~The Seven Sins of Severus Snape~

Summary: An old village priest hears seven remarkable confessions from a man named Severus Snape. Snape/Hermione romance. Happy Valentine's Day!

Authors' Note: This AU story takes place a few years after the Final Battle. Snape survived and is back at Hogwarts, where Hermione Granger has just been hired to teach Ancient Runes.

Each chapter of this story will bear the name of one of the Seven Deadly Sins, which are Wrath, Envy, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, and Lust.

(For those who are following To The Waters and the Wild: The next chapter will be up soon. A brief preview of the new chapter can be found on my tumblr: paimpont . tumblr. com)

For Lexen, who helped dream up this story.

...

Chapter 1: Wrath

The door to the old church creaks open, and a black-clad man enters. For a moment, he stands still in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the fading evening light.

A voice speaks out from a corner of the shadowy church. "It's all right, Severus. You know that you are always welcome here." An old man steps forward to greet the visitor.

"You recognize me, Father O'Mally?" the man called Severus whispers. "After all these years? That's quite... remarkable."

The old priest smiles. "Of course I do, Severus. Oh, you look a great deal different now from when you were a pale and scrawny little boy, but I think I will always recognize you. There is something about the way you walk that always struck me as rather singular, as if you are carrying an invisible burden through the world. Would you like to talk?" He indicates a dusty pew in the small empty church.

Severus seems to hesitate. "I am not here to confess my sins. I am no more religious now than I was as a boy, when I came here to hide from my father. I... I really don't know why I came here this evening. I just happened to be walking through the neighborhood, and I saw the door ajar."

The priest nods. "The door is always open, Severus. And I am here if you want to talk. No need for a formal confession; we can just sit and talk as we used to, back when you were a child and needed a place of refuge."

"You were always remarkably understanding." There is a slight tremor in Severus' voice now. Hesitantly, he sits down in one of the pews. "You were very kind to a frightened little boy who so stubbornly refused to confess his sins."

The priest sits down next to him. "I was always more concerned with the sins committed against you, Severus, than with any trifling transgression of yours. I wish I could have done more for you when you were a child; I really do. I wish I could have stopped your father from beating you. I did speak to the police about it once, but there wasn't much they could do, since your poor mother denied it all so vehemently when they asked her if anything was wrong." He hesitates for a moment. "He is gone now, I take it? Your father?"

Severus nods, not looking at the priest.

"I'm glad to hear it," says Father O'Mally softly.

Severus lifts an eyebrow. "That's not a very charitable thing to say, is it, Father O'Mally?"

The priest smiles. "My faith commands me to be truthful. And your father was a vicious and cruel man indeed. Now, Severus, is there something you would like to talk about, some more recent trouble that has led you to search out your old hiding place? Remember, not a word you say within these walls will ever be repeated. I trust you know that."

Severus sits for a moment in silence, his eyes turned to the floor. Then he says quietly: "What an odd notion... To come here as a grown man, and talk to you as I used to. Perhaps... Yes, perhaps I should like to talk, if you don't mind. Things have been so terribly strange lately, after she came back to Hogwarts, and I don't know of anyone else who would understand... or pretend to understand, at least. Do you recall that I used to tell you about my life at a strange school when I was a boy? A school of magic?"

The old man nods. "Of course I do. And wondrous stories they were, too! I must admit that I quite looked forward to hearing your tales, Severus."

The other man looks up. "But you never believed those stories, did you, Father?"

"Ah." The priest thinks for a moment. Then he says slowly: "This may sound odd to you, but I don't think I was ever terribly concerned with whether or not your stories were true. You seemed to take comfort in telling them, and I liked to hear them. That was enough for me." There is a sudden twinkle in his eye. "But maybe I am capable of believing more than you give me credit for, Severus."

Severus glances at him in surprise.

"Perhaps," suggests the priest mildly, "you have another story of magic to tell me?"

A shadow of a smile passes over Severus' pale face. "Yes," he whispers. "I think I do, if you would care to listen."

...

Severus' Story:

It was all Peeves' fault, as usual. Merlin only knows why that wretched creature took it upon himself to wreck my office. But wreck it he did, and with such gusto that every vial and bottle I possessed was reduced to a pile of smoldering dust. Pages were torn from ancient potions books, and dried herbs were scattered everywhere. The floor was covered in a sticky pool of spilled potions, and smoke was beginning to rise from the mess of swirling liquids.

Minerva stared at the disaster and uttered an oath I am reluctant to repeat. "What exactly happens when Polyjuice potion mixes with Amortentia and the Draught of Living Death, Severus?" She sounded quite concerned.

