Needfire

Chapter 9 - Coming to Terms


\"you found creative ways to distance
you hid away from much through humor
your choice of armor was your intellect

and so you felt and you\'re still here
and so you died and you\'re still standing
and so you softened and you\'re still safely in command

self protection was in times of true danger
your best defense to mistrust and be wary
surrendering a feat of unequalled measure
and I\'m thrilled to let you in
overjoyed to be let in in kind.\"

-- Surrendering. Alanis Morissette.


The days following her conversation with Snape seemed to bleed away slowly. Thorough as ever, Hermione took a mental note of his instructions to pay special attention to the Samhain ritual, and began reading the book he lent her from the first page. She consumed it in her quick, yet moderate pace – a pace designed to allow every detail to curve onto her memory. Curiosity as to Snape\'s strange warning might bubble inside her, but she\'d arrive at the description of the Samhain ritual in time: her heart might strive for knowledge, but her need for control was stronger, the longing rooted deeper. She knew that in order to keep functioning properly she must harness her baser urges, whatever they may be. It was bad enough to have the calm she felt after the night at the Stones finally abandoning her: she conot,not, must not, abandon her own watch. And so, she practiced, and waited.

Understanding dawned, at last, when she reached the pages describing the Samhain ritual. The skillfully drawn, medieval illustration might be small, but the intention was clear. So were the instructions, and the long, informative pages dedicated to the Samhain; a strange mixture of Middle English and Gaelic, in gothic, pointed script, an odd, beautiful brew of ancient poetry, magical theory and history. Did she want that beauty? Yes, she did. She craved it. Snape probably assumed she would back down from her request, facing the prospect of having to sleep with him. Idiot man, she thought. Would I decline a scrap of excuse to shag you? Where the hell are your eyes??

Slightly annoyed, Hermione put the book aside, looking at her hands, reddened once again. For a brief moment, they rested against the earth-brown leather binding of the Druid book. She had been struggling for the last two days, but everything seemed to penetrate the shield of oak water that was supposed to protect her hands; defiling the new, pink skin. She washed it with water, trying to fool herself into oblivion. When water failed to help, she retreated back to her old soap and antiseptics; scraping until there were tears in her eyes and a raw, tender new layer of dermis was exposed. At least the pain was accompanied by the comfort of knowing she was clean. Clean enough to touch the ancient, fragile book Snape had left in her care. Her Professor might claim she was clean, and he was probably right: she knew this was only madness. Nonetheless, she could not bring herself to touch the book with what her troubled mind insisted were filthy hands.

Small wonder, she mused after a while, that I want to sleep with him. He tells me I\'m clean.

It seemed, then, that her decision was made. Hermione decided she\'d approach Professor Snape later that evening.

* * *

\"What is this?\"

In an instant, her hands were once again resting in her lap, away from Snape\'s scrutinizing gaze. \"Are we here to discuss my possible apprenticeship,\" Hermione asked sharply, or my…\" mental, \"…physical state?\"

\"We are here so you can answer whatever question I may pose to you,\" Snape replied coolly. \"And I asked about your hands. Now show me your hands, Miss Granger.\"

\"It is none of your business.\"

\"I am your teacher, your temporary guardian according to this school\'s policy. Therefore, your well being and welfare is in every way my business. Your hands, please.\"

Swallowing, she untangled her hands and laid them on the table.

\"Pull up your sleeves.\"

Hermione protested. \"I don\'t see how-\"

\"Pull up your sleeves, Id.\"
d.\"

She obeyed quietly, her jaw clenched in silent fury.

\"You\'ve been messing with your hands again. I\'ve been thinking of this destructive habit of yours,\" he told her as his gaze roamed along the swollen, cracked skin. \"Attempted to discern a pattern to your actions. I have met self-mutilators in the past: I know this is not the reason for the soreness, although,\" – and Hermione had to bite her lower lip so not to jump as Snape\'s index finger trailed gently along the white, thin lines left by a razor blade on the curve of her forearm – \"I also know what tool left these.\" The Potions Master sobered at once, regaining his detached, cold demeanor. \"I want you to tell me why you are abusing yourself.\"

She looked at him angrily. \"I\'m not.\"

\"I warn you, Miss Granger. There will be no stupid games with me. I want the truth and I want it now.\"

\"It\'s private.\"

\"Then learn a charm to disguise the soreness. It would keep the matter private. Now stop wasting my time and answer my question.\"

Hermione breathed deeply. \"I suffer an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It was diagnosed when I was five… My mother made me see a Muggle therapist- she was a bitch. I learned I\'d better hide my problems, and it was over with time. Happy now, Professor?\"

\"It surely doesn\'t seem to be over to me.\"

\"Last month was stressful,\" she said angrily, furious she should be explaining herself to him. \"Sometimes there\'s an outbreak. It happens, then it subsi Tha That\'s all there is to it.\"

\"And how long does such an outbreak usually last?\"

\"A week… or two,\" Hermione admitted.

