Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters are not mine - I am simply playing in JK's wondrous sandbox.
The Plan Part 1
Hermione was an intelligent girl. Unusually talented academically, she had the potential to reach incredible heights in whatever profession her advanced mind desired.
Despite – or perhaps because of – her intellect, she was easily offended and rather more sensitive than many girls her age. However, as she reached her sixth year at Hogwarts, she finally succeeded in hiding this unattractive area of her persona. In fact, she'd managed to hide all that was her self behind a carefully constructed mask, a mask that no one, not even her closest friends, nor even her parents, had noticed.
While elements of herself remained, building up the mask into an impenetrable wall, Hermione had placed everything else behind it, in the relative safety cast by the walls' shadow. Now, she no longer raised a hand in class at every question, instead reciting the answer mentally. She no longer reacted when Malfoy slid her a rude remark, and found it almost satisfying to see his frustration at being unsuccessful in upsetting her. She feigned ignorance and instead of asking too many questions, she preferred the sly approach, gathering knowledge and putting it all together without betraying herself. If she were reSorted, she was certain it would be Slytherin or Ravenclaw. She wasn't sure what had motivated such a change in her personality, but she knew she liked it. It gave her a confidence, the knowledge that everyone underestimated her, and she knew instinctively that it would protect her – at least partially – from the attention of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
This was another change – she forced herself to speak his name, mentally at least. She'd decided rather suddenly that she refused to give such power to a name, particularly his.
The mask she'd accumulated was so easy to hold it was second nature to Hermione now, as was the art of lying (of course, she'd realised early on that the best lie was the truth, and she intended to use that knowledge to its fullest capacity).
What she didn't know was that a certain professor had noticed the change – not because her mask had failed, but simply because the thick walls hiding her mind from the sight of her peers were weak as crumbling plaster when encountering the near-unstoppable force of a master Legilimens.
However, the subconscious attempt at shrouding her mind with Occlumency left the potions professor with a hopeful idea – dangerous, certainly; particularly if what he had in mind succeeded. However, the possibility of such a success surpassed the risk in his mind, despite his strong wish to keep the innocent ignorant. It was worth it.
***
"'Mione, where are you off to now?" Ron asked around an impossible mouthful of sausage, hash brown, croissant, chocolate and a strange, sticky fudge. Hermione made a face of disgust.
"Ronald, don't speak with your mouth full. And for your information, I value my future enough to do my homework," Hermione shot at him, nose wrinkled slightly in revulsion. Ron winced at the use of his full name. She reminded him eerily of his mother at times like these.
"Aww, 'Mione," Ron whined, still chewing the pulp in his mouth.
"Seriously, Ron, that is gross," Harry put in, leaning away from his best friend slightly. He turned to Hermione. "But really, do you have to go off and study every spare minute of your time? I mean, we all know you're headed for perfect marks anyway!"
"And how do you think I get them, Harry? By doing my work." Hermione held back a small smile as she saw just how flawless her acting skills were. Of course, being still rather a modest Gryffindor, she immediately revised that thought. Not flawless. Good, but never perfect.
Harry sighed audibly, throwing one hand up half-heartedly in surrender. "Alright, but don't say we didn't try." Hermione smiled without showing her pearly whites – a habit she'd picked up from years ago, when she'd had the most awful teeth – and slung her saddlebag over one shoulder.
"I'll see you guys after lunch – remember, we have Transfiguration out in greenhouse three today. We're learning how to transform lethal plants into harmless flowers!" Ron muffled a groan at Hermione's obvious enthusiasm for what he classed 'a lesson in turning rabbit food into more rabbit food', but obligingly waved at her retreating back before returning to his mountain of food and shovelling more into his mouth.
Hermione dropped the smile as soon as she had crossed the threshold out of the Great Hall. Of course they would believe her – they were only children. Granted, so was she, but she had a year's headstart on them thanks to the Time Turner she used in her third year, and the capacity to understand things that they would be unable to – like how easy it was for someone to fool them. It was a wonder Voldemort – who had been the epitome of Slytherin perfection – had not yet resorted to slyer methods to eliminate his primary foes. It was only a matter of time, however.
Hermione headed toward the library, her tiny oasis of knowledge in the middle of a desert of mindless teenagers. However, it was not homework that she was researching, and none of her subjects touched on the taboo material she was so studiously working on. She knew it was riddled with pitfalls, the Dark Arts, and yet the invisible pull of knowledge, tiny tendrils clinging to her, brought her back for more.
