A/N: That's close to 13k words! It was actually supposed to be two characters but this story will be too long if I don't combine most of the chapters together... Enjoy!
Chapter 11: A Complete Mystery
When Hermione returned, it was around half past Eight. She had bought a couple of books from Mr. Mallard's store. One on behavioural psychology and the other relating to child abuse. She could never bode well with mysteries, and after gathering the information from Mrs. Frost, Hermione wanted to research, because Snape was indeed an enigma to her suddenly.
She argued it was only fair. She blamed the man, she hated him. But she did not want to be biased about him. She wanted to know for certain how much did his past influenced his actions of current. That would not cease her from hating him, no. It would only give her a kind of insight. And Hermione knew all to well that knowledge was never wasted.
After taking a shower and putting her books in the guest room, Hermione went down for dinner. She had left the man a note about the same. On the kitchen table, a handkerchief was kept, neatly folded, for her to wash. Snape was in the living room, reading. When she looked closely, she also spotted Crookshanks curled up on a chair, sleeping.
It was a little more than confusing to see that her familiar was so comfortable in the presence of the man. Crooks did not like many people, especially not Ron. But for him to be so relaxed while Snape sat right there, reading... Animals, Hermione believed, were the greatest judge of character. What good did her familiar find in Snape to be anywhere near him?
"Is there a problem?" He suddenly asked, still looking into his book.
Hermione almost jumped before composing herself. She was caught staring. "No." With that terse word, she quickly washed the handkerchief and put it away.
Dinner appeared on the table right after that. Just for one person.
Hermione's mind kept playing Mrs. Frost's words in loop. Every time she thought about Eileen, she felt deep grief. She could only imagine what it would have been like for her—a wizard for a husband who liked to torment her... And what that sort of 'home' would have been like for Snape?
She surreptitiously glanced at the said man. He gave away nothing. It was still hard for her to believe that Snape was so helpless as a child... Not that he was any good an adult, but not helpless or defenceless. But that little child would have been...
Hermione had had a beautiful childhood and if she was bold enough to say, an ideal childhood at that. Her parents had loved and respected each other. They had always showered Hermione with the same. Although her Dad would never have stooped so low like Snape's father had, but had he, her Mum would never have tolerated it. Her Mum had always instilled in Hermione the importance of being respected in a relationship. Love was obviously of immense importance, but respect was mandatory. She had once told her that one could live without love for once, but living without respect is as good as death.
Hermione, too, was of the similar beliefs. Not that she would ever find either with the situation she was stuck in, she always made sure that the man did not mistake her for weak, or somebody he could berate to his heart's content.
Last night...Hermione sighed. It was an accident, she would be lying if she said otherwise. She looked down at her gloved hand. She had...shocked him? He was almost out of his senses.
Dead eyes... Hermione shook her head to get rid of the image.
She sighed.
Hermione removed the cover from the casserole. She could hardly eat anything for lunch after that conversation with her employer. She had never realised that the lady would know Snape. But of course, it made perfect sense. It was, after all, a small neighbourhood. Hermione looked around the house, there was not a single photograph of Snape's parents on the walls. Except an old clock, nothing hung on the bare walls, though most of them were covered with bookshelves or curtained windows.
A stray thought crossed her mind—Snape's crassness might have stemmed from his early days. He had once read in a novel she could not remember the name that those who are not kind to us, might have never seen kindness for themselves. That phrase had never before resonated with anyone more.
"Have you eaten?" She found herself asking without a coherent memory of having decided to.
Snape looked up at her, almost as shocked as she was after voicing the question. "Yes," he said, though somewhat awkwardly. Of course, he was not expecting it. They never ate together.
"Oh, alright," she replied rather quickly.
He didn't say anything, only returned to his book.
Hermione ate in silence, mostly thinking about the books she had bought. The questioning look that Mr. Mallard had given her when he was billing the items had left her at a loss for words. She had named it as a research project in Psychology. He was a friendly man and- Wait! He had lived in the town for long enough, hadn't he? Maybe, he could tell her a bit about the Snape family.
Would that be a breach of privacy?
But she had a right to know about the person she was bound to share a house with!
Of course, that justifies it, curiosity whispered in her ear.
Damn you, Curiosity!
