Littera Scripta Manet

by Yori-chan

[WIP] Hermione receives rather curious letters from an unknown identity.

Littera Scripta Manet

Chapter One

Dear Hermione,

I'm not quite sure how I should start this letter; this is not my particular approach when it comes to matters of tenuous importance.  Albeit that I have never quite been in a situation of this fashion, but I cannot say I have ever had feelings this compelling.  Nothing has ever persuaded me as much as the entice to write you.  I am not certain how you would act toward me if you knew who I truly was, so I am sending you this faceless declaration of my cowardice.

'The smile of love – soft friendship's charm –

Bright hope itself has fled at last,

'T will ne'er again my bosom warm –

'Tis ever past.'

Severus Snape placed his lilac-feathered Penmanship-Perfection Quill down, and sat back on his wooden chair in the dusty seclusion of the potions classroom.  He smirked to himself as he read over the letter, noticing the perfect loopy calligraphy the quill had made.  The quill guides your own hand around to produce the perfect looking script, ingenious for people with poor penmanship or people who need to disguise their writing.  He restrained himself from laughing aloud at the sentiments that had poured from him, in a most uncharacteristic way.  Severus assumed this would appeal to the pretentious Sixth Year that had plagued his classroom for these past six and a half years.  Yes, it would surely charm the narcissistic know-it-all.  Severus reasoned that she had this coming – with her constant raised hand and bossy demeanour.  He was getting back at her for all these irritating years, of course what brought this behaviour around had happened relatively recently.

Professor Snape had finished writing the ingredients needed for their next potion and turned in expected dismay to find Miss Granger's hand high in the air.  Snape was certain she had learned her lesson about such aggravations in her early years at Hogwarts.  Yet it appeared her arrogant ways would never change.  He glided his practiced eyes right over her, 'Well if there are no questions, proceed.'

'Professor,' Granger said comparatively polite, 'Professor.'

'Miss Granger, please keep your pompous comments to yourself.'  This earned him sniggers from the Slytherin half of the room and narrowed glares from the respectable Gryffindors.

'But Professor –' she continued earnestly, but Snape had cut her off.

'Excuse me, but if you are finished with this egotistical banter I have a Potions class to teach.'  He eyed her awaiting her gaze to advert itself to her cauldron, but she clenched her teeth and said with a hushed tone of determination,

'It's not supposed to be dried Billywig stinger but a dried Chizpurfle, this is a common mistake since – ' But Snape did not hear the rest of her explanation, instead he had his back to the class and was flipping through the pages in a large tattered book to the potion they were supposed to be brewing.  However he did not need to wait to find the certainty of his blunder.  Someone (he had never found out quite who) had finished their potion fairly quickly and because of his error had concocted a Bounding Potion.  Now usually when you're to make a potion of such you have to place an enchantment on the cauldron so it itself isn't effected by the potion.  Yet his students weren't prepared to be dealing with such a potion and hadn't cast the simple spell.

So someone's free cauldron found itself affected by the wrong potion – sprouted legs and jumped for joy, literally.  Of course Snape's back was to the class whilst all this commotion ensued. The cauldron, with the newfound feeling of movement, lived up to the potions name and bounded straight for him hitting him squarely in the back of the head and knocking him unconscious. 

When he awoke moments later Miss Granger was hovering over him with a grave expression on her face, which was contradicted by the amusement that played in her eyes.  'Are you alright, Professor Snape?'  She mused as she knelt down beside him and placed a chilly hand on his forehead.

'What – I – Miss Granger!'  He sprung up and gave fierce stares to the students surrounding him, some trying with all their might to contain the laughter, 'Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate conduct,' he snapped.  Wiping the amusement from Miss Granger's eyes and replacing it with bewilderment.

'But I – ' Granger started in an insistent tone.

'No you don't!' said a clearly flustered voice from the doorframe. 'If it wasn't for her and Harry . . .  ' Madam Pomfrey gestured to Potter who had obviously been the one to summon her, he also had amusement playing in his eyes but was making no effort to hide it on his face.  Madam Pomfrey snatched Snape's arm and pulled him out of the frigid potions room. 'What sort of things have you been setting lose in your classroom?  Really Severus, knocking yourself out in front of your whole Sixth Year class . . . ' They ambled down the hallway, Madam Pomfrey still clutching at his arm, headed toward the Hospital Wing.  Snape tried to protest this humiliating scene but the woman wouldn't have it until he was safely in the wing and under inspection.  He could still hear the echoes of laughter and jeers from the potions classroom as they ascended the stairs of the dungeon. 

Severus gritted his teach as he reminisced about the mortifying day.  He wasn't sure that even now he had ensued the respect or anxiety he had once caused all his students.  Even though his Sixth Year Gryffindor and Slytherin class were the only ones to witness the event it had trickled down to the other years.  Not unforeseen since he of course was Professor Snape, had he actually made a mistake and then paid for it with a swift knock to the head?  Well at least this was a way to get back at Granger – for if she had kept quiet no one would have known it was an error on his part, and it may have softened the blow.  No pun intended.

