Harry, Ron, Hermione have returned to Hogwarts for the final time. The completion of their education is about to begin, and with it for Hermione, something new, something dark frequents her time at Hogwarts. Can this provide the ultimate healing? HG/SS. Rated M as a precaution.
Four weeks into term.
'Buggar off Hermione will you' puffed Ron. Hermione looked at Ron, who was completely non committed to any of his arithmancy homework. It was no secret the boys didn't want to come back, who could blame them. She could sympathise for sure, but for her she always felt Hogwarts was home, no matter how raw the memories were. The final battle saw most of their friends, and in Ron's case, family cut down by Voldemort and his merry men.
For Ron, homework was the very last thing he ever did want to do, regardless of what had and was happening at the time.
'I'm going, coming Harry' he said. 'Uhhh yeah' Harry muttered back, both he and Ron headed for the staircase, over their shoulder both boys cast a weak mumbled good night to hermione, leaving their homework discarded and partially completed on the common room table.
Reaching over she pulled Ron's paper to her, and completed the last 3 questions, and when she had, she cast a charm onto the paper to replace her precise scroll with his messy 6 year old boy typos writing.
'Night boys' she mumbled affectionately.
Hermione returned to Hogwarts for a reason unbeknownst to anyone else. One might think that her studies would be the driver, but there was something else, something that requires some finality.
Seeing her opportunity, with a short time to spare before curfew, Hermione made her escape and proceeded to the forth floor.
'Enter' a quiet, mailable voice said from a candle lit room.
'Good evening Madame Pomfrey' Hermione quietly said as she slipped in the door of the hospital wing. Unsure whether she would be disrupting any current patients.
'Oh hermione, what a surprise, what brings you here, it must be well after supper?' An unmistakable enquiring concerned tone captured the words of the short stout witch.
Succinctly the reply formed in Hermione's mouth as if she had practiced it at least 100 times or more 'I am here about my scar'. When in fact, the truth was she had rehearsed this answer 1000 times if not more.
Moving in her seat, and shuffling her papers in front of her in a fidgeting manner 'I see' Pomfrey replied, sounding more caught off guard than concerned unlike her previous tone. 'Well, I am afraid there is not much I can do' she said very matter of factly.
Hermione attempted to stop her jaw from dropping, break it to me gently why don't you she thought, this was not what she expected and Pomfrey's out of character reply caught her completely by surprise.
With trepidation hermione spoke 'Madam Promfrey, I think you misunderstand me, I know you can't make it go away. That I accept, but you must be able to make it less, you know, visible...' she trailed, and proceeded with slight hope arising in her tone. 'You know, better than it looks now, at least that' her tone was hushed.
'I am afraid, I cannot' and before Pomfrey could finish her sentence, Hermione cut her off with urgency, 'why? WHY not!?' She demanded. Pomfrey bowed her head slightly and inhaled, taking a momentary pause.
'I was not your healer that night, your curse, the one you received was complex. It was the darkest cutting curse I had ever seen. Hermione, dear, I could not have saved you that evening. I did not heal you, and therefore my magic would not be recognised by the scar...' Pomfrey paused as Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. The confusion dripping across her face. 'I could do nothing to improve the scar you now see' she finally concluded. 'I am sorry my dear, but your journey here has been wasted, you should return to your common room'
Staring at her canopy in griffin door tower, Hermione spent the better part of an hour mulling over the conversation in the infirmary. Never had she considered, even for a second, it had been anyone other than Poppy Pomfrey who had healed her. Why would she have!? To her knowledge, she had not been sent to St Mungo's, and there had been no other official healers in Hogwarts at the time. If she had been healed by someone else why hadn't she been told. Was it unreasonable to know who had saved her? Maybe it was, maybe it was just considered that saving someone was an unavoidable task of a war, and required no real merit. And why should Hermione know who said person was?
Asking questions she did not know the answer to was not going to provide her with anything. Resigning herself to a disjointed nights sleep, Hermione vowed to speak with her head of house first thing. It was clear Madam Pomfrey had little more to say on the matter. All whilst absently minded fingering the top of her scar, tracing the bubbled ridge on her left clavicle. A very bad habit she had gotten in to, snapping her hand down by her side.
As she reflected, she realised she knew very little about that night. Well until she took a solid blow of the curse from Antonin Dolohov. After all, who would want to know how they 'very nearly died' she quoted in Ron's words. But she had always just assumed Madam Pomfrey had been the one who had dealt with it, in hindsight she did recall no one had ever actually asked her if she wanted to know, let alone volunteer to her what had happened and how she had been saved.
