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Scattered	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25013 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
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Chapter List
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Legilimency

“No, that’s not right at all. Are you even listening?” Snape barked rudely, slapping a hand down on the small wooden table she’d transfigured from a tree trunk.
“I AM listening! You won’t tell me what I’m doing wrong!” Hermione spat back, feeling her ire rise at his condemning tone. It’d been two weeks since she’d started learning occlumency, and he’d begun teaching her the art of disguise, as well. He was currently failing to teach her to pull her features into unrecognizable shapes. She was having a harder time of it than her previous transfiguration work, Snape’s overbearing attitude, and abusive notes on her lack of progress only making her annoyed, and unfocused.
“You’re moving your wand incorrectly, and focusing too much on what you already look like. Make your wrist movements more fluid, and think only about what your goal is, not the material you have to work with.” He explained in an angry tone, crossing his arms, and leaning back in his chair. She nodded, keeping her lips sealed tight against any further fighting, and tried again, waving her wand over her face slowly, visualizing sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a cleft chin. She watched her reflection in the mirror in front of her, as her eyes seemed to sink slightly, and her chin created the tiniest dimple.
“Aha!” She crowed with glee, glad that she’d finally made progress. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and she was glad that Snape said nothing as she sat back, and drew a harsh line across her face with her wand, ending the glamour. It wouldn’t hold up to a touch-test, but to the naked eye, it would look real enough.
She’d spent the last two weeks camping out in the same spot, learning from the potions master, and trying to make their small campsite more homey. She’d made a fire pit, a small table, chairs, and expanded the inside of the tent a bit, to make it more comfortable. She barely slept, but she liked the idea of it being roomier, nonetheless. She still hadn’t given Snape back his wand, unable to bring herself to trust him, even after weeks of being in his company. He hadn’t tried to attack her, or take her wand even once, seeming content as he could be, to simply bite ruthlessly cruel things across the small clearing to her, and glare daggers if she tried to have a conversation. He taught her willingly enough, which she owed to his life-debt, but he was rude and bitter with every lesson. She was beginning to think that it was more for show than his own sadistic amusement.
She waved her wand at her face over and over, determined to better her skills before the sun set. It was getting warmer, but the nights were still chilly, and she didn’t like to be sitting silently in the dark anymore than she had to. Even though Snape wandered around the campsite until late most nights, he almost never spoke to her unless they were doing a lesson, or he had to communicate a need, such as a bath, or for her to relight the fire. She’d been glad for her idea to bring toiletries, and some of her father’s old clothes, so she was able to hand them to Snape, and let him bathe in a nearby river, instead of conjuring a bathtub in the middle of their camp. That had been something she hadn't wanted to see. Him, bathing. His complete lack of charm and decency had made it easy for her to forget what he’d done while sick, leaving her free to focus on more important things, like the war, and learning what she needed to survive.
Before he’d started teaching her to transfigure her face, he’d given her a rather short lesson on using her surroundings to hide in. He’d pointed out things she hadn’t thought of, like disillusioning herself, and climbing a tree above eye-level. Most wizards, he’d said, didn’t look up as much as they should. So she’d been practicing her tree-climbing, seeing if she could improve her speed in getting off the ground, and her stealth with getting hidden. So far, she’d managed nothing more than bruises from falling, and Snape relating her climbing skills to that of a fish. Completely useless.
Still, every day, she climbed a tree, and sat quietly, trying to clear her mind, as she hid. She practiced her Occlumency nearly all the time, trying to keep her mind blank as she climbed, or keep her feelings from her face as she read the Daily Prophet she’d managed to nick from another supply run.
The only time her mind wasn’t trying to be clear, was when Snape picked fights, making her feel childlike, or incompetent. It only served to make her even more aggravated, and made her nearly incapable of occluding her thoughts, or feelings. This only served to make Snape more nasty, and intolerable, so she’d tried to speak to him as little as possible. It was hardest in moments like that one, when she sat across from his glare, trying to ignore his existence, as he spat nasty remarks at her.
