Chapters 61-70

The Breaking of the Shell

Snape still felt quite unbalanced when he entered Minerva’s office almost two hours later, a carefully prepared pensieve in his hands.

It had taken him longer than normally to create the memory of the attack. Partly this was due to the fact that second-hand memories were always more fuzzy than original ones, but the main problem had simply been an inability to concentrate on his part, an unusual difficulty concerning the separation of facts and emotions.

What he held in his hands now was as objective and purified a version of the events has he was able to produce. He hadn’t been able to contain the malicious mind-touch without revealing other things, however. He would have to simply tell Minerva—and, he supposed, Potter, about this. And hope that it would be enough.

‘Headmistress. Mr. Weasley. Mr.—Williamson.’ He sighed. ‘Potter.’

He put the pensieve on the table and sat down next to the young Auror.

‘Professor Snape.’ Potter nodded to him. ‘How is Hermione?’

‘She was asleep when I left her. Madam Pomfrey is with her, of course,’ Snape replied tersely.

‘Will she be all right? Molly is very worried. Hermione is like a daughter to us –’ Arthur leant over, oblivious of the pensieve. Snape only prevented the red-haired wizard from knocking it over by grabbing the bowl and pushing it into Minerva’s hands.

His hand snaked up to his throbbing forehead. ‘She will be fine in a few days. We were in time to…to prevent…’ To keep her from being raped and killed. Oh Gods. ‘He– Miss Granger suffered a broken jaw, a fracture of her left wrist, plus numerous lacerations and contusions, and a mild concussion. She was healed, of course, but it takes time to recuperate from such injuries.

‘But she will recover completely.’

Arthur sighed. ‘That’s a relief.’

Williamson picked that moment to join the conversation. In spite of purple robe and ponytail, the sharp gaze and self-assured demeanour of the young wizard made clear at a glance that he was not an Auror by chance. ‘I’ve been over the incident with Mr. Potter. Is there anything you can add, now that you’ve retrieved the relevant memories from Miss Granger?’

She loves me. She wanted to save my life, and she loves me.

Snape cleared his throat, forgetting the procedure instilled in him by Petrel. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarser than it had in weeks. ‘As Mr. Potter no doubt told you, upon our arrival at the scene we happened upon five Muggles who were under the Imperius curse, and a wizard of unknown identity who cast an ‘In Cinere Muto’ on himself, thus incinerating himself on the spot.

‘But yes, there is more.

‘The wizard who killed himself bore the Dark Mark. And Miss Granger got a good look at it. It was active when she saw it. Burning black on white skin.
‘I have also reason to assume that the wizard was an accomplished Legilimens, who manipulated Miss Granger into straying away from the concert hall. To what end, I cannot say. But I do not believe that—’ He swallowed. ‘I do not believe that simply killing her was all that was on his agenda.’

oooOooo

Later, in the solitude of his bedroom, he could not settle down. Too much was on his mind.

Hermione Granger. The best friend of Harry Potter. Heroine of the War. His apprentice. His perfect, safe solution to end his miserable existence.

Was in love with him.
Loved him, even.

From her bizarre fascination with his nose to her ridiculous notion that in his arms of all places true safety and security might be found.

He paced the room.

When had his life become so strange?
And what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Severus stopped and crossed his arms. He could not deny that he was attracted to Hermione.

The soft, delicate curves of her body. Those wild curls. That brave, infuriating smile … That inquisitive, stubborn mind. Her calm, consequent caring.

Of love, he knew nothing. He had loved but once in his life, and that had ended with a man he hated marrying the woman he loved, and herself dead at his feet before her son was even two years old …

Now the Dark Mark was burning again. Why? How? He had no idea. Voldemort was dead. He was certain of that. This Dark Lord was gone. But that didn’t mean no other would rise. He sighed. All the signs pointed in that direction.

Severus slumped down on his bed, stared at the wall, his thoughts everywhere and nowhere at once.

What should he do now? Where should he go from here?

At last he shook his head and pulled out his main wand. Yew. For transformation and renewal. The core: dragon heartstring—for strength of heart. And his new secondary wand shared the core with Hermione’s. Feather of a sphinx for joint wisdom. He felt his lips curl into a wry smile. The irony of the symbolism was not lost on him.

For a moment, he sat in intense concentration. Then he murmured, ‘Expecto patronum.’

Silver haze drifted up from his wand, forming the translucent shape of a doe. Quietly, gracefully, she moved around the room, returning to him now and again to nuzzle him with gentle, worried touches of her shimmering nose.

Severus remained where he was, motionless, gazing at the blurred shape of his borrowed Patronus in silence. Thinking about love and life scared him. He was not used to such activities. But Severus knew he had no choice. He had to make a decision.

When the eastern horizon brightened with a new morning, Severus lowered his wand.

It was time.

‘You cannot protect me any longer,’ he whispered. ‘Farewell.—And thank you.’

For a moment the silver doe stood in the first golden light of dawn that filtered through the window. Then she seemed to exhale in a sigh.

And was gone.