Uncontrollable

Hermione stepped over the threshold of the Potions classroom, remarking silently how unimposing the room now was without the former Potions Master stalking about within its walls. It seemed that without Snape, the room had allowed itself the liberty of a warmer temperature and the sunlight seemed to have found new hope in stabbing through the grime in the windows. Brighter, warmer, but she wouldn't dare go as far as to think cheerier.

Hermione reflected on how she found herself alone in the Potions classroom in her seventh year at Hogwarts, how Harry had expressed the need over the summer holiday for her to search for something for him. It was the first day of classes, early morning, and she thanked the gods that be that there was not a Potions class convening at this time of day. She was also thankful that her ruse of illness this morning had allowed her to slip out of her classes and walk, uninterrupted, down the damp stairs that led to this room. She had hated the walks to this room in her earlier years at Hogwarts, and even though Snape had fled after the attacks, and hadn't been the Potions teacher for two terms, she had still felt unnerved and hesitant when she had reached the door.

The tables, cauldrons, and lines of cabinets storing potions were unchanged from her memories. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the tension that emitted from herself and her classmates as Snape had prowled the room. It was tangible, this tension, and she could feel it wrap around her, teasing her. She forced her eyes open and pointedly ignored her trembling hands. She was here for a reason, she reminded herself, and she needed to be quick if she didn't want to get discovered by any of the teachers. She shuddered to think of what punishment would be handed down if the Head Girl was found sneaking around the Potions classroom - or worse, the former Potions Master's private rooms, which was where she intended to end up. She drew a deep breath and proceeded, leaving the memories behind her.

Snape's private rooms were still located beyond the Potions classroom, even though he had accepted the job of Defence professor the year before. Dumbledore had given him the choice to move rooms, but Snape had insisted that he stay in the dungeons. He was rumored to have told the Headmaster that the dungeons were where he "belonged." Hermione's heart seemed to stutter when she thought of her late Headmaster. She blinked and forged on, finding herself at the doorway to the chambers of the murderer of her most loved and admired wizard.

The doors were closed but not locked, nor warded, as she knew. The Ministry had just managed to cut the red tape and begin the investigation into the life of the former Potions Master, starting where Hermione herself started, his former residence. They had de-warded and removed every magical binding that kept visitors from his rooms, and were then called to the Headmistress' office to reveal their plans of action. This was extraordinarily lucky for Hermione, as it gave her a few moments time to search through his belongings before they had a chance to remove any evidence. She reminded herself again of her need to hurry.

While she had never been in his rooms before, nor any of the teachers' for that matter, she was not surprised by what she saw. The décor was minimal, masculine, and decidedly unwelcoming - typical Snape. Books lined the walls, which gave Hermione a small warmth in an otherwise cold and empty room. A cracked leather sofa set against the far wall, a black spindly table pushed up against its arm. She realized a tea cup, only half empty, sat on the table, startling her. She briefly wondered what caused Snape to leave in the middle of his tea, then pushed the idea out of her mind as waves of despair threatened to flood her at the memory of events surrounding her closest mentor's death. There was no time for moping, she told herself firmly. She was here for a reason.

Harry had sent several owls to her over the holiday, asking for her assistance. At first she thought he had merely wanted it to prove to himself Snape's guilt, so he would not feel the characteristic pain of a Gryffindor at the thought or act of doing an innocent person bodily harm. Then, as the owls became more persistent, she had realized he wanted the evidence to prove to himself that Dumbledore had been right, and had not died in vain. She wanted to trust Dumbledore's decisions also, but knew somewhere that the man was not infallible. She was afraid to discover evidence that demonstrated that fact, not least because she knew what a dangerous enemy Snape could turn out to be.

So after much prodding, she had finally agreed to search for Professor Dumbledore's pensieve. She knew she didn't have to remind Harry of the consequences she faced, he knew. She felt silly voicing any fears of getting caught, since she was within the safety of Hogwarts walls, and Harry and Ron were hidden in the vast wizarding world, hunting both Snape and Voldemort. She wondered if it mattered to them who they found first.

Harry needed the pensieve, not only for the chance to convict Snape, but for any clues of the remaining Horcruxes. Previous searching of the former Headmaster's office and chambers revealed nothing. She didn't really expect to find it down here, but she didn't know where else to look. If anything, she might find clues to where Snape might be hiding with Malfoy. She tore her eyes away from the half-empty tea cup to the piles of books and papers that littered the small room. She suddenly felt overcome with hopelessness. She started to take a deep breath when she heard a soft noise that forced her to cease breathing altogether.

