Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! Thankfulness to angels with quills and red ink (otherwise known as betas): LariLee and Keladry Lupin
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 4
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, -- no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, -- I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, -- with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink – and live – what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Two days later, the members of the household who had come down for breakfast were dawdling over their teacups and looking over the newspaper and their mail, both of which had just been delivered by owl post. Taking advantage of the inattention of the others around her, Hermione leaned towards Professor Snape and said, "May I speak with you this morning, sir?"
Snape gave no indication of his deep unease at these words, other than the tic in his cheek; without taking his eyes from the Daily Prophet, he replied, "There can surely be no need of that."
Hermione took a risk and moved from her seat into the empty one at Snape's left. Snape's body seemed to withdraw further into his chair as he lowered the newspaper and glared at her.
"Please, sir," she said softly. "I don't know with whom else I could possibly discuss this."
"Whatever it is, it would more appropriately be handled by Professor McGonagall," he snapped, rising from the table with ill grace and striding from the room.
Skye looked up from the letter she held, upon which Hermione recognized Harry's handwriting, and said, "Where is Severus off to? Is he upset about something?"
Hermione took the untouched piece of toast from Snape's plate and slathered it with raspberry jam. "Oh, no more so than usual," she said merrily, tossing Skye a roguish look and taking a bite.
Snape closed the door to his refuge and crossed to the desk he had come to regard as his own, sagging into the chair with uncharacteristic relief. He did not mind his role as protector of this house and its inhabitants; truth be told, he was accustomed to that function, and would be quite put out to reside in a place where another person took that position in his stead. He accepted that he would watch over his charges, giving any wizard who thought to toy with the young witches of the Order a clear indication that they would have to deal with him. He did not even mind entering into the marriage settlement arrangements when the time came for that; it was a time-honoured custom in the wizarding world, and one he had always expected would fall to him on behalf of his sisters, in the event of their father's death.
He did not, however, agree to be anyone's confidante or confessor. He left the emotional well-being of the young women to McGonagall; except of course, for his sisters, who could need no other counsellor as long as their mama was in residence. There was not the least need for Granger to speak with him privately; not at any time, or for any reason.
With this concrete fact clearly ingrained in his consciousness, Snape Flooed the kitchen for a pot of coffee and returned to his newspaper.
Hermione went up to the third floor and entered what had once been the schoolroom at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Within, she found Shadow attempting to transfigure a set of robes, while Stormy happily played with her new pink Pygmy Puff, named Fletcher.
Hermione sat down on the floor and reached out to stroke Fletcher. Stormy looked around nervously. "Crookshanks isn't with you, is he?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, he's outside chasing gnomes." She glanced over to Shadow. "What are you trying to turn them into?" she inquired curiously, as Shadow muttered another spell that failed to make the least difference in the robes.
Shadow blushed. "I was just trying to alter them a bit," she murmured.
Hermione stood and approached the table. "Alter them how?"
Shadow cast a quick glance at her sister, but Stormy was far too enthralled with Fletcher to notice what the older girls were talking about.
"I wanted to lower the neckline a little ... and to make them fit me a little better."
Hermione considered for a moment, then leaned toward Shadow, her back carefully turned to Stormy. "Convince your sister to go show her new pet to your brother and I will transfigure the robes for you. I'll also teach you the spell I use."
Stormy required only a touch of persuasion to show off Fletcher. "Will Severus want to meet Fletcher?" she asked anxiously, hesitating in the doorway.
Shadow caught the infinitesimal nod from Hermione and said, "Yes, of course he will!"
Stormy stayed only to beam at her sister before pelting down the stairs to give her brother a rare treat.
With the youngest Snape absent from the room, Hermione turned back to the middle sister. "Right. Pull them on and we'll make the alterations; it's easier to do if you're wearing them when you change them..."
Hermione approached the library door, pleased to note that she had been right; Stormy had indeed left the door ajar when she entered the room to display her new pet to Snape. Due to the havoc currently being wrought by the pink creature scurrying across the parchments on the professor's desk, Hermione was able to enter the room and take a seat before her presence was discovered.
