Part VII
A/N: My apologies for a few errors I've noticed in re-reading through it; a few words left out and typos, some grammatical stuff. Minor, but the kind of things that bug me when I read. I'll fix it eventually, but I wanted to finish. Also sorry it's taken me a while to post this next bit, but that's the problem with real-life getting in the way ;) -- I've got some major projects due in the next week so I'll try to post as often as I can, but it might take a while to get something up. Thanks again to all who've reviewed! More to come.
Disclaimers, etc. in part 1.
Part VII
Detention with Snape
Just before eight that evening, Hermione managed to convince Harry and Ron that she'd be fine, and left the Common Room for the dungeons. The Potions classroom was dark and empty but a single torch ignited by the door to Snape's office as she entered. She knocked tentatively on the open door.
"Enter," came the gruff reply. She did. Snape was sitting behind his desk, of course, a stack of essays in front of him, ready to be graded. "Ah, Miss Granger." He waved at the chair across from him. A cauldron was set up, bubbling gently. She peered into it.
"Healing potion?" she guessed. The liquid inside was a vivid, glorious red. He nodded.
"Yes. Miss Granger—in light of my duties to the Order of the Phoenix becoming more involved, my absences from my station here are becoming more, and longer. In some cases I am... unavoidably detained. I... took the opportunity to have you come here tonight because I wish to ask for your assistance. The Order is in need of a large quantity of healing potion... it is an advanced spell, there aren't many students up to making it. However; having accomplished a perfect Polyjuice potion in your second year here I have little doubt that you will succeed at this as well." Hermione felt herself redden at the sudden and unexpected praise, as he continued. "Should you be able to accomplish this, as I am in little doubt that you will, I may ask your assistance on other matters as well, if you are willing."
"I... of course, Professor! Thank you," she said, dropping her gaze from his.
"Very well. Assuming, of course, that you can decipher my handwriting, here are the instructions." Opening a cabinet he instantly set up a cauldron for her, ready to begin. Hermione studied the familiar cramped writing carefully. The potion was, as he'd said, extremely complex—but no more so than that of polyjuice potion. How he knew, she wasn't about to try to understand. Dumbledore doubtless knew, and had no doubt informed Snape of exactly whom had raided his private stores.
Going to the shelf on the wall, she found what she needed and set quietly to work. The silence was amiable, broken only by the scratching of his quill as he graded essays.
"Ridiculous," he muttered after one. "Seventh year indeed. You handed in better content in your first essay for me, Miss Granger," he said absently as he scribbled a spiky black "T" in the corner. Troll—the worst possible grade. Hermione felt sorry for the seventh-year whose essay it had been. She had always achieved E or higher, even for Snape.
"Thank you, Sir," she murmured softly, carefully stirring her potion counter-clockwise, per the instructions.
It was nearly two in the morning when Snape glanced at the clock on the wall and gave a startled exclamation of surprise.
"Miss Granger, it is well past your curfew and I will tolerate no lateness in Potions first thing," he stated matter-of-factly. He came over to check on her progress, where she had been watching the potion simmer for the past twenty minutes, her part of the assignment complete.
"Well done. Very well done indeed. Five points to Gryffindor." Had Snape just awarded Gryffindor points? Hermione blinked at him, wondering for just a moment if he wasn't a death eater using polyjuice potion, and what he'd done with Snape. But then, she could see the pride shining in his black eyes—pride he'd never before allowed her to see. Well, perhaps his latest brush with death had softened him a little towards her—in private, at least. Hermione nodded, realizing that she was suddenly feeling very tired.
"Come. It won't do to have Filch discover you wandering alone about the castle at night. I'll take you as far as Gryffindor tower." Snape placed one hand in the small of her back, guiding her towards the door with just enough pressure that left no room for argument. They walked together through deserted corridors—anyone sane was in bed, and that left Snape and Filch. And, of course, Umbridge.
I heard that, Snape's voice was suddenly in her mind. Occlumency. She'd forgotten. Harry had not begun his lessons yet. She smiled at him sweetly.
"Heard what, Professor?" she said. "I didn't say anything—out loud."
"No, I suppose you didn't," he agreed. "One day, perhaps, I'll teach you to block me, if you like," he said softly. She glanced up at him. Was he serious? One look at his expression told her that he was.
"I would," she confessed. He glanced at her, his customary smirk replacing the briefest moment of warmth in his features as he looked at her.
"I would ask that you come to my office at the same time tomorrow," Snape told her. "To complete the next assignment," he said. She nodded.
"I'll be there."
"Good." Snape stopped, and she realized they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was snoring, but Hermione didn't believe for a second that she was asleep. "I shall leave you here, then. Good night, Miss Granger."
"Good night, Professor." She turned to the Fat Lady. "Osbodikins," she said softly, and grumbling under her breath about being woken up all the time the portrait swung open to admit her. As she had expected, Harry and Ron had given up waiting and gone to bed. Smiling to herself, she climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, reflective. Who knew? Snape was human after all. Beneath the stern professor's exterior lay a man Hermione found herself anxious to know better. Brilliant, warm, humorous (in a dry, sarcastic sort of way) and completely absorbed by the job he loved so much. And Snape, at that. Hermione changed quickly and crawled under the covers, and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Her last conscious thought was to wonder what kind of potion he'd have her make tomorrow, and what, if anything, she should tell the others.
