"Thank the Fae" by gingerbred Chapter 09
Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 3
Hermione talks to Minerva about the house elves, and gives some thought to contacting Harry and Ron. Briefly. We find out what Minerva has done for the Slytherins, and some of the measures she has taken for Severus and the children of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts.
A bunch of students decide fighting is the answer to a question nobody asked. Hijinx ensue, or maybe just jinxes. And people just can't seem to stop pfaffing about with the greenery.
Originally Published: 2017-01-26 on AO3
Chapter: 9 / 13 of ?
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
WARNING:
Fairly minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur.
Disclaimer:
I still own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. JKR owns the lot.
Notes:
Thing you might need to know: outside of Potterdom, a "squib" is something that you light, and it goes "boom." It follows that a wet squib is something you light that doesn't go "boom," but shoulda done and woulda done, presumably, were it not wet. So not, say, a campfire, and more like an explosive. A "damp squib" is therefore synonymous with a "fail." Not to be confused with a "damp squid," which seems almost redundant, dry squids being typically dead, or worse: expelled.
Previously:
Hermione visited with the Queen of the Fae. Mab decided Hermione's life needs improving, and Hermione gave it lots of thought.
Severus and Hermione ran into each other in the Forbidden Forest and returned to the castle together. They talked and laughed, and Hermione, swept up in the moment, even gave the stunned Potions Master a hug. He survived, only just.
Some Hufflepuffs saw the Potions Master laughing and spread the word. Preach!
Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 3
Mostly Hermione's POV
-~HG/SS~-
Hogwarts, Friday 22nd December, Hermione
It's amazing the difference a day can make. Hermione awakes refreshed and almost cheerful. She did a good deal of introspecting last night, and feels so much the better for it. By and large, she has a firmer grasp of things that she'd like to change in her life, and where some things have gone wrong, or at least not well for her, frequently without her having particularly noticed, which was a disconcerting discovery. All told, it's a satisfying start.
She's still no closer to an idea what to get Severus for Christmas, but seems to have decided she's definitely getting him something. ('Whether he'll appreciate the gesture or not.') There's a lovely book. ('That he probably already has or doesn't actually want.') Some rare potions ingredients. ('That he didn't have two and a half years ago.' She knows this because she helped Minerva move his things while he was in hospital. 'Hardly something I can count on him needing and yet not having.') An attractive fountain pen? (And suddenly she feels like she's trying to get away with one stop shopping at Scribner's...) She'll need to give it some more thought, but hasn't much time to decide. But she's confident she'll think of something by the time she goes to Hogsmeade tomorrow.
And having already thought, quite a lot, about her taciturn colleague this morning, she finds herself rather looking forward to breakfast, and hastens to get ready.
-~HG/SS~-
She can't help the somewhat goofy smile spreading across her face as she enters the Great Hall. She's in a fine mood, and it seems a shame to fight it. Let them think she's daft if they must.
Minerva and Filius have really outdone themselves with the decorating. Looking about, she can't help thinking the decorations are increasing daily the closer it gets to Christmas. That thought just makes her smile more. (She's certain her grin now more closely resembles a slightly demented rictus. 'There are worse looks.') She suspects it's a deliberate move on Minerva's part to make the room feel less empty, so the students who have nowhere else to go don't feel as isolated. Minerva is exceptionally thoughtful like that. And usually right.
Tonight or tomorrow at the latest, she expects Minerva will rearrange the house tables to bring the comparatively small group closer together, physically at least, but hearts and minds have a way of following bodies. For the moment, as most of the other students left Wednesday for the holidays and things seem more relaxed or at least less structured than usual, she's pleased to note the students seem to often be seating themselves based more on the classes they share and are learning for, rather than on the houses into which they were sorted. It's a welcome change. The obvious exceptions are the Slytherins, but to some extent also the Gryffindors, who aren't mingling as well as the other two houses. Somehow it still surprises her that the Gryffindors disproportionately self-segregate, but it shouldn't.
The Slytherins are a different matter. How does the saying go? "It's complicated." It most certainly is. All the problems from a few years before remain, and from a purely analytical standpoint have become worse. Now it isn't just a question of ideologies and prejudices separating them from the rest, although given the ages of many of the children concerned, it's questionable that it ever was an issue of their ideologies, more likely simply parroting those of the respective parents. (Case in point, her current amicable relationship with Draco is a perfect example of what's possible without undue influence.)
But it's a whole different kettle of Plimpies when your parents are convicts serving their sentences in Azkaban. And undoubtably far worse still to be orphaned with nowhere else to go. It's so much harder for those children to just blend in with the rest as if there were no differences. Exacerbating the situation, a significant number of them come from previously very wealthy families whose assets have been seized since the war, and the struggles with relative poverty are making matters so much worse.
Surprisingly to those from other houses, this new and severely disparate spectrum of wealth within the house has caused no issues whatsoever amongst the Slytherins themselves; they stoically cling together like a fused unit. For Slytherins, that comes as no surprise. It was a given. Arrangements are made, by those who "have" for those who don't, their basic needs having already been met, and not a one has found themselves, say, in shabby robes or less than impeccable ball wear, no discussion required. There is no external distinction between them. Every head is resolutely held high; they will brook no further shame brought upon their house.
Regrettably, many of the character traits that caused them to be sorted into Slytherin in the first place have been... unfortunately magnified by the experiences of the last few years. The cynical are so much more so, the aloof have withdrawn further, until they are nearly unreachable, the selfish, the narcissistic... well. And the power hungry, of course, dream of revenge. The constellation is suboptimal, anyone can see that. It takes decisive action to address such problems.
Hermione has admittedly mixed feelings about Dumbledore, but she does respect what he was able to achieve as Headmaster.
By comparison, however, Minerva has done so much more. First and foremost, any and all children without suitable family or guardians are more than welcome to stay at Hogwarts year round. (Hermione herself profited from that when she returned for her seventh year, although having helped rebuild the castle and beginning her apprenticeship made it less obviously so.) Room and board are provided free of charge, in addition to small stipends, for those in need. Further, Minerva and Severus have put together an absolutely amazing summer program for those children.
One of the most significant projects to come of this, now well into its second year, is the student run potion brewing collective for St. Mungo's, called the "Slytherin Saviors." It's so named because, to date, that's the house each and every participant has belonged to, and because Minerva felt it incredibly important to have good things associated with the house. She was right again, of course. It's amazing in how short a span of time rebranding can take place, or how motivating affordable, quality medicine can be for the masses. In many circles outside of the school, the Slytherin name is already more closely associated with their potions than the war, Riddle or the Death Eaters. And that after only two summers of brewing.
Under Severus' watchful eye, children of all years have been able to brew for the hospital and its outpatient programs. Each student is matched to potions of the appropriate skill level. To near universal surprise, it's been a resounding success. For a small fee, which provides the children both with pocket money and a sense of accomplishment, which is greatly increased when coupled with their brewing achievements and (for the the more altruistic among them, 'well, less selfish') the help they are providing others, the children are brewing many desperately needed potions, and saving the patients untold galleons in the process. Severus, a world class Potions Master, oversees the entire project and validates each and every vial personally, and the quality of medicines St. Mungo's now has on offer has actually increased.
This has gone so much better than anyone ever anticipated, and it's considered probable that both Minerva and Severus are likely to receive ('another') Order of Merlin for their humanitarian efforts. Although many still have some problems reconciling Severus with the term "humanitarian," he himself not least among them, no one disputes the importance of this project.
A logical side effect has naturally been a phenomenal improvement in Potions' marks among the program's participants. Those students now seem to be helping others from their house who don't spend their vacations at the castle, and all of Slytherin has shown an incredible improvement in the course. The added bonus being that many of those participating are the children receiving financial assistance from those they are now able to tutor. In this way, every one feels they are able to contributing to the success of the whole. Additionally, as less time is required to prepare for their Potions course, and this leaves them with more time to devote to their other courses, and all their marks have universally improved.
Interestingly, this hasn't escaped the notice of the other houses, most notably the Ravenclaws, who feel their academic superiority is being challenged. As a result, the project is now beginning to attract interest from other students, who may yet be won for extracurricular brewing during the regular school year as the program expands. The current plan is to ensure the reins remain in Slytherin hands, but guarantee that others will be welcome, further shifting what people will come to associate with the name.
Severus expects some Ravenclaw participation by next year at the latest. The Hufflepuffs should follow no more than a year after that once inter-house cooperation has been established by the Ravenclaws and the philanthropic benefits have been more clearly documented. He has no idea if the Gryffindors will ever participate, but with the possible exception of Professor Granger, he's not sure he'd want them brewing for him anyway. After more thought, he would amend that to include the Weasley twins, although they were frequently more bother than they would be worth. Would have been worth. 'Poor Fred.'
Hermione reaches the staff table, still considering the Slytherins. There are almost as many of them here now as there are from all the other houses combined. Given it's the smallest house currently, that's saying a lot. Not all who've remained had to stay, some chose to remain with their friends and housemates instead of their families, nevertheless... She slides into her customary seat next to her very favorite Slytherin, and flashes him her ('hopefully') least disturbed smile.
He looks tired, but satisfied. It's not an exhausted look, more like he's got a new project that he's really sunk his teeth into, and seems to be enjoying his progress, or perhaps the process ('hard to say with no details'). The difference is all around his eyes. They aren't tight with exhaustion, pain or defeat. In fact, his eyes almost seem to be smiling. It's a great look on him. Not as good as his face while laughing, but still. He's come so far since the war.
