Soul Searching
Soul Searching
Soul Searching
by Quillusion
2002-2003
Anti-Litigation Charm: Not mine, alas. But Ms. Rowling does so well with them, I can\'t really bring myself to mind, as long as I am permitted these not-for-profit paper daydreams. No copyright infringement or disrespect is intended. This disclaimer applies to all chapters of the following fan-fictional work, whether explicitly stated or not. There are several original elements in this story, including plot, dialogue, and various concepts and contraptions, which are easily identified by their absence from the canon novels; if anyone wishes to borrow these ideas, please email the author at quillusion@yahoo.com and it\'s almost a sure thing I\'ll give you permission.
Rating: I detest the use of film ratings for the categorization of written works. This story will contain descriptions of intimacy between consenting adults, as well as some moderate violence- nothing beyond what you can find in Barnes and Noble on either count, however.
Summary: Hermione embarks on a small but noble cause, and unexpectedly has her views on magic, her Potions teacher, and her world broadened in more ways than she can count. Guest starring the members and stories of WIKTT, along with a few others. No henges were involved in the making of this fic. May contain a few spoilers through Book 4.
Author\'s Note 7/8/03: Hello everyone! This is a repost of the original story in its entirety as written from May 2002 through its completion in the summer of 2003. I\'d like to thank everyone for bearing with me through several site moves; I will also be starting up my own site soon to host all my fics. I would also like to thank everyone who wrote to encourage and assist me throughout the writing process, and for everyone who shared their enjoyment of the story in the early days and up to the present! Also thanks to the White Knight, my pseudo-beta, and the members of WIKTT whose stories are referenced in this work. If anyone found a few good stories by reading this one, and emailed those authors to enthuse, then I per perhaps repaid some small debt I owe to the wonderful writers who first interested me in this pairing.
I should warn you all: I do not write from an outline. I sit down and start writing and everything unfolds as it will, and I learn what will happen next as the letters march out across the page. Sometimes I stop and read what I just wrote and say aloud, \"WHAT?!\" There is probably a medication for this, but I don\'t much feel like giving up the amusement I provide myself by doing this. I rarely have any idea how things will go until I start each chapter, and while this is fun, it does occasionally lead to twists and surprises I cannot anticipate. Hence, this story started out to be a little three-chapter lemony romp centering around a surprise event that changes how Hermione views Professor Snape, and the beginning reflects that humble origin. But because of the way I write, Hermione and I watched together as things twisted and mushroomed into something that is bigger than either of us could ever have imagined in the first few paragraphs. And this nearly novel length- oh, who am I kidding?- this novel length work was born. By the time it was done, the beginning had become tangled up enough with the end that it would have been difficult to change anything to make the start seem more appropos for the finish. However, life works that way, and as art imitates life, I have left the beginning as it was originally written. Perhaps the middle and end will make up for any lack of loftiness you might perceive in the start.
Enjoy, fellow reader, and do let me know what you think!
Quillusion, July 8, 2003
Chapter 1
The dungeons are dark. I don\'t know why I\'m surprised; they\'re always dark, even at noon on midsummer\'s day. But they seem darker than usual.
I suppose that\'s my conscience working on me. I\'m down here for reasons far less honorable than is usual for me; noble Gryffindor that I am, I\'m here to steal ingredients from Snape\'s storeroom. Again.
The first time I stole from the Potions Master was for a good cause; this second time is for an even greater one. Molly Weasley has an illness that can only be cured by an obscure potion not offered by mediwitches and wizards, a potion whose origins are more than a little Dark; I\'m here to steal the one ingredient in that potion which can\'t be purchased in Diagon Alley- or even Knockturn Alley.
The human soul.
It\'s not generally known that the human soul can be extracted in material form, but the fact remains. It requires great concentration, great power, and- of course- great evil to rob someone of that inviolable part of themselves. I am still not certain how Snape came to be in possession of some of it, and I would rather not know. I know his involvement with the Death Eaters has necessitated his participation in some horrific things, but I prefer to keep the knowledge as vague as possible.
