The Empath
Early September, 1998
The summer blew by as quickly, like a cloud on a windy day. While Severus had never been the biggest fan of the season, he was surprised to wake up one morning and find that it was over. The land around his cottage was no longer vivid green with life. Shades of browns, oranges, and yellows had begun to take root. In the past few weeks, the North Sea had grown colder and stormier.
Severus was on his second cup of tea when he finally decided it was time to do the chores he had been putting off for a week. Those chores started with the large garden on the side of his yard.
Slowly, he stood, stretching slightly and running a hand through his hair. It had grown longer over the course of the summer. Without the impending doom of staring another year at Hogwarts, he cared less about keeping such a tight grasp on his appearance. He wondered if he had been a man who was able to grow a beard, would he have eventually become the image of Merlin himself? Would he eventually take on the appearance of a true hermit?
Outside the wind was vicious. It pulled at his clothing like a hungry dog. As Severus crossed his yard and made his way into the garden, he realized just how bitter it was growing already. Even with a warming spell, his hands felt sluggish as he grabbed a wicker basket for harvest.
The sea around the island churned, darker than it had been when he first moved to the island. A splattering of cold rain fell onto the ground as he worked. A past version of himself would have been angry at being accosted by the elements. However, after surviving what he was certain would have killed him, he had a new appreciation for nature (not that he would ever admit it). Severus found a strange and lonely solace in the harsh climates of the North Sea.
The garden was overgrown and wilder than Severus had hoped it would become. He had always prided himself on organization and structure--it was these skills that had made him great at Occlumency. However, gardens were wild things. Weeds, animals, and insects soldiered into the enclosure any chance they took. The plants he grew rarely grew in the ways he intended. They truly seemed to have a mind of their own. Nevertheless, the little garden had produced everything he could have hoped for. Perhaps Herbology wasn’t such a terrible thing to learn after all.
It was late afternoon when Severus decided to take a break from the garden and make himself something to eat. On his way back to his cottage, his walk was interrupted by a loud ‘crack’. He couldn’t help but jump slightly at the sound. No one apparated there. No one knew where he lived--he had made sure of it.
As Severus rounded the corner, he clutched his wand tightly in his hand. An intense feeling of panic poured through his veins. He felt a tremor in his hands begin to take hold. Fearing who might have arrived. He pointed the wand out ahead of him as he made his way around the house.
Standing at his front doorsteps was a young witch with a familiar mass of curly hair. Severus let out a long, agitated sigh before clearing his throat. The sound made Granger jump. She turned to face him, seemingly surprised to see him outside. Her clever, expressive eyes darted over his body. Maybe it was his mud-stained muggle clothing that surprised her the most. He couldn't bring himself to care what the young woman thought of him.
“Professor,” she said, barely able to hide the eagerness from her voice. “I hope I’m not intruding but-”
“You are,” he remarked as he approached her. “Who told you where to find me?”
Granger took a step back, sensing his anger. “I…no one told me, sir. I found it myself.”
“Found it? I’m on an island in the North Sea, how in Merlin’s Name did you find it?”
“Research,” she said, raising her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Without the Portkey it was almost impossible to reach you. However, I thought back about our previous meeting and figured I could deduce where you lived based on the climate and biome. It took a bit of trial and error, but here I am.”
If Severus wasn’t so angry, he might have been impressed. “Why do you believe it is within your right to search for someone who does not wish to be found?”
“Well, I’ve tried to talk to you at the Ministry-”
“Yes, I know.”
“And you’ve evaded me.”
“Yes.”
“So, I wanted to meet you somewhere you might be more comfortable. The Ministry is certainly an overwhelming place, and I can understand why you haven’t been in the mood to talk but-”
“So, you put it upon yourself to seek me out in my place of solace?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, I…I’m sorry. But sir, there’s no one else who can help me. Trust me when I say I’ve looked.”
“And why do you think I am any different?”
“Because you told me it wasn’t Legilimency that I was practicing. If you knew that then I assume you have some idea of what it is. At the very least, can’t you point me in the right direction?”
