The Mind's Eye

Time passed slowly through Hermione, all through autumn. The leaves turned red and gold, and then browned, falling to the ground and crunching beneath the feet of the eager first and second years that ran across the grounds to Hagrid's Hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lessons. All the while, Hermione's life passed almost as it always had, with her erratic schedule and lack of sleep unchanged, despite the pleas of Harry and Ron. In all honesty, she didn't care as much about it all as she'd used to, but she couldn't let them know that. She'd begun to live for those afternoon sessions with Professor Snape, getting stronger every day, and more powerful. The depression she'd originally experienced had been tempered slightly, or perhaps she'd just gotten used to it, but it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been a month and a half ago, when she'd tried the card trick for the first time.

So when, one afternoon in early December, she entered the potions dungeon to find Snape absent, Hermione was, needless to say, a bit disturbed. He'd never been late. "Late" was simply not a word in Severus Snape's vocabulary. Still, Hermione thought, there was a first time for everything, and there was no doubt a good excuse. So she waited.

After what she estimated to be about ten minutes, Hermione began to really worry. Where was he? Had he forgotten, heaven forbid? Had he simply gotten caught up somewhere? Or worse, had she proven herself such a horrible student that he'd given up on her? Hermione stewed helplessly, unaware that she was pacing back and forth, washing her hands together. He would come. He had to come. She had to know more. She had to finish what she'd started. He would come.

But he didn't. And after another something-like-ten-minutes, Hermione left the room, and climbed the stairs towards Snape's office. She knew that she probably shouldn't bother him, especially if he'd found her lacking enough to simply not show up for a lesson, but she had to know, she had to find out what had gone wrong. Striding quickly, she reached the office in very little time, and raised her hand, hesitantly rapping on the door.

No response.

Hermione tried again, louder, and again met with no result. Unable to restrain herself, she pushed the door open, slightly, and peered into the office.

Snape was lying in the middle of the floor, limbs spread out around him, motionless. Suppressing a gasp, Hermione flung the door wider, and stepped in, dropping to her knees beside her teacher, and feeling for his pulse with one hand. There it was, strong and steady. Looking around the room, Hermione could find nothing indicating a struggle, or a fight. He had just collapsed, then, out of nowhere? She couldn't feel any sort of spell.

"Professor," she murmured, shaking his shoulders slightly, and bracing herself for his wrath when he woke up and discovered her over him. He didn't wake. She shook harder. "ProFESSOR!" Still, nothing.

Frustrated, Hermione sat, confused and slightly frantic. The logical side of her mind reasoned that somehow, he had to get to the hospital wing. It was quite obvious that she couldn't lift him, him being about a foot and a half taller than her, and besides, it would look awfully strange walking down the hall carrying the potions professor. Briefly, Hermione wondered why on earth she cared what it would look like, but she had little time for such speculation. Then, suddenly, she had it.

Backing up in to the corner of the room, Hermione seated herself cross-legged on the floor, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She began to think of what it would mean should her afternoon sessions come to an end. She was too far now to stop so suddenly. She wouldn't be able to accomplish her goal, nor would she be able to control herself if the effects of the Curse did come in to play. She thought about Harry and Ron, and she thought, very, very lightly, about Professor Severus Snape, lying on the ground in front of her. She thought about the Dark Lord, and the end of the world that she had discovered only seven years ago. She thought of being alienated from all her friends, or worse, having them hate her, turn against her, become her enemies. She thought about her parents, and her cousins, and aunt Lisa, and uncles Carey and Jake. She thought, in the back of her mind, about her potions professor leaving the room, and drifting down the stairs. She thought about then end, the same way she thought about it every time, just to get a rise out of herself.

When it was over, there were, as per usual, tears in her eyes. Hermione had learned to disregard the tears. Her head spun, but she firmly controlled herself, willing herself to stand straight, and walk down the hall towards the hospital wing. When she got there, it was a great relief to see Snape draped across the cot, one arm hanging limply over his side. As she watched, his eyes flickered open, and he blinked once, before raising her eyebrows.

"Well, Miss Granger," he managed. "I think we're about ready to move on with your training."

Hermione wanted to smile, but she was too tired. Instead, she flopped into a chair, and closed her eyes.

"All right," she replied. Snape did not volunteer the reason for his former position, so Hermione did not ask.

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

"Pass the pancakes, will you, Hermione?" Neville Longbottom asked from across the table. Hermione blinked. The pancakes in question were about three inches from his hand, and about a foot from her. Quirking an eyebrow, she reached over the table and nudged them an inch closer. Neville blushed, and looked at his plate.

