I consolidated a lot of stuff and fixed a few errors. School sucks. As such, I'm sorry some updated will take longer than normal.
He stared down at her. That's all he could do. She hid behind her hair. That's all she could do. Neither of them moved for another twenty seconds or so, before she began to brush it off and yank herself to her feet again. Without a word, she straightened her uniform, picked up her books from the floor—where they had ended up after the blow—and made for the door at the same speed she would any other day. He would never be able to guess that underneath her robes, she was shaking like a leaf, ready to cry.
The soft bump of wood against stone brought him out of his trance. His kidneys were starting to hurt from the cramping in his adrenal glands. When he finally made it to the door, out of which he flew, he had successfully breathed again.
"Ms. Granger! Ms. Granger! Come back this instant! The loss of house points is— "
"I highly doubt, professor, that the headmaster will want to hear about the unfair reduction in house points you are about to perpetrate," she hissed. Her head had whipped around violently, tossing her flyaway hair into her face. She shook it away.
Left speechless (a first, to be sure, in front of a student), the old bat watched Hermione walk away, upright, down the hallway. He knew, of course, that her prowess in most magical matters probably extended to those of slight medical healing as well. But would she use her skills to hide the dying blood under her skin? Or would she openly welcome the concerned questions from her friends about what on Earth she had done to turn her face black?
He hoped the former.
The next day found Severus Snape sitting at the Head table, scanning the face of each and every student who entered the great hall. Every shadow that touched young, fair skin made his heart speed up, until he realized it wasn't her he was looking at. This happened at least six times before he finally saw her, free of any blemish.
He'd hit her hard enough, he knew, that she had healed it on her own. There was simply no way that the bruise hadn't formed. His face was, as usual, a stony barrier, but his mind was whirring a thousand miles a minute, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably.
"Hm? Severus?"
Snapping to, Snape set his teacup down impatiently.
"What?" he snapped, his glare transferring from the back of Hermione's head to the Headmistress.
"I asked if you were glaring at the Gryffindor table because you were about to take off points? I am still a bit protective of them."
"Unfortunately, Headmistress, I do not think the loss of house points for atrocious eating habits is…acceptable…by Hogwarts' standards."
"That's never stopped you before," Minerva commented. "In any case, since we're on the subject of Gryffindor, have you decided to let Ms. Granger complete the extra work she has requested?"
Severus managed to keep his voice even after clearing his throat. As though she could hear, Hermione Granger turned her pretty little head in their direction and caught Severus' eye. Her expression was a threatening one. That was when Severus noticed a flesh-colored strip of something ending in a large ear next to his boot. He stomped down hard on it, and Hermione visibly flinched before glaring his way again. He looked back to Minerva, who was staring on the floor, trying to see what sort of insect had been the victim of such a hard stomp. His nod was short, curt.
She smiled widely, patting him on the back softly.
"I knew you'd not stop her from reaching her full potential. I'm just glad you came to your senses before it was too late for her to start her preparatory work."
Breakfast was over then, and Severus Snape was sure that Hermione Granger's step had even more of an obnoxious bounce in it.
She should have been happy, she knew, but she was very, very not so. Again, for the fourth or fifth time that morning, she was lost in the memory of the harsh touch from the night before. She had what she wanted, now, but Hermione had also lost something very dear to her.
It wasn't as though she had held him up in her mind as an infallible hero, no. Still, after the war she had come to highly respect the man who had done so much for her new world.
Shortly after Harry Potter miraculously came back to life, Severus Snape did the same. Only no one gave a shit. Thanks to Dumbledore's handiwork, the world at large saw Harry Potter as the shining knight who had released them all from a long-running disease. The Boy Who Lived had razed the prejudices of the wizarding world in the blink of an eye. The spy who had really saved them all, who had suffered insurmountable pain and anguish for years slipped away into the shadows while the Boy Who Got Lucky stood in the bright lights of brotherly love.
As far as Hermione could surmise, it had been Voldemort's death that had reanimated her spy. This was, of course, how she viewed him, as it seemed not many other than she realized how deep his contributions went. She had seen him at order meetings, irritable as he was in class, thin, wasting.
He was her spy, to be sure, and had become so after she had found him one evening, staring out of a window at Grimmauld Place. It had been in the late spring, and the windows were open, wafting the smell of wet grass into the house. Mixed with the smell of the tea on the stove and the quiet sounds of someone trying not to wake the rest of the house, Hermione hadn't been able to resist tearing herself away from her book to investigate.
Not really thinking much of it, she had left her room in a pair of sweat shorts and a white tank top. She contemplated putting on a bra, in case it was Mr. Weasley lurking about, but lamented sarcastically to herself that it really didn't matter anyway. (She hadn't had an appetite in months, and her already small breasts had lost what little mass that had been above and beyond the strictly genetic.)
