Book of Shadows (HG/SS, Mature) (6/?)
Nominated in the 2005 OWL Awards for Best in Realm of the Half-Blood Prince and Best Action-Adventure.
My disclaimers may be found in Chapter One. My thanks to bambu345 and Djinn for their betas.
And a special thanks to my WIKTT chatmates, for special assistance and for putting up with my whining.
Chapter Summary: Hermione feels like she is trying to build a bridge to nowhere...
CHAPTER SIX
JINXES
~o0o~
Hermione fluffed her pillow vigorously whilst she damned the Headmaster under her breath. Why should she lose sleep over Snape? He’d shaken off her concern, so why couldn’t she shake off her worry as easily?
Because no one else seems to care.
She supposed some of the Slytherins might give a damn what happened to Snape, though who knew with that sycophantic lot. Dumbledore cared if she were to take him at his word-and one other certainly cared. Unable to find Dumbledore in his office, she had gone to the hospital wing to seek out Pomfrey. The way the usually phlegmatic witch had swallowed hard, and the slight catch in her voice as she’d dismissed her, had told Hermione all she needed to know about how serious a summoning was and how deep Pomfrey’s concern went.
How did Snape do it? How could he go out there time after time and risk himself when all he ever got back from Order members was bare tolerance, if not outright disdain, and, from Moody, open suspicion and not-so-veiled threats of a cell waiting in Azkaban if he failed? How could Dumbledore be so sure of his loyalty if, as she suspected, Snape got far more respect and had far more potential for reward on the other side, as well as having far more to fear from them for a discovered betrayal. According to Sirius, it had been future Death Eaters who had been Snape’s friends and defenders when he’d been a student. Moreover, according to Lupin, those in the opposing faction had been Snape’s tormentors. It had been from Lupin she’d heard some of the details of the Pensieve incident that had ended Harry’s Occlumency lessons, finally clicking what happened last term into place. Harry himself had never spoken of it to her, and from Lupin’s own account of the Marauders’ behaviour Harry had witnessed, it was little wonder why.
What really drove Snape? How in the world was she going to be able to reach h-
“Granger, so help me,” Lavender whispered as Hermione pounded her pillow with her fists in frustration, “Getting your beauty sleep may not matter to you. I mean, why bother? But doesn’t that big brain need to rest?”
Hermione’s grimace threatened to turn into a grin as she caught Crookshanks sharpening his claws on Lavender’s favourite angora jumper-a bright fuchsia of course-foolishly laid out on the back of a chair. She turned the incipient grin into a saccharine smile. “Far be it for me to stand in the way of the pursuit of beauty-it is, after all, all you have. I’ll sleep out in the common room.”
Taking her time, she put on her robe, tucked the pillow under her right arm, then took the duvet off her bed and folded it neatly over the same arm. She needn’t hurry out of worry about having the last word. It must have taken Lavender twenty minutes or so to come up with what had passed for wit-it should take at least that long for the blonde bint to come up with a comeback.
Crookshanks had got the jumper down from the chair and was stretched out on it-getting the clingy knit full of cat hairs no doubt. She grinned and bent down for a quick pat of his head as she passed.
She was surprised to find Ginny in the common room curled up in the wingback chair near the fireplace, stroking Arnold, her new Pygmy Puff, in her lap. The purple bit of fluff gave a high-pitched squeak when Hermione came into view.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ginny said, “you, too?”
Hermione murmured, “Yes,” and took the seat opposite, tucking her legs under her. Hugging her pillow and duvet to her, she closed her eyes and let Ginny’s words wash over her.
“Not in the mood for chatting?”
“Sorry, feeling a touch raw tonight.”
“Your eyes are puffy. You’ve been crying?”
She shook her head sharply. Not really meaning to lie, but not wanting to talk about it. “You were saying about Michael?”
“Just that I didn’t expect… all his mates are so cold to me.”
“You split up with him-no one takes that well-you’d have to expect his friends to take his side.” Especially since you took up with Dean Thomas afterwards quicker than you can catch the Snitch-that wasn’t so much a rebound as a ricochet.
“I thought they were my friends, too, and being my friend didn’t seem to stop you from taking Michael’s side-”
“Oh, Ginny, I’m sympathetic, really…”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence then. What could she say? Ginny, I like you; I like Harry, but not you and Harry? I was really hoping Michael would work out and wouldn’t be yet another attempt to get Harry to notice you’re not a little girl anymore? She felt responsible in a way. But she’d meant her advice to Ginny to date others to help her move on-not as a grand strategy or distraction on the way to becoming Ginny Potter-Hermione could hardly blame Michael Corner for being sick of competing with the glamour of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever Ginny might say to others about the split being about Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw in Quidditch, from what Luna let drop, it was an argument about who was Gryffindor’s best Seeker.
“Ginny, how do you find Professor Snape?”
“Snape?” Ginny tapped her lips with a finger as if she needed to deliberate. “Hmmm… I think that under that cold, forbidding outside, is… an even colder, icier, frostier inside.”
Hermione giggled. “I meant as a teacher. I was just wondering if he’s less hateful away from Harry. If anyone, other than the Slytherins, finds him less than abominable.”
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t mind him as much as Ron does. I love Potions; the effects of potions are so much more subtle, yet more potent and permanent than charms. There’s so much more you can do with them. I’ve always been one to get what you can out of a person and ignore the rest, and you can’t take away from Snape that he knows his potions.”
Hermione shifted uneasily in her chair. She could try to blame the glitter in Ginny’s eyes, the way her expression became fierce, on a trick of the firelight, but there was something in the younger girl’s voice as well when she spoke of potions that made Hermione uneasy. It was the same quality Ginny had when she spoke of Harry.
“And I’ll give Snape this,” Ginny continued. “He’s not so bad if you don’t go out of your way to rile him. Percy actually claimed to like him, not that his recommendation means much, and Charlie respected him. But then those two are the Weasley changelings. Percy, you know. Charlie, he’s the quiet one among us. But between Snape and the twins-it was war. Bill, on the other hand… I hear those were the worst years when Bill started. Snape had to teach those who remembered him as a slimy, creepy-don’t look at me like that, you know what everyone says-well, as a student. And after Bill repeated a certain story in his hearing…” Ginny shrugged. “I know some Ravenclaws, never mind Slytherins, who rate Snape even over McGonagall as a teacher.” Ginny made a derisive sound. “But you know Ravenclaws, they’re all a bit daft about such things.” Ginny gave her a sidelong look. “Why the sudden interest? You seem… intense.”
“No particular reason,” Hermione said, forcing herself to make her voice light. “Just with him being the new Defence teacher…”
Ginny cackled. “There’s already a betting pool on when and how Snape will get offed. Me, I think he’s as hard to kill as a cockroach, so I’m not taking that bet-he’ll probably just get sacked somehow. Mind you, I’m happy to have Slughorn for Potions from now on, and look forward to being rid of Snape. It’s lovely to finally be appreciated for my talents.”
Hermione looked down and hugged her pillow close, feeling both chilled at Ginny’s callousness and uncomfortable because… because it had bothered her she could never get any real acknowledgement of her abilities from Snape. Sometimes she thought that’s what kept Snape fascinating to her, made it hard to let go of the idea of gaining his approval. It had been pathetic how happy he’d made her tonight just by telling her she’d “done well” in class-unrequited love of a strange, if platonic, sort. The questions he asked, the distinctions he made, the way he took his class beyond the text-she no more questioned that Snape was her most brilliant teacher than she had any doubt she had been his best student in Potions.
She’d be getting no acknowledgement of that sort from Slughorn-not with Harry, of all people, as his pet. Harry! She hadn’t missed that only Ron and Harry needed to borrow an old text; she knew Snape’s standards and the boys’ marks. Harry, along with Ron, had to have the lowest qualifications of anyone in Advanced Potions-and now he was the star.
