Chapter 2: Accio Severus Snape

Chapter 2:

Accio Severus Snape

It had been ten days since Hermione had answered her summons from Professor Snape. Ten days since she had sat in his shabby living room, burning with curiosity and squirming with apprehension. She couldn't recall a single successful meeting with her old Potions teacher. As a child, every encounter, whether it was in the classroom, the corridor or the school-grounds, had resulted in either a deflation of her ego or an increase in her dread. Their relationship seemed built on mutual frustration; neither seemed able to derive pleasure from the other, and his presence was too intimidating to demand anything but spurned endeavours to please and a wish to appear dependable.

He had always seen behind any attempts to trick or manoeuvre from his students, yet ten days ago she had lied to him. She had known it would take a great deal more than her own dubious aptitude for espionage to pull the wool over the eyes of a talented deceiver, so it was no surprise that he had not believed her. The lie had left her lips and hovered between them like smoke from a cigarette: pungent and heady. Its only purpose, a short-term benefit for one and a toxic irritant to the other.

Tonight she meant to retract her statement. She would tell him the truth and endure the consequences, whatever they may be. And although she was about to tell him that she was the reason for his survival, she knew the news would not be greeted with the joy usually expected after such a declaration. She feared his anger, but more than that, she dreaded that his resentment would give him an excuse to once again withhold the mysterious object he had promised to return to her, if she complied.

She stood before her bedroom mirror and waited for the sound of a rap on her front door to signal Snape's arrival. Her hair was neat and tidy for once, though she made a small adjustment by tucking a rebellious strand back into the clasp which was struggling, as always, to maintain control. That done, she studied her face: too pale, too resonant of the eager student he had known. She wanted to show him Hermione the adult, Hermione the success, Hermione the achiever. She wanted him to glimpse the force behind the woman who had shown contempt for Ministry objections to her relentless campaign.

Hermione had disregarded early protest and hostility towards her plans for creating a sector for equal opportunities. Her determination and single-minded belief had finally come to fruition, and last year, she had been given the task of setting up the Department for Equality and Wizarding Rights. It had been a formidable undertaking; it had taken all her ingenuity, time, and patience to make a success of the department. She had set up meetings with senior ministers, created a task force to tackle unforeseen problems, and dedicated her time to research and investigation. She was proud of her accomplishments, confident in her ability to face the trickiest of situations, and discuss and debate the most contentious of subjects with Wizarding Britain's finest. Why then, did facing Severus Snape seem like such a daunting prospect? For once, she was determined that he should be the one to feel the discomfort of uncertainty and the fever of apprehension.

Her house. Her rules.

Hermione did not intend to allow his mordant quips and his ominous presence to once more turn her into a school-robe-wearing pubescent teenager. She leaned forward into the mirror so that her face was only inches away from its twin as she inexpertly applied her rose-pink lipstick. Once her lips had been painted into something resembling a bow, she leaned back to assess the full effect. It was no good; no amount of pouting or tilting her head at various angles would turn her into the model of sophistication she had hoped for. Instead, the result was rather like looking at a painted doll in an old toy shop window, anxiously waiting for someone to come along and buy her. She pulled out a tissue from a square white box on her dressing table and wiped her mouth until the artificial pout was nothing more than a smudge on a hankie. She glanced dolefully at the clothes she had chosen to wear; a quick check behind her at the clock on her bedside cabinet confirmed that she didn't have time to change. The black ankle-length skirt and cream blouse would have to do, even if she did feel more like a Muggle waitress than a Ministry high flier.

She took two steps backwards until her thighs felt the edge of the bed where she sat down to continue her self-critical scrutiny in comfort. It didn't matter how many different expressions she tried: a welcoming smile, an impassive stare, an austere frown; she still looked like the girl who Severus Snape was about to disparage for being a bare-faced liar and an intellectual charlatan. The deep steadying breaths helped a little, and telling her pale image to get a grip, at least, made her smile. He was a man, just a man. Perhaps the most exasperating man she had ever met, but a human being with flaws and weaknesses nevertheless. Yet, all she could recall was the foreboding teacher of her childhood, the critic who never gave the girl who needed approval her due, the wizard who gambled his life and freedom for a just and worthy cause. Hermione slipped into her comfortable work shoes and knew that she could never be his equal, let alone his superior.