The following morning the opportunity presented itself 'Professor McGonagall' Hermione called along the 2nd floor corridor and she hurried in step beside the tall, stern woman. 'Miss Granger, Good Morning' she bristled as she kept walking. 'Might I have an appointment to see you Professor' Hermione enquired. 'Yes, how is Monday evening?' The reply came.
'Ummm might you have anything sooner, like today' hermione poised. Slowing her step McGonagall looked at the girl, 'Poppy told me you went to see her last night, I have no doubt you will have lots of questions' she said empathetically 'however, I fear I may also not have the answer you seek. Never the less, meet me at 7pm in my office on Monday and not a day before'. 'Thank you professor, I think' Hermione replied bemused.
Whilst waiting for Monday was frustrating, it was only 3 days away, she had waited this long, what was 3 days in reality.
Glancing at her watch 2.17pm, and only one more class to go on what was becoming a dreich misty Friday afternoon at Hogwarts. Traipsing down to the dungeons Hermione could feel the damp etching through the deep stone walls.
Advanced potions making. This class wasn't as it had been for the 7th years of previous years, this was a mixed group across all of the houses who wanted to take 'significantly' advanced potions - her Professors words. There were strict entry requirements, these were Snapes own requirements, the rules of acceptable was a minimum 88% pass rate for the last three years, needless to say it was a very small class indeed.
Hermione glanced around, the room was made up of Malfoy, Lavender Brown, Blaise Zabini, two Hufflepuffs who she thought were called Eric and Olivia but to be honest she had never seen them much before so could in all honesty be called anything. What was clear was that Snape, Professor Snape, that is would have quite honestly have preferred anyone other than a Gryffindor. Hermione couldn't quite help think that actually, despite the tension in her previous potions classes, things had been easier in their mixed Slytherin and Gryffindor lessons as opposed to this closely observed oppressiveness this condensed class brought on.
'Students' Snape drawled from behind the desk, 'today is the first day of your singular brewing session. I have selected 4 potions for you to brew, and they shall appear on the board, choose your selected potion and brew' he instructed silkily.
'But, be very aware of what you choose, when you choose it and why, I shall expect you to brew this potion to be used on a subject of your choice. You will brew all 4 eventually' with a wave of his hand, and what hermione was convinced was a smirk, the potions appeared on the blackboard.
Liquid Luck
Veratiserium
Wolfsbane
Amortentia
She scanned the list three times. No way, she thought to herself. This was not just any practical lesson, this was like an exam, a hard exam at that, she panicked. Wolfsbane, how many people know werewolves, well she did but that was besides the point. All of these potions were extremely difficult and required different monitoring times and cycles. Hermione looked around slowly, trying to gauge the reaction of her class mates, confirmation that they were equally as puzzled and not that there was much to look at, 6 students could hardly give much of a collective thought, she slowly raised her hand.
'What' he barked, 'is it, Missszzz Granger' emphasising the Miss unnecessarily.
She slowly let her hand return to the dark, grained wooden desk. 'Sir, to complete these potions, they will require monitoring, and specific actions at very defined times'
'And' he said matter of factly. More of a statement than a question.
'And, well this lesson is only 2 hours Professor Snape' she replied politely.
'Well congratulations Miss Granger, you have just graduated from toddler mathematics' dripping with sarcasm. A puffed laugh came from her right hand side and she glared at Draco and Blaise.
'If, and I say if, because your question confirms to me you had not been listening, as in really listening, and then using your ears to transfer the sounds to your brain, you will have headed my instructions to choose carefully. Your extracurricular activities are of no concern of mine, nor are they of the potion you choose to brew. Should your potion require hourly stirring, you shall be required to do that should you wish to pass this module. I had assumed by now, I would not have to spell everything out for you? Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I should write a text book on each lesson as you seem so keenly to regurgitate the information in which you read for me time and time again in the essays you turn in' he quirked an eyebrow, rounding off his acidic tirade.
'Yes professor' she mumbled feeling somewhat scolded.
Acidic. Unnecessary. Sharp. Unkind. Where just a few of the adjectives used by Hermione Granger to deprive Professor Snape. The list went on. Professor Severus Snape was one of the most difficult individuals to get on with. It was no secret that the two of them could barely be in a classroom together with 19 other students, how she expected anything different in this environment she didn't know. His detest of anything and anyone Gryffindor was deep rooted, and throughout Hermione's time in his class was only further exacerbated by her close association with Harry Potter.
Professor Snape barely tolerated her, she knew it, he knew it, the rest of the class knew it. Her treatment towards her was nothing new or unexpected, it had been that way since first year. The difference being these days she rarely took it personally, he would probably cross the street to avoid her in Diagon Alley, that was if he even recognised her. No matter how hard Hermione tried, she never once received praise from the stern intellectual professor.
Picking Liquid Luck hermione set to the store room to collect her ingredients.
