Surrounded by stacks of books, it was nearly impossible for Hermione to hear anyone knock on her front door, even amplified by magic, but the knock on the library door she heard quite clearly.
"Come in."
Snape entered and stood just inside the door. "Minerva McGonagall is here."
Hermione stood. "Thank you, Professor." He turned to leave, and Hermione saw McGonagall stand aside to let him pass, her expression polite, as though he'd never changed. When she stepped into the room, Hermione caught only a glimpse of sad sympathy before the animagus settled into a pleasant smile. Hermione returned it. "Hello, Professor McGonagall. It's been a while."
McGonagall, at a gesture from Hermione, took a seat, crossing her feet and settling her robes into smooth folds. "So it has, Hermione. I'm afraid I don't keep in touch with my old students as well as I should, even my brightest ones." She threw a quick glance over Hermione's paper cave, although Hermione had no doubt the woman's piercing eyes had noticed everything from the moment she first stepped into the room. "It seems your natural habitat hasn't changed."
"Did you ever think it would?"
"For your last few years at Hogwarts, I'm glad it didn't." she replied with a gleam in her eye. "A few of the other teachers and I had a small wager on whether you would ever find a boy that interested you more than Madam Pince's private province. I made a fair amount of sickles that way."
Hermione, although startled, laughed. "Glad to help. I'm afraid Harry and Ron never appreciated it. Although, I never thought you the type to gamble."
"Yes, I know. Teachers are not allowed to be real people. Some of your contemporaries probably still think that we shrivel up if we're away from school for too long." McGonagall's lips thinned into a line, then relaxed as she smiled again. "But call me Minerva, please. With all your accomplishments, I'm rather surprised I'm not calling you Professor."
Hermione shifted. "I don't think I have the proper temperament. I never managed to keep my friends focused on their studies; faced with an entire school, I might resort to terrifying them all to keep them in line."
"Well, that's been an efficient system for some teachers in the past."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Minerva actually shifted nervously in her seat as well, and Hermione began to wonder if perhaps the Professor's visit was not for the sole purpose of keeping in touch.
After a minute, Minerva's eyes again swept over the mounds of text. "So what is this research you're so dedicated to for?"
With relief, Hermione flipped through a few pages of the book in front of her. "It's on dementors. I've been assigned a project at work: to try to identify dementor-producing areas and adapt emotion-draining spells to dispel the condensed negativity."
"Preventing any respawning, then?"
She nodded. "The ministry would rather not have uncontrollable soul-suckers wandering around again.
Looking down, Hermione missed the expression of Minerva's face, but the tone was unmistakably bitter. "Why take that risk, when they can do it themselves, with less mess and fuss, and create a willing slave at the same time?"
Hermione's head snapped up, and she saw how tired Minerva looked. She hadn't seen it, at first glance, but although McGonagall still kept herself neatly together, it showed. Lines, around her eyes. The slow, heavy blink. Hands that shook slightly. With a rush of sympathy, Hermione opened her mouth for forestall Minerva's comments and offer some kind remark, but Minerva met her eyes and interrupted.
The question was nothing Hermione had expected. "What is it like?"
Her mouth snapped shut, then fell open again. "Pardon me?"
"That despicable procedure. How different did it make him?" At the sight of Hermione's obvious bafflement, she sighed. "I was Severus' colleague for fifteen years. I knew him, I knew his character… but that blasted trial! I didn't make it clear enough, I didn't give present my testimony sincerely enough-"
Hermione shook her head. "To use a muggle expression, Fudge was on a witch hunt, Minerva. He was trying to ingratiate himself to the public - no one but Dumbledore could have kept Professor Snape from… his sentence."
Minerva looked down at her hands, then back up. For the first time ever, Hermione saw guilt and pain in her face. "I was deputy Headmistress. I was responsible for my fellow teachers. Severus should have been able to trust me." She cleared her throat and sat a little straighter, a little steadier. "I should know what happened."
