“beyond wandpoint” 079a by gingerbred
“11 11s Tuesday - Dining with Dumbles” Part 1
Hermione, Albus, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Dilys Derwent, Winky
Originally Published: 2018-06-25 on AO3
Chapter: 079 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
"Jaffacakes," does indeed cause the gargoyle to yield access to the stairs to her, and with only a brief moment of hesitation she continues on to Professor Dumbledore's office. At her knock, he calls for her to enter.
"Come.
"Ah! Miss Granger. How unexpected. Lemon sherbet, perhaps?" he asks as she steps into the room, gesturing for her to take a seat in front of his desk and then proffering the candy jar. Her parents may be lost to her, but their years of influence have left their mark, and she never once considers accepting the sweet. Only as he withdraws the jar does it occur to her that the manoeuvre was designed to put her in his perceived debt, and she has to laugh to herself.
Recalling her recent conversation with Madam Pomfrey about just this topic, she smiles inwardly. Experiments have long shown that it's more effective to have the person perform a favour for you than to perform one unasked for them. Her Professor most certainly would be proud of that. Suitably, she almost smirks. Wizards always underestimate the value of Muggle research. And ignore psychology as a field entirely. She's so pleased that she's knows this little tidbit, in fact, that she immediately decides to implement it.
"But perhaps a spot of tea instead, if it wouldn't be too much bother?"
"Of course, of course. Not at all. Winky, a pot of Darjeeling and some biscuits please." In addition to a plate amply laden with those biscuits, the pot appears with a service for two, a sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk almost instantly at his elbow, and not for the first time she wonders when it even had the chance to steep? Do the elves keep ready pots of tea in stasis, or how is this managed? With the demand in the castle, that might prove a viable solution. She admonishes herself to stay focused, and returns her attention to the elderly wizard seated across the desk from her as she accepts the cup of tea he has poured for her.
Milk for her, three lumps for him. Her mum would have kittens.
He looks... exhausted.
Still, he seems perfectly content to make small talk as he nibbles on the biscuits - amusingly, she notes they are indeed Jaffacakes - and she manages to throttle a nearly overwhelming desire to dispense with the pleasantries and get to the point. But it seems just a very few days in the Professor's company have made enough of an impression that she finds herself able to tamp that impatience down and play this little game.
School is progressing well. Yes, she is enjoying her courses as usual. No, she's never regretted discontinuing Divination (she only barely manages to suppress the derision at that, or so she thinks) nor Care of Magical Creatures, for that matter. Yes, she does miss Hagrid. She declines to comment on Professor Trelawney. What a nice autumn they have had so far. That's some nip in the air now, though. Winter is clearly coming. Quite.
Personally, she thought the snow was a giveaway.
Eventually he tires of this game and provides her with an in. "How is life with Severus going?"
Pleased to finally get to the meat of things, she answers this more enthusiastically, "Presumably at least as well as I could have expected." Sensing he is about to pretend that that concludes the matter, she rushes on to open the door to her questions and the reason for her visit. "But I believe it could be much better if you were willing to provide me with a more complete picture of what I am dealing with." Score two for Muggle psychology; she's avoided ambiguous phrasing: she wants this from him.
He merely blinks in response, and she presses on. "I'm not asking you to endanger any of your plans, but I would remind you of my Vow. I am sworn, bound, to be loyal to him. I cannot subvert his goals."
Frankly, she's not really convinced of the truth of that, particularly after that little... demonstration of the Professor's, but she thinks it sounds good in support of her request. She apparently masks that uncertainty well enough, or it is of no consequence, and the Headmaster does indeed proceed to take up the gauntlet.
He's almost amused as he replies, "I greatly appreciate that reminder, Miss Granger..."
And with a sudden awareness - that's the second time he's done that - she realizes she almost missed an opening there and hastens to correct him, "Madam Snape."
Unused to being interrupted, at least by students, he's momentarily nonplussed. "Hmm? Beg your pardon?"
"Madam Snape. I am Madam Snape now." She manages with a surprising degree of conviction; she could swear one of the supposedly 'sleeping' portraits behind him snorted. And now she's thinking if they are to continue this union for very long - and completely disregarding the Professor's thoughts about his life expectancy (which hardly bear consideration), that would seem likely - they should probably have a talk about that.
Well, some day. Because she's still not sure how she feels about taking her... husband's name... Of course, her mother has ('had' she corrects automatically with a twinge) no issue with having taken her husband's name, but then it was a different generation... Realizing that she's once again getting distracted, and trying desperately not to picture having that particular discussion with... Severus, she supposes... It almost causes her to snicker. 'Focus, woman.'
"Of course, right you are, how remiss. Madam Snape. And what, pray, makes your picture incomplete?"
"I find myself lacking what I suspect are key pieces of information about his background."
"I should be surprised if you know anything of his background..." he begins, but she again jumps in to retake control of the conversation.
"Indeed." She knows for a fact that she's channeling... Severus now. She quickly pushes on before Professor Dumbledore can point out that she doesn't need to know anything about her husband's past. She is convinced that she has a valid point and will argue it. "I know very little about him, but I believe that our arrangement can provide some benefits for him..."
