The Birds and the Bees

Severus Snape didn't have good days. He had bad days, tiring days, frustrating days, depressing days and bland days; but never happy ones. Now, one could be pedantic and say that since the bland days; being uneventful and boring, varied the most from the bad days that they technically qualified as good days. One could say that happiness is relative, and that thus those long, colourless, flavourless days would necessarily fall on the end of the scale marked happiness.

Severus Snape would beg to differ.

Happiness, in his mind, was something exceptional, something extraordinary. His concept of happiness was fuzzy at best, yet he knew that it definitely involved other people in some vague way. People that liked him, listened to him...enjoyed being around him. He was fully aware, however, that the reason he had never achieved this state was due to the fact that he tended to insult and belittle any unfortunate person who came within five feet of him.

But then, it wasn't his fault that the world was full of morons.

The day he had just had was in some ways fairly typical of his life in general. He had crossed paths with several dunderheads, snubbed most of his fellow teachers and shouted at several students. Nothing out of the ordinary. It had, however, managed to salvage itself from the throes of blandness and become, at the last minute, a Bad Day.

The reason it had been a Bad Day was because the latter end of it was practically soaked through with the presence of one Hermione Granger. Just teaching one class with that irritating girl in attendance was enough to make him wish he had never become a teacher; but to have to put up with her presence for the entire afternoon and then well into the night was tantamount to a period in hell.

Even more than a Bad Day, though, it had been a profoundly odd one. Early the next morning he would find himself standing in front of the headmaster's desk like so many other days, delivering a report on the night before like so many mornings after. This meeting though...how to explain it? How could he explain what had happened in that room, with that girl, when he couldn't even explain it himself?

It wasn't that she had shocked him outright. She hadn't threatened him directly. She hadn't been angry, or even upset. Yet he had found himself shrinking back from her presence...almost afraid of her. Why? He had no idea. Slowly and ever so surely, though, he had felt his confidence ebb away and his authority lose its meaning. Her mere presence had managed to fluster and unsettle him.

Never before had he wavered in the face of a student. Although...it had seemed that night that she had been somehow more than a student. More than a girl, even. Her body was housing something infinitely ancient and infinitely wise, and it rendered him meek and nearly afraid.

Of course, he had known before she entered his office that the girl would be different. He had been well warned by Dumbledore that she had taught herself ancient secrets, ancient magic. However he had been sure that she would still be the same Hermione Granger. She would be a bit worried and a bit excited, and bursting with questions as always. Hiding her insecurity and unease behind a veil of bossiness and a brisk manner.

That night, though, she had been composed and almost regal. She seemed almost to fill a larger space in the room than he had remembered. Her voice was low and strong; her speech punctuated by small smiles that she tossed to him like scraps to a dog.

Be thankful I do not hurt you

said her eyes.

Much as he was loath to admit it, Snape was very similar to the old Hermione in that he craved control and order. Naturally, then, he was extremely unsettled by the fact that even though her gaze and movements were steady and controlled, something about the girl emanated chaos. Her very presence caused things to sprout and grow, to twist and change. He had seen the floor crack where she trod, seen her chair sprout leaves, felt the very air around her stir with restless energy.

After a while, he had become desperate and resorted to using leglimency to try to gain the upper hand. At first he had seen into her mind, but after a couple of failed attempts she had managed to block him out quite effectively. A self-taught Occlumens in less than three minutes....at that, he gave up the fight and sat back in his chair. He explained the mission in a flat voice. He backed down, because how was he to fight her when she had the whole world behind her? For the second time that week he felt old and sad. The ultimate defeat.

And so he knew that the next morning he would stand before Dumbledore's desk, avoiding the old man's eye. He would dutifully report that yes, he had inducted the girl into the order, and that yes, she had been pleased, (although who knew what that glint in her eye had really meant). Snape would tell the old wizard that yes, she understood the mission, and that yes, she understood the need for secrecy and silence.

Of course, Dumbledore was no fool. He would realise that something was wrong and try to pry it out of his younger colleague. But Snape would give nothing away, not yet. Not until he understood it himself. Not until he understood how and why the girl had managed to shatter the sad sense of peace he had fashioned himself over the years.

Perhaps something about the Granger girl had reminded him just how little of the world he really knew. He had seen that she was in touch with something elemental, something he scarcely understood. She was inside the soul of the world and moving with it; essentially connected to everything she touched. It only served to remind him that he was connected to nothing and no one. Floating free in a void of anger and self-pity...everything that he had once vowed never to become.

And so Snape moved into his private quarters. He entered the bedroom, folded back the stiff linen sheets of his bed. He lay in darkness for hours that night, but sleep never claimed him. He was alone, with only the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his thoughts to ground him.

His waking dreams, as he traversed the space between sleep and morning, were full of people smiling small, secret smiles at each other. Whispering. Shuffling past him but never touching him.

***

Snape was not the only one in the castle awake that night. Hermione lay on her bed, her feet resting on the pillow and arms thrown back over the edge. The room was cold, but she didn't feel it. Her old flannel pyjamas were soft and familiar like her own skin. She stared steadily at the ceiling, awake. Sleep didn't shun her, she shunned it. She felt strong...braver and more powerful than when she had first looked into the cold eyes of her teacher that day.

