Light and Shadows

_{AN - More AU as we further delve into Snape's past and motivations; there's also non-explicit mentions of abuse/rape. There's a painting mentioned in this chapter; the image for it is found here. And thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. I'm really pleased you're enjoying this.}

15 - Light and Shadows

Some little time later, the two found themselves staring at each other in bemusement, Hermione seated at the head of the bed, Severus at the foot.

    "You do realise," Severus remarked suddenly, his voice blending with rather than breaking the silence, "that this is a dangerous experiment that you are insisting upon. I am selfish, self-centred, cynical and callous. I make no promises. And do not think you can change me."

    "Don't be absurd," she snapped back. "And give me credit for some sense, will you? I know I can't change you. Nor do I want to. Though I imagine we'll end up changing each other."

    "Into what?" His mouth quirked in a sardonic twist.

    She laughed. "No guarantees on that one. I hate to think of what might happen when... not 'if', when... we both lose our tempers."

    "If you promise not to turn me into something disgustingly cute and fluffy, I promise not to turn you into a cat." Hermione saw the dark glitter of amusement in his eyes.

    "I'll never live that down, will I?" she moaned. "How did you know?"

    "That sort of stunt, particularly from a second-year at a time when anything unusual was being noted? Give us credit for some sense, will you?" An eyebrow lifted as he threw her words back at her.

    "Well, if it's mutual..." Hermione became pensive suddenly, her gaze turning slightly inward. "You say you make no promises. I think," she said slowly, "that there are only two I would ask you for. And give. The first is that you try, honestly try, to make this... whatever it turns out to be... work. Stop pushing me away and try letting me in." He nodded in consideration, but made no reply. "The second is that you be honest with me." She raised a hand to forestall his retort. "I'm not saying that I want you to tell me everything; I know there are things you can't or won't tell me. There are things I wouldn't tell you, either. But I'd rather you tell me that than have you lie to me."

    He said thoughtfully. "It is reasonable. If for no other reason than that we shall have to trust each other in what is to come. Very well. I agree."

    "I, too," she added quietly. "And I do trust you. Severus. With everything." She crawled across the bed to clasp his hand in her own, trying to somehow communicate her earnest sincerity.

    "You will end up regretting it," he muttered.

    She chuckled. "Oh, I imagine I will... any number of times. But I think what we can build will be worth it. You're worth it. I'd regret it more if I didn't."

    He gazed at her incredulously. "How in the hell did this happen, Granger?"

    She shrugged and her mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "I have no idea. I imagine if we knew, it wouldn't have happened."

    "It was probably Albus," Snape concluded gloomily. "The old loon is still trying to run my life. Though I doubt even he could have predicted the limit to which his machinations would take us."

    "We could shock him by snogging in the Great Hall," Hermione suggested, "or in the middle of Potions."

    "I beg you pardon," he protested stiffly. "I have not, do not, and will never 'snog'. Besides, if we snogged in Potions, I'd never get the little bastards back in order. And Albus would probably just twinkle at us in that damned irritating way."

    "You have a point," she admitted. "Hmm... Well, if we can't think of anything else, I could give you a black eye and you could give me a limp and we'd snarl and sneer at each other from the train to the school."

    Severus smirked. "You may have something there."

    "And then we could snog in the middle of the Great Hall. Preferably over the staff table."

    A rich chuckle escaped the Potions Master. "The plan has potential, but I doubt we should like to deal with the number of botched Obliviates that would be sure to follow."

    Hermione grinned and shrugged. "It could only improve their intelligence. Besides, as I said, I'm a very tactile person. They'll have to get used to it sooner or later."

    "I am not so demonstrative, Hermione," he said warningly.

    "I know. And I won't push... well, I will push; it's part of my nature... but I won't embarrass you like that in public." She shifted from her knees to insinuate herself under his arm, leaning against his chest. He stiffened immediately, then, ever so slowly, relaxed. "And some things are better in private, anyway," she murmured, gathering comfort from his warm embrace, learning the feel of muscle and bone as he shifted. For once, she appreciated the silence.

    Several long moments passed. "We should go downstairs," Severus remarked quietly.

    "Mm?" Hermione felt half asleep, and the rumble of Severus' voice only served to create warm ripples down her spine. She became more alert, however, once he repeated his statement and the meaning of it sunk in. "I suppose so," she agreed reluctantly, slipping out of his hold and to the floor. "There were enough problems yesterday; we shouldn't exacerbate the situation. They like you, though." Hermione stretched upwards, yawning, so much like a cat that Severus half-expected to see a tail. "They'll come around eventually."

    "Hm, yes, perhaps," he demurred, falling silent as they crept out of the room and down the stairs.