Her bare feet sticking to the moist wood floor alerted Severus that someone was nearing, but he hadn't bothered to see who it was when he heard her pause at the kitchen door. He didn't bloody care who it was. For the last half hour or so, he'd been staring at this and that, eyes unfocused as he evaluated how his life had gotten so fucked up. Figuring perhaps tea would calm his nerves, he'd only just thought to put a pot on. Finally, he couldn't ignore the intruder any longer when her footsteps continued closer.
Forced to process the information, he listened deftly. Without looking, he knew it was her. Whoever was walking had a light build. That left Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. He didn't worry about a stranger; he'd checked the wards and searched the house from the outside when he arrived. The Weasley girl was an oaf, always walking flat-footed around the old, creaky house. Hermione Granger always seemed almost offended by the noise she made. He would have bet she was regretting not wearing socks.
He almost laughed aloud at his propensity to avoid social contact by using logic to solve puzzles. A simple turn of the head would have yielded the same conclusion. But then he would have had to speak to her. And now, his efforts to drive her away had been for naught, as she seemed intent on bothering him.
She remembered it more clearly than she remembered her letter from Hogwarts, more clearly than watching Sirius Black die. It seemed strange to her, now, that something so small should stand out so clearly.
His arms were crossed and he stood upright, prude as ever, made of stone. Hermione approached apprehensively, waiting for him to turn. When he didn't she moved in closer, until she was right next to him, trying to see what he was looking at. She couldn't see a damn thing out of place. The scent of dirt and grass and wet, rotting leaves hit her hard.
Hermione could feel the anxiety coming from him, and felt that if she hadn't entered the room, he wouldn't have been venting it through his dark robes. When she turned to apologize and say 'goodnight,' though, she found the saddest sight she could ever remember seeing.
Severus Snape, known for his subterfuge, coldness and angry sarcasm looked, for all the world, like he was ready to die. The pain she saw and felt when she followed the few lines on his face made her eyes tear up. Finally, she understood why the man hated Harry Potter. If it weren't for this one boy, his penance might have been paid by now. He might have had some time to forgive himself before he died.
Sensing her eyes, he turned, arms still crossed, to see her beginning to cry. His expression didn't change much, but he turned to face her, question in his eyes. 'What do you want from me?' It was all anyone ever bothered him for…something that he could do for them. Because he was guilty. Because he needed to repent. Because he was weak. Because he would say, 'yes,' no matter what the question, if it would help save Harry Potter's life.
And her Gryffindor face told him everything. Hermione didn't want anything. She wasn't going to ask him to brew a sleeping potion, even though he knew she didn't sleep much. She didn't want to ask him a question about a book she was reading.
She didn't want something from him, she wanted it for him. And he would try his best to give it to her (to himself?) now that he knew she wasn't as selfish as the rest of them. But how to show her that he could be happy, when he hadn't been in so long?
Severus reached his hand across the short distance between them, and cupped Hermione's cheek. A tear fell fast down her skin, and his thumb banished its trail, then made its way down to touch her bottom lip. His eyes watched it tremble. She had no idea, but he would remember every chapped inch of that cute, bottom lip.
She watched the corner of his mouth tip up slightly. Her eyes closed for a moment, and Severus felt something for her. How could she be so content just knowing he had the ability to be happy, still?
He wanted to hug her, then, before the kettle began screaming for him to stop.
In an instant, he was across the room, removing the offending appliance from the flame, banishing the flicking heat with his hand. He heard her slip from the room while he was pulling down a cup, but pretended he didn't. She wondered…did he have something in his life that made him O.K.? Or was he just trying to comfort her, the ever-weak, never fast-enough Hermione Granger?
It was, and—she guessed—always would be a mystery with this man. And so, instead of celebrating her small victory, Hermione slipped sideways into a bathroom, looked at her drawn face in the mirror, and hated the way it looked when it contorted to cry.
Many, many people had forced Severus Snape to do things for them as a result of his guilt. As it were, most everyone he had ever called a friend. This was a sad, repetitive thought for him. Every time he had it, he would go through the list of people he knew, trying desperately to pinpoint at least one person who had not done so.
Dumbledore: no, Lucius: no, Lilly: no, the Dark Lord: no, the Weasleys: no, Minerva: no…and so the list went each time.
For several months, however, following the encounter he'd had with Hermione, he was able to tell himself that there was one person he was at least acquainted with that had not asked him for something and placed the hard thumb of guilt down upon him when he refused. The pad of that ridiculously large digit had come down very hard on him several nights ago.
He stared at a stack of unmarked essays, eyes unfocused as he recalled his outburst.