At supper she met with the boys and Ginny, this was by far most welcome, her brewing prep had taken most of the lesson and before she left the class they were all informed to hand the completed potion to Snape on Tuesday before the end of the school day. This meant for Hermione completing home work into the weekend.
'The weekend' Ron squeaked through a mouthful of roast chicken. 'Ron, potions don't wait for anyone, not even for quiddich' she replied hotly. 'Dunno why you took it Mione, glutton for punishment if you ask me' he replied. 'Well she didn't ask you, did she Ronald' Ginevra piped up, drawing her brother a dagger stare. 'Quite, thank you Ginny' she smugly replied.
As the food on their plates vanished, 'Common room?' Harry said. Scratchings of chair legs could be heard on the bare wooden floorboards of the great hall as the four friends took their leave. Taking two steps at a time the boys sprinted ahead of the girls to the portrait hole where they met with the fat lady. 'Apple snapps' Harry said. 'A Puhleaseee would be nice' was the response. 'PUHHHHLEASE' Ron said sarcastically, which was met with a high pitched 'tut' from the flat lady and a swing of the portrait.
'Hang on Gin, I might just go and check my potion, you know make sure it is going ok and follow you up later'. Ginny shrugged, 'okay but don't take too long!' And I thought you just started it...'
Hermione ducked left and headed to the dungeons, as she approached the staircase leading deep down she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rubbing the tops of her arms to stave off the chill whilst muttering a 'burr' to herself. The advanced potions class's recently created potions were being stored in an empty classroom which was charmed to only allow each student and their teacher into the room.
Severus was knee deep in grading papers, when he was alerted to a visitor. Ah he smiled, I wonder who the first person could be, technically none of them should be venturing down quite so early in the task as for each potion the first milestone wasn't until tomorrow. Yet someone couldn't quite keep away, if he were a betting man, which he most certainly was not he would have place 50 galleons on Hermione Granger.
He paused and tuned into the readings from the wards;
Strong, arguably self righteous, courteous, brave, foolish more like, female, Gryffindor.
Shame he wasn't a betting man, that would have been a sure cert. Whilst the idea was to teach the students longer term responsibility and the time commitment advanced potion making required. Severus was not up to entertaining an unnecessary frequency of visiting students. Let us just hope this is initial over enthusiastic commitment and that this 'dedication' would wean. Surely even the insufferable-know-it-all would see that even a potion could manage at this early stage without her interference.
Sure enough, after 20 minutes, the wards closed back down. Granger had probably and most likely got the confirmation she needed that absolutely nothing needed doing and had gone and joined her buffoon friends in their common room for their usual Friday nights. The girl would be wise to realise that she couldn't control everything. Until she did relinquish this immature aspect of feeling then need to control every aspect, it would be the ultimate limitation of her progression.
No doubt Granger would be back tomorrow, and the next day and the day after. Little did she know that this test, for her anyway, wasn't about the brewing capacity but was more about the process. What Granger failed to even consider, when in the wonderfully safe grounds of the castle is that there will be times in a brewers life when you can't just nip in and view a potions progress, one has to be accomplished enough, and confident enough to let the process happen. Cursing himself inwardly, for someone who liked peace and quiet, with the exception of his own house that is - he had an unusual head of house open door policy, where you could and did often find Slytherin students taking advantage of that invitation. Which as he knew, was not how his colleagues ran their houses. But with this task he sure had left a wide open door to be disturbed repeatedly over this cold autumnal weekend in September.
Pleased with how her potion was coming along, admittedly it hadn't come very far, but the reassurance it hadn't melted through the pewter was enough for Hermione to head up to Gryffindor tower for the evening. As she exited the classroom she felt the wards close behind her with a frosty shiver. Was it always so cold and icey in the dungeons, musing to herself, well yes if Snape is anything to go by and she let out a low laugh. The answer would be a resounding yes. Whilst hermione was respectful of him, he was frustratingly hard to please. Part of the drive to examine the potion was to ensure there would be no mistakes, and that Hermione would get the just praise she deserved. Praise which was never forthcoming from the elusive professor.
'Not a chance Minevra, are you out of your broad Scottish Mind?' Severus chastised.
'Well what do you propose we do?' She verbally struck back.
'Anything but the truth, make it up woman, I went to great lengths to secure yours and Poppy's memories of that evening, removing the detail to ensure she never had to know, never had to face it' he drawled.
'Why Severus, it sounds almost like you care' she smarted.
'Don't be absurd' he spat as he ran a hand over his jaw. 'I have nothing more to say, you sought my permission to tell her about her treatment of the wound, I have without doubt denied you that, end of story. Now if you will excuse me I have highly advanced potions to monitor' and he billowed round and swept out of the door without a second glance.
