Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Fourteen

Only in the very last moment, as though in response to some

sign we could not see, to some whisper we could not hear, he

frowned heavily, and that frown gave to his black death-mask

an inconceivably brooding, and menacing expression.

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"Ah, Miss Granger," the receptionist at Perkins cried as Hermione stepped through the front door. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Fine, thank you," she said with a pleasant smile. "And how are you, Ms ...?"

"Oh, everyone just calls me Marcy," she replied. "I'm well, thank you, Miss Granger."

Her smile widened. "Hermione, please," she said. "Is Sn -- is Severus seeing visitors today?" Snape's first name still tasted strange in her mouth -- she wondered if it always would.

The receptionist -- Marcy -- slid the familiar box onto the countertop briskly. "He is," she told her. "In fact, I believe someone came in earlier to see Severus. That other one. He's the only one that visits, other than you, of course. Such a nice fellow -- there's something familiar about him. I know I've seen him in the Prophet before."

"Did you attend Hogwarts?" Hermione asked wryly, assuming that the only other person in this world that would actually visit Severus Snape was Albus Dumbledore. Especially given the curious and unexplainable fact that he was, according to Dr. Cuthrell, Snape's next-of-kin.

"Gracious, no," Marcy exclaimed. "I'm a Squib. Barely a speck of talent -- just enough to see the wizarding world. Not nearly enough to get a Hogwarts letter."

"Oh," she said softly, putting her wand in the box, afraid she'd just hurt the kind woman's feelings.

But Marcy's face was full of compassion. "Don't worry, my dear," she said with a sad little smile. "I've had my entire life to adjust to it. Now ... you go ahead back. I'm sure that nice Mr. Dumbledore is nearly through. And won't Severus be pleased to have two visitors in one day?"

Stripping off her shoes, Hermione suppressed a laugh. Pleased wasn't the word she was thinking of. "Thank you, Marcy," she said politely as the receptionist slid the now-full box back under her counter. "See you in a bit."

"Give Severus my regards, won't you, Hermione?" she asked as Hermione walked down the hallway.

Again, she had to refrain from giggling. Marcy apparently hadn't spent much time with Snape. No ... probably hadn't spent any time around him, if she still felt warmly enough to send along her regards.

Cuthrell was already hovering beside the door leading into the sitting room she usually saw Snape in. He gave her a triumphant look as she came to stand beside him.

"Dr. Cuthrell," she said with a cold nod.

His smile lacked its usual charm, taking on a more predatory quality as he spoke. "Ah, Hermione," he said. "Good morning. And how are you today?"

Raising an eyebrow at his false cheer, she remained silent.

With a short nod of his own, Cuthrell dropped all pretense and frowned at her. "Do you know who is in there, Hermione?"

"Severus Snape, I expect," she said dryly. "Although you probably have multiple patients under your care."

"I am not nearly the fool you take me for, Miss Granger," he replied. "It is still Miss Granger, isn't it, Hermione?" She ignored the small jab. "No ... no, Albus Dumbledore himself is in there with Severus. To be honest, Hermione, I am quite glad you've chosen today to drop by -- I'm very interested in what Professor Dumbledore has to say to you. Especially once I make him aware of your conduct."

"My conduct?" she echoed slowly. "Dr. Cuthrell, you sound as if you think I've done something wrong." She offered him her sweetest smile.

Lips thinning, Cuthrell straightened, glaring squarely at her.

Suddenly, the door to the visiting room opened, a metallic clang in the quiet. Albus Dumbledore shuffled out into the hall, head uncharacteristically bent down. She could not see his face but was transfixed by the sight of his milk-white, blue-veined toes, peeking out from under the hem of his rich purple robes. "Ah, Dr. Cuthrell," he said, glancing up to look at the doctor. "Morning."

"Professor Dumbledore," Cuthrell said respectfully, nodding. "How was your visit?"

Dumbledore sighed and Hermione could finally see the despondency in his expression. "As well as usual," he said. "How goes his treatment?"

She wondered if he'd noticed her presence yet as he hadn't given any such indication.

"It progresses," Cuthrell replied evasively. "Although we still have several barriers to break through."

"Of course," he said with a grave nod. Hermione had the suspicion that he took Cuthrell about as seriously as Snape did. Was that a smile playing around his lips? She could not see his entire expression.

"But now that you put me in mind of it ..." Cuthrell continued in a thoughtful sort of tone that Hermione did not believe for a moment. "There is something I wanted to talk with you about."

"Yes?"

"She's standing there behind you," he said flatly.

Dumbledore turned halfway around and she saw in his eyes that he'd known she was there the entire time. "Oh, good morning, Hermione. Good to see you."

"You too, Professor," she replied politely, watching his twitching mouth turn into a full-blown smile. "How is Prof -- erm, Severus doing?"

