4: Amortentia & Memories

Hermione had stared at the letter for a good five minutes, feeling her chest tighten at Dumbledore's familiar handwriting. So Snape hadn't had a Pensieve; at least, not until Dumbledore had left him his. She was incredibly grateful for that fact, and quickly slipped the parchment back into its envelope.

The envelope had also included instructions for refilling the Pensieve. Hermione followed them, thankful that Snape was a well-stocked Potions master. She had found the liquid that she needed to add to the water, activating the Pensieve in a way. As soon as it was done, she leaned over it, inspecting the fluid. It looked like a normal Pensieve. She could only hope it worked properly.

With a deep breath, she reached for the first vial; it was shaped differently, and so she wanted to see the memories it contained first. What if they were more important? However, as she uncorked it, she caught a familiar whiff of potion. It was not the odorless memory that she'd expected. Her brow furrowed as she glared at the box, wondering if she'd simply stumbled across a box of potions.

She wafted the aroma toward her nose, taking long, slow sniffs. She frowned, knowing that the odor was familiar but not recognizable. It had been too long since she'd studied potions, and her mind was unfortunately rather rusty. She gave in, and corked the vial before setting it aside and moving to the next one. She uncorked it and smelled it timidly, silently praying that it was not another potion.

No odor.

Hermione smiled triumphantly before emptying the vial into the Pensieve, watching the silvery, threadlike liquid swirl and swim in the basin. After the last bit slipped out, she set the empty vial on the table and took a deep breath. Leaning down toward the Pensieve, she steeled herself.

*****

Most of the memories were inconsequential. Some were childhood incidents, and while they did indeed cause her to pity the prisoner, they did not help her case to free him. Others were more substantial and slightly alarming; his first meeting with Lucius Malfoy, the night he received the Dark Mark on his left arm, an event in which he overheard the Prophecy regarding Harry.

Only two more vials remained, and she noticed for the first time that one of them had a small notch in the glass, as if he had used something to carve out a mark to indicate that this one was important in some way. Feeling anticipation swelling in her chest, she quickly poured it in and waited for the soft glow to emanate from the basin.

Sure that it was emptied completely, she leaned forward.

While most of the memories that she'd fallen into were dark and ominous, this one held a much different feel. The air was thick and warm and the only light came from a softly flickering fire. Hermione instantly felt as though she didn't belong; she was invading something different, something that made her stomach twist slightly.

She wasn't positive, but she looked to be in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The stone had that same design, same mortar and lay. Was it possible that these were his private quarters?

As she turned and surveyed the room, she finally saw Snape's tall, dark figure. He was standing, swaying just slightly. She wondered if he was sick, or weak; as she moved closer, she saw that he was not alone. A small gasp escaped her mouth as she saw a smaller, feminine figure in his arms. His robes had draped over his arms, almost concealing her completely.

She was instantly shocked. She'd never assumed Snape to have had someone before, at least not in the sense that she saw him holding her. She'd expected that he'd had relations that weren't of the most savory nature, being a Death Eater, but she'd not expected the tenderness that was exhibited before her. Furthermore, they appeared to be dancing -- slowly, without form or proper step, but dancing nonetheless. Hermione moved closer, studying the pair.

Snape was, by far, much younger than he was now. She would have guessed that he was twenty-two or twenty-three at the oldest, and the young woman looked to be no older than Hermione herself. Possibly a year or so younger--

It was with that startling realization that her brain turned over the situation in her mind. This must have been at the very beginning of Snape's teaching career, and this young woman was, as best as Hermione could guess, a student. She swallowed, wanting to feel utterly disgusted at the thought. However, being ever analytical, she pondered the situation. Snape was so young. They must have known each other when he was in school. That didn't make it right, or okay, but it made more sense.

He didn't appear to be particularly affectionate toward the young woman, but she didn't seem to mind. She had her head against his chest, a soft smile on her lips, while his arms wound around her securely. His eyes were trained on the wall behind her, and he looked to be in deep thought. Hermione moved closer, staring at him with a bit of wonder. He looked so different... So unaffected and young; quite handsome, though still stern and cold.

