Midsummer Nights

I have to try to break free

from the thoughts in my mind.

~ Within Temptation, Pale

"Obsessions?"

"Undesired images, words or ideas that haunt you despite your will; their presence in your mind repeats, and each time it brings pain; you feel unable to free yourself from them, even if all your efforts are directed toward their disposal. Do you find this definition correct, Miss Granger?"

"I – I guess so."

"Do you recognize yourself as subject to obsessions, Miss Granger?"

"Now that you give me that definition, it is possible, yes."

"Since when have you been experiencing obsessive images, Miss Granger?"

It's unfair. I don't want to say these things to him. But Hermione felt unable not to answer Snape.

"Since the Battle of Hogwarts," she replied. "The day after the battle, I woke up with the image of Fred Weasley before my eyes."

"And it didn't go away."

"No. It didn't go away."

"For how long did it stay in your mind?"

Too long. "Weeks. I don't know. Soon it wasn't the only one I was seeing."

"Which were the other ones?"

"It shouldn't matter to you." Bellatrix. Nagini.

"Humph. Are they still hurting you this much?"

"You said you knew everything about obsessions."

"And I do," replied Snape with a gentler tone, narrowing his eyes. "I know. I know that the more you feel ashamed by them, the more they exercise their powers over you."

Hermione didn't reply.

"Tell me how these intrusions worked in your case, Miss Granger," asked Snape, raising an eyebrow.

"Intrusions?"

"The images."

"They stayed there. Then I tried to chase them off, and again, and again. My efforts could go on for hours; all the while the images stayed."

"You tried Occlumency against them."

"Yes."

"And you had no positive reactions."

"No, apparently I didn't," said Hermione, stressing the words through her teeth.

"Of course. You tried the wrong technique."

Another word and I will strangle you, thought Hermione. That would be the right technique.

"Occlumency is the technique that should be used against the aggression of psychic matter – images, words, thoughts – that comes from a source outside the Occlumens. Obsessions have their source in the obsessive person herself; therefore another method should be performed against them."

"Images didn't come from me; they came from outside."

"Is someone implanting them in your brain, Granger? No, therefore they are yours."

"I didn't invent them."

"You didn't invent their content, correct. Yet, it is your visual system that transmitted that content to your brain, and your defensive system that decided to always remind you of the presence of that image, instead of locking it inside the black boxes of your memory."

Hermione felt a bit dazed for a second.

"Why should my defensive system always remind me of these images, if I may ask? And what is my defensive system, please?" she asked sourly.

"Your super ego, if we want to use these surpassed definitions," replied Snape quietly. "The thing in your psyche that tells you what you are allowed to do and what you aren't. Evidently, your defensive system decided that you weren't supposed to hold those images in your memory and proceeded to remind you often of your... trespass."

"Trespass? Mine is a war trauma, sir. I have been seeing shocking images from a bloody war. What has my super ego to do with that? What did I trespass?"

"Your own, limited set of rules." Snape sneered. "As I was explaining, Miss Granger, you didn't allow yourself to have traumatic images from a bloody war, as you call it. Maybe you expected to survive the war without even a scar."

How can he say that? I separated from my parents; I expected to be caught by Death Eaters; I expected to be killed at any moment...

"Maybe you thought your intelligence would never suffer because of the war."

... Maybe I never thought my intelligence would suffer because of the war.

He may be right, she admitted to herself. "Why didn't I allow the images to be stored, sir?" she asked more meekly.

"Ah, Miss Granger, you should give yourself an answer. I'd say it's because you are a control freak."

What?

"If you are still the Miss Granger I used to know, you are a brainy control freak, believing everything can be controlled by your logical reasoning. But not everything is logical, Miss Granger, and not everything can be controlled."

No, not everything is logical. In fact, only a very few things can be called so. She had learned that lesson through her misfortunes.

"Imagining dead people isn't logical, according to your standards. It is abnormal."