Severus wanted to say ‘no, get lost’. However, something in those curious brown eyes made him freeze.
Whatever Hermione had been cursed with was strange to say the least. Unlike Legilimency, Severus had been forced to physically relive the memory of being tortured. He had felt the waves of pain course through his body as he watched his former self be subjected to the Cruciatus Curse.
Severus could only imagine what it would have been like if he hadn’t pushed her out. What else would she have seen?
“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he was able to say.
Granger crossed her arms. “I just need to know what’s happened to me.”
“I can’t help you. I told you as much already.”
“But you knew it wasn’t Legilimency. So, what’s wrong with me?”
“I’m not certain.”
Granger stepped closer to him. “I’ve been researching what it is and I…I just keep finding myself at dead ends. If it’s not Legilimency--which I believe you by the way--then I can’t seem to grasp what is happening to me. I mean even the idea of someone suddenly developing Legilimency is insane so the idea-”
“Granger,” he cut off her rambling. “For the final time, I cannot help you. And I would appreciate it if you abstained from seeking me out in the future.”
She looked a bit disheartened by what he said. Her face fell and she glanced down at her muggle trainers. “I…no one can help me,” the words were quiet. “So…I’m just stuck like this?”
Severus looked at her gloved hands and wondered how many people she had touched before she took to wearing them daily.
“I have limited knowledge on such things,” his reply surprised both Granger and himself. “But if I were in your situation, I would research Tactile Empathy.”
Granger’s eyes met with him. A renewed sense of eagerness filled her features. “Tactile Empathy?”
Severus nodded. “Now leave.”
Seeming to understand that he was done with the conversation, Granger nodded quickly. After a moment she apparated away with a loud clap.
How in Merlin’s Name had Granger deduced where he lived based on climate and biome?
Severus knew she was an intelligent witch, he had her as a student for the entirety of her time at Hogwarts. However, despite her brains, she had always been easy for him to dismiss. He had always put the girl in the category of 'Attention-Hungry Gryffindor'. Her insistent need to be the first to raise her hand had irritated him beyond belief. Despite her genuine talent at Potions, he had brushed her off easily--especially since she was Potter's Golden Girl. However, after his interaction with her today he was beginning to believe he had underestimated her ambition.
During Severus visits to the Ministry, Granger had found him and pestered him with questions, but he had always ignored her. He had walked quickly through the old halls, ignoring the young witch as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. He assumed that she would eventually stop her pestering--and she did. Realizing Granger had found her way to his island, Severus couldn’t help but think about her. A small root of curiosity was beginning to grow inside of him.
If Granger was truly a Tactile Empath, then she wouldn’t find much information regarding her condition. Tactile Empaths were even more rare than natural Legilimens and many scholars debated their validity. There had been so few in existence that many believed them to be something out of the stories Pure-Bloods told their children.
Severus tried to imagine Granger in her attempt to find information regarding Tactile Empaths. Likely, she would only find more dead ends. A part of him felt sorry that he hadn’t offered to help her more. It had to be difficult to be in her situation. Despite this mild sympathy, he knew that helping the girl would only prove fruitless.
Over the course of Severus’ lifetime, he had learned one lesson over and over. He was meant to be alone. He was not the kind of man with close friends and a family. The unraveling balls of fate’s yarn did not tie him to a life of companionship. Instead, it was clear now more than ever that Severus was destined to be a hermit, alone and far from the world.
He had made his peace with that.
Wednesdays were Severus’ least favorite day of the week.
When he had first made the deal with Draco to tutor him, Severus had assumed the lessons would be silent and boring. Draco was already skilled with potions, so tutoring him should have been easy. And it was--Draco proved his skills over and over. However, tutoring Draco meant that he would occasionally come across Potter. And if he didn't stumble upon the Boy Who Lived Twice, then he was sure to hear about him.
“And that's why I just don't understand why he hasn't finished up yet,” Draco finished a long-winded rant about Potter. It was the third one of the day.
