes his head and when he looks up, we're all surprised to see a genuine smile on the harsh lines of his face. Fawke's tears have done their work, and Harry's words have broken the ice. Snape's voice is dry when he replies.   "Mr. Potter, believe me. You had help that night. The minute you put that Hat on, I started chanting, "Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin!"   Uproarious laughter fills the room, and amidst the sound, Severus takes Harry's proffered hand.   It's a start.