It had been only last year that Professor Dumbledore had finally given her a pass to the forbidden section of the library – a show of his trust – but Hermione already found the flood of books had slowed to a trickle as she sponged up every word she could find. Despite the trio's busy year – what with the Department of Mysteries, and a certain Headmistress – Hermione had still managed to steal a few spare hours here and there to dedicate to her ongoing research. However, as much as this part of the library had been expressed upon as dangerous, Hermione would have expected much more illicit material than that she'd discovered.
Her decision to plunge into the illegal activity of searching for knowledge on the Dark Arts had not been taken lightly. It had first begun when her vast potential had led her to creating her own theoretical spells and charms – harmless, practical ones at first, but those paved the way for her discovery of the potentially devastating store of intellect she hid – the intellect she fully intended to use now that she knew what it was she could use it for. The Dark Arts was simply another branch of magic, which, when used by the right people, good people, was actually rather harmless – or so she ignorantly thought.
Finding the exact spot where she'd last left off was easy – a small red bookmark poked out from between a large blue book with faded lettering – The Arte of Lethall Herbes – and a small leather-bound one with bright gold letters screaming, The Life and Death of Grindelwald.
She removed the latter, and with it half a dozen of the books to its immediate right. It was nearly as good as weightlifting, and Hermione found it easy now to lug the heavy tomes over to the brightly lit wooden study table. Being a Muggleborn, she'd begun to exercise back in fifth year, going for daily morning runs when the grass was still dewy and the sun was just peeking over the horizon. However, it hadn't taken her long to discover what many Purebloods considered common knowledge: a charm that improved fitness and endurance levels. She even went so far as to improve the charm so that it was a more permanent change, and the difference in her physique had not gone unnoticed. The soft curves she'd hidden under her robes were replaced by lean muscles and a slimmer figure, and while she fought to hide such a change, Harry was one of the first to notice, along with Neville, Lavender and Dean. Ron, of course, was still completely oblivious to all but his own concerns, but that no longer worried Hermione. In part, and without her knowledge, the mask she hid behind had also impressed its own mark on her personality.
Putting aside The Life and Death of Grindewald for later perusing, she took a thick wad of parchment from her saddlebag and waved her wand over it lightly, muttering 'Aparecium'. The slight brush of air caused by the wand blew the scent of books, ink and old paper into Hermione's path, and she breathed it in comfortably, as though greeting an old and dear friend.
After a few moments, the parchment began to blacken with the scrawl of ink, the bidding of her revealing spell. It was a security measure similar to that on the Marauders' Map, but much more basic – she had no need for an advanced spell when she had so many additional precautions. Placing a silencing charm and security wards like an invisible curtain around her small corner of the oasis, Hermione picked up the next book with an intense interest that belonged only to avid readers. Dark Potions and Poisons of the 1600s, it proclaimed, the spindly silver writing scrawled across the top of an otherwise black book. It looked rather new, a rarity in this area of the library; no dog-ears marred the edges, nor was the spine bent and disfigured like so many of the other books here. In fact, the scrawl that dominated the pages seemed familiar. Hermione put that thought aside and began to read, referring every once in a while to her notes and jotting down more in the tiny neat handwriting that covered much of the parchment already. While the notes themselves looked messy – lines of writing going up the margins, some crossed out as false information was discovered – it was in fact very easy to understand, for Hermione at least. Shorthand interrupted full sentences at times when she had an epiphany during which her hand simply could not keep up with her racing mind, but this acted as an additional precautionary method – instead of writing the 'Dark Arts', for instance, she referred to the 'Arts'.
Checking the time, she realised – with only a few pages left to read – that she was going to be late for class. She cursed under her breath before closing the book softly and replacing the pile to its shelf.
"Finite Incantatum," Hermione muttered, her wand in hand. She immediately felt the wards around her flicker and die, the power released enough to ruffle her notes slightly. She retrieved these and returned them to her saddlebag before rushing hurriedly from the library, mortified that she'd let the time go so fast.
A small unspoken spell revealed that she'd forgotten nothing – one of the many practical spells she'd created (inspired by Neville's Remembrall). While it was illegal to create spells, charms, curses or potions of any form without a license, Hermione found that – as long as she followed appropriate safety measures – her conscience would remain silent, and no one would suspect goody-goody Granger to break the law willingly.