He startled her for a moment as he spoke; she'd almost forgotten that this was only a memory.

"I have to leave," he said softly. Hermione was amazed at how the commanding voice had turned into absolute velvet for the young woman in his arms. Hermione watched as she pulled back, an expression of concern on her face.

"Now?" she asked, her throat convulsing in a hard swallow.

Snape nodded slowly, his eyes closing in a sharp movement as he winced. He unwrapped his arms from around her and pulled his sleeve back, showing her the Mark that had agitated flesh into redness before the dark black color slowly bled into the skull and snake. The veins in his arm were pulsing as muscles clenched tightly, his fist balling in agony.

His voice and words, however, remained calm. "Remember what I told you," he said, nodding. "Do not leave this room. Wait for me."

The young woman nodded, her eyes wide with fright. "Severus... please be careful," she murmured, reaching up and cupping his face with her hands. It was then that Hermione noticed something extraordinary. The delicate emerald ring she'd found in his belongings was slipped onto the girl's wedding ring finger.

Had Snape been-- engaged? Betrothed? Promised, to this young woman? If so, where was she now?

She shook her head of the thoughts and watched as he kissed her; it was a long, smoldering kiss, that left even Hermione gasping for breath. To see Severus Snape exhibiting such passion, such feeling, was incredible. He broke apart from her and quickly rushed to the fireplace, where he grabbed those familiar black robes and mask that had hung next the mantle on a hook. He threw them on, gave one last look to his lover, and threw the Floo powder into the fire.

With a green blaze, and words Hermione couldn't quite make out, he was gone.

Hermione wanted to stay, to observe the girl. She had a strange fascination with her, a desire to know more -- but as this was Severus Snape's memory, the surroundings slowly faded away until she was left sitting on the couch with her nose inches from the liquid's surface. She sat up, her heart pounding. Whatever she had seen had been so unlike the Snape that she knew, so caring and tender. She wondered if he had lost this relationship, and that thought made her heart ache with pity.

No, Hermione had never been one to believe so readily in love; what she'd seen had been something special. It was obvious why this memory was kept, marked, and locked away.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she fought not to dwell on what she'd seen, and she quickly emptied the last memory into the Pensieve. It was the last chance for evidence, for proof, for any indication that Snape was indeed innocent. She'd never been more hopeful in her entire life as she leaned back over the basin, waiting for the memory to take her.

Instantly, she was taken back with shock.

She found herself in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, but the scene unfolding before her was angry and filled with fury. Snape flung his arm out, knocking countless gadgets and gizmos to the floor, bits shattering. He was screaming, his face red with hatred and-- pain? Hermione moved closer, his wild movements passing through her as she watched him. He was yelling, looking positively livid, but his eyes held a sadness in them.

She looked to Dumbledore, noting that the Headmaster was simply pacing behind Snape, his wand pointing at the broken things as they flew from his desk. They levitated, piecing themselves back together, before settling back onto the smooth wood. She frowned as she saw his right hand, dark and cradled against his chest protectively. This memory had not happened long ago.

"Severus," he said calmly, his voice as gentle and easy as it had always been. Hermione felt tears prickling at the backs of her eyes; just seeing him, alive again -- it was too much.

Snape whirled around, his voice still booming and echoing about the office. The previous Headmasters frowned from the canvases, shaking their heads distastefully at the Slytherin man's behavior. "Pipe down!" Dippett yelled, waving his hand angrily.

Hermione frowned and turned back to Snape, trying to listen to his raging words. "I'll not do it, Albus!" he roared, shaking his head. "My hand is already dirtied by someone else's blood. I'll not have yours on it as well!" She couldn't help but catch the slight breaking in his tone.

"You said you'd do all that I asked of you, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him gently, his wand finally resting, as Snape had stopped throwing and flinging his belongings. "Need I remind you?"

