Bewitching the Mind

A/N: As always, thanks to Luna305, my extraordinarily perceptive and forgiving beta. Special thanks to Potion Mistress and Anastasia for their support, encouragement, and suggestions during the writing of this chapter. Special thanks to Southern for her kind and necessary observation that the format of the original version was really confusing - I've tweaked it a bit in this edition.

Note to Readers: We spend most of this chapter in Hermione's mind - fasten your seatbelts. (Ever wonder how Arithmancy works? :) ) When this little trip is over we will return once again to a more usual narrative style.

And at this moment, chaos was standing before him with unfocused eyes, arranging and rearranging pieces of the puzzle that would eventually decide the fate of their world.

And she only had a few of them.

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The lump in her pocket was a far weightier matter than the one in her throat, but at that moment, Hermione might have argued differently. She had a lifetime of Severus' memories to sort out, and one night in which to do it.

When in doubt, Granger, trust Dumbledore.

Severus' soul was cracking before he ever came to Hogwarts.

She swirled her brandy, watching the firelight refract within it and reform, ever-changing. Chaos, indeed... but sometimes things that are chaotic can be beautiful.

What had held it together?

She swirled her brandy some more, frowning, making lists and rejecting them; arranging equations, transposing them, rejecting those as well. Her brow furrowed as she stared darkly into the snifter, ceasing its motion until the liquid calmed.

What happened when it shattered?

Then she swirled it again, in the opposite direction.

Sitting before the fire, Severus watched her thoughts and judgments flicker across her face in counterpoint to the flames. He was relieved that her attention was absorbed in something else for a while. It was the calm before the storm, and he planned to spend it watching her. He recognized her focus, if not her method. Or do I?

So much to tell her, and so little time to do it in, but he was patient enough, for now. She had to take the first steps on her own.

The first time is the worst, Hermione, until it's not.

His awareness of time passing had nothing to do with the young woman who had just paused and frowned again.

Nothing whatsoever.

Okay, Granger. Logic. Your greatest asset. A brief smile crossed on her face. One of them.

Concentrating again on the bowl of the snifter, she swirled it more slowly.

Seven Horcruxes, seven tears... and seven damaging blows to his soul.

Right, then.

"Accio quill. Accio parchment. Accio lamp," she muttered rapidly, the three incantations unifying into one as the required objects flowed toward her. She caught them with the fluidity of long habit, moving to the table at the far end of the room.

Aligning the parchment at the precise angle she preferred, awareness of the room fading, she got to work. She sucked the end of her quill briefly; then, at the top of the page, she wrote, "Voldemort" and "Severus."

She took a deep breath and began writing in earnest, almost instantly falling into her study trance. Eventually she started muttering to herself.

Severus moved quietly to a closer chair, eyes lingering on the angle of her head as she bent toward her work, on her hand sweeping the parchment.

"Okay. First Horcrux." She sketched an outline of the problem, writing rapidly. "The diary, written while he was still at school, still a child...

"Two deaths – well, one and a half; Moaning Myrtle and, almost, Ginny."

She paused.

"Harry, protector, honor... Innocent Love."

Right.

She wrote some more. "Diary - (Memo: Basilisk gaze = corruption? Research – Muggle Studies?)"

The tiniest of smiles – more a tightening of her lips.

Now for Severus' memories. Let's see how this plays out.

"The fist," she wrote, thinking, ...more buttons than... Oh. Oh, dear. That's frightfully simple.

Still writing, "Passion, desperation, sacrifice... Childhood." She underscored this word heavily and circled it, before continuing, "Couldn't protect mother – tried – beaten badly."

She raised her head in thought for a moment, then wrote, "Innocence lost early; inadequacy (?) in the face of a father who was inadequate himself."

Another pause, then she added, "Father broke nose. Blood." The last word underscored twice. She scowled. The bastard.

"Notes," she commanded, and another piece of parchment flew to join its mate in front of her.

"Mother a witch, father a Muggle. Different power ratio, though... Okay, try a reverse relationship..."

Time for Arithmancy... Accio new parchment. A third piece landed in front of her. She covered the page with symbols, a formula taking shape as her hand moved almost automatically over the page.

Unconsciously, she started twisting her hair around her finger, writing quickly, fashioning these new figures to work within the Arithmantic formula she'd been working on all summer.

Severus leaned slightly closer, watching as her hand moved more quickly, her thoughts faster now, each one bringing some new posture, a different rhythm to her breathing - his own breath coming faster in response.

Finally, she grimaced at the piece of paper and cleared it with an impatient wave. No. Not the reverse of Voldemort... not quite... hm... 'inverse,' maybe?

She wrote, "Voldemort: 1/7" and "Severus: 7/1 (?)" and her hand froze mid-air.

Severus was holding the snifter to his lips, but lowered it when he saw her sudden stillness. Holding his breath, he leaned closer, his usually tense shoulders relaxing a fraction. Yes, Hermione... That's it...

She sat back for a moment, possibilities realigning and forming new shapes in her mind.

Slowly... slowly.... Yes, like that...

She reviewed her latest insight and nodded to herself. Feels right. Okay, then. Test it one step further; find out where it breaks.

Substitute "anti-Voldemort" for "inverse"? Since Dumbledore died, the active "anti-" function in the formula had belonged solely to Harry. A good test, then.

Two more variables: Voldemort: 0 and Severus: 1.

The formulae broke almost instantly. The lines on the parchment flowed into Severus' face, frowning at her.

She grinned. "Didn't think so..."

Severus tilted his head for a better look at what she was writing. Seeing his own face, he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

The lines reformed. She scratched out "anti-Voldemort" and made a note in the margin – "too far." For the next several minutes, she covered the page in Arithmantic symbols, then sat back to watch the formula as it swirled and finally settled, stable on the page.

