White Queen (As It Began)

Author's Note: The Spanish verb ver, like the Latin videre, has many meanings; in this story, it means 'to seem.'

White Queen (As It Began)

Snape did not see Hermione at all for several days, either at meals or in the staff room. He refrained, out of courtesy, from visiting her in her rooms. He believed, based on personal experience, that it was the height of selfishness to intrude upon a person who wanted solitude. Too many times, this had happened to him, and it had always infuriated him, as if the very integrity of his person were being breached. He visited Draco instead, hoping, ashamed at himself, to hear some gossip.

He found Draco curled into one of the chairs before the parlour fire, eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream and listening to the Wizarding Wireless.

'Nicked it from the school,' mumbled Draco through a mouthful of food. 'It was fresher than the stuff here.' He swished his wand and the radio snapped off. 'Want some?'

'No, thank you,' Snape replied.

'You sure? I've got some Grand Marnier you can pour over it.'

'I'd rather have the Grand Marnier by itself.'

Draco shrugged and gestured at the drinks trolley. 'Suit yourself.' He took another huge bite of ice cream.

'So,' Snape began casually as he busied himself with the drinks.

'Wondering about Hermione, are you?' Draco asked shrewdly.

'Yes.'

'You can ask Neville, then, when he gets here. She's been hanging around him a lot, these past few days.'

Snape swirled the orange liqueur in his tumbler thoughtfully.

'If you don't mind my asking,' Draco continued, 'why are you bothered about her? It's not as if you're particularly close.'

'Miranda was rather cruel to her,' Snape replied. He took a seat in one of the armchairs and told Draco about the incident in the staff room.

'Ah, yes,' Draco mused, 'Miranda broke the unwritten rule. Solidarity amongst teachers.'

The fire suddenly flared green, and Neville climbed out, shaking soot from his clothing. 'Hi, Draco. Good evening, Severus,' he greeted them. 'Any chance of a beer?'

'I'll get one from the kitchens,' offered Draco. Shooting a significant glance at Snape, he left the room through the foyer doors.

'Longbottom,' Snape said abruptly, 'Draco says you've spent some time with Hermione recently.'

'Yes, that's true,' said Neville. He sat cross-legged on the hearthrug and waited patiently for Snape to speak again.

Seeing that no information would be volunteered, Snape forced himself to enquire, 'Is she all right? She hasn't been coming to meals.'

'Well, you know how it is,' Neville said sympathetically. 'I think she's a bit overwhelmed. I know I was, when I first started teaching. It's a big adjustment.' He cracked his back loudly. 'I get so stiff bending over the plants,' he said apologetically.

'Did she say anything to you about Miranda?' Snape persisted.

'Nothing special, I suppose.' He leaned forward and looked intently at Snape. 'I can tell you're concerned, but she's all right really. She just needed a few days to regroup. You understand?'

'Of course,' Snape affirmed. Neville, he thought, wasn't going to tell him anything. He couldn't blame him; after all, as Draco had said, it was not as if Hermione were a close friend. Nevertheless, Snape would have liked to see fearless Hermione back again. He wished that, that day in the staff room, Hermione had put Miranda in her place.

Neville sensed Snape's frustration, evidently, and changed the subject cheerfully. 'Are you putting anything on the Quidditch match this weekend?'

'You mean – a wager?' Snape asked, startled.

'Naturally.' Neville grinned. 'Draco's bet me ten galleons and a bottle of rum that Slytherin will defeat Gryffindor.'

Draco returned just then and passed Neville a can of lager. 'Neville wants one of the rosebushes out of the garden if Gryffindor win. My mother would kill me, but I think I'm safe. Gryffindor hasn't won since... when was it, again, Neville?'

'Stuff it, Malfoy.'

***

Snape awoke the next morning with a monumental headache and a feeling of complete disorientation. He stared around the unfamiliar bedroom in confusion until he remembered that he was at Malfoy Manor. The previous night's drinking came back to him in a rush, and he groaned pitifully. It was Saturday, he recalled suddenly and glanced in alarm at the mantel clock, hoping he hadn't missed the Quidditch match. Fortunately, it was still quite early in the morning, so he dragged himself to the bathroom and climbed gingerly into the shower.

