Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, there'd be a lot more Snape in the books. A lot a lot more Snape.
I have read this over and over a thousand times, and I'm still not satisfied. Then again, every artist is her toughest critic. Let me know how I did, mis queridos, and, above all, enjoy!
Replies to your reviews are at the bottom again. I love you all.
A hangover does not a happy man make. Severus Snape woke to a throbbing headache and a tongue the size of a mattress, Ogden's Firewhiskey clutched in one clawlike hand. He couldn't question his motives for imbibing so much to drink, but he could ask himself what, exactly, had driven him to make the decision that drove him to drink. "Miss Granger," he muttered, wiping his face with his hand as if to remove everything from the glistening patina of sweat down to the features themselves. So much for Slytherin loyalty, but indeed his house had been on a steady decline since the rise of Voldemort. Too many assumed that ambition for power meant following blindly one who had a good deal of it, rather than pursuing one's own private interests in an honorable fashion. It was all one big mess, and producing a house full of sheep instead of wolves. Slytherin might as well have been Hufflepuff gone bad – or stupid, as the case seemed to be. So now Severus Snape was stuck with a Gryffindor mudblood know-it-all for the first apprentice he had ever taken on. "Brilliant, Severus. Your deductive reasoning astounds me." The acidic tones the Potions Master used on himself held twice the sting of those he used on his students, undiluted by an underlying hope that they would spur the victim into improvement.
Severus sat up slowly, acclimating to the change before getting out of bed and shuffling over to his cabinet. A bottle of hangover remedy, near-gone, rested on the top shelf. He eyed it suspiciously, unsure if there was enough for a full dose, but downed the rest of it quickly, desperate for relief. The effects were not instantaneous as they should have been, pain fading slowly to a dull throb, not much more than a magnified heartbeat but uncomfortable all the same. Severus swore quietly, kneading his forehead with one hand. He should have checked his stores before indulging in far too much Ogden's. Granger's fault, all Granger's fault. For a moment, he considered withdrawing his proposal entirely, slamming his door in her face as soon as she had arrived and cackling like a mad bat as she ran back to Gryffindor Tower, crying. The moment soon ended, however, as he berated himself on transferring the blame for his own foolish actions onto a student that had done little more than irritate him with her abundance of intellect, which was a genetic problem, really. Besides, the bloody documents were signed already; the deed was done. Gritting his teeth, he pulled on a set of robes and leaned on his elbows in front of the mirror, scraping his appearance together and vowing not to touch another drop of alcohol until Christmas, at least.
The Great Hall was agony. Even with the muffling effect of sleep still hanging over the students, the sheer number of them allowed for an intolerable volume. Severus was grateful for the fact that his reputation hardly required a bright, cheery smile like that of Sprout's. He didn't know what the woman did to keep the grin permanently plastered on her face, especially after a long weekend. Severus knew the woman had a taste for drink and no head for it; being the brewer of hangover remedies had its interesting blackmail opportunities, to be sure. Fortunately for her career, though, the woman had sense enough to stick to drinking solely on days not followed by classes or House duties. If her drinking had interfered with her ability as a teacher, Severus would have stopped making her remedies long ago and had her suffer the consequences. It was at best hypocritical on a day like today – here he was with a hangover moments before meeting with his horribly observant apprentice for the first time. Severus hoped she would be too overcome with academic euphoria to notice.
Taking his place at the head table, Severus ordered his morning usual of strong black tea, fresh fruit, and whole grain toast, knowing he'd need to keep up his strength even if he didn't particularly have an appetite. He could tell this would be a long morning, not even considering the day. Severus watched as Granger walked in, proud as a peacock, and sat next to Parvati and Lavender, apparently by choice. The girl had the most abhorrent taste in friends, to be sure. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Severus groped for his tea with the other hand, pleading that the caffeine would take the edge off of his headache. Instead, however, the throbbing in his head seemed to increase as he downed the strong brew, and he was certain he tasted cinnamon in the mix. The elves must have been experimenting with different types of tea again. Methodically, he ate the rest of his breakfast, sipping tea in between fruit and toast to cleanse his palate, until his plate was clear and his cup was empty. Checking his pocket watch, he noted that it was ten past nine – high time for him to get prepared for Granger's visit. At the thought of her name, he glanced up at the Gryffindor table to see if she had already left –
- and saw Miss Granger in a whole new light.
Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, prided himself on the knowledge he possessed as a result of his long and arduous apprenticeship as well as his continual study of the field. He knew the ingredients, method, theory, and effects of every potion published in every reliable source available on the subject up through the current year, and several of those were potions he had developed himself. However, ignorance is bliss, for, quite unfortunately, Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, knew the effects of the Adamare Animae when he saw them.