She had stayed behind. He was straightening his things, and had his back to the desks, but always knew when he was not alone.
"Yes, Ms. Granger? I assume you have an asinine question?"
Hermione, somewhat braver since her professor's hand had touched her face, sighed and rolled her eyes.
"A question, yes. Asinine, no."
He turned, crossing his arms. She held several books to her chest, walking closer. She remembered the night he had touched her very clearly, and the thought that he was probably remembering it, too, did something to her.
"As you probably know, my situation this year is unique. I'm taking my N.E.W.T.'s this winter. I've been in contact with the Ministry about my likelihood of getting a job with the Department of Mysteries."
Snape cut her off.
"Ms. Granger, I'm well aware of your career plans. They were outlined to me via the Headmistress when your professors so graciously allowed you to come back for your last year. What is your question?"
Hermione's face started to burn. She hated the way he made her feel like a child. She stood up taller, ever defiant.
"Right. Well. Harry got his position out of fame, as I'm sure you're aware, and Ron got his through his father. I, however, have apparently not been sucking up to the right people. They will not offer me a job without prior training. They suggested that four reputable references would suffice to allow me entrance into the program…after I have trained for several months with each."
Severus stood still and glared at her dangerously. What was she saying? Surely not that he should be one of her references?
"So, please," she hesitated as his eye twitched, "Please, sir. I've had enough trouble finding three references. Would you consider being my fourth?"
By now, her voice had sunk to a tiny wisp. Hermione could see the anger boiling in his body language. Her logical brain went into overdrive to determine what had gone wrong and why the situation had suddenly taken a turn for hell.
"You really think, Ms. Granger, that I have the time to cater to your needs? That I would wish to, even?"
Her heart stopped, then as he regarded her with disdain. Instantly, the picture of a badly broken man seeking out her skin with the palm of his hand was gone. All she saw now was an outraged dragon.
"Sorry, sir? I just thought that since your life has become somewhat less…hectic…perhaps you had the time to…"
Snape had turned toward the office door and was making for it. He was saying, 'no.'
"Sir! Please!" She followed him toward his office. "If I can't find the references I'll have no chance of getting into the program! The Unspeakables rarely offer a student a position right out of school!"
He continued until his hand was on the doorknob.
"Professor!"
The tone of her voice had sent him to the tip. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Ms. Granger," he explained, more loudly than he normally would have, "I am not your babysitter. You've found three references. Be an adult and find a fourth who wants to take time out of his life to grant your wishes. I refuse!"
"Refuse, sir? After everything I did to keep your good name throughout the war? After I spent hours—days, really—convincing the Order not to go against Dumbledore's wishes after he was dead to hunt you down and kill you? Don't you think you owe it to me to—"
A loud, dull staccato of sound was echoing around the rock walls of the dungeon classroom, and Severus Snape was watching Hermione Granger go flying a few feet before crashing to the cold stone floor.
His fist still raised, Snape watched the girl to see if she would get up. He'd hit her pretty hard.
As he stared at his essays, his vision began to blur. He went through the list in his head and thought, 'Hermione Granger: no.' A tear fell onto the blue, scratchy handwriting of some random third year he already hated. Irritated, he banished it.
He put the essays aside and began an itinerary for Hermione's training.
Several days later, Hermione entered his classroom. It was very awkward, these days, going to class. All of her friends had graduated and most had received honorary N.E.W.T. marks based on their grades before the war had caused the school to fall into chaos.
It was a wonder that parents had ever agreed to let Snape back to teach, Hermione thought. Harry and Minerva had probably had something to do with it. Where else would he go? What would he do? He was hated by half of the wizarding world, and scared the other half. The parents probably had begrudgingly granted that the torture of students had only been his fault to the extent that he had to let it go on to save their world. Very grudgingly.
Most days Hermione knew he received several hate letters from the scattered Death Eaters, former students and their parents. She also knew, by watching his every move at breakfast, that he never opened them. The Howlers were spelled into oblivion and the rest of his mail was banished to his quarters.
Hermione broke from her reverie and took her lone seat at a bench toward the middle of the room. She sat alone, worked alone. Everyone was younger than she, and most were not as interested in school. She didn't deem anyone worth helping the way she had Neville, and rarely even made eye contact with any of them.
She could hear them whisper about her from time to time. How she had probably done all these potions before and that was why she did them perfectly. Hermione had half a mind to whip around and tell them that, in fact, she hadn't, it was just that she was literate and not a jackass.
Severus banged into the classroom. His words were harsh as he assigned the potion and the coincident homework.
"Anyone who cannot complete this potion by the end of the period should consider dropping this course. It will only become more complicated after this. Begin. Granger, see me."
