Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion Chapter 8   Salisbury Celestial and Arithmancic Institute is very quiet compared to Hogwarts. I discover that immediately; I am living in a small thatched hut which I share with one other girl in my program, and after ten minutes and a short walk I know her life story and the entire contents of the small, carefull.y-hidden-from-Muggles campus of which we are a part. Janine, my roommate, is so introverted as to render all conversation as unnecessary as it is impossible, and I have realized that my life here will revolve around my work.   Heaven knows it has nothing else around which it might revolve.   There are few talkative people among the astronomy and arithmancy crowd; it is plain to see that immersion in Hogwarts culture has brought Professor Vector out of the shell so commonly seen in her field. I seem to be the chatty one in the bunch, which is fortuitous, as I have to hold up both ends of any given conversation I might be having. Thankfully, no one seems to notice- or at least to care- that I talk to myself all day.   Most of our work, of course, centers around the great henge on the plain, a stone’s throw from our campus, which to Muggles looks like an empty hayfield across from the car park. Unfortunately, Muggles have unknowingly interfered so much with the workings of SCAI (pronounced "sky", for short) and its scientists that ropes and paths have had to be installed to keep them from stumbling over the workers they cannot see. The entire area is blanketed with a series of charms to make us all invisible and inaudible, as well as largely intangible, allowing us to work undisturbed. I admit it feels rather like being a bug in a jar, but eventually one grows accustomed to being looked through. I am fascinated by the work I am doing, and so I don't mind- at least for the first four weeks. But by July I am stir crazy and desperate to see something that doesn't have a calculable orbit or an associated scrying factorial.   I cder der my options. I know better than to try to visit Ron or Ginny; their family is hosting a reunion this year and The Burrow is likely overrun at this point with red heads. Harry is playing Quidditch for the summer in a bid to join a professional team next year; Dumbledore thinks it best to give the appearance that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is pursuing his life in a carefree fashion without concern for the plottings of Voldemort.   I know Moldy Voldy- as I call him in my deepest heart of hearts- is planning something, but I also know- because I checked with the Arithmancy calculations- that it won't be for over a year. That fits with the intelligence Harry says has been gathered on Death Eater activity. So why not enjoy the time we have before the coming storm?   Eventually, I decide to visit London. Diagon Alley ought to be an interesting place to visit as a grown-up, and I might run into someone I know. Barring that, I can always take in a play or visit my parents. I haven't seen them since shortly after graduation, and while it's difficult explaining my work to my parents, they're always glad to see me. My Apparition license was the first thing I got after graduation, so the trip is a cinch. I pack an overnight bag and a bit of money and Apparate to the alley beside the Leaky Cauldron, and five minutes and a congenial round of hellos later I am in the back of the pub, tapping the bricks and entering Diagon Alley.   I had forgotten how many scents and sights and sounds this magical street has to offer. A deep breath reveals the myriad scents of butterbeer, freshly milled wool, and the astringent odors of potions ingredients. Somewhere in it all I can smell parchment, ink, and quills, and I am drawn down into the street.   There are a few things I honestly need from this trip, and so I settle them first. I buy quills and ink, paper, and a lovely seal with wax that self-melts. I splurge on a beautiful silver-chased astrolabe and sextant, and even treat myself to a handful of treats from the Honeydukes kiosk on the street outside Flourish and Blotts. I dawdle my way down the street, pausing to peek into Madam Malkin's and look at the new style robes. Honestly, who would wear something that needed that many strings to hold in place?   Noon finds me hungry and thirsty, but not so much that I can't spare a moment for Nooke's, the used bookstore across the corner from Gringott's. I slip into the cool, dark interior, grateful for respite from the bustle of the street. Moving through the shelves, I find myself willingly leaving the outside world behind and easing into the covers of old volumes of knowledge and story.   "Miss Granger."   Startled, I snap my book shut and look up, to find myself nearly face-to-chest with Severus Snape. The bookshop is old and narrow, and it is virtually impossible to get more than four inches away from anyone else in your row. I tip my head back and smile.   "Hello, Professor Snape," I say.   "Find anything interesting?"   I look down at the book in my hand. How To Read Minds Like You Are Reading This Book. "Not exactly," I reply. "You?"   "I just arrived," he says with a smile. "Give me time."   "Do you shop here often?" I ask, and feel my cheeks burn. The ultimate bookworm's pickup line!   He ignores my discomfort. "Yes," he says, nodding at the shelves. "It's a wonderful source for older books and references no longer in print." Slight pause. "Furthermore, they have... interesting items of no particular relation to any field." He shifts on his feet. "Have you purchased anything here before?"   He is watching me closely, and I find myself fidgeting as if I were right back in Potions class. "No," I admit. "I've only been in here once before, when I was getting things for school. I never had money to buy anything like this before." I gesture at the expanse of spines visible far overhead.   I don't know why that would make him relax a hair, but it has. At the same time, he seems mildly irritable. Frowning slightly, he turns to look into the street.   "Have you had lunch, Miss Granger?"   This surprises me. "I have not," I reply honestly. "Would you like to have lunch with me, Professor?"   It is his turn to be surprised. He nods.   "But only if you stop calling me Professor," he qualifies.   My laughter seems to startle him, and I realize that he's likely never heard me do much laughing. I did most of my laughing in Gryffindor Tower when I was at school, after all. "Then what do you propose I call you?" I ask reasonably. "If I am still to be Miss Granger, perhaps you would prefer being Mr. Snape."   He shudders. "I'll settle for first names, if you will, Miss Granger. I think we've progressed that far."   The filtered light that reaches the seclusion of these bookshelves glints on his hair, blue on ebony. I sigh a little.   "All right... Severus." I can't help but make the name sibilant, and I am rewarded by seeing the faintest of shivers pass through him.   He turns a little, holds his arm out to me in an adult gesture I've never seem him make before. "Shall we?" he enquires. "There's a nice little cafe off the alley just a block up from here."   I take the black-clothed arm, delighting in the wonderful resilience of muscle and skin beneath the fabric. He's warm, and despite the heat of summer, I want to get closer.   He is every bit as different outside of Hogwarts as he seemed on our late night trip to the Burrow. He seems relaxed, if no less acerbic, and he courteously pulls my chair out for me when we are taken to our table. My disbelief must show on my face, because he mocks me a bit as he seats himself.   "I can hardly treat you like a schoolgirl any longer, Hermione." The sound of my name on his lips is delicious, and suddenly I want to know how it tastes- him, saying my name, the way he did that night.   "Oh?" I tease back. "What changed?"   "Nothing but the dates on the calendar," he replies dryly. "I see no significant change in your person since we last met."   At this, I laugh aloud. "I don't suppose you've been looking," I drawl.   He colors a bit at this, and snorts to cover his discomfort. "I spend my life surrounded by adolescents," he retorts. "'Things', as it were, change all the time. It just so happens that, in this as in everything else, you finished well before your peers."   "Oh, so you have been looking?" I can't quite conceal the pleasure in my voice; this is more than I ever thought he'd say on the subject, whether positive or negative. The memory of his similar remark- "I see no difference"- after Malfoy's hex on my teeth still rankles a bit, but this goes an incredibly long way toward erasing the embarrassment I still feel at the memory.   Now he's the one who's embarrassed. I can't quite believe he let himself make the remark he made; it's rather out of character. But still- it's a step. One I want to match.   "I'm flatt," I," I say sincerely. My face remains calm, but it suddenly becomes clear to me that, if he knows that the changes in my physical form were complete three years ago, he's been watching me a lot longer than I realized.   I am beginning to think the bookmark's backward progress through the green book is more an indication of the length of his ownership than of anything else.   With an effort, I yank my mind back to the conversation. Severus Snape is not the sort of conversationalist with whom it is safe to use only one ear, one cerebral hemisphere, and no eyes. When I look at him, I am amazed to see that Snape is watching me seriously, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.   "Are you, indeed?" he murmurs. "Most young women in your position would be horrified to realize that their teachers are all too aware of the onset of physical maturity."   "Why?" My voice conveys that I'm not at all unsure of my own position, but rather curious about the rationale behind his. I don't know why I am playing with fire like this, but the conversation is turning downright irresistible.   "Because we're not all Gilderoy Lockharts- least of all me. There is hardly a student at Hogwarts who doesn't have something horrid to say about me, and no few of the teachers, either. Believe me, Hermione, I know what I am." His voice has an edge of self-denigration that I cannot stomach. Not after all he's done.   Not after I realized how I felt about him. I meet his gaze, unflinching.   "So do I," I say softly. My eyes do not falter on his, and I think it's the first time I've ever dared let Severus Snape know that I'm interested in him, on any level.   He is surprised enough that his carefully maintained mask drops for a moment, and I watch in fascination as surprise, hope, reservation, and something more elemental flicker in turn across his face. The mask returns swiftly, though, and he hesitantly reaches out to take my hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of my knuckles in a sensuous caress that sends far more sensation down my spine than anything Viktor ever did. I watch as his eyes darken just a shade. He knows that I really do know- because he told me himself. When he speaks, it is in an intimate murmur that resonates in every nerve I have.   "Well, my dear, that is saying something."   He's leaning toward me, elbow braced on the table as his arm crosses his chest. That raven's wing hair is falling in a curtain along one side of his face, one shorter lock curling to touch his cheek. His head is tilted at a fascinating angle, his chin out a bit so he is looking straight out at me even as he leans forward.   I want to kiss him so much I can taste it. There’s more to it than what I saw that night so many months ago, more than anything that he or I ever did. It's elemental, this pull between us, and I've never felt more drawn to a man in my life. My breath is coming faster, my eyes wide, and I can see in his eyes that he knows it. A tiny almost-smile touches the corner of his mouth, and then he's letting my hand go and sitting back as the waiter comes to take our order.   My nerves are singing at this point, and I’m so irritated with the waiter that when he asks me what I would like, it takes all my strength of character not to ask for his head on a platter, with a side of chips.   We retreat to safe ground over lunch, chatting about Hogwarts, my work, his work, the Quidditch World Cup that will take place at the end of next month. He briefly mentions that Molly is having to take daily doses of the Cleve Potion to sustain her remission, but that he thinks she will be able to stop once the batch runs out, as the countercurse’s manifestations weaken with each dose, and she has had no symptoms for over a week. It’s good news, and he seems pleased. Still, that doesn’t leave any leftovers for experimentation. I can tell he is mildly disappointed by this, but he firmly insists that Molly’s well-being takes precedence over any scientific inquiry.   I eat my sandwich and he eats his, neither of us quite able to watch the other. I don't think either of us can believe what passed between us when we sat down. The girl I was two years ago would have already convinced herself she imagined the whole thing, by now; but I am sure it happened, and I'm sure Snape feels it too, despite the practical conversation we have had in the last few minutes.   By the time our dishes have been cleared away, I am breathless with more than desire. I've spent the better part of lunch laughing; it's not that Snape is a comedian, but his razor-sharp wit finds so many apt targets in the wizarding world that I can't help but dissolve into giggles at his cleverness. He's always been like this, and I've always hated him for it, I know; it's just that perspective is everything. When his vitriol is not directed at me, I can listen to the subtleties, and they're damn funny. Not to mention accurate. That's a bit sobering; I begin to wonder if the horrid things he said to Harry, Ron, and me when we were students were as based in truth as the things he's said today. Swallowing past the nervous lump in my throat, I ask him, managing to keep my attitude calm.   "Were you as serious about your insults to me, Harry, and Ron as you are in your tirade against the Ministry?" I ask.   A calculating expression crosses his face for a moment, and he considers my question. "I suppose that depends," he says. "Which insults?"   I quirk my lips into a smile; even here, he dodges. He's clearly feeling the effects of having let more slip out than is his habit, and he's retreating again.   "Oh, any of the ones about idiot Gryffindors, stupidity, troublemaking- I suppose your crack about my teeth comes to mind- any of those sorts of remarks."   "Ah. Well. As to your teeth, you remedied that on your own- and very adroitly, I might add."   I arch an accusatory eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. "They were large. It was a simple fact, no different than saying that Dumbledore's got white hair."   I snort derisively. "No different than the students saying that you've got a hooked nose and greasy hair?" I'm not sure what made me say that, though I suspect it might be resentment that he's been so wonderful for most of the day, and now he seems to be reverting to his old crabby self.   His mouth is a hard line. "I see your point, harshly though you make it." The voice is cool now, and I know he's retreated fully into what I've decided to think of as Adult Snape mode, as opposed to Professor Snape mode. While I'm aware he will never treat me in the same manner as he did when I was his student, I'm also fairly sure that I won't see any more of the private side of Snape than the tantalizing glimpse I've already had- and the thought saddens me.   Snape, however, is answering my other question. "I did mean it about you being troublemakers, and rule-breakers. Which is not to say that it was always a bad thing- we've all bent rules from time to time. But with the risks Potter took all the time, it's amazing he lived. And yes- Gryffindors are known for doing just that." He pauses, and his voice softens again.   "But I never meant it when I called you 'idiot girl'. I never meant to suggest that you were actually a show-off. And I know you never deliberately sabotaged anyone else's work to make yourself look better. It was hardly necessary."   If there’s one way to smooth my ruffled feathers, that’s it. I smile at him, ready to let the matter drop; after all, we’ve had such a lovely time together, I don’t want to spoil it with a petty dig to get him back for simply being himself over seven yeof mof my life.   The bill arrives, but Snape has paid it before I can even look to see what I owe. He waves away my offer to pay my part with a snort.   "I remember life fresh outHogwHogwarts," he says. "And you’re in an intern position; the pay’s not great, and you’re probably a week behind on your sleep. Let me treat you this time, and someday when you’ve solved all the world’s problems and have more money than Midas, you can treat me."   "Deal," I say with a rueful smile. He has me, and he knows it. "I am glad I ran into you today, Severus." I stand, reaching down to gather my bags. "You’re a lot more fun out of those professor’s robes than in them."   And despite all I have said before, I didn’t quite mean that the way it sounds.   At least… not consciously. I blush as I gather the last of my purchases, and when I turn at last to look at Snape, he is watching me speculatively. He, too, stands, and when we are in the street once more, he turns to me and salutes my hand with practiced ease.   "Perhaps we will meet here again, Miss Granger," he saynd Ind I can tell from the look on his face that he’s serious.   "I think that can be arranged," I answer, and reaching into my pocket, I hand him a small card with my contact information on it. "No Floo network, but we’ve got a great owlery." He takes the card, smiles as he reads it, and pockets it smoothly.   "Good afternoon, then," he says. "Enjoy your purchases." With a flicker, he Apparates, and I am alone again in Diagon Alley.   I look up and down the street, trying to decide if there’s anything else I need. With a start, I realize that Snape’s arrival effectively ended my earlier visit to Nooke’s. I’m not about to leave without a look in those stacks- especially not after Snape’s reaction to finding me there. I wonder exactly why he was so interested in my purchases, though I doubt I’ll ever find out. That cinches it, and I head back to the book store to see what Mr. Nooke sells that makes Severus Snape so uneasy. The shop looks even more strikingly lit in the afternoon sunlight. Bars of light shaft down through dust motes that dance through two stories of stacks, and my eyes light with delight. I know I can’t possibly see it all today, but I also know I will give it a good try. There are windows along the upper story that let light in even when Diagon Alley itself is falling into shadow, and I resolutely climb up a ladder to the most overlooked-appearing corner I can see, which is nearly scintillating with dusty sunlight.   Nooke’s does not appear to suffer from any sort of cataloging system, so I find books on the proper rendering of pentagrams and other magical forms cheek by jowl with social records of events dating back 3000 years. I leaf through several volumes curiously before finding myself sucked utterly into a volume that I quickly realize will be my first purchase from Nooke’s.   It is a book entitled Sentient Energy, and its first page takes my breath away as I read it.   "History has recorded ages of scientific and philosophic inquiry into the nature of the soul, and magical inquiry has revealed it to be the source of sentience. It is this sentience which makes the soul such a valuable- if rare- commodity. Sentience, when combined with the intelligence with which it is associated in various life forms, provides the necessary power for countless charms, potions, and great arcane works.   "It has often been said that there is nothing to take the place of the soul in these magical works, which has resulted in the relegation of dozens of useful spells and potions to the realm of impractical or outright Dark magic, simply because it is so hard, and in some countries, unethical, to obtain soul in the form required for the works to be performed. It is the intention of this Author to prove that this is not the case, and that there is indeed a readily available, inexpensive, and renewable source of this power."   I feel my heart constrict as I think of Molly Weasley and all the women out there like her. If something could be done to help them… and what other things could the Cleve Potion be used for?   I leap down off the ladder as quickly as I can, clutching the book to my chest as I race to the register. I must get home and read this book as soon as I can!   Mr. Nooke is waiting for me with a knowing smile on his face.   "I thought you might find something you liked today," he says, and I am perturbed by the look on his face.   "Oh, don’t mind me, my dear," he says mildly. "I studied Divination in my youth. It’s still a field of interest to me." He wraps the book for me in paper and takes my money as he talks, and when he hands me my receipt and my wrapped book, he pauses.   "Speaking of which," he says, "I think you might also be interested in our Book of the Month Club."   My mouth is already open to refuse when he stops me.   "Hear me out, my dear, I think you’ll be intrigued. As I said, I have studied Divination extensively, and I have developed a spell that will select the book in the world you most want- or need- to read, and it will be sent to you each month. You do, of course, have a chance to return the book if you don’t want it."   Mr. Nooke is right. I am intrigued. I may think Sybil Trelawney is a charlatan, but I am just as lured by the idea of gleaning knowledge of myself from an outside source as anyone else. And it could be fun- what sorts of books might the spell send my way?   "All right," I say slowly. "I’ll sign up. It’s not as if there’s much to do in my free time anyway." I give him my Owl Post information, and he files it away in a little object that looks suspiciously like a Muggle Rolo-Dex. He sees my glance and laughs; with a flick of his wand he sends the Rolo-Dex spinning, and names and addresses and titles begin to spill out.   "Here’he the titles list of books to be sent out this month," he explains, and I smile as the words settle themselves onto small cards that then sort themselves into stacks for matching with books and then delivery. When the Rolo-Dex quiets down, he hands me a small knick-knack statue that looks suspiciously like a Ronald McDonald toy from a Happy Meal; I remember having one just like it as a child, acquired on a trip to Orlando, Florida to visit Walt Disney World with my parents. I hold it up, a quizzical expression on my face.   "That, Miss Granger, is in fact the toy you are remembering. You will please hold it in your hand for a minute and simply stand quietly. The figurine has been charmed into a talisman that will absorb your… well… tastes, so to speak, to allow us to select books for you each month without contacting you to perform the charm on you personally. It won’t hurt."   I obediently hold the plastic scrap for a minute, feeling mildly- but pleasantly- foolish. When he is satisfied, thokshokshop owner takes it back from me and files it in the Rolo-Dex with my name and information. That thing is definitely charmed several times over; it’s startling to see Ronald McDonald’s fire-engine red hair shrink and flatten as the figurinefts fts dimensions to stick to my card.   Mr. Nooke walks me to the shop door. "Enjoy your book," he says. "Expect your first installment of the book of the month club next month."   "Thank you," I say, and step out into the gathering twilight. Janine will wonder what happened to me if I don’t get back soon, and while it’s exciting to contemplate being the largest source of gossip in Amesbury for the next two weeks just because I stayed out past six o’clock one evening, I decide it’s the better part of wisdom to get home.   Besides- I want to read this book.   I think this whole thing just got a little bit bigger.   A/N: Hermione’s right- it’s just gotten a little bigger. No idea how many chapters in store, but Snape and Hermione will be seeing a good bit more of each other very soon.