Chapter 9 - Tainted Beliefs

Beyond Time and Space

Chapter 9 – Tainted Beliefs

"Impossible! How can it be? Why should that be? Why couldn't I see it? Why couldn't I feel it?" Severus reproached himself. "Merlin, Judica me," muttered his left brain to his right, at the feeling of Hermione's warm fingers on his. Depositing her at her Arithmancy classroom, he promised to dissect the matter with her later that evening. Though her eyes betrayed nothing, she gave him a light pressure on his fingers – that, in itself, spoke volumes to him.

"What are you staring at!" they barked in synchronisation at students who gaped at them with wide opened eyes and mouths. Watching her shut the door with a final apologetic look at him, he picked himself up to his chambers.

"Why cannot I sense my death? How could I not have felt it!" he muttered angrily balling his fists. "Merlin, Judica me. Quare me repulisti, et quare tristis incedo, dum affligit me inimicus. Why? Why? Why?" his brain screamed at him. Was he so obtuse so as not have noticed his own passing? He buried his head in his hands when he sat down in his private sitting room. Dumbledore had seen it – but his obduracy blinded him from acknowledging it. A sense of guilt and shame washed over him. He literally had nothing left and yet he was on the mortal plane. It had taken a silly Gryffindor know-it-all to show him how inobservant he had been. He laughed hollowly at himself. "So, the great logician had lost his perspicacity! Little wonder then that Professor Granger denigrated him. She had been justified."

He laughed again bitterly – and he, Severus Snape, who had never been dependent on anyone, was left to sift through the crumbs of what Dumbledore and Hermione could give him. Did they begrudge him? No! They let him be and he had been a complete oaf with his obstinacy. It was not so bad, if one considered all the other things, he thought. He had become quite accustomed to existing as he was. He rather enjoyed not having to rest or eat. He did not have to waste valuable time on any such mortal activity. Nonetheless, he had imposed on Dumbledore and Hermione. Very likely, he would continue to be on the receiving end of their kindness. What happened when they left or died? Would he end up like Professor Binns? Would he be banished? What if Hermione felt the imposition keenly? At the thought of Hermione, he froze, tracing his fingers on his lips. Her hand, though cool by normal human standards, felt reassuringly warm to him. Her fingers were significantly warmer than his, but in another metaphysical sense, they had been icy. Her fingers had burnt him like ice. Damn that simple gesture of holding out her hand to him! Damn those burning fingers of hers! Then it dawned on him that he must have had the same effect on her and everyone else when he lived. Lucius had once joked that every hand was startled when touching his. Dumbledore added that it was precisely for that reason some thought he glowed. It was a disquieting thought.

"Quare tristis incedo," he repeated, revolted by his sentiments. He traced his lips in thought. "Quare tristis es anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Damn Professor Granger and her supercilious methods! But if she didn't show me the body...if she hadn't shown me my body – why did she have to resort to that? Why couldn't she have told me in some other way – a gentle way – a kind way – not induce me to stare at my own body! NO! NO! She could not have found another method! Why was I so headstrong! Mea culpa. Why was she so stubborn? Why? Why? More importantly, why am I here? Why am I still on this mortal plane?"

Severus could not explain it – when he was alive, he longed for his too solid flesh to melt and now that he was dead, he wanted to live. There were no real differences between the living and the dead, at least, not while they both co-existed on the mortal plane. He still felt emotions, his basic senses still functioned – he could hear, touch, see and smell. His death, however, would explain why he had no desire for food. No wonder he could not rest – no wonder he had no need for rest. But he still had the gnawing need to reflect. He summoned the music box from the library and listened to Wagner's Meistersinger whilst tracing his lips and nibbling on his finger. Good, he was still capable of feeling physical pain – at least, as far as his ethereal form would permit.

"Magnificent," he murmured listening to the overcharged music. "It's a replica of Professor Granger – strange, tart, capricious and just as pompous." Strange how he felt consoled in her unobtrusive company. "No," he shook his head firmly. "She's too young," he mumbled, "Far too young – just a passing fancy – a school boy's desire for the impossible." The rising crescendo caught him in a tumult of sensations; it was not infrequently saucy. "Exactly like Professor Granger – it has fire and courage and at the same time, she is like a fruit that had ripened too late. She is expressive and full and... NO MORE!" he spat, shattering a glass into the fireplace. "NO MORE!"

* * *

It was six when Hermione finally returned to the dungeons; she had only recently completed her grading for the day. Having spoken to Dumbledore on Severus's present state of mind, she had been permitted to dine in her chambers that evening. Wearily, she hung up her robe and made her way to the fireplace, which had been dimly lit.

"Where were you? You're late," a deceptively lilting voice purred from the shadows.

"I've been busy," she said sinking onto the length of the sofa.

"Your soup's cold," chided Severus, emerging from the shadows to sit opposite her. "Is that all you're having? Soup?"

"Yes," she replied, propping herself up and looking askance at him. "You're not attentive out of kindness, Professor Snape; what is at the heart of your misery?"

"I shan't tell you – you will think it preposterous," he snarled before casting a spell to heat the soup. "Eat."

"If you don't ask, you will never know. You have adjusted well to many things – I think you will adapt well to the present," said Hermione, waving her spoon before him.

"Eat properly, foolish woman! You will dribble it all over the carpet!" he grumbled testily through his teeth.

