As October hit, the weather turned colder, but Hermione liked it. The feeling of wrapping up in a warm jumper and enjoying the crisp air on her face, then returning to the castle for hot chocolate always gave her a pleasant glow.
Strangely, she found that when not being eternally badgered about quidditch by Ron, she actually didn't mind the game, and occasionally enjoyed the walk to the pitch to watch practices. She spotted Dean and Seamus sitting with Professor Williams while the Hufflepuff team were practicing one Sunday morning, and decided to join them.
"Hiya, Hermione," Seamus welcomed.
Professor Williams smiled and greeted her with a polite "Miss Granger"
"Hello, Professor," she smiled. "I think you may be the only person in the school who knows less about quidditch than me."
He laughed. "But I'm learning. You're not a fan?"
"After years of hanging around with two boys who wouldn't shut up about it, I developed a deep aversion to it."
"How's Ron?" Dean asked. "Still supporting the Cannons?"
"Of course," Hermione told him, "but with his auror training I'm not sure he's even had time to make it to matches, lately." She turned to Professor Williams. "Who will you be supporting in the inter-house quidditch? You've never been sorted."
He gave a wry smile. "Well, one of the first things I was told about quidditch when I joined the school was that the staff are supposed to be impartial, except for the heads of houses."
The three students laughed.
"I hope you didn't actually believe that!" Seamus snorted.
"I did, until I found out how much betting happens in the staff room over the house cup. The only person who seems independent is Madam Pomfrey, and she says that's because she has to patch up all the injuries." He frowned. "Are there really so many injuries?"
"Yes," said all three students together, and proceeded to give the teacher a list of the worst injuries they had seen during previous seven years of house matches.
"Of course, the worst injuries always seem to happen to whoever is playing against the Slytherins," Seamus mentioned. "Snape, McGonagall and Slughorn are the worst for being biased towards their own houses."
Professor Williams frowned. "I'm not sure that I've ever even had a conversation with Professor Slughorn," he said. "It's almost as though he doesn't see me, even if he's speaking to someone standing next to me. Do you think it's because I'm a squib?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not directly," she said. "Probably just that you're not useful to him. You have to be socially or politically well-connected, or have the potential to be, or he doesn't even think it's worth learning your name."
She was surprised by the teacher's laugh. "I get it. I've met that type before."
"He has private dinners for his favourite students. He calls it the Slug Club. I made up an excuse to miss the first one, but there's one next weekend. I wouldn't bother going, but I think it would be good to build some bridges with more Slytherins. He'll probably have a Christmas party, and you should definitely try to get an invitation. Lots of interesting people go, and the food is really good."
"I'll keep that in mind," he smiled. "Anyway, the rest of the staff are great, so it's no skin off my nose. Even Professor Snape. He has quite a sharp sense of humour when he opens up a bit."
Hermione simply smiled. Dean and Seamus, who had been discussing the merits of various brooms for a while, began explaining the various features to the squib teacher, and she excused herself to wander back up to the castle.
"Miss Granger." The voice came out of the darkness as Hermione headed back to the eighth-year common room. Despite its softness, it made her jump in the silence of the night.
She had her wand drawn before she realized it, but tucked it away immediately, recognizing the voice.
Professor Snape gave a huff of breath that might almost have been a laugh. "What is the point of being quick with your wand if you don't take notice of your surroundings?"
She smiled. "I suppose not all of us are cut out to be spies."
He was leaning against a statue, half sitting on the base, and he still hadn't moved, but she could now see his outline in the faint moonlight that came through the high windows.
"What are you doing wandering around the castle at close to midnight?" he asked, but he sounded merely curious rather than interrogative.
She coughed. "I … erm … needed a book from the library."
"At this time of night? It must have been a real emergency."
She sighed, and laughed. "I get irritated sometimes, when people joke about me loving the library so much, but I suppose I'm not really in a position to complain when faced with the evidence."
"Sneaking around the castle at night for a book does point towards an obsession." She could hear the humour in his voice now. "Perhaps losing house points would help you to curb the compulsion?"
"Actually, Professor, you're more likely to be in trouble than me," she quipped, cheekily. "I don't have a curfew any more. You, on the other hand, would probably be in big trouble with Madam Pomfrey for being out at this time of night."
At this, he snorted. "Fair enough. I will keep your secrets if you will keep mine."
He still hadn't moved, and she wondered why.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Sir," she commented. "This is the first time I've seen you anywhere except your classroom or the great hall."
"I'm exercising. I'll never get my strength back if I stay in the hospital wing, but I'm damned if I'll let the students catch me looking so weak."
