Soulsavers

Hermione

Hermione had never struggled to keep up with the History of Magic lectures, exactly. Professor Binns spoke so slowly she could transcribe his lectures with minimal use of shorthand. If not for her misplaced sense of pride (or, as she preferred to call it, integrity), she wouldn’t have bothered with this: the lectures were the same, year in, year out. Percy Weasley had told her so, and even McGonagall surreptitiously advised her to use the time better, since she was so good at memorising the books already.

She joined Severus in the classroom before the ghost appeared through the wall. “Lucius Malfoy has some very interesting ideas about why Dumbledore keeps Professor Binns on, you know.” Hermione scrunched her face at the sound of Lucius’s name, and Severus was taken aback.

“What do you know about him, then? Is there anyone you don’t have an opinion about?”

He raised his son to be the sort to wish I was dead; he planted a Horcrux on Ginny Weasley; he tortured Muggles? Granted, her acquaintance with Barty Crouch Jr. told her not to judge people for things that hadn’t happened yet, but Lucius Malfoy had to be a special case.

“He’s just a bit of a snob, isn’t he?” was all the explanation she could offer, and thankfully even Severus couldn’t contradict her, even if he did comment on her penchant for knowing things about people she had never met.

“Well, anyway, don’t you think it’s… interesting, that we still have a history teacher who died around the time Dumbledore was born? There is such a thing as ‘modern history’, no? And Bathilda Bagshot is alive and well, and what better authority on this is there?”

Not this sordid affair again. Her face must have scrunched again, and Severus took this to mean she didn’t care what he had to say. It was just as well, since all Lucius had shared with him was vague allusions. “But I’m glad of it. For him, the classification and codification of the proper use of Dark magic and all that is still a matter of lively debate. And I think it should be!” He held his head high suddenly, a sense of urgency in his speech, and Hermione remembered that at that moment he was 18, future long and brimming with possibility. To think that he would unwittingly change the course of history and pay for it until his death in twenty years… This Severus reminded her of a (much) more interesting Percy Weasley, speaking passionately about apparent technicalities and eager to be an adult.

“Yes, I agree,” she mumbled.

“It’s all political, isn’t it; and none of the teachers we’ve had ever explained what makes it ‘Dark’. If you ask me, the Ministry thinks we’re all children. Is it different in Australia?”

Hermione had no idea. “Errr, well, the British heritage is strong there,” she improvised. “And there’s aboriginal influence – you know, they have their own traditions, so… hard to explain.” She made a mental note to check, and fortunately, Professor Binns interrupted their torturous exchange.

“Morning, students!” Professor Binns exclaimed (it was afternoon).

“We discussed the initial proposal to classify the magical arts. Of course, there are branches of magic even Dark wizards are wary of; some of these are known here in the Kingdom as the ‘unforgivable curses.’ This might surprise you, but I do not find this infantilizing in the least. These curses carry a mandatory sentence in our fine country – rightly so. You must mean them! So by the very act of successfully casting them, one relinquishes any possible defence of ignorance.”

Hermione had to admit this lesson captivated the students more than expected it could, it being Professor Binns. Yet her own mind drifted to the land she had never actually been to, and she asked herself how come they learned so little magic from outside Europe, how come this never changed by her own time, and to how paper-thin her cover story truly was. If you ever find yourself in the same room with a real Australian… well, crikey, mate.

She would have told herself it was unlike her to not listen in class, but there was a limit to how many times one could say that with a straight face. Letting go of her natural inclinations came easier next to Severus Snape, she found out.

“Hey, Severus?” She asked him (in the middle of the lesson, like some second-rate Lavender Brown).

“What?!”

“How much of what makes us who we are is just accidents and context?”

“I can’t imagine a context where you’re not annoying.”

She laughed harder than was strictly appropriate – again, like Lavender. Seeing him annoyed at her and wishing she would be quiet comforted her beyond measure.

She glanced at Severus’s notes. She was sure they departed from the lecture materials. Professor Binns surely mustn’t have said the words, “if anyone uses Imperio on me I would be too ashamed to admit it to anyone” and “if you’re weak enough to be controlled what’s the need for Imperius anyway”.

“Or a snoop,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Annoying and a snoop! Did you just sign up for this class to look at my notes?”

Hermione made a point of looking only at her own notes until the end of the class, and found that her hand had mechanically written down:

Now, of course, the Killing Curse, interestingly, was originally devised in Azkaban, by prisoners who could no longer endure their punishment. The infamous criminal Shipman, believed by the Muggles to die in their prison, in fact met his end by the spell of his own creation. His notes became public and his spell has been giving the wizarding world trouble since – a curse that cannot be reversed, for which there is certainly no cure, that can only be blocked by another living being used as a shield.

Just as mechanically, her hand acted of its own to cross out the final sentence, and write the word ‘love’ in capital letters at the margin.

