Charming Memories

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Two : Charming Memories

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute.

My beta readers, LAxo and WriterMerrin, are brilliant beyond belief!

Hermione heard the doorbell ring punctually at eleven a.m., but she didn't manage to beat her mother there to open the door. Skidding into the hallway on stockinged feet, she did overhear the exchange.

"Good mor...you!"

"Mum! No!" cried Hermione as her mother slammed the door in the face of her unexpected visitor. This was not a fortuitous start to what already promised to be a difficult conversation. The week Hermione had spent at home had been pleasant, if melancholy. No-one had directly mentioned Dumbledore's death...her parents had been sympathetic without demanding that she talk about it, and since she had owled them all that she was comfortable telling them before she left Hogwarts, she hadn't had much to say. The time had passed all-too quickly, however, each moment marked by the bittersweet quality of pleasure in her parents' company and fear for their futures.

Her mother was shouting, "Terry! We've got to..."

"Mum!" interrupted Hermione. "It's not what it seems! We need to speak to you and Dad. Let me open the door." She tried to reach around her mother and get a hand to the deadlock, but the older woman had her back against the door and spread her arms wide in a dramatic gesture of protection.

"Hermione! He's a murderer! If you open this door, he'll kill us all!"

Hermione ran both hands back into her hair in frustration. Every second that he spent exposed on the doorstep was dangerous. "Don't be ridiculous! He's an extraordinarily powerful wizard. He could blow this door down in a heartbeat. Just let him in so that we can talk."

"What's going on?" asked her father, Terry, appearing in the doorway from the sitting room.

"It's Snape!" exclaimed her mother, nearing hysteria.

"Listen," said Hermione, battling for her composure and drawing her wand. "I'm going to let him in; you have to talk to us. It's not what it seems."

"Put that thing away, young lady!" shouted Terry, at the exact same moment that her mother cried, "How dare you point that thing at me?"

"Mum," she replied, "step away from the door. As soon as we are all seated in the sitting room and discussing things calmly over a cup of tea, I'll put my wand down. Now, move aside."

Staring at Hermione as if she were unrecognisable, her mother complied, one hand pressed against her heart, her mouth open in shock. Hermione wrenched the door open at once.

"Good morning, Professor," she said as politely as she could with her chest heaving from the emotional exertion of the last few minutes. "Please come inside and sit down."

"You're supposed to check it's really me and not a Polyjuiced impersonator," he drawled, one eyebrow raised.

Professor Severus Snape was dressed as a Muggle: black jeans, a soft grey t-shirt, and a battered black leather jacket that looked almost as old as he did. Hermione's own eyebrows rose as she took it in. He looked good. "Well," she pondered for only a split second, "what did I call you in the Hospital Wing when I was delirious?"

"A phoenix," he replied with a small smirk, stepping forward to enter the house.

"Wait, aren't you going to ask me a question?"

He raised an eyebrow. "From what I heard before the door opened, Granger, it could only be you."

Hermione blushed and stood back to let him in. Her parents stood warily a few metres away from the door, her father's arm slung protectively across her mother's shoulders. The moment the door closed behind Snape, he waved his wand over his outfit and Transfigured it back into his more usual garb. Hermione felt a simultaneous pang of disappointment and a wash of relief...the situation was already strained enough without Snape dressed like an aging rock star.

"Professor Snape," she said, "I'd like to introduce my parents: Dr Susan Granger and Dr Terry Granger; they're both dentists. Mum, Dad, this is Professor Snape." She turned back towards her professor apologetically. "It turns out that they get The Prophet, but only on Saturdays." Until that morning she had imagined her letters to be their sole source of recent news about the wizarding world. It was only when she had made her leisurely way downstairs for breakfast that she had discovered...too late to warn her professor...that her parents knew something of his actions and the accusations against him. She waved a hand in the direction of the sitting room. "Let's sit down and have some tea."

The situation in the sitting room was incredibly awkward. The Drs Granger sat down on the couch, leaving the two armchairs for Hermione and Snape.

"I'll make tea," offered Hermione, moving towards the kitchen.

Her mother leapt up at once, her horror at the idea of remaining in the sitting room with only her husband and the murderous professor clearly visible. "No you won't," she snapped. "I'll do it. You stay here, and mind you put that wand of yours on the table where we can all see it."