She might have known he would be punctual to the minute. To arrive early would show too much eagerness while turning up late would seem apathetic – Severus Snape was neither. And even though she had been expecting it for the last ten minutes, his knock still startled her enough to cause a physically discernible jolt. She hurried across the landing and down the stairs to open the door and face her guest.

Snape strode into her hallway as if he had just been invited by the butler into the entrance hall of a grand stately home. He didn't even glance at his surroundings as he stood in her small living room, waiting for her to ask him to sit. Hermione suddenly felt embarrassed for her neatly organised modern living space. His presence in her Ministry-provided cocoon seemed to turn the Muggle technology she owned into frivolous pieces of frippery. The television seemed like a child's plaything when he stood before it, dressed in a dark travelling cloak which he did not remove. She had a terrible urge to throw a tablecloth over the box in the corner to hide her bit of nonsense. He watched her intently, yet to utter so much as a single word in greeting, and it was not until she pointed to a chair and asked if he would like tea that he said anything at all, though that was only to ungraciously decline.

'Your note said you had something important to tell me,' he said. 'I hope you are not wasting my time. The only thing I require from you is the truth. Are you finally ready to admit it?'

She ignored his direct question and tried persistent hospitality in an attempt to assert her authority as host. 'Are you sure you don't want tea, Professor? Or, perhaps, something stronger?'

'I am not here to socialise, Miss Granger, and you are surely aware that my current job description renders that particular epithet redundant.'

'Sir?'

'I am NOT a professor.'

Hermione did not reply. There was no useable alternative to calling him Professor Snape; Mister sounded somehow demeaning, and she certainly couldn't call him Severus, though the idea of it almost made her giggle. The wizard, who was no longer to be referred to as Professor, maintained his unnerving scrutiny of her face and finally took a seat. Hermione sat across from him and breathed deeply.

'I should have been honest with you from the start,' she said. 'With everyone.'

'Indeed you should.'

'But my reasons were... complicated. You complicated them even further by what you said the other day. I hadn't considered the fact that there might be... an obligation.'

'What was it they used to call you? The brightest witch of your age, I believe.' His sneered inference that she had no right to such a title did nothing to steady her nerves, but she continued regardless.

'Before I go on, I must ask if you intend to honour your promise?' she questioned him boldly.

Snape raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'You have something which belongs to me. You said you would return it if I tell you what you want to know.'

'If I am satisfied, it shall be returned,' he replied.

'You have it with you?'

'No more questions, Miss Granger. I am here for answers.'

Hermione sighed. His reassurances were as Slytherin as his old school robes. He would give nothing away until he was satisfied first. She knew she had no option but to tell him everything.

'First of all, I need to reassure you of something: you don't owe me a life-debt. I researched the subject very thoroughly in the Ministry library, and I can assure you, on that score at least, that there is no obligation.'

Snape's black eyes glinted though there was nothing else to indicate his anger. 'Then you persist in your denial? You claim you did not administer the Phoenix Tears? That my survival is not due to your actions?'

'No, Profess...sir, that's not what I'm saying. Let me tell you what happened, and then you can judge for yourself.' Hermione found a fixed point on the wall behind his chair, a focal on which to steady herself; she could not meet his eye and speak on the subject she had shared with no one else for six years. The photograph of her parents, silent and unmoving, helped to relieve some of her anxiety.

