The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?

by Ibex's Lyre

Disclaimer: is applicable to every chapter. I reserve the right to modify it as I see fit. I do not own Harry Potter or Schrodinger's poor cat. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and Co, and Schrodinger came up with the original idea of the Quantum Cat. However, I *do* own a nice pair of horns, and cute little hooves and-- it's best we don't get into that.

*Grin* I named the cat for my Muse, who is probably banging her head against her monitor, muttering evil things about Ibexes and the mangling of Physics at this very moment. Don't laugh too hard, dear Muse-- Hot chocolate is very dangerous to inhale--or exhale, whatever the case may be. ; p

Future chapters can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.ws/read.php?storyid=981031

Chapter One: Quantum Cat

...One can even set up quite ridiculous cases. A cat is penned up in a steel chamber, along with the following diabolical device (which must be secured against direct interference by the cat): in a Geiger counter there is a tiny bit of radioactive substance, so small that perhaps in the course of one hour one of the atoms decays, but also, with equal probability, perhaps none; if it happens, the counter tube discharges and through a relay releases a hammer which shatters a small flask of hydrocyanic acid. If one has left this entire system to itself for an hour, one would say that the cat still lives if meanwhile no atom has decayed. The first atomic decay would have poisoned it. The Psi function for the entire system would express this by having in it the living and the dead cat (pardon the expression) mixed or smeared out in equal parts.

It is typical of these cases that an indeterminacy originally restricted to the atomic domain becomes transformed into macroscopic indeterminacy, which can then be resolved by direct observation. That prevents us from so naively accepting as valid a "blurred model'' for representing reality. In itself it would not embody anything unclear or contradictory. There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks.

We know that superposition of possible outcomes must exist simultaneously at a microscopic level because we can observe interference effects from these. We know (at least most of us know) that the cat in the box is dead, alive or dying and not in a smeared out state between the alternatives. When and how does the model of many microscopic possibilities resolve itself into a particular macroscopic state? When and how does the fog bank of microscopic possibilities transform itself to the blurred picture we have of a definite macroscopic state. That is the measurement problem and Schrodinger's cat is a simple and elegant explanations of that problem.

-- Erwin Schrodinger

There was a pleasant presence in her mind, a comforting awareness that she was not alone. Of course she wasn't alone, she thought through the haze of sleep, she hadn't been since she-- A sudden, panicked thought caused her to gasp in fear--was she still sane?

"Yes..." murmured a soft, silky voice that vibrated down her jawbone, causing her to relax and snuggle closer to her source of warmth. "Go back to sleep." There was a gentle rustling of clothing as suddenly a thick, woolen cloak was wrapped further around her, drawing her closer in the process. In the comfort that was bliss, she sighed a deep sigh and turned her face towards that of the other whom she was so a part of. For the first moment in a very long time, she was completely and utterly at peace. Hermione complied, and drifted back into the calming darkness of sleep.

When she awoke again, it was to find herself alone on the couch, Snape's thick over robes draped over her. How and when they had appeared, she was uncertain, but Hermione assumed that he must have come down from the infirmary and draped his cloak on her to keep her from catching pneumonia. If only to make sure I am in class on Monday so that he can have someone to take points from, she thought sourly. The previous night was still fresh in her mind, the wound he had inflicted more raw than she felt it should be. So much for gratitude. But then, this is Snape we're talking about. Did I really expect anything?

The answer 'no' came readily into mind, causing her to groan and sit up despite the fact that all of her muscles ached in protest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she almost wondered if she was having a sympathetic response to the pain she was sensing from Snape, but then Hermione remembered just exactly what she had done: died. Or... close enough, anyway. "Perhaps I should call it the new, improved version of the Draught of Living Death, only to be ingested on Halloween." Unfortunately, it was too early in the morning for cynicism--or was it? A quick glance at her wristwatch, and she found that it was 9:00 A.M. in the morning on the Saturday following Halloween. For a brief moment, she wondered why she was on the couch, and not her bed, but a quick glance reminded her as to why. "Peeves must have decided to have some fun with my room," Hermione muttered to herself, more than just a little annoyed. Who would have thought that Peeves the Poltergeist would have actually dared to trespass somewhere so near to Snape's quarters?