“Perhaps you should just run off to America, or some such, and hide, instead of trying to learn this? If you’re going to prove incompetent at EVERYTHING, you might as well give up now.” He sneered, making her heart wrench with pain at the words. She slammed her hands down on the table, and stood, glaring across at him as she took a deep breath.
“I am NOT incompetent at everything, you ill-mannered cur!” she shouted, feeling her anger finally break loose across the table. Professor or not, she could tolerate no more of his acrid temperament. Her hands shook slightly as she yelled at him, feeling seven years worth of frustration and fury dispense from her lungs. “I had top grades in EVERY class, and I’ve spent the last year personally helping to defeat the darkest wizard in the world! Your uncivil comments are neither appreciated nor welcome, and if you continue, I swear, I WILL curse you!”
She took another deep breath, and turned to stomp her way into the trees, putting as much distance between her and the bastard as possible. She gripped her wand tightly, muttering to herself as she went, staring at the dirt and leaves under her feet. Was he trying to get hexed? Perhaps he’d changed his mind on wanting to live, and was going to irritate her into murdering him. She shook her head, knowing she could never kill someone, even if they were as nasty as Snape had been.
She reached the stream and slowed, walking along the bank, and feeling a pinkness creep into her cheeks as she realized she’d just yelled at Snape. Something she’d thought about doing for years, but never quite had the courage to do. She’d been worried about detention, or the points she’d lose, or being expelled. Now, it felt like a pit in her stomach, when she realized she’d have to eventually go back, and face whatever reaction he’d definitely have to her outburst. She was certain he would say vicious things back to her, and knew that if it came to a battle of insults, and nastiness, he would definitely win. But could she reign in her emotions, and hold back from replying to whatever he had to say? Could she keep her tongue in check, and let his words bounce off of her harmlessly? She’d have to if she ever wanted a semblance of peace again.
She kicked a rock into the stream, and watched it splash and produce a satisfying noise as it sent up a tiny fountain of water. She needed to relax before she went back. Maybe a quick swim would help cool her off, and release some of the tension walking hadn’t quite gotten rid of. She smiled to herself, and began pulling her shirt over her head, stripping down to her underwear. She set her wand on top of her pile of clothes, and toed the water, feeling the cool wash of it against her toes, before wading in to her knees, and sinking down.
She gasped as it hit her thighs and stomach, shivering as the chill consumed her. It’d been colder than her feet had thought. She wrapped her arms around herself, and crawled a little deeper, her toes careful on the slick rocks of the stream bed. When she was up to her neck, and nearly shivering, she forced her arms out, and stretched backward, allowing herself to float on the water, and stare at the grey clouds above the treetops.
She emptied her mind, setting aside her anger, and fear. The grey clouds rolled above her, promising rain soon, but she hardly noticed, her eyes flicking to the waving tree branches that lined her vision. She could see the wind, but heard only the water in her ears, making everything distorted, and deep. Her muscles were tense in the cold water, and she twisted her arms in small circles, pushing herself backward aimlessly a few paces. She closed her eyes, focusing on her own mind, trying to keep the stillness, and transform it to complete nothingness. Her thoughts instantly filled with images, and memories, supplying thoughts of nothingness, instead of blankness itself.
She sighed, and sat up, quickly finding her footing, and heading back to her pile of clothes. She wasn’t able to think nothing, but she could still tune out a lot. She pointed her wand at herself, drying the water from her skin and undergarments before pulling her clothes back on. She stuck her wand in her back pocket, and began the trek back toward camp, trying desperately not to think about being angry. She’d said what she wanted, and if it didn’t get through, nothing further would help. She had to keep her head, even if he baited her.
She heard the rain start before she felt it, the water running through the canopy before it began drizzling on her head. She groaned, and walked faster, scowling at the ground as she went. She’d been hoping to make it back to the tent before the rain began, but it was just her luck to be stuck walking in it.