Hermione stared at her old head of house. The woman was Gryffindor at its finest, always. Where had Hermione's own Gryffindor courage gone? She'd buried herself in this library, taken any excuse to avoid the consequence of her choice. What dignity did she afford Snape when she couldn't even stand to be near him?
She tried her best to answer evenly. "The potion drained all emotions and magic. Professor Snape… is missing. His opinions, ideals, and mannerisms, everything rooted in emotions, and, by association, personality, is gone."
Both women retreated into their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Minerva replied softly, "Thank you for choosing him. I'd hate to think of him in the care of someone who doesn't know." She stood and left.
Hermione folded her arms over the table and leaned forward to rest her chin on them. She stared blankly at the text she'd left open.
Gryffindor Courage.
She, too, exited, and began to the wander the halls.
He was in a small study, ensconced in a huge green chair and staring into the fire. She took the other seat, and studied him. He looked up.
His eyes had always shone in firelight, before. No matter how black his glare, the many perpetual fires of the Potions classroom had sent glittering sparks dancing in it.
Now they were hollow. Not condescending, not derisive, not angry. Not even pleasant or polite. Just empty. At an angle where anyone's eyes should have caught the light of the flames, Snape's eyes were dull.
Hermione shared stares with the shell of her former Potions Master. He would do anything she said, without comment, complaint, or question, down to killing himself.
Her thoughts spilled out over her tongue in a fervent whisper. "You were such a proud man. You might have told me that ordering you to kill yourself would be better than this." She shook her head. "No one should be a slave. But, like this, you're a willing slave. Is it worse to be enslaved by another, or by yourself?"
He didn't reply. They held gazes for another minute, than he returned to staring at the fire.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few notes to reviewers who had concerns:
JennyRad: Definitely not a one shot. the WIKTT yahoo group has the details of the challenge, if you'd like a bit of a cookie on plot pieces to expect.
JestersTear: I'm afraid I'll never do it justice -- I rather wish I could see you answer it.
justanothercrazyfangirl: I recommend checking into the WIKTT group. There's more to this challenge than may appear at first glance. ;)
A tremendous thank you to everyone else who reads this story, especially those who have bothered to review. I enjoy every single one of them.
"Come in."
Snape entered and stood just inside the door. "Minerva McGonagall is here."
Hermione stood. "Thank you, Professor." He turned to leave, and Hermione saw McGonagall stand aside to let him pass, her expression polite, as though he'd never changed. When she stepped into the room, Hermione caught only a glimpse of sad sympathy before the animagus settled into a pleasant smile. Hermione returned it. "Hello, Professor McGonagall. It's been a while."
McGonagall, at a gesture from Hermione, took a seat, crossing her feet and settling her robes into smooth folds. "So it has, Hermione. I'm afraid I don't keep in touch with my old students as well as I should, even my brightest ones." She threw a quick glance over Hermione's paper cave, although Hermione had no doubt the woman's piercing eyes had noticed everything from the moment she first stepped into the room. "It seems your natural habitat hasn't changed."
"Did you ever think it would?"
"For your last few years at Hogwarts, I'm glad it didn't." she replied with a gleam in her eye. "A few of the other teachers and I had a small wager on whether you would ever find a boy that interested you more than Madam Pince's private province. I made a fair amount of sickles that way."
Hermione, although startled, laughed. "Glad to help. I'm afraid Harry and Ron never appreciated it. Although, I never thought you the type to gamble."
"Yes, I know. Teachers are not allowed to be real people. Some of your contemporaries probably still think that we shrivel up if we're away from school for too long." McGonagall's lips thinned into a line, then relaxed as she smiled again. "But call me Minerva, please. With all your accomplishments, I'm rather surprised I'm not calling you Professor."
Hermione shifted. "I don't think I have the proper temperament. I never managed to keep my friends focused on their studies; faced with an entire school, I might resort to terrifying them all to keep them in line."
"Well, that's been an efficient system for some teachers in the past."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Minerva actually shifted nervously in her seat as well, and Hermione began to wonder if perhaps the Professor's visit was not for the sole purpose of keeping in touch.