True.

"Your defensive system detected the anomaly and presented it to your controlling system, which each time branded it again as an anomaly. So the cycle went on forever, because each time you were labelling the images abnormal."

This is true, too.

"Each day you were trying to shield yourself from visualizing the images with Occlumency, because they were abnormal."

Right.

"But Occlumency only works against outside aggression, not against self-generated memories."

I grant you that, hedgehog.

"Which brings us back to the correct method of dealing with obsessions."

"Which is?"

"Doing nothing."

"Excuse me?"

"Not trying to prevent images forming inside your head. Not trying to repel them when they are there. No avoidance tricks, Miss Granger," said Snape with a velvety inflection, leaning his head closer to Hermione's and digging inside her eyes with his look.

Hermione's breath quickened. Not trying to repel the images? They were unbearable. He must be crazy to suggest something like that.

"Even if this sounds strange to you, you must accept the existence of these images as something normal, not anomalous."

They are anomalous. No one would visualize your face for more than five minutes in normal conditions.

"Unless you learn to let these disagreeable images cross your mind, there will be no Draught of Peace, no Pensieve that will heal you completely. Whatever image can be imagined, and whatever thought can be thought: this should be your philosophy from now onward."

My philosophy will be of avoiding anything that will make me have fixed images.

"Stubborn as you may be, Granger, I will do my best to prevent you from falling back to your avoiding methods. You should reach a point in which the presence of certain images in your mind is painless."

You may have lost your magic, but surely you have kept your Legilimency powers, Hermione considered.

"In fact, you should be able to tell your mind: do whatever you want, for me it makes no difference."

Being a Legilimens isn't inconsistent with being insane. In fact, Voldemort was both insane and a Legilimens.

"We will spend the last hours in the evenings, when there are no more visitors in the library, practicing the letting go technique."

"What?"

"I will ask you to bring those images to your mind and to bear them for five, then ten, then fifteen minutes, without trying to dispel them. You have to learn to let them come and go without reacting."

"No, I meant – you will ask me? We will spend?" she said, arching her brows in bewilderment.

"As I already said, I happen to be the only one around that can help you in this matter."

I hardly believe it. Yet, Snape had just proven to be the only person to have a glimpse about what fixed images could be.

"We have the longest evening of the year ahead," Snape went on. "Yesterday it was the 21st of June, the summer solstice, and here in York we have longer days than in London, almost as long as at Hogwarts."

"Why do you want to train me?" Hermione felt suspicious, even if she couldn't explain exactly why.

"For the third time, Granger, I repeat that I can understand how obsessions work." Snape smirked. "Besides that, I have to brush up my teaching skills now and then."

As she walked back home, Hermione's head was buzzing with all the new concepts Snape had brought in their discussion. Letting go. Defensive system. Control freak. Snape's confidence irritated her. He seemed right about the whole matter, and she couldn't stand to hear that she had to consider her images normal. She hated to hear Snape telling her flatly that attempts at Occlumency were doomed to failure, even if she had already experienced that failure by herself. She didn't want people to tell her what to do and not do. She didn't want Snape – of all people – to tell her what to do.

Worse. To train me in bearing the images in my mind without reacting.

From nine to ten, more or less, Snape sat next to her, inviting her to choose one of her recurrent images and to visualize it for five minutes, without trying to interfere. It was already horrible to imagine doing something like that; doing it for real was five time worse. How could she be sure the image wouldn't stay for hours – days? Apart from that, to evoke one image freely was different from having it intrude in her mind unexpectedly, against her will. It was... less powerful. Less shocking. She wasn't at all sure that was the right method of fighting obsessive images.

However, when she had left the reading room after two hours of having Snape's eyes fixed on her, the image she had chosen remained in the library and didn't follow her home. Also Snape's face remained behind her, vague, except for the glint of his jet black eyes inspecting her.

On Tuesday evening, Snape took up again training her.

