| Hermione had decided that it would be
safest to invade Snape’s private stores at around four in
the morning. Experience told her that his nocturnal
wanderings rarely occurred later than two a.m., and she
preferred he not interrupt her efforts to burgle him.
Wishing she had the security of Harry’s invisibility cloak,
she left her quarters at the appropriate time and headed for
the dungeon.
Little butterflies of nervousness fluttered inside her as
she made her way down the dank stairway. Although the dragon
scales and dead boggart were harder to come by, this was the
acquisition she’d dreaded, because it involved Snape. No
matter that she was now an adult and in fact a faculty
member, with Snape in particular she had difficulty emerging
from the naughty schoolgirl persona he’d bestowed her with.
Though he was unlikely to discover her burglary, at least
for awhile, she had no idea what she’d say were she
confronted.
She passed through the potions lab toward the back of the
room and the entrance to Snape’s supply closet. She reached
the door, and drew her wand to check for wards. Curious, she
thought, realizing the door was protected by only the
simplest of wards. These she disarmed with minimal effort
before opening the door and stepping quietly inside. “Lumos!”
she whispered, and the room was lit.
Little had changed since her last visit, thought
Hermione. The walls were lined by shelves upon shelves of
bottles, jars, flasks, and boxes standing neatly at
attention in even rows. The stale stench of poor ventilation
filled the room leading Hermione to breathe through her
mouth as she traversed the narrow path through the room,
skimming the labels as she passed.
Snape, being the anal-retentive stickler for order that
he was, had organized his supplies first categorically and
then alphabetically within each group. This provided
Hermione with the good fortune to locate the Molinar dust
quickly, on the top shelf with the other “Earth Derivatives”
between Moganite powder and Molybdenite crystals.
Hermione was about to bring the bottle down with the
summoning charm, but noted that the bottles were sitting so
close together that she’d likely knock the others over in
the process. Snape apparently had no difficulty reaching the
top shelves, as there was no stool in sight. She fetched a
stool from the classroom and carefully dragged it into the
storeroom.
Pleased with herself for solving the problem the
old-fashioned way, she carefully grasped the bottle of
Molinar dust and climbed off the stool. After extracting a
small vial from her robes, she transferred a good amount of
the Molinar dust to it and returned the original back to its
place on the top shelf. After returning the stool to the
lab, she gave the small storeroom one more look to ensure
she’d left no trace of her entry before reapplying the
door’s wards and departing.
The NullEmotion potion would take two weeks to brew, less
time than the Polyjuice potion. Despite this, the process
was more complex and the need for perfect timing more
crucial. Appreciating her own sense of irony, Hermione
decided to brew the potion in the same place she had the
Polyjuice potion – Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She’d
considered brewing it in her quarters, but the smell would
have been unbearable. And as when she was a second year
student, no one used Myrtle’s bathroom, especially not in
the summer when few females were even on campus.
“Why, hello Hermione. Where’s Harry?” Myrtle floated out
of her toilet to greet her. The morose ghost apparently had
not forgotten her post-mortal crush on The Boy Who Lived.
Hermione began emptying ingredients from her pack and
spreading them out on the floor. “Hello, Myrtle. Harry’s
graduated, he’s not at Hogwarts anymore.” She saw the
ghost’s features break into a frown and quickly added, “But
he asked me to say hello to you.”
“Really? He asked about poor, pathetic Myrtle? Yippee!”
Myrtle dove back into her toilet with a loud splash,
allowing Hermione to begin the preparations in solitude.
Only the thought of the blessed peace of apathy got
Hermione through those next two weeks. The nightmares
continued unabated, and the loneliness she felt with Ron’s
absence intensified. She’d nearly completed the
reorganization of the library, and was left with only her
own thoughts and the brewing of the potion (not to mention
Myrtle’s decidedly one-sided conversation) to occupy her.
She’d used a complex series of spells as well as the help of
Dobby the House Elf to perform the maneuvers that required
two pairs of hands, and despite Dobby’s inherent clumsiness
he’d performed adequately.
She saw little of Professor Snape during this time. He
apparently had not discovered her trespass into his private
stores, for he said nothing to her of it. He occasionally
stopped by the library for some book or other, and once she
caught him staring oddly as she walked by. Typically he made
little attempt to engage her in conversation, contenting
himself to gaze upon her with a hard look of something that
was most likely contempt, she thought.
But no matter, Hermione thought to herself. The potion is
nearly complete.
Late Friday night, Hermione began working on the last part
of the potion brewing process. It was anticlimactic, really,
all she needed to do was add the willow root and stir
continuously for an hour. Much simpler than some of the
other steps, it left her time to ponder her day.
She’d been too nervous to eat dinner, had satisfied
herself with digging holes in the mashed potatoes with her
spoon while ingesting none of it. In an unexpected turn of
events, Professor Snape had actually attempted to speak to
her at dinner. Hermione couldn’t remember what he’d asked,
just that she’d managed a non-committal answer before
excusing herself for an early night. She felt his eyes
boring into her as she departed. He couldn’t know, could he?