"Get off of my bed, you whelping, yowling tabby!" came a silky, snarling voice--Snape at his worst. Curious, Hermione got up from the couch and slowly wandered over towards the sound of his voice and, inevitably, into his room. What she encountered was something she'd never thought she'd see in a million years: Snape surrounded by blind, mewling kittens. Mrs. Norris was hissing at him despite his every effort to shoo her off his bed (and simultaneously order some poor house elves to clean up the mess) and Crookshanks appeared to be struggling over the fact that yes, he was a father (the reality hadn't hit him last night) and yes, being part kneazle meant that he had some innate responsibility to help Mrs. Norris look after and raise her kittens. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. "And I suppose you think this is funny, you horrid, mind-reading Gryffindor?" Snape growled, when he realized that she was in the room. "This is partially your fault!"

"Professor Snape, sir," Hermione said after she gained enough control of herself to keep a straight face, "the fact that Crookshanks is my cat does not mean that this," and she motioned to the present situation, "is my fault."

"I believe that there is a way to keep cats--especially prolific males," the glare Snape shot Crookshanks almost made Hermione burst out laughing again, despite the fact that she could feel his outraged indignation trying to creep into her mind, "from reproducing..."

"Crookshanks was very much so against that."

"Well, then, Miss Granger, I shall not refrain from taking points from Gryffindor."

"Sir?"

Her humor must have invaded his mind, for suddenly, Snape gave her a rather nasty smirk. "And you may rectify your error in sentimentality by delivering Mrs. Norris and her spawn--all of it--" he looked clearly distraught as a blinded part kneazel kitten, somewhat more developed than regular kittens at its stage in life, gently butted up against Snape's hand "to Filch, whom is their rightful owner... Now!"

"Oh, no, sir! I mean," she hastily said, seeing his face sour steadily, "Mrs. Norris really shouldn't be moved for several days--"

"Twenty five points, Miss Granger, are already gone. For every minute longer I am forced to wait, another fifty will be lost forever from Gryffindor."

Defeated, Hermione sighed and slowly summoned a box and began to attempt to persuade Mrs. Norris and her kittens to climb in. So much for that idea... Unless... A small, triumphant smile formed on Hermione's lips as she began to plan just exactly what she was going to do.

Snape watched Hermione suspiciously as she left the room, kittens and cats in tow. She was... up to something... He could feel it. What irritated the Potions Master most was that he simply could not sense what. Oh, he could sense her again, but she had succeeded in denying him access to the particular part of her mind that was focused on her scheme. Very Slytherin of her--he almost approved. He would have to figure out a way to circumnavigate it later, if only to make sure that she was clearly and truly sane. Call him paranoid, but he was not completely convinced of Raidne's good nature. There was some catch, some hidden trap--he was sure of it. Sirens, after all, did not do good favors unless it benefited them.

***

No one visited Filch's office by choice. Hermione certainty didn't consider this choice, anyway, but she was sure that it would be worth it. After all, Argus Filch didn't seem like the type who would tolerate the young offspring of any species crawling around him--let alone having to deal with students day in and day out. Surely he wouldn't mind if she relieved one of the four mismatched kittens from his hands?

For a brief moment, Hermione was sure she could feel Snape's mind gently probing against the invisible wall she had constructed around her idea, and she smiled to herself. The sirens had inadvertently taught her many useful skills. If she wanted, she could completely shut him out of her mind and would have--but for the fact that she had grown used to having somebody in her mind constantly. It was a comfort to know that she was never alone--even if she was tethered to the most cynical, sarcastic, and generally unpleasant man in all of Hogwarts. The very same man who had been the only one willing to give up all of his privacy to help a student that had been, at best, a constant thorn in his side. Perhaps that meant that somewhere deep inside, he did have a heart after all.

Feelings that had lain dormant for several years began to slowly creep up, and Hermione desperately pushed them back down. Now that she was sane, it was no time for her to suddenly be looking for impossible things! He had made himself very clear the previous night--he obviously did not want to have anything to do with her--as much as was possible, considering their current situation.