Hermione sat down with a thud, slightly sickened by the ready mistrust of her parents, and rubbed her palms nervously on her thighs. She carefully laid her wand out on the coffee table, grimacing slightly as she put it down. Although she could easily grab it if she needed to, she felt exposed without it. Terry Granger's eyes flickered from Hermione's wand to the face of their visitor, then quickly back to the thin strip of vine wood. Hermione bit down on her bottom lip and risked a glance at Snape. He was sitting with his legs crossed and the tips of his fingers pressed together. His hair hung over his face, and he looked far more relaxed than a wanted man should. Without moving his gaze from Terry's face, Snape took out his own wand with infinite slowness and laid it on the coffee table not far from Hermione's.

"Mum?" Hermione called out suddenly, leaping back to her feet and stepping towards the kitchen doorway. "Can you pass me the phone?" Shooting her an irritated look, her mother complied, picking up the cordless phone from the cradle on the bench. Hermione turned back towards her father. "Dad? Can you give me your mobile?" He did so, with better grace than her mother had displayed, and Hermione lined up both phones on the coffee table beside her wand. It made her feel much more secure.

It seemed to take forever for the kettle to boil and her mother to reappear with the tea tray.

"How do you take your tea, sir?" asked Hermione, mortified by her mother's behaviour: her arms and legs were tightly crossed and she was glaring furiously at Snape.

"Black, no sugar."

Hermione's hand shook slightly, and the cup rattled against the saucer as she passed it across to him. As he took it from her, their eyes met, and Hermione drew a quick, reassuring breath.

"Spit it out then," snarled her mother. "Why is he here?" She was still staring at Snape, but her question was directed at her daughter.

"He's here because I asked him to be. Because you're in danger."

"We're in danger because he's here, Hermione, not the other way round."

Hermione smothered a sigh of frustration. Her mother was every bit as stubborn as she was, and on the rare occasions in which they argued, Hermione tended to rely on her father to smooth things over. A quick glance at him, and the reassuring hand he had tucked behind her mother's back, was indication enough that this time they were united against her. Hermione reached into the back pocket of her jeans and withdrew a thick wad of parchment. Unfolding it, she smoothed it flat against her thigh. "Do you remember when I explained about Arithmancy?" she asked, aiming for the least confrontational tone possible.

Her mother made no reply, merely flicking her a dismissive glance before returning her disapproving gaze to Snape's face. Terry, on the other hand, nodded uncertainly.

"It's a mix of advanced probability, actuarial studies, multi-dimensional arrays and magical calculus derivatives. Basically, it can be used to predict the future," explained Hermione. "I know you know I'm involved in the war against Lord Volde . . ." She trailed off, knowing that Snape didn't like her to use his name. "Anyway, I did some calculations regarding your safety over the next year. If you stay here, you will almost certainly become a target. Because of me." A wave of guilt swept over her. "I'm terribly sorry," she added.

"Are you saying our lives are in danger?" asked Terry.

"That's exactly what she's saying," confirmed Snape, entering the conversation for the first time. His voice was so deep that it sent small shivers down Hermione's spine.

"Our lives have been in danger since the moment he appeared on our doorstep!" snapped Susan.

"No, Mum! The danger has nothing to do with Professor Snape!" Hermione leant forward and pushed the top sheet of figures towards her parents. "Just look at the predictions."

Terry picked them up and ran an eye down the column of numbers. His eyebrows rose. "Here you are, love," he said once he reached the end of the page, offering the sheet to his wife.

"Read it out to me," she replied curtly, seemingly convinced that Snape could be restrained by the force of her glare alone.

Terry cleared his throat, giving Hermione a long look before he began: "Chance of death under current circumstances, 98.9%, ditto if sent to stay with Viktor Krum in Bulgaria, 76%."

"Viktor is going to provide a haven for Muggle-born witches and wizards," interrupted Hermione. "Sorry, go on," she added.

"Ditto elsewhere in Europe," continued her father, "84.3% . . ." The list went on.

After about a minute, Susan interrupted Terry's recitation, "For Christ's sake, are there any options that put our chance of death at less than 50%?"

"Just one," replied Terry as Hermione bit down on her lower lip, "ditto with modified memories and travel to Australia, 1.4%."