Ron chuckled, and poked Harry in the ribs. "You think today's the day?" he asked cryptically. Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, I don't," he replied, forking some eggs into his mouth. "He's been threatening for weeks."

"Don't think threatening's the word," Ron said, grinning widely. "Eh, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. The two of them had been on like this ever since they'd greeted her in the common room that morning. "What are you two grinning idiots on about?" she asked, as she had several times already. Harry and Ron just looked at each other, and made useless attempts to hide their growing mirth. Hermione sighed.

"Hermione?" Neville asked again.

"Yes?" Hermione responded absently. "Check if you can reach whatever it is before you ask, will you?"

Neville didn't say anything for a moment, and then shook his head. "Never mind." Then, a few moments later, "Ah, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"...Sorry, nothing."

Leaning forward, Hermione gave Neville a long, searching long. He was as red as a beet, staring down at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever come across. Hermione blinked. "Neville, is everything all right? You seem...flustered." That was a rather pointless question, she thought belatedly. Neville was always worried about something. But it was polite to ask.

"Hermione, can't you see? He's-!" Ron never got to finish his sentence, as Harry clamped a hand over his mouth before he could. Ron struggled ineffectually for a bit, and then gave up. After a few seconds, Harry let go, and Ron glared at him.

"All right, I get the point. But if he doesn't say something soon..." Ron trailed off suggestively.

Neville looked like he wanted to crawl away. Hermione, giving up, devoted herself to finishing her breakfast. She was still exhausted from the night before. Bad dreams were starting to be a nightly occurrence. It was awful, the kind of things she saw in her sleep. During her afternoon classes with Snape, she could imagine all sorts of horrible things, lost in her concentrated trance. But at night, it all seemed so much more real, and there wasn't anyone there to snap her out of it if she started to cry.

"Hullo, Hermione?" Ron was waving a hand in front of her face, forcing her out of her reverie.

"What?" she asked, a bit more testily than she'd intended.

"What do you say?" Ron asked, sounding impatient.

"To what?"

Ron rolled his eyes, and clapped a hand dramatically to his forehead. "To what? Are you saying that you zoned out at the exact moment that Neville-!"

"Hermione," Neville interrupted, rather loudly, "Will you go t-t-to Hogsmeade with me for dinner tonight?"

Hermione gaped. Ron looked frankly impressed. Harry just shook his head and smiled.

"Ah, that is..." Neville's face was beginning to look as if it might explode. "If...you're not busy, or anything."

Hermione blinked, once, twice, three times. "Ah...sure, Neville, why...not?"

The people around her went momentarily silent. Apparently, that wasn't the answer they'd expected.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured. "The crazy git did it."

Neville stood up quickly from the table. "I've, uh, got to go, though. See you later. Goodbye!" As fast as his stubby legs could carry him, Neville scuttled away, leaving Hermione in a state of bemusement.

"Well," Ron said, leaning his elbow on the table and smirking at her. "That went well."

"He's been threatening to ask for ages," Harry added, rolling his eyes and jerking his head in the direction that Neville had retreated in.

"Didn't think you'd actually agree to it, though." Raising one eyebrow, Ron looked at her searchingly. "Can't say I every suspected that you had a thing for Longbottom."

Hermione was flustered. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. I couldn't just say 'no,' could I? Imagine how horrible poor Neville would feel!"

"He'd get over it," Ron decided.

Harry gave Ron a disapproving look. "Hermione's right. It'd be really hard for Neville if she turned him down. He's never had a steady girlfriend, remember? This must be a big thing for him."

That seemed to end the conversation, and the meal. Rising from their seats, the trio of Gryffindors headed off to the common room. Hermione couldn't help feeling her spirits lift a little bit. Now, she had something to look forward to. Neville wasn't at all a bad person, and she was fond of him...granted, not in the way he apparently hoped she was. That bothered her a bit. She felt like she might be leading him on. But then, there was no harm in just one try.

Humming a little tune, Hermione stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Cucumber," she stated clearly, and it swung open to admit her.

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

When Hermione arrived in the dungeon at three o'clock, Snape immediately noticed a change of attitude in her. She was, for one thing, humming.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said, trying to ignore the rather irritating little tune, "I believe I told you we were going to start something new, today."

"Yes, sir." She was cheerful, smiling, even. He felt himself tempted to smile back, and promptly squelched the urge, resettling his psyche back to where it belonged.

"You've mastered, basically, the movement of objects from place to place." He began to pace back and forth as he spoke, unconsciously releasing his nervous energy in the action. "Today, we're going to try transferring objects from place to place...instantaneously."