It was true that unspoken spells were more effective in battle, so as not to alert the opponent to one's next move – however, this did not prevent the spells from going unnoticed. As Hermione disappeared around the corner, hurrying toward the greenhouses, Professor Severus Snape smiled – a gruesome caricature to any students who may have caught him doing so. Using a variation on the Prior Incantato to reveal Hermione's last spell proved to him that she had potential. At her age, he too had been creating spells illegally – but particularly interesting was the spells Miss Granger had been creating. Some were almost worthy of illegality simply for doing what they did.
Any students who may have caught him smiling would have seen the bright glint of appreciation in his keen black eyes – but if any had, they would have been much too frightened to tell. After all, it wasn't every day that the black scourge of the dungeons smiled.
***
Hermione wasn't enjoying Transfiguration at all today. Not only had Harry and Ron had a falling out over Quidditch, but Hermione had also been much too distracted to successfully recreate the transfiguration of a Venus Human-Trap to a Tiger Lily (one of the primary ingredients of Wolfsbane). Of course, none of the others had managed it either, but being so used to getting it right every time, Hermione found the failure hard to stomach. Behind her calm mask, annoyance simmered. Despite her need to be challenged, failure certainly did not entertain Hermione in the least.
Which was why, when everyone was at dinner, she remained in the greenhouse until she'd perfected her use of the charm so much so that the resulting flower could indeed have been used in a Wolfsbane Potion.
Being only a student, supervision was still required. A dour-looking Professor McGonagall fought to hide her impatience with her star student, but did not completely succeed. Hermione, lost in her determination until then, realised she was responsible for her Professor missing dinner, apologised profusely and offered to help with anything the Professor required.
"Your academic progress is astounding. I am glad that you are doing so well in class – that is the only thing that matters. Now go, you don't want to miss out on the pumpkin pie. I heard it was absolutely delicious." She's been around Professor Dumbledore for much too long – she's picked up some of his quirks, Hermione thought wryly as she trekked across the darkening grounds at a steady pace.
Hogwarts seemed much too large when the corridors were empty of students, and Hermione was tempted to tiptoe so that the echo of her footsteps would not be so eerily loud. However, it didn't take her long to reach the Great Hall, the large doors slightly open, letting the sound of over five hundred students leak out into the corridor beyond.
Hermione couldn't help but notice that Professor McGonagall was already seated at the professor's table, blissfully digging into a thick slice of pumpkin pie. Of course the professors had other methods of travel within Hogwarts grounds – Hermione had been stupid to think otherwise. She reminded herself to search for such methods when she was next in the library.
Sitting down beside Ron and Seamus, she joined seamlessly into the trivial conversation of gossip mongers, remembering to have a slice of the pumpkin pie herself.
"And do you know what she said?" Lavender paused for effect, thriving in the attention from surrounding Gryffindors. "She said I was at fault! As if! I mean, just because her boyfriend can't keep his hands off of me!" Hermione hid a smirk behind a large mouthful of chocolate fudge and whipped cream. It wasn't as if Lavender was a bad person – she was simply a teenager, and as such couldn't understand other people's perspective. Or so Hermione's hypocritical interpretation deemed.
Looking up from her own table, Hermione's eyes wandered toward first the Ravenclaws', where various conversations of deeper quality were obviously taking place, and then the Slytherins', where hostile eyes met hers. She met them steadily before realising her mistake and falling back into the role of a timid young girl, immediately dropping her eyes and forcing a blush to her cheeks (she'd once seen Ron naked, and all she had to do was remember this and her face would bloom with a pink tinge).
Professor Snape watched her appraisingly from his peripherals, noting with a smirk – and a delicate shudder – how she managed to call up that delightfully red colour to her face. He'd been the cause of enough blushes himself to appreciate the true quality of one. Her façade – in appearance, at the very least – was watertight, he noted. With all the attention to detail of a truly gifted liar, he could almost see a younger version of himself- No! He mentally berated himself for comparing himself to a Gryffindor. This didn't stop him, however, from perusing the surface of her thoughts curiously.
The professor watched as students began to file out of the Great Hall, deciding as Albus stood that he would propose his idea tonight – omitting certain details, of course.
Hermione watched as first Dumbledore, then Snape, left the head table in a flurry of robes, mildly curious as to the reason for Dumbledore's sudden departure. It was unusual for the Headmaster to leave dinner before most, and an even rarer occasion for Snape to follow suit. Of course, unlike Dumbledore, Snape did not enjoy the spotlight and so made it a rule to eat his meal and disappear into the dungeons from whence he came, but Hermione judged from the determined set of his disapproving mouth that he intended to badger Dumbledore about one thing or another. Mentally shrugging – it was nothing to do with her, after all – she returned to the conversation at hand with a small, resigned sigh.
