About A Potions Master

Chapter 7

By Pigwidgeon37

Cold showers, buckets of ice emptied over his head, a whole arctic or antarctic glacier crumbling on top of him, an avalanche of epic dimensions yanking him off his feet and burying him deep down in its icy entrails... All these similes, however strikingly suggestive, would not even remotely have described what Severus felt in that moment. Was that all the girl was capable of seeing in him? Couldn’t she look past it, at least now, at the… beginning? He would have explained; in fact, he would have longed to explain, but later. This wasn’t the kind of confession to be made to a still-almost-stranger in the first rays of morning light on a late-summer day. Those horrors could only be whispered into a lover's skin, the delicate spot where neck met shoulders, while lying together in the darkness in a passionate embrace, sated and sweet and sure of each other. But to bring it up here, outside on the stairs…

He rose to his feet, momentarily staggering, and grabbed the stone banister to steady himself. It was rough, and cool. Real. A little reassuring, maybe. Without a word, he turned and entered the house.

She saw him go, her hand still clamped over her mouth, unable to utter a single syllable, her eyes so wide open that they hurt. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions Why did I say oh God he’s leaving go after him no leave him be oh God what have I done he's going to hate me I wasn’t aware I'd said it aloud oh God there he goes he'll hate me if only I had a time turner Hermione you bloody fool how could you you hurt him you idiot you hurt him he’s gone he’ll never look at me again

And then the rigidity left her, and the tears began to flow, and then the sobs started shaking her, violently, brutally even. Why, oh why did she have to be like this? Inconsiderate, stupidstupidstupid! What was the use of being brilliant if you were socially inept? She buried her face in her hands, desperate for some place to hide, to just crawl under, to disappear, possibly forever… Face-in-hands was not enough, and so she squeezed her face against her knees, hugging them, curling into a tight ball, rocking back and forth…

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Miss Granger!” 

Cassandra Snape looked down at the ball of misery at her feet and sighed. What on earth had happened out here? She had been literally catapulted out of her sleep by the sound of a door being smashed shut, and had gotten out of bed to see what had caused that infamous noise. Downstairs, she had encountered a very flustered Piggy, who had told her that “Master Severus just runs past me, looking so angry, and retires into his laboratory, and he says he must not be disturbed”. Wonderful, she thought. Leave those children to themselves for a few minutes, and they would blow up everything, if only metaphorically.

She bent down again and squeezed Hermione's shoulder. “Miss Granger, tell me what happened.”

The bundle shook its head. “Go away!”

A smile crept over Cassandra Snape’s face. Had it not been against the family tradition that practically forbade to have more children once the male heir was born, she would have liked more than one child and, possibly, a daughter. Of course, Severus had been the fulfilment of all her desires, at least until a certain point… But a daughter would have been different, a being more similar to herself, to hold and protect, to share things with, things impossible to share with a husband or son. A daughter as stubborn as Severus, who maybe would have curled up in misery and flung a muffled, desperate “Go away!” at her. She didn't even know whether she was up to this comforting business, to say the truth. Her husband had been one of the kind that would never have cried in front of a woman, and Severus had always been rather emotionally autonomous. This was almost a first. She would simply have to try. Considering the mood Severus was obviously in, there was no danger of his leaving the laboratory anytime soon. No risk of being surprised while consoling the girl, then.

She called Piggy to take away the tray, shoved Severus's cushion closer to Hermione and sat down beside her, putting an arm round her shoulders. Gods, the poor thing was trembling all over!

“Hermione,” she ventured, “I think you might try and look at me.”

Violent shake of the head, brown curls a-fly.

“Please, Hermione. I am very worried and would like to know what happened. Come—” and she gently pried Hermione's fingers from around her knees “—you cannot stay like this forever. I want to help you, but you have to tell me.”

Finally, Hermione lifted her head. Mrs. Snape had to stifle a smile—the poor girl certainly had made a mess of her face. Nose swollen and red, eyes all suffused with blood, lips practically contour-less, hair plastered all over her forehead and cheeks. Whoever had claimed that it was easy to be young deserved on-spot execution.