\"And this… recent outbreak has been going on for over a month?\"

\"Well, it doesn\'t mean it would last.\"

\"It might mean, though, that perhaps you should be seeking professional help.\"

\"I don\'t trust doctors.\"

Snape\'s eyes narrowed. \"Why?\"

\"Not something I care to explain.\"

\"I already told you, Miss Granger: I will brook no nonsense from you. Why?\"

She shrugged her shoulders, and then breathed deeply. \"I don\'t know, don\'t know. Perhaps because the bitch who treated me was a MD. Maybe I simply don\'t trust medical personnel.\"

\"Both of your parents are doctors.\"

\"So what?\"

\"You just said you don\'t trust MDs.\"

\"That has nothing to do with it.\"

\"Perhaps.\"

Hermione pursed her lips, but said nothing.

\"What are you going to do, then?\"

\"Nothing.\"

Snape angled an eyebrow. \"Wrong.\"

She stared at him angrily.

\"You are going to receive some help- this state that you are in isn\'t going to continue now that I am aware of it. I admit to not knowing much when it comes to Muggle psychiatry. However, Madam Pomfrey is a well trained mediwitch and she should be able to determine at least a temporary solution, or a parallel wizarding definition of your condition that she could then treat with -\"

\"There is no way I\'m going to see Madam Pomfrey about this,\" Hermione cut into Professor Snape\'s flow of speech, washed by cold sweat that stained the cloth of her school uniform, making it humid and clingy.

\"What is it?\" he inquired. \"What\'s wrong with Madam Pomfrey?\"

\"I don\'t like her- I don\'t trust her. Whenever someone at Hogwarts suffers some ailment, you can be sure the staff, and then the rest of the school will know about it within the hour.\"

\"These are very severe accusations,\" Snape answered mildly, \"and I happen to know they aren\'t true.\"

\"I don\'t know- don\'t care,\" she said. Her voice was shaking slightly. \"I\'m not seeing Madam Pomfrey, and that\'s my final word on the subject.\"

\"You\'ll visit St. Mungo\'s, then,\" Snape retorted. \"And that\'s my final word on the subject.\"

\"I\'ll think about it,\" Hermione said at last. Perhaps, she might be able to compromise her way out of it. After all, it was Snape\'s duty as a Hogwarts\' teacher to see to his pupils\' well being. Her mental or physical state, as long as she kept it under check, was of little interest to him: give him few days, Hermione decided, and he will forget everything about the subject.

Snape, however, was not yielding. \"You may have some time to prepare yourself-\" he told her. \"That is, if you can promise you won\'t damage yourself any further.\"

\"This is pointless,\" Hermione burst out. \"We\'re in the middle of the school year; there is no way I can visit St. Mungo\'s.\"

\"There will be no problem for you to do it once you have been granted the Headmaster\'s permission. And I\'m sure the Headmaster won\'t hesitate to give it, seeing your condition.\"

Hermione clenched her teeth. So he is determined to see me treated: the book mentioned nothing about the Druid\'s annual charity, but that just might be it. Nevertheless, Snape\'s suspicious fixation on the matter was the least of her problems. There was no way Dumbledore could be allowed to know of her secret. She respected the ancient wizard and in some way, even loved him: nonetheless, closely following the way Harry had been manipulated over the years, skillfully polished as a game piece or as the head of a spear, to finally be set as a pawn in the final battle – Hermione had little trust in Hogwarts\' Headmaster. She had known very well that she couldn\'t show any of her cards to Albus Dumbledore. \"Aren\'t you, as a Head of House, allowed to give me permission to leave Hogwarts during the school year?\" she asked.

