Iridescent Snow

Chapter Four: Blunt Not the Heart, Enrage It

"So you're saying you got into that spat with Malfoy on purpose?" Ron asked for the third time.

"Yeah, if you had only been there to see it..." Harry muttered shaking his head.

They had just exited the Great Hall after breakfast the next day and were on their way to Transfiguration. She had not had a chance to speak with her two friends since dinner the night before. After her audience with Professor Snape had ended, she had rushed to the library and attacked the Restricted Section with renewed vigor, not emerging until long after Ron and Harry had gone to bed. She had a distinct feeling that her efforts now to clarify the circumstances surrounding her detention were not having the desired effect, seeing how Ron hadn't looked so flummoxed since their fourth year, when he had awoken to find himself sopping wet in the middle of the lake.

"Yes, Ron. Now will you please be quiet for just a moment and listen?" she pleaded. The lower years could not cease their excited chatter about how the Head Girl had received detention from Professor Snape, and the upper years, especially ones hailing from Slytherin House, had all taken to casting narrow-eyed, quizzical looks her way whenever they passed in the corridors. The last thing Hermione needed was Harry and Ron questioning her sanity.

"It was because I needed an opportunity to speak with Professor Snape alone," she said. A loud herd of Hufflepuff first-years streaming past them provided ample cover for her hushed tones. "I've been doing some research for a project I'm working on and I wanted his opinion on a new idea I had come up with." She resisted biting her lip as a tiny stab of guilt urged her to reveal the full extent to which she had sought his tutelage.

"You lost fifty points from Gryffindor so you could talk to Snape?" Ron all but shouted. Some of the Hufflepuffs paused.

"Ron, shhh! It was for something important!" she responded, exasperation making her voice loud in spite of her own admonishment. She quickened her pace and her friends followed. The two boys flanked her, their loping strides easily keeping them apace with her. Though Ron was looking faintly ill and Harry's green eyes were narrowed uneasily behind his glasses, Hermione was oddly comforted by their company. So many nights sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room had started to impose upon her a chronic sense of separation. Now that she had a promising path of research to pursue, the intellectual fever that had gripped her mind broke just enough that she found herself being glad even for Ron's apoplectic exclamations.

And yet, Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell her friends the complete truth about what she planned to do. First, the idea of admitting that she was actually attempting to do what scores of witches and wizards had failed to do for thousands of years was absurd enough to keep Hermione's lips sealed. And that's without mentioning that she was going to perform Dark Magic inside Hogwarts and unauthorized spell creation. A year ago, Hermione reflected, if she had gotten wind of a student dabbling in any such thing, she would have immediately marched them up to Headmaster Dumbledore, as any Head Girl with half a wit would surely do.

But now, after the death of her parents, Hermione saw many things in a different light. Where she had once seen black and white, she now saw varying shades of grey. Her conscience still rebuked her, insisting that her ends did not justify the risks she was imposing upon herself and the school (or enduring the blistering presence of Professor Snape for hours on end, for that matter), but she could now easily silence it. For better or for worse, she would find the counter to Avada Kedavra.

"Hermione, what's this project about? This wouldn't have anything to do with those hippogriff gizzards, would it?" Harry asked, drawing Hermione out of her reverie. They were now all standing outside the Transfiguration classroom, two minutes early thanks to the speed they had picked up along the way. "Because I'd never seen anyone smash hippogriff gizzards like you did," Harry continued, a hint of teasing in his voice, but behind it, that same veiled note of cautious inquiry that he had been projecting toward her ever since yesterday's disastrous Potions class.

"Or with all those bloody books you keep in the common room?" Ron added suspiciously. "One of them accidentally fell from a shelf and hit me on the head the other day. A Comprehensive Guide to Magical Vengeance or some other rubbish... Hey, I bet it hit me on purpose if it has a title like that!"

"It's nothing, really," she replied easily. "You know how Professor McGonagall confers additional honors upon some students at graduation if they do a bit of extra research here and there? I was just pursuing a lead that might enable me to make a potion to lessen the effects of Dark Magic." There. She had said it. The cover she had invented in between the many hours of research at the library yesterday. She hoped her explanation was vague enough that it didn't reveal anything crucial, yet sounded important enough to warrant losing fifty points.