“There, that's better,” she said, producing a blindingly white silk rectangle from the pocket of her dressing gown and handing it to Hermione.

Hermione eyed it doubtfully. “Not this one!” she choked, fresh tears welling up. “It's too—”

“Nonsense!” the older witch briskly interrupted her. “Take it and, for Merlin's sake, use it.”

She watched as Hermione dutifully blew her nose and wiped her eyes and, with her free hand, tucked some of the stray hair behind the girl's ears.

“And now that we have successfully taken this important first step, tell me what happened to upset you both so much.”

Hermione's eyes widened and promptly filled with tears again. “Is he… did he…”

Another attack of sobs. Mrs. Snape sighed. “Yes, he seems to be terribly upset. And so are you. But seeing as how Severus has holed himself up in his laboratory, and considering further that not even I feel like facing him when he is in one of those moods, you are my only source of information.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and violently shook her head.

“Hermione, angelic patience is not one of my most prominent traits of character.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and shot her a very insecure look. “Do you… do you think you might ask?”

A dark eyebrow shot up. “I was under the impression that I have been asking questions for a while now.”

“N-no, that's not what I meant. I mean you ask ‘did you do this’ and I say yes or no.”

Cassandra Snape sighed and rolled her eyes in a mix of distress and amusement. “Does your vocabulary contain the word ‘maturity’, Hermione? If this isn't the most ridiculous—”

“It would help,” Hermione said quietly.

Another sigh, this time accompanied by a smile. Perhaps this was what girls needed. Perhaps she was glad she didn't have a daughter. “Very well. Did you slap him because he tried anything… er, improper?”

Wide-eyed, innocent stare. “No! Why would I?”

Now she laughed. “Thank you, Hermione, that was priceless. Well, then, another question. Did you insult him?”

“No… not really, I mean, I… no, I suppose ‘insult’ doesn't even begin to describe it.”

Mrs. Snape's eyes narrowed as a terrible suspicion began to form in her mind. After all, there were only so many things that could drive Severus into such a state of fury… very few things, actually… “Does it have to do with his past?” Her suspicion was confirmed by an almost imperceptible nod. “Oh, good heavens… you didn't… you didn't ask him—”

No need to inquire any further. The girl had thrown both arms around her and was wailing desperately. Again. Oh, Merlin. That was bad. “Well,” she said, wrapping her arms around Hermione, “that was one of the most stupid things you could have done. But—” and she patted the girl's back “—at least it's out of the way now. No use crying over spilt milk, my dear. Let us have breakfast, so we do not have to discuss the matter on an empty stomach.”

“Please,” Hermione muttered into her shoulder, “Please, I just want to leave.”

“No, no, my dear. That is completely out of the question. You cannot first make my son miserable, not to mention yourself, and then throw the whole mess at my feet. Besides,” she said, rising and pulling Hermione up with her, “you would be utterly dissatisfied with yourself, wouldn't you? The outcome of this deplorable morning might be complete failure, but not necessarily. Things seldom happen exactly as we picture them in our minds.”

**°°**°°**

Slamming the door of his laboratory shut behind him hadn't been satisfactory. He needed the sound of something breaking. Not fully aware of what he was doing, Severus grabbed a couple of empty glass vessels and flung them against the wall. Crash. Good. Once more. Yes, that was liberating. Something bigger would be even better. He snatched a huge crystal jar from the workbench. It was empty, waiting to be filled with newts’ eyes. Well, it would never be—crash! Good. But the pounding in his ears didn't stop. His throat still felt narrow, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. He had to… What was that? How had that damned cat got into his… Wand out.

