Advent Calendar Day 8
Goodness but LJ is quite today! Hope everyone is well and enjoying the build up to Christmas.
I had a squee-ful moment today. I had to collect a parcel from the Post Office as it was too big to get through the letter box, and upon opening it, found an assortment of incredibly sweet gifts from ofankoma. (Of course the best gift was knowing that she was well enough to go shopping for Maple Leaf Cookies from Trader Joe's, although the cookies themselves are nom) This just about made my week, as did hearing that she enjoyed the copy of Cold Comfort Farm I sent her. Life is sweet.
Today's gift is part gift, part challenge. Here is the first scene of a story I have never got round to writing - I'm sure you all have thousands of these on your hard drives or hidden in drawers - for your enjoyment. The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to finish this fic. Or at least decide what is going on.
The Headmaster’s Office.
“. . . can you be the headmaster from the dungeons?”
“I’m only telling you what I know. He agreed to retake the position, but refused to live in the Headmaster’s suite. Each evening, after everyone else has retired, he returns to his old quarters.”
“When he isn’t he patrolling the corridors?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, on my patrols. Just walking around.”
“I guess old habits die hard.”
“Some things refuse to die, full stop. Our new Headmaster being the case in point.”
The staffing at Hogwarts had changed an awful lot since Hermione had been a student. Professors Flitwick and Slughorn had retired soon after she had left, and Headmistress McGonagall had retired at the end of the last year. Still, it seemed inappropriate to her that the newer staff members were openly discussing their Headmaster in the staff room. They knew they weren’t alone; she was sitting right in front of them. Just because she had been too absorbed in her grading to even hear the first twenty minutes of their conversation, it didn’t make it alright to gossip in front of her.
She pursed her lips, re-inked her quill, and turned her attention back to Amanda Pennymore’s musings on the need for visualisation in animate to inanimate Transfiguration, determined to ignore the rest of their conversation.
*
Hermione woke suddenly, a falling coal on to the hearth rousing her from her uncomfortable position at the desk. It was mostly dark inside the staff room, the little light there was coming from the fire. She stretched cautiously, feeling the aching muscles of her neck protest at the sudden movement. A quick glance at the clock informed her that it was nearly midnight. Feeling guilty, she gathered up her papers, pulled her teaching robes more tightly around her shoulders, and slipped from the room.
A figure loomed ahead of her in the gloom. She felt a moment of genuine fear before she recognised the dim outline of trailing robes and the subtle scent of cloves.
“Headmaster,” she murmured in greeting.
He stopped and stared at her. Hermione suddenly remembered the conversation she had unwittingly overheard. It must be true then; Snape was spending his evenings prowling the corridors, just as Harry had believed he had done during their years at school. Of course, back then there had variously been a murderer on the loose, a werewolf roaming the school and - as far back as their first year - an item of immense magical value and importance hidden in a poorly locked room. She shivered slightly, hoping that no new threat had arrived at Hogwarts.
“Professor Granger,” he greeted her. “Is everything all right?”
She had half expected Severus Snape to make her time at Hogwarts difficult. He was known to hold grudges and she and her friends had given him more than enough reason to resent them. Yet he had been perfectly civil, a little distant perhaps, but completely professional.
“Yes, thank you. I was by the fire in the Staff Room and lost all track of time.” Which sounded a little more professional that falling asleep over one’s marking. “Can I help you with anything before I retire?”
He looked at her a little oddly. “No, thank you,” he assured her. “Get yourself to bed.”
*
She missed Crookshanks’ warm weight at the end of the bed. She had to wear bed socks these days and fill her contraband Muggle hot water bottle from the little kettle over the fire.
Burrowing under the blankets, her mind turned back to her unexpected meeting with the Headmaster. It was still a little unsettling to bump into him whilst wandering around. He looked better these days, but he was still Professor Snape. His anger seemed to have faded and he had gained a little weight, but he seemed to carry with him a heavy air of gloomy responsibility. He seemed... sad.
She dreamt about him that night. The next morning she could only remember patches of it, but what little she could remember kept playing on her mind.