\"If I were your Head of House,\" Snape replied, \"I could. As I\'m the head of Slytherin house, granting a Gryffindor permission to leave is beyond my authority.\"

\"Can you talk to Professor McGonagall, then?\"

The grey around Snape\'s black pupil diluted into a razorblade silence: his eyes cleared for the briefest of moments, and for an instant, it almost seemed easy to discern the pupil from the irises. Like a cat in the sun, lurking for its prey. \"Why?\"

She was the prey. And aware of her inferior position, tried to shrug off his query. \"Why not?\"

\"You want me to talk to Professor McGonagall instead of the Headmaster,\" the Potions Professor\'s intonation was slow and moderated, as if he was talking to a retarded child. \"You tell me why, and perhaps I will.\"

Hermione gritted her teeth, yet was careful to hide her anger. \"I feel more comfortable with the Professor,\" she lied. \"She\'s a woman, and I feel she might have been a lot like me when younger… I think she might understand.\"

\"Tut tut, Miss Granger,\" Snape stopped her. \"Has no one ever told you that when lying, you should remove your gaze from your opponent\'s eyes from time to time? Riveting your gaze this way induces a sense of intensity which is likely to give you away. Nevertheless, looking me in the eyes was the right thing to do, and it was a quick lie you managed. Not such a bad performance after all. Now tell me the truth: why McGonagall and not Dumbledore?\"

Hermione tilted her head. \"You demand much, Professor.\"

\"I can,\" he said, unapologetically.

\"And I can leave this room.\"

\"Leave it, then.\"

Her answer was simple. \"I don\'t want to. I don\'t think you want me to leave, either. Or else you would have shooed me off the moment the power of the Circle abated.\"

\"Where are you leading with this line of reasoning?\"

She looked him in the eyes. Subdued curiosity, if not a spark of amusement. \"You want me here, just like I want to be here. I\'d like you to respect that.\"

\"Meaning?\"

\"Meaning I won\'t be the fly in your Slytherin web. Push me over the edge, and I\'ll leave. You are my teacher, and therefore it is your responsibility to see to my welfare. See me to St. Mungo\'s, then. But it shall be Professor McGonagall to grant me her permission to leave, not the Headmaster, and my reasons I will keep to myself. These are my conditions, is that clear, Sir?\"

Snape seemed to consider her words for a while. At last, he opened his mouth to speak. \"Clear enough, Miss. Granger. In return, I\'d like you to tell me the truth when I ask you a question. No beating around the bush, no lies if you can\'t make them seem like the truth. No games. If you can\'t share the truth with me, say so. I may push you, and I will expect an honest answer if I\'m doing so. That is, since I expect you to trust my judgment. If you can\'t trust my judgment, I see no point in taking this any further. It should also be noted, that at any point, you can stand up and walk way. Is that clear, Miss Granger?\"

She nodded. \"Yes, Professor.\"

\"Good. Now tell me,\" he asked, \"why do you wish to become my apprentice?\"

Hermione frowned, inspecting the whirling, clear pool that fisted all those different reasons to make her want – crave – for this knowledge, in a palm of white sand and smooth stone. She squared her shoulders, feeling as if the tips of her fingers touched the pond\'s shimmering, glowing water, and were now aglow with the liquid\'s splendor. \"Magic – or so I have come to think over my years here at Hogwarts – is the most basic way of manipulating the universe\'s power according to our own will. However, seeing what I saw only days ago, I…\" she pursed her lips. \"What we\'re doing with wan wands is rough and intrusive: it is not magic in its most basic, raw form. We are not working with the universe the way I begin to suspect we should be working: there is no method or paradigm behind our schooling. You have been my teacher for more than six years now,\" she continued quietly. \"You know I am suspicious and that I tend to ask questions. I read the book you gave me: I don\'t know whether the Druid way is the right way, although, although…-\" her voice failed her for an instant, and she mastered it at once, blinking fiercely.

She wasn\'t sure she had the words to describe what she wanted to say next, and therefore, avoiding Snape\'s eyes, that grew more intense with each passing moment, stretched out her hands, and put them on the table. \"After… that night,\" she continued slowly. \"It was okay, you know. I could wear that stupid cloak. I could touch it. Do you see what I mean?\" Her brow knotted, and she ed aed at her hands resting on the table, not far away from Snape\'s: both outlined against the dark wood: red and blue-white against deep brown.

She didn\'t see Snape\'s response, but she heard him saying: \"Yes, I think I do.\"

\"Do you really?\" It was hard not to let the sarcasm tint her voice. To Hermione\'s surprise, he seemed relatively amused at her withheld suspicion. Perhaps, she suddenly thought, I have just isolated the key component to deciphering Severus Snape. One must look in the shadows: for that certain shade of grey that is darker than black. Blacker than dark: or brighter than white. All, she concluded, has to do with looking at the tips of the spectrum.