Ron appeared aghast, most likely from the idea of anyone actually wanting to do more work than required. "Blimey, Hermione. How many honors do you want? Even if you somehow manage to find a counter to Avada Kedavra, you still just lost us fifty points and had to be with Snape for three whole hours!"

For a moment, she felt her breath hitch, but when she turned around and saw that nothing but merriment resided in Ron and Harry's eyes as they playfully poked her in the ribs, she knew that the interrogation was over, and they had forgiven her for both counts of capital crime: that of losing House points and also that of earning detention with Professor Snape.

But she still could not help but grimace to herself at the irony of Ron's joke. "If only you knew," she muttered, following her friends into the Transfiguration classroom.

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At seven-thirty that evening, Hermione declared to Ron and Harry that she was going to make another trip to the library and then purposefully strode out of the Gryffindor portrait hole to Professor Snape's office. Most students had retreated to their common rooms by this time of the day, so the walk to the Potions lab was fast through the sparsely populated corridor. She felt strangely calm, considering that she was about to willingly subject herself to the instruction of Hogwarts' most unapproachable, unaccommodating, and uninspiring teacher.

The trepidation, however, was merely saving itself until the very last minute. As soon as she arrived outside the dungeon classroom, she suddenly wished she had brought along all her Arithmancy guides and Potions texts in addition to her neatly charmed anti-smudge notes. She bit her lip unhappily as she eyed the sliver of amber light shooting out from underneath the doorway. She was quite certain that Professor Snape would expect her to have mastered every last detail of her proposed experiments, right down to the five imaginary solutions to Waldekroker's Amplifying Equations... of course she had learnt them all at one point or another, but she could only recall with confidence three of them... Sucking in a bracing breath, she quickly rapped on the door before her nerves could lead her further astray.

The harshly spoken "Enter" that answered her knock did little to assuage her worries, and as she opened the door, Hermione was prepared to encounter anything from exploding cauldrons to the ire of Voldemort himself. So when all she was presented with was the tableau of the professor serenely sitting behind his desk marking essays, it took more than a moment for her to blink away her astonishment. Looking grim, though not particularly angry, Professor Snape apparently did not find her presence significant enough to interrupt his perusal of the parchment before him; though he nodded once as she slowly approached, he did not lift his head. Hermione's eyebrows rose in spite of themselves--she supposed it was a pleasant surprise that Snape actuallyread the essays first before giving them all Dreadfuls.

In the absence of any other directive, Hermione helped herself to the chair before the professor's desk. She had already mentally recited six of the ten permutations for floor cleaning spells before Snape finally leaned forward, jabbed a quill vindictively at the inkwell, and scratched an undoubtedly scathing comment on the essay. "Miss Granger," he said clinically, as if about to introduce a new potion the class would be brewing. "The nonsense that your younger school mates insist upon passing off as essays necessitates my marking them in one sitting, for fear I might otherwise choose to simply burn them instead." His silky tones were punctuated by the scraping sound of quill against parchment, and Hermione came to the thunderstruck realization that the professor might actually be attempting to excuse his own poor manners.

"Um, of course, sir," she replied uncertainly.

With a wave of his wand, the essays were banished, and for the first time that evening, Hermione found herself the sole target of the piercing black gaze. With some effort, she refrained from squirming.

"Now, I believe you wished to begin testing your theory regarding a possible counter-spell, or shall we say, potion, to the Killing Curse?"

Hermione nodded as the tiniest hint of excitement skipped down her spine. She was beginning to feel that feeling again--the pleasant, heady sensation experienced by a child entering Diagon Alley for the first time, or perhaps by Crookshanks upon discovering that the house-elves might be made to do his bidding, too. She had tried to explain to Ron and Harry, who of course did not understand... well, you know, right before a Transfiguration Exam, for example, you feel a rush... of course that had not gone over well with either of her friends, so it was even more futile to explain how wonderful it feels to have an endless world of possibilities at wandtip or the exhilaration that one might experience at the prospect of revealing unknown truths.

