The Mind's Eye

Snape was not surprised that Hermione's face, when she arrived at three o'clock the next day, was closed and guarded. The small bit of trust she had imparted in him had been relinquished. Well, that was to be expected, after what he had led her to, the day before. She probably assumed he was a minion of the Dark Lord himself, the way he was trying so hard to train her. He had hoped she would understand...but then, she was only a child, after all. What could he expect?

"I can't do this," she said, straight faced. It was not a complaint, and she was not whining. It was nothing like that. She was telling him, straight out, in the way he himself would have, that she was incapable of the task. She was not ashamed of it. But he could not let her give up. He had put too much hope into his little project already to allow it to fall apart so soon.

"You can," he said, locking his fingers together on his lap, and watching her face. "You've already begun. Why stop now?"

"You didn't tell me," she insisted, her composure beginning to crack. "You didn't tell me the truth. You told me-!"

"I told you there were side effects," Snape said, cutting her off. "I told you that you had experienced some of them. I never said that there were not worse consequences."

"But..." Hermione didn't know what to say. After a while, she asked, "Does it always happen that way? Do they always...go wrong?" She couldn't seem to bring herself to say what she meant. That bothered Snape. The more one avoided something, the more one feared it. She would have to come to grips with it eventually.

"No," he said, and the look of incredible relief on her face almost sickened him. He was going to elaborate, but then thought better of it. He had told her enough. If he enlightened her any more, his cause was likely to be hopeless. "So," he continued, "you have a chance to take. It's up to you to decide whether or not it's worth it, whether or not you have the personal discipline to undertake it and succeed. I will not pressure you any more."

That was a lie. In fact, Snape had every intention of pressuring her as much as he could, though not outright, and not obviously. He would use subtle mentle pressures, idle comments, and psychology. He was perfectly prepared...

"I'm going to do it," Hermione said, startling him. "But I want you to promise me something."

Ah. Well, promises were not exactly Snape's cup of tea. "And that is...?"

"If I do...change, if I go over to the wrong side, if I can't do it, I want you to kill me." Hermione's expression did not change, and neither did her tone. Her mind was made up.

Snape swallowed hard. He hadn't expected that sort of request. And from such a person...well, it was unusual. "I...don't believe I can do that, Miss-!"

"Promise me!" Hermione was begging him with her eyes now, though her exterior remained calm. "Promise me you won't let me hurt anyone. Promise me you won't let me hurt Harry, or Ron, or..." she trailed off. "Promise me you'll kill me," she said again, "If I don't...if I don't have the 'personal discipline' that I need."

Snape realized that his breathing was coming out harshly, and he made sure to control it before answering. He could agree to this. After all, if she failed, she would have to die, anyway. She'd be lost to them all if she failed. And she was only a girl, a Gryffindor girl, and a friend of the Potter boy. What difference did her life mean to him?

"I will," he said. "I...promise." But he could have sworn his pulse stopped, just for a split second, as he said it.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Hermione had spent all morning thinking about it, before she came to the conclusion that she had to go on. In all truth, she wasn't really sure why she did. It had only been two days ago that she discovered she was capable of anything more than the normal Hogwarts student, and even now she had yet to see any of these powers of hers in full blast. She knew that would take time, possibly too much time. At this point, she was of use to no one. It would not be a loss to anyone if she quit. It might be safer.

And yet...somehow, she felt she had to continue, despite all of her reasoning. Because if Harry...well, if anything were to happen, anything that just maybe, just possibly, she could have prevented, or stopped, with this training and these powers and possibilities, she would never forgive herself. She would never be able to live with the fact that she had 'chickened out,' as Ron might put it.

And yet...it wasn't really cowardice, was it? It would probably be safer for everyone if she gave up. She'd never risk the effects of the Curse, that way. Or would she? Would it matter? Or, perhaps, if she refused the training, would it be easier for the Curse to overtake her?

In the end, she'd decided to go on with it. But only with the assurance that she wouldn't hurt anyone, and only with the knowledge that she would never have to live with herself as a dark witch. It would never be allowed to happen.

That was why, standing there in front of her potions professor, Hermione asked him to kill her if she failed. She saw the expression in his eyes, the way he held himself, taut and wary.

"Still," he said, his old, sarcastic tone returning, as he shook his head slightly to regain composure, "There's no need to be so melodramatic." Hermione was relieved, all the same. He'd agreed. They were all safe, for the time being.

"I highly doubt that you are capable of boosting your skills to such a level that you would be capable of 'hurting' anyone," Snape continued, drumming his long fingers on the desk.

"Then why are you so concerned?" Hermione asked quietly, staring at the ground.

