Chapter Seven
Playlist: www. youtube. com/view_play_list?p=456DBC783241923D
She had been waiting for today. Not in the way one anticipates a birthday. More like the way one wants to get a root canal so that it will be done and over with.
After her meeting with the headmistress, the next few days were rather silent. Hermione dutifully went to all of her classes, even Potions. She had never been more tempted to skip that class than she had been following her conversation with Minerva. Even stealing from Professor Snape's stores hadn't made her feel this awkward.
But Professor Snape was the epitome of professionalism. He had given absolutely no indication that anything had changed between them. In fact, he had even taken five points from Gryffindor. She had apparently drawn attention to herself when he had asked a question the class couldn't answer, and she hadn't raised her hand. He had immediately called on her to supply the answer, and her lack of a response had informed him that she was not present mentally. It felt like the best points loss, ensuring, as it did, that everything was normal.
Feeling mollified, Hermione had been able to return her focus to her studies.
She found it strange though. The students had been whispering in other classes and in the halls that Snape was in a right foul mood, and they had been urging others to use an excuse for Potions if they had one. She even heard that he had made a fourth year cry. Yet he just seemed like his usual snarky self to her. But then, he had been relatively subdued to her so far this school year. Perhaps him being short with her meant he was being drastically short with others?
She was pondering this theory as she heard him bellow.
"POTTER!"
Her head snapped up in time to see Harry drop an extra porcupine quill into his cauldron, and she watched as though the world were in slow motion. Smoke began to curl and dance above the cauldron, growing and becoming angrier by the second. She went to pull her wand to Vanish it, but Professor Snape had already taken the cauldron from the flame as the potion exploded.
Luckily, it wasn't boiling, but it was still awfully warm and sticky. Not to mention that it contained quail urine and armadillo bile, which, coupled with the freesia extract, made everything it touched smell like an overused Portaloo.
But it was what she saw when she looked up that really bothered her. Professor Snape had Harry by the scruff of his neck pinned to the wall nearest his chair.
Harry had been sitting right next to Hermione, and she hadn't even seen him get snatched, which made her more than a little frightened at both this man's abilities and his anger.
"The recipe clearly states there are to be two quills placed in the cauldron, you irresponsible, dull-witted, pillock! Not three. How many?"
"T-t-two, sir," stuttered Harry, nervous and gasping for air.
"And why, exactly, did you feel the need to put in three? Did you not believe the instructions were good enough for the Boy Wonder? Perhaps you thought you were, in fact, a prince of potions, here to regale us all with your mastery? The recipe is there for a reason, and only with caution and precautions should you alter it. This is a N.E.W.T.-level class, and I expect my students to Be. More. Responsible!"
Each of the last words was punctuated by a shake of his student, and Harry was now turning red from lack of air as the whole class watched in shock.
Hermione was terrified of what he would do to Harry. She could see little golden sparks emitting from the end of his wand, which currently, thankfully, was pointed towards the floor. Sucking in a breath, she hated to hear her voice break as she asked softly, "Professor?"
Pausing in his tirade, Professor Snape whipped his head around to glare at her. "What?"
"Puh-Please put Harry on his feet," she stammered, her wide eyes staring straight at his.
Her eyes like brushed gold.
Startled, he turned his head back to the gasping boy and quickly released him. Harry fell to the floor and rubbed his neck while he caught his breath.
Snape turned to see the class, and Hermione, still staring at him, mouths agape, and he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Shame.
The emotion further fueling his anger, he growled to the class. "Get. Out."
Harry, having heard that voice before, scrabbled to his feet and was one of the first out the door. A few others lingered behind, uncertain if they should really be leaving the class.
"GET OUT!"
They had no more doubts.
Soon, the classroom was empty save for Hermione.
"Miss Granger," he rumbled tonelessly, "I suggest you remove yourself from my presence. Now."
"Just one moment," she said quickly and, throwing her bag over her shoulder, waved her wand and her other arm over the desk and overturned cauldron. Everything was quickly put to rights, and the ruined potion was gone.
Hurrying to the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder at her professor. He was standing in one corner of the classroom, head dipped low and one hand pinching the bridge of his nose while the other one sat on his hip.
"Have a…better…day, sir," she said, and then fled.