"1.4? Let me see that!" Susan finally turned her attention from Snape and grabbed at the sheet of parchment her husband held, scanning down the list with a frown.

"That's why Professor Snape is here," commented Hermione nervously, "to help me modify your memories. I'm not skilled enough to do it by myself."

"How do we even know these figures are accurate?" questioned Susan acidly. "They could be completely made-up."

Snape spoke for only the second time since he'd sat down. "I can assure you, Madam, that I wouldn't have taken the risk of coming here if I wasn't certain those calculations were accurate."

"You are a criminal," exclaimed Susan, dropping the parchment to her lap and glaring at Snape once again. "Why would your opinion count for anything?"

"At this point he is a suspect in Dumbledore's death, nothing more!" Hermione burst out. She had just made an enormous lie of omission, although what she said was technically true. Hermione didn't risk a glance at Snape, staring instead at her parents and willing them to believe her.

"What exactly were you hoping to achieve today?" intervened Terry gently, directing his comment towards his daughter.

His words left Hermione slightly relieved. "Basically," she began, taking a deep breath, "it would be like a Witness Protection Programme; you would both have new identities and new lives. The only difference would be that instead of faking a new identity, we'd...that is, Professor Snape and I...would create the new identities for you inside your head. That way, you wouldn't be able to accidentally reveal the truth. Once the war is over, I would come and get you."

"You want me to let him mess around inside my head?" asked Susan, only a decibel or two short of a shout. Terry put a hand on her thigh reassuringly.

"Mum, I trust him. The Prophet is far from the most reliable news source; I wish you could trust my judgement." Hermione drew a shaky breath and shot a distressed look at Professor Snape. She was worried he'd be offended by what she had to say next. "Besides," she continued relentlessly, smoothing out the second sheet of parchment she held and proffering it across the coffee table towards her parents, "I did the calculations for all eventualities. In actual fact it didn't make much difference."

Her dad took the paper from her, and both he and Susan cast their eyes over it.

"Are you suggesting," he asked, "that even if Professor Snape, here, were working for the other side, he would still modify our memories accurately?"

Hermione turned her eyes towards her professor once again, wincing in anticipation of his reaction to her father's words. To her surprise, he was looking at her appraisingly and gave her a short, barely perceptible nod of approval as he caught her eye. Reassured, she turned her attention back to her parents.

"Yes," she replied. "Professor Snape has been working as a double agent for a long time. The Arithmantic projections suggest that either he is on our side and always has been or that he would want to maintain such a facade with me for as long as possible." She shrugged. "Since he can do so by saving your lives without directly contradicting an order from Vol...from the other side, it would make complete sense to do so."

Terry looked pensive at her words; Susan just looked distressed. "And what exactly are you going to do while this war is going on, young lady?" she asked, her voice harsh and accusative.

Hermione had been dreading this question. She couldn't think of any way to answer it that didn't sound melodramatic. "I'm going to fight."

"You're a child!"

"Mum, I'm seventeen. In the wizarding world, that makes me an adult. Even in Muggle Britain you can join the army at sixteen."

Susan Granger was speechless with frustration. She ran her hands back into her curls in a gesture Hermione recognised as one she had inherited.

"Mum," Hermione tried again. "This is a wizarding war. Against the powers these people have, you...and Dad...are helpless." Her voice cracked and the tears she'd been battling for the entire length of the conversation leaked traitorously down her cheeks. "If our positions were reversed, and you could save my life by sending me away, what would you do?"

It was as if Hermione's regression into tears wiped the anger from her mother's face. Susan's shoulders dropped, and she returned her eyes to the sheets of parchment she held in her lap.

"And if you're killed, Hermione? What then?" asked Susan, in a small and intensely unhappy voice.

Hermione swallowed, and new tears coursed down her face. She rubbed roughly at them with the heels of her hands. "At least you won't know," she whispered.

Susan made a choking noise. "You would deny a mother the chance to mourn her child?" she asked, her face turned away and one hand gesturing blindly.

Hermione did not know what to say. "I..." She broke off before continuing. "I would rather that than mourn you knowing I could have saved you and yet did nothing."

"Granger." At Snape's intervention, all three of the room's other occupants turned towards him; he was looking at Hermione. "It has to be their choice."

"But..."

