Chapter 1: Welcome To The Madhouse
There was one very good thing to be said about this year. It was the “Golden Trio’s” last year at Hogwarts and after this year, he would no longer have to endure their annoying presence. No saving Potter’s sorry arse, only one redhead left at Hogwarts, and best of all, no more annoying questions from the insufferable know-it-all.
Severus Snape heaved a great sigh. Yes, the day those three finally graduated was bound to be a red-letter day. Until then, however, there was still nearly a full year to go.
“Severus, may I offer you a lemon drop?” Albus asked him. “They are extremely tasty today. You should try one.”
Albus Dumbledore had currently risen to number four on Snape’s “People that enjoy making my life hell” list. In a moment of seemingly temporary absent-mindedness, the headmaster had decided that his Potions Master must have been growing lonely on his shadowy end of the staff table. Thus, Severus suddenly found himself seated next to the Headmaster, in the centre of said table, subjected to the bright light emanated from thousands of floating candlesticks above their heads.
As if that was not enough, the Headmaster of Hogwarts also took great pleasure in including Severus in his usual meal discussions. Severus scowled even more. For the last two weeks he had been forced to listen to Albus’ stories of his childhood and anecdotes from his life. Albus was nearing his 152nd birthday and consequently had quite a lot to tell. By the end of the first week he had only reached his 20th birthday and Severus was seriously thinking of simply hexing the headmaster to hell. Dumbledore seemed to have sensed his neighbour’s dark thoughts and managed to sum up the rest of his life in only the second week.
Severus wondered dimly which topic Albus would be approaching today while he politely declined the proffered lemon drop.
“You’re really missing a great flavourful experience, Severus,” Albus happily continued.
“I’m sure,” Severus replied sourly. He was considering moving Albus up on his list. If the old kook went on like this, he might even manage to throw Potter off the throne.
“You can’t force people to find the key to happiness,” Albus sighed. “But let me give you the address of the marvellous shop where I bought the drops.”
Severus rolled his eyes while Dumbledore pulled a role of parchment and a quill out of his long silvery beard and scribbled down an address. He handed Severus the note. Severus took it and was about to let it accidentally on purpose drop under the table when he caught a glimpse of what it said.
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?” he asked incredulously. “Are you sure you really want to eat those lemon drops?” He eyed the Headmaster warily, looking for some sign of sprouting feelers or crumbling limbs.
“Oh, Fred and George Weasley both assured me that there is no harm in eating them,” the Headmaster said, smiling.
Severus doubted this very strongly. From what he recalled of the twins, there was no guarantee you would still be whole even if you simply looked at them.
“Did I tell you how Muggles name their sweets?” Albus asked him pleasantly.
“About five times this week,” Severus replied curtly. The week had only started yesterday.
Severus had heard of special institutions in the Muggle world called madhouses. He found he quite liked the concept. He had even considered presenting Albus with a gift coupon for a “holiday excursion” to one of them on Albus’ last birthday. But he was sure they wouldn’t take him (not even muggles could be that foolish), so he had refrained from doing so. Still, the idea had its merits.
Albus, meanwhile, couldn’t be argued out of recounting each and every Muggle sweet’s names and commenting on their respective flavours, so Severus did what he usually did when Albus got into what he had dubbed his let me tell you mode: He tuned him out.
He had found a nice little spell in one of his books. It was called the “Musso Spell” and it turned down the volume of a particular person.
“Musso Albus Dumbledore,” he whispered under his breath and the sound of Albus’ voice vanished immediately.
Severus grinned and turned his attention to his pumpkin pie.
The pumpkin pie and most of his elderberry wine had found their way into Severus’ stomach when he suddenly heard mad giggling from one of the House tables. He surreptitiously lifted the Musso Spell off Albus in case the Headmaster would be required to squelch the laughter and looked around, seeking the source of the disturbing noise.
To his surprise, he found it was Hermione Granger, number two on his list, who was causing it. She was sitting between her two friends Harry and Ron and had pulled her legs up on the wooden bench, squatting there. She was throwing her head back and forth, emitting frantic laughter that threatened to deafen those around her.
She was now pointing at Neville Longbottom who was holding his goblet of pumpkin juice and looked completely nonplussed. “Neville’s got pumpkin juice!” she shrieked, giggling madly. “He’s got pumpkin juice, look at him, Harry! Pumpkin juice!”
Harry, who was looking about as intelligent as Neville at the moment, tried vainly to calm her. “Hermione,” he whispered, pulling urgently at Hermione’s sleeve, trying to force her to sit back down again. “Hermione, everyone in the hall has pumpkin juice.”
“But look at him, Harry!” Hermione went on, still speaking loud enough for the whole hall to hear her. “He drank it! Neville drank his pumpkin juice!”
“Get a grip on yourself, Hermione!” Ron said, joining Harry in his attempts to make their friend calm down. “What’s wrong with drinking your juice?”
“Nothing,” Hermione laughed madly. “Nothing, I only wanted to point it out to you.” She sat back down and looked wildly around. Severus supposed that she was looking for other students who dared drink their pumpkin juice. Though, wisely, none of her fellow Gryffindors even looked at their goblets.
Severus had noticed lately that something was slightly wrong with Hermione Granger. Her Potions essays had started to lack something of their earlier enthusiasm even if they were still irreprehensible. In fact, most of the school had noticed. She herself had begun to behave strangely. She was having increasingly frequent giggling fits at the dinner table; they could almost be expected now. But she had also acquired the annoying habit of pointing randomly at people and making completely inane proclamations about their appearances. It was in this way that Albus discovered that his beard didn’t match the colour of his shoes and Minerva was told that she would make a superb model.
On top of this, she had begun to draw more attention to herself in lessons, well, more attention than usual. In their last Potions class, Severus had asked his class about the importance of ladybirds when used for disillusionment potions and she, like always, had put her hand up into the air, eager to answer his question. After his usual snide remarks and a well-measured amount of sneering he had allowed her to answer his question. To everyone’s astonishment, she didn’t. No, she had asked him for his fanmail address.
As out of place as it had been, he had almost guessed that something like it was bound to occur. She had been extremely giddy in all her classes, he was told, and unable to concentrate for more than ten minutes.
Minerva and the other teachers were actually concerned about her inexplicable state. Severus couldn’t understand what their concerns would be, it was her affair. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, he wouldn’t stop her. And as long as he didn’t have to be involved, he found the whole thing highly amusing.
When the other teachers were around, he, of course, acted as though he too was concerned about Hermione’s strange behavior. But really, it wasn’t his problem. If the other staff members made it their problem, it was their choice. As far as Severus was concerned, Hermione’s odd behaviour had nothing to do with him and he was determined to let it stay that way.
Unfortunately for him, he would soon be dragged nose-deep into it.