The grin she's giving him now is definitely not demented. Feeling it from the inside, she decides it must be incredibly encouraging. It is, and that throws him a bit, but he'll recover. She's thought, too, about how to handle addressing him, if he insists on honorifics, and has decided until that oh so stubborn man relents and lets her call him by his first name ('Sevvvvvvverus'), she'll just refer to him as "Professor," as though that were his name, with her best coprophagous grin for accompaniment, too. ('See how he likes that.') She considers taking bets with herself on how long it will take him to crack. She'd lose, she'll crack first, but not knowing that, she's enjoying her moment.
"Good morning, Professor." She emphasizes it so much that he turns to stare at her. Her face can hardly contain her grin. "Sleep well?" Now that he's facing her, she revises her assessment, "Or at all?"
He's clutching his tea like it's a lifeline, so she's thinking: not much sleep then. She's noticed he favors a particularly volatile decoction he dubs "tea" that rivals the espresso she once regretted drinking, a mistake she won't repeat lightly. She finds it humorous that a Potions Master of his repute would rely on a Muggle beverage to achieve that, instead of any of his multitude of concoctions, but keeps it to herself, except for the improbable widening of her grin. If she keeps this up, her cheeks will definitely hurt later. ('Worth it.') Her mood is magnificent.
He may have just managed a grunt in response, and she decides she'll have to wait until he's actually managed to swallow some of that... tea before she'll get anything more. She can wait.
She spends the interim sniffing inostensively (for a Gryffindor), inhaling his faint trace of bergamot as deeply as she can. Meanwhile he doubts the efficacy of her Warming Charms if she caught cold last night in the Forbidden Forest.
A few minutes and sips later, she can actually see the transformation taking place on his face, she resumes. "Working on anything good?"
That actually gets his attention, one eyebrow does something odd, rising briefly and then falling sharply towards his nose, and he pauses and considers an answer. "I guess technically it is." And he grins, just ever so slightly, lopsidedly as if at an inside joke. "But it's definitely challenging, which is good in itself." His voice sounds gravelly, and she wonders if he's used it since dinner last night. Thinking back to dinner, he hardly spoke once they returned to the castle, and she realizes she may have been the last person he spoke with at any length. That seems a shame. ('He probably wouldn't think so.') And then she almost laughs ('Phrasing!') because that also makes it sound like he enjoyed speaking to her. ('Coincidental.') Well he seemed to when he was laughing anyway. She lives in hope.
"I think you're always happiest when challenged."
He smiles a bit more noticeably (not that anyone else was likely to recognize that fact) at her use of 'always.' From her, in this context, it seems familiar and not inappropriately presumptuous, which doubtlessly says something about how he relates to her. "Oh, make no mistake, with time I've come to appreciate the complete absence of challenges, too. That's still a welcome change. But you are correct, it is always... nice to have something... demanding on which to work."
In many ways he resembles his Slytherins in that. The importance of a problem to successfully solve shouldn't be underestimated. But unlike many of his students, he doesn't want the acclaim. He seems to prefer working entirely behind the scenes, outside of the public eye. Initially she had thought that a carryover from his days as a spy, but since the war, he's still been no more eager for the spotlight. He does things he considers necessary or desires to pursue, but he isn't driven by a longing for glory that sadly seems to typify the actions of so many of her housemates, or even some of his.
"It suits you... Professor." And again with the impudent grin. He's still looking at her oddly, and she is sure he'll crack.
She is considering her own breakfast now, and realizes having not intervened, she has the same "special order" café au lait with foamed milk that she usually gets, and she feels guilty about causing the skeleton elf staff extra work. Severus doesn't miss her somewhat crestfallen expression as she regards her mug, and just barely stifles a chuckle. He can see exactly what is going through her mind, even without Legilimency, and it took less time than he expected. He smirks instead. Minerva's black pudding isn't long for this world. He can't resist a glance in the direction of the Headmistress' plate, and smirks some more.
Close by, Hermione becomes vaguely aware that the Hufflepuffs seem to be causing the Gryffindors a good deal of amusement, but not in a particularly inclusive fashion. The rather mild mannered 'Puffs seem less than pleased, growing increasingly irritated at the Gryffindors' reactions, and before long, a surprisingly lively ('particularly in light of the hour') food fight erupts between their tables. Of course it's a good deal messier and more frenetic than the Muggle equivalent, and when broccoli begins to actually sprout from a sixth year Gryffindor's ears, Minerva moves in to stop the squabble, leaving with a few likely suspects firmly in tow for her office and dispatching the vegetized Gryffindor to Poppy.
Hermione barely had time to consider taking action, before the Headmistress had it all sorted. A glance to her left reveals a completely relaxed Severus, he hasn't even blinked, fully assured there would be no need for him to act. Minerva's got this.
Argus Filch, still a school fixture, is sent for and begins attacking the residual problems. The animated scones marching across the floor and the rather gelatinous mass of what must have once been pumpkin juice stuck to the wall making his job no easier. Nevertheless, he had things rather well in hand, years of experience making this just another day in the mines, until Peeves appeared on the scene and unceremoniously upended a bucket of mop water over the poor man's head.
At this, Severus does shift, leaning first close to Hermione's ear and in a voice pitched only for her, in a play on their game from yesterday, says, "The clean up effort was truly a bit of a damp squib." And then in a fluid movement stands to assist the poor caretaker, simultaneously squelching the beginnings of tittering laughter that were starting to emanate from the students with only a single look.
It doesn't help in the least that Filch is still so antagonistic and unpopular with the children, but it was an amusing picture to behold: the bedraggled, curmudgeonly, sopping old man, stood sputtering in a puddle. Hermione shocked and far too amused at Severus' pun, pleased to see he is continuing their little word game, has to stifle her own laughter. She wouldn't want Mr. Filch (or the students for that matter) to think she was laughing at him. She quickly gets to her feet to follow Severus and lend her assistance.
Helga Macavoy, Pomona Sprout's successor as Head of House in Hufflepuff, sets off after Peeves. Hermione almost feels sorry for the poltergeist for a moment faced with the resolute witch on his transparent heels. Helga is the aunt of Heidi Macavoy, a Hufflepuff chaser Hermione went to school with. After a long and successful career as a professional Quidditch player and later coach, Helga had replaced Madam Hooch at Hogwarts as the flying instructor, Quidditch coach and referee two years ago, becoming the Hufflepuff Head this year. Hermione finds Helga combines some of the best characteristics of both women, but considers her quite the departure from Pomona, and can't help wondering if the Hufflepuffs' refusal to simply accept the Gryffindors' baiting might not be due to her more assertive influence.
Sensing that Mr. Filch would probably not appreciate it if she attended to his... state, she leaves him to Severus and begins tackling the mess, Peeves long since vanished with Helga in hot pursuit. Severus makes quick work of drying the man with a charm and restoring him to order, all somehow without offending him in the process. Hermione can't help admiring how Severus deals with the man. She recognizes something in his approach that mirrors the behavior she's seen among his house members when they assist one another; very little fuss is made of it and both parties attempt to draw a minimum of attention to it. Severus takes the man's arm and escorts him gently from the Hall, calling over his shoulder to Hermione in parting that he will speak to Minerva about Peeves.
Filch seems to relax noticeably at hearing it as they leave. Hermione expects Severus will summon the Baron to send the irritating poltergeist packing.
She finishes tidying the rest of the mess, and recollects she wished to speak to Minerva about the house elves and makes her way to the Headmistress' office. Once she arrives, the gargoyle at the door, recently charmed to coordinate receptionist duties, informs her that the Headmistress is in conference with another Professor and shall be unavailable for a while yet at least. He asks if she can return later, and Hermione leaves a request with him that she be contacted when Minerva is free and returns to her chambers to think some more.
-~HG/SS~-
First, she decides, she'll ask Minerva to explain to her better how the house elves accomplish their work. Hermione has matured greatly since the days of S.P.E.W., and no longer wishes to blindly inflict her sense of morals and ethics onto others without a care for their desires, needs or cultures. She has come to appreciate that, although she disagrees vehemently with their indentured servitude, that it is not her right to tell them they cannot continue in that vein should they so wish. That's been very hard for her to accept.
She trusts Minerva to make her understand their situation. There is always a bit of residual risk that Severus had just been having her on. He's become a good deal more mischievous since the war ended and the threat of Azkaban was banished. She doesn't consider it likely in this instance, but belts and braces.
Then she'll need to determine what the needs of the school are, because obviously the ability to properly run the school takes precedent over her sensibilities. But perhaps Minerva would be open for an experimental run during the holidays, particularly as the elf staff is reduced for the moment. Hermione sets about making a list of possible suggestions.
Having accomplished as much as she can along those lines without input and feedback from Minerva, Hermione's thoughts return to the Queen of the Fae, Severus, and the events of the previous evening.
She's thought a lot about what Mab had told her, her talk with Severus, and how it made her feel. Just opening up to one person, and she doesn't mean to minimize the difference he himself made, but still, just speaking to one person has made an incredible difference in how she feels. For one thing, she feels somehow less frustrated, which is ridiculous, because nothing has actually changed. Her parents' situation is just as hopeless as it was yesterday at this time. The Ministry is every bit the threat they were (or weren't, depending on how seriously she wishes to take their oblique warnings) yesterday or even last year. Maybe it was the laughter, maybe it was just connecting with another human being. Either way, the result feels amazing.