Her face burned when she remembered today’s Potions class. Not even with Snape at his worst had she felt more humiliated. Slughorn’s praise of Harry’s “talent”… Harry’s success from not going by the book-the official one anyway-made her wonder, for the first time, if Snape was right. Maybe she really was just a book on legs, and not a quill inscribing new chapters in magic.
Did she have any right to condemn Harry for using that marked-up text? At least Harry had told her about his secret weapon. She hadn’t told him of her grimoire. She’d feared a bit how he’d react to her having a Dark book, which had coloured her own shock at discovering he had a dodgy book of his own. Besides, Viktor’s book was simply another standard text, even if one a Hogwarts student wouldn’t have easy access to-she wasn’t sure what to think of Harry’s.
She also had to admit that she hungered to be Snape’s top student still, in D.A.D.A., as she had been in Potions. She felt reluctant to share her edge with Harry, not unless there was something tangible they could use. She may be the one Gryffindor who’d earned her place in Potions-but it still rankled that Harry had done better than her in Defence.
Hermione started at the gunshot crack of thunder followed by the hiss of rain.
“I hope it’ll be one of those quick squalls,” Hermione murmured.
Ginny shook her head. “Mum says I have the old Prewett weather-sense and it’s never steered me wrong. It’s going to be nasty like this all night-get worse even. I’m just glad to be inside and grateful no one we care about is out there.”
“Yes,” Hermione responded, looking away from her friend, blinking hard whilst staring at the fire.
~o0o~
Hermione felt uneasy when she didn’t see Snape at the High Table, though she had often noticed his absence at breakfast the past year. Had that always coincided with the rare times he’d missed class over the years? She frowned. He’d never missed a day before last year-before he’d returned to Voldemort.
The owls came flying in; one swooped over to drop her subscription of the Daily Prophet. She tore impatiently at the string around the roll, eager to skim the contents.
Ron’s voice behind her made her jump. “Latest Witch Weekly?”
Unamused, she glared at him as he sat down across from her.
“Do I look like Lavender?” Worse luck. She’d probably do better with Ron if she were a blonde-in every sense of the word. She flushed at the thought. Yesterday, with the Amortentia potion, she’d smelled parchment and ink and leather and chalk-all smells she’d associated with the classroom and books she loved. And grass and a certain flower near the shed of The Burrow that made her think of sunshine-and Ron.
It didn’t mean she was in love with him. Merlin, she hoped not. She wondered what Ron had smelled.
She felt a hand at her back, and looked up to see Harry reading over her shoulder. She looked back down and turned the page; her breath caught as she saw the article.
“No deaths,” she answered. “But Mr and Mrs Campbell have disappeared-their home was trashed. Poor Winston and Clover. Winston being both a Gryffindor and this year’s Head Boy might have made the family a tempting target.”
“Clover?” Ron asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said, dryly. “You know her; she’s a fifth-year in Hufflepuff. The one you think looks like Fleur?”
Ron ears turned pink, but she felt Harry’s hand dig into her shoulder, so she bit back any further remark.
Harry looked back down at the article. “No bodies found though,” said Harry slowly. “Vance and Bones-their fates were unmistakable.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, through a mouth stuffed with kippers. She shot him a look, and his eyes glinted in amusement, but he actually finished chewing before continuing. She’d train him up right yet. “But look what happened with Fortescue and Ollivander-no one’s heard from them since they disappeared-maybe You-Know-Who just changed how the Death Eaters are doing things.”
“Hmm,” Hermione said. “Or those missing are in hiding, perhaps-secreted away? Perhaps the Order got warning?” Because of Snape? “Wouldn’t Professor Dumbledore tell you, Harry?”
He grimaced. “He’s said he’ll keep no more secrets from me. I’m not sure that’s the same as telling me everything.”
Seamus Finnegin clapped Harry on the back as he sat down next to Hermione. “That was brilliant, mate-how you stuck it to the old bat yesterday-or should I call you ‘sir’?”
Harry smirked, and Ron choked on his food when he started laughing.
Hermione frowned. A bridge is what Dumbledore wanted? Maybe she could at least keep Harry from burning it right from under her. “Oh, Harry, you musn’t continue baiting Professor Snape like that.”
Harry’s mouth twisted as he snapped out, “I didn’t start it.”
Hermione tactfully decided against mentioning that in terms of starting a death glare contest, yes, he had-although in a wider sense regarding their mutual animosity, Harry was right.
“Harry, you can’t win. Ignore him. You can’t take points from Slytherin, but he can take points from Gryffindor, and if you don’t care about that, how about detention?”
“I survived Umbridge’s.”
“Fine, then, if that’s how you prefer to spend your Saturdays.”
“She’s right, you know,” Ron said. “Bleeding irritating about it-but right. You can’t win against a teacher. You don’t see me poking at Snape and I hate the bloke just as-”
“No,” Harry said, stabbing at his kipper, “you really don’t.” For a long moment Harry glared at Ron, until Ron finally ended the impasse by returning his attention to his food. “It’s just… wrong-what Snape gets away with… someone has to stand up to him.”
“That doesn’t always have to be you, Harry,” said Hermione as gently as she could.
“Doesn’t it? Who else?” the “Chosen One” answered. His voice was so tight, his eyes so bitter, Hermione felt her heart clench.
~o0o~
Snape was at his desk when they filed in-no ominous greeting at the door or flinging it open for a grand entrance. For the first time in her tenure at Hogwarts, Hermione was actually cheered to see Snape in class. That lasted five minutes, until he called on her, and as usual mocked her for her perfectly correct answer. After, of course, having searched the room in vain for anyone else who’d dare lay themselves open to his venom by a raised hand.
Even his Slytherins rarely ventured any answers. Not that they tended to in any class. They were a spookily quiet bunch when they weren’t busy taunting Gryffindors and Muggle-borns-you never knew what went on in their heads.
Snape did make up some ground with her, though, when he lashed out at Parvati and Lavender for their whispers and accompanying titters. Oh, Gryffindor just lost two points? Each? Pity. Yes, she was being Snape-ishly petty. But then those two were seated right in back of her, and had been gossiping just loudly enough to be driving her mad. By now you’d think they’d know to indulge in Binns’ class, never Snape’s. A lifted eyebrow from Snape when he glanced in her direction made her think he’d caught her smirk.
At least Harry and Snape kept a wary peace, both refusing to glance the other’s way; Harry not disguising a taunt through pointed questions, and Snape not baiting him with just as pointed asides or stress on a word or lingering look. Too poor a way of relating to even be called a beginning of a truce, really, but she’d take it.
She didn’t miss how another student seemed to be doing his level best to avoid Snape’s eye-even though in the past he’d always angled for a stroke of the ego at every turn. Something not right between Malfoy and Snape?
Snape went over ground and centre as promised, floating handouts to the students with a desultory wave of his wand. But unlike last class, they sat at their desks whilst Snape sat in his and lectured-not that Snape would ever fail to hold your attention. If that mesmerising voice didn’t do it, sheer terror of what he would do if you were caught daydreaming would keep you hanging on every word. He did towards the end of class set them some breathing exercises-but he didn’t sweep around the classroom to observe them up close as was his wont.
Hermione was halfway down the corridor after class when it occurred to her that Snape had always made sweeps of his classes-until last year. She ran back, slowing down only slightly when she entered the classroom, still breathless when she made it to his desk.
Snape’s head shot up from where it had been resting in his hands, his eyes snapping open to bore into her.
“You have a question?” His voice had a coiled tension to it, as if readying to strike.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“That is none of your concern.”
She flattened her mouth into a tight line and tried not to grind her teeth. She took the task Dumbledore had set her seriously. But if Snape continued to hide behind a student-teacher formality, they could keep dancing at a far distance the entire year. And she didn’t think that’s what Dumbledore wanted, or that she’d have that much time. Snape might find the Gryffindor way of doing things reckless, but sometimes one did have to push things, so Hermione took a deep breath and answered.
“The Headmaster has made it my concern.”
His eyes narrowed to slits at that, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Oh?” He glared, flinging the single word like acid into her face, daring her to elaborate.
