A Murder of Crows
A Murder of Crows
Chapter 4: Four for a Boy
A familiar routine had settled upon Hogwarts Castle as October drew to a close. Halloween dawned with a bitterly cold mist that dared to wend its way inside the castle, and even the numerous fires and torches couldn't chase it away altogether. The morning was frosty; Hermione's quick breaths came out in ghostly white puffs as she navigated the rime-covered paths outside. She carefully made her way back to the castle from the gamekeeper's hut, long since vacated by Rubeus Hagrid when he had married Madame Maxime in France.
All around her hung the scent of earth and decay. The grounds were covered in composting leaves that had long since fallen from the trees, their crispness stolen by the mist that buried them and left them to rot. Hermione tightly clutched a jar of fresh lacewing flies to her chest and tried to shake the feeling of gloom that seemed to pervade her thoughts.
Hermione hated Halloween.
Her intense dislike was caused in no small part by having been locked in the bathroom with a lumbering mountain troll on her very first Halloween at Hogwarts. Then there had been the dreadful Deathday Party for Nearly Headless Nick in her second year which had culminated with the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Her subsequent Halloweens had likewise proven to be embarrassing, regrettable, and even downright disastrous.
Despite her rather unfortunate history, Hermione had fostered high hopes for improving her experience upon returning to Hogwarts as an adult. But two separate cases of goblin pox and one hapless Dungbomb incident later, the outlook was dismal. Nevertheless, Hermione was determined to change her pattern of dreadful Halloweens, and she found herself looking forward to the Feast tonight.
She had even purchased a new set of robes for the occasion when she'd last visited Madam Malkin's shop in Diagon Alley. The outer robes were a gorgeous deep topaz colour in shimmering satin, and they topped a sheath dress in bronze that suited the colour of her eyes and hair quite nicely.
By the time Hermione slipped into the dress later that evening, her spirits were much improved. Surveying herself critically in the mirror, she was surprised to realise the dress was actually quite racy. It clung rather seductively to her curves and sported a shockingly high slit, revealing more thigh than she was comfortable with. She was mightily glad the outer robes were far more sedate and could easily cover the dress beneath.
Hermione swept her long hair into an informal French Twist and offered silent thanks to the Parisian witch who'd permanently charmed the frizz away. It had been a rare act of vanity for her, not to mention ridiculously expensive, but worth every silver Sickle. She had gladly tossed her tubs of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion without a moment of regret.
Hermione decided to forego the traditional witch's hat and instead artfully tucked several small leaves in various shades of yellow, orange, and red into her hair. She'd collected the leaves from the grounds at the beginning of autumn and had preserved them with a dab of Mummy Potion. A light dusting of gold powder had been applied to complete the opulent look. The gilded leaves sparkled in the flickering light from the candles on her vanity, and Hermione thought the overall effect was actually quite nice and most appropriate for the season.
Hermione left her living quarters and headed up to the Halloween Feast where she chatted briefly with Draco and Neville. She chuckled when Draco told her she looked like an enchanting wood nymph and smiled when Neville blushed furiously at her. The headmistress rushed into the Great Hall at last, looking decidedly flustered for some reason, and Hermione took her seat at the far end of the staff table.
Some of the older students had formed a choir at Hogwarts, and Professor Sinistra led them into song to commence the Feast.
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing.
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn, and caldron bubble,
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Something wicked this way comes!
Hermione clapped as the students finished and was about to turn to comment on the performance to Neville, who was seated to her left. But a slight movement to the right caught her eye, and she turned casually to see what had caused it.
Being on the very end of the table, the only thing located on Hermione's right side was a small alcove where a faded tapestry was hung, hiding a seldom-used passage to the headmistress' office. Hermione noted with a start that the tapestry was being held aside by a dark figure. Her hands froze in mid-air when her eyes met the face half-hidden by shadows. Severus Snape was standing in the alcove, staring at her intently.