Face draining of color, he could do nothing more than watch Granger walk out of the room, haloed in a rosy gleam and followed by two of her housemates, completely oblivious to the shock and horror echoing through Severus's mind. Cinnamon. His tea! Someone must have slipped the potion into his tea. But who? There were precious few qualified to brew the potion, and precious fewer who could afford such a thing and then waste it on the greasy Potions professor at Hogwarts, whom everyone assumed had no heart nor soul to join. Albus, he thought, venom coursing through his veins. The man always goaded him to loosen up, get out into the world, let his guard down for a moment or two. Yes, it must have been…
But, then again, Albus knew the danger in imbibing the Adamare Animae. The knowledge of one's soulmate was intended for a proper time and place; premature recognition of such a thing could lead to emotional scarring and an upset of the drinker's life and health. Indeed. His dark eyes darted around the staff table, only then seeing Sybill Trelawney staring vacantly at the ceiling, toying with her napkin in her lap. Severus curled his lips back in a snarl, fighting the urge to rip the woman apart. Of course. The Adamare Animae was a divinatory potion, not to mention the woman had been dropping hints about "getting on with his love life", "exploring the sacred realms of amore", and "cleaning up a bit, for you'd be a rather attractive man if you washed your hair, clipped your nails, straightened your nose, got a bit of sun, wiped that scowl off your face…" At the time, he had thought Trelawney had been looking to get a date for the Yule Ball far in advance. How wrong he was.
Severus's anger was consumed by the sickly pall of dread and fear. No one could know about this. Not Trelawney – he'd have to pretend that the potion didn't work, or that he didn't see his soulmate anywhere and therefore she did not exist in the realm of the school. He certainly couldn't go to Albus – for one, relations with students were strictly forbidden; for two, it could possibly appear that his offer of apprenticeship was motivated by something other than a grudging respect; thirdly, he had no proof that it was Trelawney that brewed the potion and therefore all he would accomplish would be arousing Albus's suspicions of his intentions with Miss Granger – of which he certainly didn't have any! Granger couldn't know, of course – he'd have to be careful to ignore it with all his power, and not give into any thoughts on the matter. There was a time and place for everything, and this was not it. Perhaps forty years down the road, when he had forgotten about all the toil she had put him through, and she had forgotten all of the acid he had spit upon her, and they met somewhere at a Potions convention and discussed a lecture over coffee…perhaps then was the intended time and place for a relationship to spark up, as distasteful as it sounded. Certainly not in the budding stages of a seven-year apprenticeship.
Damn, he swore, squeezing his eyes shut and placing his hands over his face. I shouldn't have signed those documents. But who could have foreseen these events? He had beaten himself up over the fact that she was a Gryffindor, for Salazar's sake, but now, because of Trelawney's damnable intervention, he would spend the next seven years of his life tutoring the young woman who was destined to be his soulmate.
And what a bloody horrible choice of a soulmate she was! A student! He was old enough to be her father, and she was quite possibly the most aggravating student he had ever had. It had taken him seven years to come to terms with the fact that she was good enough to tutor in the deeper secrets of Potions, by Merlin. How many years would it take for him to get used to the idea that she was his destined love? Not to mention propriety, or even his own feelings. He didn't find her attractive in the least. She was so…Gryffindor. Foolish, obnoxious, nosy, irritating, loud, arrogant…the list ran on and on. She had the body of a child, no less! The thought was sickening. How old was she, anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen? He was thirty-eight, at least twenty years older, if not more.
And what about Miss Granger's thoughts on the matter? He had harangued her and goaded her, prodded her and pushed her, insulted her and humiliated her for the past six years. Severus was under no illusions of what his students thought about him – the greasy git, the old bat, the quite-possibly-vampire, the sallow-faced potions professor who hovered over cauldrons and displayed blatant favoritism to his own house while drastically undermining the others. Even if he should succumb to whatever charms she hid under her know-it-all veneer, there was no possible hope of reciprocation. Severus knew that for a fact. Never, never in his life had he possessed more than the platonic love of another. He had himself yearned, a weakness he was loath to admit, but never had he seen affection or adoration in the eyes of a woman. The thought solidified under his skin, a cold barb beneath a concrete shell. However, a hot dart of anger shattered the sensation in an instant. A student, by Mercury! Get hold of yourself, you loathsome pedophile! A shudder ran up his spine and he rose abruptly, stalking out of the Hall as fast as his long legs could carry him. Blasted potion. Blasted Trelawney. Blasted unwanted notions spiraling through his thought process. Blasted lunar cycle! he raged silently. It would be seventeen days before the new moon and the erasure of the potion's effects. Seventeen days until he could use a Penseive and forget this ever happened.