A hesitant knock on the door and it was yanked out of her grips. Argus Filch, moody as ever, glared down at her as though she had just committed the most heinous crime known to humanity, and had the audacity to do it right in front of his eyes. When he saw the miffed Mrs. Norris and pride in the box Hermione was holding, an almost... loving expression flitted through his eyes, but was promptly dismissed as soon as he saw the other adult cat that had followed Hermione up to his office. "You have my Mrs. Norris, I see," he growled, greasy strands of hair that rivaled even Snape's dangling down into his face. "Well! Give 'er here, girl! Unless you feel like doing something less productive? I know of a few trophies that are in want of a good polishin'. And you, you mangy, flea bitten excuse for a feline!" he snarled down to Crookshanks, "I expect you to be looking after the brats and helping out with the Missus! Two to tango indeed! The current situation is all your fault, and I intend to make sure you regret every second of it!"

Crookshanks looked as though he would never take Snape's advice (which had been to get Mrs. Norris laid) again.

Hermione was promptly dismissed, but before the door could slam shut on her again, she meekly called out, "Sir?"

The scowl, if possible, deepened and in a short, brief instant, Hermione marveled at how very similar Argus Filch and Severus Snape were to each other. Only Snape was about the most brilliant magically gifted person Hermione knew, and poor Filch was a squib. Muggle. Outcast because of birth. And it struck her as funny that Filch's behavior and demeanor was accepted and tolerated only because Dumbledore was the headmaster--but in any other place, Filch would have been a second class citizen because of a fate he couldn't have controlled any more than Hermione could have stopped her becoming a witch. With Snape, however, because he was a wizard, and a very powerful, capable wizard at that, his attitude was carefully ignored by the rest of the Wizarding society. In a way, she almost felt that nature was giving her a lesson in the ironies of life. Who were the magical folks kidding? They were no more or less advanced than muggles were, for all their ideas and attitudes.

"What?" he demanded. "Just because you decided to kill yourself doesn't mean I feel like putting up with you and your little airs. I still had to spend eight hours looking for you! In my opinion, you should get a few weeks worth of detentions for pulling a stunt like that--but no, you pull one mad stunt, and the world regards you as a hero! A few hours hanging by your feet would change that attitude..."

"It's that--" and here Hermione stopped, watching incredulously as Filch actually appeared to be showing affection--affection!--towards the little kittens! She was almost positive she had read somewhere that this was one of the signs of the Apocalypse: Filch showing affection towards something other than Mrs. Norris! Oh, dear, she thought. This wasn't going to make what she wanted to ask any easier. Quickly, she formulated a plan and continued where she had left off. "It's just that I overheard Professors Snape and McGonagall making a bet as to your capability to raise a kitten, let alone four." The look on Filch's face told Hermione that this strategy was working.

"Did he? The haughty, arrogant bas--"

"In fact," Hermione continued before Filch said something he'd probably regret a student overhearing and thus having blackmail leverage, "Professor Snape was smirking and saying it'd be a matter of days before you decided to have the house elves prepare some authentic Chinese!"

"Did he now?" came Filch's terse reply.

She only nodded in response.

A growl escaped from Filch, and he grabbed the nearest kitten and dropped it in Hermione's hands. "In that case, give this to Snape, with my compliments," he added nastily. The black and copper kitten, separated from its mother, began to mew piteously.

"But sir--it should stay with its mother for at least a couple of weeks! It might die otherwise--"

"Exactly right, girl!" Filch laughed rather nastily, enjoying being cruel. "If Snape thinks he's Merlin's gift to familiars, then surely he'll know exactly how to take care of a newborn kitten! Now get out of my sight before I think of some place for you to scrub--without magic!" The door slammed shut, leaving Hermione alone with a blind kitten and feeling rather distraught. Christmas was still almost two months away and Hermione had no idea at all when his birthday was--even in his own mind, Snape refused to admit that even he had been born--and she had no real idea how to take care of a newly born kitten...

Upon feeling her distress, Snape had begun to gently probe her mind--only to be side stepped by a Hermione desperate to fix her own errors. I got myself into this, after all--I'll keep it alive until... The hungry kitten began to mewl desperately, burying its needle-like claws into Hermione's skin and making her fervently wish she had simply kept her mouth shut.