The little droplets clung to her hair, and sank into her clothes, chilling her nearly as much as the stream had. It seemed that whatever storm had decided to blow in was lowering the temperature drastically. The wind was blowing the rain into her face, just enough to be vexing, and even ducking her head didn’t seem to help much. She heard a loud crack of thunder and walked faster, pulling out her wand to cast anti-shock charms on the tent when she arrived.
When she finally saw the tent, she nearly ran to it, feeling a wave of relief, and waving her wand at it quickly before ducking inside. They’d be safe from lightning, but with the storm gaining force, they’d likely be stuck inside the canvas shelter together for a long while. She zipped the flap closed behind her, and kept her eyes away from his side of the tent, not wanting to look toward him.
“Granger!” She jumped, startled by the call from outside. Her eyes darted to where she’d been avoiding, and saw it empty. Snape was outside? She hurried back to the opening, and stuck her head out, shouting for him to hear over the rain.
“I’m in here!” She called, and ducked back inside, waving her wand over herself, starting the slow process of drying her soaked hair and clothes. The water evaporated with little curls of steam as Snape came through the tent opening, a fierce scowl in place when he turned to face her. He said nothing, plopping wetly down on his side of the tent, and grabbed a towel to rub at his wet face and arms. Hermione turned her gaze back to her own task, watching her sleeve release the water, and trying to blank her mind, so he couldn’t peer inside.
“Do you think the Dark Lord will be any more agreeable than I’ve been, Granger?” Snape’s cold voice cut through the tent.
“No.” Hermione answered, keeping her gaze firmly away from his.
“So if you fail to control your temper here, what makes you think for even a moment that you would stand a chance of tricking a man whose very presence demands a volatile reaction?” Snape asked, his voice much too calm. When was he going to blow up, and berate her? She held her breath for a moment, thinking over his words.
“I wouldn’t.” She admitted, just the thought of Voldemort making her feel sick to her stomach, and enraged.
“If you cannot convincingly pretend to be unbothered by my criticism, you would never be able to keep your enmity toward the Dark Lord from his attention.” Snape declared, and Hermione realized he was right. Anyone who she’d be using Occlumency on would likely be just as nasty as Snape, if not worse. And she’d been failing entirely when he was testing her. She realized with a start that he HAD been testing her. Over, and over, his cutting remarks had been meant to aggravate, and get her to drop her defenses. She glanced up at him, not quite meeting his eyes as she thought this over.
“You… You’ve been acting like a bully to… to make a point?” She asked, wondering if she’d ever even seen the real Severus Snape. Was everything about him an act? Was he constantly putting on one facade or another to suit a purpose?
“No, Granger, I’ve been speaking my mind, because I simply don’t like you.” He said, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling in distaste. “I merely pointed out how your childish reaction would compare to someone more powerful, and more cruel.”
She stared into his eyes then, searching them for truth. Everything about him said he wasn’t lying, but she couldn’t shake the thought that even this was an act. He’d seemed to like her just fine in his Dream Fever. And he was a powerful Occlumens, used to lying directly to the Dark Lord. She wouldn’t stand a chance in figuring the truth out. Still, something didn’t seem right, and she pulled her eyes away, hoping to keep him out of her thoughts as she tried to put it together. It was like a puzzle she couldn’t see, and only had some vague guess about what the picture on it was. She needed more pieces, and better eyes.
“How can I get better at controlling my anger, then, Professor?” She asked, trying to keep a civil tone. He seemed to mull the question over for a moment.
“Don’t try to suppress it, that will never work properly. The best thing is to direct it at something else. Mislead anyone searching your mind, to believe the anger is focused on something else entirely.” Snape finally answered, making her nod slowly. Redirection. Seemed easy enough. She tried it out, recalling her previous ire with Snape, and trying to find something else to pin it on. He’d been berating her skills. Perfect! She could redirect it inward! Anyone would believe a person was angry with themself. Unless she WAS angry at herself, then she’d have to redirect it outward. She looked back at Snape as he rubbed the towel at his hair. He seemed angry all the time. Was he redirecting it? But it was aimed at her… Her eyes widened, as she stared at him, a cascade of thoughts happening like lightning. If he was redirecting his anger TOWARD her, then he was angry at something else. The only thing around besides HER for him to be angry with, was himself. Was he always furious with himself? And why? What made him so upset that he was always lashing out?