Severus

The next morning, Severus took his now almost natural place beside Granger at the Great Hall, which he instantly regretted: he saw Lucius’s owl, and Granger had an unfortunate habit of peeking at his notes. Severus’s previous letter to Lucius had been sent in a desperate attempt to understand why Lily had gone after James Potter, and Severus had no desire for Granger to know how he felt - had felt - about Lily.

"Your mudblood is smart", Lucius's letter read. Severus appreciated how Lucius had taken time out of his busy day to explain the intricacies of class, wealth, and love to him. Or - not so busy. Severus could not imagine how people in Lucius's strata filled their day, but he could not wait to find out. He knew it would take a long time until he did, though: he would have to make a living and a name for himself before anyone would want to marry him, before he could set foot in the right places. The letter continued:

"You always insisted on it, and I must confess myself surprised that you were right. Potter is not as stupid as you made him out to be either. You need to think like a man in his position. He has nothing to lose by marrying her, a fetching, gifted witch from a family that would not be able to interfere with the Potter agenda. Yes, Severus, everyone has an agenda. This family has been shamefully out of touch with goings-on at the Ministry and so on, and nearly all the seats at the table are taken. Allying themselves with Dumbledore (and Dumbledore's glory is ill-gotten and undeserved, but I am not one to put in writing matters best discussed between four walls) is more profitable, and what better way than to prove their commitment without paying more of a cost than welcoming the lovely Ms. Evans into the family. If what you say about her parents is correct, they're the rare Muggles who can be interviewed for the Daily Prophet, quoted drooling with pride at their amazing child. You used to insist that she should be in Slytherin, no? Slughorn too lamented the Hat's choice. But you and I know full well that the last "Muggle-Borns" who had been admitted into Slytherin had been Squib-born, in fact, and had somehow managed to unearth a wizarding grandparent or great grand-parent. So Slughorn too used Lily to pretend he sees eye to eye with Dumbledore. I promise you a lot will be clearer when we've had a chance to share some stories over a fine bottle of mead. I would not hold out for your Mudblood to change her mind. If she would have been a Slytherin but for her unfortunate lineage, she understands that Potter is a smarter choice for her than you. Think of the dinner parties she will have to host if she marries you, with guests like Avery, Rosier, or me; think next of the Potters and their ilk praising her ability to hold the wand at the right end. ‘True love” is a luxury people like her, in this climate, if they're clever, can't afford. If they're cleverer still, they learn to truly love whatever best advances them.

I suppose what I'm trying to say, Severus, is that this is no great loss to you. Potter and Evans looking out for their own best interest does not preclude you from doing the same, and I advise you to focus on that. Being with her would only make the better-connected families suspect your true loyalties. In the future, I suspect Potter and your mudblood will grow bored of each other, as all married couples do in the end, and you will have your chance with her then. Be sure to tell me when you do, and I promise I won't tell a soul - sordid affairs like that are no subject of conversation in polite society. Until then, forget about her. I have plans for you, and in due time, you will see she is not worth the wait or the pain.

Warmest regards, Lucius Malfoy."

Lucius’s grandiose signature, much larger than his handwriting, marked the end of the letter. So that was the end of that, then. Clever man, Lucius, but he didn't understand that Severus's pride was not injured because Lily had chosen someone else - Lily never rebuffed his advances, he had never made any. It was that she chose Potter. If Lucius's interpretation was correct, Lily's lecture about consorting with the wrong sort was even more blood-boiling than he remembered (and he wanted to bury himself when he thought of how quickly he had allowed himself to be distracted by her change of subject to how much she despised Potter). She had come to do the exact same thing, associating with the worst of the worst no matter how much it hurt her friend. Except you're not her friend. And that's what hurt the most, and that's what Lucius ignored, perhaps did not even realise. It was a rejection of his essence, not just of his blood status or shabby clothes or any of the many things about him that were worthless. It weighed heavily on his chest and burned his insides.

Or… it used to. Certain developments had occurred between the time Severus sent a letter via school owl, shaking at the thought of being discovered carrying a letter to his mentor, whinging about Lily… and now. Because now, yet another girl had taken it upon herself to protect him, and her expression when she looked at people sometimes was inscrutable and bewildering, and though she asked to be in Slytherin, she was aghast at the idea that he intended to become a Death Eater, and had very conservative ideas about magic. He had no idea how he might go about explaining Granger to Lucius Malfoy, and he knew Lucius would hear about their association, somehow, even if Severus said nothing.

Never mind that when he thought back to her “protecting” him, he could not help but imagine the retribution, which was all but inevitable. If James never hurt Lily, surely it was only because she was a Gryffindor, and a Gryffindor he’d fancied for years. Hermione did not have the same protections, and Severus doubted that she knew what she was getting into by crossing them.

And so, Severus came to a decision: he would unilaterally sever his association with Granger. He would be better off focusing on his future, and she would be better off doing the same, without attracting undue attention (and hexes). Lucius was right: all in due time. Because at the moment, the thought of any possible outcome of his friendship with Hermione continuing made him just a little bit more queasy than the thought of not speaking to her again. Not until the time was right. I’d survived losing a friend before, he said to himself.