He smoothed out the letter and concluded on the usage of a Hogwarts-owned owl to deliver it.  If he was ever to write more he would use a different Hogwarts owl, so he could not be identified, anyone could have written it.  Yet Snape was sure Granger would jump to a particular conclusion, he was far more perceptive than you would think.

*

Hermione untied the Daily Prophet from a tawny owl's leg, let it peck at her toast, dropped the coins into the pouch fastened to its leg and watched it fly off.  She was immediately immersed by an article about the Dementors being astray from Azkaban and did not notice when an unfamiliar owl swooped past and dropped a segment of parchment between her and the paper.  Seemed no one else had noticed either, as they chatted idly and munched on bacon.  Hermione opened the letter inquisitively and scanned it wide-eyed.  This must be a joke she thought – no one could possibly fathom sending her such preposterous rubbish, and be serious.  Hermione glared over her paper at Ron and Harry – who felt the hair on the back of their necks stand up and eyed her warily.

'What?' they said in unison, as they chewed the last morsels of breakfast and swallowed hard.

'It's not funny –' she lectured before taking in the puzzlement that illustrated itself on their faces, 'You didn't – ' she did not finish before she turned a light shade of pink and stood from her chair. 

'Hermione, what's going on?  What's that?'  Harry asked, pointing at the wrinkled parchment that stuck from her robes.

'Nothing,' Hermione said hastily, still standing. 'I should get to Arithmancy.' 

Ron was completely silent when Harry shot him an apprehensive look, 'That looked like a letter, but why would she be so secretive?' he asked in a bothered tone.

'Dunno.' answered Ron, his expression drowned in his breakfast goblet.

Severus Snape had watched the drama at the Gryffindor table guardedly.  He masked his would be mirth with a small smirk and bit into the flavourless toast.  Seemed as if Weasley already suspected some bloke might have fallen for Miss Granger.  Weasley appeared to be able to read the bookworm's mood swings better than Potter.  Which was not all that astonishing since she had always felt it necessary to take it out on the red-head more than his famous accomplice.  Not to mention the Potter boy was a pratt if he ever had known one.  Severus rose from his seat without a word and strolled noiselessly to the dungeons, a weight seemed to have lifted itself off his shoulders.

Harry pretended to be absorbed by his History of Magic essay but he could barely concentrate with the thick rigidity that filled the atmosphere.  He glanced at Ron who also pretended to be immersed by the essay – yet had scarcely written a paragraph.  Ron and Hermione hadn't said two words to each other after breakfast, if Ron tried to make conversation Hermione would always shrug and prop a fat textbook between them.  Harry and Ron had followed Hermione into the library after their last class, she did not protest but she didn't appear all that welcoming.     

Hermione jerked her chair back in a sudden noisy movement and stood up.  She left her chair where it was and stalked away from their table.

'Where are you going?' asked Ron bracingly.

'To find a book,' answered Hermione, matter-of-factly.

Hermione turned the corner to visit the aisle filled with books used in Muggle Studies.  To her pleasure she found the section scarcely occupied, one lone person tensely sat in a red armchair obviously engrossed by a thin book.  She scanned the shelves for the book of her choice though eyeing the solitary figure with caution, she had no intention of disturbing them – she herself knew how bothersome that could be.  A large yellowed book caught Hermione's eye and she pulled it from the shelves.  Exactly what she was looking for.  She sat herself down in an armchair a few metres away from the other one and began to read – that is, until she noticed to whom had been occupying that scarlet seat.  She couldn't believe it and her breath caught in her throat.  But not from fear, no the little fear Snape could still preside over Sixth Years had diminished after the Bounding Potion incident.  Hermione couldn't help herself and had to live up to his stereotype of her.

'Interesting book, Professor?' she asked, successfully hiding her humour in finding him there.  Snape visually stiffened but did not give any indication of movement.

'By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,' he said unresponsively.  Hermione clenched her jaw and glared at the yellowed pages in the thick book, and just as apathetically as Snape she countered,

'Quotation, the act of repeating erroneously the words of another.'  With this Snape stood up and walked briskly from his place, taking the thin book with him.  Hermione waited until she was sure Snape had had time to leave the library and walked merrily toward Ron and Harry's table.  She had to break the news about Snape reading and most likely checking out Muggle Musicology: Memorable Modern Minstrels.

*

Dear Hermione,

I write you today with a canto I hope you will understand.  It depicts volumes about my emotions when it comes to you.  You must have guessed how I feel – but I don't believe you grasp the calibre of it. 

'I want to tell you about the girl I love, my she looks so fine.  She's the only one that I've been dreaming of, maybe someday she will be all mine.  I want to tell her that I love her so; I thrill with her every touch.  I need to tell her she's the only one I really love.'

               

Severus chuckled ironically and placed his quill on the finished wood of his writing table.  The night had come upon him faster than anticipated but he was determined to finish this next instalment so to send it out for breakfast.  He blew out the candle beside him and shook his head contentedly, he thought about how blunt that diminutive quotation had been.  Ergo, even if she was romantically inept she was sure to get the 'picture.'  He eased himself under the dark layers of his bed.  One thought that never crossed his mind, however, was how much effort he had put into finding that stanza.