'I did have a vial of Phoenix Tears. I can't tell you how I came by them because I don't know. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I... well, I found them.' She glanced at Snape, expecting to see a cynical look, but was heartened to continue when he looked only tolerant of her declaration. 'Our first hiding place, when we were on the run, was at Grimmauld place. We were there for a few months before we were discovered, and it was while we were there that I found them. I simply woke up one morning and found the vial on my bedside table.'

'And you didn't think to question the source of this generous gift?' Snape demanded to know. 'You didn't consider that your brilliantly safe hidey hole had been violated?'

'Of course I did. But that's the strangest part of all. I knew it was well-intentioned. I knew there was nothing but a sincere wish to help us attached to the object.'

Snape was looking at her thoughtfully now. There was no reprisal or derisive condemnation in his look; he seemed to be reflecting on her words very carefully.

'How could you possibly be so sure? You were in hiding from the Dark Lord and all his spineless followers.' He spat the words out with as much contempt as she had ever heard him use. 'What gives you the justification to take nothing more than a hope and a prayer into consideration?'

'It was more than that...far more. I can't explain the feeling of absolute certainty of trust I had in the thing. It was as if it were a gift for us; I had such a strong sense of faith in the benign intention of whoever left it for us. Perhaps, it had arrived via Kreacher, though I admit it seems unlikely. I can't explain it to you, and I wouldn't have been able to explain it to Harry and Ron, so I didn't. I kept it by me always and never mentioned it. I still haven't, to this day. I knew it was for Harry – to be used in his moment of dire need if it should ever come to that.'

'Your inexplicable strong sense of faith could have been the result of dark magic. Did you consider that?' he hissed.

'It didn't feel dark.'

'It never does! Foolish girl!'

Snape stood and paced the room before returning to where Hermione remained seated. He glared at her, eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to darken. 'If it was a benign gift from some mysterious benefactor, what then, possessed you to fritter it away on a Death Eater and a murderer?'

Hermione glared back at him. 'You are not any of those things,' she said in an attempt to defend his statement.

'But you were not to know that!' he retorted.

She sat rigid in her chair and folded her hands. 'I didn't believe you were loyal to Voldemort even then.'

Snape snorted. 'How convenient is the benefit of hindsight.'

'That's not it. You don't have to believe me, but it's true. I knew you hadn't betrayed us as sure as I knew the Phoenix Tears could be trusted.' She looked at him imploringly. 'I'd felt certain of it for some time – something else I kept to myself. I knew that Ron and Harry wouldn't be quite as willing to believe it. So, you see, sir – that's why you don't owe me a life-debt. There isn't a great deal of written information on life-debt lore, but I did find out one thing: it is only evoked if the person you saved is an enemy.'

He sat down again, and this time his expression seemed confused, almost troubled. He seemed unwilling or unable to answer, ignoring Crookshanks as he sidled past Snape's legs and curled up in front of the fire.

The silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable after five minutes of unrelenting quiet. 'I suppose you already knew that?' said Hermione, prompting him back from his reverie.

He looked up at her and seemed to recollect where he was and who he was with. 'It doesn't do to be in the precarious position I have spent my best years in without knowing basic Wizarding laws,' he replied with evident bitterness.

'They are hardly basic,' she replied, prickled by his slight on her knowledge of their world. 'I asked several people in my department what they knew of life-debt lore; most knew very little, and of those who had any knowledge at all, they could only remember a couple of facts which were barely more than old-wives tales. And as I said, very little is documented.'

'Then your department is staffed by dunderheads,' he replied irritably.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest at his undeserved dig at her staff, but she stopped herself from calling him insensitive and disrespectful by remembering that fostering a quarrel was neither the way to soothe his spirits nor the way to reach her goal. It took some effort to ignore his insult, but she managed to appear unruffled as she answered him.

'The point isn't who knows what; the point is that you are not in my debt. When I administered the Phoenix Tears which I believed... hoped would save your life, I knew you were no traitor. I knew that you were with us, not against us.'

Snape's expression grew thoughtful and perplexed again. 'That's not possible,' he said softly.