She wouldn't do it now, hoping for a modicum of subtlety at least, but, feeling the Galleon in her pocket, she knew tonight would be their first meeting.
~~HGSS~~
Had the girl really stayed long enough to clean up Potter's mess? Not only to clean up his mess but to bid him a good day as well? Severus didn't know what she was playing at, but he was not a fool.
If it hadn't been for her, he might have quite seriously injured Potter. He was not sure what had caused his anger to lash out. True, it was a seventh-year class, but it was a simple mistake, and he knew that for the most part, this class was fairly disciplined. When he had seen the error, it had just made him so furious. Hadn't Potter learned anything?
In his mind's eye, he watched as the dangerous potion exploded all over Granger, searing her skin, and who knows what else, all due to Potter's negligence.
The next thing he knew, he heard the sound of her voice and was looking into those damnable brown eyes. She had been so calm, so gentle, when she had spoken to him, like she was trying to calm a frightened doe.
But it had worked and snapped him to the present where the student's eyes had all been glued to him, their mouths gaping open and none daring to move a muscle, too shocked to try.
Would I have answered, would I have listened, if it had been anyone besides her?
Angered by the thought, he stormed out of his rooms, not wishing to be reminded of the incident any longer. Figuring that legitimately yelling at students would do him some good, he went on a patrol of the castle.
~~HGSS~~
Hermione stepped out of the classroom and leaned against the door, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.
That had almost been really, really bad.
She headed up to Gryffindor Tower to check on Harry, and, as soon as she arrived, she was assaulted by Ron.
"Are you bloody mental?"
"Excuse me?" she answered.
"He would point his wand at you as soon as look at you, Hermione! And you think you can just step in like that? You could have gotten seriously hurt!" yelled Ron.
"And Harry was getting seriously hurt. What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and watch the extinction of the Potters to keep the Granger line safe?"
"I don't know, get McGonagall or something!"
"There wasn't time, Ron," she explained. "I hoped he might listen, and he did. Harry is fine; Professor Snape will hopefully be in a better mood by morning. No harm, no foul, okay? Harry, how are you feeling?"
Ron was obviously not seeing reason as he walked away and out of the portrait hole, leaving the two friends behind.
"As well as can be expected. A little sore, a lot unnerved. Other than that, I'm fine. Pretty sure I'll remember to put in two quills for the rest of my life, though."
Hermione felt herself relax at her friend's humor and laughed. "I dare say you will. And good thing too. Do you have any idea how abominable that smelled?"
"Yeah, I do. You still smell a bit, in fact," said Harry.
"Wonderful. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go freshen up," she told them. She was a bit embarrassed but knew it wasn't the first time she had been covered in muck.
She went up to her dorm expecting to find Parvati or Lorrell studying, but the room was empty. Hermione picked up her toiletries and a fresh set of clothes as she headed down to the bath.
If Harry thought the prefects' bath was nice, he really needed to see the Head Boy and Girl's bath. She wondered why it was so ostentatious for only two students, but she figured it was left over from some headmaster or something. She didn't have to worry about being bothered in there. The only people who could get in were teachers and Anthony Goldstein, and the portrait over the door warned if the room was occupied.
She relaxed into the bubbles and felt her day wash away. So content was she that she let her mind wander.
Did Professor Snape take bubble baths for stress relief?
Hermione thought about this, and her laughter soon echoed in the large room. Professor Snape in a large bathtub with a pile of bubbles on his head, still in his frock jacket. Ridiculous as it was unlikely, she savored it a moment before continuing.
After her bath, she quickly got dressed and tossed up her hair. Accessories in tow, she left the bathroom and walked into something she never wished to see again.
Ron had Lorrell pinned up against the wall in a corner near the bathroom. She wrinkled her nose as she heard the heavy breathing and turned away, both disgusted and embarrassed at Ron's hands all over the chesty blond girl.
Turned away as she was, she did not see the look of horror cross Ron's face or the bewildered look on Lorrell's. Lorrell obviously had no idea what kind of trouble she was in.
"Get off her, you fool! Mister Weasley, Miss Pepple, I believe that will be ten points for indecency in the hallways."
