Soul Searching

Soul Search Soul Searching     Chapter 5 Dinner is noisy as usual, and though the house elves have provided a marvelous cheese soufflé with dinner- I love cheese soufflé- Harry and Ron and Ginny all notice that I am not eating much.   "What gives, Hermione?" asks Ginny, concerned for me.   I smile. "Nothing, Gin," I say. "Just worried about the last stage of the potion."   "Did you get it?" asks Ron, and no one has to ask what he means.   I nod, not sure if I should tell them that I also got caught.   "So then, it's just a matter of the last step."   "It's not that easy, Ron- you heard Snape today. You have to get it exactly right. I've never done this before, and we've only got one shot at getting it right."   Ron puts his arm around me and hugs me, tipping his forehead against mine.   "Thanks for everything, Hermione," he says sincerely. "I'm glad you've even been able to help me this much. I don't want you to feel as if everything is riding on your shoulders."   I smile at him, but my heart freezes. Everything is riding on my shoulders. And the only person who can help me is Snape.   I know I'm going to beg him to help me, if he doesn't decide to do it himself. I've had to steal several other things, from several other places, in order to get as far as I have on this potion, and I won't give up now.   If it comes down to it, I just might offer him sex in exchange for his help. It's an old bargain, and a very Slytherin one to boot; he'll be shocked that a Gryffindor would even consider it. But I have. And so will he; after last night, I know better than possibly any other woman on campus that he is just as susceptible to such offer as any other man. I remember the green-bound book, and smile inwardly. The dungeons are just as cold tonight as they were last night, but there is something humming under my skin tonight that keeps me warm. I can't decide if it's fear, or anticipation that he might help me- or anticipation of what I may have to do to persuade him to help me. My robes rub over my skin and send tingles to my spine; I'm terribly aware that I fell asleep last night before I had a chance to do anything about my lingering arousal. The small vial of soul hangs on a cord round my neck, its glass now warmed to the temperature of my skin. I feel its rounded corners pressing into me, its soft weight somehow reassuring.   Snape is sitting at his desk, and he looks up when the door opens after he bids me enter. He puts down his quill, wiping the nib with absent efficiency. He folds his arms across his chest, leans back in his chair, and studies me for a moment. At last he nods at the chair behind the desk closest to his. I sit, nervous. My lips are dry, and my heart is pounding; he looks as cool as a panther studying its prey.   "Now," he drawls thoughtfully. This is a voice I've never heard from the Potions Master. "What can be so dire as to drive the Head Girl, a Gryffindor of unspeakable honor and integrity-" his words are ironic, but their lash is soft enough not to sting- "to steal a Dark substance from the storeroom of a professor whose presence she can barely tolerate?"   My eyes widen. "You're not as bad as you make yourself out to be," I hear myself say, and immediately want to swallow my own tongue.   His right eyebrow arches up in surprise. "Indeed? You hide your opinions well, then."   I know perfectly well that he is waiting for an answer to his question, and there's no use in stalling. I gather my thoughts and my courage, then take a deep breath and lay before him the utter, unvarnished truth.   He hears my tale quietly; I am surprised to find that he is a good listener, attentive without interrupting, asking only an occasional question for clarification until I am finished. I run out of words at last, and my brain scrambles for something to fill the silence- feeling that I must have left something persuasive left unsaid if he has not already decided to help me.   Snape considers my words, seemingly unaware of me as he stares at some point in space behind my head. The small crease between his eyebrows has deepened, and I realize that he is weighing far more than just my little problem in his mind. His face tightens for a moment with something that looks like pain, but it is gone in the blink of an eye. When he speaks, his voice is slightly hesitant.   "You are aware, no doubt, of the reasons for my possessing a small amount of this otherwise forbidden substance," he says. I nod, and he nods in reply, as if he had expected no less. "Your association with Potter has most likely made you aware likewise of the rather tenuous position I hold in this circle, as well as in Voldemort's."   I nod again.   "I trust I do not need to remind you of just how disastrous it would be for everyone concerned if any of what I am about to tell you were to go further than this room."   "No, sir." I would be more surprised if he did not expect discretion of me.   "There have been times when I have had to do ts ags against my own principles, simply to maintain the charade and perpetuate the myth of my return to Voldemort's side. I would prefer not to have to do these things, you understand. After the things I did willingly when I was a Death Eater, I feel that they are a violation of everything I have tried to do to make amends since that time."   His arms are crossed again, tightly this time, and his shoulders are hunched forward a bit. Every line of his body bespeaks reluctance, and no small degree of discomfort with his situation. He is not looking at me, and I know he still feels guilt for what he did in years gone by. I doubt if he will ever escape the shadow of his past, but I, for one, am not about to hold it against him. Not after I've seen him like this, sorrow etched in his face, sadness in his eyes. Not when I know he does these things for me, for Harry, for everyone else who cannot do them as he can- for everyone who lacks the past to put the present to the grindstone and turn it into good.   He takes a deep breath. "But I cannot avoid some of them, and so Albus has permitted me to have, and to make use of, the more questionable items in that storeroom- of which the soul you took is but one- for Dark purposes. Whether the lack of Dark intent may make any or all of them less potent is not clear to me, but as Voldemort has found no cause to complain about their efficacy-" he breaks off with a soft choking sound, and I realize how difficult this is for him. I never would have thought he would show such vulnerability in front of a Gryffindor, especially me, but it would seem that my filching of the crystalline soul has changed his perception of me a little. He changes tacks.   "Bill Weasley was a few years behind me in school," he says after a moment of quiet contemplation. "I have no idea what year Bill was in at the time all of this happened, but Molly would periodically come to visit him. She was a good person, genuinely good- and the Slytherins picked on her for being plump, or at least they did when they were out of Bill's hearing. But she was kind to me, in spite of my own lack of good grace, for all that I only ran into her once or twice. Bill must have told her a great deal about the goings on at school for her to have even known who I was."   He sighs, and I know he is reliving some of his childhood.   "And she saved my life once- though I doubt she knows it."   My eyes are wide with surprise, and I lean forward in my chair. I know Molly Weasley is a wonderful friend, but I'd no idea that Snape had anything like a good opinion of anyone in the Weasley family.   He looks at me irritably, and I realize that I had assumed he would tell me the story. I sit upright primly, and he suddenly makes a noise in the back of his throat and says,   "Oh, very well. It was at the start of my seventh year. I was under constant pressure to join the Death Eaters, and my resistance had resulted in a great deal of physical torture. Lucius Malfoy makes his son look like a model child, I can promise you that." His mouth twists, and I see shadows of remembered pain in the dark eyes.   "I had had most of the summer to recover from their idea of 'recruitment tactics', and then I had to go back and start the whole thing over. I finally just reached the point where I honestly thought it might be better to die than have to go through it all again. I finally got up my courage to kill myself, and- this will hardly surprise you- decided that poison would be the fastest and least painful way to go. Coward that I was, I couldn't stomach the idea of flinging myself off the Astronomy tower, even though that seemed like a more noteworthy way to go.   "I went down to the Potions lab late one night to brew a particularly nasty and fast-acting poison from asp venom. It would have been no great effort to find the necessary ingredients, because Professor Chirk was... well, to put it mildly, he was the most unorganized wizard I've ever known, and had no idea what his own storerooms contained. What few things he did know about were usually left lying about for any curious person to borrow permanently. I fear an entire generation of Hogwarts students left this school with no idea how to make even the most basic of headache remedies; he was generally consider was waste of space in the staff room.   "But I digress. When I got down to the Potions classroom, I quickly found that I didn't have the place to myself. Molly Weasley was there, with a very upset Bill Weasley in tow. She was frantically poring over Bill's Potions notes, trying to figure out how to make an antidote for a poison that Bill had accidentally given to Lily Evans. Harry's mother.   "It turns out that Bill's notes contained the list of ingredients for what was supposed to be a Quicknap Potion. Regrettably, Professor Chirk had given them the wrong recipe, and Bill's entire class had cooked up twelve cauldrons full of a poison that would have served my original purposes admirably- if considerably more slowly. Bill apparently saved some for later, not realizing what it actually was, and gave it to Lily because she had told everyone in the Gryffindor common room the night before that she hadn't been getting enough sleep for the last several nights.   "Molly knew enough about Potions and their effects to know that it was a poison her son had given Lily, but she didn't know how to counteract it. She had reached the point of full-blown panic when I arrived, and she was lecturing Bill with a viciousness that makes me look about as intimidating as a sleeping flobberworm by comparison." One corner of his mouth softens a little, and he glances at me. "It might amuse you, and possibly her as well, to know that her tirade that night served as an excellent example for me to follow. No, perhaps you'd better not tell her that." He shakes his head and goes on.   "She had not bothered to look for Professor Chirk- it was already clear from the nature of his mistake that he would be of no help. Certainly she could not expect Bill to know what to do; he only knew what Chirk had taught him- incorrectly, as it happens. I can hold Bill Weasley responsible for giving someone an untested potion, but even I cannot blame him for not knowing any better than he was taught." His mouth flexes in a grimace of professional annoyance with his former teacher. "And she had not gone to Dumbledore out of a mother's natural desire to protect her child."   "I really don't know how she knew that I was possibly the only person in the school who knew enough about Potions to do anything to save Lily and Bill from the consequences of his stupidity. She may just have been asking the first available person for help. But whatever her reasoning, she begged me to help her son and his friend.   "There was no way I could refuse. I might enjoy knowing that a Gryffindor's foolishness had led him to grief, but I could not stand by and do nothing when I knew I had the power to reverse it all, take it all back. After all, Lily Evans had never been anything but kind, even to a questionable-looking creature like me. It was, fortunately, a straightforward antidote preparation that took only ten minutes to perform.   "Molly raced upstairs with the stuff as fast as she could go, and it turned out well enough. Lily was ill for a few days, but made a full recovery. And by the time I had gotten up to my rooms again that night, I had completely forgotten about killing myself. By then, I was too tired to go downstairs and make another effort.   "The next morning, Lily brought me a large bouquet of flowers, and kissed me on the cheek to say thank you." His eyes hold a faint light as he tells me this, and I think it's the closest I've come to ever seeing him really smile. "And if you've ever wondered where Potter's father and I parted ways, it was over that; James was furious that I did something to save Lily. I gather he didn't like being indebted to a Slytherin." A soft sigh passes his lips.   "Bill didn't seem to mind much; he punched anyone who said anything unkind about me for six weeks after the incident. I have no idea if he even remembers it now. Certainly his brothers and sister cannot have carried any tales home that would let him think of me with anything less than indignation on his siblings' behalf. I have wished, in years gone by, that it could have been different."   Snape sighs again, and I see the faraway look in his eyes. I'm beginning to realize that it's not so much the actual details of this information that would endanger our cause if they leaked to the rest of the world; it's the knowledge that Snape still has a heart, that he still has feelings- that he still cares about anyone other than Voldemort. That would destroy every last shred of the careful web that he and Dumbledore have constructed around Voldemort. I don't think Snape needs to worry about rumors flying at Hogwarts, at least; no one in the school would even believe me if I told them about the regret I see etched on his leonine features.   Not, of course, that I will ever breathe a word of any of this to anyone without his permission. I think for a moment that he may have forgotten that I'm even here, but then he looks straight at me again. He has the look of a man who needs the absolution of the confessional, and I know he is telling me something he's never told anyone before.   "That night was the first time I realized how satisfying it was to have power. It convinced me that committing suicide was the way of weak men who could not survive, that perhaps I could have power over death- and not the other way round. It was a revelation with devastating consequences. Over the last four months of that school year, the Death Eaters finally reeled me in, largely by recognizing that thirst for power and my own unrecognized need for acceptance.   "In a way, that night in the Potions classroom- this very room, Miss Granger- was the first step down a road I should never have taken. Would never have taken, if Molly had not been here that night. In some ways, it might have been better if I had died then; there are people who might be alive still. But it's doubtful. In the end, Dumbledore- annoyingly wise man that he is- found a way to turn my mistakes into another opportunity I can't refuse- wouldn't refuse, even if I had the choice." An ironic expression touches his features for a moment.   "I might not have made the best of what Molly gave me by keeping me too busy to carry out my suicide plans, but I'm grateful to her. In spite of the horrid things I have done in my life, I do know that I have done a little good."   He gets to his feet and crosses the classroom to open the door to his office. He gestures to me to follow, and waves me into a chair by the fire. I am now facing the chair he occupied last night, while he...   No. Mind on the present, Granger. Lives are at stake. I watch as he lifts an old, flaking tome off the top shelf of his bookcase, and a moment later he lays it in my lap.   "Here is the original description of the Cleve Potion," he says. "I must confess I am surprised that Weasley found it; the library contains only one reference to it, an incomplete one at that. It's rather obscure, given its difficult-to-procure ingredients, Dark nature, and generally perceived lack of use. But I think you and Weasley may be onto something." He sits across from me, leaning forward, chin cupped in his hands, thinking.   When he looks up at me at last, I know he's made his decision.   "I have so little opportunity to do anything straightforward in my life, Miss Granger, that I cannot pass up a chance in the offing- even if there is risk. If Dumbledore trusts your discretion, then so can I." There is something glinting in his black eyes, and I feel my heart begin to pound with hope.   "Molly asked me once to help her save two people she loved who were in danger, and she saved my life in the bargain. I can do no less for her now." He stands, and when he gestures to me to lead the way, I know where we are going.   Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was so useful in second year, that I took to using it for all sorts of things I didn't want anyone knowing about. It was in Myrtle's middle stall that I had set up the cauldron, having Transfigured the toilet into a porcelain worktable. Snape furrows his brow at the narrow confines of the stall, and shakes his head.   "Back to the lab," he says.   "Is it all right to move it now?" I ask nervously, knowing that changes in temperature are often detrimental to a potion in process.   "It's at equilibrium now. It will be stable until we add the next ingredient; if we take a shortcut, we can get there before the temperature drops noticeably." I know he must be thinking hard; if he were paying attention to his usual mode of behavior, he would have snapped my head off for questioning his judgment.   He takes his wand out and murmurs a soft charm, touching the wand tip to the wall, and instantly a doorway appears. I can see his lab on the other side of the arched doorway, and before I can speak, he lifts the cauldron and steps through. I follow, being careful not to tread on the hem of his robe and trip him.   There is a fire already lit under a stand, and Snape puts my cron ron down there. A quick stir of its contents reassures him, and he glances in my direction.   "Everything appears to have been done correctly so far," he says, and it's the highest praise I can imagine him giving a student. Given that he has just told me the recipe I was using is incomplete, I had feared a major setback was in the offing. My relief is almost palpable.   He holds out his hand then, and I know he's asking for the soul. I hand it over, feeling oddly guilty despite his approbation of my cause.   He studies the phial carefully. "Well done," he murmurs. "Properly stored and everything. I assume you measured it?"   I nod, but he moves to check the measurement anyway. I'm still reeling from the impact of two compliments in as many minutes from Professor Snape. It is not long before we are both standing before the cauldron, I with a watch glass full of soul, he holding his wand.   "Do you know whose soul this is?" I suddenly ask, uneasy. I wonder if the soul is more or less effective depending on whether its owner were Dark or not.   "I have no idea," he says flatly, "and I'd rather not think about it."   