UUUUUU
Next morning, Hermione had woken with two kinds of knowledge—one that she was forgetting something; and second that Snape had had yet another episode with muscle spasm, followed by a headache which was still prevailing. She could not do much about the second. After all, he was a Potions Master, he could look after his own needs quite efficiently.
Her eyes caught the book on child abuse that she had slept reading. Did anyone ever bother to look after him anyway? With a home like that, she doubted it. But Mrs. Frost had said that his mother was protective of him... That didn't clarify if he was ever looked after though.
Hermione paused. Where were her thoughts wandering off to? She didn't care about him, at all. He was a nasty murderer. He didn't deserve to be cared for!
But his younger self was not a murderer, she debated with herself. The reason she was wondering about these things right after waking up was because she was curious about the young boy, Severus, not the murderer that was Snape! Yes, that was the reason and reason enough.
Unlike the last time after he had returned from a summon, Hermione was not stirred awake. Maybe because the intensity of that injury was too high than a spasm that was commonplace with the man.
It was when Hermione had showered that she remembered what she was missing. It was the Thirty First of July—she had forgotten Harry's birthday! She groaned, Hermione had never forgotten his birthday, even at times had reminded Ron of it. She had always sent him a letter and a gift to reach him by midnight.
How could she have forgotten! Well, honestly, she knew exactly how. She had somewhat ceased herself from thinking about her friends or even her life at the Wizarding World. She knew when she would meet them, she'd have to answer dozens of questions, would be pitied for her loss, and would be expected to keep quiet about Snape for obvious reasons. It was so distressing to contemplate that she had taken Harry's approach to it—to ignore the problem and wish that it would just go away. But the truth of the situation was that—only a month was left before the school reopened. The confrontation was inevitable...
That didn't mean that she would not wish her friend. She knew that if Harry was still at his relatives, he would be clinging on to the letters that he received. She would definitely make up for the delay somehow.
During her lunch break at the bakery, Hermione wrote a letter to Harry, using pen and paper, instead of their inconvenient Wizarding counterparts.
Dear Harry,
I know, you would be angry with me for not writing to you in all these days, weeks actually. And now, I am sending you late birthday wishes. All I can say in my defence is that I have not been myself lately... I just needed some time. Still need it, to be honest.
But that does not make me any less happy to be writing to you today. A very Happy Birthday, Harry! You're Sixteen! I am so happy for you.
I know time has been rough on you, but I also know that you will get through it. I haven't had it in me to say it earlier, but, Harry, we are together in this—you, Ron and I. This is not your fight alone. It is our fight. At every step of the way, we will be right by your side. I know I haven't been very forthcoming recently, but I need time so that when we meet, I can stand by you with all that I have.
But these are discussions for when we meet. Until then, I hope you enjoy your holiday. Are you staying at The Burrow? If you are, I'm sure you'll have a great time.
Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. And remember, there's hardly one month left for the 1st of September, and if I know you well, I know that you haven't yet started on your homework. Do that! And do write back to me. I promise to reply, and sorry for not doing so earlier.
With love,
Hermione.
P.S. Congratulations for being chosen as the Gryffindor captain! You deserved it! But you have still not told me about your OWL results and it's been ages since we've got them!
The letter did not sound all that cheery, despite adding her pet-lines to it, urging Harry to study and asking him about his scores. It was abrupt and left much to the imagination. But Hermione liked it—that was the best she was capable of. But whatever she had written was genuine—it was her fight, too, now more than ever. She folded it and kept it in an envelope, not knowing when to send it or how to. She hoped that Snape had an owl. She hated to ask the man for favours, but Muggle post would never reach him before a week was past. She also bought a small cake from the bakery to send along. She neatly removed the address from the box, anything that could help Harry trace her and took it with herself.
Hermione did not stop by the bookstore that day. She was in a hurry to send the parcel soon.
When Snape opened the door for her, she noticed that he was in transfigured Muggle clothing, instead. He might have thought that it was somebody else by the door now that she was earlier than usual, she surmised.
"Sir?" Hermione was somewhat at a loss of how exactly to ask him for the owl. Since she had seen him after the last school term, her conversations to him had been terse, if not downright debacles laced with bitter diatribes.
Snape stopped and turned to face her. He was heading to the Cellar, she assumed. "Yes?" He was neutral.