"I cannot do this," Snape replied, shaking his head. Hermione gasped as he looked up, and saw the tears in his eyes. Severus Snape had angry, bitter, frustrated tears in those dark, black eyes. "I am not a coward, Albus. I cannot obey your orders."

"It is cowardly of you to refuse," Dumbledore stated calmly. "And courageous of you to accept." He shrugged, an elegant and soft sort of movement.

Snape glared at the older man, the muscle in his jaw clenching and loosening over and over again as he contemplated everything. "I can't," he admitted, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Dumbledore did not accept his answer. He moved to Snape, holding out his hand and staring at him with an unnatural intensity. "Vow it, Severus."

"I can't!" he shouted, causing Hermione to jump. "I'd rather break the vow I made to Narcissa Malfoy in order for you to live, Albus. The war needs you more."

"Vow it, Severus," Dumbledore repeated, his voice never raising the slightest decibel. "Vow it with me. I, Albus Dumbledore, vow to ..."

His voice was drowned out as Snape slumped into a chair, his head hung low. He was outwardly sobbing, and Hermione had never felt her chest so tight in all her life. The tears that had formed in her eyes when she saw Dumbledore were now spilling out over her cheeks.

" ...Ensure the safety and innocence of Draco Malfoy. Should he fail in his task, Severus Snape shall take over and finish it for him, and I will not resist. If I break this vow, may death take me." His hand held steady, and he waited for Snape's response.

Hermione swallowed hard, the realization washing over her. Snape had no choice. None, whatsoever; Dumbledore had just twisted the Unbreakable Vow. If Snape chose to sacrifice himself and not carry out the deed, Dumbledore would die anyway. She watched as Snape looked up, his face twisted in pain and grief.

"Damn you!" he roared, but his hand flew to connect with Dumbledore's. He sat, crying and staring at the man who trusted him, while Dumbledore gave him a small, reassuring nod. The flames twisted and wrapped around their joined hands, sealing the vow in deep magic.

*****

The room was harsh. Sconces on the wall burned brightly, making the circular tower hot and stifling. The nerves of the people inside only added to that thick tension. Severus Snape sat in one seat, his hands and feet shackled to the chair. His head hung low, letting his hair fall in a curtain around him. Hermione could see his eyes flickering in the light, but she could not tell if he looked pleased.

He should have been, she thought. She had, after all, at least earned him some bit of privacy and respect. Before she'd shown the Minister of Magic that memory, she'd not even been allowed alone with him with bars between them. Now, they were given an entire interrogation chamber to themselves. Hermione sat in her seat across from him, leaning forward with concern on her face.

"Are you going to speak to me?" she asked, somewhat timidly.

"You're afraid of me," he replied simply. He did not move, did not look up.

Hermione swallowed, his words piercing through her. "I'm not," she replied defiantly. "I was, but.. not any longer. I've seen the truth, Professor."

Snape finally looked up, his eyes burning into hers. "And what would that truth be, Miss Granger? Do enlighten me."

His voice was ragged, but still held that commanding tone. Hermione took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. With a nervous grip on her seat, she began talking.

She told him everything -- about how her search had sent him to his home, into the Pensieve, how she'd seen the vow he'd had to take. She had been terrified of telling him everything she'd seen; after all, some of it was more intimate and not necessary for the cause. However, he merely nodded slowly, his eyes still on hers.

"And the Ministry?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"They'll be reviewing it tomorrow," she replied, offering a timid smile. "Scrimgeour's already seen it; he thinks you have a good chance of being pardoned. I agree."

He did not smile -- not that she'd truly expected it -- nor did he look pleased that he may have a chance to get out of Azkaban. This made her frown slightly, and she leaned forward to look at him more intently. "You'll be freed, Professor, I promise." Her voice was soft, pleading with him not to look so forlorn.

Which was a completely vain request.

"Promises mean nothing to me, Miss Granger," he replied. He glanced down at the shackles before speaking again. "Please notify the Auror that I'm ready to be led back to my cell." He was obviously ready to finish this meeting and be put back into the dark solitude.

