Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion Chapter 7   Finals are here. It's incredible to be taking my last-ever Hogwarts exam, but I'm so wrapped up in the preparations I can't properly mourn and savor the experience. Ron and Harry spent the last two days frantically making up dire predictions for their Divination final; they're just as adept at fraud as Trelawney now. This morning was our Potions final, and this afternoon is our Transfiguration final. I've taken all my other exams, and my authorization for the use of a Time Turner is officially ended. I am relieved, exhausted, exhilarated, and sad all at once.   Graduations are like that, it seems. Every year it's another round of good-byes, address exchanges, and the sad, slow realization that despite intentions, you will likely never see any of these people ever again, and you will never be as close as you were these last seven years.   I know that Harry, Ron, and I will always be close. But I don't know about the others. I was never that popular to begin with, and usually favored school over socializing. My teachers, I know, will miss me; I will miss them just as much. I wish I could come back to teach here, but there are no positions open, and I would not wish for anyone to leave to make a place for me. Instead, I am moving to Salisbury to do an internship in arithmancy and astronomy, and once that is done, I think I will apply to a graduate program. I don't know what I want to do; that's why I'm stalling for a year.   I wouldn't mind if something in Hogwarts opened up, you see- and I do know that a few of the professors are planning on retiring soon. I wouldn't even mind teaching History of Magic.   Anything, to stay here where I can be near him.   It's grown over the last three weeks, rather than weakened. In the first week I went from being fascinated by him, to having a crush on him, to falling in love with him. Now I'm sure of it My intellect tells me it's ridiculous; it was too fast, I hardly know him, and I see him so rarely that I can't possibly feel real love for him. But my heart disagrees. It answers my every indictment of him with reason and calm, and explains away the inconsistencies with logic I cannot dispute.   I love him.   Now if only I knew how he really feels about me.   At lunch I receive a message via school owl. The elegant hand on the scroll's edge catches my eye, and I open it with a furtive glance at the staff table. It is a message from Professor Snape.   Miss Granger, I would appreciate it if you could come to my office this evening at eight o'clock. We have some unfinished business that needs to be concluded before your departure from Hogwarts. SS   I read the scroll a few times. I have no idea what the unfinished business might be, but I have never known Snape to make anything up- outside of class, that is- to justify a detention. There must be something I've forgotten. I Errol the parchment and slip it into my bag, mind already focusing on the exam I will be starting in about ten minutes' time.   The Transfiguration exam is a tough one. I knew it would be; one could hardly expect less from McGonagall. Oddly, the respect I gained during the final step of the Cleve Potion for the powers we wield has helped me focus and improve the control I have in other areas. I know I have a lifetime of learning ahead of me, but I can't help feeling that Snape taught me something that night that will color all my studies for years to come.   Our exam question is a rather interesting challenge; it reminds me of an old Muggle logic puzzle. The examinee is given an old woolen scarf and is magically sealed into a room with no windows or doors. The test is to escape from the room, using only the woolen scarf and whatever objects into which you can Transfigure it.   I love these tests. Ordinarily I would think about Transfiguring a succession of tools and building a door; but today, full of the knowledge that magic really can do anything, I Transfigure the maroon scarf (it could have been a Weasley family scarf) into a Caterpillar bulldozer. I don't know how to drive a real one, so I invent controls that work the I waI want them to. Two minutes and a satisfying pile of rubble later, I am free. McGonagall looks startled, and I smile at her.   "I wanted to try something a little different," I say as I hand her the scarf, Transfigured back into its original form, and her blue eyes sparkle as she scribbles a grade down in her book. I don't need to see the grade to know I aced the exam.   Ron escapes with a series of tools, as I had momentarily considered doing, and Harry digs a tunnel through the floor. He sheepishly admits that he considered Transfing ing the scarf into an Apparition license, but realized that one can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds anyway. I don't point out to him that he doesn't know how to Apparate; it's irrelevant now, anyway.   Dinner is rather hurried, as there is a pick-up game of Quidditch planned for this evening. Ron and Harry eat faster than I do anyway, and it isn't long before I'm alone at the Gryffindor table. It's a melancholy feeling; tomorrow is the Leaving Feast, and then it's back to Hogsmeade to ride the Hogwarts Express for the last time. A hard lump of sadness settles in my stomach as I contemplate leaving; my eyes roam the Great Hall and touch each flickering wall sconce, each banner and table with wistfulness. With a sigh, I turn back to my plate.   