Happy Christmas, Miss Granger
Standard Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this. I merely rent it, forget to rewind and return it late making me pay hefty late charges.
“Miss Granger,” Professor Snape asked coldly. “What is this?” He held the offending article, pinched between his forefinger and thumb.
Hermione stood as if frozen. She had begun her apprenticeship with him the previous June, right after she had taken her N.E.W.T.s. Since then, she had learned he really wasn’t that different from class. He was still sarcastic and overly-demanding, but the best instructor of Potions imaginable… despite his methods.
As it was now Christmas day and she was about to begin brewing some Pepper-Up potion for Poppy, some could say he was also a hard taskmaster, even knowing it was her choice to be there. But he never worked her to the point of exhaustion after the night she fell asleep next to a simmering cauldron.
Besides, she would much rather be in the dungeons, than upstairs trying to fake an interest in pulling after-supper Christmas crackers with the Headmaster and pretending she was not still in mourning for her parents.
“It appears to be a scarf, Sir,” she answered brightly, sitting the jar of armadillo bile down on the work table before she dropped it.
“A scarf, Miss Granger?” he drawled the question in a deceptively soft voice. “I believe I can see that. It also has no traces of magic, so it was hand-knit by Muggle means.”
“You can tell that?” Hermione asked, genuinely surprised. “How?”
Snape gave her a quelling look, then snidely answered. “Would you believe it is magic? That I am a Wizard capable of using detection spells?” he asked icily. “You should have learned that as a Third Year in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Oh, yes,” he smirked. “That was the year of the werewolf, was it not?”
He laid the black and green striped scarf down on his desk near some student essays he had been marking and sat back in his chair to stare at her. “Well, Miss Granger, I am still waiting for an explanation.”
Hermione licked her lips and looked down at the work table surface where her cauldron sat, empty but ready. The ingredients for the potion had been gathered and were waiting, just like he was.
Looking up, she smiled suddenly. “Happy Christmas, Professor Snape.” Her smile was as brittle as the lemon drops the Headmaster offered but without the sugary content.
Snape leaned forward, crossing his hands on the parchment on his desk. “How long does it take to make one of these using Muggle methods, Miss Granger?” he asked in a benign tone that usually meant trouble for the recipient.
She sighed. “A few weeks, Sir.” He said nothing, only looked at her with his black, piercing eyes. “I only worked on it at night, when I couldn’t sleep,” she blurted, then flushed as she wondered how he would use this information against her. Perhaps suggesting she wasn’t working hard enough if she had so much time on her hands? That sounded… Snapeish.
Instead, he surprised her by looking at the work on his desk. “You are having trouble sleeping, Miss Granger?” he asked in a low voice.
Looking away herself, she muttered, “Sometimes.” He said no more, so she began the potion, chopping ingredients with a practiced hand until all was ready to add to the cauldron.
Once simmering, she turned the hourglass timer and cast a small charm on it to emit a squeak when the sand ran out, which was the nicest thing about transfiguring a mouse into an hourglass. Well, that and not having a mouse running around. Now she came to the part of potions making she hated, the waiting where there was nothing to do but watch and wait… and think.
“It has been my experience when one gives gifts, it is with the unexpressed desire to get something in return,” Snape said suddenly, his deep voice rumbling through the classroom. “So, enlighten me, Miss Granger. What is it that you want?”
“What?” she gasped out in shock as she looked at him.
“Better working hours?” he questioned mockingly. “No, or else you would not be here on your own now.
“Permission to conduct your own experiments?” he continued with narrowed eyes. “Possibly, although I believe even you have the intelligence to realize you are not… quite ready for that step.”
Hermione could only stare at him as he went on. “Unlimited access to my personal library?” He laced his hands behind his hair and leaned back again in his chair, this time with a nastily, triumphant smile on his face. “Is that it, Miss Granger? Is that what you want?”
Hurt and anger warred in her for a moment with anger finally being declared the victor. “It’s just a Christmas present, Professor,” she replied sharply. “Get rid of it if you don’t want it.”
The timer squeaked and she cut the fire off beneath the cauldron. Pulling the rack holding the empty vials closer and inserting the funnel, she filled them sloppily, as sudden tears blurred her vision.
“And why would you feel the need to gift me this Yuletide season?” came the silky voice from behind her.
So intent was she on her brewing, she had not seen or heard him get up from his desk or move to the back of the classroom. She jumped and spilt Pepper-Up solution on the table where it began smoking.
“Evanesco,” he said in a low voice and magically cleaned it up for her.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she muttered, closing her eyes and leaning against the table.
“And what are you thanking me for, Miss Granger?” he spat out in a voice barely above a whisper and closer than she originally thought. “Has it not occurred to you that if I were a better spy I would have had information to the attack on your parents before it happened?”
She turned and looked into his dark eyes which were currently blazing at her. “I don’t think it’s your fault that Vold..” Hermione broke off as he glared at her. They had already argued in the past regarding her use of that name in his presence. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “It’s, not your fault that What’s-His-Name doesn’t trust you. You’re doing your best for us all.”
Touching his wrist lightly, Hermione said with quiet sincerity, “I appreciate all that you do. If you hadn’t allowed me to apprentice with you, I would have been home with them.” Her voice breaking, she finished, “But maybe then, I could have helped them.”
She turned back to her work station and finished decanting the potion with hands that shook only a little.