“Ava—” The sirens started shrilling. His body went rigid for a moment, and then completely limp. His wand clattered on the stone floor and rolled a few inches away, until it came to a standstill amidst the glass shards. Severus swayed, staggered against the workbench and tried to lean against it, but his legs didn't carry him. Slowly, he glided down until he was sitting on the floor, breathing irregularly, his vision blurred by adrenaline and rage and relief and humiliation…

“What kind of monster are you, Severus Snape,” he whispered to himself, “A mere slip of a girl asks you a stupid question, and all you can do is run away and reduce your laboratory to shambles… and almost kill your mother's cat…”

He leaned back against the front of drawers and closed his eyes. I wasn’t aware that the fury was still so strong… so indomitable… and so very close to the surface. Too close for anybody to come near me. All pent-up, Severus, over so many years. Never looked-at. Never admitted, not even to your own mother. I’m still capable of killing out of a mere reflex, if only a cat…

Fortunately, there was a sink in the room. He just barely made it there. What came up when he retched helplessly all over the white enamel was mostly acid. Bitter-sour and acrid. Again and again, his stomach contracted, trying to bring up what couldn't be brought up through his oesophagus. No way of vomiting that up, Severus. You have to try and get it out, though, or you will never be an even remotely normal human being…

He rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water over his face. It made him feel slightly better. Turning off the water, he raised himself, hands resting heavily on the edge of the sink. What a mess, inside and outside… I'd better clean up. A few spells later, the beakers and jar were sitting on the tabletop again, unblemished. If only it were so easy to clean up the rest… His eyes, roaming around the room, encountered those of the cat, staring at him unblinkingly, at the same time indifferent and full of questions. The animal was sitting atop one of the tables, apparently unruffled and, after having stared him down successfully, started cleaning her right front paw.

With a sigh, he crossed the room and perched beside her on the edge of the table. Nefertiti was a magnificent Siamese cat, proud, with a temper matching his own—which was, he thought wryly, probably the reason why his mother loved her so much… Hands folded in his lap, he watched her cleaning ritual and found that it was strangely calming. When she had finished, she gave him another inscrutable look, stood up, stretched, yawned and then nudged his elbow with her head. Severus gave her a weary smile and let his hand glide over the sleek, creamy-beige fur.

“I know,” he said slowly, “Time to try and sort out this mess.”

He was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown. So he first had to dress. And… he snorted. Have a bath. How very appropriate. Not to mention predictable.

He didn't want to be seen yet, so he simply Apparated into his chambers. Nefertiti strutted over to a row of cauldrons, sniffed them and, after careful inspection, chose a medium-sized copper cauldron for an extended morning nap.

**°°**°°**

“You mean you don’t know?”

Cassandra Snape shook her head. “No, my dear. I do not know. Believe me, I tried to ask him. Many times. But to no avail. And I would have needed to know, to understand, more than you can imagine. In the end, all I could do was forgive him.”

Hermione swallowed a bite of toast. “Did he always react like that, even when it was you who asked him?”

“No, never that violently. But he immediately clamped shut like an oyster and retired—both mentally and geographically.” The shadow that had passed over her face vanished as swiftly as it had come. “Some more tea?”

“Yes please.” Hermione was very unsure whether to ask what she wanted to—after all, today didn't seem to be her lucky day for questions. But then she decided to go ahead, if with the necessary precautions. “Mrs. Snape, do you think I might ask you a question of a… rather personal nature?”

Her request was met by a sly smile. “It seems that you are learning your lesson, my dear. Yes, of course you may ask. Although I am not sure whether I am going to answer…”

“Er… it’s just… Severus's father, your husband. Is he… dead?”

The shadow returned and remained. “Yes, he is dead. To be exact, he has been dead for twenty-two years. He died… was killed by Voldemort's minions. Would you like to meet him?”

Hermione stared at her in complete shock. Had the woman poisoned her tea, in order to avenge her son? Or how else was she supposed to meet the dead, unless she herself was dead? She had to put down her cup, for fear of dropping it, as her hands were badly shaking. Then realization hit her, and she almost broke out into hysterical laughter. “Of course,” she said, “I would love to meet him. Where is he hiding? I don't think I have seen him so far.”

“Oh, he's not a ghost,” Mrs. Snape said, smiling at the rapid succession of conflicting emotions on her opposite's face. “He is… but come and see for yourself. He will be delighted to meet you.