Re-reading her work, satisfied, she summarized the first page:

"Diary, Fist: Childhood. Innocent Love, Innocence Lost. Young Ginny, young Severus, both scarred (!), only one was protected."

She picked up her snifter, not taking her eyes off of her notes even as she sipped, thinking. Okay. Severus the inverse of Voldemort; seven pieces of a soul in one body, versus seven "bodies" containing the pieces...

She drew a breath and released it, clearing her mind. The larger problem didn't balance yet, but she was making progress.

Severus raised his glass slightly, then sipped his brandy. One down.

Summoning another piece of parchment, she went back to writing.

"Second Horcrux. Ring; created when he killed his family." More. "Killed his father, grandfather..." She frowned. "Killing the father" had rung a bell.

Something from Muggle Studies... Right, that daft old bugger with a cigar. She sniffed, disdainfully.

Ok. Fathers.

She turned her thoughts to Severus. Families, fathers...

She leaned back, lost in thought, toying absently with her quill.

Severus knew where the next bit of logic would take her, and he steeled himself.

A sudden gleam of inspiration lit in her eye, and she resumed writing.

Obviously. Taking the Dark Mark (underlined). Power (underlined twice). Powerless as a child, eyes dead, the first crack in your soul long before you arrived for your Sorting...

Sorting, Slytherin... Desire for power... that works... Ambition?

She shook her head. Not in the traditional sense, no... More like... restitution? She thought, tapping her quill on the page. A drop of ink landed on her face, just beneath her eye. Lost in thought, she barely noticed.

Severus fought the urge to brush it away. He scowled, stood, and went to the fire, standing with his back to her, his shoulders rigid.

She sighed. Not very logical, bonding yourself to subservience out of a desire for power... but firmly within the parameters of the kinds of things boys do. Just like Harry and Ron are about Quidditch.

She shook her head. Strange analogy, Granger.

Still. Same flaw, smaller stakes.

She heard the boys' voices in her mind as she continued writing.

"It's about the challenge."

"It's about beating Slytherin, especially Draco Malfoy."

It's about the challenge; it's about winning; it's about beating the Marauders, especially James Potter...

Bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death...

Dumbledore. Who was like a father to him. And "the child is the father to the man."

Tom Riddle, Voldemort. Severus, the Death Eater... and James, of course.

James.

She stopped writing.

Head turned resolutely away, Severus heard her quill stop and frowned. She'd have this one soon. His nerves stretched in the silence. Then he heard her start writing again, the scratching more urgent.

Shoving himself away from the mantle, he paced the far end of the room, eyeing the books on their shelves with a malice so hot some of them actually started to smoke.

She wrote frantically, the equations harsher, almost sharp, scrambling, scribbling themselves out in inky explosions almost as fast as she could start them. Finally, one, darker than the rest, stayed stable.

I see. Her eyes narrowed. James Potter is part of why he took the Dark Mark?

Adding the "Father" aspect to the equation, she tried it again, knowing what she would find.

The equation shifted once, then was stable. Ugly, and very, very stable.

Poor Harry.

Poor Severus.

At the other end of the room, Severus clenched his hands. His snifter shattered, glass embedding in his hands, brandy stinging into small cuts as it flowed down his arms.

She reflexively shot him the same look she used to silence First Years who hadn't yet learned not to play Exploding Snap while she was studying.

He flinched, as did several books on the nearby shelves, hiding his hand from her view.

Her expression softened in understanding.

That's two.

She turned back to her notes and examined them.

The larger equation still didn't balance. No, Severus' desire for power wasn't pure ambition; it had started with his mother. It was born of desperation, of desire.

She focused herself sternly. Follow your formula, Granger.

New parchment.

She swallowed nervously – a soul, even a piece of one, really was a strange thing to have in her pocket.

Focus, Granger. She bent to write.

Third Horcrux: Slytherin's locket – belonged to Voldemort's mother. Protection?

She twisted that symbol around until it cleared. Ah, ok. She'd failed to protect herself from death; by dying, failed to protect him. Harry had said Voldemort had hated her for it.

Hm. Ok.

More writing. "Mothers."

Severus Summoned a glass of firewhiskey. A large one.

She added it to the formula and the equations took on a faint red tinge.

Old magic, then? "1. Passion (Merope). 2. Desperation (sold locket). 3. Sacrifice (Merope), and blood (childbirth)."

Switching her thoughts to Severus now, sifting the various images she'd received from him...

His mother, screaming?

She worked a few equations. They all blurred and faded. No?! Then... Who?

She sighed, twisted her neck to get a kink out, and rubbed one of her shoulders. She reviewed the images again, playing them forward, slowly, until she paused on the young woman with red hair. Smiling. At him.

Oh. I don't like this.

Severus was leaning on the bookshelves, eyes closed. He listened, waiting, turning the glass slowly in his hands. One of the books nudged him. He opened his eyes.

I don't like this one bit.

Biting her lip, she worked one new symbol into the formula. It glowed faintly gold. She connected two symbols, one symbol changed. She connected another, and all of them did.

How awful.

She exhaled softly. Yet how very logical. I can't believe I didn't see it before.

She put down her quill. This was going to be much more complicated than she thought. She knew she'd found one of the questions she needed to ask him, but she was going to have to word this one very, very carefully.

He'd probably hex her into next week anyway.

"Severus?"

One of the books nudged his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and forced himself into the middle of the room. "Yes?"

Softly, she asked, "What were the symbols you traced on my forehead?"

He looked at her, startled. That was not the question he'd been expecting.

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The mind itself, being infinite, is the largest erogenous zone that humans possess.

The most sensitive.

And the most difficult to touch.

Hermione Granger had taken up permanent residence in his, and was even now deciding where to put her book collection.