The pounding of the water on his head nauseated him. Knowing instinctively that he would vomit if he attempted to shampoo in this state, he snaked his arm around the shower curtain and rummaged in the medicine cabinet until he found a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. He swallowed the liquid eagerly and lay down in the bottom of the bathtub until it started to take effect. Surely he had not drunk that much last night! He remembered the Grand Marnier... and then the decaf and rum... but that was it. Two innocent drinks. God, Snape thought miserably, if this was what aging did to a person's body, he wasn't sure he wanted to go on with life after all.

After the potion and the shower, he felt somewhat better and joined Draco and Neville in the dining room for breakfast. The Manor's house-elves had covered the sideboard with the makings of the traditional English breakfast; the smells were divine, and Snape filled his plate enthusiastically, grateful that his earlier nausea had passed.

'All right, Severus?' Draco asked, looking, Snape thought enviously, rather fresh-faced and perky this morning.

'Mmm,' he grunted, taking a huge bite of sausage and tomato. Neville too, he noticed, was stuffing his face eagerly.

'Lots to do before the match,' Neville explained indistinctly. He swallowed his last bite of food and wiped his mouth. 'Got to pick out my rosebush.'

Draco eyed Neville suspiciously as the young man went through the French doors and out into the garden. Neville could be seen through the glass doors, wandering happily amongst the plants, now and then appearing to talk to them. Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco.

'Hmm,' Draco said vaguely. 'You coming?'

'Indeed.' Snape stuffed two more pieces of toast into the pocket of his robes, earning a sharp rebuke from Draco about the permanence of grease stains, and followed his young friend through the fire.

Most of the school were already seated in the stands when Snape and Draco arrived. They joined the Slytherin students on the benches, Draco asking, 'Sure you don't want to bet?'

'Don't be foolish, Draco.'

At the last moment they saw Neville rushing across the grounds and up the wooden stairs of the Gryffindor stands; then Madam Hooch blew the whistle and the match began. The game was extraordinarily civil, as most contests between Slytherin and Gryffindor had been since the end of the war. Snape noticed only one foul, which Hooch called with her eagle eye, and when Slytherin were victorious at the end, it was only by virtue of having caught the Snitch; both teams had played well. Draco barged out of the stands immediately, Snape assumed to collect his winnings from Neville. Snape himself followed more sedately, descending from the stands amongst a gaggle of cheering, green-clad students. He was feeling mildly bereft: though he had been searching through the sea of Gryffindor faces across the pitch, he had not found Hermione's among them.

As he walked back up to the school, Snape discerned the sounds of someone trying to catch him up and saw Miranda Silva coming alongside him.

'Severus,' she said, 'will you have a celebratory drink?'

'I wasn't planning to, no.'

'Come on, then,' she said, as if his answer had been affirmative rather than negative, and swept through the great front doors of the castle. Snape hesitated on the threshold, but after a moment he steeled himself and followed Miranda down to the dungeons.

'Just pumpkin juice, please,' he told her, removing his cloak and hanging it just inside the door of the sitting room. When she brought his glass, he remained standing, even though he knew it seemed confrontational. Miranda shrugged off her outer robes and lowered herself onto the hearthrug; for an instant Snape's dream flashed behind his eyes.

'I think,' said Miranda, setting her glass down on the rug, 'that you might be ready to learn some Spanish magic. Are you interested?'

Snape tensed immediately, on his guard for no readily identifiable reason. His back straightened, and his vision sharpened, as it always did when he perceived himself under threat. His pulse began to race.

'Don't be silly, Severus,' Miranda admonished briefly. 'Come on.'

Stiffly, he bent his knees and settled onto the rug, facing her, and put his glass of juice on the hearthstones. She had not lit a fire; sunlight drifted through the window-slits, augmenting the glow from an oil lamp on her desk. Her hair, streaming over her shoulders and arms like a silken curtain, was so black it seemed to reflect the light in blue. She pulled her wand from her pocket and held it lightly on her palms in front of her, as if to reassure Snape that she was no threat to him. Her long fingers were almost as narrow as the wand itself, and for the first time he noticed how angular her body was.