In what she is certain is a mean and thoroughly unsubtle tactical attempt to dissuade her from her line of enquiry, he raises an eyebrow at that in a most luridly suggestive fashion, while 'Hmm'ing. If anything, it makes her more determined. And once again, she thinks she hears something, more of a sputter this time, from one of the portraits behind him.
Although she can't quite suppress a blush response - suddenly she remembers the Headmaster had seen her memories while under the influence of that Potion Friday, Crikey, which means he'd heard much of what she'd said (Blimey! The language alone...) - she'll be damned if she allows mere embarrassment to hinder her. On consideration, it's probably only the Draught that makes that possible, because that had been beyond mortifying. "...If I better understand him. What he has behind and before him, then I can provide more constructive support."
Satisfied that she is earnest enough to not be easily dissuaded, and unwilling to reveal himself too plainly by simply denying her, Albus considers if there might not be an advantage to accommodating her. She has quite rightly hit on the notion of providing support for Severus, as he had hoped she would, although he hadn't pictured this particular development.
"Miss Granger," he begins, and then seems to catch himself and try to placate her, but she comes to doubt that when the portrait snorts softly again, "Madam Snape, I have not yet had supper. Have you?" She shakes her head tentatively, hoping this won't be the prelude to postponement.
"Then would you be averse to joining me?" He enquires.
Quickly deciding this is the most promising route to getting the answers she seeks, and a better result than she'd dared hope for, she agrees to dine with him and thanks him for the invitation. He calls for Winky and the little house elf appears, takes his order for two dinners and vanishes, leaving no trace other than the faint scent of Butterbeer behind her.
Unconvinced that it can pose any real risk, Albus directly asks the young woman, "What do you wish to know?" He can always refuse her if her request is too... problematic.
A plate appears on the desk before him, and a tray bearing her supper shimmers into place, floating in the air before Hermione. "Please, tuck in," he bids her, starting on his own meal, and she picks up her fork to follow suit. For someone who felt it was important to have refused his offer of a bit of candy, she has few qualms about accepting a meal. Perhaps the significantly lower sugar content makes all the difference. Or her relatively empty stomach.
"First, I am trying to understand a certain interpersonal relationship dynamic within the Order and some of the underlying issues he has with Harry." His eyebrow raises at that, but he merely nods for her to continue. Assuming this doesn't interfere with the promise he'd given Severus not to reveal his motives for helping the Order - he certainly doesn't need Severus on the warpath - it could indeed prove advantageous if she understood the problems with Harry...
This line of thought, however, leaves him completely unprepared when she continues, "So to begin, I'd like to know: was he attacked, or nearly attacked, by," she hesitates and then deliberately omits the 'Professor' so as not to create a loophole, "Remus Lupin? As a student?"
Seeing the slight tension that had immediately formed just between Professor Dumbledore's eyes begin to lessen, she amends that, "In his werewolf form?" And, there, the tension is back. That's what she wanted to know then.
She's not sure when she grew this distrustful - probably sometime yesterday given the way the announcement of the bonding was handled, she thinks a little ruefully - but she thought it wiser to start with something she knows. Well, believes she knows, but still... And that was apparently how the Headmaster looked when he had something to hide.
More confidently, she continues, "I have reason to believe both that he was, and that he can't speak of it for some reason. I wish to know the details and why."
He considers the situation again. It's very interesting indeed. Frankly, he probably could have lifted the Oath completely four years ago when he'd freed Severus of the requirement to keep Remus' secret. Leaving any of it intact had been a matter of deeply ingrained over-precaution. Well, not so deeply ingrained it had kept him from trying on the cursed Gaunt ring, but still... And it was probably about twitting Severus again; something about those days brings it out in him. It helps mask any residual guilt he might be inclined to feel by going on the offensive.
Of course, it's far more offensive than he realises, but he has a tendency to overlook the victim in these things.
He really only has a small handful of things to worry about by removing the Oath. There was a very minor risk of demotivating Remus, thereby rendering him less useful to the Order, but there isn't likely to be much contact between him and Severus. Remus now has a wife and budding family to... impress, which should keep him in line, and his and Severus' roles in the Order are so established, there's no risk of anyone paying any attention to anything Severus has to say about all those years ago. That might be more about Albus preserving his dignity than concern for Remus at this point.
And Albus no longer needs to fear it could undermine Harry's faith in his father and his role as the great war hero; the role model has been suitably established. Or that it could put paid to Albus' lie about why Severus had saved Harry his first year, and again there's a component of Albus saving face. But if looking at the old detention records hadn't made it clear to the boy... Well, he certainly isn't going to take Severus' word for anything. No, Albus doesn't really need the Oath anymore.
Not for Severus' sake anyway.
People won't... people don't listen to Severus. So much so that the man hardly bothers trying. That won't be an issue. Miss Granger, however, is a different story, and there's something mulish about her expression, despite the Draught he knows she's taken, that has him... slightly concerned. He really doesn't need her stirring things up with Harry.
He's still not willing to blatantly shut her down, that's far too obvious, but he quickly hits upon a solution to the problems this presents. "This raises a number of issues, my dear." She's sure he'd like to fob her off, but she's not going to be put off lightly. The determined slant to her brow tells him all he needs to know, and he has a hard time not smirking as he gives her his terms, "But you are quite right, understanding Severus could well be the key to better cooperation. However, I doubt he'll thank either of us if he were to hear that I am betraying his confidences, so I'll require you to keep that to yourself." Later she'll wonder whose confidences he was actually 'betraying'. Understanding that her agreement is required before he will continue, she nods. "I'll need your word on that."