\"We all bear our scars.\" A hint of a smile shifted the delicate web of age lines sheeting Professor Snape\'s face. Longish, pale and ugly, with sallow skin and hooked, thin nose, which looked disproportionate even when matched with the high brow, and sharp, pointed chin. Nevertheless, there was an elfin quality about this set of features: a fey, ethereal look that told of dark forests, trickling brooks with crystal clear water, and cool, clear ponds, like the Goddess\' shimmering eyes. She still found his hair to be repulsive; and scowling – which seemed to be his favourite expression – only served to make him uglier. Nevertheless, Hermione realized this wasn\'t the man she\'d thought he was for more than six years.

Nor was it the man she wanted to corrupt her, or the man whose image woke her up at night, after having dreamed of him. But if so… shouldn\'t the gnawing mole at the pit of her stomach be calmed down? Wasn\'t it the sign the wooden stake was finally nibbled to the core, setting her free? Why had wanting him become even worse? The book, the damn book; the damn rites. Having only her damn hands and the shower head for over three weeks.

Hermione decided she should change the subject, before she was cornered by her thoughts. \"When do you need me to return the book?\"

\"I don\'t,\" said Snape. \"It was given to me- years ago, by my own mentor, Angharad. The way it was given to her, at the time. Keep it, Miss Granger. You\'re going to need it.\"

* * *

The interview- for she knew no better name to call it, was over just in time for Hermione to make it into her room and change for the DA meeting. Hurriedly, she stripped off her school uniform, donned jeans and jumper under her standard black robes, and went down to the common room to meet Harry and Ron.

Harry – to her great discomfort – was missing once again, and Hermione was too distracted by being alone in Ron\'s company to wish he\'d at least manage to get to the meeting on time.

\"Hello!\" Hermione called, using one of Donna\'s rose-coloured smiles to disguise her discomfort.

Ron, hands in the back pockets of his trousers, replied with a murmured \'Howdy\'.

\"Shall we go, then?\" she suggested. God forbid, I sound just like her.

\"Sure \'Mione.\" Ron didn\'t bother to correct himself, and Hermione, on the other hand, didn\'t bother to correct him either.

They made their way to the Room of Requirement with uncomfortable silence, their sweet, worn-out, cotton silence long ago forgotten. Back to lipstick, plastic and Muggle food colouring, Hermione thought. Nonetheless, it\'s better this way. Ron was a sweet pet, but one she had grown tired of: they no longer suited each other. Deep in her heart, she hoped he\'d be wise enough to pick up the clues. She hardly cared to give him the speech…

Harry, to Hermione\'s enormous relief, was already in the Room of Requirement. Although a little shaggy, The Boy Who Lived was as alert and animated a guide as ever: poor Harry, she mused. He almost succeeded in disguising the forlorn, longing look that haunted his eyes. God. Aren\'t the three of us just fucked up.

Sadly, only two and a half hours later, Hermione could barely remember why she ever felt sorry for Harry-meddling-Potter.

\"Why don\'t you two take a walk to the common room while I\'m taking care of things over here?\" Harry suggested in his sweetest I\'m-an-orphaned-boy-who-should-be-pitied voice.

\"Why don\'t you shut up, you cun-\"

He just smiled. \"I don\'t think your mother would approve of your using of that word, love.\"

\"And stop calling me that!\"

\"Sorry. Now go, I\'m busy.\"

\"Yeah,\" Ron muttered, joining the conversation for the first time. \"He\'s meeting his mystery girl.\"

\"Ron is jealous,\" Harry explained. \"Are you leaving yet?\"

Hermione rolled her eyes. \"Sure, sure. We wouldn\'t want to ruin your sex life. One of us is bound to roogwaogwarts\' corridors with love-bites glowing red on his neck, crying: I\'m a claimed property.\"

She knew her words were hurting him the moment they were out of her mouth: that for some reason, this property would, or could not be claimed, and she wished to be able to take back what she said. Wished for a more private setting, so she\'d be able to soothe the pain out of those beautiful, green eyes. To somehow make it easier on Harry. She couldn\'t, though, as Ron was now claiming her hand; dragging her outside – similarly though not exactly the way she did a mere three weeks ago – and Harry was more fiercely shooing them out of the room. She tried to signal him silently that she was sorry, but Merlin only knew she was a social and emotional wreck.

\"So…\" she began nervously, once the door was finally shut behind them. \"Who do you think is Harry\'s mystery girl?\"

Ron shrugged. \"Whoever she is, she\'s doing him no good.\"

\"So you\'ve noticed,\" Hermione said, a bit surprised.