“Professor… Why are you so angry at yourself all the time?” She asked, turning her eyes downward, so she wouldn’t be intimidated by the glare she knew he was giving her.
“That’s absolutely none of your business, girl.” His voice dripped with venom, and she turned her face farther to hide her grin. She’d been right! “Soo bloody clever…” She heard him mumble with sarcasm, and chanced a look at his face. He was glaring at his pants as he dried them, rubbing vigorously at his shins, as though trying to scrub her observation away.
“Here, let me help.” Hermione offered, and turned, lifting her wand.
“I don’t need your help!” He snapped, waving a hand dismissively, and turning his back completely on her. Hermione sighed, and began drying his back, ignoring the way he grumbled peevishly at the tent wall. She couldn’t make out the words, but she was fairly certain he was insulting her again. She rolled her eyes, and continued trying to piece the puzzle together.
He was angry with himself, not her. So his earlier statement about hating her was probably a lie as well. He had plenty he could hate himself for, and she began going through a mental list, ordering her view of him slowly into shape. If she was him, she’d be angry that Voldemort had betrayed him, that she’d saved him, that he’d allowed himself to owe her a life-debt. She’d be angry that she was stuck teaching her. But she wasn’t an awful student, and she hadn’t asked him to repay his debt in a truly awful way, so there had to be something more. Was it really that he hated her? No, he was redirecting it from something else…
She barely noticed that he’d turned slightly, so she could dry more of him, so caught up in her thoughts was she. She didn’t notice the way he glanced down at her, his face completely blank, studying her lost in thought, and trying desperately to peer into her mind without his wand, or eye contact.
After his clothes were no longer soaking, she moved back, and tucked her wand away, still mulling over her suspicions.
“Perhaps you’d be better suited to learning both sides of the coin at once, Miss Granger.” Snape’s voice finally caught her attention, and she looked up, meeting a speculative black gaze, free of animosity.
“What do you mean?” She asked, confused by his sudden remark.
“I mean, perhaps I should teach you Legilimency as well, so you know exactly what you’re trying to guard against. You would, perhaps, understand better, with experience from the other side of the subject.” He answered, staring straight into her thoughts, reading them easily as she took it in.
“You… you’ll teach me Legilimency?” She asked, awed. She’d never even hoped for such a chance, but found the idea suddenly captivating. She wanted to learn this now, more than anything else. She was positive she was more than up to the task, though she knew it would be hard.
“I am willing to try.” He said, a familiar sneer encroaching on his features. “But before you get too excited, I must admit, I will not be able to get much farther in your lessons without use of a wand.”
The small smile that had been forming on her mouth slipped away, and she felt her mind grind to a halt. He’d need a wand? She wasn’t sure she trusted him enough for that yet. She looked at him, dearly wishing that she’d already been a Legilimens, and could read his thoughts, to determine if the offer was bait. Was he simply trying to get his wand back? Would he pretend to teach her, only to get away at his first opportunity?
“No, Miss Granger, that is not my goal.” Snape replied to her inner turmoil, his eyes still peering deeper than her own. “Though, without the lessons, there’s no way for you to be sure, is there?” He dangled the sentence in front of her like an even more tempting lure, and she studied him briefly.
“Even with the lessons, there’s no way for me to be sure, professor. You-Know-Who and Dumbledore were both more powerful Legilimens that I could ever hope to be, and you’ve managed to hide your true self from at least one of them. With your Occlumency skills, you could easily teach me Legilimency, and have no worries about your own agenda coming into the light.” Hermione voiced her thoughts, realizing there was absolutely no way for her to know for certain whether she could trust Severus Snape.
