This Present Darkness

Chapter Eight

" this house shall become a desolation."

Jeremiah 22:5

"And death shall be chosen rather than life by all the residue of them that remain of this evil family"

Jeremiah 8:3

Hermione didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and take a good, long look at Snape's home and heritage. So she did. Leaving the cloak on in case there were any lurking Death Eaters, she wondered down long and dark corridors barely lit by dim, magical torches along the walls.

She looked into the countless rooms. There was an entire wing of elaborate but old-fashioned guest bedrooms - all immense with heavy furniture, and rich drapes and tapestries. Another wing was obviously the servants' quarters. The vast middle section had several ballrooms, a colossal entry foyer with grand staircases, several dining rooms of differing sizes, sitting rooms, drawing rooms, cards and games rooms, a conservatory, a music room, an art gallery, the library, a private theatre, and a private museum. In another wing were the family's private rooms. Each member had their own suite of rooms including an immense bedroom, a bathroom, a study, a dressing room and a sitting room.

You'd get tired just walking from your bed in the morning to the bathroom to the dressing room to the sitting room, Hermione thought feeling exhausted at the mere idea. No wonder Snape had turned up his nose at her parents' house. It looked less than their servants' quarters here, for all its modern trendiness.

Under the light of a full moon she could see the grounds. There was a large lake glittering under the moon, stables, walled gardens, a maze, open formal gardens with dried up fountains, manicured lawns (who kept them manicured, she wondered?) and woodlands full of ancient trees. It was fairy tale place gone to ruin, she decided. For all its grandeur, it was austere and forbidding. It was a house whose day had come and gone - a place forgotten and uncared for. A place of shadows and long held secrets that no-one cared to know anymore.

Finally, she headed back to the art gallery. Again, it was as big as a ballroom; its walls lined with family portraits as well as priceless, original wizarding art.

She took the cloak off as it was obvious there was no-one there but her. She kept it folded over one arm just in case, however. The minute she took off the cloak, she heard an exclamation. She froze.

"Hermatica?" a deep, vaguely familiar voice said. Hermione anxiously scanned the room. "Over here," the voice said again, more softly. With relief, Hermione realised it was one of the portraits. She made her way over to it. It was one of the larger ones, in an ornate gilt frame. She stared. If it weren't for the rich and elaborate Arabian robes, she would think it was Snape himself. The man in the frame stared frankly back, his face frozen in shock. "What are you doing here, Hermatica?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"My name isn't Hermatica, it's Hermione," she corrected emphatically. She felt strange. His deep-set, dark eyes were looking at her with an odd mixture of regret, longing and another emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on. It made her feel strange and suddenly her heart lurched inside her as she realised with a flash of panic that what she wanted more than anything else was for Snape to look at her in just this way. It was eerie because it was almost as if Snape was - the man in the portrait looked so similar to him. Hermione felt a bit shocked and dislocated from the unexpectedness of this personal revelation.

The man in the portrait frowned at her words. "But you look just like her apart from those dreadful clothes," he said.

Hermione suddenly felt miffed. It may be a tracksuit she was wearing but it was a very trendy, sporty tracksuit. She thought she looked good. "Who is Hermatica?" she asked, annoyed.

The man just looked at her sadly, almost looking through her. "Someone I knew a long time ago," he said finally.

"Well, I'm not her okay? Who are you? An ancestor of Severus Snape, I presume?" she asked, trying to ignore the craving in the shadowed eyes of Snape's look-a-like as they rested on her.

The man frowned more deeply. "I AM Severus Snape," he said, abruptly arrogant.

"Okay, so Snape was named after you," Hermione stated.

"Are you talking about that cheerless, taciturn young man who used to live here?" the portrait asked out of the blue.

"I don't know. How long ago was that?" she asked. It certainly sounded like her Snape.

"Not long. Maybe 10 or 15 years ago?" he replied.

"It must have been him," Hermione said with a shrug. "Why was he so gloomy?" she asked curiously.