"But-"
"Each, Weasley. Miss Pepple, I understand you are American, but here in this castle, we have standards we uphold, and you are supposed to be models for the younger students in propriety, not licentiousness!"
Hermione was horrified to be caught in the hallway, fresh from a bath, with nowhere to go. She had to go past them to get back to the tower and was afraid to move lest she drawn attention to herself. Hearing every word Professor Snape spoke, she stood, still turned away, in the hall, hoping they would all leave before they saw her.
But no such luck.
Professor Snape saw her before the students did. Quirking his head, he squinted at her before turning back to the miscreants. "And in front of your last paramour too, Weasley. Poor form indeed. I believe that's another five points for discourtesy. To your dormitories." After a pause in which no one moved, he clarified. "Now!"
Hermione flinched and, red-faced, headed to her dorm room. As she walked past her professor, she didn't even look up but just watched her hair drip on the floor. She stayed far enough behind Ron and Lorrell that by the time she reached the dormitory, neither the blonde nor the red-head could be seen.
Professor Snape watched the students leave and gloated over making someone else the center of unwanted attention. Honestly, Weasley had been caught enough times with Miss Brown to know to use discretion. The boy apparently had the memory of a goldfish or the libido of a dog in heat.
He frowned as he watched Granger leave. She looked like a drowned rat. A sullen, limp, red-faced, drowned rat. Knowing all she had been through, and knowing this incident was in no way her fault, made him feel a tug on that little bit of something in his chest he forgot was even there. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought her into the conversation, not thinking about how it would reflect on her.
He thought that perhaps later he would apologize.
But he knew he wouldn't.
Mood once more sour, he continued stalking through the castle. Halfway back to his rooms, he felt a burning sensation. At first he flinched and grabbed his arm until he realized it wasn't coming from his arm, merely from near his arm, and he reached into his pocket to grab the enchanted Galleon. He had almost forgotten that Minerva had given it to him, tossing it into his jacket pocket. Squinting, he read the numerals around the edge.
Room of Requirement 8pm
Snape hadn't realized just how tense he had become until he felt himself loosen at those words. He felt like she was a Muggle drug to which his body was fast becoming addicted. Four days had passed since he had fallen asleep outside her door. Embarrassed as he was, he was placated by the fact that Minerva had said she was more than happy to play for him.
He was not going to be anyone's burden.
Mollified, he returned to his rooms.
Hermione focused on her upcoming meeting with Professor Snape in order to ignore her feelings about what had just happened with Ron. Snape might actually have to acknowledge her presence. She doubted he would want to talk, but they wouldn't just spend the whole time quiet…would they?
Holding a conversation with her surly Potions professor. Hermione really hoped she had made the right decision and hadn't just consigned Gryffindor to last place in the House Cup.
And what would he want to listen to? Before, he had wanted to remain unknown to her, so he had listened to whatever she had wanted to play. Did he have a preference? Hermione went through her books, adding one, subtracting that one, and then putting it back in, only to take out another. She couldn't bring the whole music library down with her, as much as she might want to.
She knew he was in a really foul mood, so she selected some pieces that usually helped her work out her anger, hoping they would help him too. It certainly couldn't hurt. About thirty minutes before eight, she headed to the Room of Requirement.
Thinking hard about what she needed, she paced three times in front of the section of wall across from Barnabas the Barmy, imagining exactly what she required. When the door appeared, she looked around her and then stole inside.
She sighed, grateful the room had filled her needs. A large fireplace with a large hearth and a roaring fire dominated one wall. A small seating area in front of that held two overstuffed lounge chairs and a small table. In the center of the large space was a baby grand piano. Hermione went straight to it, running her hands along the shiny black case and plucking out a few notes experimentally. "Well done, Room," she said aloud. "Well done."
Taking advantage of her time, she summoned Dobby. She really was going to have to thank Harry for him someday. Being Head Girl, she could call a house elf if she needed to, but most were wary of her after her misbegotten S.P.E.W. campaign. It was nice to have at least one house elf who was cheerful when he saw her.
"How can Dobby serve, Miss?"
"Hello, Dobby," said Hermione cheerfully. "May I have a spot of tea, please? Also, do you happen to know what Professor Snape likes to eat?"
