Possession

Chapter Two: And the past always comes back to haunt us

by Elentari

Beware of the anger and sorrow of a young woman,
A secret love burns throughout eternity
And the lovely earth hides the body.
I wanted to spend forever with you,
Now, a thousand years later,
I wander on the shore whispering
To myself over and over,
"You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for."
Melinda Whiteface, from Requiem, The Book Of Counted Sorrows (1921)

Snape entered his chambers with a deep sense of satisfaction. Against popular belief, the professor chose to live in one of the towers, rather than down in the dungeons, although his quarters had several ways out and many of them led to the said dungeons. One could never be swift enough to interfere in the Serpent's Den.

Severus Snape was one of the few Potions masters in the world, a select club of intellectuals who took delight in the 'subtle art and precise science' of potion brewing. But to one as clearly brilliant as Snape, teaching Potions was not enough. It was a guilty pleasure he indulged himself in, one of the very few, and he preferred to savour it in the quiet hours of the night, with a fine wine or whiskey, instead of watching clumsy hands and dull minds trying to figure it out.

Never one to allow lenience, he had managed to put some knowledge in their minds, providing that there had been no serious accidents (in spite of the students' efforts) in all his years as a teacher of that particularly tricky subject.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, was the cherry of the cake of the school, and he'd be damned as a Slytherin if he aimed for anything but the highest spot he could get. Well, technically that would be the place of Headmaster, but Albus was too well-loved - Snape himself was fond of the man, and that was another guilty indulgence - and he, Severus Snape, was in too frail a ground to grasp the position for many, many years.

Being an ex-Death Eater and all, that was something of a hard task. Even after all the sacrifices he had made to fix the devastating repercussions of his misguided, foolish youth's ambition, the very few who knew his story would always keep one step in, one step off the ground. And those were in high places - one informal talk by the fireplace, savoring a nice fire whiskey bottle, and he would be off the list.

But he made it to the DADA position. The rest could be arranged. Severus Snape could be extremely patient when it suited his convenience.

He was lost in his own little world when the fire in the hearth began to glow green, signaling that someone of the staff wanted a word, and that it could not wait for the morning. For obvious reasons the school had been removed from the Floo Network since the War reached the stage it could no longer be denied - as Fudge wanted to - , and the wards had remained when it was over. But the members of the staff could use it to communicate with one another, of course. Walking half of the castle to deliver a simple message would be fairly impractical, even in the Wizarding world.

And surely, Albus' head appeared in the fireplace.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. Is there any problem?"

"Now, Severus child, you worry yourself too much. Not everything that happens in this castle is necessarily a catastrophe, you know?"

"Mayhap that is true to any other place but this castle, with all those irresponsible maniacs trying to wreak havoc whenever they have the chance."

"Ah, but we both know you love this castle, maniacs and all." Dumbledore chuckled, but Severus only scowled slightly.

Love? Severus Snape did not love anything. Love was too strong a word. Sure enough, there were things that made his life easier and more bearable - and some even made his life more pleasurable - like comfortable clothes, good books, fine drink and, occasionally, the ever-so-understanding lady of Miranda's House who never asked him any questions. And teaching, thought he'd be long dead before admitting it to anyone. The reaction some of his ex-students would have been ugh.

Snape decided it was time to cut to the heart of the matter before the Headmaster indulged himself in further mirth.

"And what was the no-catastrophe now? I hope you're not calling me at this late hour because the Hufflepuffs managed to destroy the greenhouses again and Sprout has not the heart to discipline them. I have enough on my hands with my own house."

Dumbledore did not look repentant - he would certainly call Severus again and again to solve the mess whenever they needed a professor to be stern and that would not change.

"No, it's not a school business. It's rather a matter of family."

Snape's face instantly grew even colder - what warmth he had gotten from the overused amicable bantering with the old headmaster was gone in a second, leaving in its place a cold, expressionless mask.

"I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem there, Headmaster. I'm the last of my line, and my 'business' is always kept in pristine order, you know of that."

Of course it was. When one is under constant threat of being killed, one leaves his business in order.

"Oh, yes." The headmaster took a more somber expression. Snape's family was one of the most delicate matters with the younger man, a close second to his involvement with the Death Eaters. One of those things you-just-don't-talk-about. "But this is about a forbear of yours. Seems new facts have been brought to light, and some researchers are rather interested on investigating them, with your leave and help." There was a slight stressing of the words leave and help.

But that was not only one-of-those-things-you-just-don't-talk-about, it was also deeply private, and by all means, not school-related. And even a friendship like Snape and Dumbledore's had its limits.

"Merlin! Tell them I'm not interested on waking any ghost, and that things will remain exactly as they are now. Honestly Albus, you should know better than that. I thought it was a serious thing."

"It is," said the headmaster with a dignified tone.

"It most definitely is," snapped a female voice behind Albus. Hermione's head appeared in his hearth, proud-looking, serious and very, very businesslike. Severus fought down a groan - if he knew that damn know-it-all well, and well he did, it would be a nearly impossible mission to get rid of her.

Damn it.

Double-damn it.

"Whether it is an important issue for you or not, Miss Granger, I assure you that it is not the same way for me. I'm rather content on not knowing some things and the least I need right now is anyone digging in my family's history. And pity you, I actually have the power to avoid this investigation altogether. The wizarding world may be archaic, and obsolete, but we do have our laws."

Hermione winced slightly. She recalled having thrown those very words at him on the night she left Hogwarts, and later when they were fighting together against Voldemort, in the late hours of the night, with the other Phoenix members.

It seemed so very long ago. Another life.