Snape scowled darkly. "What I'm concerned about is that, in your foolish, dramatic bravado, you might injure yourself before you have an opportunity to complete your lessons. I had hoped you were more intelligent than that, but..." He shot her a disdainful glance, and then looked away. "Well, I have been known to miscalculate."

That didn't hurt Hermione. She knew she was doing this the right way. Didn't she?

Putting that out of her mind as much as she could, for the moment, she clasped her hands behind her back, and let out a breath. "Professor," she said, trying to sound as cheerful as she could, "Shouldn't we be starting?"

Snape looked at her for a moment, and then nodded, his cloak swirling around him as he turned on his heel, and headed for the far corner of the room. After a few moments, he returned with a pack of muggle playing cards. Hermione blinked. "Where did you get-!"

"Nevermind that," Snape said testily, laying them on the desk in front of her. He lifted the top card, and handed it to Hermione. It was the King of Hearts. She looked at it, then raised her eyes to meet Snape's. He snatched the card back from her hand, and placed it on the top of the deck. Gesturing for her to sit, he picked up the cards, and shuffled them expertly three times, before setting them down again. "You remember which card it was?" He asked.

Hermione had the sudden urge to giggle, being strongly reminded of the card tricks her older cousin used to play. Stifling it, she nodded, and Snape walked over to his own desk, seating himself at it, and leaning forward to watch her. "I want you," he said, "To move that card from wherever it is, back to the top of the deck. With your mind," he added, as if Hermione didn't know what he was talking about.

Irritated that he was treating her with such condescension, Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and leaned back in her seat. Purposefully, she drew her mind back to her morning's contemplation, being careful to keep the card trick she was trying to perform in the back of her troubled mind. She remembered the shock of discovering the Curse in Grindelwald's biography the day before, remembered the panic she'd felt, the horror, the frustration when she'd read on, in different books, under more names. She thought about herself, unable to control her powers, unable to stop herself from destroying those she loved. She thought about Harry and Ron, who she'd loved and trusted for so long, going up in a puff of smoke in front of her. And all the while, as she tormented herself, the King of Hearts flipped back and forth, just out of reach of her conscious thought, out of the deck, and back into it.

After a while, Hermione realized that there were tears in her eyes, and was unable to hold her concentration, as she sobbed into her hands, forgetting, for the moment, about everything else except the desperation, and the frustration, and the anger she had felt as she let the worst possible outcomes run through her mind. A hand came down on her shoulder, and she tensed, looking up into Severus Snape's intense black eyes.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, and gestured at the desk with his other hand. Blinking tears out of her eyes, she squinted down at it. The King of Hearts lay face up on the top of the deck, perfectly aligned with the other cards, as if placed there by a careful hand.

Suddenly, the exhaustion kicked in, and Hermione's world went black.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Snape caught Hermione this time, as she keeled over sideways in her chair. He supported her, looking at her tearstained, woe-beaten face for moment, before placing her back in the chair.

He'd noticed once before that Hermione Granger had an incredibly expressive face, but today, when she'd been playing with the cards, that observation had taken on an entirely new meaning. He had felt like he was living through her pain, just by looking at her face, at the anguish and the remorse. He had no doubt what it was she was thinking of, this time. At one point, she had even cried out Harry's name. It was all too obvious that her painful fantasies had been all too real for her, real enough that she had flawlessly performed the task he had requested of her without even realizing it.

She was a brilliant girl. Her mental images must have been incredibly vivid, to illicit that sort of a response. And that was exactly what she needed to succeed. That, and deep concentration, which she had just shown.

However, if this sort of thing happened too often, it might kill her. Could Snape teach her to dull her images just enough so that it didn't hurt her so much? Or would that also dull the effect of her powers? He didn't know. He'd never seen anything quite like this before. He'd seen others with the Curse...granted, he hadn't tutored them, but he'd seen them, and he'd never seen this sort of a reaction in them.

Hermione stirred against the chair, and he bent down towards her, anxious despite himself. Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, then groaned and looked away. Straightening, Snape felt a pang of...a pang of something. He couldn't quite tell what, and quickly dismissed it from his mind. Schooling his expression, he regained his stern composure.

"How do you feel?" He asked quietly. Hermione sat straight for a moment, her back to him, and then, with a gasp, curled up into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest, and clasping her arms around them. Apparently, Snape thought, her memory had returned.

"I did it...didn't I?" Hermione asked, and Snape nodded, walking around to her other side, so that he could be facing her.

"You did. You did it quite well." As Snape spoke, Hermione's shoulders straightened, and she looked up at him.

"I want to try again," she said firmly. "Something harder."

It was all Snape could do not to gawp at her. After a moment, he was able to speak. "No," he said, "I think not. Today's lesson is over. You may return to your friends. Actually," he added, stepping towards the door. "I think I'd best accompany you on the way to your common room, lest you collapse again. Come."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her face became desperate. "But-!"