Hermione was not sure how long she sat there, staring back at Snape unblinkingly, but it felt like an eternity. He looked almost exactly the same as she remembered him from her schooldays: black robes, black coat, and those frighteningly intense black eyes that watched her along with a familiar scowl. His black hair was cut shorter than she recalled but still held not a single touch of gray despite the many years that had passed. Remarkably, he appeared as if he hadn't aged a single day.
Hermione's heart was pounding in her throat at the shock of seeing him so fully recovered. She was only dimly aware that somewhere behind her, McGonagall had begun speaking to the students in the Hall, and their plates and cups had been magically filled with food and drink. She found herself unable to look away from Snape's penetrating eyes, and it was not until he stepped back into the passageway, letting the tapestry fall back with a forceful snap, that she was once again able to move.
Hermione turned her gaze to the other teachers at the staff table, but no one else appeared to have seen him. After a few moments she wondered if she had imagined it, but then Neville handed her a small piece of paper, and she knew it hadn't been a hallucination. Written on the parchment in McGonagall's precise handwriting were the words, "Come to my office after dinner. Severus will be joining us."
Hermione toyed with her food during the Feast and barely contributed to the conversation Neville was attempting to have with her. The various drying methods for Alihosty leaves appeared to fascinate her friend, but Hermione could think of nothing but Snape. She finally left the Great Hall after her untouched dessert was cleared and headed to the headmistress' office with a mixture of anxiety and dread. Snape hadn't exactly appeared happy to see her earlier, and she mentally steeled herself against his unpleasant manner that she remembered so well from her youth.
She entered McGonagall's office and saw the headmistress seated behind her large desk while Snape occupied the chair across from her: the same one Hermione had sat in the night they'd learned he was awake.
"Ah, Hermione," McGonagall said and motioned her forward.
She approached the desk and was rather surprised when Snape vacated his seat at her presence and turned to her.
"Miss Granger," he said with a slow grimace, nodding his head curtly.
The slight inflection he placed on the term "Miss" did not escape her notice. Judging from his pursed lips, she doubted Snape was going to address her as "Professor" anytime soon.
Hermione watched as his dark eyes quickly swept down her form, taking in her appearance. A subtle frown drew his brows together, and Hermione believed her earlier assessment had been accurate: he certainly did not appear pleased to see her.
"Good evening," she replied, equally formal. "It's nice to see you looking so… um… alive," she said, hating how her speech had faltered. She didn't miss the way his scowl deepened at her choice of words.
If she was expecting some sort of exchange of pleasantries, she was to be sorely disappointed.
The awkward silence in the room extended until finally Snape turned to McGonagall and said, "I believe we're done with the courtesies now, Minerva. Might we continue with the business at hand?"
McGonagall looked uncomfortable but replied, "Of course. Please, sit down."
Snape returned to his chair, and McGonagall absent-mindedly Conjured a seat for Hermione directly beside him. Hermione thought the headmistress looked distracted, and her suspicion was confirmed when she sat in her newly conjured chair and found herself sinking deeply. The legs of the chair were ridiculously short, and it sat a good deal lower than the one Snape occupied.
She tried to arrange herself professionally, but the task proved difficult, given that her knees had now risen to the same level as her chest. She briefly considered Transfiguring the chair into something more appropriate but feared it might embarrass the headmistress, who was already looking unusually ruffled. Hermione shifted her head to the side and regretted it immediately when she saw the amused expression on Snape's face as he looked down at her. He was evidently enjoying her discomfort.
It's like being eleven again, Hermione thought and felt her face grow hot.
McGonagall cleared her throat and brought their attention back to her. "Hogwarts is indeed very fortunate to have you both on staff. Now, let's work out some of the details, shall we?"
Hermione bowed her head in acknowledgement while noting that Snape remained still and silent.
"You could start out teaching the classes together for—" began McGonagall.
"I do not require an apprentice," Snape interrupted quietly.
Apprentice? Hermione felt her irritation rise at his easy dismissal. "Nor do I!" she countered, trying not to blanch when Snape glared down at her.
McGonagall looked pained with them both. Hermione thought she heard the distinct sound of Dumbledore chuckling from his portrait, although the old wizard appeared to be snoozing.
