Emotions in Turmoil

Chapter Four – Emotions in Turmoil

It had been four weeks since Hermione's disappearance – four weeks of hell. Harry Potter felt as if he was missing a limb. He had lost another member of his adopted family to the madness of Voldemort. Was it ever going to stop?

He rolled over in his makeshift bed in the attic. The darkness and gloom in the room mirrored his insides. Losing Hermione hurt too much, and as long as there was a tiny bit of hope left, he would believe her to be alive. Although, death was probably preferable to the treatment she would have to endure if the Death Eaters held her captive.

The worst, however, was the guilt Harry felt. Everybody who came too close to him got hurt or died – his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Cedric… Hermione. There was only one thing he could do to prevent further casualties – he had to isolate himself. And the only way to do it, without getting himself into danger, was to lock himself away. His emotions were too strong to distance himself from his friends if he had to see them every day. He fleetingly wished he could have the same control as Snape.

Thoughts of him brought forth the anger he had suppressed since coming to headquarters. It felt good to have somebody to blame. If not for Snape, Hermione would have been at Hogwarts – safe and alive. If not for him, Dumbledore would be there to help Harry find the Horcruxes and destroy Voldemort. If not for Snape, Sirius would still be there… If not for Snape, Voldemort would never have heard the prophecy. If not for Snape, everything would have gone differently.

Harry's rage materialized in form of a powerful wind, like a little tornado, with him at the centre. The air crackled with magic, and a dark red light filled the small chamber. The young wizard's eyes were ablaze with an ethereal green fire.

And in one corner, a forgotten object, carelessly thrown into a card box, started rattling.

~o~o~o~

Hermione Granger sat in front of the hearth in Snape's living quarters, reading one book after another. Snape had a brilliant selection of tomes; most were all extremely rare. Keeping her mind occupied helped her with her grief. She still cried a lot, but she felt strangely secure in her former teacher's home.

When she had woken up the day after the attack on her parents' house, Snape had apologized for his rudeness and explained the current situation to her. She had argued, of course, that she wanted to go back to her friends. Now that the physical pain was gone; she could think much more clearly. Ron, she knew, would cope somehow; he would cry and mourn, but he had his family. Harry was another story; he would retreat into his shell and blame himself for her death.

Snape – or Severus, as she was to call him now – had, surprisingly, reacted very understandingly. Nevertheless, he refused her request. In the end it was not so much his arguments as the fact that he conceded that he wanted her to be safe at all costs that made Hermione accept her circumstances.

In the weeks that had followed, the normally sarcastic man was nothing but polite to her. He would ask her food preferences and allowed her free access to his library. The only thing that unnerved her was that he wouldn't stay in a room with her longer than necessary. He didn't converse with her, didn't even argue when she claimed a thesis in one of his books was rubbish. The young woman felt lonely. She had tried more than once to get a rise out of her lone companion without success.

Convinced that something had to be wrong with him, she decided that she would solve the mystery that was Severus Snape. Hermione had always loved a good puzzle.

~o~o~o~

The former Potions Master of Hogwarts was slowly going mad, or though it felt to him. The insomnia that had plagued him in his early Death Eater days was back. Not even his favourite whiskey helped much. The sleeping draughts he kept in his bathroom all had one uncomfortable thing in common – they gave him nightmares. Dreamless Sleep would have been a solution, but unfortunately he had administered the last dose to Hermione on the day he took her in. Now that he was no longer employed at Hogwarts, he was short of vital ingredients. Dumbledore had allowed Severus unlimited access to the school's stores, therefore he had never bothered to restock his personal lab. He needed to use what he still had sparingly, as he couldn't show his face in any apothecary without getting arrested.

And so he was awake most nights. He had also developed an unusual habit, more like an obsession really. Every night he sat next to Hermione's bed and watched her sleep, delighting in the fact that she would, at some point, rid herself of the covers, exposing herself. Most nights, the long grey shirt she wore would cover her up sufficiently, but sometimes it would ride up to her hips. It had happened three times in the last four weeks.

Severus relished these stolen glimpses; it was the closest he would ever get to Hermione. Although he had never touched her, he always felt like a dirty pervert the following day. He couldn't look her in the eyes, afraid that she might see the desire there; after all, he could see it every time he saw himself in the bathroom mirror. If she found out what he longed for, she would run and get herself into danger. As much as it pained him, he had to stay away from her as much as possible. He had sworn to himself to protect her from the darkness. That meant he couldn't act on the feelings that had grown from a small seedling of protectiveness to a powerful plant of longing and something even deeper.

~o~o~o~

Dark tendrils of smoke began rising out of the box, drawing Harry's gaze. In seconds, all the power in the room formed a bright red cloud over it, absorbing the darkness it emitted.

The young dark-haired wizard watched with rapt attention how the cloud became smaller but denser, before it exploded, ejecting a massive wave of power and red light. Harry sank to his knees, his glasses broken and askew. He felt drained and tired. He searched his pockets for his wand, it wasn't there. He remembered pulling it out in his earlier rage, searching for something to destroy. His hands rummaged around on the floor; instead of his wand, however, he grasped something rounded and heavy.

After having located his wand and repaired his glasses, he took a closer look at the curious object. It was a heavy golden locket, the snap clasp broken. Harry opened it carefully – it was empty but for a dark red spot on the material. He turned it over; there were strange markings on it – a snake surrounded by runes he couldn't read. Neither he nor Ron had ever taken the subject, only Hermione had.

Hermione.

The sadness and guilt were back with a vengeance. Harry dropped the locket uncaringly onto the only table in the chamber, before crawling into his bed and pulling the covers over his head.

~o~o~o~

The soft pop of Apparition went unheard in the abandoned street some three miles south of Newcastle. The figure of a man appeared, casting glances in all directions. Satisfied that he was not being followed, he made his way along the bank of the dirty river and up the street to the very last house. He carried himself like a warrior, though his stiff posture and ever-moving eyes betrayed his discomfort.

He stopped in front of the only inhabited house on Spinner's End, his white blond hair glowing icy blue in the starlight. He didn't relish being here. How people could live in such squalor was beyond him. Cautiously he approached the door, knocked once, twice and a third time before taking a step back.

A/N: I know my chapters are not very long, but I try to update as soon as I can. That should count for something.

The picture at the top of the page is an illustration I drew. It's actually a lot bigger (I uploaded it to Illusions).