"You have it." A ripple of magic across her skin makes her wonder if there is more significance to that agreement than she expected. Probably. Not surprising given everything else. But not of consequence either, and it's done.
She considers the phrasing and hits on something that, unfortunately, shows in her face. The statement was broader than need be, which instantly makes her more suspicious, but even more lamentably, still not sufficiently so. Nevertheless, she's worked out that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone - not only the Professor - she had the information from the Headmaster. But that doesn't mean she couldn't swear she had it from a reliable source, or reveal just what she knows. Not that Harry and Ron seem to be doing the greatest job of listening just now, but sooner or later...
"Good." There's a self-satisfied set to her features that has him quite certain he's right in his suspensions about her. A Legilimens confirms it. After consideration, Albus revises that to include, "I can provide the details you desire on that specific... incident, but only if you'll submit to the same restrictions as Severus did." Off her slight apprehension, he rushes to reassure her, "As the injured party, you may assume that his agreement to the stipulations lends them a degree of acceptability with which you too should be comfortable." Later she'll remember 'may assume' was his wiggle room and adjust her opinion of him accordingly. Bastard.
She should be thinking about the bitterness she knew the Professor felt, and consider that it might not all be directed at the perpetrators, or that her understanding of that word is too narrow. Regrettably, she doesn't. She'd also have done well to remember that he himself had told her the primary aspect that still bothered him about the Oath was the inability to speak of those events. Or that she herself is annoyed with the Headmaster that she can't speak about Friday after only a few days, even though she'd be loath to do so if she could. But this close to what she perceives as her goal, sadly none of that crosses her mind either.
Regretting that he seemed to have spotted her technicality and considering that the Professor might be right that she is far too transparent, she still decides it's worth proceeding despite this restriction. Failing that, she wouldn't even have the information to reveal, she deems it useful information she is unlikely to come by by other means, and clearly knowing is better than not, even if she can't share. She agrees to his stipulations and he commences.
"Then let us begin. I need your Oath not to discuss the events of that evening with anyone not currently aware of the facts of the matter. I assure you that Severus took the same." She's not particularly surprised by that, she'd thought as much, she knew there was an Oath and those stipulations explain why he was unable to speak of it with her. She was convinced, in the frame of mind he was in, that he would have done otherwise.
"And what you tell me will be the truth in return?" She demands. The portrait sounds like it's trying to stifle a chuckle. She takes that as a good sign. Professor Dumbledore merely cocks an eyebrow in reply to her question and does his best to look wounded. A week ago, she might have bought the act.
"Naturally, my dear. I thought that went without saying." The portrait's attempts to smother its chuckle end in a strangled cough. Albus pretends not to hear Phineas, but there can be no question it's deliberate at this point. He's capable of being silent, sitting there with no external sign of response, feigning sleep for months at a time when it suits him, assuming he doesn't vacate the frame altogether. No, this is no coincidence. Which presents the question of why and where the portrait's loyalties lie, first and foremost, to the man's House, Severus as the Head of that House, Hogwarts, or Albus himself as Headmaster? Somehow he's coming to doubt that last one.
They commence with the Oath, Albus guaranteeing to tell her the truth about that evening in exchange for her Oath to speak to no one about it who doesn't know the facts of what transpired. Hermione could swear the portrait clucks its disapproval.
Once completed, Professor Dumbledore proceeds to tell her how Sirius lured the Professor, Severus as was, into what she can only understand to be a trap where he was confronted with a transformed Remus. Oddly, no one else seems to have taken quite such a dim view of what Sirius had done, but then really, what else had he expected would happen? She'll never understand people if she lives to be one hundred and thirty-seven. And three quarters.
It's a fairly dramatic tale, atmospherically told, and the drama of it distracts her for some time. There the Professor, young Severus, was, in the dark and deserted tunnel, all by himself and faced with this werewolf under a full moon, injured in the process, probably fortunate to have survived in fact, especially without having also been turned in an incredible stroke of luck. He was 'rescued', if one can call it that, by Harry's father. The Headmaster doesn't say much about their relationship, but she knows from Harry, there had apparently been some bullying between them. Most likely more than a little to go by the degree to which that knowledge had affected Harry.
Finally, Severus had been forcibly sworn to secrecy, just as she'd thought, all while the story was changed and James emerged a hero and Severus an ingrate. She may be interpolating, but she's quite certain that was the result. A few pointed questions on her part confirm that in consequence, James became Head Boy, an honour he probably never should have had, reading between the lines, as he'd never even been a Prefect before that. Naturally, there had been at least four boys, the Prefects from each of the Houses, who had previously been deemed more fit for that position. But Professor Dumbledore proves noticeably evasive on that topic, and she can hardly force him to answer.
Sirius went essentially unpunished, she gathered, and even with the benefit of years, to her own knowledge both he and Remus remained unrepentant, certainly with respect to that evening, and continued to cast Severus as the villain of the piece. Mind boggling, but it explained a great deal in their interactions. It also put his actions when she, Harry and Ron had faced the werewolf, Remus, in their third year and Professor Snape had thrown himself in front of them in an entirely new light.