Snape snatched the squirming Pygmy Puff in one hand and thrust it back at Stormy. "Will you please take Fletcher elsewhere now?" he asked in pained voice.
Tears seemed to tremble in the tiny voice of his adoring tormentor. "Don't you like him, Severus?"
One large, elegantly formed hand reached out to deliver an awkward pat to the corn silk hair on the top of the child's head. "He is undoubtedly a prince among Pygmy Puffs. Perhaps he would enjoy a bath now? He seems to have gotten some ink on his fur." Snape morosely considered the smeared ruin of the last several sentences of the monograph over which he laboured.
Stormy brightened. "A bath! Yes, I'm sure he'll enjoy a bath. Thank you, Severus!" Bestowing him with a shining smile, Stormy exited the room, the soiled Pygmy Puff held close to her heart.
Snape snatched up his wand and caused the door to close with a snap before turning his attention to the parchment and attempting a spell to remove the smeared ink from the page.
"I believe I told you Professor McGonagall could assist you, Miss Granger?" he inquired in a dangerously soft tone without raising his eyes from his task.
Hermione watched him with clinical interest. "You won't be able to remove the smears, you know," she said.
Snape raised his eyes to glower at her. "I don't know why you're still here. Professor McGonagall can usually be found in the study at this time of day."
Hermione stood and approached the desk, her scholarly instincts awakened by the problem displayed before her. "I believe that if you magically copy the work to another scroll of parchment, you will be able to salvage your last paragraph," she said, leaning over the desk to more closely inspect the damage.
Snape steeled himself not to shrink back from her proximity, though he could not help but notice that the neckline of her robes seemed rather low for everyday wear -- then her scent washed over him in a wave that brought him to his feet with inexplicable anger.
"Miss Granger! I do not desire your assistance! Please leave this room."
Hermione straightened from her position of leaning over the desk and met his incensed ebony eyes with her indignant brown ones. She was aware of him pulling himself up to his full height and narrowing his eyes at her in an intimidating glare -- both tactics that had once worked upon her quite well. Raising her chin with determination, she turned her back on him and returned to the chair she had abandoned, seating herself and crossing her legs in the manner of someone settling in for a long chat.
Mindful of the bundle of nerves and anger mere feet away from her, Hermione defused the situation by studying the nails on her left hand. "Perhaps we should agree, Professor, that I am no longer your student?"
Snape controlled himself with an effort before following her example and sitting again. "It is a fortunate thing for you, Miss Granger, that you are no longer my student. How unhappy your house would be to start the new term in negative numbers on house points."
Hermione greeted this sally with a dry chuckle, which earned her a malevolent scowl. Ignoring his continuing ungracious behaviour, she began to speak to him.
"Professor, as I am no longer a student at Hogwarts, I am no longer constrained by the curriculum there."
She glanced at his face to see how he was taking the new direction of the conversation, only to find him giving her a blank, discouraging stare. She continued doggedly.
“I wish to continue my studies, even though I have left school. The subject that I wish to begin to learn is the Dark Arts. I would like to ask your advice as to what books you would recommend as a beginning, and to know where I might procure them.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
The tone was dismissive. Hermione chanced another look at him, only to find him once again fully occupied with the ruined parchment.
“I’m serious, sir. I wish to begin reading the Dark Arts.”
Snape felt warning bells chiming in his brain from at least three different directions. He was no longer her teacher, so he could not simply command her obedience to his will, no matter how strongly he wished to do so. It was his duty to protect her, to help her to find and marry an appropriate partner -- no, he would not think about that -- how was he to squelch this preposterous, not to mention illegal, idea?
Inspiration flooded his mind and he made his magnanimous offer. “If you wish to read, I will choose an appropriate book for you from this collection. I am sure I can find material suitable for a young lady.”