"I would first like to test whether Nodal Potions can be altered to suit certain specifications," Hermione began, already reaching inside her school bag for her notes. Her fingers shook a little, as she realized that not only had she never dared allude to anything she preferred in the dour professor's presence, but that she was also now engaging a brilliant Potions Master in a discussion on his own specialty after a mere two nights' worth of reading.

The professor's head dipped once, as long, straight fingers rose to frame a jaw made firm by years of practiced intimidation. "That is a sound enough idea," he said levelly.

Feeling neither affirmed nor abashed, Hermione waited for Professor Snape to continue while trying to not grip her notes quite so hard.

"I would suggest that you begin by selecting one of the elementary-level Nodal Potions that you have been studying in class. Being Ministry-approved brews, they are of course guaranteed safe to a certain extent, but they also have the added advantage of being fairly standardized so that experimentation with the components of the potion should prove far easier. As for which potion you use, that choice is yours, Miss Granger." Snape paused, slowly turning his head so that his ever-cryptic gaze was now angular. "After all, there is no need for us to fling ourselves blindly into the Dark when other avenues are available."

Hermione, who had been vacillating between finding the Potions Master's intensely dark stare singularly unnerving and strangely absorbing, had up until this moment been steadily avoiding meeting her professor's eye. But his last pronouncement, uttered in that odd tone of voice, elicited such a startled reaction that her gaze was drawn upwards against her volition, her own eyes locking with the professor's.

The meeting was brief, for Snape made eye contract for only half an instant before turning impassively away. Yet Hermione felt herself stiffen unaccountably, as several new thoughts battled for her attention. There was, first of all, the unsettling effect of seeing Professor Snape's rather shrewd gaze alight upon her without the usual hatred and malice. Imagine that, the universally feared naked glare of Snape isn't so much a glare at all, Hermione mused, then promptly rid herself of the notion when unexpectedly, she felt the heat rise beneath her collar at the notion ofnakedness. And then of course there was what he had said. It would have been much easier for Hermione to approach the professor for help in her project if she could convince herself that Snape had no compunction whatsoever about what they were doing. Now this just made everything much more complicated...

Hermione ceased her wool-gathering and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. The professor's back was now turned to her as he straightened out his ingredients shelf, and Hermione used the opportunity to regain her bearings. "All right, why don't we use the Pensieve Base, then, sir. We just covered that in class and it is still fresh in my memory."

"Which is no doubt vast beyond earthly comprehension," Snape said dryly. Turning back to her, he extended a hand to receive the parchment full of calculations that she was offering.

Relief stole irreverently through Hermione. Tonight, she decided that she had much rather face the usual Snape, the one who did not bear anomalous traces of humanity.

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His arm snaking carefully around the jars of boomslang skin that sat on the edge of his second highest shelf, Severus listened as Granger stood behind him, hurtling through the explanation of her Arithmantic scheme at a mile a minute. His fingers inched forward, toward the back of the shelf, where he knew resided a jar of exceedingly rare phoenix eyes.

"...instead of the dried rosemary, you add two thirds that amount of its conjugate ingredient, which would be... let's see, asphodel. You derive it from Waldekroker's Third, of course, which is--"

Raking his other hand exasperatedly through his hair, Severus interrupted with an impatient sigh, "I am well aware of how to utilize Waldekroker's Equations, Granger. I have seen your calculations. For now, omit mundane derivations from your explanation and only tell me how your results will affect the potion."

Granger was silent for several moments, and without turning, Severus was able to tell that she was frustrated. For the better, he decided. From the brief glance he had spared for the numbers lined up neatly down the parchment, Severus knew that she had been both meticulous and proficient in her handling of the Arithmancy calculations, and even he would admit that the girl was in possession of an unusually powerful intellect, a trait that perhaps would one day draw her towards magical research. Yet, she still had to be taught the difference between rattling off every fact she knew and selectively choosing certain elements of her knowledge to incorporate in her investigative endeavors. Mere memory as opposed to understanding, Severus thought to himself. Something he, too, had had to learn before ever resembling anything close to a successful Potions Master.