"We do have very useful laws, though some others are totally impracticable," she proceeded diplomatically. "And you're in possession of some very interesting stories also. It was a surprise to learn Melinda Whiteface was related to you."

"So this is all about her?" Snape asked before he could get a grip on himself. There was a great sense of relief washing all over him.

Hermione considered asking 'Who else could this be about?', but thought better of it. He gave only a very brief nod, aware that she was treading on very thin ice.

Then Albus cut in. What timing the old man had.

"Well, I do believe you will be far more comfortable if this conversation is private. After all, some things are quite personal. Why, Hermione dear, why don't you go to Snape's quarters? I'm sure you'll have some privacy there."

There was no detectable glint in his eyes, but Severus knew Albus was up to something. And since when did he invite anyone to his quarters?

It was way too personal.

It was downright invasive.

Hermione better refuse that. Or else...

She didn't, foolish blind stupid girl she was. Oh, yes, she may have grown in body, and perhaps become a bit more focused in her goals (though Snape doubted that could be called an improvement), but she was still that irritating know-it-all she had always been, annoying the wits out of him.

In a second she was in the middle of his living room, dusting herself off on his carpets, and glancing around searchingly. Oh, yes, he knew very well what she was doing, she was analyzing his decoration.

"There's no skull on the walls, nor any devilish beast hidden, in case you're wondering," he said, her startled little jump doing wonders for his bad humor.

"I wasn't," she replied. "It's just that this was not what I had in mind."

"I do not sleep in a coffin, either, as you may see."

She laughed. Hey, that was not something she should do. She should be ill at ease and awkward. Not laughing. Even if that was a slightly hysterical laughter.

"Great. I left my stake at home."

Was she joking?

That had to be fixed immediately.

"So, Miss Granger, what was so important about my forbear that you would come all the way from your home to my quarters... without your stake?"

His voice was what he had trained it to be over the years - silky, even, and dangerously icy. The very best tool to keep a class in order, or to keep others in the dark about his true feelings and thoughts. Hermione swiftly gathered her guarded poise, and began to explain her latest discovery. A brief hesitation, almost imperceptible, belied she had not told him the true story, or at least not the whole story. Understandable, yet curious.

"I came across a very personal letter of this teacher, you see... to your relative..."

"Great-grandmother, from my father's side." He answered, not knowing why for his dear life. He should be barking the woman off his chambers! Still, that little piece of gossip had caught his attention. Everybody loved to know about one another's lives, though loathed to admit it, and Snape himself was no exception.

After all, it was not only for the sake of discipline that he haunted the school's hallways at night.

Curiosity, thirst for knowledge and observance were a very well-known Slytherin trait. Well, for those who were the house spirit's type, anyway.

"This is a very reserved man we're talking about. And still, the way he wrote is... maybe you should take a look." She took a paper out of her pocket. "It's a copy." She added quietly.

"I'd rather think it would be." Severus replied dryly. "A curious letter. Why are you so certain this is out of the ordinary?"

"Marcus Clemens was very generous in his affections, if a bit reserved. But you see this, he did not sign his name, only initials. It's as if he was afraid someone might find the letter."

Snape got the spirit of things, but decided to play with her a bit.

"And... ?"

"Being something ordinary, why should he be afraid of anyone finding out?"

"Perhaps because associating with a Slytherin was never a good move?" he stated quietly, with more than a drop of irony.

"But he says he talked to her at the High Table. No, I do not think it was the reason why he was so secretive. I think he might have had some romantic interest on her."

"Ah." Snape said, and kept quiet for a while. "May I suggest you have been reading too many novels, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blushed like a tomato, but kept her voice controlled. "I'm a researcher, sir. It's my job to define patterns of behaviour."

"Of course."

Another lengthy silence, while both reckoned each other with their eyes. At last, it was Hermione who broke contact, taking the paper back.

"Do you happen to know the poem in question?"

"Of course I know. It's my family we're talking about."

"Could you recite it for me?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Me, reciting for you? Absolutely not."

And with that he turned his back on her and walked to a bookcase, selecting a small leather-bound book, which he opened in a specific page with expert ease. He walked back to her and showed the page.

And Hermione read the poem, a highly depressing one. But alas, what would you ask from a gothic poetess? Some of the very best poems and poets had that nature.

+Requiem+
Beware of the anger and sorrow of a young woman,
A secret love burns throughout eternity
And the lovely earth hides the body.
I wanted to spend forever with you,
Now, a thousand years later,
I wander on the shore whispering
To myself over and over,
"You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for."
I loved you so much but I killed you.
From your earthen grave you rise when night falls,
I hear you knock on the door, I hear you call,
"You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for."
I remember now I loved you.
Didn't I love you?
I must have.
Then how could I have killed you?
Now the ghosts from the past
And dark shadows keep washing over me,
Remaining with me for eternity.
Lie with me under the moonlit sky,
Let me live for once in my life.
Everyone in love knows why
The death of their love haunts them all the time.
I buried the body, but not the pain
And I hear you whisper again and again,
"You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for,
You don't know what you asked for."
At night, you haunt me in my dreams,
Forcing me to remember
How I lulled you to sleep
An eternal slumber.
I can still smell the stench of the blood
And helplessly, I start to cry again.
I need to go back,
I need to go back to the place
Where it happened.
Do I know where I'm going?
I think I lost my way.
Then I hear you whispering over and over again,
"You know damn well where you're going,
You know damn well where you're going,
You know damn well where you're going."
Yes, my love, you are right.
I know damn well where I'm going.
I know damn well where I'm going.
I know damn well where I'm going.

"Oh," said Hermione. "I can see why he was fascinated."

"Melinda was very prolific in her works. I pity the institution who employs you if you could not even find a poem which is so well-known."