Hermione looked puzzled. "You mean...like, teleportation?"

"More or less." Snape shrugged. He stopped pacing, and stepped forward towards the desk where Hermione had seated herself, as per usual. "I think, despite the undeniable progress you have made, we're going too slowly. We don't have enough time. Therefore," and he sighed resignedly. "I am going to sacrifice my health and welfare, no doubt, and allow you to attempt to transport me from the next room, back into this one."

Hermione blinked. "But...Professor, I've never tried moving a human before. Except for...that once." She blushed slightly.

Snape snorted. "Yes, well, what does that have to do with anything? It's time to try. No more excuses." And with that, he swept himself out of the room and into the next, seated himself cross-legged on the floor, and arranging his robes around him. He let out a breath, preparing himself to bump headlong into a wall, or to disappear and end up somewhere entirely embarrassing and out of the ordinary. No doubt, on her first try, Miss Granger would manage to put him in some position that he would have trouble getting out of. The girls' toilet was a likely spot. Scowling, he leaned back, and waited.

Nothing happened for several minutes. A bit irritated, Snape rose, and returned to the dungeon in which Hermione sat, perfectly still in her chair.

"Well?" He asked, apparently startling her and snapping her out of her thoughts.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, sounding flustered. "I just...I can't seem to concentrate."

"Well, try again," he snapped. "We've only got a bit of time, and I'm growing gray hairs." He watched her suppress a giggle at that expression, and rolled his eyes. "Get to work," he ordered with a sigh, and walked back into the other room.

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

Hermione knew she could do this. Since Snape hadn't given her any other instructions, she assumed that teleportation required exactly the same thing as telekinesis. All she had to do was concentrate.

And yet, she couldn't. As she dutifully closed her eyes and settled herself back in the chair, she found her mind wandering in all sorts of directions. Willing herself to stay on task, she began to take her daily dive into the possibilities of the future, the horrors that were to come, the pain, the suffering, the terror she could inflict on others.

Still, through all that horror, she was torn. She couldn't take it seriously, couldn't keep her mind on it, couldn't stay on track. Neville's blushing, stammering face kept appearing, as he asked her, over and over through her mind, to go to Hogsmeade with him. Hermione had not been on a date since she'd gone with Dean Thomas to a quidditch game over the summer. That, of course, hadn't been particularly successful, and the two of them had never really hit it off. It had been in her sixth year...

No. No, she couldn't think about that. There was pain. There was pain. She forced herself, though reluctantly, to concentrate on the pain. Yet...

Dean had been the first since Viktor Krum, in fourth year. She remembered the summer she'd gone to visit him in Bulgaria. Her mother hadn't been too thrilled about the whole thing, but somehow Hermione had convinced her. It had been wonderful. Hermione had never been out of the country before, and had never had an experience quite like the one that Bulgaria brought. Viktor had been so kind to her. What had gone wrong, she wondered?

If Hermione wasn't careful, she might actually fulfill that hateful prophecy that she'd been living every afternoon, in this stinking room. She had to pay attention! Death. Suffering. Pain. Anguish. Blood. Burning. Her, at the midst of it all...

Like she had been that time at the quidditch stadium with Dean, when the home team had scored, and the little man in front of them had become so excited that he squeaked and fell forward three rows, on top of some poor woman, who fainted on the spot. Dean had thought it extremely funny. His laughter was contagious. Just thinking about it, Hermione startled to giggle.

"Miss Granger." Snape's voice was cold. Spinning around in her seat, Hermione met the eyes of her potions professor, standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

"Miss Granger," he said again, "I see you find something funny. Please, enlighten me, because I find nothing funny at all about this particular situation."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I...I'm sorry, Professor, I just...I can't...I can't keep my thoughts straight."

"Clearly." Snape just stood there and looked at her for a long time. She began to fidget nervously in her chair.

"Shall I...try again?" she asked hesitantly. After a moment, Snape shook his head.

"No," he said, shortly. Then, "Obviously, we aren't going to get anything accomplished today. You are dismissed."

"But-!" Hermione began to protest, but Snape cut her off.

"You are," he said deliberately, "Dismissed. Return to your friends. We will try again tomorrow."

Without saying anything else, Hermione rose, and vacated the room. She was furious with herself as she climbed the stairs, berating herself for not having the discipline to concentrate.

And if she didn't have the discipline for that, how could she possibly have the discipline to fight the darkness when it came?

It was a shame, now, that the gloom fell back upon her. If only she'd managed to maintain it in the classroom. Now, it was the last thing she needed.