Reaching as far back into the shelf as it could, Severus' hand grasped empty air. Granger had now resumed her bloody lecture and Severus listened with half an ear while seeking out his wand.

"Right. So asphodel, at a weight that is two thirds what was originally rosemary. Then you keep the hippogriff gizzards, but substitute Grindylow claws for the adder scales. One part gizzard to three part claws. This will make the Pensieve Base more... well, robust, I suppose..."

He pointed the wand towards the shelf, and after a softly incanted Summoning spell, he finally held the small glass jar of phoenix eyes in his hands. He returned to his desk and placed the jar down carefully in a spot between his Potions journals and his inkstand. The yellow colored orbs made a clinking sound, as if he had set down a sack of Galleons. Phoenix eyes, with their unparalleled potency as a potions ingredient, were not to be handled carelessly. Having expended no small amount of thought on Granger's project, Severus wondered whether she would be able to make the same leap of logic that he had regarding the role they might play in her efforts. But that question, he knew, was a matter for later debate. Right now, it seemed his most primary concern was to get Granger to unstick her face from her parchment.

The girl had trailed off, sounding significantly more apprehensive about the Pensieve Base than she had been five minutes ago when she had professed to being competent at creating it. A smirk edged its way onto Severus' features as he imagined that this would be the point where he was expected to play the part of noble professor and offer the fruit of his experience.

Once again facing his student, he answered snidely, "Indeed, one cannot predict how your proposed changes will affect the potion. As you have no doubt realized yourself, Arithmantic laws such as Waldekroker's, while they are very useful in the study of spell-casting, are generally disfavored when it comes to Potions making. Do you know why?"

Granger frowned at the question, evidently not expecting to wander so far from the realm of textbook computations and trivial facts. "No, I can't say I do," she replied in a small voice. "I had always assumed it was just because Potions are altered by way of adjusting ingredients, while incantations for spells, which are created in the non-physical medium of the caster's magical core, can only be altered through the magic inherent in numerical law."

"A partially correct assessment. But that merely explains why the traditional methods of Potions experimentation are preferred and not why Arithmancy is not used. Yes, Arithmancy is compatible with spoken incantations, but it is useful in contexts aside from being a supporting element for other branches of magic. Numbers have unto them a magic of their own right."

Enlightenment dawned once more over Granger's face. "That must be why some wizards use Arithmancy to decide when they want to hold certain events or... decide how many rose bushes they want to plant on the perimeters of their estate," she finished with a derisive sniff.

"Yes, as Mr. Malfoy has no doubt informed his entire Arithmancy class, numerical magic is highly regarded in Pureblood circles, hence Narcissa's predilection for it," he answered blandly. Granger's eyes, brown in their usual state, turned honey-colored as they widened. Severus examined a fingernail while he waited for her wonder to pass. Idly, he pondered whether her surprise was due to the fact that he knew it had been Draco who was once again inflicting his arrogant presence upon others--and Narcissa who had had the vapid tastes in gardening.

When all appeared well with her once more, Severus continued, "Numbers, whenever and however they are invoked, always bear magical power, even if only in their unwavering consistency and order. Muggles, too, have knowledge of this fact in their studies of mathematics." He had taken to pacing a bit behind his desk, a habit acquired from a decade of lecturing dimwits who needed moving targets to hold their attention. "Potions, a discipline built upon precise measurements of quantities and the interactions thereof, is awash with the power of numbers. To disturb the magic of one entity with the magic of another is never a matter to be undertaken lightly, and to intersperse an already existing numerical magic with complex and powerful Arithmantic-induced reactions... it is unheard of if not impossible. The variables one would have to keep track of would grow to a truly unwieldy magnitude. Potions, in summary, is incompatible with Arithmancy."

The Potions Master paused in his ambulation. Granger, true to form, was now furiously taking notes on the back of the calculation-laden parchment. Severus figured he could not very well object to that, irritating as her over exuberance may be.