So much so, that she gives serious thought to contacting Harry, and maybe even Ronald. It's a little tricky this close to the Holidays; she doesn't want it to seem like she's angling for an invitation. Had one been intended for her, she knows she'd have received it long before now. In any of those owls she hasn't received from either of them, really. Since before term began, actually, as she pauses to consider again that neither of them even bothered to congratulate her on achieving her Arithmancy Mastery, or for starting in her position as Professor here. And that freezes her in her tracks.
What rubbish friends she has.
So what should she do? Should she really write to them? What, just to tell them they're complete pants at the "friends thing"?
Severus had told her something yesterday that no one has ever said to her before. Three little words, and they're magnificent really. He told her: she deserved better. That simple, that elegant. And he's certainly not an effusive man or given to insincere praise. ('I don't think he's given to praise at all, sincere or not, actually.')
It resonates with her strangely. Over the past couple of years, there has been a steady shift to her thinking from "what did I do to deserve this?" slowly, very slowly, towards a hesitant "I don't deserve this." The natural and healthy extension of that is so simple, she can't believe she's never gotten here on her own: I deserve better.
And with that she resolves not to look for friendship and fulfilment from people who truly don't seem to value her.
That makes her think some more, because she is quite certain that both Ronald and Harry do value, at least in part, what she can contribute... When they need it, she amends. They don't seem to value it much when there's no pressing need for her skills. ('No, then I am subject to ridicule.') And when it's needed, when she's needed, well, they appear confident that her support is theirs for the asking. Which of course it is and always has been, and now she's beginning to feel really down again...
But that's not how she wants to feel, or where she started out this morning, so she determines to think back to those positive thoughts. She doesn't deserve this, and she doesn't have to settle for it, and she most certainly will not pursue that kind of high-handed treatment. And again it's liberating. Different, but... better.
She adds "[I] deserve better. - Severus" to the list she made of things the faery queen told her, deciding it now represents a general list of things to think about and motivational thoughts, instead of purely a documentation of her visit with Queen Mab last night. She pins it above her desk, and she can't help noticing that she smiles a little every time she glances at it.
Feeling just a bit self conscious about having that quote up there, and his name listed right after the "colleague (I am 'close to') that I should 'consider'" line, she wouldn't want anyone to see it and think she had... what? Designs on the unsuspecting gentleman? She casts a Notice-Me-Not Spell that should keep it for her eyes only.
She begins to make another list of things she'd like to do and change. First, obviously, when Minerva's available, she'll speak to her about the house elf situation. Minerva has always been very patient and supportive of Hermione's... she's not really sure if she should call them "flights of fancy." Pipe dreams? Wild ideas? Notions. ('That sounds more like it.')
Then she'd like to pursue the work on a Charms mastery if Potions isn't a option. And then she should probably speak to Severus to make sure it really isn't an option ('but he's never had an apprentice...'), although she isn't sure it's worth rocking the boat to have that talk. But she could ask him if he'd be willing to at least work with her on brewing with the practical application of Charms. She has no idea how that suggestion will be received. (That's not true; she expects it will go over poorly.)
And then she realizes that all of her plans have once again focused on things she wishes to do or accomplish, but not on people, friendships or relationships. She sets about couching her goals in terms of those things when her Floo flares to life with a message that Minerva is now available, and grabbing her prolific house elf notes, she makes her way to the Headmistress' rooms.
-~HG/SS~-
The talk with the Headmistress is indeed fruitful. Hermione leaves with a much better understanding of how the elves' magic works, and her mentor was willing to try an experiment during the break. The menus shall be reduced to fewer items, reflecting the most common food and beverage orders, with the exception of Christmas, as that was a measure too far.
Realistically, Minerva expects that at the end of the trial period, when Hermione speaks to the elves, she'll find that they haven't found the changes all that beneficial. Despite having explained as best she could how the elves' magic differs to their own, her feeling is Hermione understands the words, but not the message. Meanwhile, Minerva anticipates that the residents will be very vocal about their disapproval, and then things will return to normal, but she firmly believes that it is advantageous to reexamine the status quo from time to time. She also thinks it's important to encourage bright young minds like Hermione's to think for themselves and question the way things are done. It shouldn't simply be taken for granted, or there will be no progress.
With a sigh, Minerva resigns herself to a few weeks without black pudding. Or tattie scones! Bother. Well, 'tisn't pleasant, but shan't kill her. Most likely. She smirks slightly thinking Hermione shall miss her morning coffee at least as much, and resolves to muddle through in good company.
Hermione doesn't once mention her parents or their plight. She also doesn't say anything about Severus' interest. Minerva isn't sure if Hermione even knows he is investigating their situation, and decides it's best to say nothing either way and avoid prodding the wound or getting the young woman's hopes up, perhaps unrealistically.
-~HG/SS~-
The two women head to lunch, arriving a bit late, or just in time, depending on how one looks at things.
As they enter the Great Hall, all hell is breaking loose. For the second time today, the Gryffindors are locked in battle with another house, this time the Ravenclaws. Several of the same individuals Minerva had already had to pull aside this morning to speak with about their behavior are at it once again, in fact all sixth and seventh years seem to be heading the charge, leading by poor example and dragging their younger housemates into the fray after them. ('Splendid.') Both witches cringe to see their house behaving in such a fashion.
Severus, Helga and Filius are in the thick of things, trying to bring the students harmlessly to heel, as the two Gryffindor staff members wade in. Severus, his face ominously darkened, seems to be rapidly losing his patience, his mood demonstratively worsened since this morning, and Hermione suspects a Levicorpus is only moments away.
Sure enough, three of the worst of the lot suddenly find themselves suspended upside down over the fight. Minerva cocks an eyebrow at him, but the determination and utter disgust on his face don't invite discussion. In fact, he is the one to put an end to all of this with an Expelliarmus! the like of which no one here has ever seen before. The spell is cast so loudly that his voice reverberates through the Hall, and before the echo fades his raised hand clutches every single wand from two tables.
They're completely gobsmacked.
If asked, Severus would explain that it makes a huge difference that he is wielding it against mere students, and that not a one of them had bothered to cast a Protego worth a damn. And then he'd rant to himself about the continuing deficiencies of the DADA program. But no one asks. In fact, the room grows deathly silent and everyone simply goggles. Except a few Slytherins who can't help smirking that is.
He cuts quite the figure, tall, lithe and domineering in his black cloak still swirling about him with the force of his magic. One arm raised with a fistful of wands, the other extended pointing his own at the group. More than one person finds their breath catching at the sight. He of course doesn't know that, and wouldn't believe it if told.
"Enough!" he cries, and indeed it is. No one moves. Admittedly wandless magic from the louts too lazy or incompetent to shield seems unlikely, but regardless, the effect is impressive.
Minerva steps up, the very picture of collected ire, "Thank you, Severus. Well managed," with a nod, choosing to ignore the issue of the suspended students perhaps indefinitely in light of the chaos. She extends both hands elegantly towards him, and he calmly places the collection of wands into them. Turning to her students with barely controlled fury she demands an explanation.
At first no one dares to speak given her obvious anger, then too many rush to justify... this, but there can be no justification. And with positively scathing disappointment, she informs them they'll be serving detention with Filch come January. For all of January. Longer, if there is even a hint of further trouble. Every single one takes her at her word, and they slink from the room.
Looking about (once again today) at the damage, and overcome by a feeling of déjà vu, Hermione is shocked by how much worse it is than the kerfuffle from this morning. Inexplicably, one of the giant Christmas trees is hanging upside down over the Ravenclaw table. Apparently, as Helga is quick to explain, only an incredibly well timed and fortunate save on Severus' part managed to deflect the Christmas missile upwards, only barely keeping the students at the Ravenclaw table safe from imminent harm. As she says this, a few of the ornaments seem to have come loose, never intended to be rotated 180 degrees, and a few baubles fall down towards the table. Hardly making a move and still imposing as sin, Severus wandlessly atomizes them and they vanish into thin air.
"Well, mostly safe," Helga amends. "All in all, quite a morning. Six impossible things by lunch, I suppose. This, um, isn't typical behavior for the season or something is it? Only I wasn't here for the holidays the last two years, and... Well one does wonder where one has landed."
Hermione hastens to assure her colleague that this is quite unusual, should that prove any consolation? She doesn't sound at all sure that it is though.
Minerva is speaking with the Ravenclaws, there are a few injured students she sends on to Poppy, including one unfortunate Hufflepuff who seems to have gotten caught in the crossfire. No one seems willing to explain what preceded this latest display. Bizarrely, the greater portion of a pack of the Wizards of the World quartet set (the latest version from the look of it) seems to have become imbedded in the surface of the Gryffindor table, the angle suggesting they were used as projectiles, and the depth to which they've sunken and resistance to removal that they would have been quite dangerous in flight. It's a disturbing thought.
Working with the help of the remaining students, the five staff members set about righting the Great Hall. Yet again. The Slytherins seem oddly cooperative, and slightly smug, being the only house not to engage in such disgraceful behavior today. (Another disturbing thought.) Hermione is becoming a bit cynical, and can't help thinking, 'but the day is still long.' She sighs.