“He made me your assistant-”
“My research assistant, Miss Granger, not my keeper.”
She lifted her chin and forced herself not to drop her gaze from those unsettling eyes. She feared if she backed down now, it would set the pattern between them forever. And after Umbridge, a great deal of the deference and diffidence she’d felt towards her teachers had melted away. She planted both palms on his desk and leaned even closer to him. “I only want to help-”
“I don’t need help from some slip of a girl with delusions of-”
“Who else can you trust? Who else among the students, other than Harry, Ron, and Ginny, know of your… role here?”
Snape huffed, his mouth twisting. He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head and yawned in an exaggerated manner. “Really, Miss Granger, spare me your teenage penchant for melodrama,” he said in a bored drone. “I am here-in one piece. I don’t see any blood on the floor boards.” He stared at her stonily for a moment, then stretched out an arm, palm down, holding his hand steady. “No shakes. That should satisfy the Headmaster when you report back to him.”
“I’m not his spy-”
“No, but I am. Did it ever occur to you that seeking me out beyond what is strictly required is not particularly discreet? Unlike Potter, I can hardly have you claim you need remedial lessons to explain your tutorials.” He smirked.
If he expected her to recoil at that remark, he was disappointed. She found it amazingly easy to smirk back at him, as if they had just shared a private joke. “No, no one would believe that.”
His lips curled on one side slowly in the sneer that was his version of the rattle of a snake. “In any case, you hardly need any explanation-it’s not as if you’re the ‘Chosen One.’ Your moment of fame passed with your trifling mention in the gossip columns during the Triwizard tournament. No one will take special note of your comings and goings. You are of no consequence.”
His snide tone tempted her to retort that more than a few would notice-that she had friends. What did she have to lose? Points? Time spent in detention? She thought even that would be worth the cost to just once lash back. What else was at stake? His good opinion of her? Nothing she’d ever been able to do, or could do, would ever gain that.
She wished she could slap him. But drawing a breath to instil calm, she took in the purplish smudges under his hollowed eyes, the faint yellowish traces of the bruise on his jaw, and instead wished she could give him a reassuring stroke on his arm. She actually had to clench her right hand and force it down to her side when she realised she had, without conscious volition, reached out to do just that. She couldn’t follow either impulse with Snape, and it frustrated her no end.
Ron might tolerate even the slap and manage to forgive her, though these days she worried more what he’d read into a friendly touch. She’d give Draco the slap and Harry a hug regardless. But Snape?
“Was it at least worth it?” she asked softy. Asking more than the cost to him, hoping to goad some reaction that would tell her there had been a small victory last night.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Insufferable?”
Snape rubbed his eyes, then searched hers, frowning, slowly shaking his head. He fumbled about his desk and putting his hand on a slender, silver tube scooped it and the scroll of parchment underneath and slapped it down in front of her.
“This implement, known as an Indexia, is experimental-created by Takai Brothers. I have already set it to search certain key words. If those words occur in a book or periodical, the Indexia will make a soft whirring sound in its presence, the item will glow, and the title and pages of relevant passages will be indexed on the scroll. Bring the scroll and any of the enumerated items with you to my office, after class tomorrow. We will be looking into curses which cause physical injury, conveyed by objects-particularly stones, metals, gems, and items worn on the person.”
“How about curses of situation-triggered by place or position.”
“No.”
“But-”
“I said no. Do not waste your time-or mine.”
She pressed her lips against the words that might escape. It was his tone, more drained and weary than acerbic that convinced her not to protest further. She’d simply learn how to input what she required on the Indexia-and she’d damned well find the time, somehow, to research the curse on the D.A.D.A. position. Not that he deserved her caring, but she had promised the Headmaster.
He stared at her for some moments, then rummaged in the drawers of his desk for more parchment and began writing a note in his spiky hand. “This is a pass to the Restricted Section. It seems I must perforce trust you that far.”
“I won’t disappoint you, Professor.”
“You had better not.” He looked up at her, his face blank and eyes blinking uncertainly, as if he’d forgotten what he had been going to say.
She couldn’t remember Snape ever at a loss for words and felt a leaden ball form in her stomach. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do?”
Snape’s eyes drifted closed for a moment, the thick sweep of soot-black lashes stark against too-pale skin. He then seemed to gather himself, giving her a sour look. “I’m only tired.” He huffed at her sceptical look. “Yes, yes, I suffer cruelly at the hand of my master-who forces me to teach Defence mornings to third year mixed Gryffindor-Slytherins followed by you lot of dunderheads. Fortunately, relief is at hand. My next class consists of Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw fifth years: Obedient. Respectful. Attentive. Hard-working. Studious. No trouble whatsoever.”
An imp of the perverse caused her to clasp a hand over her heart. “I’m wounded. And do I hear a criticism of Slytherin in that?”
“Never.” He ducked his head and signed the slip he had been filling out, but she thought she’d caught sight of a slight tug of his lips upwards.
If it had been anyone else, she might have suspected a sense of humour. Snape being Snape, it could only be he was contemplating some horrible retribution for her teasing. It was… unsettling not to be treated with his usual nastiness even for a moment. Which, she mused, might be why he was doing it. This wasn’t just a Slytherin-this was the Head of Slytherin.
“One more thing before you go. Bring that green vial from the shelf behind me and add three drops to my tea.”
“Why-”
“You said you wanted to be of help?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she went to the shelf to do as he asked. She caught a liquorice-like smell as she dispensed the purple liquid with the vial’s dropper. There was a hissing sound and steam rose from the cup when it hit the tea.
“Pepperup Essence? Concentrated form of the potion. It’s danger-”
“I know what it is. That will be all, Miss Granger.”
“But-”
“Your two chums may tolerate your bossy interference-I will not. Dismissed.”
The last word was almost shouted and the sheer volume made her fly to and out the door. She stood for a moment outside his office against that shut door, feeling completely, absolutely out of her depth. What was she supposed to do now? Tell Pomfrey or Dumbledore she suspected Snape wasn’t taking proper care of himself? She put one hand over her mouth to suppress the laughter bubbling up at the thought, afraid it could build to hysterics.
She looked down at the Indexia gripped in her other hand. Books. Research. Revising. Making notes. Analysis. Those she could do.
Her next free period she rushed to the library anxious to try out her new toy. Madam Pince scowled at her when she saw the pass to the Restricted Section, her eyes widening as she read. The librarian then turned her gaze on Hermione, looking her up and down suspiciously. Hermione knew such passes were rare-no doubt the witch thought it was a sign of the apocalypse that a Gryffindor was presenting such a pass signed by Snape. But then Hermione believed Pince would be happy if no one ever read a library book-at least if it meant touching one.
Hermione started the first time she heard the whirring sound, reminiscent of the sound of the implements in the Headmaster’s office. A book on a shelf near her feet glowed green-she wondered if Snape had programmed that colour in to the device, and when she grabbed the scroll he’d given her from her bookbag she saw green words in a spiky script appearing before her eyes:
1. Orion Prewett-Black, Most Malicious Maladies 49-69 (Borgin Books 1897).
She peered closely at the Indexia but could find no clue how it worked or how Snape had set the key words or even what those words were. It still seemed a featureless silver tube. He must have charmed it-and somehow she thought there wasn’t much chance of him telling her how.
By the time her free period was over, she had ten books to reduce magically to fit them into her bookbag. That didn’t lighten the load, but she couldn’t care less as she left the library with her treasures.
She got only a glimpse of Snape later that day. A group of Gryffindors facing off against a group of Slytherins. Hardly anything new, other than, for once, neither she, Harry, Ron-nor Draco for that matter-were involved. Snape clenched one hand about the collar of Bulstrode’s robe, looking like a master restraining his dog by the scruff of the neck. Bulstrode screamed at McLaggen, a seventh-year Gryffindor who had orange fur sprouting on his face and, in-between his own strained shouts, mewed like a kitten. Zabini stood behind Snape. The dark-skinned youth rolled his eyes, then reached up to speak softly into the ear of his Head of House. Snape nodded, then yelled over both belligerents.