'I'm going to teach you quite a simple spell this first time,' she said and laughed when his eyes narrowed. 'Not an easy spell. But a simple one, in that it demonstrates a very basic piece of the magic of potential. It is the foundation upon which many other Spanish spells are constructed.'

Snape nodded and extracted his own wand. 'Go on.'

'Watch closely,' she instructed; with outstretched arm, she arced her wand around them and said softly, 'Espero que vea.'

At once the room changed, or seemed to: the colours grew deeper and the air warmer; light penetrated every part of the room and illuminated it with a gentle glow; every piece of furniture in the sitting room, which during Snape's tenancy had been dusty and neglected, took on the aspect of cherished objects to him; the glasses sparkled as if they were crystal; Miranda's brandy glowed like topaz. When he lifted his gaze to Miranda's face, he saw that she, too, had changed. Somehow, her eyes were softer, her cheeks more rounded, her expression sweeter. 'Do you see it?' she asked, and her voice was clear and lilting, like but also unlike her usual, low tones.

'What is this?' he whispered, speaking to himself more than to her. He was inspired and profoundly disturbed all at once.

'It's potential,' she explained. 'Every object within the field of vision is made to represent the viewer's ideal concept of that object. What you see before you is your idea of perfection.' Then her wand swept by again, and the room returned to normal. 'It's called an Enhancement Charm,' she finished simply.

Snape shook his head slowly, trying to dislodge the image of a soft, sweet Miranda. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'How does it work when there are multiple viewers? What are its physical parameters?'

Miranda gave a small smile. 'The charm is subjective. Each viewer perceives things differently because each person has unique concepts of perfection. Perhaps you find cotton softer than wool; your clothes will feel like cotton against your skin. Perhaps you prefer candlelight to sunlight; the room will seem to be lit by candles. You get the idea, but even that is too crude an analogy. And the charm's parameters? Whatever you can see, literally, with your eyes.'

'How long do the effects last, if the caster doesn't lift the charm?'

She shrugged. 'Not long. Perhaps five minutes.'

Snape shook his head again, more emphatically this time. Miranda reached out and put her hand under his chin, lifting his head so that she could inspect his face. He wanted to flinch away, but met her gaze defiantly instead. She seemed to be searching for something, her eyebrows drawn together in an expression that looked to him like a mixture of worry and perturbation. 'What do you want?' he demanded finally, irritated.

She started to answer him, but drew back instead and picked up her brandy. 'You can derive a lot of information from the Enhancement Charm,' she said thoughtfully, 'if you know what to look for.'

'I see.' Snape stood awkwardly. 'I take it you're not going to tell me what you found.'

She flashed a small smile at him. 'Who says I was looking for anything?'

His patience exhausted at last, Snape marched to the coat rack and slung his cloak over his shoulders. 'Thank you for the lesson,' he said sarcastically. 'It was most instructive.' He didn't slam the door as he left.

Minutes later, stalking into the entrance hall, he was already pitying any student foolish enough to come within his line of sight while he was in such a toweringly bad mood. He felt like the bat of the dungeons again. Then, mounting the staircase, he spied through a window a small white figure walking by the lake and whirled in the opposite direction. Hermione. She could bear the brunt of his mood, he thought: she deserved telling off for not standing up for herself the other day. He savagely jerked open one of the great front doors and took the stairs down to the lawn two at a time. When he neared the shore of the lake, she was some distance from him, walking with her back to him.

And then he had an idea so unexpected that, for a moment, he wasn't sure it had originated from his own brain. Acting on impulse, he pulled out his wand, pointed it at Hermione, and whispered, 'Espero que vea.' He was almost convinced that he had botched the spell, so intently was he staring at an unaltered Hermione. Then the view beyond her caught his eye, and he inhaled sharply, amazed. The mountains, craggy in the distance, seemed to tower all the way into the vault of the heavens, their breathtaking beauty reflected in the still, clear waters of the lake. Each cloud had for him a distinct and fascinating shape; each breath of wind caressed his body like the hands of a lover.

Hypnotised, he stood motionless until the spell wore off. When he finally blinked, saddened by the loss of the vision, he found that Hermione had approached him and was now watching him curiously.

'Are you all right?' she enquired.

'Yes,' he responded. He could no longer remember why he had followed her out here. 'How are you?' he asked lamely.