    They separated once they reached the parlour, which, thankfully, was still empty and silent. Hermione gave him a soft kiss on his cheek before going to light the fireplace and then the tree's candles. Bemused, Severus drifted to the sofa, leaning against the back and watching Hermione move easily through the room. Objectively, he knew she wasn't beautiful. He could categorise her faults meticulously (and had done so on more than one occasion) : over-tall, solidly built and somewhat overweight (but, to be fair, so would he be, save that he took after his father; both were skinny as rails), unruly hair that proved no more manageable now that she had grown it down to her waist. When had she done that? He had never noticed before. No, ordinarily he would have called her plain, at best. But in this still room, in the dead silence of early morning darkness, she seemed transfigured. The candlelight flickered golden in the ringlets of hair that framed her face and sparkled in her eyes, which smiled at him whenever she glanced his way. Her skin glowed warmly, emerging comfortingly from the shadows. Her hands were surprisingly long and delicate, gracing whatever she touched. At this moment, Severus desired that he had been given some of the talent of an artist, that he could convey the warmth, the vitality, the strength... the true beauty of this woman-child with all the promise of the woman she could become. She called to mind the Madonna of a portrait by Batoni that hung in the family manor: strong, capable... and with a heart to encompass the world. It amazed him that somehow, by some strange human alchemy, it had managed to encompass him.

    As Hermione worked, she continued to glance at Severus, acutely aware of his concentration upon her. Though she smiled at him... and meant every bit of it... behind it she wondered what such intensity meant and how she was supposed to feel. Should she be worried he was measuring against some standard she could never meet? Or should she feel desirable? Frightened? Loved? His features were well-trained; they gave absolutely nothing away and exuded all the warmth of a basalt statue.

    And, dammit, she loved him for it. He would, she knew, always be a challenge for her. She could spend decades, centuries, with him, learning every nuance of voice and expression and still never know what was going on in his mind. But while this thrilled her, it also terrified her. She had spent nearly seven years with boys she could read like a book. Would she have any idea how to deal with one who was not only locked shut but of a complexity she could only begin to imagine? What sort of mistakes would she make? How many could she make before he again despised her as a "mere child" not worth his time?

    She started when she felt a large hand cup her cheek. "You are about to gnaw a hole in your lip," Severus commented with a hint of amusement. Hermione flushed, realising that she had been biting her lip, a habit of hers when she was nervous or uncertain. She hesitantly glanced up at him, then stared blankly at the hint of warmth in his eyes. Severus, in turn, found himself startled by the uncertainty in her eyes... not something he had expected from a girl who had, not a quarter of an hour since, effectively bullied him into a relationship. He was even more surprised when he realised he didn't like seeing her like this.

    "What are you?" he muttered harshly. "What are you that you make me consider actions I swore I would never commit?"

    "Just a girl," she whispered back, barely loud enough for him to hear. She couldn't hear herself over the beating of her heart.

    "Just a girl..." A moment in which he paused, his hand moving to tuck unruly curls behind her ears. "I think not. I have become acquainted with many girls... and many women... over the years. Not one of them has come close to testing my resolve. Few have ever attempted to. If you were beautiful, I should think you were a creature from Hell sent to torment me. But you are so frighteningly real, Hermione. And I cannot understand it... or you... or me."

    Hermione was somewhat nonplussed at the latter half of his statement, but quickly passed over it, knowing that Snape would never flatter her; the most she would receive was just... and very hard-earned!... praise. "I don't understand it myself, sir," she told him, hesitantly mirroring his gesture. "I won't pretend I do. Or can. But what I have learned from... the past few years is that love, whatever kind it may be, must be held in both hands and cherished for as long as one can. And I love you. It fills my heart so full that it scares me, too." She longed to step closer to him, to embrace him fully, but she felt that it was impossible. He needed to see her, hear her. She needed to be fully honest with him... and with herself... if she was to break down the barriers... both his and her own... between them. To gain his trust and to let him know that he had hers. "It scares me to think I might lose you. Not that you'll die... though I know that's a possibility for both of us... but that you'll turn from me. Look at me and wonder why you thought me worthwhile in the first place. It scares me that I feel so much, so quickly. I never thought you... anyone... could touch my heart this way. It scares me to think of what happens now. But I love you. I believe in you. And I won't run away from that."

    The dark man turned and walked towards the fire, his eyes glittering in its light. "No one," he began, then took a deep breath. "No one has said those words to me since my mother died. I did not think to hear them, much less believe them. I don't know what to do with them… Hermione. Do I love you? Would I know if I did?" He gave a short, unhappy laugh. "I don't even know if I'm deluding myself. I don't know what to do in either case. Gods! I am an old fool to even consider such things after all these years just because some chit of a girl says she loves me. That you say it makes me more of a bastard to consider accepting it, to consider..."