I sneak as quietly as possible to the Potions classroom door, more grateful than words can say that Peeves has not found me, nor has Filch. Let alone Snape himself. I glance at the Marauder\'s Map, on loan from Harry, and am relieved to see no one in the classroom. I will have all the time I need to find the bottle I seek, for it will not be added to the brewing potion for at least a day. But I don\'t want to risk getting caught just because I dawdled.
The classroom door is not warded, and with a sigh of relief I slip inside. The storeroom is on the far side, and I know from past experience that it\'s usually only left open during Potions classes.
I also know that I stood next to this door during the last Potions class of the day so that I could hear Professor Snape recall the old wards at the start of class, and cast the new at the end. I know he changes the password daily; if I\'m lucky, he hasn\'t been into the storeroom since, and I will be able to use the password he set at four o\'clock today with the ward key pattern he used at three, and the door will unlock.
I hope so, for Molly\'s sake.
Ron and Ginny had been pale and shaken when they gave us the news; Molly\'s mediwitch was quite concerned that things had sped up considerably. Molly had an illness known as Starling\'s Countercurse, and it was a late- appearing complication of one of the charms that had been required to stop Molly\'s considerable bleeding after Ron\'s birth, which had been a difficult one. The Starling Charm- named after its creator, in an uninspiredly Muggle fashion- was very good at controlling blood flow and temporarily redirecting it away from damaged areas until reparative charms could be used to correct the damage.
Unfortunately, it was also known to infrequently (and intermittently) reactivate long after its initial casting, causing uncontrolled redirection of blood flow and subsequent damage to whatever organ whose blood supply it interrupted. Molly had had several small strokes as a result, and her memory was beginning to suffer; if this alone were not enough, she was developing several large patches of necrotic skin. In all the years since Ron was born, she had only had one incidence of the reactivation, which had been far from unpleasant as it had reduced one of her periods to a scant six hours. But in the last four months, she had had seven reactivations, each one occurring at a shorter interval than the last. Her mediwitch was very concerned that the accelerating pace of the illness was going to cause failure of something critical, and soon.
Ron, in particular, felt horrible about his mother\'s illness, because it was his birth that had indirectly brought it on. Nothing anyone- including Molly- could say would assuage his guilt, and I was surprised beyond speech at my acquisition of a new study partner, who spent even more time in the library than I did: Ron Weasley. It had been Ron\'s research that had produced the information about the Cleve Potion.
Originally intended as an antidote for and potential repellent of the Unforgivables, the potion had not lived up to its designer\'s hopes. It had done little more than dull the aftereffects, as it is apparently overpowered and nullified by the application of a powerful charm or curse; the power surge seems to reduce its effectiveness to nearly nothing. Its ingredients make it so difficult to brew as to be extinct in all but books, but those same books suggest that it might make an effective agent for reducing the effect of lingering curses or as a palliative for the discomfort that follows the survivable Unforgivables. Ron is betting that it could end the lingering effects of the Starling Charm.
I think he is right, which is why I am now taking out my wand and hastily composing myself to cast the ward keys. Softly whispering the words I had heard Snape use earlier, and tracing my wand as I had seen him do, I pray as hard as I can to whomever might be listening that this will work.
To my shock, it does.
The door swings silently open, and a moment later I am slipping to the back of the storeroom, breathing shakily with the adrenaline rush that fear has brought me. I am taking a huge risk in breaking into Snape\'s things; I don\'t even know for certain that he actually has what I seek. I am desperate, though, and so the risk is worth the price if I am caught.
I know there\'s a small chance that Snape does have human soul in his storeroom. I know because I overheard him telling Dumbledore that he needed it to make a potion Voldemort had demanded from him. Dumbledore had given him permission to keep a small quantity on hand, but only because of the grave situation in which he found himself. He did not ask where the Potions Master intended to purchase the substance, however, for which I am grateful. For some reason, I do not want to think that Snape- even horrid, cruel Snape- would steal someone\'s soul. I know there are places where a Potions Master with his skill and connections could obtain it without doing the work himself. I hope that\'s what he did- if he did it. If he still has any left.