I finish my meal and head upstairs to start packing; thankfully, as a witch this takes me much less time than it did before I knew about Hogwarts. It's only a matter of an hour and I'm ready to go, only my dress robes, toiletries, and Muggle clothing for the next two days left out. Remembering my appointment with Snape, I check my watch; it's seven minutes till eight o'clock.   I head down to the dungeons, my mind wandering aimlessly without the relentless string of exams to rule my thoughts. Unbidden, the green book rises in my memory. I am sure it's too much to hope that he will have it in his office, and it's definitely too much to hope I'll be in his rooms, where I might catch a glimpse of it. I nod politely to a passing suit of armor and take the last staircase down to the dungeons.   Snape is waiting for me in the classroom. His head turns as I enter, and he rises from his seat.   "Good evening, Miss Granger. This way, please."   I follow him into his laboratory, where I see a neatly packed crate on the countertop. There are twelve bottles of shimmering bronze syrup in the crate, and Snape takes one out and holds it up.   "This," he says to me, "is the remainder of the Cleve Potion. It does appear to have the effect which you and Mr. Weasley postulated that it would. In light of that, I've bottled it for you. Mrs. Weasley may still require further doses of the potion, and even beyond that, there may be someone else who can benefit from this small batch of the stuff. I think it unlikely that there will ever be another batch. As such, to me, it seems best if you would deliver this to Mrs. Weasley. She might know of someone else who could use it. Or her mediwitch might."   My mouth is faintly open. I'd forgotten entirely about the rest of the potion! The right corner of Snape's mouth curves up in what is almost a smile.   "I see this has slipped your mind, Miss Granger. Understandable- you've had a great deal to occupy your time. Will you take this to Mrs. Weasley?"   It surprises me that he has not already done so himself. "Why would you not want to take it yourself?"   "It is your work."   "It's as much Ron's and yours as it is mine," I protest. "I did not find it, and I could never have finished it."   "Nevertheless, I would appreciate it if you could undertake the delivery. I do not imagine Mr. Weasley would take well to being summoned to the dungeons, now that he believes he's escaped for good."   I look him straight in the eye.   "You can Apparate there and back in an instant," I say speculatively. "Why don't you want to see the Weasleys? Surely you realize how grateful they are, and how glad they'd be to see you."   He glowers at me, just a little. "I have never dealt well with gratitude, Miss Granger. It is a most awkward feeling. I am not accustomed to being pleasant- as you well know."   I snort, a very unladylike sound. "That's something you're going to have to get used to, if you really want that Order of Merlin," I say. I know it's a little bit mean- after all, he's more than earned the Order several times over, but his work has to remain unrecognized. Still, I can't resist teasing him.   "Screw the Order, then," Snape says, and I am surprised at his language. But then, my grades in his class have already been sent to the registrar's office and recorded on my transcript; I'm no longer his student.   Nngernger his student.   The idea clicks in my head like the striking of a match. I really need a change of pace from the serious stuff I've lived through lately, all the revelations I've seen in the people around me. I need some laughter, some fun- some reassurance that life isn't all grave.   "It's not so difficult, being sociable," I say, marshalling my expression to keep it casual. "You can always come up with a little small talk in advance. You like to read, no doubt, Professor. Books are always a good topic. What's the last thing you've read?"   He goes utterly still, and I smile innocently at him. I'm pretty sure he's not finished with the WIKTT archive yet, and the idea of what he's been doing in the privacy of his own quarters with that book just won't leave me alone.   If I had my way, he wouldn't be alone. And if he had me, he wouldn't need the book....   I wonder for a fleeting moment just what I'd think if I read all those stories by myself. The flash of heat that sizzles down my nerves convinces me that it's best not to torture myself so- it's doubtful I'll ever get to read it, unless I can find my own copy, but I smile inwardly anyway. Brilliant women, those WIKTTeers. Exactly the sort of friends a girl needs to point out the obvious to her.   "Professor? Haven't you read anything good lately? Something you just couldn't put down? Something that seemed to suck you in until you were part of the plot?"   I really am evil. I can see his discomfort as he regroups his equanimity. "I haven't read much lately other than the seventh years' Potions finals, Miss Granger," he replies stiffly. I wonder to myself if his voice is the only thing stiff at the moment.   "Too bad," I say. "I've been reading a wonderful anthology of short stories. Come on, Professor, give it a try. I've just fed you a line."   His eyes widen a hair at my choice of expression, and I fight my inner glee down as I enjoy the conversation full of double entendres we're picking our way through. I see a gleam of something in the dark sheen of his eyes then, as he contemplates whether to press his original point, or to follow the lead I seem to be giving him. My heart picks up a beat as he seems to suddenly decide to play the game. He doesn't know how much I know, and the thrill of it makes my mouth dry.   "Very well." He gestures for me to precede him out of the laboratory, and a moment later I am seated in his study, a cup of tea at my elbow.   "Small talk," he says, his voice laced with scorn. "You wish to foist off some knowledge of the subject on me, in order to make it easier for me to deliver the potion to the Weasley family. All right, Miss Granger. Go ahead." His fingers are steepled, and there is a grin on his face which can only be described as evil. "Teach me."   I lean forward, frantically trying to get my brains to function- for there, on the table beside his chair, forgotten under a sheaf of parchment, is the book.   The green book.   "We were dssinssing books, Professor Snape. There- under that parchment. There's a book there; if you have it out, it must have been read recently. What is it?"   I reach out to take the book, but his reputation for lightning- fast strikes is well-earned, and he has it in hand before I can touch it.   "It's a textbook," he says, but I can hear the faint tremor in his voice. I know in that moment that he had forgotten he'd left it out. I can't help noticing that the bookmark is nearly at the front cover, but not quite. Does that mean he's rereading it- or that he's had it a lot longer than I've known about it?   Snape is still trying to divert my attention from the book. "It's nothing the Weasleys would care to discuss."   "Oh, but I might," I argue. "I haven't seen this one in the library before." I am having no difficulty circumventing his excuses at all. Textbooks draw me like a moth to flame, and he realizes his mistake in that instant.   "It is from the private collection of an acquaintance of mine," he says icily, and winces at the glow in my eyes. A new book!   "May I borrow it?"   "N--" He bites the reflexive bark back quickly, managing to smoothly change his words. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Miss Granger. It is being returned tomorrow." He looks unconcerned, but I can't help seeing the color in his face. It's not embarrassment; no, I have the feeling that Severus Snape's cheeks are a tad on the warm side because he's daring to imagine the fantasies that have come out of that book. I wonder if any of them played out like the scene that is unfolding around us?   "I'm a fast reader." I get up out of the chair and move to stand beside him. He knows better than to try to hide the cover; it isn't particularly revealing anyway.   "WIKKT Archives," I read musingly. "Interesting. Is it a research group?"   Snape clears his throat, choosing his words with caution. "I suppose they are, in a way. They specialize in... er... theoretical issues."   I can't resist. "And have you come up with any practical applications for their work?"   Snape is out of his chair almost before my voice dies in the air.   "Tell me what you've read lately, Miss Granger, or I shall leave at once for the Burrow and deliver the rest of the Cleve Potion in the most surly and unpleasant manner I can dredge up." His tone is icy, and I reluctantly admit that my play is over. I've pushed him well past where I expected him to let me, and I'm pleased.   "Very well, Professor." I make my own voice as measured and kind as I can, to make up for the teasing I've just given him. "I recently finished an anthology of short stories by O. Henry. I think you'd enjoy them- they're quite clever. If you would like to borrow it, I would be pleased to lend it to you. I know that the Weasleys have read them; the book's already made the rounds at the Burrow. It would give you something to talk about, in a pinch. And I do think you should deliver the potion yourself. You deserve to get credit for something out of all the things you've done for an unsuspecting world."   And in that moment, I can see I've hit a nerve. I've voiced the one thing he never felt justified in saying himself.   He swallows visibly, and his mood seems to shift just a little.   "Thank you, Miss Granger, I think I'd like to borrow the book. And your... your point is well made. And taken." He absently puts the WIKTT Archives on a shelf, his face shadowed with some emotion I can't quite name.   I stand to leave. "I will bring you the book at breakfast tomorrow," I say. "I'm sure you're a fast reader; it won't take long to read at least a few of the stories. Then you can make it to the Burrow by teatime."   He looks mildly puzzled, and I explain, "If you don't go tomorrow, then by the time you do go, the entire Weasley family will be in residence."   "I see." The color has now faded from his cheeks, and he appears to be in command of himself once again.   Snape nods, and I slip out the door.   I know I've needled him a little, which bothers me a slight bit as I climb the stairs to the main level of the castle. But something in me wants to know how he'll respond, wants to see what he's made of in this manner. It's a gentle game, for all its adult underpinnings, and I hope that he won't take it poorly. I, at least, have had a marvelous time- it's hard to put Snape on the defensive, but it's satisfying. I'm as exhilarated at the conversation I've just had with him as I would be at playing tag with a lion. Which, augh ugh he doesn't know it, is what he's been doing: velvet pads and sheathed claws, meanings buried under plays on words. Lions can be as cunning as serpents; cats love to play with their prey, after all- don't they?   The morning of the Leaving Feast is full of the flurry and hurry of students packing. People run through the common room shouting, asking whether anyone has seen their toad, hairbrush, wand, hat, comic book collection, what have you. Harry and Ron have actually packed a good portion of their stuff, which surprises me; we spend most of the morning playing gobstones and chess in a fit of procrastination that even I cannot resist. Lunch is hurried; no one is overly hungry because they know that the Leaving Feast will, as always, offer more food than they can get down at one sitting anyway, and there is still so much to pack!!!   