It sounded like paper rustling, but not from this room. Her heart began to speed up, her hands resorting back to trembling. She listened intently, allowing herself to exhale slowly, silently. A moment later a sound of a sniffle followed. Hermione stared at the door to Snape's bedchamber, her mind spinning. Afterwards, she couldn't recall what made her do it, but it was as if the Gryffindor within her took over, and her eyes widened as she realized she was walking to the bedroom door. She let out an inaudible gasp as her hand, a thousand miles away, turned the knob and her body leaned slightly into the door.

It was a blur, Hermione would describe later, but it also seemed to happen in slow motion. Madame Pince's sobbing form leapt from the edge of Snape's bed, her eyes only for a fleeting moment catching Hermione's, and the hate that emitted from them forced Hermione to step back immediately. Madame Pince snatched a nearby worn book from Snape's nightstand, and hurried past Hermione, while whispering in an acid tone, "Tell anyone I was here, mudblood, and it's your life."

Hermione gasped. She had never heard the librarian talk to anyone in such a way, much less let fly such a racist remark to a student. She stood in shock as she heard several doors slam in the distance, leaving her alone again. What was the librarian doing in Snape's old rooms? What book did she take? Why didn't she want anyone to know she was here? Hermione tried to shed herself of the entire experience as a voice in her head reminded her again of her mission and her brief time. She pushed on into the bedroom.

It was dark, of course, and the bed was wide and adorned with several dark colored blankets, each sporting holes bigger than the first. Hermione felt a stab of pity for the professor as she located some candles and lit them, revealing a room that displayed poverty as though it were a badge. The black curtains were being eaten away by moths and rodents; layers of dust covered everything in sight save for the books, which were all well worn and falling apart. The fireplace, however, was pristine and out of place. It occurred to Hermione that the professor never used it, instead preferring the icy cold.

The wardrobe leaned against the left wall, its frame and doors warped beyond even magical repair. One door hung open by its hinges, revealing several black robes and an eerie iridescent light. Hermione rushed to it, pushing open the other door to the wardrobe hastily. There it was, Dumbledore's pensieve, and next to it sat several bottles of a milky white liquid Hermione recognized from her research and conversations with Harry as memories. Cradling these items in her arms very gently, careful not to look in the pensieve, she pulled from her cloak a silky fabric. Harry had lent her his invisibility cloak, and although she would have avoided using it to get back upstairs, she began to hear voices ringing in the hall and knew it was the best way to get to her rooms unnoticed. She quickly wrapped the cloak around her and slipped out, barely escaping a collision with the Minister of Magic himself.

Once in her rooms, Hermione quickly shed the cloak and set the stolen property on her nightstand. She stole a glance at Crookshanks, using her expression to warn the cat away from the articles he was eyeing with interest from his perch on her windowsill. He yawned and turned his back to her, an unspoken agreement he would not bother them.

Hermione remembered Harry telling her how he "fell in" to the pensieve, so she avoided looking at the surface and instead focused on finding a quill and parchment. Once located, she wrote:

Dear Harry,

I have found the card you sent me for my birthday. I love chocolate! Thanks

again!

Love,

Hermione

It was an awkward code they had settled on, as posts were still being intercepted and the floo network was still being watched carefully, as much by the Ministry as by the Death Eaters. Hermione had no doubt he would understand the code. She sealed the parchment and raced up to the tower, selecting a sturdy looking school owl for the delivery. After watching the horizon long after the owl disappeared, she slowly descended back to her rooms, intent on a hot bath, as she began to muse again over the appearance of the librarian in the Potions Master's most private rooms. She had only just closed her door when she saw Crookshanks growling menacingly at the pensieve.

"Crookshanks! Get back!" she admonished, rushing up to the pensieve to make sure no harm was done. What she saw within the swirling liquid was something unexpected, something that drew her closer and closer to examine until she felt the floor fall beneath her and the world began to spin.

She stood up and brushed herself off quickly, noting she would most likely have a set of fresh bruises in the morning. She looked around at her environment, knowing that she had been sucked into the world of the pensieve, knowing she would have to wait the scene out before she would be released back into her world. She heard Harry's voice describing the feeling in the back of her mind, forcing herself to breathe normally and not to give in to panic.