"Tomorrow," Snape interrupted before she could finish her protest, "We will try something different. However, Miss Granger, if you try anything else today, I cannot be responsible for the consequences." Then, in an oddly gentler tone, "You've done enough. Come. I'm sure Potter and Weasley are waiting."

Oddly, Hermione seemed reluctant as they exited the dungeon and climbed the stairs. She didn't say anything for a long time. When she finally spoke, they were halfway down the corridor, nearing the Gryffindor common room.

"Will it always feel like that?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper. Snape shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, keeping his voice level. "I don't know how you felt." But he did. He knew all too well. "It might. You still have the option of quitting, if you like."

"I won't," Hermione replied, too quickly. Snape cringed inwardly, but nodded, and said nothing more. Neither did Hermione.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Hermione was feeling a bit better by dinnertime. The physical effects of her day's lesson had worn off, but the mental ones still lingered, and her mind kept drifting to those images of Harry and Ron, and all her friends, suffering before her. Practicing some of that necessary discipline, she avoided those thoughts, and pushed them into a far corner of her conscious mind.

"Hermione, you aren't eating," Harry, spooning soup into his mouth as he spoke.

"Mmmmf mrrrgle mmmmp mmulla mmmmmmm," Ron said around his mouthful of food.

"What?" Harry asked, distracted, giving Ron an odd look. Ron swallowed, took a sip of water, and then grinned.

"I said," he replied, "Don't talk with your mouth full, Harry. Anyway, Hermione, he's right. What's up? You've been depressed all day."

Harry shot Ron another meaningful look, and Ron's mouth formed a small 'o' of sudden understanding. "Oops," he muttered under his breath, cringing.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Oh, Harry," she muttered. "You don't have to act like I'm going to explode any minute! I'm fine. I'm fine! I'm not worried about...well, what I read the other day. It's been solved."

"It has?" Harry looked excited. "How?"

"Snape...taught me something," Hermione lied, pushing her peas around on her plate. "Something that will prevent me from having that sort of...that sort of change. So you don't have to worry about it any more." Who was she trying to convince, she wondered? Harry, or herself?

"Oh GOOD," Ron said, beaming.

"But," Harry added, looking skeptically, "If that's all settled, what have you been on about all afternoon? Something's still bothering you, Hermione."

"You can tell us, you know," Ron said, apparently trying to sound sincere, while gravy dribbled down his chin. "You can trust us."

"I know I can," Hermione said, just as sincerely. "I know I can. And I do." She didn't say any more than that, and Ron and Harry didn't push her, although Ron looked a little bit hurt.

Oh Ron, thought Hermione, if only you knew. If I told you what I'd felt today, you wouldn't understand. I'm not even sure how to describe it...it was so much pain...I'm not sure if I'll be able to take much more of it. But it worked, didn't it? It worked. I did it. I moved the card. And tomorrow, I'll move something larger. And then, later, I'll learn how to throw objects without touching them, and then how to cast spells without a wand, and soon enough, I'll be able to help you, and Harry won't have to run away, and we can defeat the Dark Lord, and everyone will be safe again.

Unless I fail in my training...and then I'll just be one more menace to deal with.

Somewhere down the hall, the sound of a window shattering could be heard. Hermione felt stupid. She couldn't even control herself, now. What would happen when she got stronger? Surely, it would be more than just windows breaking. Looking up, she met Snape's eyes at the teacher's table, and then quickly looked away again, back at her food.

Harry caught the exchange, and grasped Hermione's hand. "Is it Snape?" He asked.

"What?" Hermione, caught off guard, stared at him. "Is what Snape?"

"Is that what's bothering you?" Harry clarified, jerking his head in the direction of the teacher's table. "What's he done?"

"I knew we couldn't trust him," Ron added, leaning over towards her. "Tell us, Hermione, what's-!"

"It's not Snape!" Hermione had to lower her voice as her too friends hushed her violently, looking around as faces turned towards them. "That's not it," she said, more quietly. "He hasn't done anything, it's just...I'm tired. That's all. It's been a long day, and...I passed out again, earlier. I'm still tired from it. I'm fine, really, I am."

Though he didn't look convinced, Harry knew when to let it go. After an audible kick under the table, Ron, too, stopped asking questions, and Hermione resumed her silence, picking at her plate, avoiding the faces of her two best friends. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell them everything. She wanted to be able to talk to them, to be able to spill out all the anxious, frustrated emotions bottled up inside her, but she couldn't. If she did tell them, if they knew her reasons, they'd make her stop. If they knew what she'd felt through that horror session, trapped in her own ominous thoughts, they'd insist that she end the training, and she couldn't. She couldn't, for so many reasons. She didn't need to convince herself anymore, she knew.