Seventeen days to find out if he wanted to forget.
Severus cursed himself for his traitorous thoughts, but could not deny that the prospect of companionship was…incredibly tempting. You're weak, Severus. Weaker by the instant. Remember that she is a child. A student. An apprentice. Repeating the mantra over and over in his head, he reached his quarters and sat down at a desk, head in arms and headache providing a relentless backbeat to his agonizing thoughts.
Parvati stared. "Oh Merlin. So you gave her - "
" – the vial of potion because I was afraid to use it, and she had been looking for a sample for ages, anyway, but you told her - "
" – that Hermione was having prophetic dreams about Snape. Oh Merlin. We can't tell Hermione. Right now she only knows that Sybill knows about the dreams. But if Sybill did what I think she did…"
Lavender's face flew through a myriad of expressions, from guilt to intrigue to horror, until her mouth formed into an "o" of pleasant surprise. If both Snape and Hermione had now taken the potion, and if both were left oblivious to the fact that the other was under the same spell, what on earth would happen? It wasn't a disaster at all – no, it was an opportunity straight out of a romance novel. Lavender, a voyeur by nature, intended to enjoy every second of it. "Parvati my sweet? This could get good."
Severus's head snapped up as he sensed his wards being breached. Someone was on the way, most likely Granger from the time on the clock. She was always punctual, wasn't she? On the dot, if not sooner. It was something that annoyed him to all ends. Not one of the detentions he had given her stemmed from tardiness, though that was one of the largest causes for all detentions he had ever given. He would love to, just once, catch her late, awarding her a juicy detention in the process and crowing over her lapse of timeliness with snarky comments all throughout the hours she spent scrubbing the vilest of cauldrons. The thought brought a gorgeously twisted smile to his face, but a knock on the door just as the clock was gearing up to strike ten wiped all traces of the grin and replaced it with a stoic façade. No reaction, he reminded himself. Not even if the aura blinds you. He stood, brushing aside all the wrinkles that had formed in his robes, and walked to the door, pausing until he was certain she was just about to knock again, hoping to catch her off guard and looking foolish.
He succeeded, but had to keep every muscle tensed in order to avoid reeling.
It was lucky that Severus was a man of few, and very carefully chosen, words, or he could have been described as "speechless." The aura was glaring bright in a quite garish shade of pink, thanks to the potion, and he could hardly see Granger at first for the dazzle. It was hearsay that auras varied in brightness in relation to the owner's vitality; Severus speculated that Granger started every morning with a brisk ten-mile jog and a judo session if this was the case. Soon, however, his vision (or, rather, his mind) was able to adjust to the circumstances and the same skinny, large-eyed girl he had glared at for six years and counting could be seen, though her usual unruly hair was twisted into a passing (but still unruly) bun. Her jaw was clenched into an expression of extreme pride, which made Severus itch to insult her, and she held out the completed documents like an offering to the gods. He took them without a word, glancing through with fervent hope that she either hadn't signed them or had missed one, allowing him to terminate the contract. Unfortunately, Granger was known for her thoroughness. Defeated, Severus made his way to his cabinets and carefully filed the documents away. He turned to find Granger still hovering in his doorway, looking at him with extreme trepidation.
"Well?" He raised an eyebrow. "Do you prefer standing in doorways to chairs, or are you worried that an earthquake might strike? I assure you, Hogwarts shall not fall into pieces at the slightest tremor, if that is the case." Granger glared at him, but gingerly sought a seat on the opposite side of his desk. Severus took his time in taking his own, folding his hands onto the desk and looking her in the eye for a good many moments, until Granger's gaze flickered away. Now it was time to begin this meeting, when he was completely in control.
"I'm disappointed in you." Granger looked back up at him with a speed and ferocity that reminded him of a wounded tiger. He nearly smiled. "I'd have thought you would be smarter than to sign the next seven years of your life over to the very subject that has tormented you from day one." Severus waited for a response, but was not kept in suspense long.
"It's only tormented me because you were more dissatisfied with my work than anyone else's, even though it was better than anything else produced in your classes."
"And things will not change now." He watched as this registered in her eyes before continuing. "If anything, I will be harder on you. I will test your potential like a bridge made out of toothpicks – putting more and more pressure on you until you finally break. That is the first year of this apprenticeship. Then I will rebuild you to my own standards, which will be the goal of the next few years, and finally you will find standards of your own, above mine, for which you will aspire for the remainder of your life. I hope I am not saying anything you didn't already expect, for the papers are signed and you, Miss Granger, are past the point of no return."