Hermione casts an Ascendio, which propels her towards the ceiling, immediately followed by Filius' Mobilicorpus, which keeps her suspended there, and from this unusual perch she tries to detach the tree from the charmed ceiling. Several unproductive minutes later she is forced to admit momentary defeat. No one seems to have an explanation for the Sticking charm attaching it to the ceiling. Once Minerva returns to interrogate the Gryffindors, she determines a precocious sixth year devised the modified charm, and is pleased to be able to give her poor house back at least some points for this creative bit of spell work after their behavioral missteps today.
Unfortunately, the wee lassie doesn't seem to have come up with anything to undo it, which shall undoubtably cause Argus to have conniptions. He's not had a good day either. Minerva purses her lips and makes her way resolutely back to her office.
-~HG/SS~-
By dinner, Minerva has rearranged the tables forming an elongated isosceles triangle with a truncated tip pointed towards the doors of the Great Hall, which allows for students to enter the triangle and sit on its inside. Going solely by numbers of students present and the size of the tables, Hermione would expect the Slytherins to sit on the right, as one enters the room, all the other houses to sit together on the left, and the staff to sit at the base. Given those three houses have fought each other rather bitterly today, she's intrigued to see how they will in fact seat themselves.
Surprisingly, a number of the younger Slytherins take advantage of the dissension and sit with the Ravenclaws, whilst a few of their upperclassmen take their seats at the Slytherin table. Effectively, all the houses seem to be using their younger house members as human buffers, placing Firsties and second years between the houses. It seems rather coldblooded, but diffuses the tension fairly well. There is still quite a deal of discussion and the Hufflepuffs seems to be taking a lot of ridicule for reasons the staff can't divine. Trelawney is not consulted.
The 'Puffs are clearly less than chuffed about the teasing, but as the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors fought more bitterly, they find themselves seated between the other two and getting ribbed from both sides.
But the new table arrangement has the advantage that no table currently finds itself under the inverted tree, so the occasional ornament that rains down does no more damage than startling those with nervous dispositions as it crashes on the floor. ('And it'll probably be good for them.')
By now even Hermione has realized that part of whatever is brewing among the students somehow has to do with the dour Potions Master to her left who seems to be withdrawing increasingly right before her eyes. Aware there is a real risk that her cheery mood will grate even further on his nerves, she tries to contain her good cheer a bit for the meal, but can't help stealing glances at him.
Things are definitely far better for him, and many others, now than just a few years prior. She's not sure how much of what has been enacted he has actually been aware of. Much occurred whilst he was still comatose, and most measures were explicitly kept from him so as not to defeat their purpose. Ultimately, they had all come to agree that Severus wasn't necessarily inclined to act in his best interests.
Hermione's ongoing situation with the Ministry, the ever present latent threat of prosecution for the Obliviations, had proved to Minerva just how damaging living in uncertainty could be. It was a clear example of what the absence of a pardon could mean for someone, and Hermione wasn't in anywhere near as precarious a position as Severus or any of the Death Eater children at the school. Minerva resolved to change that where she could, first and foremost to begin to repay her debt to her colleague, but also for the sake of all the children she feared would otherwise be lost and perhaps give rise to the next wizarding war in consequence.
So that first Autumn after the battle, Minerva drew a line under everything and demanded everyone move on. She enacted a blanket pardon and zero tolerance policy at the school. Anyone not charged by the Wizengamot and found explicitly guilty was henceforth to be regarded as innocent. Full stop. Further, she declared zero tolerance for abuses of any kind, either decrying fellow students (or staff, for that matter) as Death Eaters or Riddle sympathizers or whatever else occurred to them, or conversely any expression whatsoever of prejudice related to blood status. Any and all infractions were punished swiftly and without mercy. No quarter would be given. And none was ever asked.
The pejoratives and topics she embargoed were even wider reaching than originally suspected. Somewhat ironically, but on consideration perhaps not surprisingly, Ginny Weasley was the first to discover that. Influenced, no doubt, by the time spent with her brother, she made the mistake of complaining vociferously in the Gryffindor common room about the sanctuary being offered Snape at the time. In all fairness, it should be remembered that she was a student during his terror-filled reign as Headmaster, and even if he was able to shield the students and her in particular quite a bit, the fear they felt, the hate and loathing were very real and unlikely to dissipate overnight.
Thinking she was among like-minded individuals and mistakenly believing there was a measure of privacy to be had in their rooms, Ginny was completely taken aback to find the words "greasy git" left the speaker with greasy hair and a face full of acne for a week. Minerva took a page from Hermione, inspired by her jinx on Miss Edgecombe.
Several Gryffindors, suddenly developing an intellectual curiosity otherwise so foreign to them, or perhaps it was more of a "dare" mentality, experimented and discovered, regardless of the location of the speaker, "git" brought zits, "greasy" did a number on your hair for the day and the combination was a week's worth of embarrassment. The Gryffindor table cut a rather appalling figure that week. Likewise, "dungeon bat" caused a prolonged bat-bogey hex (Ginny was scandalized to find that "misappropriated" for punitive reeducation methods), and eventually even the Gryffindors exhausted their desire to experiment further, and things came slowly to a halt.
By contrast, the younger Greengrass girl was the only Slytherin who needed to speak the word "Mudblood" and find herself covered head to toe in mud for the week before they retreated from such terminology completely. (She willingly swallowed potions to induce vomiting all that week, deeming it worth the cost to spare herself the public humiliation.) Observations of the Gryffindor table were sufficient to suspect, although they couldn't be certain how far reaching the limitations actually were, that it was advisable to at least be seen to play nice. Some consideration was given to developing an innocuous code, but ultimately it was deemed unworthy of the risk. McGonagall could be relied upon to expand the list of unsanctioned language accordingly.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, no one felt the need to test the actual term "Death Eater," proving there may yet be hope for the youth of today.
By the third week of the 1998-99 school year the students had adopted a much more civil tone with one another. As deeds often follow words, that halted much that would otherwise have escalated.
House rivalries were proving harder to dispel. Ultimately the need to have large groups of children unfamiliar with one another quickly assimilate into the student body made the encouragement of "us" vs. "them" mentalities useful. Grouping by year would have abolished the help otherwise provided to the younger students by the upperclassmen. Finally, it was decided to change the seating orders and intermingle the classes more. It's helped some, but not as much as is needed, as the events of this afternoon have clearly illustrated.
However, the absence of, say, greasy haired students would lead one to suspect that whatever it was they had been arguing about concerning the Potions Master, the manner in which it was discussed had changed greatly to that of a few short years ago.
Despite the excitement from earlier in the day, dinner goes without a hitch, although it proves increasingly difficult to lure Severus from his reserve. She notices that he seems to avoid her in particular, which she finds disappointing, but he seems somehow shy or hurt, not as though he finds something about her distasteful. She can't really explain it, it's just a feeling and hard to pin down, but she is certain her assessment is right. Smiling at him as reassuringly as she can as often as she draws his eye, she returns to her thoughts of potential presents for the man.
He looks like he could use some joy in his life, and she is determined to provide it, so help him.
Notes:
Next Chapter:
Hermione cries: fowl. She's got mail. The Ministry throws a party; our heroes stay home and mope. (Yes, I actually thought that made for a better story. Just trust me.)
A/N:
So I originally had little bits of Shakespeare scattered fairly evenly throughout this thing. It seemed a logical extension once I used Queen Mab as a character. (I may not have been awake when I made that connection, but it made perfect sense to me at the time.)
Then somebody got me thinking (you know who you are), and I rearranged a lot of the material, and segmented a bunch of the then overly long chapters. So now the quotes and modern phrases are no longer regular. Oh well. I've decided I like that better than forcing it back into the other format, so here we are. I liked it when it was so constructed, but having changed that, I now prefer the more organic approach. So they'll appear as and when. They're just a bit of fun, and easily ignored if it isn't your thing.
But if you want to be the swotiest swot ever? If you want your English instructor to hate you? These are the pedantic kinds of things you need to know, people. ;-)
Quotes and such:
"Send him packing," Shakespeare is credited either with coining this phrase or being the first to publish it, depending on your source. The BBC says it was a common expression in his time (although he still could technically have coined it, I suppose), and I tend to believe the beeb. But either way, the fact it survives as a phrase to this day is credited to Shakespeare.
From Henry IV, Part I, Act II, Scene 4 where Falstaff says: "Faith, and I'll send him packing." offering to send the messenger from Prince Henry's father the King... well, packing. Because he was harshing their mellow. For shame!
"Vanish into thin air," is another one of those phrases people attribute to Shakespeare, but he didn't actually use. Seriously. But he came *close*, three times even. Really.
probably 1603-04
"Othello" Act III, Scene 1, the Clown sends the musicians away with this line, "Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away. Go; vanish into air; away!" And that matters because as the musicians and then the Clown leave, the comedy you maybe thought you were watching becomes a tragedy, and you begin wondering who the hell talked you into this thing... Except by now you should know better.
1606
"Macbeth" Act 1, Scene 5 Lady Macbeth's line, reading a letter from her husband, describing his encounter with the three witches, "'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge . When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.'"
1610-11
"The Tempest" Act IV, Scene 1 Prospero says: "These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air.” That does seem to be the first recorded use of "thin air," but "melting into air" seems less pithy than vanishing, and, let's face it, smooshes two different elements uncomfortably together. But we can safely say "thin air" caught on like wildfire, if we don't mind mixing those elements again.
What do we learn from this? "Become famous and get the credit for *everything*." (If ever there was a lesson for our time...) Or maybe it's "try, try again." Whichever works for you.