"Granger," he warned...and something about his tone of voice caught her immediate attention..."there are some people in this war who don't believe that Muggles deserve to have autonomy over their own lives."

Hermione flushed. "That's not what I meant," she protested, guilt curdling her stomach. Both of her parents were watching the exchange with interest, tears momentarily unheeded on her mother's cheeks.

"In intent, perhaps not, but the consequences would have been the same." He held her gaze until she lowered her eyes. "Come," he instructed, standing up in one fluid movement. "We should give them some time alone to think it over. Drs Granger, if you will excuse us."

Hermione followed him out into the hall with a last reluctant look at her parents. Her dad had pulled her mother close, and she was crying onto his shoulder. Only once Hermione closed the door behind her did she think to pull out the handkerchief from her pocket and dry her own tears. Snape, who was leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, gave the handkerchief a funny look.

"Is that mine?" he asked.

"You said that I could keep it," replied Hermione a little defensively. She took the opportunity to blow her nose, guessing he'd be unlikely to ask for it back if it were dirty.

Snape merely rolled his eyes.

For several minutes they stood without talking. The silence was awkward. Without intending to, Hermione's gaze strayed to Snape's lips. She couldn't help thinking about their last encounter and reflexively strengthened her Occlumency shields. She knew that it hadn't been a real kiss: he'd taken the opportunity to force the Felix Felicis on her and nothing more. But it had still felt like a kiss to her. She wanted it to have been a real kiss.

She felt mortified at the thought of the scorn Professor Snape would unleash were he to know that she thought as much; if he realised the extent of her crush, he would think her a foolish little girl. She forced her eyes away, casting around for something innocuous and yet interesting to say.

She wanted to ask how he felt about the events on top of the Astronomy tower. She wanted to ask him what had happened when he returned to Lord Voldemort. She even wanted to ask whether Draco was okay. But she didn't.

There was another topic, one that she desperately wanted to broach, but the moment didn't seem quite right. At the same time, she was worried this might be her only chance to talk to him alone. She shoved the handkerchief back into her pocket, leaving her hand there and fiddling with the contents, turning a small piece of metal over and over between her fingertips. Just at the moment she had psyched herself up to speak, the sitting room door opened.

"Hermione," said Terry, "your mother would like a word."

"Thanks, Dad," she muttered, shooting a glance at Snape's imperturbable face as she turned to enter the room, leaving both men behind in the hallway. Her mother looked a lot calmer. Her tears were dry, and her eyes only the slightest bit red. She had the calculations spread flat before her on the coffee table. Hermione hesitated for a moment and then sat beside Susan on the couch. She chewed nervously on her lower lip.

"The calculations you've done are pretty damning," remarked Susan, looking down at the parchment before her and not at her daughter.

Hermione grimaced, though her mother wasn't looking to notice.

"This fighting you think you need to do," began her mother, "how much has it got to do with Harry Potter being the Chosen One?"

Hermione drew an involuntary breath and let it hiss out between her teeth. Her parents must have been reading The Saturday Prophet for much longer than she'd imagined. How to explain things without lying or breaking my promises of secrecy?

"Dumbledore said once that whether Harry is or isn't the Chosen One isn't really important. What's important is that Voldemort and some members of the public think he is. Harry doesn't really have much choice: Voldemort will hunt him down if he tries to hide; he has to fight no matter what. We might as well be as prepared as possible."

"I don't suppose that anything I might say would convince you that you don't need to be there with him?" For the first time since Hermione had come back into the room, Susan was looking directly at her, and Hermione heard the feeble attempt at humour in the question and caught the slight curve that lifted one side of her mother's mouth.

"No." Hermione gave her mother a tremulous smile, tears prickling once again at the back of her eyes. "Harry's my best friend. He needs me. Besides, it's not just that. What Professor Snape said before is true: the ideological lines of this battle are drawn along the issue of blood...magical blood. I'm Muggle-born, or as the purebloods would say, Mudblood. In the world they envision, I wouldn't exist. I have to stand up to them for my own sake, too."

"And what would you do if your father and I decided to stay?"

The blood drained from Hermione's face. She felt sick. "Professor Snape is right," she whispered, "it has to be your choice."

"But you would recommend otherwise?"

Hermione searched her mother's face for some sign of where the conversation was headed. "Yes," she replied.

"I've another question for that professor of yours; you'd better call the others in."