Something had shifted between them that night, she mused. Around the time when Snape had grasped her hand to shake it and welcome her into the Order, she had looked up at him and felt the change. His power over her had transmuted gradually into something weak and scared. Her fear of the teacher became his fear of the unknown...his fear of the ancient power that surrounded her like storm clouds.

She understood the power like we understand our own limbs, but for her teacher it was a dark cloud of impenetrable mystery. His uncertainty forced him into defense; confused him into relinquishing the upper hand. Seeing him so vulnerable and unsure had thrilled her. She was not usually a vindictive person, but to have her adversary practically cowering had afforded her a strange pleasure.

She very nearly felt sorry for him, though. The baggage he carried was so obvious it manifested into near-physicality. Grey smoke nipping at his heels. It had taken a while, but eventually she had realised what the smoke and the sour smell surrounding him were: loneliness. Sadness. The man practically reeked of despair and resignation. That was when the first crack in his armour had shown itself. By the time they shut the door behind them, though, his armour was dust. He was not completely defenceless; he retained a sort of savage strength; but he was less than he had appeared before.

She guiltily savoured the pride and satisfaction that this brought for a moment, then let it flow out through her feet. She had no wish to think too much about the fact that another's unhappiness had thrilled her. Besides which, it was late and she had classes the next day; she should be sleeping. As after any busy day, though, she knew that she would never sleep until she had carefully catalogued the day's events in her mind. She needed to sort and separate things done and things left to be done tomorrow, double and triple checking that everything was in order, under control.

And so she walked to the desk in the corner of the room and collected a dicta-quill and piece of parchment. Setting them carefully on the bed, she proceeded to pace the room as she spoke.

Ten minutes later, the parchment read as follows:

Outcome of meeting with Professor Snape.

Have been inducted into Order of the Phoenix. Finally. Along with boys, have been doing their dirty work for years...Unfortunately Order operates on strictly need-to-know basis. And apparently I need to know very little. Hmph. May have to pester Headmaster for more information on status of conflict, as Professor Snape (hereafter simply Snape, no disrespect intended) divulged nothing.

Apparent function in Order is to assist Snape with new potion. (Purpose of potion unknown, perhaps is poison for use as weapon.) Seems that with potion still under development, am to be used as sort of divining rod to ensure selection of most effective ingredients. (Note: am glad Dumbledore finally realises Harry may need some help to defeat Voldemort. Is absurd to rely solely on one young boy.)

In order to optimise accuracy and discretion, am instructed to work on bringing own magic under control. Must not be noticeable to other students. This may prove difficult. Dumbledore apparently always available for guidance, but Snape is Order-preferred point of contact. Not preferable to me, but suspect that own preferences matter very little at present. Is technically wartime, after all.

Questions still remaining: What is purpose of potion? Also, is attack by Lord V. likely any time soon? Is project urgent? If is indeed poison under development, is it to be administered by Snape? Am I expected to play active role in conflict, or am I simply research boffin?

Resolutions: Tell Harry and Ron everything. Tomorrow. Will be needing their support. Also, start training programme of sorts...simple exercises, test limits of power, find techniques for controlling unintended effects etc.

(Pause)

Must also remember to be polite to Snape. Don't know what is going on, exactly, but he seems wary of me, and working relationship will not be facilitated by lack of trust...

If completely honest, though, am fairly proud to have intimidated scariest teacher at Hogwarts.

(Long pause)

I don't...(yawn)...I don't know what changed. Well. Not true. I changed. Was a huge change, too, I know, I can feel it...am surprised it's enough to flap the unflappable bat, though. Is unsettling...like if MacGonagal wore a bikini...or Ron did his homework...

(Big yawn)

Must sleep. Have training to start tomorrow...must also get head start on next term's homework...might not have time later. Marks may suffer. War is more important, I know, but still...the thought of falling behind...it makes me twitchy.

(Small sigh)

Enough. Finis.

The scroll rolled itself up neatly. Hermione stretched, and then yawned again as she stowed the parchment in her desk. Once in bed, she extinguished the light and rolled over to face the wall.

Lying in the dark felt different tonight. Her head was not quiet anymore. That voice, it spoke to her constantly in the language of all things, and it could never be entirely silenced. In a weaker person it might be unbearable, might begin to take them over. No one could call Hermione Granger weak, though. No one could accuse her of being submissive or easily led. She listened to the voice like one might listen to a pleasant song - not for guidance or authority, for pleasure. Just music.

As she fell into sleep that night, Hermione heard a song of promise...a melody which spoke of great things to come.

***

And so, with Hermione Granger coasting the waves of sleep, there were only two people left awake in the castle. Snape still lay stretched out on his back, staring into the darkness, eyes unable to make out the familiar cracks in the stone ceiling. The next day he would be tired beyond belief, yet he could not sleep. Outside his window an owl swooped down to catch a mouse and a tiny life ended. The moon shone round and full. Snape lay still and silent and planned the next day's lessons.

Elsewhere in the castle one small light could be seen. A candle's glow lit the face of Albus Dumbledore, illuminating his soft white beard. It was late, but the elderly need little sleep, and Dumbledore was content to sit in his old leather armchair with his wrinkled hands resting in his lap. A book hovered in front of him, pages slowly turning themselves as the old man read. His head was empty of everything but the gentle heartbeat of a poem.

The castle sat silent and still under the moonglow. It was a rare peace.