Hermione's eyes softened as she watched him. She wondered briefly if he would ever become the man that he had been before he was put into Azkaban; he had never been happy and cheerful, but he had at least been confident and sure of himself. Now he seemed beaten, defeated.

"What happened to her?" Hermione asked quickly, before she could even think. "...The woman that you danced with?" She swallowed hard as he glared up at her, his eyes dangerous and dark.

"That was a private memory," he growled, looking more deadly than she'd ever seen him look before. She had told him that she wasn't afraid, but now she was feeling very much like he would hex her if he was given the chance. "You had no right --"

"I didn't intend to," she replied quickly, shaking her head. "Th-- the vials, they weren't labeled; I didn't know." His fierce loyalty to the memory made her stomach jolt slightly; he obviously had a great affection for that woman, that memory. Part of her felt pity -- part of her felt envy. Someone had been able to capture his attention, to make him be caring for a moment.

"How much did you see?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "Tell me." His tone was so demanding that she dared not decline his request.

She shifted uncomfortably, then looked at him with the pity that she felt in that moment that she saw his memory. "I- I saw it all," she replied, frowning slightly. "The dance... and then you had to leave..." She didn't add why he'd had to leave. After all, it was his memory. He'd know the answer to that.

She was trembling now, terrified that she had displeased him in some great way. However, he merely nodded slowly, then looked to her with a much softer, warmer gaze. "Miss Granger," he began, voice slightly weaker, "if I am not cleared, I will ask you to bring that vial to me. Is that understood?"

She nodded quickly, her grip loosening on the arm of the chair. "Yes, sir," she replied, barely above a whisper. She wanted to ask more, to ask if he'd want a Pensieve as well, or to try and get more information out of him regarding his mysterious relationship. He spoke again, getting her attention.

"Now please. Notify the Auror that I am ready to be led back to my cell," he repeated, before hanging his head again, keeping his eyes away from her.

"Professor Snape, please," she pleaded, her brow furrowing. "I have questions, I--"

She shook her head, knowing that the things she wanted to ask had nothing to do with the case. But she was utterly curious. He looked up, hesitating only slightly and giving her the chance to speak.

"There was another vial, a-- a potion. I couldn't make out what it was, and I--"

"You couldn't make out what it was?" he repeated, eyebrows raising in the first bit of expression he'd shown. "Seems you don't know it all, Miss Granger."

She blushed slightly, then continued. "What was it? I assumed it was something rather important, to be locked away like that, yes?" She thought that perhaps it had been Veritaserum, but that potion was much more recognizable.

"It is Amortentia," he replied slowly, not meeting her gaze. "A most powerful -- and illegal -- love potion. I had recovered it from the grasp of a lovesick student a few years before you arrived at Hogwarts, and kept it locked away. I admit it was for my own selfish reasons; I wished to study it, to uncover the process of brewing the potion. I knew it was illegal, but my ambition to learn about the potion was stronger than my fear of being caught. You have, I presume, turned it over to the Ministry?"

Hermione watched, her mouth slightly slack as she listened. She hadn't expected something so... well, silly. "No, no, I haven't done anything with the other bits of evidence. Just the vial with -- well, you know," she amended, sure that he didn't want the memory to be replayed so often. "It's still back at your home."

"How is my home?" he asked, voice very quiet now. She frowned, not sure why he was speaking so low, and no longer trying to get away. She thought back to the condition of the house, and shrugged lightly.

"It's dusty. Empty. But nothing looks out of place." She watched him, waiting for his reaction. He did not offer much for her to see, however, as he merely gave a soft nod.

They fell into a somewhat comfortable silence. After a moment, Hermione stood and stepped past him, toward the exit. She took the briefest pause next to his chair, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'll let the Auror know," she said softly, giving him a weak smile as he looked up at her. He looked to be somewhat shocked by her contact, and the tiniest bit grateful.

"Tomorrow," he replied, giving her a small nod. Hermione nodded in return.