"Do you happen to have an owl here?" She asked as formally as she could. "I need to send a post."
She had half expected him to sneer at her for being civil all of a sudden when in need. Instead, he nodded and walked to the window. He opened it and called, "Amber!"
A barn-owl came flying to the window obediently. Snape gestured towards it and stepped aside. Hermione eyed both the man and the owl warily for a moment. He had readily agreed to help her without even inquiring whom she was sending his owl to? That was...difficult to decipher. The man truly confused her sometimes.
He raised an eyebrow in question that snapped Hermione out of her thoughts. She turned to the owl. "Hello, Amber," Hermione gently stroked his feathers. The owl nipped at her finger amicably.
"Would you mind travelling to Harry Potter to deliver a parcel, Love?" Hermione thought that she heard a snort coming from the man. It must have been because she was sending his owl to Harry. Ignoring, she took both the letter and the bakery box to the owl and tied them to his feet. Her feet? Amber was mostly a unisex name.
Though the owl again nipped at her finger in acceptance, Hermione thought of addressing the question to Snape. "Sir, may I send him- Amber to Harry's?"
For a moment, something akin to surprise flashed through his expressions. But it was gone before she could gather much from it. "Yes. You may send him."
"Thank you," she said formally with a nod. Then turning to Amber, Hermione stroked his feathers again, with a smile. "Thank you, Amber."
The owl took a flight right after, carrying the parcels along. It was about half past Seven, Hermione hoped that Harry got the letter at least before his birthday ended.
She closed the window back. When she looked at her hands, she realised how dusty the glass and wood were. She had never given much thought to the house before. In the name of cleaning that she was required to do, Hermione only cleaned the kitchen table after eating her breakfast. But looking around the living room alone, she found it badly furnished, far from colour coordinated, and dusty.
Her own house had always been immaculate. Hermione had always kept the guest room in which she was staying very clean, but never gave a second thought to the house otherwise. It was just irksome to stay in a dusty place, especially after realising it. That was why she had helped cleaning the Grimmauld Place so well.
She would think about it, she told herself.
UUUUUUU
The girl never ceased to shock him, did she? Severus returned to his Lab after she had sent the owl away.
Granger had been civil. No taunting, no shouting. She had requested and thanked him. Clearly, when in need, she could be especially hospitable.
He could not help but snort when she had addressed the owl as 'Love'—too saccharine for his taste. It was just an owl, after all. What was the need to ask if it would like to do exactly what it was supposed to do.
That explained the cat though. Granger had spoiled the bloody animal into sheer stubbornness. He better kept the owl away from her influence.
That reminded him something that he had heard the teachers discuss at Hogwarts about Granger's absurd campaign to free the house-elves. Free the elves? What would they do if not serve? The girl had some twisted ideologies, it seemed.
The owl was meant to deliver letters; the elves were meant to serve. Just like he was meant to spy for the Order. What would he do, if not that?
Severus snorted again. Granger was plain absurd—and too kind to those who were hardly deserving of it.
UUUUUUU
Next day, when Hermione's shift at the bakery was over, she had gone to the bookstore.
While helping a few customers to find the books that they needed, Mr. Mallard waved at Hermione with a grin. Hermione waved back with equal enthusiasm. It was always a pleasure to spend time with the kind elderly man. He was pretty knowledgeable on many a subjects. They had often indulged themselves into debates over a topic or another. As Hermione was not too well-learned about Muggle history, she had grabbed those opportunities to expand her reservoir of knowledge.
But today, she was at the store to inquire about Snape. Now, she had to be quite subtle about it—yes, something her Gryffindor self majorly lacked in. But if she was not subtle, Mr. Mallard might get suspicious. While Mrs. Frost was pretty gabby herself, Mr. Mallard liked to restrain their chats to the important topics.
Hermione put her satchel down and sat on the usual wooden, straight-back chair, opposite to where he sat, behind the counter.
"Hello," he greeted with a small smile, coming to sit on his usual place. "You didn't come yesterday, I had found some more books on behavioural psychology in the store."
"Oh, thank you," she smiled. "I will definitely take a look when I'm done with my other books."
"Of course." Mr. Mallard looked relaxed and he was always approachable with his fatherly-aura.
