Mist and Vapors

He knocked on her door with a hard expression on his face. She opened before he was even through knocking. "Severus..." There was relief in her voice.

"You have five minutes."

"Will you come in, or do we have to have this conversation in the door jamb?"

After a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the door.

"Have a seat - please?" She motioned to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

"I prefer to stand."

"All right, then." She walked a couple of paces away, then turned back to face him. Her face looked paler now than it had when he had come in.

"As I see it, there is really nothing I can say that will make you believe me."

Well, she had that much right, he thought with a smirk.

"So that leaves two options. One is Veritaserum. The other - well, Minerva McGonagall tells me you are a Legilimens. Is that true?"

He nodded cautiously. "I do have some experience."

"I have to admit that I'm not particularly fond of the idea of taking Veritaserum. The thought of not being in control of what comes out of my mouth for an extended period of time is - disconcerting." She was pacing back and forth in the room. "And then there is the problem that the use of Veritaserum is strictly regulated, and you would probably think that it is just a trick my father and I cooked up to accuse you of illegally drugging me." There was a bitter edge to her voice.

He looked at her, a hint of guilt eating at the edges of his mind. That had indeed been the thought that had just occurred to him.

Turning to face him again, she swallowed hard. "As a Legilimens, how... precise are you? In other words, if I try to think of a memory, hold it in the forefront of my mind, how hard would it be for you to access it?"

He looked at her. "I can't guarantee it will be the first thing I see, but I should be able to find it fairly quickly." He had learned the basics from Albus Dumbledore, many years ago. Then, almost two years of training the Potter boy - no matter how much he had hated the lessons with the obnoxious teen, the constant practice had sharpened his skill, as well. He was quite certain it wouldn't take him long to find what she wanted him to see.

She nodded. "Okay. Let's get it over with, then." She faced him full on. Her face was by now white as a sheet.

"For someone who has nothing to hide you seem to be quite nervous," he said with a sneer, a sneer that was more out of force of habit than anything else.

"There are things about me that I prefer you didn't know, yes. Not until I choose to tell you, anyways. Is that so terrible? Would you welcome the possibility of someone finding out everything that is in your head? Any memory, any secret?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He was silent for a moment. No, of course not.

"Will you give me your word that you will pull out of my thoughts once you have seen what you need to see?" There was a slight tremble to her voice.

He looked at her without comprehension. Why was she doing this? Why allow him access at all? The idea was obviously terrifying her.

"You're afraid." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Then why? You must know that no matter what I promise, once I access your mind there is very little you can do to stop me from seeing what I want to - unless you are an Occlumens, of course." Instantly, there it was again, that stab of suspicion. What if she was? What if this was just another way to trick him?

"Oh Severus..." She was close to tears now. "That is why. Because I am so tired of seeing that look in your eyes. Because I don't want to spend the rest of the year getting scowled at every time I so much as look in your direction. Because I don't like you thinking of me this way."

And why would that matter to her? Why would she give a shrivelfig about what he thought of her?

"Will you give me your word?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Then I am ready."

Her eyes met his, establishing the necessary eye contact. It surprised him what he saw there - there was fear, yes. That, he had expected. It was the trust in her eyes that surprised him. I am afraid of what you are about to do, her eyes said. But I am not afraid of you

If he was any sort of gentleman, he would stop now, he thought. Thank her for the offer, and leave. But what if she was counting on exactly that? That just the offer would be enough to persuade him? With a bitter smirk, he pulled out his wand. He wasn't a gentleman. Everyone knew that.

She was only a few feet from him. He could see her chest moving in short, quick breaths. Suddenly, he was aware that she was not the only one in the room who was nervous.

His experience with Legilimency had been essentially limited to two people - Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Unlike the Dark Lord, he had only ever been capable of wanded Legilimency. It was Dumbledore who had taught him, had told him what that particular art was all about - not so much about the memories, but about telling truth from lie. That memories were just a channel of accessing the emotions, emotions that told the truth. The little he had learned had been a by-product of learning Occlumency, an art that Dumbledore, in his case, had considered much more important.

After that, there had been little chance to practice - very few people were willing to hold still and let him rifle through their heads like through so many pages of a diary. Not that he could blame them. Harry Potter, by orders of Dumbledore, was the only one who had had to submit to that.

He had found that there was a texture to the minds he touched. Albus Dumbledore's mind, trained as it was to only let him see and feel exactly what the older wizard wanted him to, reminded him of nothing so much as bland oatmeal.