***

Classes began the same as always--except that now Hermione was allowed to have her wand with her at all times. It was early November, and aside from the students fervently wishing it was late December, nothing much had changed. In fact, it was too much the same, and it made her wonder if everything that had happened in the past year had only been a dream, or if it had really happened. Except that--Hermione winced as some of Snape's mental ire leaked through. Probably some second year Gryffindor, from the feelings of it.

Granger, would you mind keeping your musings to yourself?

Only momentarily surprised, Hermione bit back a scathing retort. Instead, she snapped back, When are we going to discuss my new project? I can't very well graduate without having something more substantial to add to my resume.

His amusement mixed with annoyance began to invade her mind, and she fought desperately to keep her emotional stance. It was simply no fair! She could cloak her own emotions and thoughts fairly well (which took a lot of concentration and discipline, and was by no means very easy to do) but she found it was much harder to block him from her mind. One would have thought, Miss Granger, that saving somebody's mind from the ruins Sirens caused would have been prestigious enough. Besides, I always thought that ambition was a Slytherin characteristic--feeling like you were sorted into the wrong house, are you?

No, Professor, she ground out. I'm quite happy to be a Gryffindor. I just want to have a real Seventh Year Project.

And you will have to wait until later today before I will even think of discussing it. Now go away you obnoxious burden! And why were you sneaking warm milk from the kitchens?

Caught, Hermione froze in mid step. I like to drink it... before... I go to bed...

Hermione, it's 2:45 in the afternoon. I know that Remus Lupin makes for a rather dull DADD teacher, but were you really planning to sleep through his class? How... Ungryffindor.

Hermione missed two things in that statement. The first was that Snape had actually called her by her first name--a slight mental slip on his part. The second was that he had actually almost made a joke with her. Unfortunately, she was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to keep the kitten alive to notice.

***

Professor Snape and Hermione did not meet on Monday to discuss her project because of a Quidditch game. Hermione was frustrated, but not quite upset yet. Wednesday, Professor Dumbledore had decided was a free day, and so nobody had to attend the last class of the day. Snape noticed that Hermione seemed a little more uptight and worried than usual, but he assumed that it was probably because she felt that she was being cheated out of an education. By Friday, he knew that something was wrong, even though Hermione refused to tell him what. She was switching between frustration, guilt, panic and Gryffindor determination. Still, it was best to let her take care of her own problems.

He was regarding her with a look of disinterest from his podium turned desk, scanning gently all the open parts of her mind in an attempt to determine her motives. It was cheating, but he had grown used to doing a mental checkup on her since her insanity. In any event, she didn't seem to mind too much. She was feeling... somewhat desperate at the moment. And distracted. That would have to be remedied before she went into what she wanted to do for a Seventh Year Project.

"Miss Granger," he began, using his silkiest voice, "might I remind you to keep your mind on the task? Now tell me what it was you want to do for a..." he frowned here, "'real' project? Since ground-breaking research into insanity wasn't good enough?"

"Oh..." she looked somewhat abashed. "It's not that what we did wasn't important--"

An impatient look was what she received. "Yes, yes. Continue before I become truly bored and find need to come up with... entertaining uses for you. Such as cleaning out the first years' ingredients shelves."

The horrified look on her face was worthy of a camera. Unfortunately, Snape had neither the camera nor the desire to take a picture. She took a deep breath, and tried again. "Animagus. I want to be an animagus."

Now it was Snape's turn to take a deep breath. He scowled, and his displeasure on this new subject was quite evident. "I believe you should be having this discussion with Professor McGonagall, who is the resident animagus and expert. Or Black," and he sneered horribly before continuing. "Contrary to popular belief, I am a vampire, not a basilisk." He was neither, of course, but it seemed like a good way to end this conversation now.

"But--"

"I said no, Miss Granger!"

Frustrated, Hermione studied Snape for several minutes. He had returned to grading Ravenclaw essays, the lines in his face seemingly etched in stone and uncompromising. "You're jealous," she said finally.

At the sound of this, Snape's head snapped up immediately. "Of whom, precisely?" His glare was truly formidable, but Hermione ignored it and looked past and into the man she knew was there. The man she could feel inside her mind, despite the fact that he had recoiled behind an icy wall of cold numbness.