Not for the first time, Hermione noticed that when he spoke or wrote of 'the students', he didn't seem to include her. She liked that. When she was speaking to him, she really didn't feel like a student — it was more like they were friends. She would keep that thought to herself, though.
"You stopped here to rest?" she asked him, and saw him nod.
"I have been up and down the staircase between the third and fourth floors three times," he told her. "Perhaps I was overambitious, but I find …" he paused as though not sure whether to continue, "... I find that exercise helps me sleep. It is often difficult to avoid being … overwhelmed by my conscience at night."
Hermione sighed, remembering the terrible things she had heard from Lucius Malfoy during his trial.
"Professor Dumbledore asked a lot of you," she said, softly. For a brief moment, she wanted to reach out to touch him. If he had been a student, or even another member of the Order of the Phoenix, she would have touched his arm or taken his hand in an attempt to provide comfort and reassurance. The idea merely flitted across her mind, though, not as something she would actually do. It made her feel sad.
They stayed quiet — thoughtful — for a long moment, then Professor Snape pushed himself away from the statue and stood.
"It is time that I returned to the hospital wing," he said, "and you, evidently, have some urgent reading to do. Goodnight, Miss Granger."
"Goodnight, Professor," she said.
Despite his 'weakness', his stride looked firm and confident as he headed further into the darkness. It was not the intimidating billow that had always sent students scurrying out of his path, but he did not look weak by any means. Instead of reassuring her of his continued recovery, it gave her a pang of sadness to think that he felt such necessity to be seen to be strong, even under such conditions.
She watched him disappear then carried on her own way to the eighth-year quarters.
It was one afternoon almost a week later that Hermione received a message from Professor Snape via a first-year Slytherin. The young girl knocked on the door of the eighth-year common room about an hour after the last class of the day, and told her that she was to report to Professor Snape's office immediately.
"He seemed pretty angry," she told her in almost a whisper. "What did you do wrong?"
"I have no idea," Hermione replied, puzzled, "but I suppose I'm about to find out."
She knocked tentatively on Snape's office door five minutes later, and heard his angry order to enter. He was standing behind his desk, looking foreboding, and waited until she had closed the door behind her before speaking again.
"I do not need you or anyone embarking on a crusade to fix my reputation, Miss Granger," he began vehemently.
Hermione reeled in surprise at the statement, but he only gave her a moment to process it.
"Do you think of me as a 'project' to champion? Am I going to start seeing people wearing badges that say Support Severus Snape on them? I am not a bloody house elf." He rested his knuckles on his desk and leaned forward, angrily. "You think you are helping, but you are stepping way beyond your bounds. I do not need your help and you need to stop interfering in my life!"
She was at a loss. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, puzzled and becoming angry.
"Telling Flitwick about you being at my trial and how you know I'm innocent. Arranging for Longbottom to come to my defense to show the students that I'm not as bad as they think. Potter asking the Minister of Magic about why Rita Skeeter is allowed to publish what she does. Don't try to tell me you weren't behind that. And now Miss Lovegood and Dagworth! You are interfering with things that are none of your business!"
Hermione folded her arms in front of her chest and glared up at him.
"First of all - yes, I talked to Harry about the rubbish in the Daily Prophet. He is just as bothered by it as I am, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was already concerned about it before Harry spoke to him. If you haven't noticed, my name gets dragged through the mud by that woman, too. I care about the truth whether it's about you, me or anybody else.
"Professor Flitwick is filling in Professor Williams about the war, and all I did was confirm what he said about trusting you.
"You're right that I asked Neville to come to the school, and he was happy to do it. He'd wanted an opportunity to put the past to rest between you, and it was entirely his idea to let the whole school know how much he trusts and respects you. That's what people do when they see someone they know and like being treated badly; they stand up for them. They want to help and to set things right. There's no campaign. It's just standing up for what's right.
"As for Luna and Thomas Dagworth, I have no idea what you're talking about. I've only met Thomas once outside the couple of classes I have with him. I barely know him."
Snape sat down, heavily, behind his desk, still looking angry but perhaps not so much at her.
"Miss Lovegood and Mr. Dagworth wish to interview me for The Quibbler," he stated, irritably.
Hermione smiled. "That's great, but I had nothing to do with it. She and her dad have been fixing the printing press and he said he wanted to tell the truth about you and about your trial."
Snape sighed and put his face in his hands. "Why does everyone want to interfere?" he growled.
She sat down opposite him. "I told you — it's because they care about the truth. We think that someone who did so much for us during the war shouldn't be vilified."