It was the man's turn to shrug. "Only child perhaps? His parents were rather cold and distant; wrapped up in their own affairs and their ambitions for the boy. He was probably lonely, there were few people his parents considered good enough for their son to mix with."

"He comes from an overly proud family," Hermione said pointedly.

The man in the portrait bristled. "Why shouldn't we be proud? We are an ancient dynasty," he said haughtily.

"So I keep being told," Hermione said wryly, tempted to roll her eyes.

* "Young woman, this family is descended from the Moors in Africa whose descendants can be traced back to before recorded history. Even then, we were Princes of our race and our advanced culture brought civilization to Europe. Few throughout history have dared to oppose us. On the other side of the family, we can trace our bloodline back to the Scythians, Sarmatians and Amazons; all ancient inhabitants of Russia's southern steppes. These Mesopotamic, nomadic tribes were feared warriors and accomplished horsemen who warded off the mightiest rulers including Darius and Alexander. Our magical bloodline can be traced back to the royal family of Cordova and to the prince Colaxais, the son of Targitaus - a great supernatural being who founded the Scythian race," he said coldly, pride in every line of his posture.

Well, that explains his dark colouring and hawkish features, Hermione thought with interest. Also, the family's potent magical legacy.

"And what is your heritage?" he sneered.

Honestly, Hermione thought. It's just like having a conversation with Snape. "I'm a witch with two Muggle parents," she said bluntly and without apology.

The man's face went white. "Just like Hermatica," he whispered.

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Who is Hermatica?" she snapped.

He looked away, as though looking at her was suddenly painful. "I would have married her but her bloodline was completely contaminated by Muggle blood," he murmured, almost to himself. "My family would not allow it. We were ruling Princes, we had to marry within our class," he said almost pleading for understanding.

"Dolt," was all Hermione had to say.

He frowned at her. "She was a great deal more polite than you," he said sternly. Hermione felt like telling him to tell someone who cared. Really, this ancestor of Snape's had exactly the same effect on her that Snape himself did, she thought. "I want to see her again," he said, staring into space once more and ignoring Hermione rolling her eyes. "There was a portrait done but I haven't seen it," he mused. "It's not here."

"I remember seeing some in the drawing rooms but I didn't look at any of them closely. Shall I have a look for you?" she asked, feeling generous. The look of sudden, desperate hope that glowed in his dark, shadowed eyes frightened her with its intensity.

"Would you?" he said, staring down at her compellingly just like her own Snape did on occasion.

She nodded and backed away. It freaked her, seeing this play of emotions over a face identical to Snape's. It made her heart ache strangely and she didn't like it.

She re-traced her steps back to the main drawing room. She hunted on each wall, looking at each portrait of a woman carefully. Finally, she found a full-length portrait in one corner. Her eyes widened. Now she understood why he had called her by this woman's name. They were not identical but the similarity was a bit uncanny. "Are you Hermatica?" she asked. The woman in the portrait looked down at her and drew in her breath sharply.

"Yes. Who are you? You look... you look..."

"Yes, we look alike, don't we?" Hermione said impatiently. "Hold on, I'm going to levitate you back to the main gallery. There's someone who wants to see you."

"Alright but who are you?" she insisted, as Hermione floated her off the wall and down the hall.

"Snape's ward," Hermione said shortly, concentrating on not dropping the priceless object.

"The new master Snape?" she said thoughtfully, catching on instantly. "Poor man," she murmured. Hermione nearly dropped the painting.

"Why poor?" she demanded irritably.

Hermatica sighed. "Poor lonely, neglected boy," she sighed.

"Yeah, poor little rich boy," Hermione said sarcastically.

"He had no-one. He used to spend his days in the library reading on his own," she sighed again and looked wistful.