I help Ron and Harry pack, even going so far as to fold laundry for each of them (with a wand, of course). Ginny is ahead of her brother, which gives us another pair of hands after a few hours. Still, it is dinnertime before we can say boo. We put on our dress robes and head down for the feast, chattering with excitement and nerves and sadness.   Gryffindor has won the house cup again (not that anyone is surprised). The Great Hall is festooned in scarlet and gold, but I can't help but notice that this year, Snape has given up on looking remotely disappointed. He has some small measure of reason to be happy; Slytherin did win the Quidditch cup this year, mostly because Harry was out of commission for the last game. Given the students in his House's seventh year, it was unlikely that Slytherin should come out of its seven year House losing streak, anyway.   Snape looks surprisingly relaxed as he sweeps in to his place at the head table. His robes are black, as always, but tonight he is wearing his dress robes, like everyone else. They're impressive; the fabric is textured black-on-black, with black velvet in the turned-back sleeves and a wide border of black velvet at hem and lapels. He looks sharp, even if his hair is the same as always. Or is it? I don't think he's looked this tidy in ages. His color is better than usual, and his face has less-if only marginally less- sneer in its features.   He doesn't look any warmer than he ever has- and yet, to me, he's unbearably hot.   I wonder how his trip to The Burrow went. I make a note to ask Ginny; Ron wouldn't know, but she might. There are some things a woman will tell a daughter that she won't tell a sonrtairtainly not a son like Ron, good man though he is.   The Feast is sumptuous indeed, with everyone shouting out the name of the dish they want most, and receiving instant gratification in the form of a golden platterful of their heart's desire. Harry is eating prime rib, Ron is digging into a mountain of mashed potatoes with gravy, and I am facing a lovely display of sushi. I don't quite know why I wanted this, but I did- and I won't be getting sushi much in Amesbury.   A glance at the staff table reveals Dumbledore with a stack of egg and cress sandwiches, Sprout with a salad the size of Kew Gardens, and Snape with a lobster tail. Yum, I think; perhaps I'll make the sushi an appetizer and have one of those for the main course. Seafood all around! I spot Hagrid's giant fried turkey and just laugh.   There is music after dinner, and this year the tables are cleared and we all mingle as if we were in one giant common room. Neville is so relieved to be graduating that he's making the rounds of everyone in our class, shaking hands and congratulating everyone for nothing in particular. Harry and Ron are sitting with Seamus, Dean, and Lee in the corner, telling Quidditch stories again; Lavender and Parvati are exchanging photos and signing them on the back, in a way that reminds me of my grade school yearbook experiences. "Stay sweet, always remember fourth period, best friends foreveand and all that sort of rot that will puzzle us years later when we can't even remember what fourth period was. I snort with amusement.   "I see you don't hold with sentimentality, Miss Granger."   I spin around to see Snape standing behind me, a mild expression on his face.   "I have nothing against it," I say, "when it's well-placed."   He does not reply, but he holds out the book I lent him this morning.   "You were correct, Miss Granger. I enjoyed the stories very much. And... it was useful at The Burrow."   I cannot pass up this opening- he would not have brought it up if he didn't want me to ask, that much is certain. "How did it go?" I ask, and he colors a bit.   "Well," he says. "I... enjoyed myself." The look about him suggests that Molly expressed her gratitude in the most effective way possible- subtly. I think the acknowledgement has done him a world of good; it's likely this is the first time in many years he's been permitted to bask in the warmth of approval.   "And yet, the world did not end," I say, smiling. "You have a right to enjoy things, you know, Professor. You should take advantage of it sometime."   His mouth curls a tad, and his chest rises with what I think must be an inaudible chuckle.   "You might have something there, Miss Granger," he says. "I am not in a position to relax much- but I will take it under advisement."   I see him gather himself to leave, but he stops in mid-motivation. "I..." he trails off. There is reluctance in his eyes, and something more. I can't identify it, not exactly, but it belongs in the family with regret and sadness.   Can it be that he will miss me?   "I expect I will see you at conferences," he says brusquely, and turns to go- but not before I can see the faint sheen that brightens his eyes. And that's when I know for certain.   He will miss me.   A warm, certain smile spreads across my own face as I turn to join Ron and Harry on our last night together as students.   Tomorrow, our lives begin. A/N: Explanations for all behavior will be forthcoming. Severus and Hermione have demanded that I use these chapters to tie up a few ends before they can start undoing anything more. *ahem* Neither have we seen the last of the little green book. :-) Thanks to all who have reviewed, commented, suggested, and encouraged!