"Nevertheless, due to your strong command of Arithmancy, you have managed the unusual feat of deriving plausible theoretical quantities for a hypothetical potion. You shall therefore attempt this Pensieve Base. There is no method to postulate whether the ingredients of Nodal Potions act as magical apexes, nor whether they can be manipulated as such. We find out only by brewing the potion. The results may very well yield no conclusions, and possibly you might even produce a dangerous substance, in which case, I shall be forced to terminate your labors," Severus finished in a firm voice.

He expected her to be disappointed at the prospect of her pet project coming to a premature conclusion, but instead, he found himself at the receiving end of a worshipful smile. He might as well have handed Granger the Holy Grail. Severus, who was decidedly unused to having students regard him with anything but various manifestations of fear or sullenness, found Granger's unconcealed joy rather unbearable, and so with a swish of black cloak, turned swiftly away.

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Once he had set Granger to brewing, Severus returned to the refuge of his desk and prepared to settle in for an hour with his Potions journal. The reassuring sound of her chopping asphodel was Severus' indication that his assistance was, for the moment, unneeded. Granger, at least, was one of those students whom he could leave for a reasonable length of time with a potion without fear that one or the other might not emerge from the ordeal fully intact.

Habit and experience had him casting a cursory glance in her direction nevertheless. She was bent over her bench, concentration apparent, and wholly unaware of his surveillance. He sighed wearily. The series of strange events involving Granger recently was growing too long for his liking. At the fore of his mind was the whole matter of this entirely unorthodox position he was now taking on--an advisor for the Head Girl's Dark Arts project. Severus still believed that Albus had been missing a few of the screws that were holding his already loose brain together when the Headmaster had all but forced him to agree to the endeavor. Aside from taxing his extremely limited spare time and being an overly ambitious undertaking for a seventh-year witch, the project was, by all accounts, dangerous. Never mind the violations of Ministry regulations or the tampering with magical theory, but Water of Styx? Water for the departed soul. Lethal or life-giving. Depending on whose side one was on. The potion that gave rise to bodily form by consuming the soul.

It was not lost upon him that it was to his advantage not to quibble much over what would happen to Granger if she practiced Dark Arts. After all, there was the possibility, however minute, for a true breakthrough. And corrupting Granger would fit the persona that he adopted every day for the benefit of his House, his masters, and more often than not, his own amusement, he thought darkly. If manufacturing fabrications was to be his life's burden, as it most likely would, he might as well derive some enjoyment from terrorizing the young and impressionable. He thus understood that his concern over her involvement in this project was an anomaly. That it did disturb him that Granger would be experimenting with Water of Styx truly annoyed him, just as he had been annoyed by his undue grief for her dead parents, or by his lax enforcement of curfew, or by Albus' mercenary attitude towards the girl's welfare. Severus Snape did not abide phenomena that had no logical explanation.

Today's exchange between him and Granger, the first of what he grimly deduced would be many similar sessions, certainly did not improve the situation. He had been barely able to conceal his own discomfort after uttering those thoughtless words about the Dark, when the girl's overly inquisitive eyes had shot straight up to his, rattling his defenses as they did so. Granger, in the span of a few short weeks, had managed to intrude into his most private of spaces : his thoughts. The only thing that kept him sane this evening was her endless prattle, which would give him something to snap at.

The girl had finished chopping asphodel root and was now diligently attending to a lightly steaming cauldron. The smoke somewhat obstructed his view of her. Her features flickered in and out of view behind the light blue wisps that were rising from the potion. Her lips were slightly quirked to one side, and her brows seemed to have knitted themselves into a permanent V shape, so frequently were they contorted during his classes. A few stray hairs were matted against her forehead from the hot moisture, though thank Merlin, most of her unruly mane remained sequestered behind her head in a hair tie. Severus did not appreciate the results that took place after hair fell into simmering potions.

Unexpectedly, Severus found the general effect of the girl brewing was not at all displeasing. In fact, she formed a rather elegant picture, robe-clad arm forming slow circles over the cauldron... no doubt because nothing she touched was coming to ruin, as they so frequently did in the presence of Longbottom or Potter, Severus decided. Severus felt a small stirring within him that was as fleeting as night pixies, fading as quickly as it had come.