Hermione suddenly had tears in her eyes and was very grateful for her friends who at least pulled her out of the library occasionally for some fun. As she came back into the drawing room, the man in the portrait watched anxiously as Hermione levitated the portrait over to him. "I found her," she announced. The way the two stared at each other transfixed Hermione. It gave her goosebumps. The similarities were too close. It was like watching Snape and herself in some other life. She cleared her throat slightly. "Do you want to be next to each other or opposite each other," she asked finally.

"Next to each other. Then we can visit," the man demanded imperiously not taking his eyes off Hermatica.

Hermione moved a picture of a grey haired man with Snape's hawkish nose further down the wall to make room for Hermatica's portrait and put her next to him on the wall. Immediately, he got up and moved into her frame. He was every bit as tall and slender as her own Snape, Hermione observed.

They didn't say anything for a long time, merely looked at each other. Hermione began to feel a bit out of place and turned to go, and walked straight into Snape's chest. "Geez, do you always have to sneak around like a bloody cat?" Hermione complained, taking one step back and glaring up at him in the shadowy half light.

He glanced over her head and frowned at the two portraits there. "You're a romantic, Hermione. His family killed her when they knew he loved her," he said harshly.

"You mean, your family killed her," Hermione corrected. "Besides, it doesn't mean they didn't really love each other," she added. "Keeping up the family tradition, Professor?" she said pointedly, indicating his Death Eater robes.

He ignored her dig at him. "It would have been a disaster if he'd married her," he rasped. "It couldn't be allowed."

"Well, you've been well brain-washed," she snapped.

By now the first Severus Snape and Hermatica were staring at them. "So you're the heir," the man said flatly. "I haven't seen you around here for years. The family home is going to ruin. No wonder the line has come to an end," he sneered, looking Snape up and down dismissively.

Snape glared at him. It was peculiar to see the two identical men glowering at each other. "The only reason you could have founded the dynasty was because Hermatica was murdered," Snape argued, his black eyes narrowed.

"It's sad to see how much intelligence has been lost to the bloodline," the man said contemptuously. "I conquered the land in Africa that would become our heritage and that gave us our wealth, and ruled it too but you and the entire Snape clan are descended from my murderous younger brother. His blood still tells, I see," his ancestor spat at him. "How dare you bring that filthy lot of Death Eaters to the family home? Not even your parents allowed it!"

Snape stared at him incredulously. "But the family history... I was told that we were your descendents and that your brother was disowned."

"He was disowned but his children were the only heirs," his ancestor said unequivocally. "I married but it was a marriage of alliance that produced no children."

Snape's face was bloodless. "My whole family history is a lie? We're descended from a murderer?" he repeated, dazedly.

"Yes, Death Eater," he said meaningfully, pulling Hermatica against him with one arm.

Snape looked ill; very, very ill.

"You need some sleep, Professor," Hermione said quietly. "Let's go back to my house. It's nearly morning," she took his arm firmly and led him to the fireplace at the other end of the room. Snape's ancestor had already turned back to Hermatica when she stepped into the fireplace.

"Do you think they'll make it Severus?" Hermatica asked softly, at the other end of the room.

"If one or the other doesn't get murdered, they just might," he replied, glancing down the room at the figures by the fireplace.

"I hope so," Hermatica breathed.

"Me too," he agreed.

Once back at Hermione's house, Snape immediately went downstairs to his rooms without a word still looking sick. Hermione went to her rooms and after lying awake for awhile, finally slept.

* * *

Snape paced in front of the fire, once downstairs again. He felt exposed and hideously vulnerable, as though he suddenly had lost his skin and all his nerves were exposed to the air. He felt fragile, as though the merest breath of wind could shatter him.

When he had come back after the Death Eaters' meeting, he remembered that he'd left the parchment lying out. He'd gone to destroy it only to find it missing. Immediately he'd gone upstairs to find Hermione's bedroom light on and that she was no-where to be found. He suspected immediately that when he had refused to take her to a Death Eaters' meeting, she had decided to follow him secretly if she could. It was just like her not to allow anyone to stand in her way. That damn Potter would have done the same thing in the same situation. He had always known that Potter would have a bad influence on her. He doubted it was something that the hopeless goody-two-shoes she'd been in first year would have done.