Hermione talks to Minerva about the house elves, and gives some thought to contacting Harry and Ron. Briefly. We find out what Minerva has done for the Slytherins, and some of the measures she has taken for Severus and the children of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts.
A bunch of students decide fighting is the answer to a question nobody asked. Hijinx ensue, or maybe just jinxes. And people just can't seem to stop pfaffing about with the greenery.
Originally Published: 2017-01-26 on AO3
Chapter: 9 / 13 of ?
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
WARNING:
Fairly minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur.
Disclaimer:
I still own bugger all and shan't profit in the least. JKR owns the lot.
Notes:
Thing you might need to know: outside of Potterdom, a "squib" is something that you light, and it goes "boom." It follows that a wet squib is something you light that doesn't go "boom," but shoulda done and woulda done, presumably, were it not wet. So not, say, a campfire, and more like an explosive. A "damp squib" is therefore synonymous with a "fail." Not to be confused with a "damp squid," which seems almost redundant, dry squids being typically dead, or worse: expelled.
Previously:
Hermione visited with the Queen of the Fae. Mab decided Hermione's life needs improving, and Hermione gave it lots of thought.
Severus and Hermione ran into each other in the Forbidden Forest and returned to the castle together. They talked and laughed, and Hermione, swept up in the moment, even gave the stunned Potions Master a hug. He survived, only just.
Some Hufflepuffs saw the Potions Master laughing and spread the word. Preach!
Christmas Eve of Adduction... Part 3
Mostly Hermione's POV
-~HG/SS~-
Hogwarts, Friday 22nd December, Hermione
It's amazing the difference a day can make. Hermione awakes refreshed and almost cheerful. She did a good deal of introspecting last night, and feels so much the better for it. By and large, she has a firmer grasp of things that she'd like to change in her life, and where some things have gone wrong, or at least not well for her, frequently without her having particularly noticed, which was a disconcerting discovery. All told, it's a satisfying start.
She's still no closer to an idea what to get Severus for Christmas, but seems to have decided she's definitely getting him something. ('Whether he'll appreciate the gesture or not.') There's a lovely book. ('That he probably already has or doesn't actually want.') Some rare potions ingredients. ('That he didn't have two and a half years ago.' She knows this because she helped Minerva move his things while he was in hospital. 'Hardly something I can count on him needing and yet not having.') An attractive fountain pen? (And suddenly she feels like she's trying to get away with one stop shopping at Scribner's...) She'll need to give it some more thought, but hasn't much time to decide. But she's confident she'll think of something by the time she goes to Hogsmeade tomorrow.
And having already thought, quite a lot, about her taciturn colleague this morning, she finds herself rather looking forward to breakfast, and hastens to get ready.
-~HG/SS~-
She can't help the somewhat goofy smile spreading across her face as she enters the Great Hall. She's in a fine mood, and it seems a shame to fight it. Let them think she's daft if they must.
Minerva and Filius have really outdone themselves with the decorating. Looking about, she can't help thinking the decorations are increasing daily the closer it gets to Christmas. That thought just makes her smile more. (She's certain her grin now more closely resembles a slightly demented rictus. 'There are worse looks.') She suspects it's a deliberate move on Minerva's part to make the room feel less empty, so the students who have nowhere else to go don't feel as isolated. Minerva is exceptionally thoughtful like that. And usually right.
Tonight or tomorrow at the latest, she expects Minerva will rearrange the house tables to bring the comparatively small group closer together, physically at least, but hearts and minds have a way of following bodies. For the moment, as most of the other students left Wednesday for the holidays and things seem more relaxed or at least less structured than usual, she's pleased to note the students seem to often be seating themselves based more on the classes they share and are learning for, rather than on the houses into which they were sorted. It's a welcome change. The obvious exceptions are the Slytherins, but to some extent also the Gryffindors, who aren't mingling as well as the other two houses. Somehow it still surprises her that the Gryffindors disproportionately self-segregate, but it shouldn't.
The Slytherins are a different matter. How does the saying go? "It's complicated." It most certainly is. All the problems from a few years before remain, and from a purely analytical standpoint have become worse. Now it isn't just a question of ideologies and prejudices separating them from the rest, although given the ages of many of the children concerned, it's questionable that it ever was an issue of their ideologies, more likely simply parroting those of the respective parents. (Case in point, her current amicable relationship with Draco is a perfect example of what's possible without undue influence.)
But it's a whole different kettle of Plimpies when your parents are convicts serving their sentences in Azkaban. And undoubtably far worse still to be orphaned with nowhere else to go. It's so much harder for those children to just blend in with the rest as if there were no differences. Exacerbating the situation, a significant number of them come from previously very wealthy families whose assets have been seized since the war, and the struggles with relative poverty are making matters so much worse.
Surprisingly to those from other houses, this new and severely disparate spectrum of wealth within the house has caused no issues whatsoever amongst the Slytherins themselves; they stoically cling together like a fused unit. For Slytherins, that comes as no surprise. It was a given. Arrangements are made, by those who "have" for those who don't, their basic needs having already been met, and not a one has found themselves, say, in shabby robes or less than impeccable ball wear, no discussion required. There is no external distinction between them. Every head is resolutely held high; they will brook no further shame brought upon their house.
Regrettably, many of the character traits that caused them to be sorted into Slytherin in the first place have been... unfortunately magnified by the experiences of the last few years. The cynical are so much more so, the aloof have withdrawn further, until they are nearly unreachable, the selfish, the narcissistic... well. And the power hungry, of course, dream of revenge. The constellation is suboptimal, anyone can see that. It takes decisive action to address such problems.
Hermione has admittedly mixed feelings about Dumbledore, but she does respect what he was able to achieve as Headmaster.
By comparison, however, Minerva has done so much more. First and foremost, any and all children without suitable family or guardians are more than welcome to stay at Hogwarts year round. (Hermione herself profited from that when she returned for her seventh year, although having helped rebuild the castle and beginning her apprenticeship made it less obviously so.) Room and board are provided free of charge, in addition to small stipends, for those in need. Further, Minerva and Severus have put together an absolutely amazing summer program for those children.
One of the most significant projects to come of this, now well into its second year, is the student run potion brewing collective for St. Mungo's, called the "Slytherin Saviors." It's so named because, to date, that's the house each and every participant has belonged to, and because Minerva felt it incredibly important to have good things associated with the house. She was right again, of course. It's amazing in how short a span of time rebranding can take place, or how motivating affordable, quality medicine can be for the masses. In many circles outside of the school, the Slytherin name is already more closely associated with their potions than the war, Riddle or the Death Eaters. And that after only two summers of brewing.
Under Severus' watchful eye, children of all years have been able to brew for the hospital and its outpatient programs. Each student is matched to potions of the appropriate skill level. To near universal surprise, it's been a resounding success. For a small fee, which provides the children both with pocket money and a sense of accomplishment, which is greatly increased when coupled with their brewing achievements and (for the the more altruistic among them, 'well, less selfish') the help they are providing others, the children are brewing many desperately needed potions, and saving the patients untold galleons in the process. Severus, a world class Potions Master, oversees the entire project and validates each and every vial personally, and the quality of medicines St. Mungo's now has on offer has actually increased.
This has gone so much better than anyone ever anticipated, and it's considered probable that both Minerva and Severus are likely to receive ('another') Order of Merlin for their humanitarian efforts. Although many still have some problems reconciling Severus with the term "humanitarian," he himself not least among them, no one disputes the importance of this project.
A logical side effect has naturally been a phenomenal improvement in Potions' marks among the program's participants. Those students now seem to be helping others from their house who don't spend their vacations at the castle, and all of Slytherin has shown an incredible improvement in the course. The added bonus being that many of those participating are the children receiving financial assistance from those they are now able to tutor. In this way, every one feels they are able to contributing to the success of the whole. Additionally, as less time is required to prepare for their Potions course, and this leaves them with more time to devote to their other courses, and all their marks have universally improved.
Interestingly, this hasn't escaped the notice of the other houses, most notably the Ravenclaws, who feel their academic superiority is being challenged. As a result, the project is now beginning to attract interest from other students, who may yet be won for extracurricular brewing during the regular school year as the program expands. The current plan is to ensure the reins remain in Slytherin hands, but guarantee that others will be welcome, further shifting what people will come to associate with the name.
Severus expects some Ravenclaw participation by next year at the latest. The Hufflepuffs should follow no more than a year after that once inter-house cooperation has been established by the Ravenclaws and the philanthropic benefits have been more clearly documented. He has no idea if the Gryffindors will ever participate, but with the possible exception of Professor Granger, he's not sure he'd want them brewing for him anyway. After more thought, he would amend that to include the Weasley twins, although they were frequently more bother than they would be worth. Would have been worth. 'Poor Fred.'
Hermione reaches the staff table, still considering the Slytherins. There are almost as many of them here now as there are from all the other houses combined. Given it's the smallest house currently, that's saying a lot. Not all who've remained had to stay, some chose to remain with their friends and housemates instead of their families, nevertheless... She slides into her customary seat next to her very favorite Slytherin, and flashes him her ('hopefully') least disturbed smile.
He looks tired, but satisfied. It's not an exhausted look, more like he's got a new project that he's really sunk his teeth into, and seems to be enjoying his progress, or perhaps the process ('hard to say with no details'). The difference is all around his eyes. They aren't tight with exhaustion, pain or defeat. In fact, his eyes almost seem to be smiling. It's a great look on him. Not as good as his face while laughing, but still. He's come so far since the war.