"And I thought you can't take anything with you when you die," she shot back, sliding down to the carpet.

Severus smirked in pleasure when he saw her spread her skirt neatly around her into a fan before picking up her spoon – it reminded him of his mother. He shook his head; this woman was not his mother, she was annoying whereas his mother wasn't. "Tell me, Miss...Professor Granger, has my passing been...shall we say, well received?"

"Depends who you talk to. Have you sorted out why you're here yet?" asked she gently, blowing against the spoon to cool the soup.

He glared in disdain. How dare she harass and dismiss him in such an impertinent manner! "My questions first, Professor Granger."

She narrowed her eyes at him as if she had anticipated him to sidestep her questions. "Egotistical swine!"

He bowed affectedly as an eighteenth century chevalier would to a monarch. "One of my many soubriquets. It seems belated you should notice it now."

She matched his arch look with one of her own. "Was that an attempt at humour, sir?"

"Certainly not!" he growled indignantly. "I do not indulge in such worthless enterprises."

"Do you really want to know?" she asked looking at his impassive face blankly.

"Yes," he finally said with some hesitation.

"What can I tell you that others cannot? Accio magazine rack!" she called out, summoning the object to her. After checking that everything was in order, she cast another spell to float it to her companion.

"And what is this?" he sneered, looking into the jumble of newspapers with distaste.

She gesticulated with her spoon at his general direction, hoping to infuriate him enough so that he would devote his energy to the newspapers. "Read them, Professor Snape. They are far more eloquent than I can ever be."

"I will do so if you get this cat away from me!" he hissed, waving his hand dismissively in a sharp flick at Crookshanks.

"He likes you," chuckled Hermione as Crookshanks tried unsuccessfully to rub his cheek on Severus's leg.

Severus glared down his hooked nose. "It seems he is marking his territory. Away, cat!"

"Come here, Crookshanks, leave the Professor alone."

Severus picked up the first of the newspapers and scowled at the headline, Severus Snape – Rehabilitated Death Eater. Hermione picked Crookshanks up asking him in if he had eaten. "Of course, he can't reply!" said he sharply as he opened the Daily Prophet, "I've taken the liberty of feeding him already."

"Ah, so that's why he likes you! Thank you, sir," Hermione muttered, finishing her soup.

"It was the least I could do, considering how you've condescended to regard me," he answered in between half amused snorts of derision and disbelief before picking up another paper with the headline, Posthumous Award for War Heroes, Severus Snape Among Their Number.

"They're not very good with headlines," said Hermione quietly as if she could read his mind. She unbuttoned the top button of her basque and continued, "And they don't do you any justice."

He smirked momentarily at her before returning to his reading. Two hours passed in companionable silence after which Severus spoke in a thoughtful voice, "It would appear the wizarding world enjoys glorifying the dead."

"But they really meant it. You are a hero, as much as Professor Dumbledore, Harry or Ron! The Order felt your loss keenly," she offered, braiding her hair into a pigtail for the night.

He laughed emptily. "Spare me your histrionics, Professor Granger – I am still hated by the students and my colleagues."

"Severus Snape! You must cease this wallowing. You are not so unworthy as you think!" responded Hermione with tremendous pique. He grimaced and furrowed his brow, rubbing his forehead uneasily with one hand and tracing his lips with another. "Don't give me that look, Professor Snape!" She paused and added in an acerbic tone, "It hurts to see you so forlorn." She placed a hand on his knee briefly.

"What about my students? What do they think on me? Do not think me ignorant of that! The Slytherins could not care less for me; they are only concerned with themselves," he spat with great force, as he bristled with violent energy.

"I do not know whether that is true. Have you ever considered that the rest of us care? There was a general outpouring of grief..."

He interposed huskily in a falsely modulated voice, "Do you think I will believe that I have returned to this pathetic existence for this?"

"What is your business then, if not affirmation?" she quizzed, her arms at her hips.

"I only want two things," he paused, removing himself from the armchair. Drifting to the window and looking out into the dark he continued, "But I will not speak on it!"

She sighed in frustrated exasperation. "Once again, I put it to you – will not or cannot?"

"What does it signify?" he hissed, wringing his hands behind his back.

"I promise not to laugh."

"Even if you want to?" he questioned lowly, his indifferent voice masking his uncertainty.

"If I laugh, it is with you and not at you," she said, approaching the window and standing beside him without looking at him.

"Acceptance for what I am and what I was. Accept me as an ill-tempered, ill-mannered and solitary fiend. Cannot people tell me that they will take me as I am and recognise me for it? There – I've said it: recognition and acceptance! How can anyone..." His voice faltered.

Hermione could not speak, but her silent tears on her cheeks told Severus everything he needed to know on the issue.

Footnotes:

My Latin is a little rusty. I hope the glossary provides accurate translations.

Judica me is "judge me".

Merlin, Judica me. Quare me repulisti, et quare tristis incedo, dum affligit me inimicus can be taken to mean "Merlin, judge me. Why have you cast me off, and why do I go sorrowful while the enemy afflicts me?"

Quare tristis incedo...Quare tristis es anima mea, et quare conturbas me can mean "why are you sorrowful...oh, my sad soul, why do you trouble me?"

Mea culpa can be understood as "I am guilty" or "It's my fault".