She tries to picture it, what he'd been through, relate it to her own experiences, and the closest she comes would be if Malfoy... No. That's as far as she gets, but the image doesn't properly take form. She tries again, if Crabbe, and, yes, that sits much better as analogies go, if Crabbe were currently strutting about the school claiming he'd rescued her from Death Eaters. And then made Head Boy for it.
Holy Cricket. She'd probably try to kill him first chance she got.
She'd certainly curse him with acne reading 'ARSE' across his face. Now that she thinks of it, she still might if she can figure out how to do it without his cooperation. Or maybe 'SCUM'. Although there's something about faces and arses that has an appealing symmetry...
She asks Professor Dumbledore about her theory that James Potter may have been safe from Remus, the werewolf that is, at the time thanks to his Animagus ability. It certainly casts even more doubt on his bravery from her standpoint, but the Headmaster has to admit he doesn't know if the boy had been able to do that at that time or had made use that skill on the night in question.
She finds that terribly disappointing, and only now that the story is more or less finished does she realise it hasn't changed much about her understanding of the events. The details have left that essentially unaltered. "But why can't you say for sure? Why didn't you use Legilimency?" She asks, a little desperate for answers she's beginning to suspect she'll never receive.
"Oh, but I did, Madam Snape," he assures her.
"So why aren't you certain if that made a difference?" Truthfully, she already knows he was at most months from perfecting the Transfiguration at the time. Whatever else, James doesn't seem to have been the sort to bottle it under pressure. And he seems to have had an abundance of self confidence, likely to trust, excessively, to his skills in a pinch. Goodness knows, Harry has more than a bit of that himself.
"Because I used the Legilimency on Severus," he replies. "I took his version, his recollection, of events as sufficient. Much as I did Friday with you." There seems to be a sharp intake of breath from the portrait, and she pointedly doesn't look, not wishing to see its expression. She gets the feeling it's just made some kind of connection she'd rather it hadn't.
So she sits there staring at the Headmaster thinking about his approach to events like these. Frankly, she's not sure that is 'sufficient'. She thinks it would have made an incredible difference to have known what Sirius had intended. It's the possible difference between murder and manslaughter, which it had come damn close to being. This approach leaves Professor Dumbledore free to wash his hands of the matter. Without much inconvenience. And apparently few bothersome pangs of conscience. No, she finds it... Unsatisfactory.
"And as Severus lost consciousness briefly when he hit his head in the tunnel, today no one could say for sure if James ever used his Animagus form that night or not. Remus certainly can't. He won't have any real recollection of events." She decides it doesn't matter if James used that ability, what makes the difference is if he believed he could. Her thoughts play transparently across her face, or perhaps it's another Legilimens, and Albus chooses to address them, "At most he might be able to say if James had the ability in general at that time."
He continues more softly, driving home the point that had begun to disturb her, "But would it really make that much of a difference at this point?"
It certainly affects how she sees James Potter's actions. But... She's not really sure that makes much of any difference at all. In fact, she's wondering what ground she's gained here tonight. Sure, she can picture it all quite clearly... But...
It proves highly frustrating, or rather will, once the Draught wears off. At the moment she can just sense that's what she has to look forward to.
What have the details changed?
Far less than she'd hoped.
To this day, Harry continues to blame Professor Snape for Remus' firing. He had revealed Remus' secret. But then what doesn't Harry blame him for? She now knows his position isn't exactly... fair. Harry's got the wrong end of the wand.
Not that Remus or Sirius had helped, trying to play it off as a petty carryover from an old schoolboy rivalry... As they would have it, the Professor's antipathy was down to sour grapes, a residual teenage jealousy. About Quidditch, no less. It seems absurd...
But truly, she hadn't even agreed with Harry at the time. Neither had Ron, for what it's worth, although his anti-werewolf prejudices had probably been the reason. No, for her part, she had always held the Potions Master in high esteem for the protection he offered them that night. Well, now she does even more so. It was a defining moment, both for her and in her understanding of him. And as her understanding of him improves...
Well, so does her opinion of him.
The question for her at the time, unanswered to the present day, is how someone with Remus' condition, acutely aware as he is of the dangers, could have been so reckless as to have neglected to take his Wolfsbane Potion in a timely manner and risked exposing students, and faculty for that matter, to potential harm or death. She knows why he was distracted. That's not the point. No, the point was how that had been all it took for him to throw caution to the wind.
Or how it took Professor Snape publicising the merest fraction of what happened for there to be any consequences. For goodness sake, it once again bordered on a miracle that none of them had been killed or turned, and yet no one else saw fit to act? Somehow they felt that was... what? Acceptable behaviour?
She thinks again of the things Remus had told her of his days as a teen with the Marauders, how they had run free through the castle grounds and Hogsmeade, ever so merrily placing others at risk all for a bit of a lark. The close calls, many of them, that he so readily admits. He makes all the right noises about regrets, but he really doesn't seem to have learnt from it.
And Professor Snape had stood by, the whole year, and said nothing, keeping the darkest secret of a man who, however inadvertently, had nearly killed him as a boy and treated him with a minimum of respect on into adulthood. That is until that man's thoughtlessness and carelessness once again put the Professor's life, and others - hers amongst them, at risk.
