|
Hermione’s eyes felt as if they were
being weighted down, yet she was hesitant to stop reading.
Her inability to forget the horrors of the past was quickly
being replaced with an inability to stop thinking about
Professor Snape and his . . . condition. Whether this new
obsession was more therapeutic for Hermione than it ever
would be for Snape or not, she was driven to seek an
answer. Instead of spending her evenings preparing the
NullEmotion potion, she spent them researching a cure.
Reason told her that if there was a
potion that could reverse the Null Emotion potion, Snape
would have found it by now. Thus, Hermione had been reading
everything she could find on muggle psychology, seeking
information on curing emotional disorders. This was an
avenue of study she was sure Snape had never considered, and
she knew that the science had worked wonders on a variety of
conditions from post-traumatic-stress-disorder for abuse
victims to clinically antisocial patients. Although many
would call Snape antisocial while referring to his dislike
of other people, in reality a clinically anti-social person
has a lack of empathy for others, no ability to feel their
triumphs and losses. Snape’s disorder goes a step further
in that he can feel no emotion for himself either, but still
the diagnosis was closer than most.
She skipped over the sections on
medicinal treatments for the disorders and began reading
about other, more holistic courses of therapy. She needed
something that could help draw out the buried emotions, be
they good or bad. Preferably good, but she’d take what she
could get.
Hermione yawned again and rubbed her
eyes. Defeat. She’d have to wait until morning to
continue.
A week had passed since the
confrontation with Snape in Myrtle’s bathroom and Hermione
had collected volumes of information in that time. She’d
seen the Professor at meals and occasionally nodded to him
in the hallway. They had not spoken of the incident, but
she could tell that he was keeping an eye on her, to make
sure she did not take any drastic measures.
Honestly, the danger of that was
passed. The combination of Dreamless Sleep and another
overriding obsession subjugated her grief sufficiently for
her to function. It wasn’t completely gone, of course, nor
were the nightmares, but their intensity and frequency had
eased.
Hermione had no intention of telling
this to Snape, she thought as she purposefully strode
towards his laboratory, books in hand. She’d drafted a
course of treatment and she would say or do anything it took
to cajole him into agreeing.
The door was open; obviously Snape was
less concerned for his privacy when the castle was nearly
abandoned. Hermione peeked inside to see Snape standing by
the counter, back to the door, filling vials from his
cauldron.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said hesitantly.
Snape whirled to face her, then relaxed
when he saw who was addressing him. He must have been deep
in thought not to hear me coming, thought Hermione.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’d like
to speak with you if it is not too inconvenient.”
Snape shrugged, “I have to bottle these
draughts immediately, but I suppose I can listen while I
work.” He turned back to his task.
Hermione ventured closer and pulled a
chair up next to the counter so as to sit where he could see
her as she spoke. “I’ve been doing some reading,” she
started.
Snape snickered, “You? Read?” then
hushed at Hermione’s answering glare.
She continued, “I’ve been researching
possible treatments to counteract the effects of the
NullEmotion potion, and. . .”
“You’re wasting your time,” remarked
Snape in annoyance. “If there was a cure I’d have found it
by now. I think I know at least a little more than you do
about potions.”
“I’m not talking about potions.
Believe it or not there are other possibilities. I’ve read
about some promising emotional therapy methodologies that I
think are worth a try,” Hermione countered.
“Emotional therapy methodologies,” he
repeated. “That sounds like muggle mumbo-jumbo to me.”
“It is,” agreed Hermione. “Muggle that
is, not mumbo-jumbo. There are actions and experiences that
can be used to draw an emotional response from a person who
has difficulty feeling or showing emotions, they’ve been
used to treat a variety of medical and emotional disorders.
Who’s to say they won’t have an effect on a magically
induced emotional disorder?”
Snape was unconvinced. “It sounds like
rubbish to me. A complete waste of time.”
Time for the blackmail. “Maybe it is a
waste of time, Professor Snape, but I’ve got to have
SOMETHING to fill my days with that isn’t thoughts of the
past. You know how desperate I was last week. The
Dreamless Sleep potion only helps at night. The only thing
that keeps me going through the day is having a purpose.
Right now, your condition is that purpose.”
Hermione stopped speaking in order to
wipe her eyes and sniffle. The sound startled Snape into
looking at her as she wavered her lips, as if trying not to
cry. Clearly Snape was unaccustomed to crying women.
“Surely there must be something more
important you can occupy yourself with,” he strained as he
handed her his handkerchief. “Something that has some
possibility of actually being useful, perhaps?”
“I don’t have anything else,” she
sobbed into the cloth, “I’ve rearranged the books in the
library several times, they’re perfect as they are. My
friends are either dead or far away, there’s nothing to
occupy my time at all. Except this project.”
She wiped her eyes and looked sadly up
at him, “You may have given up on yourself, but please don’t
make me give up on you. I need something to live for.”
Emotionless or not, Snape was
apparently not immune to the teary guilt trip treatment. He
sighed and pulled up a stool to sit beside her. “So tell me
about these. . .treatments. . .”
Hermione raced to the staff room, not
wanting to be late for Snape’s first ‘session’. She feared
that he’d change his mind with the smallest provocation, so
she planned to arrive early and have tea waiting.
Unfortunately, she took just a little too long selecting the
perfect materials for the exercise and was running behind
schedule.