“Had you been there, Miss Granger, you would have been dead as well.” His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, simply resting there. The unfamiliar touch helped steady her. “However, it does amaze me that you see things so much clearer than half of the Order who do believe I am to blame for our lack of intelligence in that matter.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, wanting for a moment for him to pull her close and simply hold her.
“Nor was it yours, Miss Granger,” he replied, lightly massaging her shoulders until she relaxed. “It was not your fault you were born a witch. It was not your fault you were born to Muggles. It was not your fault you were not there. It was not your fault your parents were murdered.” His hands still and he squeezed her shoulders in a manner that was not unlike a hug, before moving away.
When he returned, she had cleaned up her workstation. Being allowed to do so magically made it so much easier. The vial rack filled with Pepper-Up potion was set next to the other stores of healing elixirs used by the Hospital Wing. Looking over the stores, Hermione noticed all were filled to capacity, the oldest first and all magically dated and indexed for easier use.
There was, after all, a war coming.
Feeling disappointed there was little else she could do, she closed the door to the storage room and warded it with the familiar wards Professor Snape had taught her when she began apprenticeship six months prior. Hermione walked back into the classroom to double-check her work area. Once, she had left a bottle of leeches still out. Professor Snape made her clean cauldrons without magic for a week for that mistake.
Sitting on the table she had recently cleared, was a small blue phial. She picked it up and opened the top, sniffing at it.
“Rather an unwise gesture,” Snape derided from his desk. “It might have been an airborne poison activated by opening the container.” He did not look up from the papers he was grading.
“It’s Dreamless Sleep Draught,” she informed him. “And before you point out that I didn’t know that for sure, it says so on the side.”
This time he looked up, a mocking smile on his thin lips. “What better way to get you to open it, Miss Granger?”
Hermione laughed.
“It is late enough you could get by with going to your rooms and taking that.” He flipped a parchment to the side and began on the next. In a low voice, he said, “You deserve a good night’s rest.”
“And what do you want for this?” she teased, holding the bottle up. He raised his head to look at her, arching his eyebrow. Suddenly, she was aware of the alternate meaning to her words. Shrugging, she tried to adopt an attitude of nonchalance. “After all, you said people give gifts expecting something in return.”
“Tomorrow, we begin making Polyjuice Potion,” he replied, looking at her speculatively. “I realize you have had some experience with it.” Snape smirked while she blushed. “And we need more Veritaserum. I am expecting you to have a good night’s sleep in order to better serve as my apprentice.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Hermione replied with unaccustomed meekness as she pocketed the phial in the pocket of her apprentice robes. She licked her lips and walked up to his desk.
“What now, Miss Granger,” he replied absently, not looking up from the scroll.
She reached into the collar of her robes and pulled out a heavy gold chain with a locket on the end. “Then what did you want for this, Professor? If all gifts have strings attached.”
“What makes you think I sent you that bauble?” Snape snapped impatiently.
“Well, you know it was sent for one thing. No one handed it to me,” she began in her best Know-It-All voice. “The pictures are a duplicate of the ones I keep by my bedside table. And only you and Professor Dumbledore have access to my rooms.
“But the clincher is the quote on the card. The handwriting was, of course, a charmed quill. But the quote was telling: ‘Love and memory last and will so endure’. I had to look up that quotation and I finally found it in a book of modern Muggle quotes. It’s from Humankind: Wisdom, Philosophy & Other Musings by Gene Fowler.”
She stopped and looked at him. Snape’s hands were laying flat on the desk and he was staring directly ahead. “Weren’t you just reading that book a few weeks ago, Professor Snape? So I repeat: What is it that you want?”
Snape turned to look at her, his head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I want you to grow up, Miss Granger, and become the fine woman I suspect is lurking beneath your adolescence. I want you to survive the war. I want you to continue enjoying brewing potions and becoming a Potions Mistress in your own right. Is that enough?” he listed in a low voice, his gaze never straying from her face.
Feeling chastised, she nodded. “I’m sorry to have questioned you, Professor.”
Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Miss Granger, when have you ever not questioned me? You usually pepper me--and everyone else--with questions.”
“Thank you for the necklace, Sir. I shall treasure it always.” Then, she shocked them both by placing a quick kiss on his cheek before turning and walking away.
When she reached the door, she heard him say, “Thank you for the scarf, Miss Granger. It is… most fine.”
“Happy Christmas, Professor,” She smiled as if she meant it this time and left.
For a long moment, Snape sat, his fingers idly stroking the wool of the scarf. He had meant for her to figure out who gave her the locket, but he had not anticipated that she would give him a gift. He had to admit to himself that he had been thrown by it when the house-elves brought him breakfast that morning.
A scarf in Slytherin House colors.
His plans were progressing nicely, he thought. He had been scrupulously honest with her from the start. The only part he omitted in his desires of her was marriage. She still had the taint of student on her, though she was growing up remarkably quickly.
He stood suddenly and took the scarf in hand. Wrapping it around his neck, he enjoyed the feel of her labors for a moment. He had not anticipated her doing this, but he decided it was quite nice and fit well into his plans for her.
Looking at the door, he whispered, “Happy Christmas, Miss Granger.”
Author’s Notes The quote actually is: “Love and memory last and will so endure till the game is called because of darkness.” from the above credited source. I don’t own that stuff, either.
The plot bunny is so overjoyed at the reviews, he whispered this one to me. Feed the muses! It keeps plot bunnies alive and helps contribute to the production of stories. It really does! This ‘one-shot’ keeps growing because of them. And if you don’t review here, then review someone else’s work.