Judging Books By Their Cover

Snape threw the book down onto the rest of the pile. All evening, book after book, he had searched. Four hours later, he had little more than the original spell itself. Miss Granger wasn’t the only one in Hogwart’s to possess a copy of the damned book, Of Magical Empathy and Other Skills, however she seemed the only one who hadn’t had to search for some time and pay a good deal to obtain it. That fact alone made him concerned, but things such as luck did exist whether he chose to rely on them personally or not.

If he had a choice, such a young wizard as she would never have gotten her hands on it to begin with. The book was well respected in the wizarding world, but was far from child’s play. Those copies that existed were only copies of copies made of copies – it had been centuries since an original had been seen, and who was to say that everything had been copied completely and accurately? That alone was enough to make many wizards hesitate before using the spells, and it had long been considered a tool for understanding magical history rather than a contemplation of spells one might actually use. At best they were unpredictable, but, as in the case of Miss Granger, many spells didn’t fully explain what they were for. He had heard of a muggle game of chance – Russian Roulette. That game was what this book made him think of.

For the Understanding of Others

Timing is quite essential in this instance. The potion should be swallowed all at once, with the spell ‘Reperio Latebra’ spoken immediately afterwards. Delay in completion can result in spell failure or unpleasant side effects.

Potion requires 4 grains of Coriander, ground to powder; a pinch of ash from the burning of Elder; a pinch of coarsely ground Frankincense, and as much Saffron as to equal half a pinch. Steep ingredients until a blue sheen appears, then chill immediately.

The ingredients were far from usual, and the preparation method unlike most he had encountered. His research had given him a couple of ideas for reversing it, but he was far from confident in any of them. Sighing, he called for a house elf and asked that they bring Hermione to his office. When she arrived a few minutes later he had once again pulled out several books and had them all laid out and open on the desk before him.

“Miss Granger,” he said, attention divided between the student and the book in his hand, “come sit down. We have an hour before curfew, and the sooner we make progress on this, the better.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I...”

“No need to speak, Miss Granger, I am preoccupied currently but will let you know when I need your input.” He had raised one hand to quiet her, but never looked up from the book. The silence was welcome, but the feeling that she was staring at him was unnerving, and soon he decided that some conversation would be necessary.

“Are you certain that you followed the book’s directions exactly? No variation in ingredients or preparation? The slightest difference would require a different approach to reversing things.”

“Of course I’m certain, professor. It followed them exactly and it had the blue color that the book described.”

“Very well then,” he said. “Since I’m still deciding on what would be best to attempt first, you may tell me more of what this spell has done. What exactly do you pick up on from people? Is there one characteristic more than another that is easier to see? Or something that is still primarily hidden from you?”

“I already told you what I see as well as I was able,” she said, voice a little high pitched and frustrated.

“Then you may do so again.”

Hermione stared at him, clenching her teeth for a second before speaking. “When I look at you, I feel like there is a part of you that is still a young man, more like you had remained a student rather than coming into your own as a professor. I feel like your harshness towards others is an attempt to make them fear you when they wouldn’t otherwise, a sort of false show of power. I think you are capable of more than you show, but afraid of anyone knowing your limits. You keep everyone at arms length so you won’t feel responsible to them, because if you are responsible and fail in your duties than you would hate yourself. More than you already hate yourself, that is, which is more than you deserve to be hated.”

“Quite presumptuous of you, isn’t it, Miss Granger?”

She laughed. “Hardly. What I said is what I see written across your face, as clearly as you read words in a book, and I know them to be true. It might have been presumptuous to give voice to it, but was not in this instance because you specifically asked me to do it.”

“You are an infuriating little git,” he said, slamming his fist on his desk.

“You have informed me of that opinion before, professor. However, you saying it now is not out of anger at me, but in anger and frustration that there is anything that can get past the walls you’ve put around yourself. Walls that shouldn’t be there, that do more harm than good, and ensure your unhappiness.”

His voice was deep with that angry iciness he used so often. “Those walls, as you call them, keep people alive.”

“What is the point of being alive if you are wishing you were dead?” she countered.

“I deserve to be dead, and if my actions protect others who don’t deserve it then so be it. Now leave my office, and come back when you’ve learned some respect.”

He saw a change in her eyes. They grew sadder, and seemed almost to turn a darker shade. She turned and left as silently as she had done before. This time though, there was a defeated air about her.

Sighing and somewhat regretting his anger, Snape cleared his throat and called out, “Sleep well, Miss Granger.”

“See, professor?” she replied, smiling back at him before closing the door behind her. “You aren’t all bad after all. Sleep well.”