Often Severus wished he could hex the young Malfoy anytime he mentioned Potter. He wondered if he did it enough times, would Draco stop? According to Pavlovs theories perhaps he should instead give Draco a treat when he talked about something other than Potter.
“Of course he’s still here,” Draco shot him a glare as he cut up the ingredients to his most recent potion. “He’s taking forever to finish the library.”
Severus said nothing.
“And just the other day he…Severus, I think he knows.”
“Knows what?”
Draco glared, his eyes as icy as ever. “My condition.”
“If he did, likely the whole world would know. Potter is many things, but I doubt he is good at keeping a secret,” Severus replied.
The words felt wrong as he spoke them. He might not have cared for Harry (who was far too similar to James), but the young Auror hadn’t shared what he had seen in the Pensive. For whatever reason, Potter seemed to have been keeping Severus' less-than-pleasant past a secret.
“I don’t like that he’s still here. I’m worried he’ll find out.”
“I suggest you focus more on your potion than your paramour,” Severus said with a bored tone.
He watched as pink rushed to Draco’s cheeks. “Paramour?” he hissed. “He’s a bloody problem.”
“And you think one of the other dunderheads at the Ministry would be better suited for this task?” He crossed his arms.
“I don’t know but-”
“Someone will be keeping tabs on you. Even after the library has been investigated. There are worse people than Potter.”
Draco scoffed. “It almost sounds like you’re defending him.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “Half of the younger Aurors joined the Ministry because they had parents and friends who had been killed by Death Eaters. Do you really want one of them handling your case?”
He hated that he was defending Potter in some way. As much as he disliked the young wizard, he cared about Draco's safety more. Potter was far too Gryffindor to let anything bad happen to him.
At last Draco fell into silence. For several minutes, Severus basked in the quiet that filled the room. Without much warning, a tremor began to stir at the tips of his fingers. It started as a tingling sensation but slowly became sharp. Before the shaking could get worse, he pulled a vial of potion from his pockets and drank its contents quickly.
Severus waited for what felt like an eternity before his hands stopped shaking and the sharp pains subsided. He was met at last with a dull sense of numbness that he grew to enjoy.
“How long has that been happening?”
Severus looked up to find gray eyes glued to him. Draco didn’t bother to hide his concern.
“Get back to your potion, it’s about to boil over,” he replied flatly.
Draco turned back to his potion and adjusted its heat with a flick of his wrist. “Nerve damage,” he said quietly. “I…I have it sometimes, too.”
Of all the things to relate to Draco on, being tortured was not at the top of Severus’ list. “I’m sorry,” he replied.
“I wasn’t asking for your sympathy,” Draco said flippantly. “I was just saying I…understand.”
Severus glanced at the shelf full of potions’ ingredients. He struggled to find something adequate to respond with.
“It’s worse the week before the full moon,” Draco explained. His voice was neutral as he spoke. “But most of the month I barely feel it. I can only assume you…”
“I experience it often.”
Draco nodded but finally fell quiet.
“How is Narcissa?” Severus never made a habit out of filling silence. He preferred it most of the time. However, in that moment, he wanted to get rid of the uncomfortable implications of their conversation.
“She’s doing alright,” he replied. “As good as she can be I suppose. You heard she’s at St. Mungos’ now?”
“Yes.”
“I think she prefers being there over being here. The Manor…isn’t the same.”
Severus nodded. “And you don’t mind being here?”
“No, although it’s not as if I have a choice. In a month, I will no longer be under house arrest. When that happens I…I plan to sell the Manor.”
Severus looked over as Draco stood rigidly in front of the cauldron. His shoulders were tense as he spoke about his plans, as if expecting Severus to lash out.
“I suppose that makes the most sense, doesn’t it,” he said simply.
Draco faced him. “You think so?” There was a pleading look in his eyes.
Severus sighed and stood stiffly from his stool. “I think you have to do what is best for you.”
It was late when Severus arrived back at his cottage. After leaving the Manor, a strange sense of sorrow was hanging over his head like a storm cloud. He couldn’t shake it even as he returned to the quiet comforts of his home.