“Smart girl.” Snape said emotionlessly, only a brief jerk of an eyebrow giving away his surprise at her observations. “The only way to be sure of my intent, is to let it play out.” He said, smirking at her in a superior manner. She huffed, and turned away, breaking his contact with her thoughts, and thinking in private about the offer. Did she dare chance it? Legilimency would be a powerful tool in the war. But his return to Voldemort could be catastrophic. Did she even stand a chance of winning without his help? She doubted it. Half of her plan had hinged upon him switching sides, helping the Light regain their forces to finish the Dark Lord, once and for all. She could only get so far on her own. She needed his help, and without it, the war was lost already. If he was determined to rejoin Voldemort, he would do so eventually, regardless of her attempts to keep him away. All she had now was the opportunity for these lessons, and to bring him around to their side.
“Fine, you can have your wand back.” she finally said, feeling useless, and as though she’d played exactly into his plan. “I suppose you’d trick me into it eventually, anyway.” She muttered, grabbing her bag, and digging inside for a moment, pulling the thin black conduit out. She held it out, hand on her own wand, watching him carefully. Just because she’d agreed to it, didn’t mean she had to give up her defenses, or let him get away without a fight.
His pale fingers stretched outward slowly, and he plucked his wand from her palm, twirling it briefly, as though making sure it was still intact. He sat still, legs crossed, resting his elbows on his knees, and letting his wand dangle harmlessly in his fingers. Hermione realized when he didn’t attack her that she’d been expecting him to, without a doubt. She hadn’t expected at all for him to sit idly, looking almost bored, and… innocent. She sat opposite him, crossing her own legs, and meeting his gaze.
“What’s the first lesson?” She asked, trying to sound professional, and not at all apprehensive. Him having his wand back was making her stomach flip nervously, and she could barely pull her eyes away from where it hung in his grasp.
“The first lesson, is the incantation, wand movement, and intent.” He answered, lifting his wand, and pointing it at her. She held perfectly still, ready to shout a shield spell in an instant. “Simply point your wand. The incantation is easy to remember, ‘Legilimens’. It is the intent, and understanding behind it that is difficult to learn, and hone. To understand what you are doing, you must understand the mind. This is not as simple as some make it appear, it is not reading a mind as though it were a book, it is layered, structured, and complex.”
“Yes, I’ve studied a bit of muggle psychology, and I think I understand what you mean. There’s more than just what you’re thinking, there’s all different parts that make up those thoughts, and then there’s all the rest of the memories, and feelings underneath.”
“As crude a reference as it is, I suppose you’re correct.” Snape allowed, his wand falling back away from her direction. “There are many things to see in a mind, and finding the surface of those things can often be difficult, and nearly impossible to understand, when you do. If you’d allow me, I’d like to demonstrate the full effect of it on you, so you may experience just what you will be trying to learn.”
Hermione watched him for a moment, and nodded, remembering how shaky and weak Harry had been after his lessons. Would it be painful? Sickening? Snape lifted his wand again, his eyes meeting hers.
“Are you prepared, Miss Granger?” He asked, his face revealing nothing, and she gave a tiny nod, trying to hide her fear. “Legilimens!”
She was sucked away from the tent, right into her own memories. They seemed almost like a film at high-speed, until one caught, and she was watching her own childhood, unable to pull away from the scene of her own self, many years younger, sitting eagerly in a chair while her parents clutched her, listening to the explanation given by Professor McGonagall, as she delivered her letter, and broke the news to her parents. Hermione would be attending a school to learn witchcraft, in September. Her parents were worried, her father not believing at first, until Professor McGonagall summoned a tray of tea and biscuits out of thin air, offering the refreshments to Hermione and her parents. Hermione had been excited, for once feeling as though the oddness of her entire life was finally making sense, the confusion of strange happenings falling into place. She was a witch.
The scene changed with a fast blur, and she was on the train, sitting with Neville, chatting at him as he tried to keep hold of his toad. She’d heard Harry Potter was on the train, and was excited that she knew who that was. She’d already read all of her school books, and was eager to show her dedication to the classes. Trevor slipped from Neville’s fingers, and hopped right out the door, leaving Hermione and the pudgy boy to chase after him.