I carefully search the shelves; Snape\'s mind is not so unlike mine that I have had any difficulty with his archaic filing system, and I know roughly where to look for what I need.
There it is. A small flask, cobalt blue, stoppered with a silver plug rimmed with cork. It has no label; Snape makes a habit of not labeling the rare, expensive, or dangerous substances, filing them rather in proximity to the ingredients they are most commonly combined with, and relying on his own vast knowledge to identify them with only that information. It had taken me two weeks to look up the potion Snape had made for Voldemort, and another week to work out the modern names of its ingredients. Once I knew those, I knew what this bottle would be shelved near, and then it was only another two days to work out what he was likely to store it in. I had been right: glass flask, dark in color to protect from light, with a silver plug. Snape\'s practicality had added the cork rim for a snug, airtight fit.
I lift the flask down with great care. Thought I am pilfering a small amount, I have no intention of wasting any of such a precious item through carelessness; Snape certainly has a use for this stuff, and he is sure to notice if too much goes missing. I can\'t be sure he won\'t miss even this small amount. I push aside the thought of what he might use it for. He is on our side, but he is brave enough to spy on their side, and that is enough for me. Too much for me, actually.
I unstop the cork and am suddenly filled with wonder, as soft starlight streams out of the bottle to illuminate the ceiling of the storeroom with a faint blue glow. If I had needed confirmation of the powder\'s identity, this would have done it- but I am certain I am right. I measure out what I need, put the rest away, and deftly pour the clear crystalline powder into the tiny green glass bottle I have brought. Fitting the stopper in tightly, I put the bottle back into my robes and slip out of the storeroom.
I am just finishing casting the wards when I hear footsteps in the hall.
I can admit that I panic, just a little. There\'s nothing worse than thinking you\'ve made it, only to discover that you\'re just about to get caught.
I frantically search the room for a hiding place, suddenly noticing a door on one wall that I\'ve never seen before. The great oaken door is ajar, and through it I can see bookshelves and a comfortable-looking chair.
Snape\'s private rooms. He must keep them spell- cloaked during the day; no sense letting everyone know where he lives. It is, after all, a very Snape thing to do.
And even though it is going from the frying pan to the fire, I duck through the doorway. There is always a chance that Snape will leave the classroom again before going into his rooms; and at least if I am caught here, I can make up an excuse about wanting to ask him about homework, and seeing the door open, et cetera. At least he won\'t think about the storeroom, and wonder if I\'ve been snooping around. I\'d go through anything, even detention with Snape, as long as I can keep the precious stuff I have stolen.
I glance hastily around the room, searching for a hiding place, and dart without hesitation for the large wardrobe against one wall. The obvious choice, really; but there is noplace else to hide except for under his bed, and all I can do is hope that Snape will neither wish to change, nor find any reason to think there might be anyone here to look for in the first place. In I get, closing the door most of the way- for I, too, have read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and I agree that is very silly to shut oneself into any wardrobe- especially knowing what I know about Hogwarts. Though, come to think of it, a wardrobe that would take me anywhere but where I am might be handy right about now. But there\'s no guarantee that I wouldn\'t end up in a worse predicament- so I hold the door mostly closed, leaving a small gap for air and light and a view of the room, so that I can keep an eye on Professor Snape.
I hold my breath when I hear the door to the room swing open fully; I would stop my heartbeat if I could, just to be more quiet. I hear Professor Snape kick the door closed, listen as he slowly moves to his chair and collapses into it like anyone else at the end of a hard day.
I am surprised to feel sympathy for him. He does have a tough job, teaching a compulsory subject to apathetic students, and he has to teach classes all day, every day- unlike many of the other professors who teach electives.
The low groan of fatigue I hear fall from his lips does nothing to dispel my impression of him. Curious, I move with incredible slowness to put my eye to the thin crack in the wardrobe door.