Ron\'s lips thinned bitterly. \"I know you sometimes think I\'m a dolt, and I\'m definitely not as clever as you, but it still doesn\'t make me an idiot, you know.\"

She looked at the tips of her shoes. \"I know. And I\'m sorry.\"

\"It\'s alright. Hard to blame you anyway. Can\'t imagine what it\'s like… being so clever.\"

\"It has advantages and deficiencies,\" Hermione dismissed the subject.

\"So…\" it seemed to be Ron\'s turn to fidget. \"I think we both know it\'s not Harry we\'re supposed to be talking about.\"

\"Yeah.\"

\"So how have you been?\"

\"It\'s been up and down. You know me.\"

\"Yeah.\"

\"And you?\"

\"Alone. I missed you.\"

She tensed. \"Ron, don\'t-\"

\"It\'s alright,\" Ron was quick to address her distress. \"I know. I told you. I\'m not stupid. Was just bringing up a fact.\"

Hermione nodded. \"Very well. I\'m sorry for… stringing you along you like this. It was selfish and unfair of me. You should be angry with me.\"

He gave her a sideway glance. \"And your point is?\"

\"What do you mean?\"

\"I mean… this is how you are. This is how I love you. I suppose that if you could handle this better, you would. I know you\'re sorry now, suppose you felt ashamed of yourself at the time. Don\'t get me wrong, I was angry, but then… well- I don\'t know. Maybe it\'s the war and stuff. Makes you see things more clearly.\"

She smiled at him: softly, melancholically. \"Thanks Ron, I appreciate that. I love you too, you know, just… not this way.\"

He snorted. \"Figured that one out.\" The lamplight shone in his red, beautiful mane, bringing out the strong colour against his creamy complexion. Tall, muscled, lovely featured. Her own Thor.

Smiling, Hermione reached to take his hand, interlacing their fingers. \"Yes. I should have known you would,\" She said. \"Now how about we go to my room? I\'d like to end it in a way we\'d both like to remember.\"

Ron gave her offer a minute\'s consideration. \"Sure, why not?\"

* * *

\"You know,\" Ron said with a sleepy voice, \"it was never quite this way when we were together.\"

They were lying in each other\'s arms, washed in the cool light of the sun\'s first lemony rays that slanted from the arched windows. The quilt, like another being, having a symbiotic existence to their own, was wrapped around them in a disheveled mess, maintaining sweat and body heat. Turning to face Ron, Hermione had gently curled her fingers in the fine down that covered his chest, leaning to kiss a pink nipple. \"It\'s easier,\" she murmured. \"Now that the stress is gone. Now that we\'re both where we should be and our positions reflect what we are to each other. It makes it possible to make love to you.\"

\"As a friend?\" he asked, a little skeptically.

She stiffened a little. \"What did you think I was doing?\"

\"Well… having fun. Well, don\'t get me wrong, Mio-Hermione. I don\'t think there\'s anything wrong with that.\"

\"No, no,\" she relaxed. \"It\'s okay. It\'s simply not what I felt, being with you last night.\"

\"So you\'d sleep with Harry, too?\"

She laughed. \"Harry\'s not my type. Too… androgynous. Too pretty. I\'d like to cuddle him, not fuck him!\"

\"So you say I\'m ugly?\" Ron taunted her.

\"You dolt!\" Hermione cried, squirming under Ron\'s weight, which nailed her to the mattress\'d s\'d say you\'re shaggable, tall and rough and… Mmm… masculine…\"

* * *

They were late for breakfast; grinning like two fools at a very confused Harry.

\"I thought you two had broken up?\" he asked, forking a piece of bacon.

\"We did,\" Ron told him, loading his plate with an equal amount of nutritious and disgusting, greasy food.

Harry was still suspicious. \"So why the sex look?\"

\"Don\'t be ridiculous.\" Hermione glared at him. \"And what is a sex look? I never heard of it before.\"

\"A look one gets after having lots of sex,\" Harry explained with feigned fatigue. \"It\'s quite clear from the expression.\"

She raised an eyebrow. \"Clearly Harry, we had sex.\"

\"But Ron just said you broke up!\"

\"And so we did,\" she confirmed. \"Are you trying to tell me all the sex you\'ve ever had was part of a relationship?\"

Harry sighed. \"Just… just drop it… It\'s too early in the morning for me, to handle this kind of intellectual puzzle. Maybe later I\'ll manage to figure you two out.\"

Ron squeezed his best friend\'s shoulder affectionately. \"I have no doubt you will, mate. No doubt at all.\"