"Neither of you will be relegated to the role of apprentice," McGonagall informed them impatiently. "You could share the responsibilities…"
"I doubt our teaching methods would be suitable for a joint endeavour," said Snape flatly.
Hermione actually agreed with this statement but refrained from saying so.
McGonagall made several more suggestions, each involving some form of combined control of the Potions classes, and each promptly rejected by Snape. It didn't appear as if he would entertain any scenario from the headmistress unless he was taking sole responsibility for teaching Potions.
Hermione watched McGonagall expectantly.
"I appreciate your position, Severus, but there needs to be some compromise," said McGonagall.
"Naturally. Have her work with Flitwick or Harbro," he said, naming the Charms and Transfiguration professors. "She certainly doesn't belong in Potions."
This was finally too much for Hermione to abide. "Excuse me! 'She' is sitting right here," Hermione pointed out, aggravated by the way he was discussing her as if she were in another room. "And 'she' happens to be quite accomplished in Potions!"
Snape turned to Hermione with a look of boredom and said, "I instructed you for five years, Miss Granger. 'Accomplished' is hardly the word to describe your abilities."
With growing indignation, Hermione jumped from her seat, which was no small feat considering the chair's proximity to the floor. "Actually, I was being modest!" she fumed, fisting her hands on her hips. "It may surprise you to learn that a great deal can change in fourteen years!"
"Obviously," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. His eyes flicked up from her face and briefly rested on her hair, then slowly travelled down the length of her body, lingering on the deep slit in her dress. Her soft, brown leather boots laced up well above her knees, but a copious amount of flesh could still be seen.
Mortified, Hermione realised that her robes must have come open in her haste to extricate herself from the chair, fully exposing the dress beneath. She gathered the fabric around her and felt her heart beating erratically at the predatory gleam on Snape's face. Then he resumed speaking, and she was convinced that she'd imagined the look in his eyes and misinterpreted his reference.
"I don't consider tinkering with Muggle toys an adequate qualification for a Potions mistress," he said with disdain.
Muggle toys indeed! thought Hermione. Furious that he had reduced her many years of hard work to this, she spat angrily, "How fortunate we are that you no longer hold a position at Hogwarts where you need concern yourself with a professor's qualifications!"
At the reference to his brief time as headmaster, Snape rose to his feet with surprising speed and approached her menacingly.
Hermione drew herself up to her full height, which was considerably less impressive than Snape's towering form. Refusing to back away, she held her position proudly as he advanced on her. When he paused before her, she ridiculously wondered if he could hear her heart slamming frantically against her rib cage. He was standing so close that his breath fanned her face, and she could feel strands of hair that had escaped her clips tickling her cheeks.
In a low whisper he told her, "I did not solicit the role of headmaster, nor did I enjoy it." His eyes roamed her face with derision, and he continued, "But I would hardly expect a foolish girl to appreciate the concept of duty and obligation."
Hermione held her tongue, remembering that it was only two months ago when she'd stood in this very spot and argued with the headmistress over all the reasons Snape should stay and she should be the one to leave. His mention of duty and obligation had forcibly reminded her of the sacrifices he'd made on behalf of the Order, and she felt ashamed now for having attacked him. Hermione ordered herself to stop arguing with the man, however difficult it might prove.
McGonagall, who had been quietly watching the exchange from behind her desk, now also stood. "Let's all just calm down and discuss this like adults."
"A noble concept," Snape said mockingly, never taking his gaze from Hermione's face.
She frowned as his eyes narrowed and pierced into hers, surprised when she thought she saw a look of puzzlement on his pale face. She dismissed the thought instantly when he continued speaking.
"Perhaps Miss Granger should go play with her little science kit while I teach the complex magic of Potions." He provided a distinct sneer to accompany the word "science."
Completely ignoring the resolution she'd made just moments before, Hermione couldn't stop rising to his bait. "Perhaps Snape would like to educate himself on advancements in his field of expertise while I teach the modern approach to Potions," she retorted through clenched teeth, deliberately mimicking his insulting tone when she spoke the word "expertise."