That makes two of us. He nods, and I gradually begin to sprinkle the crystals into the cauldron. As he whispers the incantation- which was the detail missing from the copy of the notes Ron found, but was in the old folio on Snape's shelves- I begin to see the surface of the potion shimmer. Snape's wand draws the patterning around the edge of the cauldron, and as we continue, the opalescent sheen of the soul's crystalline form appears all the way through. I watch the tip of Snape's wand trace along the outside of the cauldron's black sides, mesmerized by his movements. His voice is velvet-soft as he casts the spell, his words so low that I can barely hear them. I peer at the contents of the cauldron again as I add the last bit of soul.   It is an odd pumpkin-colored potion, with no discernable odor until the crystals are all added. At that point, the potion begins to take on the scent of rain. Ozone must be released during this reaction, I think, sniffing slightly. I set the watch glass down on the counter and turn my eyes again to Snape.   In that instant, I understand why he is a Potions master.   His wand, which had patterned nothingness around the cauldron, is now trailing a faint, silver- hued light that clings to the cauldron sides and settles in sparkling runes. He is writing on the cauldron in one of the many runic languages I have never seen, and the words are infusing- something, I 'm not sure what- into the potion. It's no longer pumpkin colored, but bronze; shimmering, sunset-bright bronze. There is magic in the air around him, too, clinging to his robes, slithering around his legs and up his body to light his face, suddenly flushed with exertion and concentration. The heat from the cauldron is incredible, but he does not seem to notice.   I find myself remembering his speech about 'foolish wand-waving' with amazement. I had never guessed how profoundly different the use of wands in potion-brewing was from other kinds of magic; the power I am watching him harness is immense, and it suddenly seems foolish indeed to use this sort of power merely to change a chair into a teacup.   And then it is done. Snape moves wearily to a chair and sits down; the fatigue I can see in his form has appeared almost instantly. I know with certainty that, had I tried that potion alone, I would have failed. If Snape is this tired, I could likely have been drained of my very life by trying.   "Thank you," I say softly. He nods, but doesn't look at me.   Moved by a sudden urge I don't understand, I step behind his chair and tentatively lean forward, placing my hands on his shoulders. I make a gentle massaging motion, and he lets out a soft hiss, arching into my touch. His eyes are closed, and his head falls back a little as he instinctively sits back to get closer to me.   This time I am much, much closer to him when the noise escapes. It is the softest, sweetest moan I have ever heard, and my hands respond with delight, gentling their touch into something very nearly a caress.   It is this that alerts him to our danger, and he is suddenly out of the chair, peering into the cauldron.   "Interesting," he says, and his voice trembles just a bit. It pleases me to hear that, and I realize that when I decided to go for Professor Snape, I really meant it.   Whether I plan to do it here and now, however, I have not yet decided.   The sudden sound of something hitting the window breaks my concentration. The slamming comes again, then again, but before it can come a fourth time, Snape has the window open and Pigwidgeon is hurtling at me faster than I've ever seen him fly. The little owl is frantic, and I know he must have picked up on Ron's fear. I open the scroll with dreaile ile Snape feeds the distraught owl something from his pocket.   Snape gently draws the parchment from my nerveless fingers and reads it. As soon as he finishes it, he swiftly ladles a generous portion of the potion into a clear bottle and stoppers it. Clapping the cauldron lid firmly into place and snapping a stasis spell on it, he takes me by the hand and pulls me through another hole that he conjures in the wall- this one leading to the gates of the school.   I am startled to feel his deft fingers slip inside my robe, but he is not interested in me. His touch is cool against my skin as he fishes the Time-Turner out, and I realize that he, too, is nervous. He pulls the chain completely free of my hair and moves behind me, pulling my back into his chest. The chain drops over both of our necks, its hourglass settling just at the upper curve of my breasts.   "Half an hour back, Miss Granger," he says sharply, and I instinctively turn the hourglass over. The world shimmers, and when it solidifies again, he wraps his arms around me and Apparates.   I have not Apparated before, except via portkey, and it is almost frightening to go so suddenly, but Snape is so competent at everything else he does that I control my panic without too much effort. When I can see again, I realize that Snape has tossed the chain of the Time-Turner over his head, leaving it on my neck alone again. He is running up the drive toward the Burrow, where the only light in the house is in an upstairs window.   