“I’m going to count to five. If by five, I can still see a Gryffindor along this corridor, you’ll start losing points for your House. Ten points for each second. One… Two…”
Snape looked straight at her.
She ran.
The next day at lunch she heard that someone had cast a complex trap jinx. If a Gryffindor hissed at a Slytherin in the corridors, they’d be a meowing kitten for a day, Ravenclaw-a cackling chicken, Hufflepuff-a squeaking mouse. Ron laughed meanly at Dean’s comment that McLaggen blamed Bulstrode.
“Everyone knows she’s a stupid cow,” he said.
“Certainly,” Hermione couldn’t help saying, “except, unlike you, Ron, she’s in the all same N.E.W.T level classes as I am-including Arithmancy and Runes.”
Harry, seated across from her, nudged her foot and jerked his head up and to the side. She twisted about on the bench to see Bulstrode standing right behind her, a poleaxed look on her face, before the girl hurried on to the Slytherin table.
She didn’t understand the impulse that had made her speak up for a girl who had never been anything but thoroughly unpleasant, even brutal to her. She could still remember the large girl’s suffocating bulk pinning her against the wall in Umbridge’s office. Just this morning in D.A.D.A. class Bulstrode’s face had indicated her great pleasure at getting a stinging hex through Hermione’s guard. Unless her new focus on Snape was bleeding into how she saw all the Slytherins? Ron gave her reason to regret her implied jibe at his intelligence by inflicting on her one of his master sulks for the rest of the day.
In any case, the hissing stopped.
~o0o~
Hermione entered Snape’s office for the next Occlumency lesson with a mixture of dread and excitement. Actually, that wasn’t a bad description of how she felt encountering Snape under any circumstances. Occlumency was a whole new discipline, and Snape was the only book open to her, but she didn’t want to make a habit of landing weeping at his feet.
He spent the better part of an hour teaching her breathing exercises and mental imaging. And when he tried Legilimens on her, it was with a light and slowly building touch she was able to push back.
“Why didn’t you teach Harry this way?”
“For any number of reasons. I wasn’t trying to teach Potter any of the subtleties, and we didn’t have the time to lay much groundwork. I needed him to shut down his emotions completely, and having discussed the matter with the Headmaster it was thought we might as well take advantage of the existing dynamic… Let us just say the Headmaster agreed with me that if Potter could stand against me, he would have a fair chance against the Dark Lord.”
“You deliberately provoked him. Tried to evoke strong emotion?”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “It did not take much effort on my part.”
“If you’d explained what you were trying to do, Harry would have understood-he’s not stupid…”
“And if he’d ‘understood,’ it would have been that much harder to provoke his response.”
“You can’t bully Harry into learning. That doesn’t work with him.”
“Thank you, Miss Granger, for pointing that out-I might have missed that otherwise. Though pray tell, what does motivate Slughorn’s latest star student?” She flinched and his eyes glinted at her response. “Cat got your tongue? That seems to have stung-Legilimens.”
Bastard.
It would have been easier if he’d stayed the bastard all through, but a different Snape emerged when they poured through the books she’d brought. Oh, he cut her short when she rambled off on a tangent. But he did listen, and it was fascinating to see him make connections she’d have never thought of-such as directing her to hunt down tracts in the Magical Creatures section, since a withering curse could possibly be the result of using microscopic magical creatures to convey the malady.
“In a case such as that, couldn’t Muggle medicines be modified, enchanted for a remedy?”
She got a wide smile out of him with that response which sent her heart soaring. She wished she could coax that expression out of him every day. It looked incredibly good on him.
But then he had to ask, “Why don’t I ever get that kind of answer out of you in class?”
Hermione’s answering smile died. “I… want to be correct-”
“So you play it safe and don’t dare go beyond what you’ve read on the printed page. It is that important to you to appear the authoritative know-it-all in front of your peers? Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Just thinking it’s obvious why you weren’t sorted into Slytherin. Ambitious people generally know that you have to risk failure to gain success.”
“Aren’t you always the one accusing Gryffindors of taking terrible risks?”
“There is a difference between flirting with danger and risking failure. You can learn the already discovered by rote perhaps, but you create nothing without repeated failures. No one succeeds without their share of embarrassing mistakes-that is what creation and experimentation is about.”
“True even for you?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“Especially true for me,” he answered, his voice and face at his stoniest.
“Are you saying if I gave such a speculative answer in your class you wouldn’t use it to humiliate me?”
“Miss Granger, I wouldn’t hesitate-I have a reputation to maintain-I’m simply saying that if you want to achieve great things, you shouldn’t let a nasty git of a teacher stop you. Can you tell me you venture anything beyond the text in other classes? Sprout’s perhaps? Vector’s?” His searching look was far too shrewd; Hermione didn’t think Legilimancy really explained the way he could read her-far better, it seemed, than Harry or Ron could, for all their years together.
At one point he followed her line of reasoning so well he completed her sentence-they even both exclaimed, “Karpellos,” at the same time, in reference to where you could find a treatise on curse-binding.
“Jinx. No return,” she said softly under her breath, not expecting him to hear or get the Muggle reference-Ron never did with such phrases-but Snape surprised her with a quick turn up of the lips, even if he continued on without waiting for her to release him by saying his name.
She never realised before how wearying it was with the boys, being used as if her brain was a utility they plugged into as needed, and having to explain everything in tedious sequential steps, only to have them tune her out before she’d finished two sentences. With Snape, he got to Z before she had to explain B. It was frightening, really.
But wonderful.
That meeting set the pattern for the rest of the week, and Hermione found herself rushing to Snape’s dungeon office the next day with more research, even without a scheduled Occlumency lesson. Sometime during that meeting it occurred to her that somewhere along the way she’d dropped saying “sir” at the end of almost every sentence, and he had allowed that to stand. It didn’t exactly put them on a first name basis, but considering how punctilious Snape was with Harry about correct address, she considered that good work indeed.
When Ron complained he’d only seen her at meals this week, she blamed the new schedule, but Ron’s evident annoyance didn’t blunt her determination to spend every moment with Snape that he would allow her. She found herself hurrying to fulfil her other obligations-it suddenly seemed unimportant and rather silly to write essays an inch, let alone a foot, more than assigned.
Snape was still scant in his praise compared to the other teachers, but every once in a while he’d give her a nod or roundabout compliment, and she’d see him give a start, as if he wished he could take it back. She thought she must be wearing him down, that in this setting, away from the classroom and at the end of the day, she was seeing a Snape closer to what his Slytherins saw and seemed to respect.
That Saturday, Hermione sought Snape out again in his office with a fascinating article on Egyptian curse-breaking as her pretext. She tried hard to hide that she was in pain with the kind of ailment that made Ron turn red to the ears if she mentioned it.
Without a word Snape brewed a cup of what she thought was tea, then abruptly, with a clink, put it down by her hand and went on to speak of the latest research he’d found on Gaulish curses. She automatically brought the cup to her lips. Chamomile. Ginger and Unicorn root. Evening Primrose. Hops. Other things she couldn’t identify-a true potion, not just an infusion. The heat radiated from her stomach, melting the pain away.
“Thanks-”
“I don’t need you wasting my time with female troubles.”
She had to endure hours of his most biting remarks. She thought, at one point, she’d prefer the cramps-but it dawned on her then, that this was one of the terms of engagement. Snape could be considerate, even carefully sympathetic, as long as she didn’t acknowledge it with so much as a twitch on her face. Otherwise, she’d pay for five minutes of kindness with hours of scathing comments. Honestly, trying to learn Snapelish was harder than mastering Latin.
~o0o~
to be continued
A/N: In America if two people say something at the same time you say “Jinx”-according to the LJ community hp_britglish, it’s a little different in Britain-if two people say something at the same time you say “Jinx, no return” and the first person saying it has to then say the other person’s name before they’re again allowed to speak.