'Better,' she acknowledged, linking her arm through his. He stiffened, but chose not move away from the contact; he had no wish to risk an interrogation about his personal boundaries. As they moved round the shore of the lake, Hermione continued: 'It's been quite a wrench trying to be civil to Miranda Silva since she undermined me with Stephen Corner. I thought it best to avoid her – if you can't say something nice, you know, you shouldn't say anything at all.' She smiled up at him.

Now, he remembered; he commented, 'You seem angry with her. Has she done anything else to upset you?'

'That one incident would have been enough,' said Hermione, a slight edge in her voice, 'but thinking on it afterwards, I decided there were other things, too. I didn't know she was head of Ravenclaw; did you?'

'Yes, but I had forgotten.'

'Well,' Hermione continued, 'I thought the older Slytherins would give me the most difficulties, but Draco seems to have shaped them up rather well. Instead, it's the Ravenclaws who are causing me all the problems. Many of them are just as cold as she is! Do you think that's just the sort of person who ends up sorted into Ravenclaw? Or is she somehow coaching them at it?'

'Children are highly impressionable,' Snape admitted. 'If they see her as a role model – as I think they must – then they will actively choose to emulate her.'

'She truly is very clever, then?'

'Very clever indeed.'

Hermione sighed. 'She looks it, too.'

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The sun was dropping below the peaks of the mountains now. The wind, picking up speed as it passed across the flat of the lake, sliced through their cloaks. Hermione clutched the white wool closer around her chest and pulled up her hood. 'Severus,' she said hesitantly, 'I know Miranda has got nothing personal against me. To tell the truth, that's what made me angry: she's uninterested, not malicious. If she was being rude to me on purpose, then I could do something about it, try to fix the situation. But she was rude, and she undermined my authority as a teacher, for no reason at all! How does one deal with that?'

Hermione did not often ask rhetorical questions, Snape knew, so he answered this one. 'You should talk to her. Invite her to your quarters to look at the phonograph. Be friendly toward her.'

'This is some kind of Slytherin strategy, isn't it?' Hermione grinned.

'Of course. Your politeness will put her off-balance and give you the advantage, and your friendliness will make it impossible for her to continue treating you indifferently.'

'It would also be a more mature way of dealing with the problem than sulking about has been,' Hermione pointed out. 'You meant to say that as well, didn't you?' she teased.

'Yes, it is an admirable plan, whichever way you look at it,' Snape said, finally returning her smile. 'The best plans always are.'

***

Snape had scheduled a meeting of the Duelling Club for the following Friday night; afterward, giddy with exhaustion, he and Hermione Flooed to Malfoy Manor and found Draco in his Potions laboratory.

'Excellent; you're here,' he said, turning down the fire under a cauldron. 'Drinks. In the conservatory.' And he flapped his hands at them, dismissing them from the lab. Hermione went, but Snape remained behind for a moment.

'Wolfsbane?' he asked.

'Yes,' replied Draco shortly. 'Have to keep the stock up, you know, now that the Ministry's providing it free to every werewolf in the country.'

'Are they paying you for it yet?'

Draco finished wiping down his worktop. 'I saw enough of Greyback,' he said solemnly, 'to want to make this stuff free of charge for the rest of my life.'

He ushered Snape out of the lab and up to the ground floor of the house.

'Why the conservatory?' Snape asked suddenly. 'It's freezing outside.'

Draco's face shuttered briefly. 'Hermione doesn't go in the parlour.'

Snape remembered: that was where Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured Hermione, all those years ago, while Draco, sickened and horrified, had been made to watch. Suddenly, Snape couldn't think how he had ever considered that room his favourite.

'Where's Longbottom?' he asked, changing the subject as they passed through the breakfast room and out to the glass-walled conservatory.

Hermione was there, having already switched on the electric heater and asked the house-elves for the drinks trolley. 'I saw him in greenhouse two after dinner,' she said teasingly, 'potting quite a large plant. I wonder what it could have been.'

Snape looked sharply at Draco, whose pale face had gone slightly pink.

'Fine,' Draco snapped. 'I gave him the damned roses anyway. So what?' His tone dared them to say another word about it. Snape had no intention of saying anything further – his curiosity did not extend that far into Draco's life – but Hermione pouted prettily and made sure, Snape saw, that Draco's drink was rather long on rum and short on ginger beer.