"I had to go home early yesterday," Hermione began with her little farce, hoping that it would work. "Severus-" the name felt formidable in her mouth, "-had guests over. I had to meet them..."
Mr. Mallard nodded, but didn't seem to have taken a notice of the name. She wondered if he would be more responsive with the Snape name.
"He doesn't have many relatives actually," she went on. "The Snape family is really small..." Hermione gave special emphasis on 'Snape'
"Snape, you said?" The man asked, and Hermione had to bite her inner cheek to keep from grinning in triumph.
"Yes, Snape," she said. "The fifth house around the second lane there. That's where I'm staying."
"Severus...Snape," he whispered to himself. "Of course, that would be Tobias' son, yes?"
"Yes!" Hermione could not contain the enthusiasm. "They are...family friends."
"Oh," he nodded. "I have seen very little of Severus, really."
"But you seem to know his father," she prompted.
"Not really," he shrugged. "He used to come to the same bar as I did. But while I only went occasionally, mind you, Tobias Snape was a heavy drinker... Ah, that was long back."
"So you were not friends?" She asked, trying to sound casual.
"No, no," he said dismissively. "Hardly."
"And...Severus?" She pretended to look into a random book that was lying on the counter.
"Just saw him once or twice," he replied, sorting out cash from his drawer. "One time, I remember, he had to come and collect his drunk father from the bar after the man had made a ruckus. Severus must have been Fifteen or Sixteen, not older."
"Oh," she mumbled. "I believe his father passed away soon after his mother did." Hermione felt uneasy talking about the Snape family. Prying out information about Snape from a decent man was not her idea of socialising. That was enough, she decided. She would not pry more.
"Mrs. Snape, I believe, passed away at least six or seven years before Tobias did," Mr. Mallard went on. "Tobias died of liver cirrhosis, yes, I remember, someone was telling me how his son hadn't even attended his burial... But anyway, he must have had his own reasons. People don't just neglect such events for no reason, but the others like to make stories."
"Oh..." Was all Hermione replied to that. Snape had not attended the burial, while he had come for his mother's funeral. That clearly depicted the relationships. Also, his father was a drunkard, and the idea that a mere Ffifteen-year-old had to rescue his highly intoxicated father from a scuffle at a bar was positively disconcerting. It usually is the other way around.
Truly, Hermione realised, their upbringing was very different. Her Dad was an occasional drinker, and the idea of Hermione having found her father in such a situation where she would have had to get him rescued was hard to imagine.
She suddenly found herself blinking back tears. Whether it was because of the reminder of her loving and protective Dad or the realisation of Snape's abusive father, she could not figure out. Snape did have a messed-up childhood and an unstable home. Perhaps that was why he was a Death Eater—or had been, she was doubting almost everything she believed about him now.
It was very rough on Snape, that much was for certain. Yes, it did not justify Snape's actions, of course. Harry had had just as rough a childhood, with no parents, and hateful relatives to live with, but he was never drawn towards the darkness.
But Harry has friends, did Snape have any? A little, annoying voice reasoned with her. Hadn't Mrs. Frost said that he had had only one friend? Hadn't Harry told them that his father and his friends used to pick on Snape? Hadn't they been told of some nasty prank that Sirius had pulled on him in the Shrieking Shack?
Did Snape ever have anyone at Hogwarts as a students? He did not have many who shared a good opinion of him even now. The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall trusted him. Other than that, she could not imagine anyone else from whom she had heard two good words about the man.
But there was nothing good to say about Snape, was there? Absolutely not. A cold-hearted killer, that was all he was. But suddenly, she could not muster as much venom as she used to.
"What happened, child?" Mr. Mallard's prompting dragged Hermione out of her thoughts. She shook her head and gave a small smile. "Well, would you like some tea? I would like to tell you of this book I read on Renaissance, what do you say?"
"Tea will be a perfect companion, I think," she managed a smile.
UUUUUUU
"How is Miss Granger faring?" Albus asked. His cup of tea and a plate of tart both laid empty in front of him on the kitchen table. Severus mentally winced at the amount of sweet the old man could digest.
"She is coping," he said tersely. "She has taken up some job at a local bakery."
"A job?" Albus looked surprised. "Why?"