“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” The clock’s pronouncement startled
Hermione from her stirring. She pulled the spoon out of the
cauldron and stared into the amorphous gray mixture inside.
The potion was complete.
Should she drink it here, or take it back to her room?
Definitely drink it here, she thought. It smelled like
something had died in it (which was to a point true, as
there were many dead things in it). It also wouldn’t do to
risk spilling it, since she had to drink nearly a liter of
the stuff for it to fully purge her system of all emotion.
She ignored the niggling feeling of fear that suddenly
enveloped her, rejecting it as nerves. She’d spent a lot of
time and money on this potion, it wouldn’t do to be cowardly
now. She scooped a glob into a glass she’d brought for that
purpose, and raised it to her lips. “Bottoms up!”
Before Hermione took her first sip, the door to Myrtle’s
bathroom slammed open and Professor Snape stormed in, his
eyes burning. “Vitrum Perfringo!” The glass in Hermione’s
hand shattered, spilling its odiferous contents down the
front of her robes.
“Agh!” Hermione yelped as she jumped back from the
falling glass, then turned to Snape. “What do you think
you’re doing?”
“Accio cauldron!” When the cauldron reached Snape, he
dumped the contents of a vial he’d been holding inside. The
potion began to spatter, change color and then evaporate in
a green cloud of smoke.
“NO!” Hermione screamed, trying to rescue her efforts
from Snape’s destructive hand, but it was too late. The
potion was literally floating away before her eyes. She
dropped to her knees and let her sorrow and frustration take
over.
Snape looked down at her prostrate form. “I’ve spent the
last two weeks arguing with myself about you and your
potion. Whether I should interfere. I almost let you do it.
But I couldn’t. No matter how annoying I find you I could
not let you curse yourself in this way.” His voice dropped
in volume. “I wouldn’t let my worst enemy do it, let alone a
silly little girl just out of school.”
“You don’t understand!” Hermione bawled, “I needed that
potion! I can’t bear the pain without it anymore!”
He continued staring at her with hard eyes, then reached
inside his robes and presented her with another small vial.
She sniffled, looking questioningly up at him.
“The vial in your hand contains the juice from the
citriala fruit. It is unarguably one of the fastest acting
toxins known in the wizard world. Drink that, and you will
die painlessly within five seconds.” He gritted his teeth
and continued staring. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“I don’t understand.”
Snape snorted, “Surely you’re smart enough for this one,
Miss Granger. A quick death is infinitely preferable to the
hell to which you were about to commit yourself.”
Hermione stared down at the small, seemingly innocuous
vial in her hand. It seemed so inconsequential, so lacking
in menace. But if what Professor Snape said was true, she
could drink this and her pain would end instantly. After
several excruciatingly long moments of consideration,
Hermione handed the vial back to the man in front of her,
who pocketed it in response. “No.”
“Very well, then. I can only suppose that
this…escapade…of yours was brought on by what happened here
in April, and that you’re still feeling the effects of it.”
Hermione nodded.
“Nightmares?” She nodded again.
Snape clicked his tongue, “You should have come to myself
or Madame Pomfrey for some dreamless sleep potion.
Nightmares are quite easily cured, you should know that.”
“Dreamless sleep wouldn’t have stopped the pain.” She
glared at him. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Of course not, Miss Granger.” Snape sneered back at her,
“I know nothing about having the people I care about die in
front of me, and knowing I was powerless to stop it. I know
nothing about playing the scene in my mind time and time
again, reliving the guilt each time. I don’t know what it
feels like to wake up night after night in a cold sweat,
after dreaming that the one I loved and lost hated me for
letting them die. And I have no idea what it feels like to
be so desperate to forget it all that I would try anything
to make it happen.”
She wiped her eyes and stood to face him, moved by
empathy with his words, when a new thought struck her. “How
did you know? What I had been planning, I mean.”
He said nothing, so she continued. “You saw me reading
‘Controlling Emotions Through Potions’, I know, but that
doesn’t explain how you found me here tonight.” She paused
to think. “You must have been watching me for weeks. But why
would you, who so obviously despises me, be so concerned
with my taking this potion?”
The haunted look in his eyes gave her his answer.
“Because you’ve taken it yourself, haven’t you?”
“Brilliant deduction, Miss Granger. I’d award Gryffindor
points, were you still a student.”
Hermione’s natural curiosity overshadowed her
disappointment at being foiled. “What is so bad about the
NullEmotion potion that you would stop me from taking it?
Why is it a fate worse than death?”
“Because it doesn’t work, Miss Granger.” Snape spat. “Not
the way it is supposed to work, anyway. Oh, for the first
few weeks I was pleasantly numb, but as my body settled in
and became accustomed to its new condition it adapted. The
potion can’t control that gnawing feeling that there’s
something just not right, something you’ve missed. And it
can’t stop you from noticing that the things that used to
bring you joy, like the satisfaction of a job well done,
leave you empty now. The awareness is not gone, just the
feeling, leaving you a hollow shell fully aware of your
condition. The few friends you have leave you, because you
no longer can relate to their joys and sorrows. And the
guilt you’d hoped to leave behind is replaced by regret,
regret that you’ve discarded your life in favor of a flat
existence where there is no pleasure and no pain but only
isolation and nervousness.”