"As quiet as ever," he said, smile fading slightly. "Oh, and Hermione? There's no need to stand on such formality. We're among friends here -- please, call me Albus."

She wondered how much of this was for Cuthrell's benefit. "Certainly ... Albus. I must say," she continued. "I'm rather surprised to run into you today -- I would think you'd be up at Hogwarts."

Shrugging, his expression was unreadable. "I visit Severus weekly, Miss Granger. Every Wednesday morning, actually. Minerva is kind enough to tend to my duties in my absence." He turned to Cuthrell. "What did you and Hermione wish to speak with me about?"

"Were you, Professor, aware of Miss Granger's visits with Severus?" he asked brusquely.

Dumbledore looked amused. "I believe it should be clear from our previous conversation that I did not, doctor. But I see no harm in it. Quite the contrary, in truth. The more human contact Severus has, the better, in my opinion."

"Professor Dumbledore," Cuthrell began, voice tight with fury, "Hermione Granger has been nothing but counterproductive to my progress with Severus since she walked through the front door. It is my belief that she is actually encouraging his belligerence."

"It is my belief that Severus generally needs no such encouragement," he said, still smiling gently. "But I do confess, I am curious as to how you came by such a conjecture."

"They speak for an hour or more at a time," he said loudly. "And neither will disclose any inkling of the conversation."

Abruptly, Dumbledore's face shifted from bemused to interested. Concerned, almost. "Is this true, Hermione? You've spoken with Severus?"

She shrugged slightly. "Nothing of great import," she replied. "But, yes."

In that moment, Dumbledore underwent a curious transformation, looking as if he wanted simultaneously somehow to both embrace and strangle her. She tried not to think on it as the conversation progressed. "Really ..." he said carefully. "And you're saying you've actually spoken with Severus?"

"Yes," she said again. "Yes, I have."

"And he has responded?" he pressed her, taking a rather ominous step in her direction.

Hermione held her ground. "He has. Rather irritably, I grant you, but he has."

There was that indescribable expression again. Truth be told, Hermione found it quite worrisome. "Dr. Cuthrell," Dumbledore said briskly. "I would like a word with Miss Granger."

"Certainly, Professor Dumbledore," Cuthrell replied, shooting her a victorious look. "I myself am very curious to see --"

"No!" he interrupted, in the sternest voice she'd ever heard out of her former headmaster's mouth. "Alone, Dr. Cuthrell."

As if Dumbledore had actually physically struck him, Cuthrell recoiled, withering into an obsequious weed, nodding and backing away. "Why ... yes ... yes, of course, Professor. Erm, good day, then."

"Good day, Jake," he responded, not unkindly. Hermione realized with a start that he'd addressed the doctor by his first name. As soon as Cuthrell had scuttled out of earshot, he turned back to her, an intensity in his eyes that sent her stomach roiling with an unidentifiable fear. "Hermione," he said, quiet and dangerous as a tiger on the hunt.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"You will tell me what you and Severus have spoken of," he stated in a firm, unyielding voice. "You will tell me now."

The unheard of sharpness in his countenance undid her -- even in her recollections of Dumbledore's encounters with Voldemort himself, she remembered amusement, stoicism, even anger. But cold anger, useful anger. This tight fury now seemed to be anything but -- if she did not bend to his will, she saw in his eyes that he would force her without so much as a second thought. "I ... we ..." she hesitated, more out of fright than a desire to keep information from him.

"Hermione," he warned shortly.

"Mostly he asks me why I've come to visit him," she said miserably.

He cocked his head and his voice gentled. "And why do you visit him, Hermione?"

Her hesitation now was more genuine. "I ... I don't know," she admitted. "It's just something I feel that I need to do."

"An obligation?" Back to his usual steady calm -- his eyes were patient with her unease.

"No," she said definitively. "Certainly not. More like ... well, I can't explain it." Her tone was suddenly defiant. "Why do you visit him, sir?"

Dumbledore blinked and for a moment she thought he was going to take points away from Gryffindor for her impertinence. Then reality came crashing back down on her -- she was no longer his student; she hadn't been his student for nearly fifteen years. "That is between Severus and myself, Miss Granger," he said sternly. "If he chooses to tell you why I visit him, it is his concern. I myself find that I do not wish to share such information."

With a small sigh and a slight nod, she accepted his response. After all, she'd told him nothing as well.

Again, he studied her closely. "I do not think that is all you discuss," he said. "After all, young Jacob Cuthrell says that you have spent upwards of an hour in his company before. Certainly you do not spend all that time evading a single question?"