"Of Black. That he's an animagus and you're not. That's where the feud began, wasn't it? The animosity, the hatred? The competition between one another? Sirius Black and James Potter were always one upping you, weren't they? First it was Lily, and then becoming animagi! They were the final nails in the coffin that sent you to the Death E--"

"Enough!" He slammed his quill down into the ink jar and threw the essays aside. Eyes glittering, mouth thin and nostrils flaring, his ire was enough to send even Hermione back in her chair, and she realized that perhaps she had spoken too close to the truth for Snape's comfort. "Yes, that's partly why I turned to the Death Eaters, but not the whole story. Not even close! And I suppose you know that, too, don't you? Don't you?"

Frightened, she shook her head meekly. This time she had gone too far.

"Well, then, I'm sure you want to know so that you can go gossiping it to Potter and Weasley? Then listen up, girl, because I'll tell you exactly why I'm such a monster. Why I'm such a hated, disgusting man! Yes, there was always Potter and Black. The antagonism between us was legendary. They were always the heroes, popular and loved by all, while I was Snape. I was the first to become a Quidditch player, and then Potter decided he needed to be Merlin's gift to Gryffindor and become their seeker. I decided to befriend a small, lonely girl named Lily, and only then did Potter decided she was worthy of notice--and to steal her away from me and taint her mind with his foolish notions! Then they became animagi, dangerous and illegal at best, fatal at worst! Do you have any idea what could have happened because of their foolish one-upmanship? People could have died! Died! And they almost killed me! What was worse was that Potter came out looking like the hero because of that whole werewolf incident, when it was partially his fault to begin with!

He took a shaky breath and clawed his hands through his lank hair before continuing. "Then the Ministry came the year after I graduated and had a job for me, simply because I was Slytherin. Make no mistakes, Granger--there was no other reasoning behind it than that. I was to be a spy for the Ministry--to join the Death Eaters and try to corrupt them from within. You see, I was always a spy for Dumbledore--even from the beginning."

"But Harry said that they put you on trial--"

"Oh yes," and his laugh was truly tormented. "You see, the Ministry got the last laugh--and I couldn't even do anything! They had placed a Fidelis spell to make sure I always stayed loyal to the 'good' cause. I accepted their job because I in my stupidity thought I could be a hero just like Black and Potter always managed to be. But, you see, when I had decided I could stomach no more forced killing and the stench of fear and indignity, I returned back to Dumbledore and pleaded for my death. I would have killed myself if not for the fact that I felt even death was too good for me, and by this time, it was very unpopular to be a Death Eater--even to be a spy. The Ministry was not going to save my hide from the hell they had put me in--so they put me on trial instead. And Dumbledore spared me from Azkaban--but the Ministry allowed him to take me under his wings on the condition that I continued my actions as a spy. Covert, hidden by special cloaks and spells, of course, but still a spy the same. Remember that, Miss Granger! The Ministry is just as treacherous as the Death Eaters were! Remember that there is a very thin line between good and evil, and that good crosses over into evil all the time."

Somewhere in the midst of Snape's speech, Hermione had walked over towards him, and when he stopped, he realized that something--somebody had wrapped their arms around him in the most selfless act of compassion they could think of. Surprised, he stiffened up and tried to push her away--until he got lost in the emotions of comfort and understanding that Hermione had woven around his mind. Not just sympathy, but true empathy, for Hermione knew exactly what he had gone through--had experienced it with him as he had the events again and again in his mind. And after all that, she was still willing to hug him, hold him! Knowing nothing else to do, he buried his face in her hair and allowed her to rub his back and comfort him. The irony that it was now she taking care of he escaped him, and they stood locked in that embrace for a long, long time.

After what seemed like an eternity, he murmured into her ear, "Yes, I'll help you." Warm lips pressed ever so softly against his cheek, and she pulled back hesitantly. And then, she remembered the kitten--

"Oh, no!" Hermione whispered and pulled away. "Oh, no no no!" She ran into his office and through the wards that led to their quarters, a confused and hurt Snape following brusquely behind, determined to find out what her sudden change of heart was all about. He found her in her room, bending frantically over a blanket filled box and in distress so strong he was sure he would have felt it even if he and she hadn't been mentally bound. In the box was a tiny, still figure of something that didn't appear to be breathing or even alive at all. Snape recognized the tiny kitten as the source of Hermione's weeklong torment, and almost forgave her for rejecting him so suddenly.