Hermione's eyes drifted up to the horde of thrashing owls that had come in for the daily breakfast post.  One dishevelled looking brown owl swooped down and dropped a small piece of familiar parchment, waiting for a pat on the head before heading back to the Owlrey.  Hermione knew it was an owl belonging to the school.  She thought shortly about the aptitude of that – impossible to trace.

'Aren't you goin' to read it, 'Mione?'  Ron mumbled through mouthfuls of his breakfast. Hermione briefly eyed him with a suspicious flash but placed the letter in the rummages of her robe,

'Not right yet,' she said simply, still eyeing Ron.

'Right then,' Ron said a little flustered and went back to his meal.  Harry noticed the awkward exchange but thought it better to keep quiet than fan the flames, something was going on between those two – what, he had no idea. 

Hermione, Harry and Ron walked silently through the corridors there were unusual tensions in the air that confused Harry and Ron to bits.  Hermione fumbled through her robes and placed a hand on the parchment.  She grinded to a halt, Harry and Ron were a few paces ahead of her so they shot their heads back to gaze at Hermione intently reading a small fragment of parchment. 

'Who's that from?'  Harry asked curiously, but Hermione was silent.  She scanned it twice over and outstretched her hand to Harry, without looking him in the eye.  Harry took the letter and read it with disbelief.  Biting his lip to stifle a laugh, he managed to sputter,

'I suppose this bloke's in love with you.'

'Thank you, Harry,' Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. 'But it must be a joke, no one could really say all that about me.'

'Say what, Granger?'  Malfoy had seemingly been listening until he found the precise moment to butt in, 'I think most everyone agrees you're a filthy Mudblood.'

'Sod off Malfoy,' Ron piped in, his voice cracked on the last syllable.  Malfoy just sneered and eyed the letter in Harry's hand.

'Who's that from, Potter?  Your fan club?'  Malfoy made a gesture with his hand and Crabbe and Goyle popped out of the woodwork.  With one quick pounce the letter was out of Harry's hand and obtained by Malfoy.

'I see it's not for Potter but Granger,' hissed Malfoy, smirking to no end. 'So, who is this love-struck bloke?  Did you feed him a love potion, 'cause I can't see anyone fancying a snot such as yourself.'

'I don't know Malfoy,' Hermione said as calm as she could manage, eye's narrowed on him. 'I'm sure it's just a joke –' But Hermione was cut off by another sniggering voice, towering behind Malfoy.

'What is the cause for this social gathering in the middle of the corridors?'  Snape asked eyes passing from Harry to Hermione to Ron, 'Well?'

'It seems Granger may have concocted herself a love potion, Professor.'  Malfoy said in a silky voice, playing it up for Snape. 

'I wouldn't say that,' Snape said, causing a baffled look to pass on Malfoy's face. 'It just seems Weasley has been practicing his penmanship.'  He seized the letter from Malfoy and handed it to a reddening Ron.  Snape's eyes drifted on Hermione, who was no doubt infuriated by the embarrassment of her best red haired friend – but he could also tell this conclusion had passed through her mind on several separate occasions. 

'Ten points from Gryffindor for loitering, ludicrous behaviour and foolish drivel.'  He gestured to Ron for the last one and strode off with a billow of his robes. 

'Well Weasley, Granger,' Malfoy was trying half-heartedly to keep his composure so he could actually speak, 'seems I should leave you two alone, now.'   He too waddled off, holding his ribcage for fear of breaking them from the intensity of his laughter.  Harry glanced reproachfully at Ron, whose face was as red as his hair.  His features were stiff and had his hand clenched tightly around the letter. 

'Well,' said Harry breathlessly trying to lighten the mood. 'That's ridiculous, right? . . . '  Hermione gazed slowly at Ron who flashed her a look of antipathy.

'Of course,' Ron reputed, releasing the crumpled letter to the floor heatedly and marching in the direction of their next class.

Narrators Notes:

Vox audita perit, littera scripta manet

(The spoken word perishes, the written word remains)

Hence the title 'Littera Scripta Manet' or 'The Written Word Remains.'

'The smile of love – soft friendship's charm –

Bright hope itself has fled at last,

'T will ne'er again my bosom warm –

                                 'Tis ever past.'

- Edgar Allan Poe, The Happiest Day

'By the prickling of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.'

- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

'Quotation, n.  The act of repeating erroneously the words of another.'

- Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary

'Wanna tell you 'bout the girl I love

My she looks so fine

She's the only one that I been dreamin' of

Maybe someday she will be all mine

I want to tell her that I love her so

I thrill with her every touch

I need to tell her she's the only I really love'

- Led Zeppelin, Hey Hey What Can I Do

Disclaimer:

Any society that needs disclaimers has too many lawyers

- Erik Pepke

That being said, all characters in this insignificant story of anomalous yet eventual allure are copyright J.K. Rowling.  This story is the product of a most amusing plot bunny that has been snatched and agonized by yours truly.  Thanks to the lovely and imaginative Jamie at WIKTT!