Chapter Nine: Fear

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Chapter 9: Fear

Severus Snape had never felt this way before. He sat in his armchair staring morosely into the hearth at nothing in particular as his mind roiled with an unfamiliar emotion. Fear. Irrational, uncontrollable, fear. It wasn't that he hadn't been in situations before where he had feared for his life, or even his sanity – hanging around with tyrannical maniacs does that to a wizard – but always before he had just cause to be afraid. This time, he knew there was nothing to fear, but that did not stop his heart pounding and his stomach clenching at the thought of what he had to do.

This time, it was the fear of his own reaction that made his palms sweaty. He knew that after dinner he and Hermione would be entering the Pensieve to view their memories of the evening when she had been kidnapped. He also knew that Voldemort's familiar, Nagini, had been slithering around in the background that night. Nightmares of the giant snake's fangs piercing his skin, agonising pain, and blood – endless amounts of blood – still disturbed his sleep. Severus was terrified of losing control in the Pensieve. He was supposed to be there to be Hermione's strength, her support, while she watched what was probably the most traumatic experience of her life, and all he could think of was facing that accursed snake.

After hours of unproductive self-recrimination, Severus finally roused himself to fetch a sandwich and make a start on the books he had gathered from Malfoy Manor the day before. He sorted the books into three piles: probable, possible, and bloody unlikely but worth a look anyway. Most of the texts concerned ancient rituals and potions, with a few heavily imbued with dark magic. These he set aside for his own perusal, leaving the safer books for Hermione to read. Earlier in the day, he had dropped her off at the cafe, promising to make a start on the research while she was at work. He opened the first book and began reading the dry, brittle pages.

By the end of the afternoon, he was no further ahead and had developed a pounding headache. The first two books had yielded nothing of value. There was no mention of any sort of potion to strip a witch or wizard's magical power or anything else remotely useful. He found one tiny lead in a footnote of the third book which referred to a supposedly mythical elixir, the Bind and Conquer draught, which had been mentioned in early folklore as a way to control one's enemies. The author of the book, Ignatius Prott, had dismissed the legend as nonsensical and made no further mention of it.

***

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, with both Severus and Hermione wrestling their inner demons as it drew closer to the inevitable trip into the past. Without words or explanation needed, they each understood the other's trepidation and drew strength from their combined determination to see it through. The dishes were cleared away, making room for the Pensieve on the kitchen table. Severus looked at the young witch at his side and raised an eyebrow. "Shall we?" he asked.

She reached out for his hand. "It's now or never," she replied staunchly, looking him in the eye. "Let's do it."

Severus placed his wand-tip at Hermione's temple. "Bring the memory of that night to the surface. Think carefully about that evening and when you are ready, squeeze my hand." He had never retrieved a memory from a non-magical person before and was a little unsure whether the process would work. Thankfully, his wand extracted the silver threads of memory from Hermione's mind in exactly the same way as it would do from his own later. He placed the memory in the stone bowl.

"Do you think I will be able to see anything?" Hermione questioned anxiously. "Do you need magical ability to enter a Pensieve?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "No-one I know has had occasion to invite a Muggle to view a Pensieve memory. However, it does not require a wand to enter, or any incantation, so we will have to assume that it will work unless proven otherwise."

"I suppose the worst that can happen is that I will look silly standing here with my head stuck in a bowl," joked Hermione in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Makes me think of the times when I was a child and Mum had me inhale steam from a bowl when I had a cold."

"Why on earth would one do that?" Severus enquired, wondering at the odd behaviour of Muggles.

"No Pepperup!" she explained succinctly.

"Right. Enough delaying tactics. Are you ready?" he asked.

"As ready as I will ever be."