"I'm going to go up to bed," Hermione said, suddenly standing up and pushing in her chair. "I'm so tired..."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding, "Sounds good. You look like you need some rest."

"We'll come by the door and say goodnight," Ron added, grinning cheerfully at her. "Sleep tight!"

I don't want to hurt you, Hermione thought. I love you both so much. I don't want either of you to be hurt.

But she didn't say that. "Goodnight, Harry," was all she said. "Goodnight, Ron."

Hermione did not, in fact, go directly to bed, but sat by the fire in the common room for a long while, just thinking. She fell asleep on the couch, warmed by the flames, and dreamt restless, uneasy dreams.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Locked in his office, Snape clutched at his arm, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he backed himself against the wall. The pain seared through him, through his blood, and into his brain. The voices would not stop...

Severus Snape, they called. Severus Snape, it is time.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head, causing more jolts of pain even as he did so. "No."

Severus Snape, they called. And now it was one voice, one strong, commanding, dangerous voice, a voice he knew all too well. Severus Snape, come to me. You must come to me.

Snape struggled, but found himself riveted to the spot in terror and anguish, and pain, still so much pain. "Won't," he struggled to say, as loud as he could, as firmly as he could. "No, no!"

Severus Snape, he called. It is time. Come to me. You must come to me. Come to me. Come to me...

"SEVERUS!" Another voice now, calling for him. Snape, suddenly released, fell forward to the floor, gasping and sucking air in, crawling on hands and knees over to his desk, and grabbing the leg for support.

"No, no, no," he kept saying, over and over again. He would not go. HE could not make him go. HE would have to stay away...Snape was safe here, safe here, safe here...

"Severus." A hand closed on his shoulder, and Snape jerked upwards, staring up into the peaceful face of Albus Dumbledore. A deep sigh escaped him, and his body sagged backward against the desk.

"It is over," Dumbledore said, and it was true. Shakily, Snape struggled to his feet, clutching at furniture on his way up, until he stood straight again, attempting to regain his composure.

"I'm sorry," he said, schooling his expression. "I did not mean to disturb you."

Dumbledore chuckled dryly. "My dear Professor Snape," he said quietly, "I do not believe what you just...ah, experienced calls for any sort of apology. In any case, you are forgiven for the disturbance." Glancing around the office, Dumbledore let out a sigh, not too different from the one Snape had uttered only a minute ago.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I believe it is my job to say that I'm sorry."

Snape blinked. "Headmaster," he began, "I don't think-!"

"Oh, but I do," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "Enough for both of us." His face was troubled now, an expression he rarely showed his students. "We both know that the time is coming, and I've been putting a great deal of pressure on you lately. You shouldn't be expected, now, of all times, to teach all of your classes, help organize the resistance, and train Hermione Granger as well."

"You know about that?" Snape was startled. But, he thought, he probably shouldn't be. There were many things that Albus Dumbledore knew that he tended to keep to himself.

Dumbledore nodded, still looking thoughtful. "Oh yes, yes. I've suspected for a long time that she might be Cursed. Of course, I've always hoped that I was wrong...but then, perhaps I'm just being a worry-wart." The childish term caused Snape to scowl, but Dumbledore apparently didn't notice.

"You've known?" Snape was getting quite agitated. "And why did you never say anything?"

Dumbledore turned his gaze to Snape, now, and smiled quietly. "I was waiting for you to notice," he said mildly. Snape controlled his anger. "And you did. Oh, I knew you would, in the end. And not a moment too soon, I might add. Perfect timing, actually. I think she'll make quite a rewarding student."

"She does," Snape agreed, shaking his head. "She's too much of a natural, actually." Snape's frown deepened. "I worry that she'll hurt herself. Or worse." The beginning of that day's lesson was still bothering him. "She...she asked me something," he confessed, unsure why he was doing it. "She told me to kill her if she was unable to fight the darker forces. She knew she would have to fight the urge to gain the darker side of her powers."

"You told her?" Dumbledore asked, neither voice nor expression changing.

Snape nodded. "I did. I wanted to see if she was ready to deal with it. I wanted her to know what she'd be up against. I didn't want to keep her in the dark. I wanted..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Severus," Dumbledore said, clapping the man on the shoulder, and making him wince. The pain was ebbing significantly, but his whole body was beginning to ache dully. "Ah, I'm sorry," the Headmaster said contritely.

"Don't be," Snape replied, a bit more tersely than he'd intended. "I don't need your pity, Albus."

Dumbledore said nothing, but just looked out the window at the night sky. After a while, he turned around, and bid Snape good night, before leaving the room. Then, Snape was alone with his dark thoughts and throbbing arm.