He had to give her credit for not squirming. However, looking deeper into her eyes he saw a spark of fear. A moment's analysis surprised him – she was not looking at him; rather, Granger was looking through him, and therefore the fear was introspective. The greasy old git didn't frighten her – the possibility of her not being able to obtain her own standards did. The glassy stare vanished quickly, and she looked him straight in the eye, squaring her shoulders.
"I know what I signed up for, Professor."
Severus nodded, feeling a bit of pride in his apprentice despite himself. "Satisfactory," he replied, and rose from his desk. "Come. We will begin immediately."
She was efficient, and quiet about it. Severus monitored her from one corner, carefully staying out of her way with wand at the ready lest she make a mistake. He approved of the way she moved – she had not been in his private laboratory for more than twenty minutes before she darted back and forth between stations smoothly and without pause. She diced, minced, cut, measured, and peeled ingredients with careful skill and natural rhythm, a sign of natural ability that he had detected long ago in small doses, but now, with a large space entirely to herself, it shone as bright as the horrible pink aurora that consumed her boyish form. Severus felt satisfaction well up inside of him – he hadn't lost his touch. She was a perfect choice, in theory. True, there were the…complications of her being a Gryffindor and…other things. He berated himself for not being able to bend his mind around the fact that she was, according to everyone he respected in the Potions community, inevitably destined to be his soulmate. The concept was so alien, so absurd…and not even because it was Granger, of all people, but because he had lived thirty-eight years without any conformation that he would ever have a soulmate.
He should have recognized the taste, he realized, memories rising unbidden like bile. Years ago, longer than he cared to admit, he had imbibed the Adamare Animae in a moment of desperation. He had been in his seventh year, watching relationships spring up around him, but having no beloved to call his own. Severus had run about the school, peering into every door, looking into every face like a madman. He had run out to Hogsmeade, potion throbbing in his veins, but there was no glow around any woman, or even any man. That night had been spent locked up in the Astronomy tower, arms tight around his thin legs, tears alternately summoned and repressed, mind a whirl of anger, disappointment, and shame. It had been one of the darker moments of his life, one that he had forgotten until that very moment.
So much more pleasant to push the memory back into the recesses of his mind and concentrate on dissecting Granger's work, finding minute errors and inconsistencies with which to form a seemingly endless list that would, without a doubt, wound his apprentice and goad her to push herself further. The tenseness in her shoulders and limbs betrayed her nervousness, her will to impress; it would be absolutely delightful to reduce her to tears, especially with what she was putting him through.
And now she was looking up at him with that most transparent of faces, shining with the need for recognition, affirmation. The potion sat glistening in its receptacle, textbook-perfect and yet subtly wrong to Severus's honed senses: smelling a little sour, color a shade and a half off. He took several moments to simply scowl at the girl before starting on his list of criticisms.
"Your work would be passable in but a first year classroom, Miss Granger. Your accuracy when chopping is abysmal; while not stated as an essential component in any textbook you've read, uniformly chopped ingredients greatly improve the texture of the potion. Keep your eyes on what you're chopping – it will serve you far better than glances to check whether or not I see how rhythmically you dissect ingredients. Secondly, you seem to become rather sloppy when several ingredients are added in quick succession. You have plenty of time if you make your movements efficient; there is no need for you to hurl things into your cauldron. For another thing, potions making is not cooking. Even if you follow each direction to the letter, you still won't have a potion unless you pour your very soul into it. You are far too reserved in this art, Miss Granger." He enjoyed the shocked look on her face and the hot words that bubbled up near the surface and then subsided in red-faced shame. However, Granger did not stay shamed for long.
"What do you mean, far too reserved? You hardly say anything except to insult your students. Who are you to judge how reserved I am?"
"Spare me your offense, Miss Granger. I am not speaking of the tendencies of extroversion nor introversion. By all means be reserved in speech and manner around your classmates – I'm sure they'd all enjoy the repose. What I am speaking of is dedication to the art. When you create your potion, the outside world does not exist. The cauldron is your whole universe, the ladle an extension of your arm, the ingredients the very atoms of your being. You are not merely throwing together a concoction; you are copying the desires of your mind and heart and recreating them in corporeal form. If you do not give of yourself, there is no magic, and your potion, while 'accurate', is devoid of all meaning." Severus stopped, realizing he had rambled on without thinking, caught up in the passion of his subject. Granger was staring at him, face open and haloed in a feverish, fanatic glow. The sight jarred him to the core. Her face was so like his own in that moment, a mirror image of the inspiration and joy he had felt when he first discovered the beauty of the field. Half of him wanted to reach out and embrace her in shared jubilation, but the other, stronger side instinctively gave the call to retreat.