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

As it was the first time in quite a while that she'd gone anywhere with a boy other than Harry and Ron, Hermione had dressed up a bit for the occasion. She was wearing the purple dress with the tiered skirts, the one she'd bought for her uncle's wedding last year. She'd straightened her hair the old fashioned way, remembering the disaster that had occurred when Ginny had tried to do it once before, with a spell. When she'd decided she was as presentable as could be, she'd set out.

She and Neville had agreed to meet at Clytemnestra's Kitchen, a little restaurant behind the Three Broomsticks. She'd never eaten there before, and neither had he, although Ron assured her that the food was 'bloody great stuff.' Neville claimed it to be Italian, but the only Italian item Hermione found on the menu was a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce. Everything else was the greasy, half-hearted cooking of a fast food chain, like the muggle McDonalds near her house. Mildly put off by this, Hermione ordered the spaghetti, and settled in to wait for her date.

When, however, he hadn't shown after a half an hour, Hermione began to worry. Neville was not known for his incredible timing, and yet...she thought perhaps, from the way Harry and Ron had been babbling, that this meant more to him. It was frustrating to be sitting here alone, in a restaurant that was far from what she'd been hoping for, begging that Neville Longbottom hadn't simply forgotten to show up. After another twenty minutes, Hermione assumed that he probably had.

She felt like crying. All day, she'd been looking forward to her little evening excursion, enough so that it had distracted her from the most important endeavor of her year, causing Snape to become furious with her, and herself to lose a valuable lesson to her daydreams. And now, after all of that wasted, she'd been stood up. She shouldn't be angry with him, she thought. She was sure he hadn't ignored the date on purpose, seeming as he'd been so excited when she agreed to go with him. And yet...couldn't he have tried a little harder? Just a little?

Putting her head down on the table, next to her half-finished plate of sodden spaghetti, Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes. She wanted to start the day over, from the beginning, from the point she'd agreed to coming here. She wanted to go back, and arrange someone to remind Neville. She wanted to start her lesson again, she wanted to force herself to concentrate, she wanted to see the look of approval on Snape's face, and she wanted to hear him tell her that she was, of course, 'a very bright girl,' and she wanted...

"Well, well, look what I've found." Hermione's head snapped up again at the sound of the voice, to see the very object of her previous thought sitting at the table across from her, delicate hands folded together on the table, black eyes staring unblinkingly at her. "Not exactly the sort of place or time I'd imagine to find you eating alone, Miss Granger. Where's our little celebrity and his groupies?"

Hermione was not in the mood for this at all. "Shut up," she said, not caring a whit that she could probably get expelled for that. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was going to reprimand her, or simply get up and leave, undoubtedly to go back to the school and report her for her insolence. Instead, however, he smoothed his features out with an obvious effort, and dropped his hands into his lap, leaning closer, and peering into her face. A bit nervous, not quite expecting that reaction, Hermione shuffled her feet around on the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally, looking away. "I'm having a trying day."

"No doubt," Snape agreed. "I take it Mr. Longbottom has yet to arrive for your...ah, evening plans?" Hermione's eyes met his again, but his face was still unreadable.

"How did you know?" she asked, not really caring. It would take a lot for him to surprise her at this point.

Snape shrugged. "The students have talked of nothing else all day, especially Mr. Malfoy." Hermione cringed at that, and Snape chuckled darkly. "I'm sure that he is confused as to why on earth Longbottom can get a date when he can't seem to."

Snape snorted derisively, and Hermione laughed. "I believe I owe you an apology," he said suddenly, a bit more loudly than he usually tended to. Hermione blinked. "I've been pushing you extremely hard lately. I am aware that children of your age do need a break every now and then, and no doubt today's catastrophe was nothing more than your body's reaction to all the stress you've been receiving. You could not have concentrated in the correct manner if you'd wanted to."

Hermione bristled. "But I did want to! And I'm not a child." She was so tired of being treated like a little girl.

"Again," Snape said, more quietly, "My apologies. I meant, perhaps, that you were a child in comparison to myself."

There was a long silence after that. Hermione pushed her food aimlessly around on her plate. "Well, there's no point in me sticking around here," she said finally, needing something to fill the uncomfortable void. "I severely doubt that Neville's showing up.

"Indeed," Snape murmured, also rising, and pushing in his chair. "However, I must express a desire that you return to school before curfew, or I will have to set aside my sympathy and give you detention."

Hermione snorted. "What are you, my father?"

"No," Snape said quietly. "No, not at all."

They stood for another moment, and then Snape nodded politely, and swept past Hermione, his cloak brushing her arm.

She shivered, and after a suitable interval, vacated the restaurant.