Chapter 8

As to why names are the way they are in this story, please refer to A/N in Ch 1.

Method in Madness

Chapter 8

Hermione had been reading the latest issue of Ars Chemica to Severus. Poppy had administered the last six hourly dose to Severus and everyone in the castle was in nervous trepidation as to whether it would bring the Potions Master around. The potion had taken nineteen days to stabilise and mature and yesterday, she had finished the potion by adding powdered asphodel root. Once completed and cooled, the draught had to be administered in four doses at six-hour intervals so as to yield optimal results. She hoped she did everything correctly when she saw his breathing accelerate. If she had been in error, she hoped it would not be a fatal. Hermione was further disturbed by Severus's spiritual absence in the last two days.

Somehow, the dynamics of their professional and personal relationship had changed when he gave her poem. She knew he was aware of her more than friendly concern in him, but he made no mention of it. That poem had open new doors - The Oubliette he called it. He was trying to teach her to let go. It was indeed one of the most difficult things to do. In effect, he was telling her what she had been drumming into him ever since he wound up in the infirmary – it is not wrong to value life, especially your own. It was funny how a simple poem could evoke the bitterness, guilt, fears and hopes of two people. The poem's meaning was not lost on Hermione – far from it – she knew that an oubliette was a room that could only be entered from above. It was a room for prisoners and she knew that Severus, like her, was trapped in his own oubliette, unable to forget certain events in his past. Furthermore, she reminded herself, does not 'oublier' mean 'to forget' in French? She ought to have known his poetic abilities; her experiences with Harry in their first year proved that Severus Snape was a skilled poet. Here was a man who was trying to help her see that her friends and family would always be a part of her even though they were no longer physically with her; they would have wanted her to treasure what they had and to move on with her life without forgetting what they were to each other.

Likewise, Severus could not forget the choices of his youth which turned him to the side of the Dark Lord. Even though the Dark Mark had crumbled away at the Dark Lord's demise, leaving behind a faint scar, he still felt guilty for harming and murdering innocents. He had broken his mother's heart and killed her when he joined the Death Eaters. He couldn't forgive himself although he knew his mother would and in all likelihood, already had, wherever she was in that better place. He had told Hermione that much the day after he presented her with the poem. He wanted her to know how tainted and evil he was at his heart and all she said, was "I know, but you must see your soul is the only thing immortal. And you have a noble one, that makes you good." She had framed the poem and hung it in her private sitting room below a muggle photograph she took with her parents before they were killed on the Dark Lord's orders. He was still curious as to how she managed to procure that photograph by her bed stand. Surely, she did not indulge in the foolish notion that there was a little good in almost everyone! If she did, she would be out of her wits. On his part, Severus vowed that he would not besmirch her natural goodness and perfection with his unworthy tainted self. How dare he presume that she would ease his pain! How dare he assume that he was calmer in her presence! What gave him the right to hope when he had been the object of misery to so many innocents! Certainly, the scowling photograph on her bed stand was testament to the fact that she had more than an academic interest in him, but he could not abuse her trust in him. No, he would rather die alone and admire her chastely from a distance than make her an offer. It would not be all that difficult to accomplish – after all, he was a Death Eater and a spy, dissembling was second nature to him. Furthermore, they were to be colleagues and he could see her on a daily basis thereby easing the gnawing void he felt when she was not in his office. His mother had brought him up to be a gentleman, and if he had to dine daily at the Great Hall just to see her – it would be enough. Perhaps she was still unaware that he knew about the photo and her daily words of affection to it. A part of him wanted the attention directed at himself, but he thought better of it when he realised he would most likely had let fly at her. If he did that, he was sure that all friendly discourse, no, all forms of discourse with her would definitely be at end. He would not allow himself to ruin her and torment her with his ill temper; she would not be happy, she's better off talking to that unresponsive photograph. He would use his usual demeanour as his mask of madness to save her from the unworthy creature that he was. Yet, a part of him was aware that there was nothing that could wash away the pain he had already inflicted in her – he could see her silent reproach in her eyes whenever she communicated with him.

Severus remembered how happy she was to learn occlumency and legilimency. She had mastered both in the space of the days it had taken the potion to mature. They had bonded because their minds coincided on a multitude of levels. He wryly fought back a smirk at the memory when a sharp headache he experienced informed him that Hermione's potion was working. The potion must be attempting to bind his spirit to his body again.