Professor Snape can really run! I can barely keep up with him as he lightly takes two stairs at a time, but I catch him at the landing and the two of us barrel into the master bedroom-   Where a horrifically pale Molly Weasley lies gasping in Arthur's arms. Her arms are mottled grey and lavender, and her lips are blue. Ron, Percy, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, George, Fred, and Harry are standing around looking helpless, and Harry's first reaction is to frown at us. But then he sees what Snape is taking out of his robes, and he goes utterly still.   Ron looks at me with hope in his eyes, and I nod frantically as I hold a hand to the stitch in my side. Snape is sitting on the bed beside Arthur and Molly, the flask uncorked in his left hand.   "Drink all of it," he says, his voice flat. I know it is from worry, but Ron and Ginny clearly think he is just the unfeeling git they have always believed him to be. I shake my head at them, and they look at me again in confusion.   Molly looks up into the implacable gaze of her children's Potions master, and obeys. It is all she can do to swallow, and she coughs a bit. All falls still, Snape watching the rise and fall of his old schoolmate's chest, Arthur clasping her hand lovingly.   At last, after what must have been ten minutes, she takes a deep breath and relaxes. Her eyes open, and they are clearer.   "What was that?" she asks Snape, looking at the flask.   "That is for your children to tell you," Snape says simply, in a voice none of the Weasley children have ever heard. "They love you a great deal, although they seem to be the root of all of your troubles as well. You might be surprised to hear what they would do for you, Molly. You inspire considerable loyalty."   And then he smiles at her, very gently, and smoothes her hair off her face.   He rises from the bed, his glance darting to Bill for an instant. My own eyes flick to Ron's oldest brother's face, and I see the swift look of thanks and recognition in the brown eyes. Snape is gone in a swirl of black robes, and I am left to explain it all to Ron, Ginny, and Harry.   I tell them the bare minimum- that Snape helped me finish the potion and Apparated me to the Burrow after telling me to use the Time-Turner. I can see they're wondering why Snape would help, especially after he received proof that I'd stolen from his storeroom, but I shake my head. "I can't tell you now," I say, hoping that will buy me enough time to make up yet another fib. There is no way I can tell them what Snape told me; it's too dangerous to him, and too personal.   And I want to treasure the sense of closeness I enjoyed when he was telling me the tale. If I share it, it won't be between the two of us alone, it won't be like whispered confidences between lovers.   It won't be our secret. And oh, I want us to have secrets....   It is difficult to concoct a believable story that won't give rise to too many questions; it's all the more difficult for me, because I am having to keep track of who knows which layers of the truth. Finally, we agree to tell Molly only that the potion is experimental, and that it may not be feasible to make it for general use; we know she will want others to benefit as she has, if she thinks it can be done. We must make it clear to her that it cannot- but she must never know why. She must never know that a soul was spent to make her well.   Molly's mediwitch returns to the house the next morning to examine her patient, and we are all relieved to hear that she is on the mend. It is unclear how much recovery she will make, but the mediwitch is puzzled by the apparent remission in the countercurse. We dutifully mimic her puzzlement, and when she is gone, we give Molly the highly edited version of the story.   I linger a moment by Molly's bedside when the youngest Weasleys leave the room at last, suddenly wondering if she should hear any of what Professor Snape told me last night. I decide that it's not my place to tell her about his suicidal ideation at the time, but that he would not mind her knowing why he helped us. I move to sit beside her on the bed, taking her hand in mine.   "Hermione," she says softly. Some of the mottling has faded with the healing spells the mediwitch used this morning, but she still looks ill. Her red hair looks even brighter than usual against the paleness of her face, and she smiles tiredly. "Ron tells me I owe you a great deal for my remission."   "I did part of the work, yes," I reply. "But I wanted you to know something else. That potion takes a great deal of power to produce, and I don't have that sort of strength yet. Professor Snape helped me."   At this, Ron's mother looks at me with renewed interest. "Did he," she says, and it isn't a qion.ion. "How?"   "He performed the hardest part of the synthesis. I am afraid I made rather free with his storeroom to get the ingredients for this potion, and he found me out. I told him why I needed what I had taken, and he... he decided to help me."   Molly laughs. "I may not like what he's done with the gifts he has been given, but I trust Snape's potions as much as anything St. Mungo's pharmacy can brew." She shifts on the bed, grimacing a little as her healing wounds protest. "Ron doesn't see him in any other light than a villainous one, because of Harry. But if it weren't for Severus, Harry might never have been born." Her face looks rather sad as she remembers.   "I know about it," I say gently. "Professor Snape told me. He said that he could not do less for you than you did for her. Finishing that potion last night nearly wiped him out; I'm surprised he had the strength to Apparate us both here. We got Ron's letter just too late, and came back with my Time-Turner."   Suddenly I remember the feel of him against me through our robes, the soft touch of his fingertips as he pulled the Time-Turner out of my neckline. I swallow.   Molly Weasley is looking at me with a woman's understanding. "He told you about Bill's part in what happened?"   I nod. "I haven't told anyone else. You already know, so I can talk about it with you. But I don't think it's my place to tell anyone else." I know Molly Weasley, like the rest of the wizarding world, thinks Severus might still be on the wrong side of the line, and I know that there is every reason to foster that impression. The fewer people who know the truth, the less chance there is of risking discovery. But part of me wants very much to let her know that the young man who helped her is still alive underneath the facade that Snape has so carefully built. I hope that she can accept the knowledge that Snaps nos not lost his compassion, without questioning his potential allegiance to Voldemort. Much as I love her, Molly is no better at dissembling than Ron is, and it's best if she remains in the dark about Snape's true loyalties.   My heart thumps painfully when Molly's next words answer my prayers.   "Somewhere deep down inside that dreadful mask he wears all the time, he's a good man, Hermione. Better than he gets credit for being. Be kind to him."   I sm "I "I will. There's something about him..." I stop, unwilling to say more- even to the woman who is my mother in the wizarding world. After all, there is that in what I would say that is inappropriate.   "Yes, there is something about him, isn't there? And about you, too, unless I miss my guess." She winks, and I stare in surprise.   "Oh, don't look so surprised, Hermione Granger," she chides gently. "This isn't the Muggle world. Your ages aren't so different after all in wizarding terms, and graduation is only a month away. I think you might be just what he needs. You'll find your way to him, all right. About time he found a girl to suit him; if he's told you about the night he nearly committed suicide, then I think he's decided he's found you. He's never told anyone- not even me- about the truth of that night. I found out through other means."   Her eyes gleam, and she looks for a moment like the Molly Weasley I met in our first year at Hogwarts. "Come now, Hermione," she teases me again. "I'm better at this cloak- and- dagger routine than I look. You have to be, to be a Ministry wife. I know there's more to Snape than I let on around my children or their friends; Dumbledore has had to fill Arthur and me in to make sure that we can properly look after Harry over holidays." She studies me for a moment, her eyes sharp in the wan face.   "Severus Snape may give a good impression of impatience, but he's not one to make rash or hasty decisions. To my knowledge, he's only made one major mistake: about the Death Eaters. He came in to say goodbye before he left last night, and I could see in his face that something's changed. I suspect, my dear, that you are the change. Let it happen as it will, Hermione; you'll do just fine together." And she promptly falls asleep, leaving me to stare at a woman whose all-seeing eye puts Sybil Trelawney to shame.       A/N: Thanks to everyone who caught the time snafu in the original post and made suggestions for its correction! Your interest and insight were invaluable. I hope this version fixes it. The timeline at the Harry Potter Lexicon makes note of several holes in the available canon information, specifically with regard to Bill Weasley, and this should fit into those holes. If not, then consider it a slightly AU fic. :-) The nifty wall-into-a-doorway teacher shortcut charm is ubiquitous, it would seem; I've no idea who did it first, but whoever you are, you're nifty and should get the credit for it. Whoever the genius is, it isn't me. Alas. :-) The stasis charm isn't mine, either, and I don't know who invented it, though I know it's in PtQ; whosoever hath created it, let their praises ring!