The warm hearth of the cottage illuminated the space in a soft, golden glow. Outside the world was dark and heavy winds shook the thin windows. Rain and mist from the sea splattered onto the glass, sending a song echoing through the little house. Severus sat at his two-person table and stared at the empty seat across from him. Against his better judgement, he imagined someone sitting there. That someone was none other than Hermione Granger. Even in his mind, she was bold enough to be the first person he imagined.
The cup of tea felt warm in his hand as he took a sip and contemplated the young witch. Granger (strangely enough) was the first and only person to have visited him since he moved out the island. Even Draco didn’t know where his house was. It was almost impressive that Granger had sniffed out his hiding spot. He wondered what she thought of him. A sad, old hermit? A dark wizard who should have been sent to Azkaban?
Why do I care what she thinks? He asked himself.
The honest truth was that he didn’t. Severus hadn’t cared what anyone had thought of him for so long that it was nearly impossible to remember what it felt like to care. So, he didn’t care if Granger thought he was a hermit or a criminal. Likely she didn’t think anything at all. Clearly, she had enough to deal with on her own.
After a warm meal, Severus cleaned his kitchen and returned to his living room. He was about to take a seat in his usual chair beside the hearth, when something caught his eye. High on one of his many shelves was an old, leather-bound book. In that moment, in the dim light of the fire, Severus couldn’t help but stare at it.
Granger, he cursed silently.
With a wandless accio, the book pulled itself out of its spot and into Severus’ hands. He sat down in his chair and gazed down at its well-worn cover. The image of the tree of life covered the front of the book, burned into the leather centuries ago. It was clear that a long time ago, the book had been well-loved.
The book’s cover was cuffed, the leather worn thin in some spots. The pages within were in poor shape. Some were torn and pieced back together while others had crude handwriting in the inner columns. Across the top were the simple words, “The Empath”.
A tiny, well-hidden part of Severus felt a bit guilty for sending Granger away when he owned one of the few books that might have been able to help her. As he looked at the book sitting on his lap, he considered what it would mean to tell her about this. Would it help? Or could she find some other way of dealing with her problems?
I’m not a bloody mind healer, he thought to himself. Even if she is a Tactile Empath, it’s not like I would be much help.
Opening the book slowly, Severus was reminded of its age. It wasn’t a book he had opened in a long while–something that could have been dangerous in the wrong hands. He had kept it stored away during Voldemort’s reign, assuming he’d never live to reread it. But he lived.
Severus spent over an hour pouring over the old text. He read passages, examined diagrams, and gazed through its contents.
It was more than likely that he would have sat like that for hours longer if it hadn’t been for a quiet tapping. The noise startled him at first–he had been jumpy for longer than he cared to admit. However, after glancing into the kitchen, Severus realized the sound simply belonged to a small barn owl.
As he stood up from his chair, Severus wondered who could possibly be owling him. He walked to the window and opened it. Gently he took the note from the clever bird and opened it.
“Professor Snape,
Upon reflection, I’ve realized that arriving at your cottage uninvited was embarrassingly inappropriate. I apologize for my behavior. While I don’t want to make excuses for myself, I would like to explain myself.
What I showed you months ago hasn’t stopped. I’ve tried everything. While I know you’ve told me that I am not a Legilimens--that is what everyone else tells me I am. I am no expert in this field. I’ve sought out other Legilimens and I’m afraid my lovely ‘ability’ has frightened them all away.
I understand your disinterest in my problem. And I do respect your boundaries. I had hoped that a chance (or not so chance) encounter at the Ministry could give me some much-needed guidance, but you’ve been insistent on avoiding me. Again, I understand.
Harry says you’re one of the bravest wizards he knows. After everything this war has done, I don’t expect you to save me. But I am asking, nevertheless, please. I think you might be the only person who has any clue what is happening to me.
Hermione Granger”
Severus stared at the letter for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more; Potter calling him ‘brave’ or Granger apologizing for finding his house. He ran a hand through his hair and laid the letter on his table. He told himself that in the morning, he’d reply to it.