"Yes, Miss! Those were the sandwiches Dobby brought last time Miss asked!" said Dobby, his large ears flopping as he spoke.
"Excellent, Dobby. I'd like a plate of them and some tea biscuits, if you don't mind," said Hermione.
Dobby violently shook his head. "Dobby does not mind at all, Miss! It is wonderful to help a friend of the great Harry Potter!" And with that, he was gone.
Hermione smiled and shook her head at the wee elf while warming up her fingers. At a few minutes to eight, she began playing Mozart's 'Piano Sonata No. 16' and heard the door creak open. (1)
Without a word, Professor Snape walked past her and took a chair.
He sat in silence and listened to her play. At the end of her piece, she paused and turned to him. "Is there anything you would like to hear, sir?"
"I have no preference."
"Oh. Alright then." She took in his posture and face. One leg over the other and hands clasped in his lap, he sat perfectly straight in the chair giving Hermione the feeling he was still quite edgy and irate. "Do you mind if I try something?"
He glared at her but offered no comment.
Nodding to him, she pulled out her music. "You've heard me play from this before, but now I can explain better what I am playing. Modest Mussorgsky composed one of my favorite suites. It's called Pictures from an Exhibition. I know it sounds strange, but that's exactly what they are inspired by. Viktor Hartmann, a friend of his, was an artist who died at only thirty-nine, but Mussorgsky helped organize an exhibition of Hartmann's works. After touring it himself, he composed the suite based on the pieces. It was originally just piano, but it has a wonderful orchestral arrangement too, most prominently done by Ravel."
"Are you going to actually play, Miss Granger?"
Yes, still cranky.
"Of course, sir. This first piece is 'The Hut of Baba Yaga.'" (2) Hermione began to play the harsh chords of the beginning of the piece. She loved to play the whole suite. Since it focused on different paintings, it had a different mood in each piece, but since they were a part of an overall composition, they had some similar chord progressions and connections. She was able to start at one emotion and land in another if she played them in a certain order, and that was what she was attempting to do now.
Hermione rolled her shoulders a bit as she played, letting herself relax into the music. She really cherished having a masterful instrument to play on. It might be worth it just for this.
She let one song flow into the next. (3) Let him imagine what he wanted to see. She wasn't going to say anymore if he thought she was being too chatty. See if he pictured the rich Jew and the poor Jew the song was written about.
She couldn't help but stop before the next piece. "This is the 'Great Gate of Kiev'," she said softly and smiled. "It's one of my favorites." (4)
The uplifting song always moved her, ever since she had first seen it performed live as a child. Hermione could remember sitting in the large seat, kneeling so that she was tall enough to look over the people in front of her. She often wondered if her parents had started taking her to the symphony just for the two hours of silence they got from their precocious daughter.
Smiling, she brought her thoughts back to the present. Professor Snape was watching her while nibbling on a sandwich. She blithely wondered if she got extra credit for getting him to eat. Surely there had to be something Minerva would grant her. An afterhours pass for the library perhaps…or a choice of rooms for the following year.
She closed her eyes, imagining wonderful things like book shelves, a companion for Crookshanks, a music hall, and childhood. Her hands played the loud and exultant conclusion to the song. The strong chords sent the feeling of triumph through her.
She never knew the kind of image she was giving to her professor, having played mostly in front of her parents or clinical professionals.
She is passionate, he thought. Snape watched the emotions play on her face and wished he could see what she was picturing as she played the pieces that were so familiar to her. Shiny golden hair danced to the rhythm of the music as its mistress weaved over her instrument. Her eyes were focused and intent, then they closed in remembered bliss. Her whole being went into performing. For her, it was more of an aerobic activity than a leisurely motion of hands and feet.
He sucked in a breath as she turned that passion towards him. Eyes bright and cheeks rosy, she excitedly asked him, "I know you don't know much about music, sir, but did you know a piano can be frivolous? It's not all formal and respectable. I won't play much of it for you, I doubt you'd find it amusing, but this song is called 'Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks.' The first time I heard this I was just a little girl, and I could just picture huge eggs with full-grown chickens inside trying to peck their way out." Eager to begin, she flashed a grin and went back to her playing. (5)
When, in the name of Circe, was the last time someone had smiled at him? And dammit, why was he always so maudlin in Granger's presence? Snape wondered briefly if perhaps this was a bad idea, but he could not deny the fact that he was feeling much better. Something about the simple beauty of the music had a way of calming him.