He folded her hand into his, and together they entered the Pensieve. Finding themselves in the dimly lit cave where Hermione had been brought to Voldemort, they surveyed the scene. Voldemort was studying the memory Hermione and then touched her face. The real Hermione shivered and gripped Severus' hand more tightly. As they watched Rookwood bring his master the vial of potion, she felt Severus stiffen. Slithering menacingly around the periphery of the room was Nagini. His eyes were locked on the snake and his hand was trembling in hers. She reached up to brush his cheek, distracting him from the snake. "It's only a memory, Severus. It can't hurt you now. Watch the other snake instead."

With a shake of his head and a grateful squeeze of her hand, Severus turned to the scene in front of them. Voldemort was chanting something over the vial. They took close note of the dirty green colour of the liquid and the spirals of steam that emitted from it. The incantation was not audible at that distance, something they both knew they would have to allow for next time. As the memory Hermione was subjected to the Crucio curse it was Severus' turn to reassure the young woman beside him.

"I can't believe it was only a few seconds," she said as she turned to him. "It felt like hours at the time!"

"It always does," he replied bitterly.

They watched as Voldemort cast Imperio, then forced Hermione's past self to drink the potion.

"I should have been able to throw that off," she murmured to her companion.

"Not when he was casting it, Hermione. You were a powerful witch, but even I would have had difficulty overcoming an Imperio cast by him."

Observing her struggles after ingesting the potion reminded Hermione of the feelings she had experienced. The sensation of heat, travelling from her head, through her chest and out through her skin; the brilliant light display, followed by the intense feeling of pain in her skull which resulted in losing the contents of her stomach over the evil tyrant's feet, all came back to her in exquisite, agonising detail.

Voldemort's triumphant exposition of his heinous deed sickened and disgusted both observers. After her wand had been broken, they found themselves back in the kitchen, the room spinning a little as they adjusted back into the real world.

"Did you see the way the light changed?" Severus asked urgently. "It emanated from your skin, bright and pure, then became contaminated with the same colour as the potion..."

"And went back into my body," she finished. "I remember now, I felt something drawing the power out of me, but it did not leave my body. I know what happened to it! The headache I have had since then..." She faltered, not really sure of what she was trying to describe.

"It's still there. The potion has bound your magical power, not stripped it. The headache's source is likely to be your body attempting to reverse the process," Severus postulated.

"But if that is correct, then Riddle was deceiving his own followers. He clearly stated that my powers and magical signature had been stripped, not bound. Why would he do that?" Hermione was puzzled by the inconsistencies between what they had seen and what Voldemort had said.

"That was the nature of the beast, my dear. He trusted no-one. Very few were privy to his innermost secrets or plans. Such a powerful potion could have been his own undoing, should it have fallen into the wrong hands," Severus explained.

"Or the right ones..." she muttered.

"Indeed"

***

Some time later they had come no closer to solving the problem of unbinding her power. Severus had found the footnote which mentioned the supposedly mythical elixir.

"I think we can safely say that Prott was not as learned a scholar as he believed," Hermione had grumbled on seeing the note.

Perusal of the other books had yielded no further references to the potion. Hermione had been sitting on the couch re-reading one of the books she had checked earlier in the evening while Severus sat at the desk. She looked up and saw his frustrated expression as he leafed through one of the darker texts. Reminiscing over her days in Potions class, brewing potions while Severus scowled and marked substandard essays, she did not notice that he had stopped reading.

"What?" she asked when she finally noticed he was studying her.

"Nothing in particular. I was just wondering whether our discovery tonight has changed your feelings on contacting your friends?" he replied.

"Oh, Severus, I don't know what to do. Part of me just wants to go to them and explain everything, hoping that we will find a way to reverse this, and part of me is afraid."

"Afraid of what?" he asked gently, moving over to sit beside her on the couch.

"I'm not sure. What if things were never the same again? What if it hurts too much to be watching them all perform magic when I can't? What if Ron doesn't want me any more? I just don't know if I am strong enough to live like that." She turned to him and found comfort in his now familiar embrace.

"You are one of the strongest people I know, Hermione. Never doubt that. Whatever the outcome of this, you will endure and no doubt become even stronger." He held her as she recovered her composure.