On to Chapter Seven: Hexes
Back to Chapter Five: Ground and Centre
My disclaimers may be found in Chapter One. My thanks to bambu345 and Djinn for their betas.
And a special thanks to my WIKTT chatmates, for special assistance and for putting up with my whining.
Chapter Summary: Hermione feels like she is trying to build a bridge to nowhere...
CHAPTER SIX
JINXES
~o0o~
Hermione fluffed her pillow vigorously whilst she damned the Headmaster under her breath. Why should she lose sleep over Snape? He’d shaken off her concern, so why couldn’t she shake off her worry as easily?
Because no one else seems to care.
She supposed some of the Slytherins might give a damn what happened to Snape, though who knew with that sycophantic lot. Dumbledore cared if she were to take him at his word-and one other certainly cared. Unable to find Dumbledore in his office, she had gone to the hospital wing to seek out Pomfrey. The way the usually phlegmatic witch had swallowed hard, and the slight catch in her voice as she’d dismissed her, had told Hermione all she needed to know about how serious a summoning was and how deep Pomfrey’s concern went.
How did Snape do it? How could he go out there time after time and risk himself when all he ever got back from Order members was bare tolerance, if not outright disdain, and, from Moody, open suspicion and not-so-veiled threats of a cell waiting in Azkaban if he failed? How could Dumbledore be so sure of his loyalty if, as she suspected, Snape got far more respect and had far more potential for reward on the other side, as well as having far more to fear from them for a discovered betrayal. According to Sirius, it had been future Death Eaters who had been Snape’s friends and defenders when he’d been a student. Moreover, according to Lupin, those in the opposing faction had been Snape’s tormentors. It had been from Lupin she’d heard some of the details of the Pensieve incident that had ended Harry’s Occlumency lessons, finally clicking what happened last term into place. Harry himself had never spoken of it to her, and from Lupin’s own account of the Marauders’ behaviour Harry had witnessed, it was little wonder why.
What really drove Snape? How in the world was she going to be able to reach h-
“Granger, so help me,” Lavender whispered as Hermione pounded her pillow with her fists in frustration, “Getting your beauty sleep may not matter to you. I mean, why bother? But doesn’t that big brain need to rest?”
Hermione’s grimace threatened to turn into a grin as she caught Crookshanks sharpening his claws on Lavender’s favourite angora jumper-a bright fuchsia of course-foolishly laid out on the back of a chair. She turned the incipient grin into a saccharine smile. “Far be it for me to stand in the way of the pursuit of beauty-it is, after all, all you have. I’ll sleep out in the common room.”
Taking her time, she put on her robe, tucked the pillow under her right arm, then took the duvet off her bed and folded it neatly over the same arm. She needn’t hurry out of worry about having the last word. It must have taken Lavender twenty minutes or so to come up with what had passed for wit-it should take at least that long for the blonde bint to come up with a comeback.
Crookshanks had got the jumper down from the chair and was stretched out on it-getting the clingy knit full of cat hairs no doubt. She grinned and bent down for a quick pat of his head as she passed.
She was surprised to find Ginny in the common room curled up in the wingback chair near the fireplace, stroking Arnold, her new Pygmy Puff, in her lap. The purple bit of fluff gave a high-pitched squeak when Hermione came into view.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ginny said, “you, too?”
Hermione murmured, “Yes,” and took the seat opposite, tucking her legs under her. Hugging her pillow and duvet to her, she closed her eyes and let Ginny’s words wash over her.
“Not in the mood for chatting?”
“Sorry, feeling a touch raw tonight.”
“Your eyes are puffy. You’ve been crying?”
She shook her head sharply. Not really meaning to lie, but not wanting to talk about it. “You were saying about Michael?”
“Just that I didn’t expect… all his mates are so cold to me.”
“You split up with him-no one takes that well-you’d have to expect his friends to take his side.” Especially since you took up with Dean Thomas afterwards quicker than you can catch the Snitch-that wasn’t so much a rebound as a ricochet.
“I thought they were my friends, too, and being my friend didn’t seem to stop you from taking Michael’s side-”
“Oh, Ginny, I’m sympathetic, really…”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence then. What could she say? Ginny, I like you; I like Harry, but not you and Harry? I was really hoping Michael would work out and wouldn’t be yet another attempt to get Harry to notice you’re not a little girl anymore? She felt responsible in a way. But she’d meant her advice to Ginny to date others to help her move on-not as a grand strategy or distraction on the way to becoming Ginny Potter-Hermione could hardly blame Michael Corner for being sick of competing with the glamour of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever Ginny might say to others about the split being about Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw in Quidditch, from what Luna let drop, it was an argument about who was Gryffindor’s best Seeker.
“Ginny, how do you find Professor Snape?”
“Snape?” Ginny tapped her lips with a finger as if she needed to deliberate. “Hmmm… I think that under that cold, forbidding outside, is… an even colder, icier, frostier inside.”
Hermione giggled. “I meant as a teacher. I was just wondering if he’s less hateful away from Harry. If anyone, other than the Slytherins, finds him less than abominable.”
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t mind him as much as Ron does. I love Potions; the effects of potions are so much more subtle, yet more potent and permanent than charms. There’s so much more you can do with them. I’ve always been one to get what you can out of a person and ignore the rest, and you can’t take away from Snape that he knows his potions.”
Hermione shifted uneasily in her chair. She could try to blame the glitter in Ginny’s eyes, the way her expression became fierce, on a trick of the firelight, but there was something in the younger girl’s voice as well when she spoke of potions that made Hermione uneasy. It was the same quality Ginny had when she spoke of Harry.
“And I’ll give Snape this,” Ginny continued. “He’s not so bad if you don’t go out of your way to rile him. Percy actually claimed to like him, not that his recommendation means much, and Charlie respected him. But then those two are the Weasley changelings. Percy, you know. Charlie, he’s the quiet one among us. But between Snape and the twins-it was war. Bill, on the other hand… I hear those were the worst years when Bill started. Snape had to teach those who remembered him as a slimy, creepy-don’t look at me like that, you know what everyone says-well, as a student. And after Bill repeated a certain story in his hearing…” Ginny shrugged. “I know some Ravenclaws, never mind Slytherins, who rate Snape even over McGonagall as a teacher.” Ginny made a derisive sound. “But you know Ravenclaws, they’re all a bit daft about such things.” Ginny gave her a sidelong look. “Why the sudden interest? You seem… intense.”
“No particular reason,” Hermione said, forcing herself to make her voice light. “Just with him being the new Defence teacher…”
Ginny cackled. “There’s already a betting pool on when and how Snape will get offed. Me, I think he’s as hard to kill as a cockroach, so I’m not taking that bet-he’ll probably just get sacked somehow. Mind you, I’m happy to have Slughorn for Potions from now on, and look forward to being rid of Snape. It’s lovely to finally be appreciated for my talents.”
Hermione looked down and hugged her pillow close, feeling both chilled at Ginny’s callousness and uncomfortable because… because it had bothered her she could never get any real acknowledgement of her abilities from Snape. Sometimes she thought that’s what kept Snape fascinating to her, made it hard to let go of the idea of gaining his approval. It had been pathetic how happy he’d made her tonight just by telling her she’d “done well” in class-unrequited love of a strange, if platonic, sort. The questions he asked, the distinctions he made, the way he took his class beyond the text-she no more questioned that Snape was her most brilliant teacher than she had any doubt she had been his best student in Potions.
She’d be getting no acknowledgement of that sort from Slughorn-not with Harry, of all people, as his pet. Harry! She hadn’t missed that only Ron and Harry needed to borrow an old text; she knew Snape’s standards and the boys’ marks. Harry, along with Ron, had to have the lowest qualifications of anyone in Advanced Potions-and now he was the star.
Her face burned when she remembered today’s Potions class. Not even with Snape at his worst had she felt more humiliated. Slughorn’s praise of Harry’s “talent”… Harry’s success from not going by the book-the official one anyway-made her wonder, for the first time, if Snape was right. Maybe she really was just a book on legs, and not a quill inscribing new chapters in magic.