She needn’t have worried. The staff
room was abandoned when she arrived, save Winky the House
Elf, who was dusting the tables.
“Oh dear! Winky is not knowing that
Miss Hermione would be needing the staff room! Winky is
sorry to have troubled, and will leave now.” Winky’s ears
drooped as she slinked towards the exit. Although she had
become a more productive member of the Hogwarts housekeeping
team, Winky still had the self-flagellating personality
common to her kind.
“No, please, Winky,” soothed Hermione.
“You’re no bother at all. In fact, if you could please
fetch some tea and biscuits for Professor Snape and I, I
should be much obliged.” The years had given Hermione some
insight into House Elvian psychology, and she’d abandoned
her radical stance in favor of a more subversive ‘woo them
with kindness’ approach.
Winky nodded vigorously, before
scurrying off to perform the task. “Yes, Miss Hermione.
Right away, Miss Hermione!”
She’d decided to use the staff room for
their session because of the atmosphere. The room was cosy,
with fluffy armchairs, lots of pillows and a large garden
window to let in the sun. Given the nature of the exercise,
Hermione was loath to work in the dank ambiance of the
Potions Dungeon. She suspected that the change of scenery
would do more to draw out an emotional response than Snape’s
more familiar habitat could.
Hermione hurried to get the room set up
just right for the exercise. She dragged the two comfiest
looking armchairs over by the window and set them facing
each other, then moved a small end table next to each. When
Winky returned with the snacks, Hermione motioned for her to
set them on one of the end tables. Room configured
appropriately, Hermione sat in one of the chairs and
waited. And waited.
Snape ambled in ten minutes past their
meeting time. Not really all that late, thought Hermione,
just late enough to make a statement. As if she didn’t know
that he wasn’t thrilled to be participating. She’d just
have to make some progress, to motivate him to continue.
“Thank you for coming, sir. Would you
like some tea?”
Snape acquiesced and seated himself in
the other chair, his expression stoic as he accepted a tea
cup and took several sips. “Let’s get this over with, shall
we?”
Hermione had steeled herself not to
become annoyed, as she was expecting such an attitude from
her reluctant patient. She took the stack of carefully
selected pictures from the table and held them in her lap.
“We’re going to start off with
something very simple, it’s a commonly used technique called
word association. I will show you a picture, and you will
tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you see it.
If you think you’re having an emotional response to the
picture, tell me that as well. Don’t feel badly if you
don’t though, because we’re only just starting and it may
take some time.” Snape listened quietly and sank deeper into
his armchair as Hermione explained the routine.
Hermione held up the first picture,
that of a crying baby. Snape stared at it for several
moments silently. “You’re supposed to say the first thing
you think of, not formulate an answer.”
“Noisy,” he countered.
“Good,” Hermione held up the next
picture, an impressionist landscape showing a beachfront
shoreline. “And this one?”
“Brighton. I’ve been there, but the
picture is wrong. That building does not exist.”
Hermione sighed. She’d better stay
away from local geography, she wanted a reaction, not a
critique. “How about this?”
Snape glanced at the Muggle photo of
several golden retriever puppies sleeping in a pile. His
eyes caught and he stared for several seconds as if
disturbed, before responding with a slight frown, “Cute.”
Hermione stifled a giggle, she’d
wondered what Snape would say when she selected the
picture. It was unbelievably cute, but Snape didn’t exactly
seem the type to appreciate ‘cute’. It gave her an idea.
She grabbed the project diary she’d brought with her from
the table next to her and jotted the idea down.
“What?” asked Snape defensively. “What
are you writing?”
“Just my observations,” she answered
with a smile before holding up a picture of a burn victim.
“How about this one?”
He cringed, “Horrible.”
“And this,” referring to an image of a
child eating an ice-cream cone.
“Messy.”
“Just a few more,” encouraged
Hermione. The next picture was a family portrait, more
specifically her cousin’s family portrait. Two adults and
three children beamed at the camera while wearing their
Sunday best.
“Illusion,” snapped Snape.
Hermione cocked her head and asked, “In
what way?”
“Look at them, all neat and smiling.
It’s obviously supposed to be a happy family but no one
really looks like that.”
“You don’t think so?” she prompted.
“Of course not,” he sneered. “Real
children don’t sit neatly in their best clothes, they play
in the dirt and get into scrapes and get thrashings for
their trouble. Daddy doesn’t smile, he shouts, and Mum’s
hair is gray and her smile is worn. Portraits like this are
all about creating the illusion of a happy family, because
no one would want a reminder of the reality.”
Snape’s words gave Hermione a sinking
feeling that she was getting an insight into Snape’s family
life as a child, and that it wasn’t pretty. Emotional or
no, he had some pretty strong ideas on the subject. She
jotted down some more notes.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” said
Snape with a frown, “I feel like I’m being graded.”
Hermione laughed, “Well, now you know
how your students feel.” She sagely neglected to mention
that he’d expressed a feeling, merely made note of the
expression and circled it.
“Next picture,” she said as she
produced another photo for his perusal. This one showed a
graveyard on a dreary day. Hundreds of gravestones filled
the picture, providing a backdrop for the open grave in the
foreground.
“Peace.” Snape’s eyes met Hermione’s.
Though they were expressionless, she knew what he was
thinking, and it saddened her. More importantly, it
furthered her resolve to break through the shell surrounding
him. |