Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion Chapter 6   The Gryffindor common room is empty except for the three of us. Ron and Harry have heard my carefully edited version of the story several times, minus the details about Snape contemplating suicide, the things that led to his fall from grace, and Molly knowing more about him than she tells us. I say nothing of what I saw when he let his mask fall for those few brief moments; I know I can't tell them any of that without letting my own emotions show. And that would make no sense to them whatsoever.   I haven't told them about what I saw that night in Snape's rooms, after all. There are some things that a girl just can't tell to guys, even when they're best friends.   But I did end up telling them all the details I could of how Snape finished the potion. The recipe we found made no mention of the difficulty that would be involved, and I know Ron and Harry think that I really did the whole thing myself, despite my assertion that Snape helped. They probably think Snape added a preservative or some such to the potion, and they have no idea just what he did to help us. I can't leave it at that. It may be rather Gryffindor of me, but I just can't conscience taking credit for what I didn't do. I've already done enough to give Ron reason to feel that he is in my debt for the rest of his life, and I don't want his debt to carry him past the bounds of what is rational. He's just the sort to convince himself that he feels more for me than he really does, just to make himself feel less indebted. I can't let my friend do that to himself.   Besides, perhaps if Ron knows what Snape did, it will help him see the Potions teacher in a new light. He already knows Snape's a double agent; he's one of the privileged few. I'd like for him to see Snape as a person, and not just an icon of unpleasantness. Heaven knows I've undergone a change of perspective in the last week myself, and it's done wonders for me.   Ron sighs aloud, messing his red hair with both hands as he considers everything I have just told them.   "Well," he says at last. "Well. I suppose I'll have to quit calling him the 'greasy git' and saying rude things about him." He sounds rather wistful as he says this, and Harry laughs.   "That makes two of us," he says. Molly saved me the difficulty of telling him about Lily's brush with poison by telling him herself just before we returned to Hogwarts via the Floo network. Snape's behavior, after all, was so far from what he and Ron were expecting that we had both felt that some sort of explanation was in order. Ginny had been easier to convince, but not much.   "Oh, lighten up," I tell them both. "He's not a bad guy. You know he's on our side, even though the rest of the world has to remain ignorant of the fact. Think about how he must feel, knowing the whole world thinks him a villain even as he risks his life for them, and he can't do anything to change their opinion of him- he mustn't do anything, or it's all for nought. That's got to be a major source of frustration for him, Harry; you're an instant celebrity for something you didn't even do intentionally, and he's reviled despite all his hard work. At least give him credit for being a decent human being underneath it all. You make it sound as if he would have enjoyed watching Ron's Mum die for the sheer entertainment value of it."   "A week ago, I would have said I thought that sounded about right," Harry admits. "But I know it isn't, Hermione. You can relax- we'll behave from now on. Snape's on our side, we'll get it through our heads eventually."   Hauling myself up out of the chair, I yawn and stretch. Pausing to drop this little idea of mine as if it were an afterthought, I say,   "You might want to consider thanking him yourselves. I daresay it would be more thanks than he gets from his students in the average decade of teaching."   "It's not his teaching we want to thank him for," Harry objects, but I shoot him a narrow look.   "I suppose you think I could have learned how to brew the Cleve Potion just by reading a book," I say with amusement. "I would never have gotten as far as I did on that potion if Snape hadn't taught me so much in the last seven years. We were lucky that he agreed to help with the part I couldn't do- but if I hadn't gotten all the way to the last step by then, it would have been too late for anyone, even Snape, to finish it in time. The Ministry would have had a fit if we'd had to go back a week in time to save Ron's mother; it would have been a lot more damaging to change an entire week of the past than a half hour. That's an offense punishable by time in Azkaban, Harry, you know that.   I meet Harry's gaze, then Ron's, hoping they can tell how much it would mean to me to have them do this. "He took a chance on helping me, and not just because of the spooky ingredient list. Given what he risked by letting a little compassion show, I think it's the least we can do to thank him."   Proud of how calmly I have given my little speech, I hug them with genuine affection and trudge up the stairs to bed. I wish I could tell them everything that Snape had done that night to complete the potion- but I know that even without my having left some things out, my retelling has failed to fully capture what I saw. They would have had to be there to really understand, and I am glad they were not there.   I know that Snape put a little of himself into that potion, a little of his life- much as he had died a little in admitting to me that he had once weakened enough to consider suicide. I know what that sort of vulnerability means to a man like Snape- and I will not say a word of it to anyone. Ever.   