Did she have any right to condemn Harry for using that marked-up text? At least Harry had told her about his secret weapon. She hadn’t told him of her grimoire. She’d feared a bit how he’d react to her having a Dark book, which had coloured her own shock at discovering he had a dodgy book of his own. Besides, Viktor’s book was simply another standard text, even if one a Hogwarts student wouldn’t have easy access to-she wasn’t sure what to think of Harry’s.
She also had to admit that she hungered to be Snape’s top student still, in D.A.D.A., as she had been in Potions. She felt reluctant to share her edge with Harry, not unless there was something tangible they could use. She may be the one Gryffindor who’d earned her place in Potions-but it still rankled that Harry had done better than her in Defence.
Hermione started at the gunshot crack of thunder followed by the hiss of rain.
“I hope it’ll be one of those quick squalls,” Hermione murmured.
Ginny shook her head. “Mum says I have the old Prewett weather-sense and it’s never steered me wrong. It’s going to be nasty like this all night-get worse even. I’m just glad to be inside and grateful no one we care about is out there.”
“Yes,” Hermione responded, looking away from her friend, blinking hard whilst staring at the fire.
~o0o~
Hermione felt uneasy when she didn’t see Snape at the High Table, though she had often noticed his absence at breakfast the past year. Had that always coincided with the rare times he’d missed class over the years? She frowned. He’d never missed a day before last year-before he’d returned to Voldemort.
The owls came flying in; one swooped over to drop her subscription of the Daily Prophet. She tore impatiently at the string around the roll, eager to skim the contents.
Ron’s voice behind her made her jump. “Latest Witch Weekly?”
Unamused, she glared at him as he sat down across from her.
“Do I look like Lavender?” Worse luck. She’d probably do better with Ron if she were a blonde-in every sense of the word. She flushed at the thought. Yesterday, with the Amortentia potion, she’d smelled parchment and ink and leather and chalk-all smells she’d associated with the classroom and books she loved. And grass and a certain flower near the shed of The Burrow that made her think of sunshine-and Ron.
It didn’t mean she was in love with him. Merlin, she hoped not. She wondered what Ron had smelled.
She felt a hand at her back, and looked up to see Harry reading over her shoulder. She looked back down and turned the page; her breath caught as she saw the article.
“No deaths,” she answered. “But Mr and Mrs Campbell have disappeared-their home was trashed. Poor Winston and Clover. Winston being both a Gryffindor and this year’s Head Boy might have made the family a tempting target.”
“Clover?” Ron asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said, dryly. “You know her; she’s a fifth-year in Hufflepuff. The one you think looks like Fleur?”
Ron ears turned pink, but she felt Harry’s hand dig into her shoulder, so she bit back any further remark.
Harry looked back down at the article. “No bodies found though,” said Harry slowly. “Vance and Bones-their fates were unmistakable.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, through a mouth stuffed with kippers. She shot him a look, and his eyes glinted in amusement, but he actually finished chewing before continuing. She’d train him up right yet. “But look what happened with Fortescue and Ollivander-no one’s heard from them since they disappeared-maybe You-Know-Who just changed how the Death Eaters are doing things.”
“Hmm,” Hermione said. “Or those missing are in hiding, perhaps-secreted away? Perhaps the Order got warning?” Because of Snape? “Wouldn’t Professor Dumbledore tell you, Harry?”
He grimaced. “He’s said he’ll keep no more secrets from me. I’m not sure that’s the same as telling me everything.”
Seamus Finnegin clapped Harry on the back as he sat down next to Hermione. “That was brilliant, mate-how you stuck it to the old bat yesterday-or should I call you ‘sir’?”
Harry smirked, and Ron choked on his food when he started laughing.
Hermione frowned. A bridge is what Dumbledore wanted? Maybe she could at least keep Harry from burning it right from under her. “Oh, Harry, you musn’t continue baiting Professor Snape like that.”
Harry’s mouth twisted as he snapped out, “I didn’t start it.”
Hermione tactfully decided against mentioning that in terms of starting a death glare contest, yes, he had-although in a wider sense regarding their mutual animosity, Harry was right.
“Harry, you can’t win. Ignore him. You can’t take points from Slytherin, but he can take points from Gryffindor, and if you don’t care about that, how about detention?”
“I survived Umbridge’s.”
“Fine, then, if that’s how you prefer to spend your Saturdays.”
“She’s right, you know,” Ron said. “Bleeding irritating about it-but right. You can’t win against a teacher. You don’t see me poking at Snape and I hate the bloke just as-”
“No,” Harry said, stabbing at his kipper, “you really don’t.” For a long moment Harry glared at Ron, until Ron finally ended the impasse by returning his attention to his food. “It’s just… wrong-what Snape gets away with… someone has to stand up to him.”
“That doesn’t always have to be you, Harry,” said Hermione as gently as she could.
“Doesn’t it? Who else?” the “Chosen One” answered. His voice was so tight, his eyes so bitter, Hermione felt her heart clench.
~o0o~
Snape was at his desk when they filed in-no ominous greeting at the door or flinging it open for a grand entrance. For the first time in her tenure at Hogwarts, Hermione was actually cheered to see Snape in class. That lasted five minutes, until he called on her, and as usual mocked her for her perfectly correct answer. After, of course, having searched the room in vain for anyone else who’d dare lay themselves open to his venom by a raised hand.
Even his Slytherins rarely ventured any answers. Not that they tended to in any class. They were a spookily quiet bunch when they weren’t busy taunting Gryffindors and Muggle-borns-you never knew what went on in their heads.
Snape did make up some ground with her, though, when he lashed out at Parvati and Lavender for their whispers and accompanying titters. Oh, Gryffindor just lost two points? Each? Pity. Yes, she was being Snape-ishly petty. But then those two were seated right in back of her, and had been gossiping just loudly enough to be driving her mad. By now you’d think they’d know to indulge in Binns’ class, never Snape’s. A lifted eyebrow from Snape when he glanced in her direction made her think he’d caught her smirk.
At least Harry and Snape kept a wary peace, both refusing to glance the other’s way; Harry not disguising a taunt through pointed questions, and Snape not baiting him with just as pointed asides or stress on a word or lingering look. Too poor a way of relating to even be called a beginning of a truce, really, but she’d take it.
She didn’t miss how another student seemed to be doing his level best to avoid Snape’s eye-even though in the past he’d always angled for a stroke of the ego at every turn. Something not right between Malfoy and Snape?
Snape went over ground and centre as promised, floating handouts to the students with a desultory wave of his wand. But unlike last class, they sat at their desks whilst Snape sat in his and lectured-not that Snape would ever fail to hold your attention. If that mesmerising voice didn’t do it, sheer terror of what he would do if you were caught daydreaming would keep you hanging on every word. He did towards the end of class set them some breathing exercises-but he didn’t sweep around the classroom to observe them up close as was his wont.
Hermione was halfway down the corridor after class when it occurred to her that Snape had always made sweeps of his classes-until last year. She ran back, slowing down only slightly when she entered the classroom, still breathless when she made it to his desk.
Snape’s head shot up from where it had been resting in his hands, his eyes snapping open to bore into her.
“You have a question?” His voice had a coiled tension to it, as if readying to strike.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“That is none of your concern.”
She flattened her mouth into a tight line and tried not to grind her teeth. She took the task Dumbledore had set her seriously. But if Snape continued to hide behind a student-teacher formality, they could keep dancing at a far distance the entire year. And she didn’t think that’s what Dumbledore wanted, or that she’d have that much time. Snape might find the Gryffindor way of doing things reckless, but sometimes one did have to push things, so Hermione took a deep breath and answered.
“The Headmaster has made it my concern.”
His eyes narrowed to slits at that, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Oh?” He glared, flinging the single word like acid into her face, daring her to elaborate.
“He made me your assistant-”
“My research assistant, Miss Granger, not my keeper.”