"Tonight is Midsummer's Eve, Miss Granger. It is a very favourable moment for magic."

"This sounds bizarre, said by you." Oh, damn.

Snape seemed unaffected by the reference. "If I manage to make you understand anything about the workings of obsessions, that will be indeed a magical deed, Miss Granger. I was actually surprised, yesterday, to find out that you seemed to ignore the existence of such a concept. So, after all, there is something you don't know."

Hermione bit her lip. "It's not my fault if until now I haven't met someone willing to enlighten me upon this matter."

"So, you finally start to recognize how lucky you are for having me to help you?"

"Or rather to torment me."

"Incorrect, Miss Granger: it is you that torment yourself, as long as you don't even allow yourself to imagine unpleasant subjects."

"Why should I let myself visualize unpleasant images?"

"Because people live unpleasing experiences, Miss Granger. In case you haven't noticed, unpleasantness is great part of life."

"Why should I allow it to be part of my mind as well? I don't want to accept those images as normal."

Snape took a moment to reflect. "This is part of the problem, I see," he said eventually in a soft voice. "You blame yourself for visualizing obsessive images."

Hermione looked away.

"As it is not your fault you don't know what obsessions are, it is not your fault you have obsessions, Miss Granger," Snape said with an even softer tone.

It is a fault. I should have been stronger.

"You must not consider yourself responsible for what you think or visualize. You shouldn't blame yourself for the presence of obsessions. You are guiltless, lass."

Hermione could feel the prickling of tears trying to escape from her lids. She kept looking at the floor. A person is responsible for their thoughts. To erase responsibility would mean anarchy.

"Don't make my same mistakes, Hermione. Don't blame yourself for something which isn't a fault."

She sniffed, and, at the sound of her name, she lifted her eyes. "A person is responsible for their thoughts," she whispered.

"No. We are only responsible for what we make of our thoughts – for the actions we undertake after we think. The content of our thoughts is not subject to moral judgment."

Hark who talks of actions and moral judgment!

"And here again we are going round the problem. You have to learn how to let go, to lower the walls of your controlling system and to relax your sense of responsibility. And the best way to start is to summon an image in your mind and to sustain it for five minutes. Ready? On my count."

To bear you and your bloody lecturing tone is worse than bearing the image of Voldemort using dental floss. Having fixed images is nothing compared to you talking of responsibilities. By the way, you should use dental floss. But you shouldn't use that tone with me. You shouldn't call me 'lass'. You shouldn't call me 'Hermione'. Oh, God, this isn't doing me any good. This is going nowhere. I have to make him leave me in peace.

Wednesday evening. At half past seven the library remained deserted, except for Hermione, of course, and Snape. When the last visitor left, Snape jumped up and approached the help desk. He seems jollier than ever, as if poking that hooked nose of his into my personal life has rejuvenated him.

"Tonight is Midsummer Night, the 24th of June, St. John the Baptist. As he announced the truth in the desert, I try to proclaim the truth about obsessive disorders."

I knew he was insane. I didn't know he was a megalomaniac fool.

"Ready for your practice, Miss Granger?" asked Snape with a smirk.

Hermione snorted. "I don't understand why I have to do this. I don't have particular fixed images lately."

"You will have more in the future if you don't learn to let them go."

"Yesterday you made me visualize an image I hadn't thought of in years."

"You have to learn a method. The image in itself isn't important."

"If I don't fear it anymore, would it do any good to practice with it?"

"Do you prefer to visualize something else already? Something more difficult? Maybe our dear Bellatrix?" His gleeful tone had turned sarcastic.

Hermione shivered. "What is the purpose of reminding me of something I had gladly forgotten? To make me suffer more?"

"No, to help you to deal with your future sufferings, Hermione." He sounded serious.

"You are making me suffer now. I don't want to think about my obsessions. I am here to do a job, and you are distracting me from my tasks!"