He'd done a location charm over his house when he got back and sure enough, she was in the art gallery. He had been terrified by the fact that she couldn't have been wearing Harry's invisibility cloak at the time, otherwise the location charm wouldn't have worked. There could have still been Death Eaters lurking in the house in any number of places, it was foolhardy of her to have taken off the cloak.

He'd been waiting to pounce on her and bawl her out for following him there but had been arrested by the sight of Hermione and him staring into each other's eyes. Or rather, Hermatica and his ancestor staring into each others' eyes but it amounted to the same thing. It was a profound shock and kept him silent in the shadows for a few minutes. The image sliced through him like a knife, burning itself into his brain.

Before either Hermatica or his ancestor could reveal him, he had walked over to her and just at that moment she had turned to go. Rather than be intimidated or embarrassed by his presence, she'd been annoyed. It was so typical of her not to be cowed by him and so irritating when he could inspire fear in so many others.

Then, he'd had to cope with the shocking revelation about his family. He had known Hermatica's story but had always been taught that her Muggle blood would have weakened the strong magical powers of his family even though she was actually a powerful witch. He had never realised just how much Hermione now looked like Hermatica because the first time he'd seen Hermione, she had been a bushy-haired, big-toothed, flat-chested pre-adolescent. The change in her appearance as she grew and developed had been so gradual that he had never made the connection.

He felt as though a large part of himself was crumbling and dissolving like dry sand. He didn't know who he was or what he believed anymore. He now found himself spying on the very group he had ardently believed in for so much of his life. His family history was a sham and he was descended from a murderer and now, these powerful and uncontrollable feelings for the Muggle-born Hermione - a girl nearly half his age. Seeing Hermatica and his ancestor together had finally brought it home. He had been forced to see what he deeply desired and didn't want to admit to when he saw the image of himself and Hermione staring raptly into each other's eyes.

He felt dizzy. He needed sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Snape came upstairs to get some milk for his morning coffee before breakfast and got a glimpse of Hermione sitting in the lounge. He wouldn't have thought twice about it and would have continued on his way if he hadn't noticed the extreme stillness with which she sat. Silently, he crept closer to the doorway and carefully peered into the room from an angle where he could remain unseen.

She wasn't doing anything. She wasn't reading (very unusual, he thought), she wasn't listening to music, she wasn't watching something she called a 'documentary' on TV, she wasn't talking to a friend on the phone or writing a note for her owl to take to Ron or Harry or one of the other dozens of friends she seemed to have. She just... sat. Motionless. Still. Silent. Sphinx-like. Un-natural.

He began to grow anxious as he watched her. She hardly seemed to blink. He cleared his throat. No response. "Hermione?" she blinked and looked around at him.

"What?" she said blankly, when he was silent.

He frowned. "You were so still. I didn't know if you were okay," he said awkwardly, hardly believing the words were coming out of his own mouth.

Hermione stared at him like he'd grown another head. Since when had Snape voluntarily and spontaneously expressed concern for her welfare? "I'm fine," she said.

His frown grew deeper. "No, you're not. Hermione, what is it? Why are you always so... so..." he struggled for a word.

"Difficult to read?" she supplied succinctly.

He stared at her. "Yes but more. I thought at the beginning you were being strong about your parents' death but that's not it, is it?" his mind was racing. Pieces of the puzzle named 'Hermione' were coming together. "It's not really strength, is it Hermione?" he said challengingly, coming into the room. "What you really are is shut down."

"You can talk," Hermione said rudely.

It was like a slap across the face. Why did she see him so clearly when he struggled so much to understand her? It deeply frustrated him because it gave her the upper hand. "We're not talking about me for once, Hermione. We're talking about you." He came and sat on an armchair near the couch she was sitting on. His face was unreadable as he examined hers. She looked back, unmoved. "Why can't you grieve for your parents, Hermione? It's more than the fact they were perfectionists and demanding, isn't it?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione wanted to tell him to stop minding her business but as he had told her so much of his own past, she felt this was unfair. Reluctantly, she nodded. "And its got something to do with this mysterious sister, hasn't it?" he probed.