“Oh, I fear that would never do,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“Indeed? Why not, if I may ask?”
“I might over-excite the book,” said Hermione, dulcetly.
Snape stared at her, momentarily taken aback. Searching his admittedly limited knowledge regarding the working of the female mind -- and adapting it to this particular know-it-all -- he replied smoothly, “I beg your pardon, Miss Granger. I did not mean to offend you. But you are here to attend parties and balls and soirées; you cannot possibly require additional occupation at this time.”
Hermione smiled sweetly. “I’m not offended, sir. Where does one purchase books about the Dark Arts?”
“You can scarcely be planning to walk into a book shop and inquire after books on the Dark Arts! It is completely inappropriate.” Casting about in his mind for a reason that might check this idiotic plan, he said, “I should not care to see any of my sisters reading the Dark Arts.”
“You must remember to tell them so,” Hermione said affably. “Do they mind when you boss them around? I never had a brother myself, so I can’t know.”
Snape, annoyed at this sudden attack, retorted grimly, “It would have been better for you if you had a brother!”
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. From what I have seen of my friends’ brothers, I am quite happy that my parents never burdened me with any.”
Snape ground his teeth. “Thank you! I know how I might take that, I suppose!”
“Well, I imagine you might, for although you have a great many antiquated notions, I don’t think you stupid, precisely.”
Snape looked at the atrocious girl sitting across from him and had a momentary urge to acknowledge a hit from a deserving adversary. Pushing this reckless thought away from him, he said, “I will not quarrel with you, Miss Granger. Let us call a truce, shall we?”
“By all means!” she agreed cordially. “Let us discuss my books. Do I go to Flourish and Blotts to purchase texts on the Dark Arts?”
“Certainly not!”
Hermione sighed in frustration. “Is that something you wouldn't want your sisters to do, or would it really be wrong for me to do it?”
“It would be beyond improper, you abominable girl! It could lay you open to criminal charges. The books are restricted, you should know that!”
At that moment a knock sounded at the door. “Enter!” Snape snarled, thinking this might be the excuse he needed to escape the questioning chit.
Winky curtsied in the doorway. “Winky is begging your pardon, Master Snape. Mistress McGonagall is sending Winky to tell you that Mistress Fleur and her mother are here to see Master.”
Snape stood with alacrity. “I will go up now, Winky. This would be a good time for you to tidy up in here.” He tossed a glance at Granger in passing. “I’m sure you can show yourself out, Miss Granger.” Then he swept out the door and his footsteps could be heard on the stairway.
“I won’t be in your way if I sit here on the settee, will I, Winky?”
Winky assured her that the cleaning could be done around her, and Hermione strolled over the bookcases directly behind the desk, squatting down to view the books on the two lowest shelves. She had noted the dark aura on these shelves when she had been in the room before, and felt sure that the Dark Arts texts would be found there. Selecting a book entitled Magick Moste Evile, Hermione walked over to the settee at the side of the room. For the first time, she noticed a cupboard against the back wall, shimmering with a number of magical wards. As she passed the cupboard, she felt the pull of the books within, and wondered about it. Then she sat down, opened the book she had chosen, and promptly lost herself between the covers.
Snape saw the door closed on his betrothed and her mother, thankful that his wedding day was two months hence. One of the Delacour women was trying, but two of them were damn near unbearable. Surely, once the wedding preparations had been completed, conversations with the two women would cease to be such a chore. With that cheerful thought to sustain him, he made his way back to the library.
The sight that greeted him when he crossed the threshold held him spellbound in fury. There the Granger girl sat, oblivious to her surroundings, her nose buried in one of the Dark Arts texts he had deliberately shelved away from prying eyes. He had ample opportunity to observe the concentration with which Granger drank the information from the page, as well as to see, from her place in the book, how very quickly she read. These scholarly attributes did not appear to afford him much gratification, as he sent Winky away with a jerk of his head and bore down upon the young woman who was fair promising to become the bane of his existence.