Both Severus and Hermione were lonely to a certain degree. She had friends but she sometimes felt apart from them owing to different interests. Severus was afraid of allowing people to access his heavily scarred private self because he did not want to be drawn into another mistake. He knew all too well that he was drawn to the Dark Lord because he had allowed Lucius Malfoy to come too close to him. He was also afraid of hurting Hermione, but in light of their occlumency and legilimency lesions, he sensed that she was equally afraid of hurting him. They had traded memories in those lessons, which drew them closer. It was as if they were seeking to soothe each other's uneasy fears, guilt and apprehension because they understood or thought they understood because they had an imagined (or was it genuine) common feeling of pain mingled with hope. It was then that Severus knew Hermione was a mitigating force on his internalised irrational hurt and anger. His concern for the know-it-all inspired the poem and the lesson he was trying to learn. Hermione had told him that learning to let go was as difficult as learning to laugh at one's self. He tried to think on whether he would still have intellectually stimulating and emotionally satisfying conversations with Hermione when his body regained consciousness. Of course he would, he snarled at himself. She was a friend just as Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall were. Before he could analyse the difference in his feelings towards Hermione and the Dumbledores, his headache spun him violently down a vortex pain to a blank dream-like state.

She transfigured a damp cloth to wipe his forehead as she watched his face twist in an agony worse than the effects of the cruciatus curse. Her gestures were absentmindedly executed, for her mind was pondering on Severus's weighty silences of the last two days. However, her attempts to soothe his physical twitching and pain soon exhausted her and she slowly drifted off into slumber.

* * *

She was immediately aware that she was in a dream because the scenes in which she participated had nothing to do with the present reality. Hermione found herself back in her school uniform, attending Severus's lessons. He seemed to want her to answer her questions but he chose not to and offered what could be considered an apologetic disdainful curl of his lips. He asked for her to say behind after class because she had helped Neville Longbottom with his potion. Apparently, he had decided that he would not humiliate her in front of her classmates, for which she was grateful. He lectured her on her maddening desire to help those she considered her friends. She could tell that he was incensed but he kept his contempt perfectly in control. Although he had conceded to her point that Neville would have blown himself up if she had not helped him, he was affronted by her impudence. He had taken offence because she doubted his abilities to be constantly rational. She had told him that he was impulsive and he scowled at her, rising to intimidate her but failing to do so. Then again, she was similarly miffed that he had cast doubt on her ability to answer all his questions. Before she could retort, the scene quickly melted from the potions classroom to her chambers...

Severus was seated by the fire reading a large stack of parchments. He looked as if he had just recovered from an illness. He was paler and more sallow than usual and he was visibly thinner. He made some snide remark about her choice of attire and her extended wand. He was particularly cruel in his questioning. He believed that she was patronising him. He repeated bellowed at her, demanding that she tell him what she wanted from him. He wanted to know why she was kind to him. She wondered how he had gained access to her chambers before reminding herself that it was a dream – her dream. She knew enough from her legilimency lessons that the dreamer could in fact control his or her dreams. She made herself sit down and scold him as one would a disobedient child who had disappointed a parent. She told him that she saw him as a form of a syllogism. His life was dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge; it made it all the more admirable and loveable in her mind. He looked at people and he did not see one's gender. He was more concerned with their thought processes. He respected human beings enough to see them as more than gendered packages that babbled incoherently. He was like a philosopher; the most of feared of the philosophers – he was a logician who attempted in his manners, teachings, research, notes, reading and learning to replace opinion by knowledge. She told him that she understood his subversive methods – she informed him that only true thinkers would try to teach students to acquire knowledge rather than opinions. She told him she knew he was aware of his own sometimes prejudicial opinions, but it had never stopped him from doing what was right. He had not allowed his dislike for Harry to eliminate him, rather he had protected him and he had grudgingly accepted that the boy had more sense than his father and was in fact rather shy and humble. She told him she knew he was aware of certain similarities between himself and Harry – they were both isolated and misunderstood. She tried to show Severus that he sought to improve rather than subvert the Order in his activities as a spy and double-agent. She tried telling him that he had a beautiful soul because he was self-reflective and was aware of his own failings. His soul was all the more beautiful because he tried to amend his flaws. She insisted that she wanted nothing more than his friendship; in fact, she would be honoured if he condescended to admit her as a friend. He started and cornered her on the chaise lounge, not allowing her to escape. Hermione panicked a little as she realised that she was losing her ability to steer the direction of her dream. It could only mean that she was dealing with a more experienced legilimens. It was then that she realised she was sharing a dream with Severus in which they were both confronting their doubts of each other.

"Is that all you want, you ridiculous chit? Is that what you really want? Explain the photograph to the right of your bed then!" he snarled, staring unblinkingly into her eyes with malice.