"Excellent—it's settled then!" McGonagall slapped her palm on her desk, causing the sparring pair to break apart with a jolt and face her incredulously. The headmistress had obviously had enough of their bickering.
McGonagall explained, "Starting tomorrow, Severus will take over Potions classes for all students in years one to three."
Hermione started to sputter in protest, but McGonagall raised a hand and demanded silence. "Hermione, you will continue teaching years four to seven."
Hermione did some fast calculations in her head; although technically she'd be teaching an extra year, there were fewer classes in years six and seven when Potions became an optional subject. McGonagall had effectively split the classes evenly between them.
"I will expect you both to utilise your new spare time in a productive manner," said McGonagall sharply.
Turning to address Snape, the headmistress said, "Severus, I'm certain you will want to find out what you've missed in the study of Potions over the last fourteen years."
A frown crossed Snape's face and his jaw muscle twitched. "Naturally," he agreed curtly.
Hermione allowed herself to feel just a little smug at the headmistress' order to Snape, but she quickly schooled her features when McGonagall turned to her. "Hermione, you will be able to continue your research; I'm sure you're anxious to have more time for laboratory work."
Hermione heard Snape utter a disdainful grunt but refused to look at him. She didn't necessarily agree with McGonagall's proposal of increased research and lab time, but she wasn't about to debate her reasons for such in Snape's presence.
"Thank you," she demurred instead. As Snape offered no further argument, she assumed that the direction McGonagall had set forth was to his agreement as well, and Hermione prepared to leave.
"It's settled then," McGonagall reiterated, sounding relieved. "Now we just need to discuss the matter of your living quarters, Severus."
Hermione hadn't considered this aspect of having an additional instructor join the staff and turned back to the headmistress with a frown. To her knowledge, there weren't exactly spare bedrooms in the castle, and Hermione felt a growing sense of unease as McGonagall's eyes rested on her with a look of sympathy.
"Since you'll both be teaching in the dungeons, the most efficient solution would be to share the living quarters," insisted McGonagall. At Snape's surprised expression, the headmistress explained the vast enhancements Slughorn had made to the rooms during his extended time as Potions master.
"Fine," he said with a disinterested flick of his wrist.
"Wait a minute," Hermione interjected. The thought of having to work closely with Snape was daunting enough, but the idea of actually living with him was simply too much to contemplate.
Hermione began suggesting they alter another area of the castle, similar to the way Slughorn had changed the dungeons. But McGonagall reminded her that such changes required a unique magical skill which few possessed and the process would take several months to complete before the rooms would be habitable.
Hermione continued to search for alternatives, growing increasingly frantic. Her last possibility involved a complex plan to move five different professors into four different quarters, so that the professor remaining to share her quarters would be female and Snape could have his own chambers elsewhere in the castle. It had all made perfect sense to Hermione.
At McGonagall's exasperated expression Hermione said, "I'm sure they wouldn't mind moving! I can talk to them all and explain—"
Evidently growing weary of the discussion, Snape walked to where Hermione stood and spoke to her with a look of loathing. "I assure you, Miss Granger, your… virtue… is quite safe with me."
He had given her dress a rather disparaging glance at the mention of virtue, and Hermione felt herself blushing madly. Then he bid goodbye to the headmistress and turned abruptly on his heel before marching out of the office.
Hermione spent the next half hour arguing with McGonagall and insisting there was some other solution until the headmistress completely lost her temper and snapped at her.
"For the love of Merlin, there's a ten-room suite down there! I suggest you stop being so prudish and learn to live with a housemate, Hermione. Severus has spent the last fourteen years living in the space occupied by a single bed; I don't imagine he'll inconvenience you too much!"
Hermione finally set off for the dungeons in a foul mood, feeling McGonagall's remarks were a bit unfair. For one thing, the living quarters contained nine rooms, not ten. She also felt the "prudish" crack was a bit harsh. She noticed McGonagall hadn't volunteered to share her chambers with Snape…
Hermione's ire grew as she descended the staircase into the dungeons. Her high-heeled boots rang out loudly tonight, reverberating off the stone walls as she stomped along angrily with her robes billowing behind her. She remembered the look of disgust Snape had given her when he spoke of her virtue, and she snorted in disbelief.