She noticed that he was much more relaxed and inwardly crowed that her experiment had been a success. Hermione now had a better idea of what kinds of music to choose for him, knowing he responded similarly to herself. Professor Snape was fully stretched out in the chair with his head against the back rest, black hair loose against his shoulders, and he was breathing much easier and more deeply than he had been when he joined her. Hermione did a little internal happy dance. She loved it when she got things right.
Many people had unique methods of easing their tension, often derived from their parents during childhood. Some people benefited from a back rub, the scent of lavender oil, or clean laundry. Others liked Muggle cartoons, going for a walk, or going out for a drink. It seemed like the method their parents chose to handle the pressure or how they soothed their children was what made the biggest impact on the emotional transference to their children.
Professor Snape's father had handled the pressure by drinking himself into a stupor and beating his wife.
Snape's mother had handled the pressure by pressuring her son to do better, act better, be better, or by crying herself to sleep behind closed doors where she thought she could not be heard.
None of these were an option for him, so the pressure was locked inside him until the cap flew off like a shaken bottle of champagne, flying at whoever was close by. He knew this was not the best way to handle things, but he was at a loss to find a better method.
But listening to Miss Granger play was a like an emotional Restorative Potion.
"How do you do that?" Hermione's professor asked as her song finished.
"Well, I've been playing since I was four or five. My mother would have told you practice. Lots and lots and lots of practice."
"That is not what I mean. How do you remain chipper and unaffected by the events of the summer? How do you not break like so many others would have?"
Hermione looked at him pensively. He had gone from saying absolutely nothing to saying something so…unexpected. She felt compelled to answer. "I don't know honestly. The best answer I can give you is that I was taught that you can't give what you haven't received, and you are what you surround yourself with. I now know that isn't necessarily true. Harry grew up surrounded by prejudice and hate and elitism, but he is one of the most accepting people I know. But one's surroundings certainly help. I can't be happy if I surround myself with sadness, just like it's hard for me to be sad if I surround myself with joy. I am grieving for my parents, Professor, but I am doing it in the way I think they would want me to. By celebrating life and love and remembering to be the kind of woman they taught me to be. It's not easy, and I don't always succeed, but I try. And every time I try, it becomes easier not to fail. That's…probably more of an answer than you wanted. I'm sorry."
He was frowning at her in intense concentration, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Had she said something wrong? Had she completely negated any respect she may have been gaining in his eyes with her overly sentimental comments?
"Your music obviously guides your thoughts and your memories," Snape said gravely.
"Yes, it does."
He took a sip of tea while thinking about what she had said. "Do you have songs you play that remind you of people?"
"Yes, I do. There are many songs that remind me of home or my family. A few that bring to mind Harry or Ginny, or sometimes a new piece will bring to mind someone I'm not expecting." Hermione shrugged. "It just depends on the mood of the piece really."
He couldn't say what made him ask. "Do you have a song that reminds you of me?"
Shit. She had walked right into that one. She needed to learn to be on her toes when conversing with a Slytherin. But how could she possibly, in a million years, think that he, Professor Snape, the feared and misanthropic Potions master, would ask her questions like that?
Gulping, she answered in a slightly shaking voice, "Yes, sir. In fact, I do."
He raised the infamous eyebrow with what could only be disbelief or casual disinterest. She made no move to turn back to her piano or withdraw music. That was all she apparently had to say. Curious now, he told her, "I should like to hear it."
He wondered if she would play it, vaunted Gryffindor or not. Was it possible there were notes on a page that accurately described the levels of scorn and prejudice ascribed to him?
"Oh," she simply said. She nibbled the inside of her cheek in indecision. After a moment, she seemed to come to a conclusion. "Alright then."
Hermione had been berating others, and occasionally herself, for not being friendlier toward Severus Snape. Perhaps it was time she put that theory into practice and let him know exactly how she saw him. She didn't pull out any music this time, but just swung her leg around the bench to face the piano. He saw her breathe deeply before she began to play. (6)
No words could explain the shock he felt when she began, but the incredulous look on his face was a good start.