"He does not speak much. Professor -- Severus, I mean," she told him, Snape's first name tasting more strangely in her mouth than ever before. "And when he does, it is generally only to say cruel things. He did, though, seem interested in Harry's ... in his ..." Trailing off, she found herself unable to say it.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Severus asked after Harry Potter?" he asked, mild disbelief in his voice.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I told him about Harry. It just ... slipped out. But he was almost ... curious about the whole thing. Asked for details, that sort of thing. Up until that moment, he'd just been ... I don't know ... toying with me. Acting complacent for a little while so that when he was nasty, it hurt more."

"Interesting," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Are you aware, Miss Granger, that you are the first person in more than five years that Severus has actually spoken with at any sort of length?"

"Marginally, sir," she said. "Dr. Cuthrell had alluded to the fact that Sn -- Severus was recalcitrant to speak with him."

Sadness in his voice, his face was wistful as he spoke. "Hermione, I've visited Severus every week for the past five years. He has not spoken to me once. And to my knowledge, I am his only visitor. Present company excluded, of course." A shadow of humor flickered across his face and was gone nearly as it appeared.

"Oh." She pondered this for a moment. And to her horror, a question started to slip heedlessly off her tongue. "Then why do you --?"

Mercifully, Dumbledore did not wait for her to finish her unthinkably brazen question. "I hope, Miss Granger. Someone must hope for Severus, after all, since he himself has lost all of his."

She did not have anything to say to that and the sadness in his eyes was unbearable.

But after a pause, he straightened and his expression cleared. "Go on in, Hermione," he said, shreds of his usual good humor in his voice. "You've done far more good for Severus in less than two months than any of us have been able to do for five years. Today, I could swear that Severus spent our fifteen minutes glaring at me -- he usually has no expression."

"Really," she choked out, torn between laughter and horror.

He chuckled at her confusion. "Farewell, Miss Granger. I hope to see more of you." And with that, he shuffled down the hallway, age apparent in his gait. In his wake, Hermione realized that this was the first moment she'd seen him as the old man he truly was.

-- -- -- -- --

"Oh, good," Snape said sarcastically as she poked her head through the entrance of the visiting room. "More visitors."

"Most people would be happy," she said in an equally sarcastic voice as she sat down across from him.

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair -- she noted with mixed relief and bewilderment that his bangs flopped into his eyes. "The people of whom you speak are generally sane, thus can afford the luxury of happiness."

"I don't think you're mad," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Angry, perhaps, but quite possibly sane."

"But I growl when I'm pleased and wag my tail when I'm angry,**" he recited, an evil grin spreading across his face.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, studying him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. As he continued to wait expectantly, she cocked her head, hoping against hope that she was managing to disconcert him a bit, at least.

Grin falling into a frown, Snape folded his arms across his chest. "I am not in the mood for you today, Miss Granger."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Snape," she said dryly, "but I doubt you are ever in the mood for anyone."

He rolled his eyes.

Deciding to proceed with caution, Hermione chose her next words carefully. After all, today was one of the first days she'd visited Snape out of a genuine feeling of goodwill -- her previous visits were all anxiety-induced. Today, she would treat him with dignity. "I spoke with Professor Dumbledore as he was leaving."

He grunted.

"I suppose it is very kind of him to come and see you," she continued, trying to gauge his reaction -- a difficult thing given his imperturbable expression. "It appears to me that he is quite busy with Hogwarts and the Ministry and the Order ..."

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently, snidely. "Saint Albus and his charitable works. Please refrain from rubbing my nose in it, Miss Granger. I hear enough of that from my therapist."

She hesitated, but only for a moment. "I ... I just ... he cares a great deal about you," she said, knowing as the words tumbled off her lips that they were token and lame.

His rejoinder was quick and matter-of-fact. "He feels guilt, not compassion."

Blinking, Hermione forgot to glare at him. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," he said. "Albus feels guilty about my ... condition. After all, we were so close ..." This last was practically dripping with cynical sweetness.

"I do not follow you."

He looked away. "You were not meant to."

They fell silent, Snape studiously not looking in her direction. Hermione took the opportunity to scrutinize him as closely as she dared -- his hair was indeed longer and hanging limply in his eyes -- he made no motion to clear his line of sight. The set of his mouth was firm and willful -- she saw shreds of the old Severus Snape in his jaw. Even his posture was reminiscent of the formidable professor she remembered, possibly of the grim warrior that haunted Ron's mind. Shoulders squared, hands fisted on the tabletop. It was a pose that suggested a strength that she hadn't observed in her previous visits. He'd slouched and hung his head, but now he was sitting stiff as a ramrod, jaw clenched in anger.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked acidly, catching her out.

Ashamed at being caught staring openly at him, Hermione blushed. "I am sorry," she admitted. "I didn't mean to ..."

Snape shrugged. "It does not signify, I suppose. I am always watched -- it might as well be you as anyone."