No, she's completely clear where she stands in this.
Right by the Professor's side.
Hermione, Albus, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Dilys Derwent, Winky
Originally Published: 2018-06-25 on AO3
Chapter: 079 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
"Jaffacakes," does indeed cause the gargoyle to yield access to the stairs to her, and with only a brief moment of hesitation she continues on to Professor Dumbledore's office. At her knock, he calls for her to enter.
"Come.
"Ah! Miss Granger. How unexpected. Lemon sherbet, perhaps?" he asks as she steps into the room, gesturing for her to take a seat in front of his desk and then proffering the candy jar. Her parents may be lost to her, but their years of influence have left their mark, and she never once considers accepting the sweet. Only as he withdraws the jar does it occur to her that the manoeuvre was designed to put her in his perceived debt, and she has to laugh to herself.
Recalling her recent conversation with Madam Pomfrey about just this topic, she smiles inwardly. Experiments have long shown that it's more effective to have the person perform a favour for you than to perform one unasked for them. Her Professor most certainly would be proud of that. Suitably, she almost smirks. Wizards always underestimate the value of Muggle research. And ignore psychology as a field entirely. She's so pleased that she's knows this little tidbit, in fact, that she immediately decides to implement it.
"But perhaps a spot of tea instead, if it wouldn't be too much bother?"
"Of course, of course. Not at all. Winky, a pot of Darjeeling and some biscuits please." In addition to a plate amply laden with those biscuits, the pot appears with a service for two, a sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk almost instantly at his elbow, and not for the first time she wonders when it even had the chance to steep? Do the elves keep ready pots of tea in stasis, or how is this managed? With the demand in the castle, that might prove a viable solution. She admonishes herself to stay focused, and returns her attention to the elderly wizard seated across the desk from her as she accepts the cup of tea he has poured for her.
Milk for her, three lumps for him. Her mum would have kittens.
He looks... exhausted.
Still, he seems perfectly content to make small talk as he nibbles on the biscuits - amusingly, she notes they are indeed Jaffacakes - and she manages to throttle a nearly overwhelming desire to dispense with the pleasantries and get to the point. But it seems just a very few days in the Professor's company have made enough of an impression that she finds herself able to tamp that impatience down and play this little game.
School is progressing well. Yes, she is enjoying her courses as usual. No, she's never regretted discontinuing Divination (she only barely manages to suppress the derision at that, or so she thinks) nor Care of Magical Creatures, for that matter. Yes, she does miss Hagrid. She declines to comment on Professor Trelawney. What a nice autumn they have had so far. That's some nip in the air now, though. Winter is clearly coming. Quite.
Personally, she thought the snow was a giveaway.
Eventually he tires of this game and provides her with an in. "How is life with Severus going?"
Pleased to finally get to the meat of things, she answers this more enthusiastically, "Presumably at least as well as I could have expected." Sensing he is about to pretend that that concludes the matter, she rushes on to open the door to her questions and the reason for her visit. "But I believe it could be much better if you were willing to provide me with a more complete picture of what I am dealing with." Score two for Muggle psychology; she's avoided ambiguous phrasing: she wants this from him.
He merely blinks in response, and she presses on. "I'm not asking you to endanger any of your plans, but I would remind you of my Vow. I am sworn, bound, to be loyal to him. I cannot subvert his goals."
Frankly, she's not really convinced of the truth of that, particularly after that little... demonstration of the Professor's, but she thinks it sounds good in support of her request. She apparently masks that uncertainty well enough, or it is of no consequence, and the Headmaster does indeed proceed to take up the gauntlet.
He's almost amused as he replies, "I greatly appreciate that reminder, Miss Granger..."
And with a sudden awareness - that's the second time he's done that - she realizes she almost missed an opening there and hastens to correct him, "Madam Snape."
Unused to being interrupted, at least by students, he's momentarily nonplussed. "Hmm? Beg your pardon?"
"Madam Snape. I am Madam Snape now." She manages with a surprising degree of conviction; she could swear one of the supposedly 'sleeping' portraits behind him snorted. And now she's thinking if they are to continue this union for very long - and completely disregarding the Professor's thoughts about his life expectancy (which hardly bear consideration), that would seem likely - they should probably have a talk about that.
Well, some day. Because she's still not sure how she feels about taking her... husband's name... Of course, her mother has ('had' she corrects automatically with a twinge) no issue with having taken her husband's name, but then it was a different generation... Realizing that she's once again getting distracted, and trying desperately not to picture having that particular discussion with... Severus, she supposes... It almost causes her to snicker. 'Focus, woman.'
"Of course, right you are, how remiss. Madam Snape. And what, pray, makes your picture incomplete?"
"I find myself lacking what I suspect are key pieces of information about his background."
"I should be surprised if you know anything of his background..." he begins, but she again jumps in to retake control of the conversation.
"Indeed." She knows for a fact that she's channeling... Severus now. She quickly pushes on before Professor Dumbledore can point out that she doesn't need to know anything about her husband's past. She is convinced that she has a valid point and will argue it. "I know very little about him, but I believe that our arrangement can provide some benefits for him..."
In what she is certain is a mean and thoroughly unsubtle tactical attempt to dissuade her from her line of enquiry, he raises an eyebrow at that in a most luridly suggestive fashion, while 'Hmm'ing. If anything, it makes her more determined. And once again, she thinks she hears something, more of a sputter this time, from one of the portraits behind him.
