Chapter 10 - Cognitive Contemplation

A/N: For simplicity's sake, titles of books, journals etc are underlined and emphasises are italicised.

Beyond Time and Space

Chapter 10 – Cognitive Contemplation

The opportunity for Severus to reflect on the Daily Prophet's reports as well as Hermione's knowing silence and quiet unobtrusive ways presented itself after midnight. Oh, if he could only blind himself to what she was – her habits, her tastes, her teaching methods – she was a fine figure of a woman in every possible way. His eyes glittered with pride as he watched her mark the idiots' parchments. She had succeeded in getting past his logician's puzzle in her first year, and look at her now – she had indeed come a long way since then. Despite the fact that she was still lacking in terms of analytical political philosophy, Severus was delighted with the development of her mind. While she was not as thorough a Potions Professor as he had been, there was nothing a few intensive weeks under his tutelage would not improve. He made up his mind to impart all his alchemical knowledge to her; after all, what would happen if he were to one day fade into nothingness? Yes, he would begin the intensive training conditions after they finished The Republic.

Such a woman – a woman, he reminded himself, concerned with only the ultimate virtue of knowledge – such a woman was truly beautiful. Hermione Granger had it all, according to Severus's mind as he mentally ticked off his list. She had developed good taste; she was sensible; she possessed a keen mind and a seemingly frail porcelain body belying her tenacious spirit. She had such fire, such life, and such passion for her work. Yet – yet – if only a basilisk would look at him and put him out of his misery! He needed to clear his mind of Hermione, his death and his mother – he required a walk. Yes, he would walk; then he would go sit in his office and work. He would feel better after that.

"Professor Granger," he began softly as he materialised in his library, "I shall be patrolling the castle; you should be able to sleep this morning."

"It's two-fifteen, the students are already abed," she yawned, stretching languidly, unaware that it revealed her figure to the best advantage. Severus averted his eyes and heard her shut a heavy book before she continued, "Shall I wait up for you?"

"It will not be necessary, I want to be alone."

"Later in the day then?" she proposed, shuffling to the chaise lounge.

He gave his assent. "I must away. Good night, Professor Granger."

"Night, Professor Snape," she yawned again.

He bowed; hesitating as to whether it would more appropriate if he waited till she was asleep – no – it would be better if had left, and with a last look of regret, he left his chambers.

Hermione had been correct in her assessment; there were indeed no students loitering about. This was certainly a remarkable improvement vis-à-vis the years when he endured the Golden Trio. Severus twitched his lips into a half sneer as he recalled the days when he read Potter's thoughts while the boy was under his invisibility cloak. Foolish boy! Did he think he could evade a Legilimens? "Potter is nothing like Professor Granger," he thought, drifting in the direction of the staff room. "She conceals nothing yet reveals nothing." The overture of the Meistersinger resounded in his mind as he pondered on the enigma that was Hermione. She resembled the tune in so many ways – magnificent and overcharged with such flavours and forces that have yet to be described. The overture was her writ small – not infrequently saucy, strange, tart and too young. Damn her! Why did she haunt him? Why did she have to resemble that which he loved? Why did she have to be almost like that solemn flurry of erudite preciousness and lace that was his mother? Why was he obsessing about her when he hid himself beneath the refinements of decay?

Putting aside these unsettling thoughts, Severus sought to reflect on his death. It was always easier to rationalise something that concerned oneself, Minerva McGonagall once told him. It was certainly true in his current situation. Try as he might, however, Severus was unable to see why the wizarding world changed their opinion of him in such a dramatic manner overnight. When Fudge was still Minister of Magic, he had been running what Remus Lupin called a 'smear campaign' against Dumbledore's Order. He had wanted Severus to be permanently incarcerated in Azkaban for showing him the mark. In fact, anyone who failed to prescribe to the Ministry's guidelines was a suspected Death Eater. The Ministry proscribed all civil wizarding organisations at that time too! Stupid! Severus smirked wryly. Fudge had intended to imprison the members of the Order and Dumbledore's so-called Army in Azkaban at one time or another. The wretched arse! Not even the Headmaster was spared from the lunacy. And now, Severus was effectively dead because he had been foolish enough to have had a direct hand in bring down one of the darkest dark wizards of their time and the sheer irony of it – he was viewed as a hero! Absurd! He was not cut from the same cloth as Moody or even Potter. He was a greasy git with uneven teeth and a foul temper. Other than his mother, Dumbledore and Minerva were the only ones who really cared for him. They would always care for him whenever he returned worse for wear from Death Eater meetings.