Hermione found herself running through a dark hallway with Neville, Harry, and Ron, pushing them aside to unlock a door, and escape trouble. They all scooted inside, and she knew what was in there now. Fluffy greeted them, and she found herself in another memory. Tea for the first time at Hagrid’s hut. She’d been amazed at the sheer size of everything.
The size of Madame Maxime and her horses had been a shock as well, and she found herself staring at the blue-clad witches and wizards from Beauxbatons as they entered Hogwarts for the Triwizard tournament. The same year she’d met Viktor. She tried hard not to think of him, but found herself looking up into his black eyes, as they danced, butterflies in her stomach, nervousness seeping from her every pore as the dark haired Bulgarian fawned over her. His eyes were almost as dark as Snape’s had been, as he stared down at her, oh no.
She was pulled to the memory of Snape leaning over her on her mum’s bed, his eyes burning as he told her to call him ‘professor’ again. She felt horror wash over her, realizing what Snape was witnessing through her mind. She had to shut him out. He’d already seen too much. He was leaning in to her, whispering in her ear, and she tried to cut off her emotions, and stop the memories. She was in a tent. She was NOT underneath him. Redirection, she tried, it’d never really happened. Just a fantasy…
She was yanked away, relieved for a split second, before she realized they were in the kitchen, her legs wrapped around him, his lips on hers-
She felt her face flaming as she braced herself against the floor of the tent, leaning over, staring in horror at Snape’s feet, unable to meet his eyes. He’d seen. He knew.
She was breathing heavily, and felt nauseous, worried, and violated. She’d been helpless to stop his assault on her mind. Even with as good as she’d gotten at clearing her mind, he’d still delved deeper, and deeper, finding just what she’d been trying to forget. He stayed silent. Too silent. She peeked up, trying to control her breath, and thoughts. He was staring down at her, his expression confused, and just as horrified as she felt. He looked almost angry, and she waited for him to speak, refusing to break the silence, and damn herself. If she said anything first, he’d know she was worried. She kept her eyes away from his, hoping he believed the lie about it being a fantasy.
“Do you feel you have a grasp on what you’ll be attempting to do?” He said, surprising her with the formality in his tone. She looked back up, finding his features schooled into blankness, back to teaching, as though he hadn’t seen anything.
“I… Yes.” She answered, swallowing, and trying to push the whole thing from her mind. If he was going to pretend it hadn’t happened, she could definitely cooperate. He’d said he didn’t remember, so what reason did he have to think it had actually happened?
“Then, whenever you’re ready.” He said, sitting comfortably, his face holding no worry. She nodded, and lifted her own wand.
“Legilimens!”
Nothing happened, and she frowned. She was still thinking about her own thoughts. No, she needed to think about his. She had to access his mind. She needed a goal. His childhood. Easy.
“Legilimens!” She said again, staring into his eyes, focusing as hard as she could on a child version of Snape. A miniature, with greasy black hair, and ill-fitting clothes, living in a dusty house, with rickety furniture. A small dark heap cowering in a corner, as a man yelled. A young boy on a playground, talking to a girl with red hair, showing her magic, and staring in wonder as she asked all sorts of questions. She was a witch, too, playing with flowers, jumping from swings, and she had a sister. They were going to go to Hogwarts together. They sat together on the train, his greasy black hair falling in his face as he and his best friend rode to their new home in excitement. There were other boys in their cabin, but he hardly paid them mind, his focus on the girl, Lily. He was in Slytherin, and his classes were tough, but he loved potions, and Lily was still his friend, even though she wore red and gold. He made new friends, too, but Lily didn’t approve. She was making friends too, and one boy in her year fancied her. James Potter. Teasing Severus, holding him upside down, Lily stalking away, laughter from onlookers-
“Enough!” Snape’s voice pulled Hermione back to the present, and she stared at him, realizing who she’d been staring at.
