Author's Note:
Thanks all reviewers, you guys are the best!Edit 03/03/07: I have been going back over this story and decided to combine chapters 3 and 4. I hope to rework the story from here and maybe continue it.
Flower in the crannied
wall,
I pluck you out of the
crannies,
I hold you here, root
and all, in my hand,
Little flower -but if I
could understand
What you are, root and
all, and all in all,
I should know what God
and man is.
Hermione waited for his response with drawn breath. The shaggy black hair hung over his face until he swept it away with his free hand, gave a curt "Miss Granger," and resumed his work. This was less than surprising for the Potions Master, she reasoned, but still had hoped for something more personal. Instead, she returned a small huff, raised her nose, and dropped onto the couch with her book. Fully absorbed with the preface, she failed to notice the subtle shake of his head as he wrote and the small smirk that touched his lips.
An hour or so passed before the silence was broken with an unfeminine growl from Hermione's stomach. While Hermione didn't want to interrupt the professor, whose somber demeanor created a cloud of tension that permeated the entire kitchen area, she was extremely hungry. She stood, leaving the book face down on the sofa, and reached for a shiny apple from the bowl on Snape's table. As she lifted her wand to cast a severing charm on it, Snape stood and grabbed it from her.
"Foolish girl! Didn't Dumbledore tell you not to use magic in hiding? Anyone in the Ministry can detect magic usage from your wand and I can list at least five death eaters who would just love to find you."
The color flared in Hermione's cheeks for a moment as she let Snape take her wand and stash it somewhere in his robes. However, her confidence regained itself as she spat, "It must have been another one of the unpleasant surprises waiting for me."
The potions master stood up to his full height and towered over Hermione until she felt his hot breath on her face. He grabbed her shoulders firmly and spoke in a low, poisonous tone. "Don't you realize you are in the real world now, Miss Granger? This is no longer Hogwarts: The Dark Lord is alive right now hunting muggleborns, of which you are a part. Gods, take some responsibility for yourself because this may very well be the last day you will live to see!"
Hermione's eyes were bright and glossy as she wrenched herself free from Snape's grasp, but held her ground. She stared up into the teacher and growled, "You have no power over me here, Snape, so you might as well get off of your high horse and start treating me as your equal. Like it or not, we're stuck here together for who knows how long. I only respect as much as I am respected, so I would suggest treating me like what I am, a woman, and not your enemy!" With this, she stalked to the adjoining bedroom, leaving Snape speechless behind her.
.oOo.
Hermione opened the door to her chamber groggily, to find Snape reading her book by a spluttering fire. She kneaded her back; the bed was a royal pain to sleep on, and she was sure she had a bruise or two to prove it. She rubbed her eyes, rimmed red with stale tears. Dusk had descended in the room as she slept and now hung about like the frigid winter air outside the window that rested above the kitchen sink. She studied the professor: tall, and a bit thinner than she remembered. His abandoned robe sat wrapped on his previous chair, and the black sweater and trousers underneath did nothing to hide the bony wrists and fingers that traced each page of text. She noticed, with silent amusement, a strand of hair that fell in front of his eyes now and then as he read which was promptly pulled away by a bony hand, only to fall in his eyes again. She wondered if the reason behind his frailty was three months without magical cooking.
Hermione shivered in the evening, swallowed, and climbed into the tatty green armchair next to the fire. She noticed, as Snape lifted his eyes, he sat in the same place she had earlier. He gave her a bit of an awkward, relieved smile, such as the smile of one who has just eaten something particularly nasty but is trying to be polite. She assumed the gesture, however radical for Snape, was meant to be disarming. She found it disconcerting above all else, but returned the favor meekly.
"Your taste in literature surprises me," he offered lamely.
"Dumbledore gave it to me for you- as a bit of light reading."
"I see."
"How far along are you?"
"Ancient uses of goat's blood in medicines."
"Interesting."
The last embers collapsed on themselves in the fireplace as darkness invaded the conversation and its area.
"Drat," Snape muttered.