"Hmm, he muttered, nearing the staff room, "Very strange." Why the sudden change in perception? There had been other deaths; why were they not similarly honoured with scholarships and posthumous awards? Surely, they were more deserving than he was!

"Severus!" exclaimed a deep baritone voice, cutting short his reverie. "I don't see you at the common room anymore." He turned to find himself face to face with the Bloody Baron.

"Ah, Baron," muttered the younger spectre sotto voce, "If you only knew how I frighten my children as well."

The silver spluttered figure harrumphed with annoyance, "Still self-deprecating, lad? You don't know what they say about you. You have amassed quite a following among our young Slytherin ladies." The Baron ignored Severus's snort of disbelief. "I don't understand it! I am certainly more handsome and goodness knows in my day, I had more amours than Dumbledore has had sweets."

"Don't be ridiculous, Baron!" Severus snarled through his teeth.

The Baron gave him a look of utter boredom. "Phineas did say you were a paradox! You're a Slytherin, lad; one of the best! You've succeeded in your ambition. You have come into your own. Why are not you happy? If not happy, content. You are now acknowledged for your rôle as spy – most our young ladies find it attractive and mysterious, or so I hear."

"They will forget me by the end of the week; I'm just another dead wizard."

"A wizard whose former students remember with respect," corrected the Bloody Baron matter-of-factly.

Severus's mood darkened slightly. "That's the Slytherin viewpoint, I've spoilt them."

The Baron snarled in response. "But you don't love them. We must have something to love just as we have something to hate and fear."

"How is this relevant to my children?"

The Baron was beginning to lose his patience. "The Herbology apprentice, a Miss Weasley, a pretty sort, speaks highly of you. Old man Dumbledore thinks you more than decent and some of your students deliver black tulips en masse to your office."

"Professor Granger's responsible for that!"

"The staff has long known that it is your favourite bloom."

"And who divined the truth?" Severus hissed dangerously, "The old man?"

"Your apprentice – something about your dreams as you lay dying," replied the Baron carelessly.

"WHAT!" the Potions Master shrieked.

"You'll wake the castle up, lad! Think on it, Severus. When you want to move on, seek me out and I'll tell you the theory behind it. It's infinitely better than being bound to this place! But I have not the courage. Remember, lad, I'll tell you how. Regret nothing!" And with that, the Bloody Baron faded into another part of the castle.

Severus was fuming. Hermione had probed his mind! How dare she! Impossible! Severus turned ashen as he slumped on an armchair in the staff room. It could only have meant that his mind had been vulnerable to attack as he lay dying. His mind, which he kept sealed from everyone and she had trespassed upon it! What else had she gleaned? He paused in mid rant when he realised that she had been discrete. She must have started the floral tributes, which the staff soon adopted. The students, it was likely, followed suit. Only Minerva and Dumbledore had been privy to the information, for the Deputy Headmistress placed a yearly order on Severus's behalf for a single stalk of black tulip. Only they knew that it was for his mother's death anniversary. Only they knew the reason – the staff, Severus recalled had speculated that it might have something to do with an old flame. But now, Severus was certain that Hermione knew as well.

"I thought nothing haunted the dead!" he spat feverishly, rubbing his temple gently. "Oh, coward conscience how dost thou afflict me?" He rose abruptly and loped to the staff notice board. "Perhaps reading the latest gossip would silence the sleeping demons raging to escape," he mumbled.

There was nothing of import there save the sudden appointments of Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger to teaching chairs halfway into the school year. He was about to return to his usual seat when he caught sight of a cream-coloured parchment. Examining it closely, Severus discovered that it was the minutes of the last staff meeting, which was dated a day before his death. He did not know why they called them 'staff meetings' when it was often just Dumbledore's monologues. Smirking a little, he turned his attention to the loops and curls of Minerva's heavy Elizabethan hand, which read:

Poppy and Hermione have not been able to save Severus. In view of his long service to the school, it is proposed that a scholarship be named for him. Severus has contributed far more than any of us. He has worked to improve Hogwarts' protective wards. He put himself at risk for our sakes due to a sense of pride that many of us are hard pressed to find within ourselves. He had also never betrayed me, Albus Dumbledore. You must be aware of the late Mr Riddle's desire to eliminate me. Severus had been my secret keeper; he had been the secret keeper of the Order and despite countless attempts by Mr Riddle to unearth the truth, Severus never revealed a thing. It was not until the end that Mr Riddle saw Severus for what he truly was, a man with the nobility of the ancients. The noble type of man, as Severus is, experiences itself as determining values, it does not do anything but judge. It knows itself to be that which first accords honour to things. It is value creating. The noble human being or wizard, in this case, honours himself as one who has power over himself, who knows how to speak and to be silent, who delights in being severe and hard with himself and respects all severity and hardness. He understood how to honour; his profound reverence for the truth makes him worthy of our remembrance. Therefore, let us give Severus an eternal display of our affection; let him inspire future students; let his memory live in those who further their education under his name. This is the only thing we can give him that will enable him to truly rest in peace. Severus has a heart, which though it will shortly stop, is a heart nonetheless. He has always demanded love – to be loved and nothing else, with hardness, with insanity, with terrible eruptions, against those who denied him love. His is a story of a poor fellow unsated in love, who had to invent hell in order to send it to those who did not want to love him; and who finally, having gained knowledge about human love, had to re-invent himself. Anyone who feels so utterly wretched, who knows this about love – seeks death. Since Severus is headed in that direction, why do not we give him the love that he always sought by naming a scholarship after him. The funds shall come from the school's board of governors. Shall we vote on the matter? Excellent! No 'nays'; the 'ayes' have it. The Severus Snape Alchemy Scholarship it is.

Severus staggered backwards on rereading it – the Hogwarts staff had voted for him; it was a display of solidarity and affection for him, even Remus and Hermione had agreed to it. They accepted him for what he was without question, without doubt – they declared the scholarship to him on that ground. He fell back into the chair and buried his face in his hands with a soft sigh. "The maudlin old goat had been reading Nietzsche prior to the speech," he muttered, curling his lips into a self-deprecating half-tortured smirk.

He was still wrapped in such thoughts when he became aware of the unwarranted glare of the sun and the bustling shuffling footsteps outside the staff room. It was still early yet he noted as he looked to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was only a little past nine in the morning. He might as well make his way back to the Potions classroom lest Hermione tired herself out again. Students still stared at him as he passed, but the screaming and fainting had mercifully stopped. They had learned to treat the ethereal Severus Snape as they had the corporeal one. Outside the stairs to the dungeons, he caught sight of a group of young Ravenclaws and Gryffindors playing exploding snap and eating chocolate frogs. He was about to tell them off when he overheard one of them say, "Blimey, I've got Dumbledore again. I wanted Snape."

"The Snape chocolate frog cards are out?" asked a girl with pigtails and freckles.

"Yes, my brother says he's seen one. He's one of the most powerful wizards, you know," replied the first boy who had spoken.

"I've got Agrippa!" exclaimed the boy next to him.

"And I've got a Snape!" announced a third with decided pride.

"Where?" the rest cried in unison, clamouring to see it. Severus momentarily caught his scowling profile on a card of blue as the boy who found it held it atop his head possessively.

"You'll wrinkle him," insisted the boy before succumbing to his friends' persuasions to pass it around.

"Wicked," said a girl with big teeth. "He's even rarer than Agrippa!" She turned over the card and read, "Severus Snape, late Potions Master at Hogwarts, considered by many to be one of the shrewdest wizards of modern times. Professor Snape is particularly famous for his recent defeat of the dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, for improving the shelf lives of potions, his research on wolfsbane and his discovery of thirty alchemical by-products of hellebore. Associates of Professor Snape disclosed that he enjoyed political philosophy, poetry and Russian opera."

"Cool!" said the first boy who had spoken that morning. The information was so riveting to him that he dropped his jaw in what could be assumed to be awe.

"Well, well, a meeting at this hour?" Severus said at last, regaining his composure. "What is this assembly for?"

"Nothing, sir," they mumbled, uncomfortably shifting their feet.

"What are five young Gryffindors and Ravenclaws such as yourselves doing indoors, so far from the Great Hall at this time of day?" he questioned in a slow deliberate manner, watching them squirm under his obsidian gaze. "Ten points from each of you! Now, be off with you!" When the students remained rooted, he continued, "If you must spoil your appetites, do so with something vaguely nutritional!"

As they hastened to scamper off, they failed to notice the Potions Master's contemptuously curling his lips into a half amused and self-satisfied smirk.

Footnotes:

The quote "O, coward conscience how dost thou afflict me?" is adapted from Shakespeare's Richard III.

Dumbledore's speech in the staff meeting minutes was inspired by the following, Nietzsche's Twilight of the Idols, Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy and Plato's Theaetetus.