How dare he imply that she was the one lacking in appeal? He was surely no prize, with his greasy hair and pale skin. Although to be fair, his hair hadn't looked greasy at all tonight, just shiny and silky, and the new, shorter cut actually suited the sharp lines of his face. If she was going to be honest with herself, she'd admit that he actually looked… well… if not outright handsome, then certainly striking. And almost indecently intense, which she supposed some women found attractive.
Hermione shook her head in irritation, wondering what the hell she was doing with thoughts like that circling in her mind. She paused momentarily to enter her living quarters, frowning at the door once inside. The problem with a Vanishing door was that it was impossible to slam it shut, and Hermione longed for the satisfaction of hearing the door bang closed. She took a deep breath and saw the lamps were lit in the larger of the two spare bedrooms; the door was shut tightly but a crack of light at the base told Hermione that Snape was in the room. There was no escaping her defeat tonight.
Resigned, Hermione walked to her bedroom and removed her robes, turning to stare at herself in the full-length mirror. Okay, so the dress definitely screamed out the fact that her virtue was most likely long gone. But the overall package was not unattractive, to quote Draco. She removed the leaves and pins from her long brown hair and shook it out, admiring the soft waves that had formed as a result of wearing her hair up. Hermione was often her own harshest critic, but even to her judgmental eye, she couldn't find anything in her reflection that Snape could consider so repulsive. Not that she wanted him to think of her in that way, of course.
A voice in her head reminded Hermione that it was just Snape being Snape. He had always taken delight in tormenting her. From insulting her teeth to calling her an insufferable know-it-all, he had a talent for knowing how to get beneath her skin. And now that she was older, he seemed to have found another way to eat away at her confidence. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione realised how pleased Snape would be if he knew his comments had sent her on this path of self-doubt. Tossing her head, she left the mirror and allowed herself to accept the idea that she had, in fact, looked damn sexy in this dress.
Hermione crossed back to her bedroom door and was about to close it when she heard a soft knock on the outer door of the living quarters. She grabbed her wand from the dressing table and headed quickly to the door, her hopes rising. Surely McGonagall had come up with a solution to the living situation after all.
A quick wave of her wand Vanished the door, and Hermione found herself facing Snape for the third time that evening.
The disappointment of not seeing McGonagall must have been evident on her face because he surveyed her coolly and asked, "You were expecting someone else?"
Hermione wondered where he had been; she hadn't noticed him in the classroom outside, but then again she had stormed through without really looking. A bit embarrassed by the idea that he might have witnessed her temper, she stepped aside to allow him entrance. She deliberately ignored his question as she swept her arm toward the spare bedroom and said, "The lights were on; I presumed you were inside already."
He followed her gaze but then returned to her face, his expression unreadable. "I did not deem it… appropriate… to enter the chambers before you tonight."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "Thank you." She hadn't expected him to respect her boundaries like that and felt a little more generous towards him. With a curt nod, he entered the sitting room and examined his surroundings. Hermione felt suddenly awkward without her robes and wished she'd spent the past few minutes getting changed rather than gawking at herself in the mirror. Stop it, she silently chided herself.
Snape had returned his eyes to her and stood with his arms crossed, watching her expectantly. "Well?" he drawled.
"Um…" Hermione looked at him helplessly and felt ridiculous, unable to guess what he was prompting her for. She hated to feel stupid, and she felt certain he was aware of this fact.
Snape breathed a heavy sigh. "Are you going to offer me the tour?"
"Oh!" Hermione squeaked. "Of course."
She walked through the rooms and pointed out the various changes Slughorn had made to the living quarters. Snape followed her silently, his hands clasped behind his back. As it often did when she was anxious, Hermione's brain kept generating pointless facts which her mouth dutifully voiced before her better judgment could step in. Her constant commentary didn't cease until they'd paused in the library, and she realised her voice was growing hoarse.
Snape turned to her. "Tell me, Miss Granger," he began conversationally. "Is it often your habit to prattle on endlessly like this?"