"It's my business."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but it's our business too. Rita Skeeter shouldn't be able to use the Prophet to spread her own personal thestral shit about anyone she takes a dislike to. And you said yourself that the students shouldn't be terrified to be at school: it affects all of us."
He shook his head. "Rita Skeeter is writing nothing about me that isn't basically true. She may have some of the details wrong, but there's nothing there that's worse than what I have actually done. You heard Malfoy's testimony. You know of the things we did."
"She's taking atrocities that were committed by the Death Eaters and making it sound like you were in the thick of it. Are you saying you were? Are you saying that you willingly took part in the torturing and the killing? That you weren't forced into staying there by Dumbledore?"
"I was in the thick of it at first. Dumbledore may have made use of me once I wanted out, but he didn't force me to join the bastards in the first place. I was one of them."
"Then say that," said Hermione, angrily, rising to her feet. "Let the wizarding world hear the truth and make up their own minds about it, instead of listening to Skeeter's insinuations. Let the Quibbler print the truth. You told Kingsley not to interfere, so he will probably refuse to talk to the Quibbler when Luna asks, and so will I if you want me to, but there are plenty of others who would love the chance to speak up. Harry told me that some members of the Wizengamot have written to the Prophet, but they won't publish the letters. They're only writing the stuff said about you by the three people who dissented, and they're making it sound like half the court was against you. You deserve the truth to be out there."
The wizard opposite her let out a long breath. His anger seemed to have deflated, leaving him tired. Hermione sat down again and studied him, wondering how much of his tiredness and pain he was hiding - even from her.
Eventually, he said softly. "I will think about it."
He stared at the desk for a long moment, then looked up at her. "Miss Lovegood missed a lot of her schooling last year," he commented, in what was clearly a deliberate change of subject. "She seems to be managing well, though. What do you think?"
Hermione had realized, during her first week back at school, what a huge range of levels there were in some of the classes. Some of the seventh years, such as Harriett Merrills, had missed their entire sixth-year because of being muggle-born, and were attempting to complete the entire N.E.W.T. course in one year. Others, including the two Slytherins, had completed their sixth year without interruption, while Luna had been taken from the school after completing less than half the year. Professor McGonagall had told the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students that the eighth year would likely be available for the next two or three years, for those students whose education had been interrupted and could not catch up.
They talked about Luna and some of the other students in the class. Hermione felt awkward in expressing her opinions about their work, but knew it would help him in teaching such a disparate class. They also spoke of the various potions they were studying, and the reasons they were included in the N.E.W.T. curriculum. Despite his anger when she had first arrived at his office, he gradually seemed to be relaxing and opening up a little, though he still looked very tired.
"When I was taking my N.E.W.T.s," he told her, "I wanted to get in some practice with certain potions. They were beyond the usual level taught at the school, and used some rare ingredients that I wouldn't be able to afford on my own. I let myself into the classroom when I thought Professor Slughorn was out of the castle for the night, and broke into his stores to get the ingredients. Unfortunately, he came back early and caught me."
She gasped. "Did you get into much trouble?"
"None at all," he smirked. "What I was making was a troublesome potion to brew, but could be sold on the black market for a good profit. Slughorn let me finish it, then pocketed the results. Later, there were two others he got me to brew for him."
"You got the practice and he got the money."
"Yes, until I almost blew up the classroom. There are some potions that shouldn't be attempted, even by advanced students."
Hermione laughed. "I'll bear that in mind."
"Well," Snape said at last, "I should get back to the hospital wing while I still have the strength to stand up."
He pushed himself out of his chair, wincing slightly. "Thank Merlin for my floo being directly connected with Poppy's office. Good night, Miss Granger."
Hermione stood and turned for the door. "Good night, Professor," she smiled, warmly.
October 19th, 1998
Dear Miss Granger,
I apologize for my anger towards you, yesterday. I know that you have good intentions, but I am unaccustomed to having people consider my welfare. I have never asked for help and I find it difficult to accept, when offered. I do appreciate it, and I will consider what you said.
I enjoyed having the opportunity to talk with you. We are in the unusual position of having formed a friendship of sorts when I had no intention of continuing to teach, then unexpectedly finding ourselves as student and teacher once again. The fact that we both conceal our connection behind formality in the classroom shows that we are both aware of how inappropriate it might appear to others. As we both know that there is nothing untoward about it and we are both sensible, however, I do not believe this is a problem.
It was pleasant to discuss the N.E.W.T. level potions with you. You have a clear insight into the reasons certain potions are included at that level, while others are left out. If you are interested in the next steps, beyond N.E.W.T.s, I would be happy to lend you one of my more advanced books, as long as you promise not to follow my example by attempting to brew them yourself.
Severus Snape