She lifted her chin and forced herself not to drop her gaze from those unsettling eyes. She feared if she backed down now, it would set the pattern between them forever. And after Umbridge, a great deal of the deference and diffidence she’d felt towards her teachers had melted away. She planted both palms on his desk and leaned even closer to him. “I only want to help-”
“I don’t need help from some slip of a girl with delusions of-”
“Who else can you trust? Who else among the students, other than Harry, Ron, and Ginny, know of your… role here?”
Snape huffed, his mouth twisting. He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head and yawned in an exaggerated manner. “Really, Miss Granger, spare me your teenage penchant for melodrama,” he said in a bored drone. “I am here-in one piece. I don’t see any blood on the floor boards.” He stared at her stonily for a moment, then stretched out an arm, palm down, holding his hand steady. “No shakes. That should satisfy the Headmaster when you report back to him.”
“I’m not his spy-”
“No, but I am. Did it ever occur to you that seeking me out beyond what is strictly required is not particularly discreet? Unlike Potter, I can hardly have you claim you need remedial lessons to explain your tutorials.” He smirked.
If he expected her to recoil at that remark, he was disappointed. She found it amazingly easy to smirk back at him, as if they had just shared a private joke. “No, no one would believe that.”
His lips curled on one side slowly in the sneer that was his version of the rattle of a snake. “In any case, you hardly need any explanation-it’s not as if you’re the ‘Chosen One.’ Your moment of fame passed with your trifling mention in the gossip columns during the Triwizard tournament. No one will take special note of your comings and goings. You are of no consequence.”
His snide tone tempted her to retort that more than a few would notice-that she had friends. What did she have to lose? Points? Time spent in detention? She thought even that would be worth the cost to just once lash back. What else was at stake? His good opinion of her? Nothing she’d ever been able to do, or could do, would ever gain that.
She wished she could slap him. But drawing a breath to instil calm, she took in the purplish smudges under his hollowed eyes, the faint yellowish traces of the bruise on his jaw, and instead wished she could give him a reassuring stroke on his arm. She actually had to clench her right hand and force it down to her side when she realised she had, without conscious volition, reached out to do just that. She couldn’t follow either impulse with Snape, and it frustrated her no end.
Ron might tolerate even the slap and manage to forgive her, though these days she worried more what he’d read into a friendly touch. She’d give Draco the slap and Harry a hug regardless. But Snape?
“Was it at least worth it?” she asked softy. Asking more than the cost to him, hoping to goad some reaction that would tell her there had been a small victory last night.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Insufferable?”
Snape rubbed his eyes, then searched hers, frowning, slowly shaking his head. He fumbled about his desk and putting his hand on a slender, silver tube scooped it and the scroll of parchment underneath and slapped it down in front of her.
“This implement, known as an Indexia, is experimental-created by Takai Brothers. I have already set it to search certain key words. If those words occur in a book or periodical, the Indexia will make a soft whirring sound in its presence, the item will glow, and the title and pages of relevant passages will be indexed on the scroll. Bring the scroll and any of the enumerated items with you to my office, after class tomorrow. We will be looking into curses which cause physical injury, conveyed by objects-particularly stones, metals, gems, and items worn on the person.”
“How about curses of situation-triggered by place or position.”
“No.”
“But-”
“I said no. Do not waste your time-or mine.”
She pressed her lips against the words that might escape. It was his tone, more drained and weary than acerbic that convinced her not to protest further. She’d simply learn how to input what she required on the Indexia-and she’d damned well find the time, somehow, to research the curse on the D.A.D.A. position. Not that he deserved her caring, but she had promised the Headmaster.
He stared at her for some moments, then rummaged in the drawers of his desk for more parchment and began writing a note in his spiky hand. “This is a pass to the Restricted Section. It seems I must perforce trust you that far.”
“I won’t disappoint you, Professor.”
“You had better not.” He looked up at her, his face blank and eyes blinking uncertainly, as if he’d forgotten what he had been going to say.
She couldn’t remember Snape ever at a loss for words and felt a leaden ball form in her stomach. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do?”
Snape’s eyes drifted closed for a moment, the thick sweep of soot-black lashes stark against too-pale skin. He then seemed to gather himself, giving her a sour look. “I’m only tired.” He huffed at her sceptical look. “Yes, yes, I suffer cruelly at the hand of my master-who forces me to teach Defence mornings to third year mixed Gryffindor-Slytherins followed by you lot of dunderheads. Fortunately, relief is at hand. My next class consists of Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw fifth years: Obedient. Respectful. Attentive. Hard-working. Studious. No trouble whatsoever.”
An imp of the perverse caused her to clasp a hand over her heart. “I’m wounded. And do I hear a criticism of Slytherin in that?”
“Never.” He ducked his head and signed the slip he had been filling out, but she thought she’d caught sight of a slight tug of his lips upwards.
If it had been anyone else, she might have suspected a sense of humour. Snape being Snape, it could only be he was contemplating some horrible retribution for her teasing. It was… unsettling not to be treated with his usual nastiness even for a moment. Which, she mused, might be why he was doing it. This wasn’t just a Slytherin-this was the Head of Slytherin.
“One more thing before you go. Bring that green vial from the shelf behind me and add three drops to my tea.”
“Why-”
“You said you wanted to be of help?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she went to the shelf to do as he asked. She caught a liquorice-like smell as she dispensed the purple liquid with the vial’s dropper. There was a hissing sound and steam rose from the cup when it hit the tea.
“Pepperup Essence? Concentrated form of the potion. It’s danger-”
“I know what it is. That will be all, Miss Granger.”
“But-”
“Your two chums may tolerate your bossy interference-I will not. Dismissed.”
The last word was almost shouted and the sheer volume made her fly to and out the door. She stood for a moment outside his office against that shut door, feeling completely, absolutely out of her depth. What was she supposed to do now? Tell Pomfrey or Dumbledore she suspected Snape wasn’t taking proper care of himself? She put one hand over her mouth to suppress the laughter bubbling up at the thought, afraid it could build to hysterics.
She looked down at the Indexia gripped in her other hand. Books. Research. Revising. Making notes. Analysis. Those she could do.
Her next free period she rushed to the library anxious to try out her new toy. Madam Pince scowled at her when she saw the pass to the Restricted Section, her eyes widening as she read. The librarian then turned her gaze on Hermione, looking her up and down suspiciously. Hermione knew such passes were rare-no doubt the witch thought it was a sign of the apocalypse that a Gryffindor was presenting such a pass signed by Snape. But then Hermione believed Pince would be happy if no one ever read a library book-at least if it meant touching one.
Hermione started the first time she heard the whirring sound, reminiscent of the sound of the implements in the Headmaster’s office. A book on a shelf near her feet glowed green-she wondered if Snape had programmed that colour in to the device, and when she grabbed the scroll he’d given her from her bookbag she saw green words in a spiky script appearing before her eyes:
1. Orion Prewett-Black, Most Malicious Maladies 49-69 (Borgin Books 1897).
She peered closely at the Indexia but could find no clue how it worked or how Snape had set the key words or even what those words were. It still seemed a featureless silver tube. He must have charmed it-and somehow she thought there wasn’t much chance of him telling her how.
By the time her free period was over, she had ten books to reduce magically to fit them into her bookbag. That didn’t lighten the load, but she couldn’t care less as she left the library with her treasures.
She got only a glimpse of Snape later that day. A group of Gryffindors facing off against a group of Slytherins. Hardly anything new, other than, for once, neither she, Harry, Ron-nor Draco for that matter-were involved. Snape clenched one hand about the collar of Bulstrode’s robe, looking like a master restraining his dog by the scruff of the neck. Bulstrode screamed at McLaggen, a seventh-year Gryffindor who had orange fur sprouting on his face and, in-between his own strained shouts, mewed like a kitten. Zabini stood behind Snape. The dark-skinned youth rolled his eyes, then reached up to speak softly into the ear of his Head of House. Snape nodded, then yelled over both belligerents.