The grin she's giving him now is definitely not demented. Feeling it from the inside, she decides it must be incredibly encouraging. It is, and that throws him a bit, but he'll recover. She's thought, too, about how to handle addressing him, if he insists on honorifics, and has decided until that oh so stubborn man relents and lets her call him by his first name ('Sevvvvvvverus'), she'll just refer to him as "Professor," as though that were his name, with her best coprophagous grin for accompaniment, too. ('See how he likes that.') She considers taking bets with herself on how long it will take him to crack. She'd lose, she'll crack first, but not knowing that, she's enjoying her moment.
"Good morning, Professor." She emphasizes it so much that he turns to stare at her. Her face can hardly contain her grin. "Sleep well?" Now that he's facing her, she revises her assessment, "Or at all?"
He's clutching his tea like it's a lifeline, so she's thinking: not much sleep then. She's noticed he favors a particularly volatile decoction he dubs "tea" that rivals the espresso she once regretted drinking, a mistake she won't repeat lightly. She finds it humorous that a Potions Master of his repute would rely on a Muggle beverage to achieve that, instead of any of his multitude of concoctions, but keeps it to herself, except for the improbable widening of her grin. If she keeps this up, her cheeks will definitely hurt later. ('Worth it.') Her mood is magnificent.
He may have just managed a grunt in response, and she decides she'll have to wait until he's actually managed to swallow some of that... tea before she'll get anything more. She can wait.
She spends the interim sniffing inostensively (for a Gryffindor), inhaling his faint trace of bergamot as deeply as she can. Meanwhile he doubts the efficacy of her Warming Charms if she caught cold last night in the Forbidden Forest.
A few minutes and sips later, she can actually see the transformation taking place on his face, she resumes. "Working on anything good?"
That actually gets his attention, one eyebrow does something odd, rising briefly and then falling sharply towards his nose, and he pauses and considers an answer. "I guess technically it is." And he grins, just ever so slightly, lopsidedly as if at an inside joke. "But it's definitely challenging, which is good in itself." His voice sounds gravelly, and she wonders if he's used it since dinner last night. Thinking back to dinner, he hardly spoke once they returned to the castle, and she realizes she may have been the last person he spoke with at any length. That seems a shame. ('He probably wouldn't think so.') And then she almost laughs ('Phrasing!') because that also makes it sound like he enjoyed speaking to her. ('Coincidental.') Well he seemed to when he was laughing anyway. She lives in hope.
"I think you're always happiest when challenged."
He smiles a bit more noticeably (not that anyone else was likely to recognize that fact) at her use of 'always.' From her, in this context, it seems familiar and not inappropriately presumptuous, which doubtlessly says something about how he relates to her. "Oh, make no mistake, with time I've come to appreciate the complete absence of challenges, too. That's still a welcome change. But you are correct, it is always... nice to have something... demanding on which to work."
In many ways he resembles his Slytherins in that. The importance of a problem to successfully solve shouldn't be underestimated. But unlike many of his students, he doesn't want the acclaim. He seems to prefer working entirely behind the scenes, outside of the public eye. Initially she had thought that a carryover from his days as a spy, but since the war, he's still been no more eager for the spotlight. He does things he considers necessary or desires to pursue, but he isn't driven by a longing for glory that sadly seems to typify the actions of so many of her housemates, or even some of his.
"It suits you... Professor." And again with the impudent grin. He's still looking at her oddly, and she is sure he'll crack.
She is considering her own breakfast now, and realizes having not intervened, she has the same "special order" café au lait with foamed milk that she usually gets, and she feels guilty about causing the skeleton elf staff extra work. Severus doesn't miss her somewhat crestfallen expression as she regards her mug, and just barely stifles a chuckle. He can see exactly what is going through her mind, even without Legilimency, and it took less time than he expected. He smirks instead. Minerva's black pudding isn't long for this world. He can't resist a glance in the direction of the Headmistress' plate, and smirks some more.
Close by, Hermione becomes vaguely aware that the Hufflepuffs seem to be causing the Gryffindors a good deal of amusement, but not in a particularly inclusive fashion. The rather mild mannered 'Puffs seem less than pleased, growing increasingly irritated at the Gryffindors' reactions, and before long, a surprisingly lively ('particularly in light of the hour') food fight erupts between their tables. Of course it's a good deal messier and more frenetic than the Muggle equivalent, and when broccoli begins to actually sprout from a sixth year Gryffindor's ears, Minerva moves in to stop the squabble, leaving with a few likely suspects firmly in tow for her office and dispatching the vegetized Gryffindor to Poppy.
Hermione barely had time to consider taking action, before the Headmistress had it all sorted. A glance to her left reveals a completely relaxed Severus, he hasn't even blinked, fully assured there would be no need for him to act. Minerva's got this.
Argus Filch, still a school fixture, is sent for and begins attacking the residual problems. The animated scones marching across the floor and the rather gelatinous mass of what must have once been pumpkin juice stuck to the wall making his job no easier. Nevertheless, he had things rather well in hand, years of experience making this just another day in the mines, until Peeves appeared on the scene and unceremoniously upended a bucket of mop water over the poor man's head.
At this, Severus does shift, leaning first close to Hermione's ear and in a voice pitched only for her, in a play on their game from yesterday, says, "The clean up effort was truly a bit of a damp squib." And then in a fluid movement stands to assist the poor caretaker, simultaneously squelching the beginnings of tittering laughter that were starting to emanate from the students with only a single look.
It doesn't help in the least that Filch is still so antagonistic and unpopular with the children, but it was an amusing picture to behold: the bedraggled, curmudgeonly, sopping old man, stood sputtering in a puddle. Hermione shocked and far too amused at Severus' pun, pleased to see he is continuing their little word game, has to stifle her own laughter. She wouldn't want Mr. Filch (or the students for that matter) to think she was laughing at him. She quickly gets to her feet to follow Severus and lend her assistance.
Helga Macavoy, Pomona Sprout's successor as Head of House in Hufflepuff, sets off after Peeves. Hermione almost feels sorry for the poltergeist for a moment faced with the resolute witch on his transparent heels. Helga is the aunt of Heidi Macavoy, a Hufflepuff chaser Hermione went to school with. After a long and successful career as a professional Quidditch player and later coach, Helga had replaced Madam Hooch at Hogwarts as the flying instructor, Quidditch coach and referee two years ago, becoming the Hufflepuff Head this year. Hermione finds Helga combines some of the best characteristics of both women, but considers her quite the departure from Pomona, and can't help wondering if the Hufflepuffs' refusal to simply accept the Gryffindors' baiting might not be due to her more assertive influence.
Sensing that Mr. Filch would probably not appreciate it if she attended to his... state, she leaves him to Severus and begins tackling the mess, Peeves long since vanished with Helga in hot pursuit. Severus makes quick work of drying the man with a charm and restoring him to order, all somehow without offending him in the process. Hermione can't help admiring how Severus deals with the man. She recognizes something in his approach that mirrors the behavior she's seen among his house members when they assist one another; very little fuss is made of it and both parties attempt to draw a minimum of attention to it. Severus takes the man's arm and escorts him gently from the Hall, calling over his shoulder to Hermione in parting that he will speak to Minerva about Peeves.
Filch seems to relax noticeably at hearing it as they leave. Hermione expects Severus will summon the Baron to send the irritating poltergeist packing.
She finishes tidying the rest of the mess, and recollects she wished to speak to Minerva about the house elves and makes her way to the Headmistress' office. Once she arrives, the gargoyle at the door, recently charmed to coordinate receptionist duties, informs her that the Headmistress is in conference with another Professor and shall be unavailable for a while yet at least. He asks if she can return later, and Hermione leaves a request with him that she be contacted when Minerva is free and returns to her chambers to think some more.
-~HG/SS~-
First, she decides, she'll ask Minerva to explain to her better how the house elves accomplish their work. Hermione has matured greatly since the days of S.P.E.W., and no longer wishes to blindly inflict her sense of morals and ethics onto others without a care for their desires, needs or cultures. She has come to appreciate that, although she disagrees vehemently with their indentured servitude, that it is not her right to tell them they cannot continue in that vein should they so wish. That's been very hard for her to accept.
She trusts Minerva to make her understand their situation. There is always a bit of residual risk that Severus had just been having her on. He's become a good deal more mischievous since the war ended and the threat of Azkaban was banished. She doesn't consider it likely in this instance, but belts and braces.
Then she'll need to determine what the needs of the school are, because obviously the ability to properly run the school takes precedent over her sensibilities. But perhaps Minerva would be open for an experimental run during the holidays, particularly as the elf staff is reduced for the moment. Hermione sets about making a list of possible suggestions.
Having accomplished as much as she can along those lines without input and feedback from Minerva, Hermione's thoughts return to the Queen of the Fae, Severus, and the events of the previous evening.
She's thought a lot about what Mab had told her, her talk with Severus, and how it made her feel. Just opening up to one person, and she doesn't mean to minimize the difference he himself made, but still, just speaking to one person has made an incredible difference in how she feels. For one thing, she feels somehow less frustrated, which is ridiculous, because nothing has actually changed. Her parents' situation is just as hopeless as it was yesterday at this time. The Ministry is every bit the threat they were (or weren't, depending on how seriously she wishes to take their oblique warnings) yesterday or even last year. Maybe it was the laughter, maybe it was just connecting with another human being. Either way, the result feels amazing.