Hermione knew how she must react if she was to preserve her secret. She glared at him, folded her arms and replied coolly, "Your prejudicial preconceived notions are getting the better of you again, Professor Snape."

"You cannot evade my questions, insufferable woman!" he hissed dangerously, turning paler with rage.

"Why would I want to escape from my own chambers?" she retorted. "You are the intruder here, not I. Think rationally, Professor Snape, I know you are a good sort. Albus knows it. Why cannot we discuss this like civilised adults?"

"Don't tell me how good and noble I am, Miss Granger," he drawled lowly. "I demand an explanation as to the photograph. How did you get it?"

"It is none of your business," she spat, escaping from the chaise lounge and hurrying to her bedroom.

"No, you don't! An explanation, Miss Granger, I won't leave until I get one!" he insisted, grabbing her wrist. "How did you get it?"

"If you let go of me and promise to be civil, I will," she said calmly, matching his dangerous glare with one of her own. He released his grip and paced before her while she sat down at the end of the bed. "See, isn't that better?" she said, receiving a snort of derision from him. "As Head Girl, it was my duty to compile the photographs that were to be placed in the school annual. Albus and Minerva thought that a student's selection would be more acceptable to other students. When I finished making my selection, I asked if I could keep some of the rejects. I wanted something to remember all my professors by when I left Hogwarts. Albus thought it was perfectly acceptable."

Unable to look at her in the eye, he abruptly faced his back towards her. "Yes...But why the place of honour?" he questioned in a clipped and evenly modulated tone, gesturing dismissively over his shoulder in the general direction of the photograph before flicking a lock of hair out of his face.

"You kept me inspired," she offered shyly. He turned sharp around on his heels uncertain as to whether she had spoken the truth. "Of all the teachers here, you placed the most emphasis on learning and application. I liked the message you conveyed through your teachings. I can see you for what you are, not the greasy sarcastic git but a man of learning, a true scholar who enjoys reading, writing and researching. I understand the appeal. I can appreciate the solitude. In a way, I tried to emulate you academically – I wanted to be like you, a good teacher doing all the things I enjoy, facing my own research work, reading and the constant learning. I wanted to be like you in that respect so that I could be with you a sense because I know you wouldn't care for a Gryffindor know-it-all who challenges you on every point. You're a scholar and I am ignorant of most of the things you know...you wouldn't have the patience...I...I more than esteem you..."

"Why is it that women never have a handkerchief when they are crying?" he questioned her sharply as he strode over to her and handed her his black silk handkerchief. She was allowing her tears to flow freely down her cheeks and she wasn't so much as making any sobbing sounds. "There, there, Herm...Miss Granger," He whispered, tempted to draw her in his arms to comfort her. Choosing instead to remain as he was, he continued in a gentler tone, "I did not mean to be so harsh. Why don't you get some rest?"

"You weren't supposed to know..." she sobbed aloud. "You weren't supposed to know..." And everything faded to black for the both of them.

* * *

Dumbledore and Minerva stood at the foot of the bed watching Severus twitching his limbs and clutching Hermione's hand with his long fingers. Minerva was pained to see tears running down Hermione's cheeks. She clicked her tongue in disapproval at the awkward angle in which her ex-student was sleeping. Hermione had slumped forward in her chair, her head resting next to Severus's arm and one arm dangled off the chair. She raised her wand to transfigure the chair into a cot but was stopped by her husband.

"The angels look peaceful this way," Dumbledore murmured, picking up the copy of Ars Chemica from the floor and placing it on the nightstand.

"Our angels, Albus," she corrected sternly. "Our children."

"Quite right, Sweetness, quite right," he rejoined as he charmed Hermione's robes to drape over her like a warm blanket. He then whispered to her sleeping figure, "I've no doubt you've cured him; well done."

"Do you think it wise to leave them like this?" asked his wife

"They are both adults, tired adults – they will be quite safe. Poppy will check on them when she's finished examining Remus."

"Do you think it wise? She's walking the grounds with him. There's a full moon tonight, what if the potion doesn't work?" Minerva asked, gripping his arm.

"Sweetness, I have every confidence in Severus and Hermione's work. I know it works. Remus did volunteer you know...he's so sure of Hermione's ability and Severus's notes that he overrode Poppy's decision that he wasn't strong enough to wander about alone. You don't hear any screams do you? Come Sweetness, why don't you take a stroll with me? The enchanted gardens are particularly lovely on a full moon."

"Saucy old man!" giggled Minerva as she gently kissed Severus and Hermione goodnight before leaving the night to work its healing magic on her children.