Sight

Chapter 10

He didn't so much as look at her when she entered the classroom. The instructions were on the board, even more cramped than usual. Running over the procedure, Hermione's eyes widened as she realized which potion it was. Dimittetur, better known as the Forgiveness potion... the name was sentimentally derived, of course, and had little to do with the actual effects of the thing. Used primarily as a muscle relaxant for short-term use, it had earned its popular name because it overlay all memories of the taker with a calm feeling for the duration of its effect, resulting in a temporary "forgiveness" for anything and everything. Long-term use, however, had been linked to regression in motor control. It was also very hard to brew properly. Still, Snape had to have known that she would recognize the potion. They had discussed it during the focus on healing potions during their fourth year.

He watched her as she brewed, a certain ease to her movements that was never there during class. She wasn't being graded on this, and he could see the difference it made. She seemed to enjoy the subject when she wasn't being hindered by her dunderhead friends. A small furrow formed on his brow as she added in a counter-clockwise stir that had most definitely not been in the instructions he had left her, but it disappeared as he ran it over in his mind. She might be done early, with that addition. And if she wasn't and mucked up the potion again, she would simply brew it again until she got it right. He was willing to give her forgiveness after Potter's unexpected visit, but she'd have to brew it first.

She was done early, but dawdled, taking three times the time necessary to ladle the potion into vials and then carry them to the storeroom, removing a vial to present him with. When she put on his desk, he held it high and raised it up to the light- a pale pink tincture, glowing gold as the light hit it, no precipitate or sediment. Textbook. He held the vial out to her.

"Here. You've deserved it."

After "are you alright," those might have been the kindest words he had ever said to her.

She took the Dimittetur from his hands. "Thank you, sir."

"Take a seat, Granger."

She didn't need to be told twice. He paused for a minute before speaking again.

"How did you come to learn of it?"

"No-one told me, if that's what you want to you know, sir."

"When I want to know if anyone told you, I will ask you, Miss Granger. Now Kindly answer the question I have asked." The words were cold, but his tone was- if not warm, then tepid.

"I-I saw it."

"You mean to say you witnessed events that took place ten years before your birth?" He'd be funny if he wasn't so intimidating.

"No, I-" Trust him, Hermione. "Aperi animam."

His eyebrows moved a fraction of an inch. From Snape, that was the equivalent of said eyebrows hitting the ceiling. "I see. Have you told anyone else of this... gift?"

"Only Professor Trelawney, sir. And Harry and Ron know, of course."

"This changes matters somewhat. It is imperative- and believe me when I say I do not use that word lightly- that no-one else knows of this development. I shall be informing the headmaster. You will be keeping your mouth shut."

"I wouldn't dream of telling anyone about your past, sir-"

"My past is the least of our concerns at the moment, Miss Granger, though I appreciate the discretion you have already shown-" was that a compliment? "what I was referring to was your newfound ability. Do you have any idea of the lengths the Dark Lord would go to to procure such a talent? The target on your back is big enough as it is."

"I understand, sir."

"Very well. You may go, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't move. But instead of the reprimand to stop taking up more of his time she was expecting, he merely lifted an eyebrow, as if he were amused.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

She gulped. It did nothing to help the dryness of her throat. "I was wondering... I would completely understand if you don't want to spend any more time with me, but, could I continue? To learn the potions?"

She felt his gaze with the same tangibility as if he were touching her. "That would be... acceptable."

They didn't fall into their old rhythm right away, but it didn't take as long as she feared it might. And Voldemort was in a better mood. She supposed she ought to be concerned at that, for what it might mean for the war, but she couldn't begrudge Severus Snape returning relatively unscathed. Severus, Severus, Severus... She couldn't afford to do this. He certainly couldn't. Not that there was a this. There was a war going on, and they were soldiers.

It took Draco Malfoy and the Inquisitorial Squad to make her remember that. Everything happened so fast- though looking back, they should have seen it coming. With the DA disbanded and Dumbledore gone, Harry was brooding worse than ever, and not even Ron's antics could cheer him up. As Snape taught her how render Verisaterum ineffective and Dreamless Sleep fatal, she wondered if perhaps this hadn't been the best idea. The Order, she chastised herself. The Order. That's what you're doing this for. You might need to do this someday. She didn't want to think about why Snape had been so obliging to teach her. Any conclusion would be damning. If he thought he was going to die, she didn't want to be involved in any other way than to stop it; if he had come to see he needed an extra pair of competent hands that didn't belong to Draco Malfoy, she had no idea what his workload was other than it should be fifth of was it was to be considered remotely healthy; and any other option...meant she was losing her mind just to be considering it.

She had taken to dropping in on her prefect rounds. If he was in his rooms, she'd bid him goodnight. If not, she'd sit in his armchair and wring her hands, waiting for him to come back. "There's no need for you to lose any more sleep over me," he'd drawl, but smile nonetheless, the expression so foreign on his features that she'd thought she'd never get used to it. Somehow, she, hadn't been able to resist the temptation to see it again. Again. Again. "What'ch you smiling at, Hermione?" Ron would say as she looked at nothing in particular, and she'd just smile. "You'd never believe me if I told you."

A smile, however, was the last thing on her face when he knocked on the door that night. It was almost dawn, and he had never been gone this long. She yanked open the door almost violently-

"Hermione" it was barely a whisper- and then he was on the floor, unmoving.