She nodded again. He waited.

"My father," she began then stopped and sighed. "He did something to my sister. I don't know exactly what," she shrugged. "It was sexual but I don't know how much or how often or how far he went," she said, looking away from him.

Snape looked horrified. Rape and sexual perversion was rife amongst the Death Eaters but incest was taboo even for them. Hermione took in his reaction tiredly. "And you?" he asked anxiously. "Did he... Did he...?"

"No. I was still little - not old enough to be attractive in that way to him. Once the family knew, I was protected," she explained frankly, her face impassive. Snape nodded, secretly relieved. "Mum didn't really do anything other than make sure we were never alone with him again. Up until the day he died, he called my sister a liar but she wasn't lying. I knew from the time I was tiny that there was something wrong with my father."

Snape was flummoxed. It was so much worse than he expected. Now that Hermione had started, she seemed unable to stop. "He was mean in other ways too. He was violent; physically violent and emotionally violent." Snape winced. "He was a bully and a tyrant, and mean with his money although he had a lot of it. He was cruel just because he could be and we were too little to fight back. We were always tip-toeing around him. I loved being at Hogwarts," she sighed. "I was away from it all."

"And your Muggle sister got out as soon as she could," Snape concluded.

"Yes. Into a violent marriage," she replied flatly. Snape winced again.

"My sister and I used to joke that when Dad died, we'd both wear a 'Life. Be In It' t-shirt to the funeral," she laughed weakly.

"I wondered about the red outfit at the funeral," Snape said wryly.

"A concession. Wasn't MacGonagall horrified?" she giggled weakly.

"I wondered why your sister didn't come to the funeral," he admitted. All in all, it had been a strange service, he pondered.

"I haven't seen her for years. While I was at Hogwarts, Mum finally decided to divorce Dad. Of course, he made her life hell about it. He no longer loved her - if he's capable of really loving anyone other than himself - but he enjoyed having her to tyrannise over and make miserable. In the end, they both died before Mum had a chance to get to a solicitor and get the paperwork underway," she said bitterly.

"And your sister wanted no part of it?" Snape guessed.

She nodded. "She never rang and when Mum rang her, she'd make excuses to get off the phone. She cut off as much contact as she could. It hurt Mum's feelings deeply. Of course, Dad was happy to cut my sister out of the will because she was such a 'liar'," she said sarcastically.

"You don't want to share the inheritance now?"he asked.

"The will forbids it, remember? I'd lose my inheritance if I gave her any of it. Besides, I earned it. I was the one here putting up with their crap and constant fighting. I was the mediator and the go-between and the pawn," she said, her voice hard. "She was well out of it. Anyway, she and her husband have plenty of money - they don't need more."

Snape tended to agree with her view of things. "Have you ever spoken to anyone about all this?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Who wants to hear it?" she asked with a shrug. "Harry doesn't want to know that having parents isn't all it's cracked up to be. Ron wouldn't cope well with it. He'd be shocked and so would Ginny. I don't feel close enough to the others, much as I love them. Besides," she hesitated. "I'm ashamed of my family. I don't want people to know," she crossed her arms defensively and looked away.

"They're big secrets to carry alone," Snape said quietly.

"You can talk!" she said again. His face tightened. He sat back in the armchair and contemplated what she'd told him. What a start in life! To be exposed to so much evil for so long while still so young....

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Hermione," he said urgently. "Do you remember what Dumbledore said about the black unicorn?"

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "The black unicorn is a normal unicorn that was tainted by long exposure to evil at a young age. That's why your animagus is a black unicorn, Hermione! You were exposed to the worst kind of evil from the time you were a baby. For the first 17 years of your life, you were exposed to it."