A simple, clear, and unwavering tune filled the air. It had a touch of longing, as though someone you loved would soon be home. It was unpretentious and strong, but never harsh. Gone were the ruthless chords and swift tempos from earlier in the evening. In fact, there weren't really any chords at all. Just notes of truth, ringing out from the instrument and the young woman in the center of the room.
This? This was what reminded her of him? Surely there had to be a mistake. There was a joke in here he was not getting. It was impossible that this work of beauty, this unapologetically quixotic musical prose made her think of him.
Professor Snape sat in his chair, mute, as he watched Hermione play. He had always known this girl was different. From the first day in his classroom, there had been something about her that had been a little unconventional. She had her own mind and didn't fit into most of the molds of magical children.
He hadn't realized just how different she was until she sat there, unabashedly telling him through her music what brought him to mind for her.
As it came to its conclusion, the song slowed into a soft and strong rendition of the main theme. At the close, Hermione hesitated at her piano before turning to him. His look of astonishment must have still been on his face because she quickly rushed to explain. "It's called 'Sound of Your Voice.' It's by a composer named Jim Brickman, whose music is not very difficult to play but definitely is some of my favorites. But I've always been a bit impressed by your voice, sir. It's definitely a defining characteristic of yours, which I'm sure you know. It's something that has always been a constant for me through everything that has happened. Normally angry, of course, but still present at every major event since I turned eleven. It's…it's calming, sir. And reassuring. Knowing that whatever happens, some things never change. And I know – we know – that you're here for us. We know you can't do much in the public view, but we know who our allies are, where our strength comes from, and where we would be if we didn't have you. I've always had respect for you, sir. The title is what first brought you to mind, of course. But the feelings of the song echo you as well. I hope you don't mind. It's just what I feel." Realizing this was quite possibly the most she had ever spoken to him in her life, Hermione quieted and looked to the floor. She reflected that it was a very good thing for her house that she had waited until after about a half hour of playing before she had made these statements. He hadn't interrupted her or ejected her from the room.
"You make me feel like things are recognizable again and as they should be, even with all the changes. In your classes and here, I can forget about my parents and Professor Dumbledore and focus on what I know to be true," she said in almost a whisper.
It was his turn to be uncomfortable. He was unaccustomed to words such as these and, therefore, had no idea how to respond to them. Snape could remember how he had felt when he had reacted to this girl with anger and then with scorn, and the reactions had not panned out in his favor, so now he opted for a new experiment. "That is not the…typical reaction to my person. But your sentiments are not…unwelcome," he told her, his voice deep as it worked over the foreign phrases.
"I'm glad to hear that, sir," she said. She felt as though she would fall off the bench when the relief coursed through her. "I'm certain I'm not the only one who recognizes your actions for what they are."
"I am equally as certain that you are," he responded disdainfully.
She smile reassuringly at him and pulled out a different piece of music. "I'll just close out with some Mozart, shall I? You know, this music used to be played on an older style of piano which-"
Suddenly, the piano in front of her morphed into a smaller one with a different shape. It had levers instead of pedals at her feet. Hermione hollered out loud, "I am not playing on a fortepiano! I don't even know what these things do!" and she flipped a few of the strange levers before the instrument became the piano she recognized. "Thank you," she told the room and began the difficult and fast-moving piece. (7) Releasing the tension in the room, she was grateful for the unemotional piece of music. "I actually only learned that one because it's in the adaptation of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' with Colin Firth, an actor," she said with a blush.
"You speak to the castle?" he asked her in another of his apparently common random statements.
"Sometimes," she told him.
"Does it answer you?"
"Not usually. Curfew is soon, I should get back to perform my rounds. I hope you are feeling better now, sir, and that I wasn't too bold." She shrank her music and put it into her pocket while giving the piano a final pat. Walking over to the tray – now empty of sandwiches and a good portion of the biscuits – she helped herself to two biscuits.
He hadn't responded to her words and was looking at his hands, hair covering his cheeks. Laying her hand gently on his shoulder, she said softly, "Good night, sir."
He barely heard her slip out of the room.
A/N: Teaser for next week: "I, Hermione Granger, hereby grant to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