Looking up at him, Hermione asked, "Why are you being so good to me? I was one of your most annoying students; why bother?"

"Hermione, you must understand. I have done some dreadful things over the last twenty years, not all of them for the right reasons. When I woke up at St Mungo's, I was livid at finding myself alive, having decided many years ago that I would not survive, or indeed should not survive, the final confrontation. Once Riddle was dead, my task was done, and I could rest in some semblance of peace. I behaved abominably to the staff there for a while, but when I was told of those who had perished, I felt ashamed for my ingratitude. I was alive, when truly good people had died for the same cause and I dared to be angry.

From then on I vowed, this time to myself, that I would try to behave in a manner that would honour their sacrifice. I suppose that attempting to find and return you to those that care for you was partly my way of thanking them for putting up with me for all those years," he explained.

"So, I am merely a debt to be repaid?" She pulled away from him, aghast that she had believed him to truly care about her wellbeing.

"No, no, no," he protested, taking her hands and not allowing her to leave the couch. "I said partly. The main reason was the look on your face when I left you in the alleyway. Your trust in me, despite your despair, was heart-wrenching, even for an old spy whose heart had been in hiding for years. For that reason alone I would have searched for you. No-one should have that done to them, especially such an intelligent, powerful witch," he declared vehemently. "I regretted deeply that I was powerless to stop what had happened and that I had to abandon you there. My only consolation was that I had left you in the same city as my home, which would help when looking for you later. Unfortunately, I was the only person able to recognise you, so your fate was left in my somewhat sullied hands."

Hermione smiled and squeezed those hands that still held her own. "You are a good man, Severus Snape, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, least of all yourself! If anyone can help me, it is you. I feel privileged to have seen the real man behind the mask, and I hope you will let others see him too."

"I am not sure if I can live up to your expectations. I may no longer be spying with death stalking my every move, but I am still essentially a disagreeable, impatient man with few social graces," he asserted.

"Oh, rubbish," she disagreed. "You just need a good hug every so often. Everyone needs a little TLC to thrive, and you have had precious little of that over the years."

"TLC?" he asked.

"Tender, loving care," she explained. "It's a common Muggle expression."

"And you are just the witch to provide that, are you?" he teased, relaxing in the balm of her regard.

"Well, that's what friends are for," she replied.

"Friends," he repeated. "I like the sound of that."

***

For the remainder of the evening, they curled up comfortably together on the couch, relaxing with light conversation and a mug of Snape's Special Recipe Hot Chocolate. They had agreed that further research could wait until the following day, and another trip into the Pensieve was needed, this time to view Severus' memory of events. When Severus caught Hermione discreetly trying to hide a yawn, it was his turn to issue orders.

"Bedtime, miss!" he ordered in as authoritative tone as he could muster while disentangling himself from the witch beside him.

"Yes, Methuselah," Hermione retaliated automatically, turning and kissing him on his forehead. "Don't forget to put your teeth in to soak and take out your hearing aid."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, dumbfounded by her suggestion.

"Don't tell me I just said that," she groaned and hid her face. "Dad used to say Bedtime, miss! to me and that was my standard reply as I got older.

"Oh, thanks. You really know how to wound a man's ego." Severus gave her a mock scowl as he stood up, faking an aching back and stiff joints. "Will you help an old man up the stairs, dear?" he croaked in a pathetic voice, "I'm not sure this ancient fellow can manage by himself."

For his efforts he was rewarded with a cheeky grin and an elbow to hold.

"Come along, old man. Let's get you into bed," she teased.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and growled, "Your place or mine, little girl?"

For that he received a sound whack on the arm and no help at all in climbing the stairs.

"Can't blame a man for trying," he grumbled, extinguishing the lights.

***

A/N: Based on prompt 93. "Someone has his or her powers stripped away for misuse. Did he/she lose them because of actual misuse or was it a set up? How do they get them back?"