Hermione frowned. It was true that her father was the most evil person she'd ever known. Her father made the Death Eaters look like rank amateurs and Snape look like an angel. She nodded. "It's true. It does explain it," she conceded. The thought obviously did not make her happy. "At least now I know how I ended up a dark creature," she sighed bitterly.

"Your past has been a tragedy, Hermione," Snape said seriously. "But it's left you with a great gift too."

"A gift I have to give up in order to use," she reminded him.

"I meant the gift of the unicorn's magical powers, not that of destroying evil by absorbing it," he said sharply. "You must never use that particular gift, Hermione."

"It's mine to use," she said stubbornly.

"It's not worth it," he hissed, urgently.

She shrugged. "The bottom line is, that I'm a dark and cursed creature and the only thing left to me is being useful in that way," she said with finality.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a heavy frown.

"Severus, my past has left me with nothing; no wishes, no dream, no ambitions, no desire to do anything. I do what others expect so they won't ask too many questions or probe too deeply but I'm just going through the motions. I don't care about anything, really." Her face was frighteningly blank. "Maybe by stopping Voldemort, my life will finally mean something."

"What about your career? What about falling in love and getting married and having children?" Snape argued forcefully, feeling something cold and heavy lodge itself in his chest.

"What about them?" she shrugged. "I don't care about any of that," she said restlessly.

What about me? Snape wanted to yell at her, at the same time shocked by the violence of his own reaction. Of course she didn't want to live for him; it was a ridiculous notion. "You need to find a reason to keep your human life, Hermione," he said stiffly.

What's it to you? She wanted to snap but didn't. "I've got to do some study," she said finally and got up to go to her computer room.

"Hold on," Snape said. "I still haven't spoken to you about last night."

She flopped back down on the couch with a long-suffering sigh. "What about last night? Apart from the fact that your ancestor doesn't have a very high opinion of you," Hermione observed pointedly.

"What the hell were you doing following me to a Death Eaters' meeting after I expressly forbid you to do so?" he demanded, his black eyes narrowing.

"You didn't forbid me. You just told me you've never take me to one," she argued logically.

"Don't split hairs, Hermione. You knew exactly what I meant and you know why I told you not to go," Snape said impatiently.

"I didn't get discovered did I?" she said cockily.

"Not this time, no. You were just bloody lucky, that's all," Snape spat.

"And I can be lucky again," she reasoned lightly.

"Hermione! You are not to attend one of those meetings ever again! I am your guardian, I am responsible for you and I am telling you that I forbid you to go," he said, getting up and towering over her and glowering down at her.

She shrugged and didn't answer. "It's that damn Potter's influence. He never had any respect for rules or for those trying to protect him and he's made you the same way!" he accused.

"Don't blame Harry for my behaviour!" she said irritably. "You really are jealous of him, aren't you? Why?"

Snape fumed. "I am not jealous of that skinny, blind, little runt!" he snapped. "I just don't like the influence he has on you."

"Oh! So, you just don't like me having friends," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She knew Snape hated it when she rolled her eyes.

Snape gave up. It wasn't strictly true. He just didn't want Hermione having Harry for a friend. He suspected that Harry's feelings for Hermione had once been more than pure friendship and even though Potter now seemed very happy with Ginny, Snape now felt territorial about Hermione being friends with him. With a start he realised that Hermione was right. He was jealous of Potter, just not in the way that she thought.

"Now you're being silly, Hermione," was all he said.

"Can I go and study now?" she asked innocently. He nodded without looking at her, absorbed in all these new and unpleasant revelations about his feelings. "By the way, what kind of a name is Hermatica?" she asked inconsequentially as she left the room.

Snape mused that people with names like 'Hermione' were really not in a position to cast aspersions on other people's strange names. Then Snape remembered that she had called him by his first name for the first time that day and wondered what that meant.

(*Information sourced from history sites on the internet - www.rispubs.com and www.ibiblio.org)