Hermione's panic was easy to smell as she struggled with a) not having enough time to finish her potion and b) having to talk face to face with Snape. She got up from her stool, meandered around frantic students and a familiar, and approached his desk. He nodded her into his office, and several of the students watched on. No one had ever seen anyone go into the bat's office.
Once inside, Hermione noticed she was sweating a little, and vaguely wondered whether she'd remembered deodorant that morning. She had, she concluded.
"Following the events that transpired Tuesday I have decided to act as your fourth reference."
Hermione didn't move. She looked almost guilty to him, and he wondered whether he was missing something.
"I will prepare a schedule that I will give to you before winter break and which we will begin afterward. Your training will be very extensive and will include potions which will be dangerous and illegal. I will need the paperwork the Ministry provided you with in order to keep your progress up to date."
Hermione nodded, reached into her bag, and produced a stiff envelope.
"How did you know they gave it to me?"
Again, he felt that she was keeping something from him. He considered trying to slip easily into her mind, but reminded himself that it was now illegal and probably had always been immoral.
"I've owled them to ask about what requirements I must fulfill as your reference."
She swallowed hard.
"Thank you, professor. I know that this will be taxing for you. I will, of course, never tell anyone about what happened. I know it was an accident," she said quietly. She was awful at hiding things, and he was wonderful at determining when people were trying to do so.
"Ms. Granger. Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"
His tone had changed, and Hermione knew that Severus Snape would find out. She just really hoped it took him a while. Perhaps he would forget his curiousness at her odd behavior? Shrug it off as her fear of him?
"I'm afraid I won't have time for my potion, sir. That's all."
His black eyes were hard to follow. Sometimes she wasn't sure exactly where he was looking.
"Very well. I will be in touch with you toward the end of the semester. You may go."
The rest of the class was spent by Hermione trying not to meet her professor's stern gaze, and by Severus battling with whether he could get away with light legilimency without her noticing.
A portrait of Professor Albus Dumbledore was always a good thing to have around. As in life, Dumbledore's painted self was always in other peoples' business, always trying to make life better for everyone.
Recently, he'd been pacing casually in his portrait at the Ministry of Magic. Its overdone golden frame gleamed in the torchlight from the sconces and candle chandelier, as if the twinkle in his sometimes mischievous eye had found a way to be remembered.
It was when he was visiting a portrait of a boar, who had told him some very interesting stories about its life and how it had saved one of the long-dead ministry workers from a house fire, that Dumbledore heard the name Hermione Granger slip out of the mouth of someone passing.
His head had whipped up, and he gave an apology to the boar, who had been snorting another humorous story, and he followed the two people talking from portrait to portrait.
"The potions professor at Hogwarts? Snape? She thinks he is a reputable reference?"
The man holding all of the papers, and several more files filled with parchment underneath them, tried desperately to keep up with his fast boss. He fumbled the papers around, searching for something.
"Yes, sir. And she's got…hang on a second…could we stop? Thanks."
Albus regarded the two men curiously, shoving a very distinctive lady in pearls out of her portrait. She huffed angrily, gathering her skirts about her and marched away.
"Let me see…here! She's got…wait…she's already—"
"Look, Yondling, I've got three meetings scheduled in a row. I'm late to the first. Just give the girl what she wants. If it were me, I'd probably give her the job without all this run around, but the Head seems to think she may not have had all the experience she needs. For God's sake the girl was wandering around in a forest searching for You Know Who while we were pushing paper trying to ignore the problem. Just…here…"
Henrick Babble pointed his wand at the paper and his beautiful, precise, magically enhanced signature graced the page his intern had produced.
"But sir, it says here…she's got—"
Albus piped in, finally, "I've known Ms. Granger for years, gentlemen, as I have Severus Snape. Both are quite capable."
The intern jumped and turned toward the portrait. There was his former Headmaster, who had once caught him climbing on the roof of the castle and joined him in scaling the astronomy tower. Albus had given him four house points for beating him to the top.
"But…Headmaster…I was just going to point out, here—"
"Did you know, Teddy" said the portrait, smiling nicely, "That it is rude to point?"
Yondling's voice gave way under the stern gaze Babble gave him.
"I'm late. Send instructions off to the professor. Granger should have the rest of the paper work he needs. Just mention in your owl that he should get it from her."
"Yes, sir."
Babble strode away quickly, midnight robes trying to keep up the same way Teddy Yondling had. Teddy looked to his Headmaster once more, about to ask a question. Albus interrupted him.
"Do you have a portrait in your office? Perhaps I could join you there for a bit of candy?"
Nodding, Yondling walked slowly to let the Headmaster work his way back through portraits that looked as if they had suffered a tropical storm recently.