So much so, that she gives serious thought to contacting Harry, and maybe even Ronald. It's a little tricky this close to the Holidays; she doesn't want it to seem like she's angling for an invitation. Had one been intended for her, she knows she'd have received it long before now. In any of those owls she hasn't received from either of them, really. Since before term began, actually, as she pauses to consider again that neither of them even bothered to congratulate her on achieving her Arithmancy Mastery, or for starting in her position as Professor here. And that freezes her in her tracks.
What rubbish friends she has.
So what should she do? Should she really write to them? What, just to tell them they're complete pants at the "friends thing"?
Severus had told her something yesterday that no one has ever said to her before. Three little words, and they're magnificent really. He told her: she deserved better. That simple, that elegant. And he's certainly not an effusive man or given to insincere praise. ('I don't think he's given to praise at all, sincere or not, actually.')
It resonates with her strangely. Over the past couple of years, there has been a steady shift to her thinking from "what did I do to deserve this?" slowly, very slowly, towards a hesitant "I don't deserve this." The natural and healthy extension of that is so simple, she can't believe she's never gotten here on her own: I deserve better.
And with that she resolves not to look for friendship and fulfilment from people who truly don't seem to value her.
That makes her think some more, because she is quite certain that both Ronald and Harry do value, at least in part, what she can contribute... When they need it, she amends. They don't seem to value it much when there's no pressing need for her skills. ('No, then I am subject to ridicule.') And when it's needed, when she's needed, well, they appear confident that her support is theirs for the asking. Which of course it is and always has been, and now she's beginning to feel really down again...
But that's not how she wants to feel, or where she started out this morning, so she determines to think back to those positive thoughts. She doesn't deserve this, and she doesn't have to settle for it, and she most certainly will not pursue that kind of high-handed treatment. And again it's liberating. Different, but... better.
She adds "[I] deserve better. - Severus" to the list she made of things the faery queen told her, deciding it now represents a general list of things to think about and motivational thoughts, instead of purely a documentation of her visit with Queen Mab last night. She pins it above her desk, and she can't help noticing that she smiles a little every time she glances at it.
Feeling just a bit self conscious about having that quote up there, and his name listed right after the "colleague (I am 'close to') that I should 'consider'" line, she wouldn't want anyone to see it and think she had... what? Designs on the unsuspecting gentleman? She casts a Notice-Me-Not Spell that should keep it for her eyes only.
She begins to make another list of things she'd like to do and change. First, obviously, when Minerva's available, she'll speak to her about the house elf situation. Minerva has always been very patient and supportive of Hermione's... she's not really sure if she should call them "flights of fancy." Pipe dreams? Wild ideas? Notions. ('That sounds more like it.')
Then she'd like to pursue the work on a Charms mastery if Potions isn't a option. And then she should probably speak to Severus to make sure it really isn't an option ('but he's never had an apprentice...'), although she isn't sure it's worth rocking the boat to have that talk. But she could ask him if he'd be willing to at least work with her on brewing with the practical application of Charms. She has no idea how that suggestion will be received. (That's not true; she expects it will go over poorly.)
And then she realizes that all of her plans have once again focused on things she wishes to do or accomplish, but not on people, friendships or relationships. She sets about couching her goals in terms of those things when her Floo flares to life with a message that Minerva is now available, and grabbing her prolific house elf notes, she makes her way to the Headmistress' rooms.
-~HG/SS~-
The talk with the Headmistress is indeed fruitful. Hermione leaves with a much better understanding of how the elves' magic works, and her mentor was willing to try an experiment during the break. The menus shall be reduced to fewer items, reflecting the most common food and beverage orders, with the exception of Christmas, as that was a measure too far.
Realistically, Minerva expects that at the end of the trial period, when Hermione speaks to the elves, she'll find that they haven't found the changes all that beneficial. Despite having explained as best she could how the elves' magic differs to their own, her feeling is Hermione understands the words, but not the message. Meanwhile, Minerva anticipates that the residents will be very vocal about their disapproval, and then things will return to normal, but she firmly believes that it is advantageous to reexamine the status quo from time to time. She also thinks it's important to encourage bright young minds like Hermione's to think for themselves and question the way things are done. It shouldn't simply be taken for granted, or there will be no progress.
With a sigh, Minerva resigns herself to a few weeks without black pudding. Or tattie scones! Bother. Well, 'tisn't pleasant, but shan't kill her. Most likely. She smirks slightly thinking Hermione shall miss her morning coffee at least as much, and resolves to muddle through in good company.
Hermione doesn't once mention her parents or their plight. She also doesn't say anything about Severus' interest. Minerva isn't sure if Hermione even knows he is investigating their situation, and decides it's best to say nothing either way and avoid prodding the wound or getting the young woman's hopes up, perhaps unrealistically.
-~HG/SS~-
The two women head to lunch, arriving a bit late, or just in time, depending on how one looks at things.
As they enter the Great Hall, all hell is breaking loose. For the second time today, the Gryffindors are locked in battle with another house, this time the Ravenclaws. Several of the same individuals Minerva had already had to pull aside this morning to speak with about their behavior are at it once again, in fact all sixth and seventh years seem to be heading the charge, leading by poor example and dragging their younger housemates into the fray after them. ('Splendid.') Both witches cringe to see their house behaving in such a fashion.
Severus, Helga and Filius are in the thick of things, trying to bring the students harmlessly to heel, as the two Gryffindor staff members wade in. Severus, his face ominously darkened, seems to be rapidly losing his patience, his mood demonstratively worsened since this morning, and Hermione suspects a Levicorpus is only moments away.
Sure enough, three of the worst of the lot suddenly find themselves suspended upside down over the fight. Minerva cocks an eyebrow at him, but the determination and utter disgust on his face don't invite discussion. In fact, he is the one to put an end to all of this with an Expelliarmus! the like of which no one here has ever seen before. The spell is cast so loudly that his voice reverberates through the Hall, and before the echo fades his raised hand clutches every single wand from two tables.
They're completely gobsmacked.
If asked, Severus would explain that it makes a huge difference that he is wielding it against mere students, and that not a one of them had bothered to cast a Protego worth a damn. And then he'd rant to himself about the continuing deficiencies of the DADA program. But no one asks. In fact, the room grows deathly silent and everyone simply goggles. Except a few Slytherins who can't help smirking that is.
He cuts quite the figure, tall, lithe and domineering in his black cloak still swirling about him with the force of his magic. One arm raised with a fistful of wands, the other extended pointing his own at the group. More than one person finds their breath catching at the sight. He of course doesn't know that, and wouldn't believe it if told.
"Enough!" he cries, and indeed it is. No one moves. Admittedly wandless magic from the louts too lazy or incompetent to shield seems unlikely, but regardless, the effect is impressive.
Minerva steps up, the very picture of collected ire, "Thank you, Severus. Well managed," with a nod, choosing to ignore the issue of the suspended students perhaps indefinitely in light of the chaos. She extends both hands elegantly towards him, and he calmly places the collection of wands into them. Turning to her students with barely controlled fury she demands an explanation.
At first no one dares to speak given her obvious anger, then too many rush to justify... this, but there can be no justification. And with positively scathing disappointment, she informs them they'll be serving detention with Filch come January. For all of January. Longer, if there is even a hint of further trouble. Every single one takes her at her word, and they slink from the room.
Looking about (once again today) at the damage, and overcome by a feeling of déjà vu, Hermione is shocked by how much worse it is than the kerfuffle from this morning. Inexplicably, one of the giant Christmas trees is hanging upside down over the Ravenclaw table. Apparently, as Helga is quick to explain, only an incredibly well timed and fortunate save on Severus' part managed to deflect the Christmas missile upwards, only barely keeping the students at the Ravenclaw table safe from imminent harm. As she says this, a few of the ornaments seem to have come loose, never intended to be rotated 180 degrees, and a few baubles fall down towards the table. Hardly making a move and still imposing as sin, Severus wandlessly atomizes them and they vanish into thin air.
"Well, mostly safe," Helga amends. "All in all, quite a morning. Six impossible things by lunch, I suppose. This, um, isn't typical behavior for the season or something is it? Only I wasn't here for the holidays the last two years, and... Well one does wonder where one has landed."
Hermione hastens to assure her colleague that this is quite unusual, should that prove any consolation? She doesn't sound at all sure that it is though.
Minerva is speaking with the Ravenclaws, there are a few injured students she sends on to Poppy, including one unfortunate Hufflepuff who seems to have gotten caught in the crossfire. No one seems willing to explain what preceded this latest display. Bizarrely, the greater portion of a pack of the Wizards of the World quartet set (the latest version from the look of it) seems to have become imbedded in the surface of the Gryffindor table, the angle suggesting they were used as projectiles, and the depth to which they've sunken and resistance to removal that they would have been quite dangerous in flight. It's a disturbing thought.
Working with the help of the remaining students, the five staff members set about righting the Great Hall. Yet again. The Slytherins seem oddly cooperative, and slightly smug, being the only house not to engage in such disgraceful behavior today. (Another disturbing thought.) Hermione is becoming a bit cynical, and can't help thinking, 'but the day is still long.' She sighs.