"As I said, the subtle art of potions is not cooking. Anything but." His face closed again, shuttering out the transparent adulation of his student and the halo that wreathed her in an unworldly veil. He would do well to remember that, even in his private chambers, there was no sanctuary. His joys, his loves, his passions could all be exploited, destroyed, stolen from him in an instant. Severus reserved himself for his potions, and his potions only.
Anything else was far too much of a risk.
And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers.
Madelynn Rae: Patience, miss impatience. Of course, by the time you read this you've already got your "fix" XD And I'm sure you found the answer to your question in this chapter.
VictoriaM2006: I model Hermione's inner monologues on my own…I'm glad you like it. It's always fun to get inside someone's head. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but it seemed a good place to stop. If I gave you a satisfying chapter ending, you'd be only half as interested in the next one. XD
Ciladis: I've never heard Severus described as darling, but I think you for the compliment! And Parvati and Lavender do deserve what came to them, as you can see here. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!
LauraNotLora: I know, I know, it's too cliché, but I was at wits end to find a way to stick them together. The only possibilities I can see are a) time travel (which takes all the fun out of this relationship), b) a potions accident (which I find it hard to believe Hermione is capable of), c) an apprenticeship, d) a Death Eater encounter (far too angsty), e) a marriage contract (too close to the WIKTT challenge) or f) Hermione returning as a professor (if she's not a student, there isn't much conflict). An apprenticeship gives the most versatility, and is better than locking them in a closet together – she has to stick with him for seven years. I swear on my CD collection that I will try my hardest to keep this as original as possible. As for Lavender…well, you certainly found out! I seriously appreciate your honesty and well rounded reviews
Vickie211: You guessed it! You really must have the psychic hair! Trelawney was incredibly fun to write – I'm glad you enjoyed her. As for the letter from Snape, I must have rewritten that as many times as this new chapter (lol)! I'm so happy that you had fun with this chapter!
Lady Cecilia: I'm flattered that you enjoy my writing style! As for your comment on chapters, I honestly don't know how long this will get, or how many chapters. I stop when a stopping point presents itself – chances are, if this gets many many many chapters long, I'll reorganize it into fewer, longer chapters. I doubt it will, though…I am, after all, a Gemini. We find it hard to stick to one project for long! XD
Mahlie: Your enthusiasm made me smile! As for real romance…I have no clue when that will crop up. Little hints here and there…but, after all, good things come to those who wait!
OrangeRabbit: Oh my. Your review made me blush. I don't quite know how I pull your laugh strings…I guess I just find strange things funny and try to get the rest of the world to see it that way. I'm glad you like my Granger, as you call her. Psychologist mode I figure that her overconfidence and constant need for achievement stems from something deep and dark inside – perhaps she feels the need to prove herself and shatter the "Mudblood" stereotype, perhaps she is in desperate need of attention and approval. I like to think that a lot of Rowling's characters go much deeper than is shown, and the deeper the better. As for your fear of those horrible clichéd words, well, I give you permission to beat me to within an inch of my life if I use those words. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but phrases like that make me gag.
Holly Mariano: I'm happy you liked Severus's letter and Hermione's responses to the other characters, and am flattered that you think my work is improving as I go. As for your comments on Harry and Ron, I don't plan on them having a large role in this story. I've never liked either of them, to be honest…and I really hate writing for them. When I do decide to have them play a role in a chapter, however, I will be putting all my soul into making them human. What Hermione was referring to was their idle chatter, which, unlike that which she prefers, hardly centers around academics and higher order thinking. They're teenage boys; like my best buds talk about video games, Harry and Ron talk about Quidditch. I'm writing what I know. Wow, this got long. I hope I cleared things up for you By all means, though, please continue with criticisms. I thoroughly enjoy them, and you've made me think deeper about my writing.
Strega-in-progress: Raving madness is incredibly fun to write…I'm going to have to pull Trelawney in again. I'm happy you enjoyed Snape's diction in the letter…that thing was so hard to write. I'm glad you're better from your cold, and terribly sorry about your hangover. You had a kindred spirit in poor Severus in this chapter, though And I'm incredibly flattered that this is one of your favorite stories…you are inflating my ego, and it feels fabulous!
Also thanks to: azulkan2, Emily, Natsuyori, Ashes Kittyhawk, Transylvanian, Aleatha515, Cake101, Nelys1, fresh8, Pathatlon, and I-LUV-ILC ! Every review is highly appreciated. You guys inspire me and goad me to write…without you, I wouldn't have made it to chapter 2.