“I’m going to count to five. If by five, I can still see a Gryffindor along this corridor, you’ll start losing points for your House. Ten points for each second. One… Two…”
Snape looked straight at her.
She ran.
The next day at lunch she heard that someone had cast a complex trap jinx. If a Gryffindor hissed at a Slytherin in the corridors, they’d be a meowing kitten for a day, Ravenclaw-a cackling chicken, Hufflepuff-a squeaking mouse. Ron laughed meanly at Dean’s comment that McLaggen blamed Bulstrode.
“Everyone knows she’s a stupid cow,” he said.
“Certainly,” Hermione couldn’t help saying, “except, unlike you, Ron, she’s in the all same N.E.W.T level classes as I am-including Arithmancy and Runes.”
Harry, seated across from her, nudged her foot and jerked his head up and to the side. She twisted about on the bench to see Bulstrode standing right behind her, a poleaxed look on her face, before the girl hurried on to the Slytherin table.
She didn’t understand the impulse that had made her speak up for a girl who had never been anything but thoroughly unpleasant, even brutal to her. She could still remember the large girl’s suffocating bulk pinning her against the wall in Umbridge’s office. Just this morning in D.A.D.A. class Bulstrode’s face had indicated her great pleasure at getting a stinging hex through Hermione’s guard. Unless her new focus on Snape was bleeding into how she saw all the Slytherins? Ron gave her reason to regret her implied jibe at his intelligence by inflicting on her one of his master sulks for the rest of the day.
In any case, the hissing stopped.
~o0o~
Hermione entered Snape’s office for the next Occlumency lesson with a mixture of dread and excitement. Actually, that wasn’t a bad description of how she felt encountering Snape under any circumstances. Occlumency was a whole new discipline, and Snape was the only book open to her, but she didn’t want to make a habit of landing weeping at his feet.
He spent the better part of an hour teaching her breathing exercises and mental imaging. And when he tried Legilimens on her, it was with a light and slowly building touch she was able to push back.
“Why didn’t you teach Harry this way?”
“For any number of reasons. I wasn’t trying to teach Potter any of the subtleties, and we didn’t have the time to lay much groundwork. I needed him to shut down his emotions completely, and having discussed the matter with the Headmaster it was thought we might as well take advantage of the existing dynamic… Let us just say the Headmaster agreed with me that if Potter could stand against me, he would have a fair chance against the Dark Lord.”
“You deliberately provoked him. Tried to evoke strong emotion?”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “It did not take much effort on my part.”
“If you’d explained what you were trying to do, Harry would have understood-he’s not stupid…”
“And if he’d ‘understood,’ it would have been that much harder to provoke his response.”
“You can’t bully Harry into learning. That doesn’t work with him.”
“Thank you, Miss Granger, for pointing that out-I might have missed that otherwise. Though pray tell, what does motivate Slughorn’s latest star student?” She flinched and his eyes glinted at her response. “Cat got your tongue? That seems to have stung-Legilimens.”
Bastard.
It would have been easier if he’d stayed the bastard all through, but a different Snape emerged when they poured through the books she’d brought. Oh, he cut her short when she rambled off on a tangent. But he did listen, and it was fascinating to see him make connections she’d have never thought of-such as directing her to hunt down tracts in the Magical Creatures section, since a withering curse could possibly be the result of using microscopic magical creatures to convey the malady.
“In a case such as that, couldn’t Muggle medicines be modified, enchanted for a remedy?”
She got a wide smile out of him with that response which sent her heart soaring. She wished she could coax that expression out of him every day. It looked incredibly good on him.
But then he had to ask, “Why don’t I ever get that kind of answer out of you in class?”
Hermione’s answering smile died. “I… want to be correct-”
“So you play it safe and don’t dare go beyond what you’ve read on the printed page. It is that important to you to appear the authoritative know-it-all in front of your peers? Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Just thinking it’s obvious why you weren’t sorted into Slytherin. Ambitious people generally know that you have to risk failure to gain success.”
“Aren’t you always the one accusing Gryffindors of taking terrible risks?”
“There is a difference between flirting with danger and risking failure. You can learn the already discovered by rote perhaps, but you create nothing without repeated failures. No one succeeds without their share of embarrassing mistakes-that is what creation and experimentation is about.”
“True even for you?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“Especially true for me,” he answered, his voice and face at his stoniest.
“Are you saying if I gave such a speculative answer in your class you wouldn’t use it to humiliate me?”
“Miss Granger, I wouldn’t hesitate-I have a reputation to maintain-I’m simply saying that if you want to achieve great things, you shouldn’t let a nasty git of a teacher stop you. Can you tell me you venture anything beyond the text in other classes? Sprout’s perhaps? Vector’s?” His searching look was far too shrewd; Hermione didn’t think Legilimancy really explained the way he could read her-far better, it seemed, than Harry or Ron could, for all their years together.
At one point he followed her line of reasoning so well he completed her sentence-they even both exclaimed, “Karpellos,” at the same time, in reference to where you could find a treatise on curse-binding.
“Jinx. No return,” she said softly under her breath, not expecting him to hear or get the Muggle reference-Ron never did with such phrases-but Snape surprised her with a quick turn up of the lips, even if he continued on without waiting for her to release him by saying his name.
She never realised before how wearying it was with the boys, being used as if her brain was a utility they plugged into as needed, and having to explain everything in tedious sequential steps, only to have them tune her out before she’d finished two sentences. With Snape, he got to Z before she had to explain B. It was frightening, really.
But wonderful.
That meeting set the pattern for the rest of the week, and Hermione found herself rushing to Snape’s dungeon office the next day with more research, even without a scheduled Occlumency lesson. Sometime during that meeting it occurred to her that somewhere along the way she’d dropped saying “sir” at the end of almost every sentence, and he had allowed that to stand. It didn’t exactly put them on a first name basis, but considering how punctilious Snape was with Harry about correct address, she considered that good work indeed.
When Ron complained he’d only seen her at meals this week, she blamed the new schedule, but Ron’s evident annoyance didn’t blunt her determination to spend every moment with Snape that he would allow her. She found herself hurrying to fulfil her other obligations-it suddenly seemed unimportant and rather silly to write essays an inch, let alone a foot, more than assigned.
Snape was still scant in his praise compared to the other teachers, but every once in a while he’d give her a nod or roundabout compliment, and she’d see him give a start, as if he wished he could take it back. She thought she must be wearing him down, that in this setting, away from the classroom and at the end of the day, she was seeing a Snape closer to what his Slytherins saw and seemed to respect.
That Saturday, Hermione sought Snape out again in his office with a fascinating article on Egyptian curse-breaking as her pretext. She tried hard to hide that she was in pain with the kind of ailment that made Ron turn red to the ears if she mentioned it.
Without a word Snape brewed a cup of what she thought was tea, then abruptly, with a clink, put it down by her hand and went on to speak of the latest research he’d found on Gaulish curses. She automatically brought the cup to her lips. Chamomile. Ginger and Unicorn root. Evening Primrose. Hops. Other things she couldn’t identify-a true potion, not just an infusion. The heat radiated from her stomach, melting the pain away.
“Thanks-”
“I don’t need you wasting my time with female troubles.”
She had to endure hours of his most biting remarks. She thought, at one point, she’d prefer the cramps-but it dawned on her then, that this was one of the terms of engagement. Snape could be considerate, even carefully sympathetic, as long as she didn’t acknowledge it with so much as a twitch on her face. Otherwise, she’d pay for five minutes of kindness with hours of scathing comments. Honestly, trying to learn Snapelish was harder than mastering Latin.
~o0o~
to be continued
A/N: In America if two people say something at the same time you say “Jinx”-according to the LJ community hp_britglish, it’s a little different in Britain-if two people say something at the same time you say “Jinx, no return” and the first person saying it has to then say the other person’s name before they’re again allowed to speak.
On to Chapter Seven: Hexes
Back to Chapter Five: Ground and Centre