“You were friends with Harry’s mum?” She asked, the image strange to think about. Why had he been so cruel to Harry then? Because he was James’ child too, and James had been awful to him.
“That’s none of-” he paused, snapping his mouth shut, and looked away, his face flushed with anger at what she’d seen. “I was. Try again. This time, I’d like you to try and focus on one area, and hold that focus. Don’t get drawn away by the tide of my memories.” He said, the formal tone in his voice forced, and straining. Hermione nodded, and lifted her wand again. Focus on his childhood. Focus.
“Legilimens!”
She was pulled instantly back into the dusty house that she recognized as Spinner’s end. His father was yelling, and a dark haired woman cowered. The man lifted his hand, and the image changed, the park taking it’s place, Lily swinging, and jumping off, floating too-gently to the ground. Snape hid behind a bush, fascinated.
Hermione realized she’d changed memories, and focused again on the dusty house. One place, one memory. Don’t get swept away. The park vanished, and the boy wasn’t behind a bush, but behind a chair, hiding, as a slap reverberated through the room. His mother was on her hands and knees, crying, his father standing over her, still yelling. Severus was crying, too, holding a hand over his mouth, trying to stay quiet. He didn’t want to be found. She could feel the fear from him, the terror as his father lifted his hand again, yelling for the woman to be quiet. She whimpered, but managed to keep her lips locked together, looking up at him with pleading eyes, scrambling back to her feet, looking cowed, and meek. Severus hunkered farther behind his chair, as his father struck again, knocking the woman to the floor a second time.
The memory tried to pull away, but Hermione narrowed her eyes, staring at the little boy in the corner, focusing. She had to stay here. She had to see this. She had to keep her focus.
The elder Snape was pulling his belt from his pants, a vicious look in his eyes. Hermione felt horror from her own mind, as well as the memory, as he lifted the belt, and brought it down, hitting the woman once, twice. The small dark boy cried out, pulling the eyes of his father. He shrank away, his eyes wide, and his father stepped over the cowering woman, reaching for the boy. He was dragged from behind the chair, and tossed back to the floor, as the man lifted the belt, and brought it down harshly, across the back of the boy who’d curled in on himself for protection.
The memory faded, and though Hermione tried to hold on to it, to watch what happened next, it was pulled from her grasp. She found herself sitting once again in the tent, staring at a fully-grown Severus, whose eyes were no longer filled with terror, or pain. They held no emotion that she could see at all.
“I’m sorry…” Hermione mouthed, not sure she even made sound, but feeling as though she had to say it. It was the only thing she could say.
“Save it.” He said rudely, his lip curling harshly, his eyes narrowing. “You seem to be a quick study at Legilimency, Miss Granger. Perhaps you will manage to become adequate at it. Shall we move on?”
“Yes.” Hermione couldn’t push the image of little Snape being beaten from her mind, and looked away from his eyes, not wanting to share her thoughts with him.
“Cast the charm, but do not delve so deeply. Try to find where my thoughts are now, and stay there, studying what I’m thinking, as I speak.”
“As you speak?” Hermione asked, feeling as though he’d skipped a step.
“Yes, Granger. I will be speaking, and I expect you to listen to what I say, as well as decipher my thoughts. Can you manage that?” His tone was challenging, mocking, and she nodded, instantly burning with resolve to show him she wasn’t an idiot.
“Very well; Wolfsbane, or aconite, or monkshood, has certain properties…”
“Legilimens.” Hermione entered his thoughts, and was pulled instantly to the dusty old house, where a man sat in a chair, barking for his wife to bring him his coat. He was going out. This was the past. He was speaking about wolfbane right now. She could hear his voice, lecturing on its toxicity, and uses in potions. She focused on his words, trying to bring herself to that part of his thoughts.
“Though the leaves are toxic, the roots and flower are often used in potions…”
“Though if you eat any part of it, unbrewed, it’s all toxic.” She saw images flash through his mind of the results of eating the plant. The plant itself, and a werewolf.