***
As soon as Severus came upon Dumbledore's office – having waited for a time so as to let the Headmaster settle – the stairs opened themselves to him. Sighing at this blatant display of Dumbledore's omniscience, Snape obligingly swept up the stairs, cloak billowing out in his trademark display of intimidation. Impressive though it was, it was wasted, as no one had the chance to see it.
Twinkly blue eyes, one of Snape's pet hates, met his the moment he walked into the room.
"Hello, Severus, my boy. What brings you here at such a time, hmm?" Usually, Severus only came here when it was urgent – such as being called away by the Dark Lord – and so this was a strange greeting in itself, proving Dumbledore's vast knowledge. Snape gritted his teeth, annoyed.
Dumbledore was – besides Snape, the Dark Lord and several other obscure witches and wizards – the only master Legilimens still active. It was near impossible of course for anyone – master Legilimens or not – to penetrate Snape's mind, particularly without alerting him, but that didn't prevent Dumbledore's omniscient behaviour from putting Severus on edge.
"Sir, I have an idea," Snape drawled, his silky voice – another of his trademarks – sounding boldly bored with the preliminaries. Dumbledore nodded for Severus to go on, indicating a seat opposite himself. Snape sat, perching himself precariously on the edge, ready at any moment to jump up. Imposing though he was standing, he seemed even more so when he sat, due to the tension in his muscles – a dangerous warning to any who meant him harm.
"It involves a certain Gryffindor, who I am certain you have been keeping tabs on," he continued. "Miss Granger. Her knowledge and potential, I believe, is largely wasted while we keep her in school. You and I both see that she is well beyond the level of her peers, both intellectually and mentally."
Dumbledore's mouth twitched upwards, and Snape fought not to throw his hands up in frustration at this reminder of his previous standing on the young know-it-all. "However, because of the requirements of witches and wizards her age to complete their schooling, she must continue here.
"I assume you recall your decision on giving her access to the forbidden section of the library?"
"It was, I believe, a suggestion of yours, was it not?" Snape nodded in confirmation.
"You have been watching her progress, I presume?" Snape drawled, watching Albus' face for any signs of stress.
"Occasionally, yes, although I have been preoccupied with Order business," Albus replied.
"Obviously not close enough. She has stumbled upon the beginnings of a much darker subject."
Albus' ever-present twinkle was no longer present. "I would have thought her much too responsible to read such incriminating books," he mused after a moment, a slight crease between his brows suggesting deep thought.
"She is an incurable knowledge-seeker – of course she would resort to such books if available. I have been watching her. Unfortunately, there were no signs to suggest her involvement in the Dark Arts, or I would have put a stop to such behaviour. However, by the time it came to my attention, it was much too late. She cannot unlearn such things without being Obliviated, and because of her age, her mind is simply too easily damaged to do so. And, as you know, the lure of the Dark Arts will eventually prove too desirable for her to resist."
Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments. Then, "what do you suggest?" Severus smirked at this – it was the perfect opening to unfold his plan.
"I propose… supervised apprenticeship," Snape said carefully. Dumbledore looked appalled, but as he opened his mouth, Severus held up a hand.
"Let me explain. We both know that she will go looking for more knowledge once she has depleted the library resources – and from what it seems, she is very close to doing so already. It is in her nature to satisfy her craving for knowledge." Snape ignored the tiny voice in his mind that asked him whether he was describing her nature or his own. "If… if she were to fall into such a trap, she may well end up like…" Like me, was what he meant to say. Severus paused. "However, if I were to help her – make sure that she retained that pure Gryffindor innocence"– here, he sneered disdainfully –"but gave her what she wanted, this would protect her. And, of course, Potter and Weasley would naturally benefit from her knowledge." The sneer returned, bolder than before. Without her, both of them would have been killed years ago from their own Gryffindor bravery, but, like his father, Potter took credit for everyone else's work.
Dumbledore didn't seem to notice Snape's disdain, instead deep in thought. Finally, he decided.
"You, Severus, will help… teach her." Dumbledore struggled with the idea of allowing his potions professor to teach a student the Dark Arts. "If any of the Ministry officials ask questions about the extra lessons, tell them that she is apprenticed to you." Dumbledore then utilised the full force of his pure blue eyes to pin Snape to his chair. "I trust you, Severus. Help her. I will call her into my office tomorrow afternoon to explain the situation." Snape smiled in relief, letting out the breath he didn't know he'd held.
Phase one of his plan was complete.