After a minute, Minerva's eyes again swept over the mounds of text. "So what is this research you're so dedicated to for?"
With relief, Hermione flipped through a few pages of the book in front of her. "It's on dementors. I've been assigned a project at work: to try to identify dementor-producing areas and adapt emotion-draining spells to dispel the condensed negativity."
"Preventing any respawning, then?"
She nodded. "The ministry would rather not have uncontrollable soul-suckers wandering around again.
Looking down, Hermione missed the expression of Minerva's face, but the tone was unmistakably bitter. "Why take that risk, when they can do it themselves, with less mess and fuss, and create a willing slave at the same time?"
Hermione's head snapped up, and she saw how tired Minerva looked. She hadn't seen it, at first glance, but although McGonagall still kept herself neatly together, it showed. Lines, around her eyes. The slow, heavy blink. Hands that shook slightly. With a rush of sympathy, Hermione opened her mouth for forestall Minerva's comments and offer some kind remark, but Minerva met her eyes and interrupted.
The question was nothing Hermione had expected. "What is it like?"
Her mouth snapped shut, then fell open again. "Pardon me?"
"That despicable procedure. How different did it make him?" At the sight of Hermione's obvious bafflement, she sighed. "I was Severus' colleague for fifteen years. I knew him, I knew his character… but that blasted trial! I didn't make it clear enough, I didn't give present my testimony sincerely enough-"
Hermione shook her head. "To use a muggle expression, Fudge was on a witch hunt, Minerva. He was trying to ingratiate himself to the public - no one but Dumbledore could have kept Professor Snape from… his sentence."
Minerva looked down at her hands, then back up. For the first time ever, Hermione saw guilt and pain in her face. "I was deputy Headmistress. I was responsible for my fellow teachers. Severus should have been able to trust me." She cleared her throat and sat a little straighter, a little steadier. "I should know what happened."
Hermione stared at her old head of house. The woman was Gryffindor at its finest, always. Where had Hermione's own Gryffindor courage gone? She'd buried herself in this library, taken any excuse to avoid the consequence of her choice. What dignity did she afford Snape when she couldn't even stand to be near him?
She tried her best to answer evenly. "The potion drained all emotions and magic. Professor Snape… is missing. His opinions, ideals, and mannerisms, everything rooted in emotions, and, by association, personality, is gone."
Both women retreated into their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Minerva replied softly, "Thank you for choosing him. I'd hate to think of him in the care of someone who doesn't know." She stood and left.
Hermione folded her arms over the table and leaned forward to rest her chin on them. She stared blankly at the text she'd left open.
Gryffindor Courage.
She, too, exited, and began to the wander the halls.
He was in a small study, ensconced in a huge green chair and staring into the fire. She took the other seat, and studied him. He looked up.
His eyes had always shone in firelight, before. No matter how black his glare, the many perpetual fires of the Potions classroom had sent glittering sparks dancing in it.
Now they were hollow. Not condescending, not derisive, not angry. Not even pleasant or polite. Just empty. At an angle where anyone's eyes should have caught the light of the flames, Snape's eyes were dull.
Hermione shared stares with the shell of her former Potions Master. He would do anything she said, without comment, complaint, or question, down to killing himself.
Her thoughts spilled out over her tongue in a fervent whisper. "You were such a proud man. You might have told me that ordering you to kill yourself would be better than this." She shook her head. "No one should be a slave. But, like this, you're a willing slave. Is it worse to be enslaved by another, or by yourself?"
He didn't reply. They held gazes for another minute, than he returned to staring at the fire.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few notes to reviewers who had concerns:
JennyRad: Definitely not a one shot. the WIKTT yahoo group has the details of the challenge, if you'd like a bit of a cookie on plot pieces to expect.
JestersTear: I'm afraid I'll never do it justice -- I rather wish I could see you answer it.
justanothercrazyfangirl: I recommend checking into the WIKTT group. There's more to this challenge than may appear at first glance. ;)
A tremendous thank you to everyone else who reads this story, especially those who have bothered to review. I enjoy every single one of them.