Hermione flushed, wishing he didn't make her so nervous. She wondered idly what it must be like to conduct oneself with such control, as Snape did. She had to admit that her 'prattle' had started to grate on her own nerves, as well.
With a ghost of a smile she replied, "No; it's a special treat for your first night here."
She was surprised when his lips quirked. Then he stepped out of the library and asked, "My room?"
Hermione thought he sounded tired and wondered what effects he suffered from the snakebite and his fourteen years of bed-rest, if any. There was so much she was yearning to ask him but stilled her tongue with a mighty effort.
Instead, she raised her arm to indicate his bedroom and headed towards it, feeling his presence behind her. She opened the door and walked fully into the room, noting three large black trunks on the floor. Looking around, she saw that several dozen books had been added to the shelves of the bookcase and all the lamps had been lit. The house-elves had evidently been busy.
Hermione turned back to face Snape, watching as he removed his robes and threw them carelessly over the desk in the corner. She had been on the point of asking him if the room was suitable, but judging by the way he was instantly making himself at home, the question was moot.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked.
His dark eyes narrowed at her question, and he arched one slim eyebrow.
Hermione flushed again when she realised she'd posed her question while standing so close to his bed that her knee touched the deep blue coverlet. Hermione swallowed past a sudden lump that had formed in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.
Leisurely, Snape raised his hands to the neck of his black tunic and began unfastening the buttons.
"I'll let you know if I think of anything," he told her silkily. Then his eyes moved to a spot behind her, and she watched as a look of disgust crossed his face.
Hermione swung around to see what had caught his attention and immediately guessed where he was looking. On the middle of the headboard, she had placed a framed photograph of herself, Harry, and Ron, taken in their second year at Hogwarts. The three young faces laughed and hugged one another, occasionally waving out from the picture.
"I'll just… get this out of your way," she mumbled feebly. Stretching across the bed, she leaned precariously on one hand and reached out to grab the photograph with the other. She was quite focused on her balancing act and therefore completely missed the fact that her movements had hiked her dress up considerably, causing Snape's eyes to darken and his hands to still at their task.
Hermione looked down at the photograph, remembering with a pang that it had been taken by Colin Creevey, who had perished in the Final Battle. She cradled the photograph against her chest, returning her gaze to Snape.
He had turned away from her now, and she watched transfixed as his hands continued to unfasten the many buttons on his coat. They were elegant hands, she noted with surprise, and they made her think of music: the graceful fingers looked well-suited to playing a piano or some other fine instrument. She wondered why she'd never noticed how lovely his hands were before. Hermione watched as Snape finished with the buttons and removed the coat, revealing a snowy white shirt. He carefully set the coat aside, and still Hermione continued to watch his hypnotically efficient motions, unable to tear her eyes away.
She was unaware of just how long she'd been standing there beside his bed until he turned back to her, and the force of his dark eyes hitting her made her look down guiltily. She risked one last look at him, watching as his long fingers began work on the buttons of his shirt, before he once again cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Do you intend to join me?" he asked wryly, moving one hand from his shirt and gesturing towards the bed.
"I… oh!" Hermione stammered and awkwardly sidled away from the bed, shaking her head vehemently while her eyes grew larger. "I… NO!" she exclaimed, painfully bumping her hip into the dresser before finally managing to back out of the door as Snape advanced on her slowly.
He stopped neatly at the threshold and inclined his head with a faint smile. "Then I bid you goodnight, Miss Granger," he said and shut the door in her face.
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, breathing hard and crushing the photograph against her ribs.
"Oi!" came the distant, muffled voice of the twelve-year-old Ron preserved in the photograph. Hermione distractedly pulled the frame away, then fled to her room and flung herself on her bed, mortified by her behaviour.
Oh, how she hated Halloween!
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has stayed with this story long enough to witness Snape's arrival. And as always, thanks so much for leaving a review—it's the ultimate inspiration to continue writing!!
I'm sending embarrassingly effusive, glompy, messy gratitude to ladyinthecloak, littlebeloved, and lettybird for their amazing beta and Brit-picking skills. Thanks so much, ladies!!