You aren’t all bad after all. Those words had taken him off guard, more so than he already had been. She had told him to sleep well, but sleep was the last thing he managed that night. Instead, he laid in his bed thinking about all the terrible things that had happened to him in the past, at all the terrible things he had done or caused to be done to others. Oh yes, he did hate himself, and he did deserve to be dead. That he wasn’t dead, and that a student who had always seemed to despise him would pity him, that was something he couldn’t understand. He wondered, though, if it was pity at all. There was a difference, of course, between pity and compassion. And while compassion wasn’t something he was accustomed to encountering, he had begun to suspect that was what she offered. The prospect stirred in him a certain affection that he recognized as dangerous, and for several days he claimed to be working alone on her remedy, spending as little time as possible in Hermione Granger’s presence.

He told himself that a little time away would resolve the emotional problems, but he found that the opposite was occurring. Every night he found himself unable to sleep, and every morning he found himself more out of sorts than the day before. Everything troubled him, and he found the only things that might offer him some measure of comfort were the very things he didn’t trust himself enough to allow. Still, after three miserable mornings and three evenings of his eyes lingering on her at supper, he found himself running low on excuses.

“Miss Granger,” he said, seeing her in the hallway. “If you have the time, I would like to see you in my office today. Any time that suits you.”

He saw her staring at him, unused to politeness from her Potions, now DADA, professor. He knew it sounded weak, unlike his normal self, but there was little else to be done. Having to be satisfied with a slight nod from Hermione – when had she become Hermione to him? – he barricaded himself in his office with a bottle of fire whiskey. By the time he heard her knock on the door, he was several glasses in and not quite what you would call sober. Opening the door, he invited her in and offered a chair. She looked at him strangely until she caught sight of the fire whiskey bottle and a half full glass, then tried rather poorly to hide a grin.

“What?” he asked, trying to decipher the look on her face.

“I don’t want to say,” she laughed. “It wouldn’t be nice to say to a professor.”

“Well I do believe the current situation sent proper behavior to hell, so while there is no one else around you may say what is on your mind.” He wasn’t sure why he was giving her that sort of permission, but somehow it seemed important to him that she be open with him.

“What, as if we were friends?” she asked, stunned.

“Something like that, I suppose,” he said. “Though I don’t know I want anyone else hearing of this arrangement.”

She smiled, and her eyes were bright with happiness. “Your secret is safe with me. They are all safe with me.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled. “So what were you thinking before?”

“I was wondering if, assuming you have drank all of that fire whiskey since I saw you in the halls, it had put you in an unusually good mood.”

“I don’t know that I would say that, Miss Granger. I do feel less tense, but I believe I worry as much if not more.”

“You know,” she said, still smiling, “if we are going to be friends—while no one is around, that is—then you could call me Hermione. I don’t know that I really care for being called Miss Granger.”

Snape winced. “I don’t think that would be the best idea, Miss Granger.”

“Why not?” she asked, studying him. “For some reason I thought you would like not having to address me so formally.”

“I would,” he said slowly. “However I think it would be better if I did not. There is a side to me, which you saw my anger at having brought closer to the surface, that… shall we say… feels lonely. I have seen far too many people find themselves in compromised situations because they indulged themselves to prevent loneliness.”

“You are saying things without saying them,” Hermione said sharply. She was silent for a moment, considering the meaning in his words. “Could it not be that loneliness is something to be avoided, because it causes people to act without thinking? So would it not be better for you to remedy the solution now, while you are, quite obviously, still thinking of things in a somewhat logical manner? Everyone makes choices, and just because others chose poorly doesn’t mean that you will.”

He sighed and sat down on a couch he had sitting of in a corner of his office, leaning back until comfortable. “I normally make poor choices, Hermione. That is why I’m in the position I’m in. Why should I give myself so much credit to think that I would choose better this time?”

“How can I answer that when you are so very vague about the choice in question?”

“I must remain vague or it would be leaning towards a decision.”

She stared at him for a second with a look that called him ridiculous, then started giggling. “Decisions have to be made sometime, and you have managed them in the past with other things. When was the last time you got sleep, anyway?”

“Too long,” he said simply.

“Then sleep now,” she said, “and make your decisions later when you can think clearly.”

“But I can’t,” he said, exasperated. “I have tried and couldn’t because of these things weighing on my mind. I will sleep when my body can stay awake no longer.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

He clenched his hands into fists on his lap, watching as his knuckles turned the white of a ghost. “There… well… yes, but it isn’t possible.”

“What is it?” she asked gently.

Bloody hell. I had to go and admit it, didn’t I? I knew she would press the question. Snape knew that, in some ways, he had wanted her to. He wanted relief, and comfort, though it pained him to admit it. She had broken through his defenses more effectively than any other could hope to, and now that young boy inside him had risen to the surface and seemed determined to have his way. “I won’t say. I can’t say.”

“You’ve asked me to say things I’ve been uncomfortable with, Severus, and I’ve indulged you. Indulge me now.”

Taking a deep breath, and looking anywhere but at her, he answered the question. “Your presence comforts me. I think it has for some time, although until you cast that spell I had been content to ignore the knowledge and be angry at you instead. Now that I’ve faced it, I find the only thing I want to be comfortable, to feel as if I could sleep, would be you lying beside me and in my arms.”