DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Grendel
"Snape? He wasn't born. He had to have been hatched."
Weeks later, Hermione is fairly sure that Ron would be surprised to know she remembers his words, and thinks about them often. About them, and Snape. About hatching. About humanity.
Because she simply can't picture it, any more than he can. She can't picture a man grunting in pleasure at the conception. She can't picture a woman screaming in agony at the birth. She can't picture a baby -- red and squalling, or sallow even then? -- with dark eyes already bitter. A demon child. With sharp little teeth and claws.
That unknowing, that un-picturing, follows her all the way through Snape's inconceivable childhood, his youth, his adulthood, his choices, anything that made him whatever kind of creature he is today. It didn't exist. It couldn't possibly have happened. Not to him.
And she is afraid for Harry, because she sees what Ron does not (will not). She watches Harry follow Snape around with his eyes, and knows he sees a man, not a monster. The thought that he might be wrong about that terrifies her; she imagines, has nightmares, about her friend gripped in enormous spindly potion-stained fingers, like talons, his flesh rent by huge yellowed teeth.
But those are only nightmares. They fade in the daytime, when she notices Snape never even looks at Harry anymore
except that Ron mentioned Harry wasn't in bed last night, and what Harry said later didn't match up
and pretty much leaves him alone in class
neither of them were at lunch today
like he doesn't even know Harry's there
detention, he assigned Harry detention again for tonight
and these days Harry never talks about Snape at all, not even to gripe.
I can't stop it, I can't stop it, it's too late to save him, I can't
Hermione watches Snape and wonders if he is a monster, thinks he is, prays he is not. The only proof of his humanity is that he has made a boy-child look after him with distrustful and desiring eyes. A boy small enough and thin enough that he could be wrapped up in a black cloak and swallowed forever and carried off into the night, the devil's prize.
She shivers all over.
Because she knows Harry wouldn't mind.