Curious, she regarded him with a quirked eyebrow and silently asked for elaboration.

Unbelievably, he provided it. "The nurses, the doctors, even the other patients. Someone is always around, watching, 'keeping us safe,' ostensibly," he said distastefully. "I am never truly alone.."

She was surprised at his candor. "Is that why ...?" Catching herself just in time, Hermione switched gears to a far more inane, but far less incendiary, question. "You miss it, then?"

"Miss Granger," he chided, choosing to let her question remain unanswered. "It is rumored that you possess a great intellect. It would speak well of you to use it on occasion."

The same could be said of you, she thought ruefully but tactfully kept her mouth shut as he continued to speak.

"Of course ..." he drawled, reminding her disturbingly of a fifteen-year-old Draco Malfoy. "Your continued presence here is a clear counterexample to my previous statement." He smiled at her and she immediately wished that he would stop.

And so they had come full circle, back to the same old question. Any moment now ... yes. Here he went.

"I will ask you again, Miss Granger," he said, losing the smile. "Partially because I would like an answer to my question and partially because it discomfits you so. Why are you here?"

She sighed. "Why are you here?"

"Insufficient," he snapped. "Answering a question with an echo is childish."

"So is asking the same question again and again," she shot back.

Shifting in his chair, Snape leaned forward slightly. "And what's more, Miss Granger, your question has a stupidly obvious answer, while mine is a valid query."

"What is the obvious answer to my question, then?" she asked with a small smirk. "As you've neglected to actually give it."

"I am mad, Miss Granger," he said. "Ergo, I belong in an asylum."

Hermione clasped her hands together on top of the table. "I contend that you are a sane individual, sir. Thus, your position is called into question just as mine is."

"Very well," he conceded with a jerk of the head. "According to your own definition, even if I am a rational creature, I still maintain that my presence here is incontrovertible."

"You tried to kill yourself," she supplied.

He frowned and looked for a moment as if he would retreat, but then Professor Snape came back in his expression full force. "Yes."

She attacked. "Why?"

Snape actually recoiled physically. Flung himself out of his chair and retreated half a dozen steps backward. "What?"

"Why did you attempt suicide?" she asked as blandly as she could.

With an inelegant shrug, his posture became less defensive. "It was the preferable option."

"Insufficient," she barked in a conscious mimicry of his previous behavior. "I am asking you how you reached the point in your life that suicide appeared to be your only option, sir."

"Not my only option," he corrected mildly. "Just the best one."

Shoulders slumped once more, eyes downcast, his ill-fitting scrubs sagging limply on his body, Snape looked utterly defeated. His hands did not seem to know where to rest, clenching and unclenching fistfuls of fabric at his sides. In that moment, she finally was able to bring herself to feel pity for the broken man she was only now able to recognize.

He ruined the moment, however, when his head snapped up, hair flying off his forehead. "Don't look at me like that," he spat.

Hermione obeyed, turning her eyes to the tabletop and remaining in her seat as he began to pace.

"I am not a fool, Miss Granger," he continued, clasping his hands behind his back in an academic gesture incongruous with his current situation. "And I do not make decisions lightly. But my reasons are my own and I do not wish to discuss them."

"Will you discuss something else?" she asked cautiously, accepting his obvious desire for a subject change.

He laughed, short and bitter. "More sophistry, Miss Granger?"

"No ..." she began, deliberately hedging. "A question, actually. Mere curiosity, more than anything else."

Still pacing, he flapped a hand at her. "Ask your question, Granger, but keep in mind that I reserve the right to deny you the answer, if indeed there is one. And no 'angels dancing on pinheads' nonsense, if you please."

Hermione found herself surprised at that last -- Snape was being droll. How inconsistent of him, really. "Well," she said. "Dr. Cuthrell has mentioned several times that Albus Dumbledore is your next-of-kin."

"Is that your question, Miss Granger?" he asked, finally coming to a halt in front of his chair.

"Not exactly," she replied, intent on her right thumbnail. She felt his gaze on her forehead. "I doubt Cuthrell would lie about such a thing and what's more, Professor Dumbledore all but confirmed it. What I want to know is why he is your next-of-kin."

Snape was quiet, but it was more contemplative than angry. After a long pause, she finally met his eyes and saw a strange mix of confusion and thoughtfulness. "Not today, Miss Granger," he eventually said. "Ask me again one day."

Accepting his response with a nod, she stood up herself -- both bare-footed, Snape bested her in height, but not by many inches. She wondered briefly if he could still loom as menacingly over her as he used to many years ago and doubted it. "Very well, sir," she said politely. "I will leave you in peace, then. Good day."

He snorted as she turned to leave, remaining otherwise silent. Hermione felt his eyes on her back until she closed the door, planted firmly on the other side.

-- -- -- -- --