"Where are the matches?" Hermione's voice asked from somewhere to his near right. He paused for a moment until he remembered- that box with the wooden sticks.
"Underneath the sink, I believe."
"You believe? Haven't you used them?" Various crashes and clangs followed this, and an "aha!"
Snap, whoosh, and Hermione appeared holding a lit candle.
"The wick on this candle hasn't been burnt either- how have you seen these past months?"
"Well, I usually fall asleep as soon as it starts to get dark…"
Hermione set the candle on the wooden table with the bowl of fruit and lit another. Her stomach interrupted the silence followed shortly by Snape's.
"Haven't you eaten yet tonight?" she asked, as she explored various cupboards.
"I'm not very hungry."
"Nonsense," she insisted as she pulled out a can of soup and some bread. She emptied the soup into a saucepan and lit a match, turning on the gas stove as she held it in the burner. In moments the saucepan sat merrily warming as she set the wooden table with bowls and soup spoons. From the sofa, she heard low mutterings of, "So that's how you…"
Ten minutes later, two bowls of potato soup sat steaming in the rich candlelight. Snape raised an eyebrow as Hermione declared, "Dinner is served."
.oOo.
Snape stared into his bowl of soup as if it were a pensieve, ready to swallow him up into his thoughts.
"Professor, do we have a flashlight at all? Any electricity?" He looked up and stared at the girl in confusion.
"I can assure you, Miss Granger, no pureblood save Arthur Weasley would have any idea what you're talking about." She contemplated for a moment and nodded in resignation. He raised the spoon to his lips, delighting in the warm fluid that ran down his throat. Loathe to admit, this was the first hot meal he'd eaten in a month; he'd spent the majority of two hours attempting to start that pathetic fire. He didn't really know why he had done it, although he knew Miss Granger must have had her hand in it. For a long time he'd acknowledged she was brilliant, but perhaps more brilliant than he'd given her credit for. And in the last year, as they came in contact through the Order, he'd noticed the beginning of a glow start to surround her, the glow emanating from her in this candlelight.
However, he also realized how little he actually knew about her. She had muggle parents, of course, and she was friends with Potter and Weasley, a friendship the boys didn't deserve. She was intelligent beyond measure, perhaps one of the brightest witches in ages. Words could not express the sheer disbelief and excitement he felt as he began to read her book, at the difficulty of the material and at the prospect of finding a companion with which to discuss it. Something about that was very stimulating. He smirked as he recounted to himself how much he abhorred mediocrity. In fact, Miss Granger had been quite the breath of fresh air, one he constantly challenged to retain its coolness. However, she had surpassed his instruction long ago, and was close on surpassing his own knowledge level. Remarkable talent, he mused, wasted on a Gryffindor.
His spoon clanked gently into the empty bowl and he looked across at Hermione, who was swirling her untouched soup around in her own murky thoughts. How he wished to be one of those thoughts, to dance in the mind of someone so insightful, so clever, and so scintillating. If just to hear one more utterance from mouth would be a scholar's paradise. He waited in veiled anticipation for her speech.
"I-I suppose I'm not nearly as hungry as I felt," she said apologetically. She relapsed into silence again and stirred her soup a bit. "What do you imagine will happen to us?"
After a moment's consideration, he simply replied, "It is not our place to worry."
Not at all satisfied with this answer, she rose to return to her reading. Before he could stop himself, he found his hand hold her forearm gently as he said, "Please stay." He could tell the girl was on edge, and in an effort to dispel the tension, said, "Tell me about my replacement."
.oOo.
Hermione awoke on the sofa in a bundle of blankets to find the sun's rosy fingers brushing the interior of the cabin room with golden warmth. She smiled broadly as she recalled her conversation with the professor the night before- who knew he could be so entertaining? She filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on the stove, shivering slightly as she gazed out the window. Snow blanketed the ground thick and smooth, and above the treetops she could see the peaks of mountains. From behind her, she heard Snape open the door of the bedroom and pad across the worn floorboards to the water closet. This was the last she heard of him for a while, until he assumed he was presentable in a pair of slacks and a sweater almost identical to the garments he wore the previous day. She handed him a generous mug of tea, which he accepted silently. Minutes passed in this languid silence until Snape checked his watch and turned toward the fireplace, which he stared at attentively. Hermione turned as well, wondering what could have caught his attention so entirely, when a large parcel appeared right on the hearth.