She was outside Hogwarts, in the dead of night it seemed. She heard mumbling and turned, face to face with a first year Severus Snape. She swallowed back her fear as he walked through her, chiding herself for thinking he could see her. She turned and followed him.

He was very young, and much smaller than she. His nose was not as prominent as it would later be, his face was softer, his eyes even lighter. But his physique was even more lanky and emaciated than she knew it to be in later years. His hair was shoulder length, black and greasy, his skin pale. She caught up with him and was walking backwards in front of him, so she would see his face better, although had to change her direction several times as she did not know where they were going.

He stared at the ground in front of him, mumbling in a strangely soft, child's voice. She never thought to think of Professor Snape as a child, and therefore the sound of his voice startled her. It sounded too innocent, too ...warm. He was talking to himself, repeating, "Slytherin, slytherin...not Gryffindor..." with a smile hanging at the corners of his mouth. She gathered that the Sorting had finished earlier this evening. Suddenly, a piercingly high-pitched voice rang out over the grounds.

"Oi, Snivellus! I knew you were too much of a coward to be in Gryffindor!" Giggles and laughter rang out as the speaker ran to catch up with her and Snape, bringing an entourage in tow that made Hermione groan.

James Potter was the speaker, followed by the other Mauraders: Sirius, Remus, and Peter. A few girls trailed behind, giggling, and Hermione blinked as she realized they were Slytherin as well as Gryffindors. Snape froze, and Hermione saw the dark brown eyes flash as he rounded on them.

"What do you want?" asked Snape, staring James in the eyes unabashedly.

James didn't back down. "What are you doing out at night, on the grounds? Dungeons scare the little Sssssslytherin?" He imitated the slithering of a snake.

Snape didn't speak, and Hermione felt another wave of pity for him. James and the others, even the girls, stood heads above Snape. As if to demonstrate this, James rested his arm on Snape's head, putting all his weight there until he was satisfied with the groan escaping from Snape's clenched teeth. "Or is it the prospect of taking a shower that scares you? What do you think, Sirius?"

Sirius laughed, a sound that Hermione had once loved but now made her wince. Remus stepped up to James and said, with a slight tremor in his voice, "Let's leave him alone, we're not supposed to be out here either. Come on, please?"

James shrugged and nodded, and turned back toward the castle, his group in tow. Snape stood, shaking visibly with anger. Suddenly, he raised his wand at James' back and muttered an unrecognizable hex. In a flash of bright light, James fell to his knees sobbing. Snape's smile could not have been wider. Snape began to close the distance between himself and James, and Hermione hastened to follow.

"What the hell?" shouted Sirius, turning to face his fallen friend.

"It's a crying hex, Sirius, nothing serious," said Remus, dropping to his knees in front of James, mumbling a few words that ended James' tears.

"Thanks," coughed James, who stood and rounded on Snape, wand raised, and screamed an incomprehensible string of words. Everyone but Snape gasped, including Hermione, who recognized the hex just as it hit Snape. He staggered backwards and then looked down at himself, his eyes and mouth wide. "Not potty trained, Snivellus?" asked James innocently. And with that, the group headed back toward the castle, shrieking laughter filling the air.

Hermione stared at Snape's face. A bed-wetting hex had the same effect with or without the bed. He looked near tears. She knew the hex would not wear off for three more minutes or so, and apparently, so did he. She also did know of a counter hex for it, and neither, it seemed, did he. He stared at the sky above them, trying to hold back his tears, as his jeans became more and more soaked. Hermione wondered if the memory would end soon; she was very uncomfortable feeling pity for even a pint-sized Snape.

A figure came at them in the moonlight, rushing from the castle. Hermione hadn't noticed it until it nearly overcame them. Snape still stared at the sky, his face twisted. He yelped when the figure clasped his arm and a familiar voice rang out, "Severus? Are you all right? Come with me, we'll get you cleaned up and back in your dormitories without anyone the wiser." Snape stared at the figure and made no effort to move. Professor McGonagall smiled down at him, and whispered, "No one will be the wiser, Mr. Snape."

He allowed himself to be led away with her, and the world spun again, depositing Hermione unceremoniously on the floor of her rooms, speechless.