I shook my head, eying the sorry remnants of my most valuable potions books with regret. "I have no idea. Nothing good, I imagine. No one has ever been fool enough to try mixing the potions in question."

The next moment, Minerva had dragged me out of my office and slammed the door behind us. Then she began throwing a series of complicated Containment and Locking Charms on my office door.

"Minerva, what are you-?"

"Sealing off your office, of course. The charms should contain any noxious fumes that may arise, as well as any explosions that may take place when the potions begin to merge. Don't worry - you should have your office back once the fumes are gone, probably in another month or two."

"A month?" I stared at her. "How can I be without an office for a month? This is nonsense; open the door at once and let me clean up. I will be very careful."

The headmistress' mouth set in a firm line. "No. Absolutely not. Merlin only knows what would happen if you were to breathe in those vapors. I can't let anyone into your office until all the fumes have dissipated. You will simply have to share an office with another staff member for now."

"Share an office?" I sputtered. "You must be joking! How can I do my work in the presence of another person? I need a quiet workplace."

Minerva snorted. "You have no choice, Severus. You will have to share an office for the next month, and that's that. Let's see, the Ancient Runes office is the largest one, so you should share with Professor Granger. She is quiet enough, and we can easily fit another desk in there."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" I glared at Minerva, aghast. "You want me to share an office with my student? Of all the preposterous, harebrained ideas...!"

"Do not shout at me. Hermione Granger is no longer your student, Severus; she is your colleague. She may be young, but she is the most brilliant professor this school has ever seen."

I closed my eyes, seething. "She is not that brilliant! She just happens to know almost everything, but that's not the same thing as brilliance. She has a good memory, that's all."

"If my memory serves, Severus, you once said that she was the only student you ever thought worth teaching."

I felt my cheeks grow hot. "Oh, this is ridiculous! She is a mere girl, who just a few years ago trembled whenever she saw me in the hallways. How could I possibly be expected to treat her like an esteemed colleague and work in her presence?"

Minerva pursed her lips. "I see. Well, if that's how you feel, Severus, you will have to share an office with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Eridanus Black is rather fond of talking about himself, but he is a very charming young man, and I dare say you would learn to get used to his chatter."

I sighed deeply. "Eridanus Black? The pompous young fool all the girls are whispering about in the hallways? No, thank you! I suppose I have no choice but to resign myself to sharing with Miss Granger. But I am not happy about this!" I turned on my heel and stomped off to give Peeves a piece of my mind.

...

As it turned out, sharing an office with Hermione Granger was not quite as unpleasant as I had feared. After an initial awkward greeting, accompanied by a slight look of terror on her part as I explained the inevitability of our new work arrangement, she was rather helpful in arranging the Ancient Runes office in a way that would minimize the inconvenience to both of us. With the help of a few shrinking charms, she was able to contain her own book collection to the shelves of one wall of the office, which left ample space for my own library. Unfortunately, many of my books were still in the contaminated Potions office, but it turned out that Hermione owned quite a few of the common reference works on potions, and she was willing to place these at my disposal for the time being. She helped me fit another desk and chair into our shared study, and then, to my great relief, she immediately turned to her work, rather than attempt to engage me in meaningless conversation.

The first week of our shared office arrangement passed in agreeable silence. Hermione was always in the office when she was not teaching, but she was engrossed in reading and preparing notes for her lectures, and she rarely looked up when I entered the room. Oddly enough, there was something almost soothing about seeing her sitting there so silently absorbed in her work. There was something rather fascinating about watching her read. She did not fidget and stir while reading, as so many students are wont to do; she sat perfectly still, so engrossed in the words on the page that I sometimes had to wonder if she were still breathing. I once knew another girl who used to read like that, as if the rest of the world ceased to exist the moment she opened a book... Lily wouldn't even notice James when she was reading, which always pleased me a great deal. Hermione read with that same air of complete absorption, and there was a rather pleasing unselfconscious grace about her as she absently curled her legs under her in the chair and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

Soon, I became accustomed to her quiet, unobtrusive presence; in an odd way, her preoccupation with her books made it easier for me to focus on my own work. Sometimes, students would knock on the door and come and ask one or the other of us a question, but in the beginning, these interruptions were fortunately few and far between. I speculated that my presence may have deterred some of the Ancient Runes students from bringing some of their more inane questions to their young professor; most of her visitors kept casting nervous glances in my direction, and their questions came out in low whispers.