He is sitting in the chair, his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He looks like I usually feel by the end of the week; funny how we never think of our teachers as human. He finally drops his hands, tilting his head back, and sinks down into the chair with a sigh. His eyes are closed, and he looks as if he is going to fall asleep.
Please don\'t fall asleep! I think at him desperately. I have no idea if he is a light or a heavy sleeper- though I have a rather strong feeling that he is among the lightest of sleepers known to humankind- and don\'t want to chance being caught sneaking out of his rooms.
I luck out. He sighs again, but I hear the soft sound of his voice as he mutters, \"Lumos\", and a faint glow of light appears to cast shadows across the floor of his rooms.
Chancing another peek, I see that he has taken a book from the table beside his chair. I can barely make out the spine; judging from the title, it is a book about cricket. That doesn\'t make sense to me at all, but then again, I know so little about Snape that he could have a passion for collecting elephants and I would be none the wiser. Still, the only reference I can think up for something entitled WIKTT Archives- funny, it wasn\'t even spelled right- is to cricket, and I give up wondering and leave it at that.
He flips through the volume to a page about a third of the way in. Apparently he\'s been reading for a while. I momentarily wish Snape was the sort of man who talks to himself; perhaps then he would say something about the content of the book, or why he is reading it, or anything of that sort.
A moment later, though, I understand perfectly.
That book can\'t be about cricket. Snape\'s not such a sports fan that the subject would produce... this sort of reaction.
His face is flushing, and I notice his breathing deepening a bit. My surprise nearly escapes in the form of a gasp, but I bite it back in time. Snape? Reading romantic fiction of some sort? Or perhaps it\'s erotica. Either way, I had never guessed he harbored feelings of this sort. Obviously, it has been stupid of me- and the rest of the student body- to assume that, just because he falls short of the standards of male beauty, he must lack any interest in sex. He is an adult male, after all; the rest of them certainly seem preoccupied with the subject. Why should he be any different?
Snape shifts a little in the chair, clearly accommodating his present state of... mind. I am getting a better idea of the precise degree of my stupidity- on more than one level- with each passing second. I surreptitiously shift my weight in the wardrobe, trying to be as quiet as possible while still watching the Potions Master.
Snape is reading far more slowly than I know he is capable of doing; he must be savoring whatever he is reading. I am back to wishing he was a talker; I would give anything to know what is turning him on so much.
Now why should I care what turns on Professor Severus Snape?
I don\'t want to go there, but I can\'t stop myself. I\'m fascinated by the soft blush in his cheeks- he\'s so pale normally, it\'s almost more shocking to see the color in his face than to see that he\'s-
Goodness. I\'m trapped in the wardrobe of my professor\'s private quarters, unable to leave because I\'m not supposed to be here, and he\'s unbuttoning his robes.
I definitely can\'t try to leave now. I\'m stuck for the duration, unless I want to kiss my Hogwarts career- and possibly my life- goodbye. The odds of Severus Snape letting me live after witnessing such private behavior are slimmer than a hippogriff\'s chances of winning a Nobel Prize for literature. I\'m going to have to stay until he either falls into a deep sleep, or leaves himself.
Exactly why that sends a sizzle of excitement through my body eludes me at the moment. I take a slow, deep breath, and after a long minute, I am able to admit to myself- in the deepest part of my mind that no one else ever reaches- that I want to stay. I want to know what he\'s going to do, even though I\'ve got a good idea. I\'ve seen movies, read books, looked at pictures, I\'ve even seen Ron do it once or twice- not that he realized I was watching him, either.
Oh. Good God. I\'ve turned into a voyeur. I can\'t even say this is the first time I\'ve watched an unsuspecting man do something- anything- intimate and private.
But even that isn\'t enough to shame me into averting my eyes.
Because I want to see what Severus Snape likes.
A/N: Yes, for once, WIKTT members, we are in Snape\'s fantasies! How\'s that for a lovely change? I\'d like to think he appreciates what we do for him. Or to him, more\'s the point. :-)