Although she can't quite suppress a blush response - suddenly she remembers the Headmaster had seen her memories while under the influence of that Potion Friday, Crikey, which means he'd heard much of what she'd said (Blimey! The language alone...) - she'll be damned if she allows mere embarrassment to hinder her. On consideration, it's probably only the Draught that makes that possible, because that had been beyond mortifying. "...If I better understand him. What he has behind and before him, then I can provide more constructive support."
Satisfied that she is earnest enough to not be easily dissuaded, and unwilling to reveal himself too plainly by simply denying her, Albus considers if there might not be an advantage to accommodating her. She has quite rightly hit on the notion of providing support for Severus, as he had hoped she would, although he hadn't pictured this particular development.
"Miss Granger," he begins, and then seems to catch himself and try to placate her, but she comes to doubt that when the portrait snorts softly again, "Madam Snape, I have not yet had supper. Have you?" She shakes her head tentatively, hoping this won't be the prelude to postponement.
"Then would you be averse to joining me?" He enquires.
Quickly deciding this is the most promising route to getting the answers she seeks, and a better result than she'd dared hope for, she agrees to dine with him and thanks him for the invitation. He calls for Winky and the little house elf appears, takes his order for two dinners and vanishes, leaving no trace other than the faint scent of Butterbeer behind her.
Unconvinced that it can pose any real risk, Albus directly asks the young woman, "What do you wish to know?" He can always refuse her if her request is too... problematic.
A plate appears on the desk before him, and a tray bearing her supper shimmers into place, floating in the air before Hermione. "Please, tuck in," he bids her, starting on his own meal, and she picks up her fork to follow suit. For someone who felt it was important to have refused his offer of a bit of candy, she has few qualms about accepting a meal. Perhaps the significantly lower sugar content makes all the difference. Or her relatively empty stomach.
"First, I am trying to understand a certain interpersonal relationship dynamic within the Order and some of the underlying issues he has with Harry." His eyebrow raises at that, but he merely nods for her to continue. Assuming this doesn't interfere with the promise he'd given Severus not to reveal his motives for helping the Order - he certainly doesn't need Severus on the warpath - it could indeed prove advantageous if she understood the problems with Harry...
This line of thought, however, leaves him completely unprepared when she continues, "So to begin, I'd like to know: was he attacked, or nearly attacked, by," she hesitates and then deliberately omits the 'Professor' so as not to create a loophole, "Remus Lupin? As a student?"
Seeing the slight tension that had immediately formed just between Professor Dumbledore's eyes begin to lessen, she amends that, "In his werewolf form?" And, there, the tension is back. That's what she wanted to know then.
She's not sure when she grew this distrustful - probably sometime yesterday given the way the announcement of the bonding was handled, she thinks a little ruefully - but she thought it wiser to start with something she knows. Well, believes she knows, but still... And that was apparently how the Headmaster looked when he had something to hide.
More confidently, she continues, "I have reason to believe both that he was, and that he can't speak of it for some reason. I wish to know the details and why."
He considers the situation again. It's very interesting indeed. Frankly, he probably could have lifted the Oath completely four years ago when he'd freed Severus of the requirement to keep Remus' secret. Leaving any of it intact had been a matter of deeply ingrained over-precaution. Well, not so deeply ingrained it had kept him from trying on the cursed Gaunt ring, but still... And it was probably about twitting Severus again; something about those days brings it out in him. It helps mask any residual guilt he might be inclined to feel by going on the offensive.
Of course, it's far more offensive than he realises, but he has a tendency to overlook the victim in these things.
He really only has a small handful of things to worry about by removing the Oath. There was a very minor risk of demotivating Remus, thereby rendering him less useful to the Order, but there isn't likely to be much contact between him and Severus. Remus now has a wife and budding family to... impress, which should keep him in line, and his and Severus' roles in the Order are so established, there's no risk of anyone paying any attention to anything Severus has to say about all those years ago. That might be more about Albus preserving his dignity than concern for Remus at this point.
And Albus no longer needs to fear it could undermine Harry's faith in his father and his role as the great war hero; the role model has been suitably established. Or that it could put paid to Albus' lie about why Severus had saved Harry his first year, and again there's a component of Albus saving face. But if looking at the old detention records hadn't made it clear to the boy... Well, he certainly isn't going to take Severus' word for anything. No, Albus doesn't really need the Oath anymore.
Not for Severus' sake anyway.
People won't... people don't listen to Severus. So much so that the man hardly bothers trying. That won't be an issue. Miss Granger, however, is a different story, and there's something mulish about her expression, despite the Draught he knows she's taken, that has him... slightly concerned. He really doesn't need her stirring things up with Harry.
He's still not willing to blatantly shut her down, that's far too obvious, but he quickly hits upon a solution to the problems this presents. "This raises a number of issues, my dear." She's sure he'd like to fob her off, but she's not going to be put off lightly. The determined slant to her brow tells him all he needs to know, and he has a hard time not smirking as he gives her his terms, "But you are quite right, understanding Severus could well be the key to better cooperation. However, I doubt he'll thank either of us if he were to hear that I am betraying his confidences, so I'll require you to keep that to yourself." Later she'll wonder whose confidences he was actually 'betraying'. Understanding that her agreement is required before he will continue, she nods. "I'll need your word on that."