Especially Ron and Harry.   We have classes again the next morning, and it is as if nothing had ever happened to take our attention away from final exams, now approaching with alarming rapidity. We have three weeks until finals, and graduation is the week after that. In some ways I wish it was already here, and in others, I wish I had an extra three weeks to get caught up; with all the time I've put into the Cleve potion, I'm behind in my coursework. Consequently, I spend most of my time studying, and even Ron and Harry get into the spirit. They're almost as behind as I am, but they have the advantage of not caring what they get on their finals, as long as they can still graduate. Two days paeforefore I look up from a book to see what is going on nd mnd me, and I am so overwhelmed by what I must still get done that it is another day and a half before I look up again.   By then, it is Thursday, and time for Potions class again. It's our next to last class with him, and spirits are rising despite the fact that cramming season has just opened, with all classes fair game. We are finishing up with wand work in Potions, and Snape sets us to learning simple Potions-specific charms for practical tasks, such as a charm that reveals the last few ingredients to go into the cauldron- useful for correcting mistakes. I wish that he had taught this particular charm to Neville about seven years ago; it would have saved a lot of trouble. Still, it's useful now.   My eyes follow the Potions master as he sweeps across the room. Despite his outward vigor, I think he still looks a little fatigued from the effort of finishing the potion last week. He's not up to his usual standards of sarcasm and silent stalking of unwary pupils; I know better than to think he's decided to let up on us as the last class appres. es.   The last week has restored a sense of normalcy to my life, and I have a little distance with which to view the events that have transpired. I tell myself that I don't know what to make of the fact that I'm definitely attracted to him, despite being fully aware that on the outside, he is still the same harsh, irritable man he's always been. But I know I'm lying to myself. I've fallen in love with him. With the man underneath it all, the one I can barely see, the one who dared to give me a tiny glimpse of his true self even though he knows it isn't safe, or wise.   Perhaps he needed to reassure himself that he isn't that horrible person all the way through to his core. His is not an easy task: to completely turn his back on everything he might want or need, to play a twenty-year run in a role that would put any other actor to shame. He must feel a terrible need, every now and again, to throw off the man he must portray and frantically search for signs that it isn't really him, at least not all of him- for signs that this nightmare isn't real. Now that I am aware of the difference between the actor and the character he plays, I see things differently. Very differently.   Somehow, things that rankled before have become endearing- like his practice of staring down his nose at errant students, his soft, scathing use of the English language, and his habit of standing with arms crossed. I'm slowly reconciling the many sides of this man: the cruel teacher I recall from my first few years, the exacting taskmaster I had next decided he must be, the powerful wizard I had seen at work last week, and the oddly gentle man who had smoothed Molly's hair after she drank the potion.   I know now that this man is a consummate actor, that what little I know of Severus Snape is what he intends for everyone to see- and I don't even know how much of it is true. Clearly, there is more to him than he admits; exactly how much more, I cannot presume to guess. Tenderness, yes. Emotional fragility, most likely. Passion- definitely. That's the part that stays uppermost in my mind, kept there by the immediacy of memory and the thrill of knowing that, at least once, that passion has been directed at me.   But Severus hides his emotions with exceptional skill. That passion is nowhere in evidence today, except for the fact that he does not make eye contact with me during lecture. Usually, he glances my way at least three or four times during the class; he spends a great deal of the rest of the time staring at no particular point to avoid looking at his students, but I can always feel the jolt when our eyes meet. Today, however, he has not looked at me once- unless it is tangentially. He has not even made any derogatory comments about me.   That puzzles me, until I realize that it is as close as he can come to praising me for a job well done. Certainly he cannot be heard verbally approving of a Muggle-born Gryffindor when he is surrounded by Death Eaters in the larval stage. It is all a part of the act.   I can't get over how wonderful that notion is to me. Somehow, it doesn't seem right for a man like Snape to offer effusive praise; it's more in character for him to invest in the philosophy that pleasure is nothing else but the intermission of pain. He may not really be as nasty as he pretends to be, but I'm well aware that at heart he is still not a man to indulge in warm fuzzy sweetness. I imagine that a smile and a word of praise are the most he would offer, even under the best of circumstances. I'll take what I can get, for now; any form of approval from a wizard as powerful as Snape is compliment enough.   