Touching Harry's mind had been like plunging into ice water - the anger and hatred for his teacher coming through like so many sharp shards floating in the utter coldness. The early lessons had not been a pleasant experience for either one of them.

Once, he had tried his skill on one of the Dark Lord's terrified victims, destined to die soon anyways. He had never cared to repeat the experience.

What would he find when he touched hers?

"Are you ready?" Her nervous voice made him realize with a start that he had stood there for who-knows-how-long, lost in his thoughts.

He nodded, and focused. "Legilimens." His wand shot forward as he cast the spell.

A girl of about eight or nine; a woman standing in front of her, shielding her from a much younger version of Frank Hannigan...

The same girl, a few years older, following a casket down the street to the cemetery...

Now in her twenties, at the dinner table, laughing at the story a very short, white-haired woman was telling...

Standing outside a door, with her arms around a tall, unattractive man dressed in dark monochromes...

Severus barely had time to flinch as he recognized himself when, finally, he found himself in the memory she wanted him to see

There was Frank Hannigan, coming through the door...

"Father, I consider Severus Snape a friend. And even if I didn't like him, I wouldn't do such a thing..."

"I don't think anything that he had to do could possibly be more barbaric than what you did to him..."

Even as he was watching, there was still the bitter sting of doubt. Even memories could be faked - they could have staged the scene, conveniently leaving it for him to 'find'...it wouldn't be hard to do...

But no - even as the thought arose, he was able to put it away for good. Yes, they could have staged the scene - but there was no mistaking the emotions. The revulsion towards her father, the anger at his proposal - no, this was real, of that much he was certain. She was showing him the truth.

"I was just giving that Slytherin scum a taste of his own medicine. He deserved to suffer..."

"I don't need two days. Just leave me alone..."

"If you choose to side with that Death Eater, I no longer have a daughter..."

He should pull back now, he knew. He had given his word. Yet there was something else he could feel - cool, soft, and refreshing, like a spring breeze, as real as the anger and revulsion...but enjoyable...

At that moment the memory shifted again; there was just a glimpse of a girl looking through the window of a train, crying as it pulled away from the platform... and then it was over - he lowered his wand, and looked away. He had given his word.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then, "You saw?" she asked quietly. When his eyes met hers again, there was the pink of embarrassment in her cheeks. She looked away quickly when he nodded.

"And do you still believe..." Her voice trembled.

"No. I don't," he interrupted her quickly. He could see her exhale slowly.

"I would never purposely do anything to hurt you." The pink in her cheeks deepened. "Truce?" She stuck out her hand.

He nodded as he took it, a ghost of a smile briefly flickering over his face. "Truce."

"So, can we stop this 'Miss Hannigan' nonsense now?" There was a smile in her eyes. She still hadn't let go if his hand - it was he who with yet another nod finally pulled away.

"Good," she said, all of a sudden seemingly not sure where to look. The quiver was back in her voice. For a moment, it was quiet.

"I realize now..."
"I don't want you to feel..." Both of them had started at the same time.

"After you."

Hannah looked up at him again. "I just want you to know that I completely understand that you had reason to be suspicious. Really, I do. I just hope that you can see now that I am not like my father. - What were you going to say?"

He just shook his head. "It wasn't important."

.-.-.-

Soon thereafter, he had excused himself. Hannah had walked him to the door, and stood watching until he disappeared around the corner. Walking back inside, she freshened up and got ready for dinner, a small smile still on her face. "I don't want to hear a word about it," she cautioned the mirror as she smoothed out the folds of the clean robe she had put on.

"Oh, I wasn't going to say anything. Your love life isn't my concern," the mirror said with a yawn. "Of course, if you would take my advice, you might be able to do a lot better than that..."

"I was talking about the robe. And it isn't anything like that," Hannah said with asperity. "He's a friend. And what exactly in your opinion is wrong with Severus Snape?"

"Oh please. He obviously hasn't bothered looking into a mirror for years."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Well, right now, I think the only thing that proves is that he is a lot smarter than I am." She turned with a flounce and left the room.

The frown quickly left her face as she walked, and by the time she was half way down to the Great Hall, she was quietly humming to herself. By the time she ran into Filius Flitwick in front of the staff room, she was smiling broadly.

"Well, you look mighty chipper," the tiny professor said, tilting his head questioningly. In response, Hannah bent over, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a squeeze that almost lifted him off the ground.

"Well, well," he said with a pleased grin, picking up his hat from where it had fallen to the floor. "What was that all about?"

Hannah laughed. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just happy."