Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own the Harry Potter series. Go figure! :)
A/N: This is the TwoShot sequel to To Speak in French. A little thing, but you asked for it! Enjoy!
To Reply in French-Part One
Albus Dumbledore belonged to a unique class of people most commonly referred to as Meddling Old Fools. He had never thought of himself as such, in fact he hardly had the time to think of himself at all. There were students to protect from Meddling Adults (never ever to be confused with Meddling Old Fools, they are far less helpful), a school to protect from Ridiculous Politicians (still worse than Meddling Adults), and the occasional teacher to protect from himself. But when Dumbledore did think about himself, it was to reflect on what he had and hadn't done correctly in his attempts to help people.
Because Albus loved nothing more.
And on that particular evening, he was very satisfied with himself for having convinced the Ministry not to eradicate Arthur Weasley's job and very disappointed that he hadn't thought to stop in Hogsmeade to restock his lemon drop supply, which was frighteningly low at the moment. In this semi-content and cery-ponderous state of mind, he was nearly flattened by one Miss Hermione Granger who was running for her common room as though six Horntails were on her tail. After recovering, Albus smiled.
"In a hurry, Miss Granger?" he asked politely. Hermione shook her head to the negative.
"No-no, Professor," she stammered breathlessly. Evidently, she'd had a long run from wherever she'd started. "Sorry, Professor. I forgot something, Professor. I mean, I didn't want to miss curfew, Professor."
"Well, there's little danger of that, Miss Granger," he said with a twinkle in his eye, gesturing to a nearby clock. Hermione gave an odd little laugh.
"Of course not!" she replied in a too-high voice. "I mean, why would I miss curfew? That would be…silly! I only meant that I was tired, Professor. Very, very tired."
"Who wouldn't be, after such a long run?" The Headmaster studied her intently over his glasses. "Miss Granger," he said at length. "Are you alright?" Hermione visibly slumped in despair.
"I," she said, very near tears. "Am absolutely fine. Only," she paused, glancing hither and thither for inspiration. "Oh, it's all ruined! I'm sorry, Professor. I have to go…goodnight." Casting a quick glance in the general direction of the castle dungeons, she ran off once more. Albus watched her go thoughtfully
"Well," he said at last, addressing the (very ugly) gargoyle to his right. "I have come to a very important conclusion." He paused, as though looking for the right words. "I will send Minerva to Hogsmeade for the lemon drops."
The next morning, everyone in the Gryffindor common room was acutely aware of Hermione Granger's state of unease. One little first year had the extreme misfortune of asking her for help with a potions problem, to which her reply was a sort of garbled, panicked half-sentence followed by the explosion of her transfiguration notes. The resulting papercuts sent said first year to Madame Pomfrey and Hermione, unwilling to harm anyone else, removed herself to the library.
Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley watched her leave with no small amount of concern. Both had been unable to learn anything the night before, but present in both was an extreme annoyance with their Potions Master.
"Snape did something." Harry turned to Ginny. "Is there anything she did in particular? Was she…I dunno, making fun of his class or something? Maybe he hexed her for it."
"No," Ginny replied, the concern in her voice unmistakable. "She was actually defending it…well, defending him, really. But it wouldn't matter anyway because she wasn't speaking properly. At least, not in English." Harry nodded.
"Well, that's it, then. Snape just assumed she was making fun of him. The git." He sighed. "I hope Hermione's okay." Suddenly, there was a commotion at the common room door.
"Let me in! I have to see Ginny!" came the unmistakable voice of Luna.
"But you're not allowed in-!" The blonde girl pushed past Ron and ran over to Ginny, eyes wide.
"Luna, what's wrong?" Ginny asked worriedly. Luna had been running and was breathing heavily.
"Professor Snape!" she managed to gasp. Harry was instantly alert.
"What's the old bat done now?" he asked heatedly. "Where's Hermione?" Luna chose to ignore Harry and turned to Ginny, eyes wide with worry.
"Ginny," she whispered nervously. "In third year, when the Beauxbatons were here, I heard Professor Snape talking to Madame Maxime." Harry visibly blanched.
"Luna, if this is about some rumor that Snape and Maxime fancy each other, then I don't want to hear it."