"Which tasks? There's only me in the library, presently."

"This task!" Hermione waved her copy of Advanced Methods of Cataloguing under his face. "I was studying. You are disturbing me."

Snape looked unconcerned. "You seem very eager to sweep what happened last Friday under the rug. I'm trying to convince you that the sooner you learn to let those things go, the better for your future. Even," he added, catching a glimpse of her book, "with the purpose of studying manuals of subjects you already know by heart."

She flushed. "I am letting things go. See? I'm so willing to let go that I want to move on."

"You surely can't fool yourself so much, Hermione. The images will return---"

"STOP IT!" she cried, louder than she expected. "Stop this. You are meddling with things that don't concern you."

"I am only---"

"You even rummaged in my bag! You even came to my home!"

"That was for your own sake." Snape's voice was but a cold whisper now.

"This is not my own sake! This is making me go mad!"

"You will go mad, unless you accept the truth for what it is."

"Do you consider yourself the voice of truth? Do you really want to play the role of my saviour? I didn't ask for your help!"

"Miss Granger, when someone offers help that is evidently needed, it would be a very elementary act of courtesy to show some signs of gratitude. Ah, but I forgot – you learnt gratitude from Potter."

"Enough! I knew I shouldn't have talked with you from the start. Leave me alone!"

"You are making the wrong move, Miss Granger."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" shouted Hermione.

"Fine," said Snape, his voice now icy. He turned back, went to collect the manuscript at his table, placed it on the help desk, and hissed, "my visitor's card, please."

Panting with rage, Hermione handed him his card. "Goodbye, Professor."

"Good night, Miss Granger. Enjoy the rest of your Midsummer night."

He spun on his heels and headed at the door. As he left the room, Hermione heard him mumble something like "Father was right, after all," followed by the banging of the door.

"Fine!" she cried at the empty tables. "Oh, yes, I will enjoy my Midsummer night, now that you've gone! How do you dare to lecture me, to insult Harry, to treat me as a helpless idiot!" she addressed at the invisible audience, and she finally allowed some angry tears to stream down her cheeks.

When the outburst died down, Hermione found herself surrounded only by furniture. The library was absolutely empty. Her only companions were chairs, tables, bookshelves and books. Possibly, no more visitors would come for the rest of the night.

That's actually creepy, she thought. I've never been totally alone in this building. There was always at least Snape here.

Being alone in Hogwarts library or in the library of Camberwell College was a secret pleasure. But here, at the Emily Brontë library, she was in charge of everything. What if thieves tried to enter in the building? What if something unexpected happened? When she had accepted the job, Hermione hadn't considered the possibility of being totally alone watching the place at night. She had counted on the presence of at least a couple of visitors sharing the space with her. At least, of Snape. He seemed to go to sleep with the library.

There's nothing to fear, she told herself. I am a witch. Oh, where has my courage gone?

That was a curse, she decided. 'Enjoy the rest of your Midsummer night.' He knew perfectly well that this place is creepy, when you are the only person in it.

He can not only still perform Legilimency, but also cast jinxes, she considered.

He wanted to punish me, she realized. By leaving me alone, he wanted to punish me for not practicing withstanding the images with him. Oh, but it's me who sent him away. And rightly so. Damn.

I am not going to ask his forgiveness. He was wrong, oh, how very wrong, and deep inside he knows that.

This is not my punishment. It's his punishment. I still have all of the world's books around me, while he has left his reading inside and will spend a very miserable night without his manuscript.

Not that I should pity him, in any case.

Whether Hermione's or Snape's, that was definitely a punishment. For the rest of the week, Snape left the library at half past seven or earlier, and Hermione found the place each night creepier than the previous one.

A/N: "I grant you that, hedgehog" is a slight variant of Lady Anne's line "Dost grant me, hedgehog!" from Shakespeare's Richard III, I, ii, 104.

Thank you to growley464 and RobisonRocket for their kind beta.