"Dumbledore sends me packages every week," the professor explained, "and each one is a portkey. Since no one touches it when it leaves, it simply transports itself here."
Hermione nodded in understanding and followed him as he opened the box to find food supplies of various kinds, which he promptly threw aside, and a handful of letters. Hermione's letters contained those of Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Ron, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore, which she opened eagerly. Molly Weasley's letter was mostly taken up with kind words and hopes that she would be alright, while Harry and Ron's echoed frustration in the fact that she be stuck with a greasy bat of a teacher rather than themselves over the holidays. She laughed and Snape immediately snatched the parchment from her. To her surprise, he smirked and let out a deep, rich laugh, and she found it quite pleasant.
"..And if that perturbed Slytherin git tries anything on you, I mean anything, we'll be there sooner than you can say Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!" He clutched his side and laughed again. "Why you befriended them, I have no idea. Their minds are duller than Binns' lectures."
"They mean well," she retorted, "and they honestly care about me. Although there are times…" Yes, there were times when she felt entirely alone near them. Times like when they would desperately try to copy her assignments, or when they would babble on and on about quidditch, or when time came to pick partners for school projects. During those times, three was a crowd, and Hermione had no need for crowds when her mind was trying to grow. She opened the last letter, Dumbledore's.
Hermione,
I hope you and Severus will find some sort of friendship in the midst of this battle. You know how important the unity between all four houses is during these troubled times. I understand Severus is not the easiest man to talk to, but give him time and treat him well, and you may become pleasantly surprised with the outcome. I do not blame him for his rash actions, as I do not blame Tom Riddle for his. You see, each word we say to one another plays an important role in not only our relationships between others, but in the person themselves. Remember Professor Snape has been through more than any man or woman should bear.
From the moment I saw you striding up to the Sorting Hat that evening in your first year, I recognized something about your stance- confident, bright, and challenging, that I recognized in Severus and Professor McGonagall, if you can imagine. I thought to myself, now there's someone truly interesting, and what do you know, I'm right! Then I turned to my cranberries and those were delicious, I must admit, better than ever.
I suppose this is all a roundabout way of telling you that you are capable of more than you realize. Harry is the one with the prophecy, and therefore gets the most glory, true, but you are vital. I am afraid you might not be rejoining us at Hogwarts by graduation, so I consider you here forth an adult, a colleague, and most importantly, a friend. I know you can do great things, Hermione, and I look forward to speaking with you again.
Yours in Truth,
Albus
Hermione tried to swallow the tears threatening to spill and set the letter down, smiling weakly. She noticed Snape eyeing her and turned away. He turned back to his letter to examine the rest. "Oh, bugger." He murmured, disgusted.
"What?" Hermione asked, leaving the hearth to prepare a small breakfast.
"Gryffindor is leading the house cup by nearly eighty points." Snape explained. "Dumbledore told me in his letter he didn't expect us to return by graduation," she said.
"I know," he responded, "though I'm not sure what he's planning to do for your NEWTs."
"Oh," Hermione clutched her stomach, "I feel sick thinking about it already. I honestly should be studying. If only I had the sense to pack my schoolbooks with me…"
Snape frowned. "You must be joking. You could have passed the potions NEWT at fifth year."
Hermione shook her head. "No, the ingredients we've been using are far more advanced than those."
"I didn't say you would ace it, but you had the ability. All you needed was a list of ingredients and their attributes to memorize."
"Professor," she turned away from the kitchen sink, "was that a compliment?"
"Never," a retaliation, "should such things be wasted on a Gryffindor," Hermione's eyes narrowed, "It wasn't a compliment, simply the truth." With this her eyes lifted and she gave him a small smile.