"No," Luna said urgently. "You don't understand, Harry Potter." She looked Ginny in the eye and continued in a horrified whisper. "I only remember because he was talking in French!" Harry didn't understand the look of horror that came over Ginny's face at that revelation.
After dropping six books, twice screeching that students had "snuck up on her", tripping over a chair and spilling ink all over the school's only copy of Memory Charms Demystified by Gilderoy Lockhart (a personal favorite of Irma Pince, the Hogwarts librarian), Hermione was unceremoniously thrown out of the library and told to get a Calming Draught from Madame Pomfrey while she was at it. At present, she was sitting in the infirmary, literally wringing her hands with anxiety. Madame Pomfrey surveyed her sternly.
"Year in and year out with these examinations," she said disapprovingly. "Students dropping left and right with anxiety and panic attacks. Though to be honest, you are the very last I expected to see. Well, nothing for it but a Calming Draught. Lie down and try to relax. I'll go fetch one." The healer walked briskly out of the infirmary, smiling ever-so-slightly to herself. Poppy had worked in the Hogwarts infirmary for years and knew without a doubt that was certainly not examination panic.
Having spent a month with Hermione in the child's second year, she had come to have a sort of fondness for the girl, and a conversation with a certain Headmaster concerning said girl had given the aging Healer an idea. Dumbledore was by far clever enough to put one and one together, particularly when he had known one and one so very long. He trusted Poppy with his information.
You see, Poppy belonged to a unique class of people most commonly referred to as Meddling Old Fools.
Severus Snape was grading essays with a determined ferocity that would have frightened most witnesses. As it was, the only "witness" was a dung beetle in a jar, no doubt left by that thick-skulled Longbottom, who was forever finding "pets" on the Hogwarts grounds.
And the dung beetle was not frightened of Snape's muttered curses.
Hermione Granger had not been in class that day. Not that Snape cared to see that impertinent, brown-eyed know-it-all in his class, thank you very much. But the conversation from the night before had all of the right ingredients for trouble. Should that little girl say just the wrong thing, he would have the Almighty Wrath of Dumbledore crashing around his ears.
Or worse, the Meddling Old Fool might get it into his head that Severus had some sort of feelings for the insolent Head Girl, and that would never do.
And of course he didn't know Hermione's eyes were brown. That would mean he had looked at them.
And since when did he start calling her Hermione?
With an extra bit of ferocity, he graded yet another essay T without actually going through the trouble of reading it. It was then that the knock sounded at his door.
"Enter," he replied impatiently, frowning in distaste at the unidentifiable brown goo decorating the corner of a first year's essay.
"Severus," Albus said with calm urgency, rushing into the room. "There's been an accident in the infirmary. It would appear that Madame Pomfrey has given a rather large dose of Swiftening Serum to a student who was in need of a Calming Draught." The Potions Master glanced at the Headmaster and sighed the sigh of one exhausted by the sheer and recurring idiocy of the world.
"How much Calming Draught did she administer? If one dose, give another. If two, adverse effects should wear off within the hour. If three…surely she isn't that asinine. If three, the student will sleep through tomorrow's study sessions." With this, he went back to the first year's essay. Dumbledore looked up from a jar of multi-colored bubbly substance he'd been examining with an almost imperceptible smile. He turned to Snape.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" he asked calmly. "We appear to be out of Calming Draught." Snape dropped his quill.
"I brewed a new batch last week," he said, standing up as he did so. "What happened to that?"
"Examination panic has been at an all-time high this year, what with Voldemort's return," Dumbledore suggested, turning back to the bubbly substance. "Perhaps the supply was depleted quickly because of that?" But Snape had already rushed off, taking a vial with him.
Dumbledore allowed himself a small chuckle.
Seamus Finnegan had been sitting under a Hogwarts window, minding his own business and studying for exams like a good student. Suddenly, a large glass bottle fell from the sky and shattered on his head.
He yelled in surprise as the contents of the bottle, a filmy liquid, proceeded to drench him.
"Oi! Who threw that?!" he demanded in annoyance. "So help me, if that's you, Owen…blimey." He swayed slightly. "Bit fuzzy today…innit?" The boy slumped into the grass.
Elsewhere in the castle, Meddling Old Fool Poppy Pomfrey had rushed to find Dumbledore. They were out of Calming Draught, and poor Miss Granger had just been overdosed on Swiftening Serum.
A/N: Review please!