Shortly after midnight, Hermione brought the topic of conversation round to Miranda Silva. 'I took your advice the other night, Severus, and asked her to come and have a look at my phonograph,' she began.

Severus explained to Draco what he had suggested Hermione do, then asked, 'How did it go?'

'She was really very genial,' replied Hermione. 'We had a nice conversation about Spain. I've been to Granada, you see, on holiday, and she asked to see my photographs. A couple of them actually had her house in them! It's really more of a palace, though, I suppose.'

'Did you ask her why she was so patronising about your teaching?' Draco enquired.

Hermione flushed. 'More like told her not to do it again, than asking,' she said. 'She didn't realise it had bothered me. She apologised...' her voice trailed off.

'And?' Snape prompted.

'And... she said I should grow a thicker skin if I wanted to be a successful teacher. Don't get mad,' Hermione continued, when Snape and Draco both looked indignant. 'She's right about that, at least. She said students can sniff out insecurity as easily as dogs can sniff out rabbits.'

'But...' Draco began.

'Anyway,' said Hermione loudly, interrupting him, 'she was quite kind about it all. She even fixed the phonograph. The sound quality is much better now. She really is amazingly good with charms.'

'Speaking of charms,' Snape said abruptly, 'Miranda showed me a Spanish one last weekend.'

Both Hermione and Draco scooted forward in their seats, causing Snape to grin at their eagerness. 'Show us!' Hermione demanded.

He explained what the Enhancement Charm was meant to do and how the language worked, then asked, 'Ready?'

Draco and Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

Snape took a deep breath and swept his wand in a wide curve around them. 'Espero que vea.'

No one spoke for some time, silenced by the beauty of the sight before their eyes. Snape wondered if the other two saw the same vision he did, of a space made ethereal by starlight, every chair, drinking glass, and plant in the room picked out in shades of grey and silver. Draco, bathed in the cold illumination, evinced a powerful, angelic beauty; his eyes, widened in amazement, were radiant.

When Snape looked at Hermione, however, his sudden feeling of consternation hit him like a fist to his abdomen. For, yet again, she remained unchanged under the influence of the spell – at least, he noticed nothing different – but now he was really looking at her, really seeing her without anything else distracting his mind, and he found her beautiful, especially as she was now, with her lips parted and her chest rising and falling in rapid, captivated breaths. The consternation changed to pain in his chest, the pain of a longing so intense that it made him feel physically weak. The sensation was familiar to him; it reminded him of how he had felt in those final few years before Voldemort's defeat, when he had wished so ardently and so hopelessly to be free of his burden of secrets at last. This, he knew, was the same, hopeless burning after something he would probably never have; only now he couldn't quite identify what it was he was longing for. Was it love he wanted, with all of its attendant and infinite trust, respect, and admiration? Or was it Hermione herself?

A gasp from Draco drew him out of his reverie, and he shifted his gaze to find both of them staring at him, their eyes wide. After a moment, Hermione took out her wand and said in a low, harsh voice, 'Finite incantatem.'

Draco laughed and said, 'Amazing.'

Hermione put her hands over her eyes and pressed with her fingertips, as if to erase the images she had just seen. 'I don't know that I like that spell, Severus.' She sighed and wearily got to her feet. 'Sometimes, maybe, we shouldn't be able to see what is possible.' Draining her drink and setting the glass on the trolley, she said, 'I'm going to bed. Sleep well.'

When she had gone, Snape turned to Draco and demanded, 'What did you see when you looked at her?'

Draco crunched a piece of ice thoughtfully. 'I don't know if I can really explain it. She looked kind of how she did that time she hit me across the face. Young and strong and fearless. Why? What did you see?'

Snape shook his head, unwilling to admit that the spell had been defective. 'You're right; it's hard to explain.'

'You, on the other hand,' Draco commented, 'should have seen yourself.'

The memory of Miranda, scrutinizing his face, flashed into his mind. 'Tell me.'

Draco cocked his head, his expression growing solemn, and met Snape's eyes gravely. 'You looked like you were standing in a pool of sunlight,' he said carefully. 'There were no more shadows surrounding you.'