"You have it." A ripple of magic across her skin makes her wonder if there is more significance to that agreement than she expected. Probably. Not surprising given everything else. But not of consequence either, and it's done.
She considers the phrasing and hits on something that, unfortunately, shows in her face. The statement was broader than need be, which instantly makes her more suspicious, but even more lamentably, still not sufficiently so. Nevertheless, she's worked out that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone - not only the Professor - she had the information from the Headmaster. But that doesn't mean she couldn't swear she had it from a reliable source, or reveal just what she knows. Not that Harry and Ron seem to be doing the greatest job of listening just now, but sooner or later...
"Good." There's a self-satisfied set to her features that has him quite certain he's right in his suspensions about her. A Legilimens confirms it. After consideration, Albus revises that to include, "I can provide the details you desire on that specific... incident, but only if you'll submit to the same restrictions as Severus did." Off her slight apprehension, he rushes to reassure her, "As the injured party, you may assume that his agreement to the stipulations lends them a degree of acceptability with which you too should be comfortable." Later she'll remember 'may assume' was his wiggle room and adjust her opinion of him accordingly. Bastard.
She should be thinking about the bitterness she knew the Professor felt, and consider that it might not all be directed at the perpetrators, or that her understanding of that word is too narrow. Regrettably, she doesn't. She'd also have done well to remember that he himself had told her the primary aspect that still bothered him about the Oath was the inability to speak of those events. Or that she herself is annoyed with the Headmaster that she can't speak about Friday after only a few days, even though she'd be loath to do so if she could. But this close to what she perceives as her goal, sadly none of that crosses her mind either.
Regretting that he seemed to have spotted her technicality and considering that the Professor might be right that she is far too transparent, she still decides it's worth proceeding despite this restriction. Failing that, she wouldn't even have the information to reveal, she deems it useful information she is unlikely to come by by other means, and clearly knowing is better than not, even if she can't share. She agrees to his stipulations and he commences.
"Then let us begin. I need your Oath not to discuss the events of that evening with anyone not currently aware of the facts of the matter. I assure you that Severus took the same." She's not particularly surprised by that, she'd thought as much, she knew there was an Oath and those stipulations explain why he was unable to speak of it with her. She was convinced, in the frame of mind he was in, that he would have done otherwise.
"And what you tell me will be the truth in return?" She demands. The portrait sounds like it's trying to stifle a chuckle. She takes that as a good sign. Professor Dumbledore merely cocks an eyebrow in reply to her question and does his best to look wounded. A week ago, she might have bought the act.
"Naturally, my dear. I thought that went without saying." The portrait's attempts to smother its chuckle end in a strangled cough. Albus pretends not to hear Phineas, but there can be no question it's deliberate at this point. He's capable of being silent, sitting there with no external sign of response, feigning sleep for months at a time when it suits him, assuming he doesn't vacate the frame altogether. No, this is no coincidence. Which presents the question of why and where the portrait's loyalties lie, first and foremost, to the man's House, Severus as the Head of that House, Hogwarts, or Albus himself as Headmaster? Somehow he's coming to doubt that last one.
They commence with the Oath, Albus guaranteeing to tell her the truth about that evening in exchange for her Oath to speak to no one about it who doesn't know the facts of what transpired. Hermione could swear the portrait clucks its disapproval.
Once completed, Professor Dumbledore proceeds to tell her how Sirius lured the Professor, Severus as was, into what she can only understand to be a trap where he was confronted with a transformed Remus. Oddly, no one else seems to have taken quite such a dim view of what Sirius had done, but then really, what else had he expected would happen? She'll never understand people if she lives to be one hundred and thirty-seven. And three quarters.
It's a fairly dramatic tale, atmospherically told, and the drama of it distracts her for some time. There the Professor, young Severus, was, in the dark and deserted tunnel, all by himself and faced with this werewolf under a full moon, injured in the process, probably fortunate to have survived in fact, especially without having also been turned in an incredible stroke of luck. He was 'rescued', if one can call it that, by Harry's father. The Headmaster doesn't say much about their relationship, but she knows from Harry, there had apparently been some bullying between them. Most likely more than a little to go by the degree to which that knowledge had affected Harry.
Finally, Severus had been forcibly sworn to secrecy, just as she'd thought, all while the story was changed and James emerged a hero and Severus an ingrate. She may be interpolating, but she's quite certain that was the result. A few pointed questions on her part confirm that in consequence, James became Head Boy, an honour he probably never should have had, reading between the lines, as he'd never even been a Prefect before that. Naturally, there had been at least four boys, the Prefects from each of the Houses, who had previously been deemed more fit for that position. But Professor Dumbledore proves noticeably evasive on that topic, and she can hardly force him to answer.
Sirius went essentially unpunished, she gathered, and even with the benefit of years, to her own knowledge both he and Remus remained unrepentant, certainly with respect to that evening, and continued to cast Severus as the villain of the piece. Mind boggling, but it explained a great deal in their interactions. It also put his actions when she, Harry and Ron had faced the werewolf, Remus, in their third year and Professor Snape had thrown himself in front of them in an entirely new light.