Hermione walked quickly to the door and opened it. Her father and Snape were speaking intently in low voices and broke off the moment the door opened. Hermione wished she knew what they had been saying, but their faces gave nothing away. She held the door open for them wordlessly as they trouped in; her dad and Snape took the two armchairs, as if Hermione and her mother had claimed the couch. It was a better arrangement: less combative.

"Professor Snape," remarked Susan in a pleasantly non-confrontational tone, "in recent years I've heard a great deal from Hermione about your propensity to protect the students." Hermione blushed slightly and stole a glance at Snape from the corner of her eye. His head was tilted forward just enough that the dark wing of his hair concealed his face. "Can I assume that such behaviour will continue?"

"To the very best of my ability," replied Snape. From a lesser man it might have sounded evasive, however Hermione knew just how extensive his abilities were.

"And," continued Susan, "were Hermione to die, would you come find us, restore our memories and tell us so?"

"In the unlikely event that I survive and your daughter does not, I will come and let you know as soon as it is safe to do so."

Hermione felt unaccountably relieved that her parents were not the sort to demand an Unbreakable Vow, for she was certain that Snape would have acquiesced. The man exhibited a compulsive willingness to assume responsibility for impossible tasks, and the last thing he needed right now was yet another magically binding obligation.

"Very well then," said Susan after exchanging a long look with her husband, "change my memory. You'd better do it straight away because I don't think I can bear any delay."

Snape lifted his head in surprise, swinging around to face Hermione. She felt as shocked as he looked.

"Are you sure, Mum?" she queried.

"Just do it, and be quick about it," was the slightly irritable reply.

Snape held out his right hand, clenching and unclenching his fist as he wordlessly and wandlessly summoned his wand from the coffee table into his palm. He stood smoothly.

"Dr Granger," he stated, "your daughter and I are going to enter your mind using Legilimency. I am going to conceal your memories of Hermione, she is going to concoct a false narrative of the missing elements of your life. The two will be woven together and triggered to a phrase." He swung his gaze towards Hermione and addressed the next comment to her as well. "I imagine that 'I am the daughter you always wanted' would be adequate. Afterwards, we will put you to sleep. When you wake in the morning, your daughter and I will be gone. You and Dr Granger will believe yourselves to be other people..."

"Wendell and Monica Wilkins," supplied Hermione.

"You're not serious?" interjected Terry, a disgusted look on his face.

"A distinctive name will make it much easier to locate you," responded Hermione firmly, her chin tilted at an angle that brooked no arguments.

"If I may continue?" drawled Snape, raising an eyebrow at Hermione, who obediently fell silent. "The whole process will take about forty-five minutes. I must ask that we are not interrupted during that time."

Both Drs Granger nodded quite determinedly.

"Mum," ventured Hermione awkwardly as she rose to her feet beside Snape and took hold of her own wand, "I really love you."

Susan Granger reached out and cupped Hermione's face gently with one hand. "I know, sweetheart," she replied, "I love you, too."

"Okay," stated Hermione, rubbing her left hand down her jeans nervously. "I'm ready." She glanced up at Snape.

"Relax back into the couch, Dr Granger," he instructed, his eyes fixed on Susan's face. Without turning to look at Hermione, he held out his left hand, palm up, and she covered it with her own, her fingers curling round to grip his hand firmly. They both extended their wands, crossing their wandarms at the wrist and resting the tips of their wands on Susan's temples. The woman looked terrified, but determined; the familial relationship to her daughter had rarely been more apparent.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Legilimens," she murmured as she heard Snape do the same.

Inside her mother's head, Hermione could see herself and Snape standing before her line of vision in a dislocating switch of perspective; she could also feel Snape beside her inside her mother's mind. The dual awareness was disconcerting. Keep it together, Granger, she heard in Snape's distinctive tones. She knew that he'd spoken aloud, but his instruction resonated within her as if it were her own thought. The perspective altered, and images from the last week began to flicker before her: Snape was corralling her mother's memories of her, beginning with the most recent. Grasping hold of the memory of the living room, Hermione began to weave a web to contain them. Monica Wilkins, she thought, tying one thought to another, was happily married...though had always longed for a child. She and her husband were dentists, and worked together in their own practice. They made enough money to retire early and decided to move somewhere warmer . . .