*
Hmm....
I had a squee-ful moment today. I had to collect a parcel from the Post Office as it was too big to get through the letter box, and upon opening it, found an assortment of incredibly sweet gifts from ofankoma. (Of course the best gift was knowing that she was well enough to go shopping for Maple Leaf Cookies from Trader Joe's, although the cookies themselves are nom) This just about made my week, as did hearing that she enjoyed the copy of Cold Comfort Farm I sent her. Life is sweet.
Today's gift is part gift, part challenge. Here is the first scene of a story I have never got round to writing - I'm sure you all have thousands of these on your hard drives or hidden in drawers - for your enjoyment. The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to finish this fic. Or at least decide what is going on.
The Headmaster’s Office.
“. . . can you be the headmaster from the dungeons?”
“I’m only telling you what I know. He agreed to retake the position, but refused to live in the Headmaster’s suite. Each evening, after everyone else has retired, he returns to his old quarters.”
“When he isn’t he patrolling the corridors?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, on my patrols. Just walking around.”
“I guess old habits die hard.”
“Some things refuse to die, full stop. Our new Headmaster being the case in point.”
The staffing at Hogwarts had changed an awful lot since Hermione had been a student. Professors Flitwick and Slughorn had retired soon after she had left, and Headmistress McGonagall had retired at the end of the last year. Still, it seemed inappropriate to her that the newer staff members were openly discussing their Headmaster in the staff room. They knew they weren’t alone; she was sitting right in front of them. Just because she had been too absorbed in her grading to even hear the first twenty minutes of their conversation, it didn’t make it alright to gossip in front of her.
She pursed her lips, re-inked her quill, and turned her attention back to Amanda Pennymore’s musings on the need for visualisation in animate to inanimate Transfiguration, determined to ignore the rest of their conversation.
*
Hermione woke suddenly, a falling coal on to the hearth rousing her from her uncomfortable position at the desk. It was mostly dark inside the staff room, the little light there was coming from the fire. She stretched cautiously, feeling the aching muscles of her neck protest at the sudden movement. A quick glance at the clock informed her that it was nearly midnight. Feeling guilty, she gathered up her papers, pulled her teaching robes more tightly around her shoulders, and slipped from the room.
A figure loomed ahead of her in the gloom. She felt a moment of genuine fear before she recognised the dim outline of trailing robes and the subtle scent of cloves.
“Headmaster,” she murmured in greeting.
He stopped and stared at her. Hermione suddenly remembered the conversation she had unwittingly overheard. It must be true then; Snape was spending his evenings prowling the corridors, just as Harry had believed he had done during their years at school. Of course, back then there had variously been a murderer on the loose, a werewolf roaming the school and - as far back as their first year - an item of immense magical value and importance hidden in a poorly locked room. She shivered slightly, hoping that no new threat had arrived at Hogwarts.
“Professor Granger,” he greeted her. “Is everything all right?”
She had half expected Severus Snape to make her time at Hogwarts difficult. He was known to hold grudges and she and her friends had given him more than enough reason to resent them. Yet he had been perfectly civil, a little distant perhaps, but completely professional.
“Yes, thank you. I was by the fire in the Staff Room and lost all track of time.” Which sounded a little more professional that falling asleep over one’s marking. “Can I help you with anything before I retire?”
He looked at her a little oddly. “No, thank you,” he assured her. “Get yourself to bed.”
*
She missed Crookshanks’ warm weight at the end of the bed. She had to wear bed socks these days and fill her contraband Muggle hot water bottle from the little kettle over the fire.
Burrowing under the blankets, her mind turned back to her unexpected meeting with the Headmaster. It was still a little unsettling to bump into him whilst wandering around. He looked better these days, but he was still Professor Snape. His anger seemed to have faded and he had gained a little weight, but he seemed to carry with him a heavy air of gloomy responsibility. He seemed... sad.
She dreamt about him that night. The next morning she could only remember patches of it, but what little she could remember kept playing on her mind.
*
Hmm....