"Move aside, you foolish girl," he growled and bent over the kitten. The question was: was it alive or dead? If it was still even slightly alive, he might be able to save it, but if it was dead...

"I... Wanted to get you a familiar because you don't have one and I thought I'd make it a gift, but Filch dumped it on me without even letting me wean it from Mrs. Norris--I couldn't get it to drink or eat anything but I didn't want to--"

There was nothing more obnoxious than hysterics from an otherwise sensible girl. "Quiet!" he hissed, and pressed his ear against its tiny chest. Perhaps the cat was both alive and dead? No, he could hear a heartbeat ever so faint... Without hesitating, Snape picked up the kitten and walked over to his shelves, searching through bottle after bottle for something like a weakened version of the Pepper Up potion. Finally, he settled on watering it down with milk of magpie and administered it to the kitten via a tiny dropper. The kitten reacted immediately, and seemed to revive somewhat. It was back to mewing faintly, and Snape smirked at Hermione, who looked as though he had just perfumed some kind of miracle. "Kittens," he began, "can't just drink any kind of milk. Your cow's milk probably doesn't have all the important nutrients this little creature needs, Hermione." He walked over to his library turned Hermione's room and began to scan the masses and masses of fascinating volumes. His fingers finally came to rest on a thick one that specialized in creatures of the Pantherinae, Acinonyxchinae and Felinae subfamilies. He skimmed through the pages until he found a recipe for a suitable milk substitute and within minutes had expertly whipped up a batch of kitten food in a cauldron.

Almost tenderly, he heated up the substance comfortably, and then began to feed it to the starving kitten via a flask that he had conjured up a nipple-like stopper for. "You probably tried to feed it from a bowl, didn't you?" Hermione nodded, embarrassed that for once, she hadn't had the correct answer, and hadn't been able to find it in such an obvious place as the library. "Kittens this young, even partially kneazel kittens, are still too helpless for that. They need to be fed like this for a few weeks. See?"

She watched as he fed it, and stroking the kitten gently along its spine, and murmuring inaudible words to it. Who would have suspected that Snape would have a soft spot for little kittens? "You should have come to me when you began to have problems getting her to eat, Hermione. Even if it meant that you had to admit that there was something you finally couldn't do..."

"You're not mad?" She looked somewhat guilty.

Snape chose not to answer this, but instead responded, "Quantum. I think I'll call her Quantum Cat." He smirked. "A very appropriate name, given the circumstances." Satiated, the black and copper kitten fell asleep in the crook of his arms, and if Hermione hadn't known any better, she would have sworn she saw a slight smile form on the corner of his lips.

******************************************************************************************

"Schrodinger's cat

Schrodinger's cat is a famous illustration of the principle in quantum theory of superposition, proposed by Erwin Schrodinger in 1935. Schrodinger's cat serves to demonstrate the apparent conflict between what quantum theory tells us is true about the nature and behavior of matter on the microscopic level and what we observe to be true about the nature and behavior of matter on the macroscopic level.

First, we have a living cat and place it in a thick lead box. At this stage, there is no question that the cat is alive. We then throw in a vial of cyanide and seal the box. We do not know if the cat is alive or if it has broken the cyanide capsule and died. Since we do not know, the cat is both dead and alive, according to quantum law, in a superposition of states. It is only when we break open the box and learn the condition of the cat that the superposition is lost, and the cat becomes one or the other (dead or alive).

We know that superposition actually occurs at the subatomic level, because there are observable effects of interference, in which a single particle is demonstrated to be in multiple locations simultaneously. What that fact implies about the nature of reality on the observable level (cats, for example, as opposed to electrons) is one of the stickiest areas of quantum physics. Schrodinger himself said, later in life, that he wished he had never met that cat. "

--http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/0,,sid9_gci341236,00.html

Hope you guys all liked that....