    "Consider what, Severus?" she asked softly, trying to hold back tears, seeing him jerk as she said his name. "What spectre haunts you so horribly?" What he had said gave her hints, but she needed to hear it from him, so that there would be no misunderstandings.

    "I should have thought you knew," he spat bitterly. "I should have thought Potter shared all of his adventures with his gang, laughing over what he saw when he invaded his hated professor's mind."

    Though he did not watch her, she shook her head. "He never mentioned anything of that sort. When did he... how could he...?" Her mind raced, putting together random facts in the way that made her the brightest witch of her time. "The Occlumency lessons..." she murmured. "He was acting so strangely at the time, I never noticed... but something happened just before he stopped taking those lessons with you."

    "I placed... certain memories... in a Pensieve during those lessons, Miss Granger," he explained, his voice sounding tired and, for the first time, old. "Potter's talent was so bloody unpredictable; I did not want my mind rummaged through like a child looking for a toy. It was bad enough dealing with the brat in my surface thoughts.

    "Some of those memories were of my childhood and they would have given a very clear picture of my experience of 'family life'." He sounded so bitter that Hermione fought to keep her distance; he would not thank her for her sympathy now. "I did not know the details then; other relatives and my mother's friends informed me of them later.

    Severus walked over to the window, gazing out at the lightening landscape. "I told you she was beautiful, my mother. She was the most beautiful witch of her generation. She was sweet, gentle, caring. As you can see, I inherited little from her. When my father was forty, my grandfather died, leaving him to inherit the family estate. It isn't much... a moth-eaten manor and just enough land to build it on... but Snapes are cursed with an overabundance of self-importance. He decided it was time to get a wife and an heir. He decided beautiful and submissive were what he wanted. And what he wanted, he got.

    "The bastard could ooze charm when he wanted. He became a guest at Hogwarts, courting my mother during the day, attempting to seduce her at night. She wanted to finish school, but pregnancy soon put an end to that idea, just as he'd planned. She quit Hogwarts and married him. He always made her feel that later, that she was inferior to him for not completing the basic wizards' education. That she was silly and stupid and incapable. And weak. She believed him.

    "I was born... a scrawny, pathetic thing by all accounts. He had treated her like crystal until then. But with an heir, who cared what condition a wife was in? Her body was exhausted from the pregnancy; he didn't care. No more than a wife's duty to attend to her husband's needs. And what he needed was a punch bag, a slave, and a rape victim. It was more exciting that way, it seems. When I was a child..." He trailed off, leaning his forehead against the cold glass.

    "He never cared if I heard," he continued tightly, "though Mother would order me out of the room. But I could never block out the sounds. The more she cried, the more she screamed, the more excited he became. I didn't fully realise what happened until I was older, you understand. It became quite clear with the first Dark Revel I attended. When I heard those sounds again... I realised what those sounds had been, what my father had done. And what I was doing. He broke my mother, Hermione. Her broke her spirit, he broke her body. One of the few truly beautiful people in this world, the only person who ever did... ever could... love me, and he killed her before I was old enough, skilled enough to protect her. I swore then that I would never be weak like that again. I poured my energies into learning the spells that would keep my father away from me. That would protect me and anyone else I cared to shield. I didn't care whether I delved into Dark or Light magic.

    "Joining Voldemort seemed like the best way to continue the course I had chosen. He offered power and skill, the ability to be the one to inflict pain rather than receive it. I was a fool, consumed by a warped vision of my original goal. From my years at Hogwarts, I developed a burning hatred against those who hurt and humiliated me." His lips stretched in a grim smile. "You may have notice I find it difficult to forgive and impossible to forget. I remember every jibe, every hex that was ever pointed in my direction. I no longer wanted to preserve, I wanted to destroy. And I did. Without discrimination, without remorse. There is blood on my hands, Hermione. If you wish to accept me, you must accept that as well. Not only the blood from being a Death Eater, but the blood of those who were my friends, who called me comrade, from being a traitor."

    He straightened suddenly. "But that is I burden I can shoulder. What I could not stomach was the realisation that I had become exactly what I swore I would never become. That I was just as capable and willing to inflict pain, to destroy that which is beautiful in the name of my own vanity. I could see my mother's body before my eyes, shattered and bleeding on the carpet where she died. And I saw my own face on her tormentor. I knew then that my father's blood ran strong through my veins and determined that I would not let it continue. I would not continue the cycle of violence and hatred. I would not allow these traits to pass to the next generation. And I would never put myself in a situation which would tempt me to revert to the monster I know is inside me."

    Another bitter laugh escaped him. "Now do you comprehend what I face, what I am, Hermione Granger?"