Hermione casts an Ascendio, which propels her towards the ceiling, immediately followed by Filius' Mobilicorpus, which keeps her suspended there, and from this unusual perch she tries to detach the tree from the charmed ceiling. Several unproductive minutes later she is forced to admit momentary defeat. No one seems to have an explanation for the Sticking charm attaching it to the ceiling. Once Minerva returns to interrogate the Gryffindors, she determines a precocious sixth year devised the modified charm, and is pleased to be able to give her poor house back at least some points for this creative bit of spell work after their behavioral missteps today.
Unfortunately, the wee lassie doesn't seem to have come up with anything to undo it, which shall undoubtably cause Argus to have conniptions. He's not had a good day either. Minerva purses her lips and makes her way resolutely back to her office.
-~HG/SS~-
By dinner, Minerva has rearranged the tables forming an elongated isosceles triangle with a truncated tip pointed towards the doors of the Great Hall, which allows for students to enter the triangle and sit on its inside. Going solely by numbers of students present and the size of the tables, Hermione would expect the Slytherins to sit on the right, as one enters the room, all the other houses to sit together on the left, and the staff to sit at the base. Given those three houses have fought each other rather bitterly today, she's intrigued to see how they will in fact seat themselves.
Surprisingly, a number of the younger Slytherins take advantage of the dissension and sit with the Ravenclaws, whilst a few of their upperclassmen take their seats at the Slytherin table. Effectively, all the houses seem to be using their younger house members as human buffers, placing Firsties and second years between the houses. It seems rather coldblooded, but diffuses the tension fairly well. There is still quite a deal of discussion and the Hufflepuffs seems to be taking a lot of ridicule for reasons the staff can't divine. Trelawney is not consulted.
The 'Puffs are clearly less than chuffed about the teasing, but as the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors fought more bitterly, they find themselves seated between the other two and getting ribbed from both sides.
But the new table arrangement has the advantage that no table currently finds itself under the inverted tree, so the occasional ornament that rains down does no more damage than startling those with nervous dispositions as it crashes on the floor. ('And it'll probably be good for them.')
By now even Hermione has realized that part of whatever is brewing among the students somehow has to do with the dour Potions Master to her left who seems to be withdrawing increasingly right before her eyes. Aware there is a real risk that her cheery mood will grate even further on his nerves, she tries to contain her good cheer a bit for the meal, but can't help stealing glances at him.
Things are definitely far better for him, and many others, now than just a few years prior. She's not sure how much of what has been enacted he has actually been aware of. Much occurred whilst he was still comatose, and most measures were explicitly kept from him so as not to defeat their purpose. Ultimately, they had all come to agree that Severus wasn't necessarily inclined to act in his best interests.
Hermione's ongoing situation with the Ministry, the ever present latent threat of prosecution for the Obliviations, had proved to Minerva just how damaging living in uncertainty could be. It was a clear example of what the absence of a pardon could mean for someone, and Hermione wasn't in anywhere near as precarious a position as Severus or any of the Death Eater children at the school. Minerva resolved to change that where she could, first and foremost to begin to repay her debt to her colleague, but also for the sake of all the children she feared would otherwise be lost and perhaps give rise to the next wizarding war in consequence.
So that first Autumn after the battle, Minerva drew a line under everything and demanded everyone move on. She enacted a blanket pardon and zero tolerance policy at the school. Anyone not charged by the Wizengamot and found explicitly guilty was henceforth to be regarded as innocent. Full stop. Further, she declared zero tolerance for abuses of any kind, either decrying fellow students (or staff, for that matter) as Death Eaters or Riddle sympathizers or whatever else occurred to them, or conversely any expression whatsoever of prejudice related to blood status. Any and all infractions were punished swiftly and without mercy. No quarter would be given. And none was ever asked.
The pejoratives and topics she embargoed were even wider reaching than originally suspected. Somewhat ironically, but on consideration perhaps not surprisingly, Ginny Weasley was the first to discover that. Influenced, no doubt, by the time spent with her brother, she made the mistake of complaining vociferously in the Gryffindor common room about the sanctuary being offered Snape at the time. In all fairness, it should be remembered that she was a student during his terror-filled reign as Headmaster, and even if he was able to shield the students and her in particular quite a bit, the fear they felt, the hate and loathing were very real and unlikely to dissipate overnight.
Thinking she was among like-minded individuals and mistakenly believing there was a measure of privacy to be had in their rooms, Ginny was completely taken aback to find the words "greasy git" left the speaker with greasy hair and a face full of acne for a week. Minerva took a page from Hermione, inspired by her jinx on Miss Edgecombe.
Several Gryffindors, suddenly developing an intellectual curiosity otherwise so foreign to them, or perhaps it was more of a "dare" mentality, experimented and discovered, regardless of the location of the speaker, "git" brought zits, "greasy" did a number on your hair for the day and the combination was a week's worth of embarrassment. The Gryffindor table cut a rather appalling figure that week. Likewise, "dungeon bat" caused a prolonged bat-bogey hex (Ginny was scandalized to find that "misappropriated" for punitive reeducation methods), and eventually even the Gryffindors exhausted their desire to experiment further, and things came slowly to a halt.
By contrast, the younger Greengrass girl was the only Slytherin who needed to speak the word "Mudblood" and find herself covered head to toe in mud for the week before they retreated from such terminology completely. (She willingly swallowed potions to induce vomiting all that week, deeming it worth the cost to spare herself the public humiliation.) Observations of the Gryffindor table were sufficient to suspect, although they couldn't be certain how far reaching the limitations actually were, that it was advisable to at least be seen to play nice. Some consideration was given to developing an innocuous code, but ultimately it was deemed unworthy of the risk. McGonagall could be relied upon to expand the list of unsanctioned language accordingly.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, no one felt the need to test the actual term "Death Eater," proving there may yet be hope for the youth of today.
By the third week of the 1998-99 school year the students had adopted a much more civil tone with one another. As deeds often follow words, that halted much that would otherwise have escalated.
House rivalries were proving harder to dispel. Ultimately the need to have large groups of children unfamiliar with one another quickly assimilate into the student body made the encouragement of "us" vs. "them" mentalities useful. Grouping by year would have abolished the help otherwise provided to the younger students by the upperclassmen. Finally, it was decided to change the seating orders and intermingle the classes more. It's helped some, but not as much as is needed, as the events of this afternoon have clearly illustrated.
However, the absence of, say, greasy haired students would lead one to suspect that whatever it was they had been arguing about concerning the Potions Master, the manner in which it was discussed had changed greatly to that of a few short years ago.
Despite the excitement from earlier in the day, dinner goes without a hitch, although it proves increasingly difficult to lure Severus from his reserve. She notices that he seems to avoid her in particular, which she finds disappointing, but he seems somehow shy or hurt, not as though he finds something about her distasteful. She can't really explain it, it's just a feeling and hard to pin down, but she is certain her assessment is right. Smiling at him as reassuringly as she can as often as she draws his eye, she returns to her thoughts of potential presents for the man.
He looks like he could use some joy in his life, and she is determined to provide it, so help him.
Notes:
Next Chapter:
Hermione cries: fowl. She's got mail. The Ministry throws a party; our heroes stay home and mope. (Yes, I actually thought that made for a better story. Just trust me.)
A/N:
So I originally had little bits of Shakespeare scattered fairly evenly throughout this thing. It seemed a logical extension once I used Queen Mab as a character. (I may not have been awake when I made that connection, but it made perfect sense to me at the time.)
Then somebody got me thinking (you know who you are), and I rearranged a lot of the material, and segmented a bunch of the then overly long chapters. So now the quotes and modern phrases are no longer regular. Oh well. I've decided I like that better than forcing it back into the other format, so here we are. I liked it when it was so constructed, but having changed that, I now prefer the more organic approach. So they'll appear as and when. They're just a bit of fun, and easily ignored if it isn't your thing.
But if you want to be the swotiest swot ever? If you want your English instructor to hate you? These are the pedantic kinds of things you need to know, people. ;-)
Quotes and such:
"Send him packing," Shakespeare is credited either with coining this phrase or being the first to publish it, depending on your source. The BBC says it was a common expression in his time (although he still could technically have coined it, I suppose), and I tend to believe the beeb. But either way, the fact it survives as a phrase to this day is credited to Shakespeare.
From Henry IV, Part I, Act II, Scene 4 where Falstaff says: "Faith, and I'll send him packing." offering to send the messenger from Prince Henry's father the King... well, packing. Because he was harshing their mellow. For shame!
"Vanish into thin air," is another one of those phrases people attribute to Shakespeare, but he didn't actually use. Seriously. But he came *close*, three times even. Really.
probably 1603-04
"Othello" Act III, Scene 1, the Clown sends the musicians away with this line, "Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away. Go; vanish into air; away!" And that matters because as the musicians and then the Clown leave, the comedy you maybe thought you were watching becomes a tragedy, and you begin wondering who the hell talked you into this thing... Except by now you should know better.
1606
"Macbeth" Act 1, Scene 5 Lady Macbeth's line, reading a letter from her husband, describing his encounter with the three witches, "'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge . When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.'"
1610-11
"The Tempest" Act IV, Scene 1 Prospero says: "These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air.” That does seem to be the first recorded use of "thin air," but "melting into air" seems less pithy than vanishing, and, let's face it, smooshes two different elements uncomfortably together. But we can safely say "thin air" caught on like wildfire, if we don't mind mixing those elements again.
What do we learn from this? "Become famous and get the credit for *everything*." (If ever there was a lesson for our time...) Or maybe it's "try, try again." Whichever works for you.