To my surprise, when the class is over and the cauldrons cleaned and dried, Ron lingers to speak to Snape. I watch the older wizard's face carefully as Ron approaches him, and I can see the faint hint of surprise in his features as well. I leave the classroom as I normally would, but once I'm out of view, I discreetly hover outside the door. I really am waiting for Ron to come out, but since I'm standing there anyway, I listen closely- for once not too principled to eavesdrop.   "Sir," says Ron, clearly nervous. He hesitantly approaches Snape's desk.   "Mr. Weasley." Snape's reply is neutral, guarded, as if he has a good idea about what Ron is here to say. To his credit, for a man uncomfortable with positive attention from students, he is doing his best to rein in his usual antipathy for Ron.   "I just wanted to express my thanks for what you did to help my Mum. I... was surprised when Hermione told me you helped her."   "I would hardly have done less for anyone, despite the obvious need for discretion on my part," says Snape, and his tone of voice surprises my friend. Gone is the usual acidic bite that flavors his lectures; what is left is soft, vibrant, and remarkably soothing. Small wonder Ron is taken aback- anything as nice as this, from this man, is completely unexpected, even when one knows firsthand the incredible versatility and flexibility of that voice. He wields it like a rapier most days, and to hear it reduced to a murmur that is almost sensual... is unbearably erotic. I shiver with delight at the memory of that tone, hoarser, less controlled, crying my name. I want to hear it again- but now is not the time to think such thoughts. I sidle closer, and am able with a little caution to peer around the doorframe. Neither man is looking my way, so I risk a long peek.   Snape is studying Ron closely, and he seems in that moment to make a decision of some sort. His speech is measured, thoughtful.   "However poorly you and I may get along, Mr. Weasley, your mother was- is- has always been a good person. She has more than earned my respect, and any help I can give." He watches Ron for a moment before continuing.   "The Headmaster has informed me that you, alongh Mih Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, are aware of the particulars of my... extracurricular activities. I trust you realize that I cannot appear to have done anything to help, Mr. Weasley. However, that does not mean that I have any wish to see any more people hurt. Your discretion is vital in this matter, as I have taken a very calculated risk that will put you, your family, and Hermione in greater danger than before, should word of my involvement leak out. I suggest, for everyone's sake, that you not allow this to tarnish your otherwise exemplary opinion of me."   Ron nods, blushing a bit. He had been surprised to learn that Snape had finished the potion for me, in part because he could not believe Snape would do anything so kind- but mostly because he had truly thought that, even if he knew the whole of the matter, the Potions master would intentionally decline to help Molly Weasley out of spite for Ron. He's clearly embarrassed by the lack of credit he has given our professor, and feels ashamed of himself at this oblique rebuke. It's impressive how Snape can deliver an insult couched inside encouragement as he just did, even if it is a little unfair; he really does need for Ron to hate him, even if he doesn't want to be hated. It's a small way for him to let off steam, and Ron has it coming anyway.   My friend takes a deep breath and says, "I see your point, Professor." I am delighted to hear a hint of sarcasm tint his voice as he adds, "I will do my best to restrain myself from shouting your praises at every meal."   Snape almost manages to completely bite back a smile when he hears this, and he cocks an eyebrow at Ron. "Practice," he says dryly, "and you might actually learn the fine art of sarcasm."   Ron doesn't reply to this, and I am pleased. He is not letting Snape put him on the defensive to turn the conversation. I know Snape is uncomfortable with gratitude; he has so little practice at accepting it with good grace. No one ever thanks him for anything.   "I want you to know I owe you one," Ron says, and manages to do it with no trace of the lingering resentment I know he must be feeling at having to thank Snape for anything. "We all do. Harry too- Mum told us about you helping Bill and Harry's mother. We want you to know that we appreciate what you did, and that if you ever need anything- well... we'll be here."   Snape studies him for a long moment, and nods slowly. "I must commend you, Mr. Weasley, for your own contributions to the effort. The Cleve Potion is obscure, dangerous, and well-buried in the literature. It is a credit to you that you found it in the first place." He pauses for effect, and his voice hardens into the dark steel we have only heard on a few occasions.   "And if you tell anyone any of what I have just said to you, I will deny every word." One eyebrow arches in silent question.   Ron understands immediately, and murmurs his assent. Clearly he does understand exactly how delicate Snape's position is; perhaps I have underestimated Ron's feel for the subtleties that surround us.   Snape, however, seems to have something he wants to tell Ron, as well. His voice regains a hint of his usual soft class tone when he speaks.   "No doubt Miss Granger has shared with you the details of the last step of the synthesis." It is not a question. Mention of my name, coupled with the shift in his voice, sends me back to my hiding place around the corner, ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation.   "She gave me an idea," Ron says. "I imagine that words alone are insufficient. She did say she wouldn't have been able to do it herself."   Snape is silent for a second, and I'd give anything to know what his face looks like, but I don't dare peek again. His reply, however, is in a distinctly louder voice that carries to me in the hallway.   "Perhaps, then, Miss Granger would care to join us so I can tell both of you one last helpful piece of information." The biting tone is familiar, but this time it doesn't bother me in the least. I'm glad to be closer to what's going on, so that I can hear better.   And the fact that I can sit closer to Snape now than I do in class, and not have to be the sole object of his attention, is no small inducement either.   Guiltily, I slink around the door. Ron's face splits into a grin at seeing me listening at keyholes; I give him a sheepish smile and hug myself a little as I move to stand beside him. Snape moves silently to his desk, but leans on it instead of sitting.   I love how he stands that way, fingers laced, tall frame casually braced against the ancient clerk's desk with one elbow resting on the surface. It sets him slightly off the vertical, and something about the pose makes him seem more approachable. Which is odd, because on that first day, when he whispered that remarkable speech to our first-year class, he stood just like that- and scared the hell out of all of us. It was only my own ignorance of his temper that let me raise my hand so much that day.   "Miss Granger," Snape says, and I find myself admiring the fall of black hair along one cheekbone. It takes effort to pay attention, but he is looking right at me now, and I realize that all traces of self-conscious behavior are gone from him. He is speaking in earnest.   "You asked me, the night we finished brewing the potion, about the source of that last crucial ingredient. More specifically, you asked if I knew whose it was." He looks a shade ill at the memory, and I murmur my assent. He shifts forward a step to lean back against his desk, arms crossed in his other favorite lecture pose. He casts his gaze upon the floor for a moment before speaking.   "I do not know whose soul it was. But I do know how it was obtained. Given that the potion was used to save Molly Weasley's life, I have no doubt that the three of you have worried over the implications of using a Dark substance on her without her knowledge. I concur with your decision not to tell her about that part of the issue. However, I would like to set your mind at ease on one point.   "The soul that went into that potion was not stolen from its owner in a Dark ritual, as was once the way. Rather, it was... harvested. From a dead Dementor, seconds after its demise."   Our faces must have registered our surprise, because he almost smiled. He was on comfortable ground now- lecturing came as easily to him as breathing.   "Dementors don't have a stomach, exactly, but it is possible to retrieve and crystallize the soul if it has just been removed by a Dementor's Kiss. The Dementor who died to produce this soul was a renegade who attacked a visitor to Azkaban. It was executed on Ministry orders, and the soul collected in an attempt to restore it to its owner. The attempt, however, failed. That is how I came to be in possession of such a powerful and Dark substance. Whether or not the... less invasive method of collection will affect the long-term effects of the potion is not entirely clear. However, given the initial response, I would expect it to be nearly, if not entirely, unaltered from the predicted results of the original formula." He studies us both for a moment. "I don't doubt you had concerns about how I got that bottle of soul. There was a time- in the past- when I was not as selective as I now am in how I obtained things. But those times are long past. I thought you might like to know."   I sigh with profound relief, aware that Ron is doing the same beside me. This information makes a considerable difference to me- both because I know Molly hasn't benefited from the death of an innocent creature for Dark purposes... and because I now know that Snape has not committed any atrocities for the sake of this rarest of Potions ingredients. It feels good to know that my gut instinct was right about him. I glance at Ron, who is rubbing his eyes tiredly, and realize that this has taken a huge toll on him, and that he has not said a word of it to me. Better to deal with that later. Turning to look at Snape again, I smile warmly at him, and he flushes just a bit.   Thank you, I h ath at him, and he gives an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze turning to Ron. My friend is smiling too, and this time his thanks is freely given.   "Thank you for telling us that," he says. "I won't tell Mum, but I'm grateful all the same."   Snape looks at us both for a long moment, then looks at the floor.   "You have work to do," he says, though not unkindly, and turns away. It is the least harsh dismissal either of us has ever seen him give, and we take it with good grace. Ron grabs his bag and we leave the Potions classroom, too thoughtful to speak.         A/N: "Pleasure is nothing else but the intermission of pain" is a quote by John Selden (1584-1654). There are days when I think he's at least partially right. I hope no one minds that I actually like Ron and would like him to get a break from StupidGit!Ron as commonly seen in fanon. He really does love his friends and family....