'I know,' she replied. They both watched Crookshanks as his ears twitched peacefully in blissful ignorance of the quiet tension within the room. 'Perhaps you would like that drink now, sir?'

Snape nodded.

'I have wine. Will that be alright?'

He nodded again.

Hermione stood wordlessly; she was glad of the chance to leave the room and recover her composure. When she returned, Snape had left his seat once more and was scrutinising the photograph of her parents. He turned as she entered and walked towards her.

'These are your parents?' he asked. He accepted the glass of wine held out for him and once more took his seat.

'Yes. They live in Australia.'

He sipped from the glass and watched her for a moment before continuing. 'Let us presume, for the sake of argument, that what you say is true. That you questioned my loyalty.'

'It is true,' she interrupted.

Snape held up a hand to stop her. 'We will come to that. However, even if that is the case, did it never occur to you that you were not in a position to squander those Phoenix Tears as if they were a vat of dittany?'

'I had dittany too. You were way past dittany, sir. Nothing else would have worked. I wasn't even sure if I was too late for the Phoenix Tears.'

'My point entirely.'

'Sir?'

He drained the glass and set it down on a small table beside him. 'I had accepted my fate. I was prepared. And even if I had not, they were meant for Potter. He was the weapon, the only weapon with a blade sharp enough to kill Voldemort. And you would gamble his survival on a whim?'

Hermione swallowed her threatening tears. 'It wasn't a whim. It wasn't like that. They were for Harry, of course they were, but I had a split second decision to make.'

'There was NO decision to make!'

Wretched, snivelling tears fell. 'I couldn't watch you die.'

'Then you should have left. Potter did!'

'I couldn't! I couldn't stand it,' she sobbed.

'It was war. In war there are casualties.' He spoke as if he had wanted to be one of the fallen. The sudden realisation was like a painful blow.

Hermione looked up at him. 'You didn't want to survive,' she gulped.

Snape did not answer immediately.

'My usefulness was at an end,' he said with fearsome pragmatism. 'But though my part was over, yours was not. I expected better of you, Granger. You were the brains of the outfit. Potter couldn't walk to the end of the street without you to tell him not to step out in front of the cars.'

'What does it matter now? He survived; he didn't need the tears. I gave them to you and here you are. What is the use of going over it again? You are angry with me because you wanted to die?'

'No. Because I put more faith in you than you deserved.'

Hermione stared at Snape in confusion and could not at first fathom his meaning. How had he put his faith in her? She had never even returned to school after her sixth year. Yet, he seemed to be professing an involvement she had no knowledge of. Then, an idea suddenly occurred to her; it took a few moments for it to grow and develop, but when it did and the realisation struck, it was as if she had known all along. Like some forgotten detail, suppressed until now. But once she considered it, it was so obvious she couldn't understand why she hadn't always known.

'You gave them to me?' she gasped.

Snape smiled.

He reached into the inside of his travelling cloak and pulled out his wand. 'I believe I promised you safe return of these,' he said. His outstretched arm pointed his wand in her direction. 'Finite Obliviate!"

The sensation was startling – like smoke was forcing its way into every recess of her mind. She attempted to move, but she could only sit and grip the arms of her chair while the memories flooded her brain.

'Do not try to stand,' she dimly heard Snape say. 'Allow the memories to return and inhabit your mind. Then, I suggest you take some time to experience them. Do not try to suppress them, or they will be too difficult to retrieve.' His voice was beginning to fade as she became consumed with her lost memories. 'You should not experience many side-effects.' His voice seemed distant and dream-like. 'Perhaps a slight headache... some temporary disorientation.'

There was a pause. 'You asked for them, do not blame me if you don't like what is there. I'll see myself out.'

Her eyes were closed, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him was barely a dull thud.

The memories were invading her mind so thoroughly that it was impossible to suppress them as Snape had advised against. She leaned her head back onto the rest of the chair and allowed her returned memories to take her back to August 1997.

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