She tries to picture it, what he'd been through, relate it to her own experiences, and the closest she comes would be if Malfoy... No. That's as far as she gets, but the image doesn't properly take form. She tries again, if Crabbe, and, yes, that sits much better as analogies go, if Crabbe were currently strutting about the school claiming he'd rescued her from Death Eaters. And then made Head Boy for it.
Holy Cricket. She'd probably try to kill him first chance she got.
She'd certainly curse him with acne reading 'ARSE' across his face. Now that she thinks of it, she still might if she can figure out how to do it without his cooperation. Or maybe 'SCUM'. Although there's something about faces and arses that has an appealing symmetry...
She asks Professor Dumbledore about her theory that James Potter may have been safe from Remus, the werewolf that is, at the time thanks to his Animagus ability. It certainly casts even more doubt on his bravery from her standpoint, but the Headmaster has to admit he doesn't know if the boy had been able to do that at that time or had made use that skill on the night in question.
She finds that terribly disappointing, and only now that the story is more or less finished does she realise it hasn't changed much about her understanding of the events. The details have left that essentially unaltered. "But why can't you say for sure? Why didn't you use Legilimency?" She asks, a little desperate for answers she's beginning to suspect she'll never receive.
"Oh, but I did, Madam Snape," he assures her.
"So why aren't you certain if that made a difference?" Truthfully, she already knows he was at most months from perfecting the Transfiguration at the time. Whatever else, James doesn't seem to have been the sort to bottle it under pressure. And he seems to have had an abundance of self confidence, likely to trust, excessively, to his skills in a pinch. Goodness knows, Harry has more than a bit of that himself.
"Because I used the Legilimency on Severus," he replies. "I took his version, his recollection, of events as sufficient. Much as I did Friday with you." There seems to be a sharp intake of breath from the portrait, and she pointedly doesn't look, not wishing to see its expression. She gets the feeling it's just made some kind of connection she'd rather it hadn't.
So she sits there staring at the Headmaster thinking about his approach to events like these. Frankly, she's not sure that is 'sufficient'. She thinks it would have made an incredible difference to have known what Sirius had intended. It's the possible difference between murder and manslaughter, which it had come damn close to being. This approach leaves Professor Dumbledore free to wash his hands of the matter. Without much inconvenience. And apparently few bothersome pangs of conscience. No, she finds it... Unsatisfactory.
"And as Severus lost consciousness briefly when he hit his head in the tunnel, today no one could say for sure if James ever used his Animagus form that night or not. Remus certainly can't. He won't have any real recollection of events." She decides it doesn't matter if James used that ability, what makes the difference is if he believed he could. Her thoughts play transparently across her face, or perhaps it's another Legilimens, and Albus chooses to address them, "At most he might be able to say if James had the ability in general at that time."
He continues more softly, driving home the point that had begun to disturb her, "But would it really make that much of a difference at this point?"
It certainly affects how she sees James Potter's actions. But... She's not really sure that makes much of any difference at all. In fact, she's wondering what ground she's gained here tonight. Sure, she can picture it all quite clearly... But...
It proves highly frustrating, or rather will, once the Draught wears off. At the moment she can just sense that's what she has to look forward to.
What have the details changed?
Far less than she'd hoped.
To this day, Harry continues to blame Professor Snape for Remus' firing. He had revealed Remus' secret. But then what doesn't Harry blame him for? She now knows his position isn't exactly... fair. Harry's got the wrong end of the wand.
Not that Remus or Sirius had helped, trying to play it off as a petty carryover from an old schoolboy rivalry... As they would have it, the Professor's antipathy was down to sour grapes, a residual teenage jealousy. About Quidditch, no less. It seems absurd...
But truly, she hadn't even agreed with Harry at the time. Neither had Ron, for what it's worth, although his anti-werewolf prejudices had probably been the reason. No, for her part, she had always held the Potions Master in high esteem for the protection he offered them that night. Well, now she does even more so. It was a defining moment, both for her and in her understanding of him. And as her understanding of him improves...
Well, so does her opinion of him.
The question for her at the time, unanswered to the present day, is how someone with Remus' condition, acutely aware as he is of the dangers, could have been so reckless as to have neglected to take his Wolfsbane Potion in a timely manner and risked exposing students, and faculty for that matter, to potential harm or death. She knows why he was distracted. That's not the point. No, the point was how that had been all it took for him to throw caution to the wind.
Or how it took Professor Snape publicising the merest fraction of what happened for there to be any consequences. For goodness sake, it once again bordered on a miracle that none of them had been killed or turned, and yet no one else saw fit to act? Somehow they felt that was... what? Acceptable behaviour?
She thinks again of the things Remus had told her of his days as a teen with the Marauders, how they had run free through the castle grounds and Hogsmeade, ever so merrily placing others at risk all for a bit of a lark. The close calls, many of them, that he so readily admits. He makes all the right noises about regrets, but he really doesn't seem to have learnt from it.
And Professor Snape had stood by, the whole year, and said nothing, keeping the darkest secret of a man who, however inadvertently, had nearly killed him as a boy and treated him with a minimum of respect on into adulthood. That is until that man's thoughtlessness and carelessness once again put the Professor's life, and others - hers amongst them, at risk.
No, she's completely clear where she stands in this.
Right by the Professor's side.