Repressing the urge to swear, Severus closed his eyes briefly and ran a hand tiredly over his nose in a gesture of exasperation. He must be more exhausted than usual, to have his mind wandering in this inappropriate manner. He was sure after so many years, it was all a moot point; he was in more danger of consuming one of the Headmaster's lemon drops than he was of entertaining unprofessional aspirations toward Granger.

More to distract himself than out of concern for Granger's progress, he put down his unread Potions journal and asked, "Is the potion advancing as planned?"

She nodded her head, and then ladled a sample of the substance for his examination. "It seems like there are some changes taking place... this is a darker blue than normal Pensieve Base, I think."

He took in the indigo-tinted fluid inside the vial she presented him, and said in agreement, "It is. Keep working on it and you may test its effect when it is complete."

Three lengthy articles in Potions Weekly later, Granger had dampened the flame under her cauldron and was peering uncertainly at her potion.

Severus retrieved the Pensieve from its place inside his desk drawer and set it before him. The Pensieve still held his most recently regurgitated recount of a Death Eater meeting, the bluish white memory swirling gently inside the basin. Quickly picking at the feathery substance with his wand, he restored the memory to his mind. He remembered all too well what had occurred last time he had used a Pensieve in the presence of a student, and he would be damned if it happened again. "Bring the potion here," he instructed sharply, and he was pleased that Granger gave him an apprehensive look.

"Activate the Pensieve. We will test it with one of your own memories."

She ladled a spoonful of potion into the Pensieve, and after a moment, it was absorbed into the stone surface.

Granger then deposited a memory, and waited eagerly for it to settle. But instead of smoothing into a shimmering liquid surface, the memory slowly disappeared into the walls of the Pensieve, just as the Pensieve Base before it had. She gasped, then looked closer. "It didn't work!" she murmured in disappointment.

Nonplussed, Severus leaned in to have a better view himself. Though he had assumed the potion would be altered, he hadn't foreseen an interaction with the Pensieve itself. He wondered whether the Pensieve was now altered as well. "No matter," he said. "I had warned you that the results would be unpredictable. But you may leave the potion here. I want to see what effect it has on the Pensieve."

His eyes fell on the jar of phoenix eyes he had set aside earlier. "You would also do well to figure out how you intend to experiment with Water of Styx."

"Well...I don't know what you mean, Professor."

Whether it was due to what seemed to be an unusual obtuseness on Granger's part, or to patience worn thin from weeks of restless contemplation, Severus stood, every part of him suddenly rebelling against this undertaking, against this potion, against Granger. Anger gliding through his gut like a snake searching for prey, he asked fiercely, "Do you actually intend to use 'bone of the father?' And 'flesh of the servant?'" All his efforts to maintain calm before the girl appeared to have all been in vain. "I know you believe it is fortuitous that in your case, you actually could. Your father is dead and either of your sycophant friends could probably be persuaded to offer a limb. But while the Headmaster has forced me in allowing you to research a Dark Potion in my classroom, I absolutely forbid you to brew Water of Styx!"

He stopped when he noticed he was almost shouting. Granger had taken two steps back and was now eyeing him with a mixed expression of fear and hurt. She blinked rapidly several times, and then softly said, "I hadn't thought of that, sir. I--" Her voice caught, and then turning, she quickly exited the classroom.

With a growl, Severus banished the Pensieve and sank into his chair.

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Author's Notes:

1. The title of the chapter is once again an allusion from the lines of Macbeth. These are the lines following the ones for which the previous two chapters were named.

2. Many apologies for anyone who had been expecting an update. A year is certainly longer than usual between chapters, and I plead guilty to covering my head and running away when RL reared its ugly head.

3. For anyone with a Livejournal, I'd love to friend you! Mine is listed in my profile.

4. And as always, many thanks go out to my betas, Potionmistress and Natalie :-)

Reviews are very much appreciated!