That went, well, just as I expected Minerva thought. Stubborn young man.
Wonderful, just bloody wonderful. The chit was now asking questions, what relevance was there in knowing who did what to her on that night. She is alive, surely that should be enough. What would pique ones own curiosity to understand how they nearly died. Severus was best placed to answer that, for he had almost died many many times. Quite frankly if he had his way he would erase every single memory he had of each of those times. Luckily for Granger she was unconscious and knew very little. With that in mind it was the decision behind never revealing the true extent of just how close Hermione Granger, saviour of the chosen one on many multiple occasions, and how she came so very close to being extinct before even that of her 18th birthday, and at the hands of a death eater.
At the time his actions had been described as extreme and unnecessary when he asked Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall to remover their memories into the pensive that once belonged to Albus Dumbledore. This request, a very insistent request at that, wasn't just for Hermione Granger's benefit but also for the women he strongly respected. He wanted to protect them from these memories. He can remember it like it was yesterday, and even he, he who had participated and orchestrated some vicious hexes in his time. What he witnessed on that day was particularly savage and it was really best the girl didn't know. As they say, the devil is in the detail. Despite what she thought, which was of course that she should know everything. Absolutely insufferable girl.
Over the weekend it felt very much like he was chasing her shadow, she would round a corner and appear in front of him, or be in the potions classroom when he needed to gain access. On one occasion he entered the class room where their potions were being stored to find her at a crucial point and could detect a small hint of panic. Good.
She quietly acknowledged his presence with a polite greeting. He mused looking at her, not replying, but she didn't expect a reply to happen, so proceeded as she were. Not missing a beat. Her discarded outer robes on the desk behind her. With the potion getting to a crucial point in the stirring, she stirred the rod anti clockwise with her left hand whilst stroking the top of her scar through her blouse under her cardigan.
Snape left the room with a loud bang of the door making hermione jump. Quite unnecessary she thought, he always has been one for dramatics.
Monday, finally arrived, and Hermione powered through the day before meeting with McGonagall.
Severus' floo flooed green. 'She knows'.
That was all it said, and Severus knew he was about to experience 7 types of hell as he could hear determined, purposeful steps thundering down the corridor.
'Give me strength' he said aloud.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Subtle. I couldn't possibly guess my unexpected guest is unhappy. He rolled his eyes and he rose from his desk with a stiffness in his body brought on by much too much exposure to cruciatus torture. Striding over the door, loosening his neck as he went, he pulled the door sharply open.
Her hand mid air dropped to her side.
'YES?' Your potion is that way' he said with a sneer as he pointed sharply down the corridor.
'I am not here for that' and she pushed past him, evidently old age was getting the better of him as his body didn't respond quite a quickly as it once would have done and he failed to block her path into his classroom. Wake up old man!
'Why do come in Miss Granger' he drawled unamused. 'Shall I fetch you some tea, biscuits perhaps?' He said sounding bored.
He observed her through hooded eyes and lank hair as he folded his arms over his chest. Straightening his back and dropping his shoulders. She was pacing between the front row of student desks and his desk. Occasionally stopping, and turning as if to say something and then losing her nerve and resuming her pacing.
He waited it out. It took a certain type of man to wait out a woman's fuming rage.
Then when her back was turned to him during her pacing, she slowed, he observed her closely, tight neck (assumption because he couldn't see anything through that god awful hair), tensed shoulders, arms clamped to her sides, fists balled, magic radiating with intense heat...
He could feel it alright...
Observation told him there were two things that were likely to happen here, she was either going to launch a vicious, viral tirade against him or strike him. The latter seemed like a much preferable option right now.
'You'
'It was you' her voice shook.
'But you don't even like me' slight stammering conveyed the 'you' and disbelief finished the sentence.
His black eyes bore into her back.
Silence.
Her fists were almost white with excessive clenching.
'What do you refer to?' It was dangerously low and he watcher her tense even more, if that were possible.
'You don't deny it then' she had turned to face him, he met her eyes for a brief second then stared at a spot on the wall behind her right shoulder.
'Look, I just want an answer alright' she said losing some of her rage and edge.
'Look, I just want an answer alright, Sir' he amended with plenty of disdain.
She ignored him, 'did YOU heal my curse?' She said steely staring into his eyes.
He kept staring past her head, deep into the wall, he swallowed down. Chancing a glance at her eyes, he read desperation, pleading, maybe even hope.
He stared back at the wall.
'Yes'
He sharply flicked his eyes to hers.
And just like that, hope faded from those auburn embers of eyes and she was gone, not even attempting to close the door.
He blasted the door shut with his wand and it musty have echoed throughout the castle.
AN - Please like and review, this story is pretty much all written in my head. More to come shortly.