“Aconite is often used in the Wolfsbane Potion,” more werewolves, Lupin’s face, a cauldron with steam rising from it, “It is also an ingredient used for making Wideye Potions.” she saw the green potion he meant, and felt his memories of it’s effects. Instant alertness, if a bit jittery. “It can be found on wild mountains, and fields, mostly in Scotland, and one should wear gloves when harvesting or working with the plant, as the poisons may linger on your skin, and await accidental ingestion.”
Hermione pulled away as his voice trailed to a stop, his black eyes coming back into focus as she rejoined him.
“Miss Granger, what color is the aconite flower?” Snape said, his voice holding the tone of one giving a quiz.
“Violet, sometimes blue.”
“And what would happen if you were to eat the leaves of this plant?”
“You’d be poisoned, and likely die.” She answered.
“What is a defining characteristic of a Wideye potion?”
“It’s bluish green, sparkles slightly, and the smoke shimmers.”
“And, Miss Granger, would you be more likely to find aconite in the sun, or shade?”
“The sun.”
“I’d offer you points, but that’s hardly applicable.” He said with a smirk, his voice mocking. She nodded, taking it as a compliment.
“Now, I’d like for you to try entering in the same fashion, without using the incantation, or pointing your wand.” She sat up straighter, and tucked her hands in her lap, staring deeply into his eyes.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He said, nodding slightly. Hermione focused as hard as she could into his eyes, trying to pick up on what was behind them. What was he thinking? Her eyes narrowed with concentration, and she saw a brief flash of brown. Brown? She put the curiosity from her mind, thinking instead of what else she could find. Pink. Brown. Green. Black. Dark Brown. Black. The soft sound of rain. The smell of shampoo. Brown. Green. Pink. Soft. A purple group of flowers. A forest. Rain.
Each came slowly, as though traveling through mud, with long pauses of his black eyes in between. She broke eye contact, and slouched a little, shaking her head to clear the strange thoughts from it.
“What did you find, Granger?” He asked, his voice quiet, expectant.
“Mostly colors. A few smells. I could hear the rain, inside your mind.” She said, smiling, remembering how it’s sounded slightly different. Louder. “I saw aconite, and the forest, but it was mostly pink, and brown, and green. I think that was the forest as well.” She guessed, trying to place the pink. Possibly a flower he’d seen?
“Fine. It’s getting late, that’ll be all for today.” He said, ending the lesson abruptly, and turning away. He began pulling his boots off, and she reached for her own shoes, deciding she might as well try for some sleep. If he was going to attempt an escape, he’d likely do it then, and not be expecting her to still be awake, unable to sleep as she’d been so frequently since the war had started.
She lay down on her bedroll, lying on her back and closing her eyes, listening to the sounds of him settling in across the small space. Her expansion charm had left the tent hardly more than two meters square, and she hadn’t realized how small of a space it was until the sounds of him rustling blankets sounded deafening. Her mind was drawn back to what he’d seen in her memories, and she felt her face redden at the thought of lying so near him after that. If he thought it was real, he’d likely feel guilty, or disgusted. If he thought it was a fantasy, she imaged he felt disgusted, and on edge. Was he waiting for her to jump at him, the same way she’d been waiting for him to attack her while he was fevered? Had he felt how much she’d enjoyed it? She hoped he hadn’t.
When the rustling stopped, she closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing, trying to feign sleep, while her mind ran amok. What she wouldn’t give to see into his mind, and ask about the Dream Fever. Things she hadn’t pondered since he’d been cured were popping up in her mind, and she found herself wondering, unable to quash every thought. Dream Fevers made one believe they were in a dream, that nothing they did or said was real. When unconscious, the dreams just kept going, hyper-realistic, and indiscernible from reality to the patient. He’d said the dreams were always so realistic. Had he dreamed of her before? Had he dreamt of kissing her before?
She could hear his breathing from across the tent, and she found the slow quiet sound relaxing, comforting. Her mind began to drift, following the sound of his deep breaths to a deeper dreamland, filled with black eyes, kisses, and hands that burned her skin.
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