Hermione became aware of Snape’s presence when he snatched the text book from her hands with unwarranted violence. He stood over her with a look of tremendous rage on his face, his lips gripped together in a thin, cruel line. Of Winky, there was no sign.
“Where is Winky?” she inquired, apropos of nothing.
“I have sent her out of the room,” Snape replied.
Hermione looked up at him, her expressive eyes full of amusement. “Good move! I like a man who thinks of everything. You could never have rowed with me really well with the house-elf standing there, overhearing every word you said to me.”
“How dared you take my book?” he demanded thunderously.
“It was bad for me to do so, but you must admit you provoked me by speaking to me as if I were a silly chit scarcely able to read a romance novel.”
Snape’s lips were gripped so tightly closed that there seemed to be no likelihood of his admitting anything at all.
“At least own that I have the intellectual capacity to handle the material in the books,” said Hermione.
“I will own no such thing!” Snape spat.
“How stingy of you!” said Hermione.
“I let no one -- no one -- read my books but myself.”
“In general, I believe you are quite right. It’s amazing how some people have no thought or care for other people’s books.”
Snape snarled and whirled away from her, to replace the book on its shelf.
“Oh, don’t be so out of reason cross, Professor!” she begged. “You know I didn't harm your book. Will you direct me on how to begin acquiring my own library of books on the subject?”
“I will have nothing whatsoever to do with such a harebrained scheme!” he said harshly.
Hermione took this with equanimity. “Very well,” she said. “Perhaps it would suit you better to find an eligible husband for me. I am very willing, and I understand that you have some talent in that.” She could not resist the urge to give him a sly look as she said this.
“Have you no delicacy of mind?” Snape demanded.
“Oh, with you, sir, I know I can speak my mind. Please, find me an eligible husband! I am not at all picky, and shall be satisfied with the barest modicum of virtues in my spouse.”
“Nothing,” Snape said savagely, “would afford me greater satisfaction than to see you married to some man who would know how to control your outrageous behaviour!"
“Oh, well said!” approved Hermione.
He replied, “I find it a marvellous circumstance, Miss Granger, that no one has yet strangled you!”
“I believe that Harry and Ron have wanted to, but not badly enough to actually do it.”
“And that’s another thing!” Snape bellowed, his normally pallid face suffused with a deep red flush. “I will not have Potter and Weasley dangling after my sisters! Don’t think I don’t know that you introduced them to one another!”
Hermione allowed this entirely unjust accusation to pass unchallenged, seeking merely to further enrage him. “You only say that because I took your book without your leave. Never mind; I will make other arrangements so that the need will not arise again.”
“I will make sure that you never do so again!” he retorted. “Let me tell you, Miss Granger, that I should be better pleased if you would refrain from meddling in the affairs of my family!”
“Now that,” said Hermione, “I am very glad to know, because if ever I should desire to please you, I shall know just how to set about it. I daresay I won’t, but one likes to be prepared for any event, however unlikely.”
Snape glared at her with an expression in his eyes so unpleasant that few of his acquaintance would have stayed to continue the conversation. Hermione, however, was made of sterner stuff than most. She returned his forbidding look with raised eyebrows.
“Are you thinking of being so unwise as to cross swords with me, Miss Granger?” he purred, his silky voice dripping venom. “I shan’t pretend to misunderstand you, but I will leave you in no doubt of my own meaning. If you imagine that I will ever permit a sister of mine to marry either of your boon companions, you have yet something to learn of me.”
“Codswallop,” Hermione said in a deliberately provoking manner, crossing the room without looking at him, and opening the door. “Rant at someone who is impressed by it, Professor Snape. Don’t waste all that energy on me.”
She could not be sure, because she had already exited the room, but it sounded as if the silver coffee pot had been hurled against the door with an imprecation that might have frightened a woman with less resolution.
Hermione did not fit in that category.
A/N: Feed the Authors! Not just me, but any story you read -- remember that your feedback is the only payment the fan fiction author receives!