Hermione was dumbfounded. She said nothing, letting Snape
continue. He had been staring into her eyes as he spoke, but
now he began to pace.
“And just when you think you’ve come to terms with this
new mode of existence, it changes yet again. The effects of
the potion weaken, but not evenly. The very strongest of
emotions pierce through your armor. You watch the man who
was like a father to you die, and you can feel the grief, a
hundred times more intensely than before because you are now
unaccustomed to it. The joy, though, it still eludes you and
you mechanically function throughout your days, hoping that
someday, the potion will fade enough to let it through.”
“So that, Miss Granger, is why I couldn’t let you do it.
Bothersome know-it-all that you are, I nonetheless have no
wish to see you transformed into a carbon copy of a person,
like I have been. Thus, I suggest you deal with your
problems in the ordinary way, by using Dreamless Sleep for
the nightmares and finding someone to confide in about the
rest. I’m sure young Mr. Potter would be happy to oblige you
in that regard.”
Hermione’s gaze traveled to the pocket of Snape’s robe.
“Would you really have let me kill myself?”
“Of course not, you foolish girl. I’d have had a hard
time explaining that one to the Ministry, not to mention
Minerva McGonagall. The contents of that vial merely would
have rendered you unconscious, allowing me to deliver you to
St. Mungo’s for treatment and suicide watch. I needed to
know how desperate you were.”
He looked around the room, surveying the mess. “I’ll take
care of this mess, I want you to march right up to the
infirmary and get some Dreamless Sleep potion. Now!”
Hermione obeyed, scampering off to the infirmary before
returning to her room. She did not drink the Dreamless Sleep
potion straight away, however, for her mind was a whirlwind
of thought that she did not wish to appease. Snape had used
the NullEmotion potion. It explained so much, why he was so
cold and unfeeling, why sarcasm lined every comment. Why he
was able to continue as a spy among the ranks of the Death
Eaters, unaffected by the horrors he undoubtedly witnessed
there. If Snape was what the NullEmotion potion made one,
Hermione was relieved he’d prevented her from drinking it.
She curled up under a blanket and considered Snape’s
words. He must have taken the potion after he left the Death
Eaters, she reasoned. They’d killed someone he loved and he
couldn’t bear the grief or the guilt. She wondered who it
was that Snape had loved, she had trouble imagining him
loving anyone. His words though left little doubt though
that he had indeed loved once, and most intensely at that.
Fatigue hit her all at once; the hour was late and the
evening’s events were draining. Hermione hadn’t even a
chance to dose herself with the Dreamless Sleep potion
before she nodded off in the chair where she sat.
The dream was different now, Hermione’s unconscious mind
told her. She was not in Ron’s dorm room but in a thickly
forested grove, where a dozen hooded figures stood in a
circle around the collapsed figure of a girl. The men jeered
as one by one they stepped forward and cast curses upon her
twitching but barely mobile body. The figure that cast
Cruciatus used a voice that was undoubtedly Lucius Malfoy’s;
the glee with which he laughed as he finally released the
curse was unmistakably his.
When the other eleven figures had finished, the last
stepped forth. Its hooded head stared down silently at the
girl who was now barely breathing. “Go on, Severus, finish
her off!” came a jeer from the circle.
The hood fell back, exposing his head as he raised his
wand and chanted the most feared of the Unforgivables,
“Avada Kedavra!” The girl’s slight breath ceased.
Hermione woke with a start. She was horrified by what
she’d seen in the dream, though she had no way of knowing
whether Snape had ever participated in such an atrocity. She
suspected though that it was not far from the truth; Snape
had been a Death Eater, so he undoubtedly had killed either
directly or indirectly through his potion making expertise.
Snape most likely had much to feel guilty for.
She arose and went to the kitchen to start some water in
the teapot. Still focused on Snape’s revelations from the
previous night, she recalled more of his soliloquy. “You
watch the man who was like a father to you die, and you can
feel the grief, a hundred times more intensely than before
because you are now unaccustomed to it. The joy, though, it
still eludes you…” Snape must have meant Professor
Dumbledore; she’d always known there was some strong bond
there, for Professor Dumbledore had always shown inalienable
faith in Snape’s loyalties. Though their beloved headmaster
had been overly wont to trust at times, he was no fool and
would not have been so confident without reason.
It was the second part of that statement that niggled
Hermione’s thoughts. He could feel the grief. However many
years had past since he first drank the NullEmotion potion,
its effects were weakening. Not fully, since apparently no
positive emotions were creeping through, but it was
weakening. Could this process be helped along? Could Snape
be restored to a fully emotional human being once again?
What kind of man would a fully emotional Severus Snape
be, she wondered as she poured her tea. |