But she had one student who was not discouraged by my presence; he began to show up in our office with alarming regularity in the evenings, armed with long lists of questions about cuneiform irregularities and rare hieroglyphs, as well as an endless appetite for discussing the deeper meaning of each of the ancient runes. I knew the boy slightly, as he was also in my sixth year potions class, and I found him to be exceedingly tiresome. He was not without a modicum of talent, but he lacked mental precision and intellectual discipline. Hector Whitehorn was his name. A Ravenclaw student from an old wizarding family, pure-blood, rich, sixteen, and much too handsome for his own good. Lately, he had taken to walking around school in his shirt-sleeves, no doubt in order to give the sixth year girls an opportunity to admire his well-developed arms and chest. I had had to remind him on more than one occasion that school robes are required attire during the day. Mr. Whitehorn's hair grew in long golden ringlets, which he wore tied back with a black velvet ribbon. Why in Merlin's name did he have to wear his hair in that ostentatious manner? The old-fashioned hair style might not be ill suited for a traditional older wizard, like Mr. Malfoy, but it merely looked contrived and terribly pretentious on the boy.

And Mr. Whitehorn seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was bothering Professor Granger with his incessant office visits in the evenings. Needless to say, she was too polite to show him to the door, but I knew that she must be terribly impatient to get back to her own work and her reading. I glared at the boy as he sat next to her in the warm light from her study lamp, deeply engrossed in some whispered conversation about runes, but he pretended not to notice me.

One afternoon, right after Hermione had left for class, I noticed a stack of ungraded essays on her desk. My glance fell on the top one, which appeared both unusually long and - strangely - adorned with some sort of illustration. I walked over to her desk and picked up the essay. It did not take me long to recognize Mr. Whitehorn's fussy and rather flamboyant handwriting. An elaborate handdrawn illustration, which I cannot imagine was required by the assignment, depicted some ancient Norse castle, surrounded by dragons and a wild rugged lanscape. The drawing was not bad, although a purist would no doubt have found much to criticize in its composition, which appeared rather haphazard. A long chain of rather unusual runic letters enclosed the drawing in an intricate border. My knowledge of runes was a little rusty, but with some effort (and a brief look at a few of Hermione's volumes on cipher runes) I was able to make out the message: Three simple words, written in the long forgotten ancient branch runes, repeated over and over again, in an endless chain: I love you.

I felt myself seething. How dare he? What right did the boy have to make such an absurd declaration to his professor? Did he imagine that his use of arcane symbols would blind her to the wildly inappropriate nature of his message? Surely, even he, in his limitless conceit, could not imagine that his feelings would cause her anything but distress?

I flung the essay down, still quite agitated by the boy's impertinence. Unfortunately, my next class was potions with the sixth years. I spent much of the class glaring at the errant Mr. Whitehorn, still marveling at his despicable forwardness, while he proceeded to make an unholy mess out of his assigned potion. He flushed and muttered some pointless apology, but I merely stared at him in icy silence. He appeared rather flustered and inattentive, but when he proceeded to knock over a whole vial of armadillo bile, I exploded: "Is there no limit to your idiocy today? Or are you deliberately trying to poison the whole class? Detention, Mr. Whitehorn! My office, right after class."

My anger had not abated in the slightest when the boy showed up at my office, shame-faced, after cleaning up his worktable and the floor. I looked at him for a long moment in silence. And then I let him have it. I explained to him, in great detail, precisely what I thought of his ridiculous airs and graces, his pretentiousness, his terrible insensitivity to Professor Granger's schedule, his improper dressing habits, his ridiculous hair... I watched the boy fall apart at my words, and it felt oddly satisfying.

But then I heard a slight noise from the doorway. I looked up, and I saw Hermione standing in the doorway, white-faced.

I paused then, and something in her dark eyes made me feel ill at ease.

"Severus, how can you?" she whispered. "I thought you had changed, after the war, and after everything we have all been through. But you haven't changed a bit, have you? How can you speak to Hector like this, with such viciousness? What has he done to deserve such cruelty?"

"He... he spilled armadillo bile," I muttered.

She fixed me with her earnest brown eyes. "Spilled armadillo bile? A mere accident, surely? How can you treat him like this? Don't you see that he is just a child, who needs to be treated with patience and kindness?"

Mr. Whitehorn made a small strangled sound. Without a word, he grasped the still unread essay from the stack of Hermione's desk and darted out the door.

"He did not deserve this, Severus," said Hermione quietly.

Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, he deserved it, and more. For disturbing you, when you should have been reading quietly here with me. And for wanting to speak words that are not his to speak. But I said nothing, and we spent the rest of the evening in a silence that was no longer comforting, but heavy as a stone.