"I believe, the Granger girl can answer that question better," he did nothing to hide his disapproval or disdain for the girl.
"Severus, she is your responsibility now," the old man said. "You have to provide for her-"
"Spare me the lecture, Headmaster. That haughty witch will not accept a knut from me," Severus was rattled. "Do not accuse me of being lax towards my responsibilities."
"There is only a month left before the school starts, Severus," the Headmaster said instead. "Tom would expect updates on Harry's growing mental trauma and Miss Granger's efforts towards it. Is she prepared?"
Severus pursed his lips. "Absolutely not, Albus."
"Then start training her," the old man said firmly. "She can be summoned any time after the term starts. She should learn Occlimency to hide her thoughts, and she needs to be apprised of the plan, at length."
"You are welcome to train her," Severus said dryly. "But if you ask me to teach her, it is bound to be an even terrible a disaster than Potter's ludicrous Occlumency lessons!"
"You know, my boy, I do not have the time," Albus sighed heavily. "You are living together. You know the ways of Tom. It is not debatable in the slightest, Severus."
"The girl does not mouth one sentence addressing me without expressing her abhorrence towards me," he said irritably. "I cannot believe that I am saying this, but she possesses such hatred in regards to me that can even challenge that of Potter's—senior and junior."
"Severus," Albus said sternly, "Miss Granger has resided with you for weeks now. Is she still furious at you? And if she is, why haven't you taken steps to reconcile with her. You, more than anyone, is well aware of what Tom will demand for."
Severus leaned forward, looking at the old man directly, "Reconcile? And how do you suggest I go about it?"
"Talk to her, my boy," Albus said simply. "More than half the problems can be solved just by talking."
"Ah, so when are you inviting the Dark Lord for tea then?" He said sardonically. At the Headmaster's look of disapproval, Severus slammed his hand on the table. "I have killed her parents, Headmaster. Right before her eyes. With a couple of Killing Curses. Then, I have raped her! I have compelled her to live here, with me; work for me; endure my presence. I have even used the bands to manipulate her will-"
"You did not know-"
"Doesn't matter!" He snarled.
"Severus," Albus used his calming tone, one that even more irked Severus. "You have only provided her parents a quick death, away from painful torment. You have bound yourself to her to save her life. And the notion that you have..."
"Raped her!" He growled. "You can't even bring yourself to mouth the words! And you expect the girl to forgive me and reconcile?"
"You have not done it wishfully, my boy," Albus said quietly. "You were just as unwilling as she was. You are both victims."
"You have lost your mind, Headmaster!" He hissed. "Even a saint would not forgive my crimes."
Before Albus could say anything more, the doorbell rang. Ignoring the old man, Severus went to open the door.
Granger looked pale, he noted, as she stepped in. She had been looking like that since a day or two, in fact. He heard her greet the Headmaster as Severus closed the door. He wondered if she was ill. He walked back to the kitchen and sat by the table.
"Come, join us, my girl," Albus said cheerfully. Granger complied, although her reluctance was clear on her face. If she were to survive the Dark Lord, she would need to learn and master Occlumency soon. "How is your new job coming up, Miss Granger? I have heard that you have taken a liking to work at a bakery."
"Yes, Sir," she nodded. "I really enjoy it."
"Good, good," Albus smiled. "Shall I ask my house-elf to bring some tea for you?"
"No, thank you, Sir," she politely refused. "I have just had a cup with somebody."
"Ah, I see," there was a hint of surprise in Albus' tone, Severus recognised. The Headmaster glanced at him for a moment and Severus merely raised his brow. Granger was too social to have made the entire neighbourhood friendly enough to have tea parties with. "I had met Harry and young Mr. Weasley last week. They were very worried about you. Are you not replying to their letters, my girl?"
Granger bit her lower lip, a sign of nervousness. "I wrote to Harry yesterday. I had been a bit...busy, lately."
"Of course, of course," Albus gave a gentle smile. "Between your new job and adjusting into your new home, it must have been-"
"Home?" That seemed to have set the girl off. "I am sorry, Headmaster, but I haven't been home since my parents passed away." That, and a glare directed at Severus explained the Headmaster what the Potions Master was failing to.
"What I mean, Miss Granger," he continued in his usual kind voice, "Is that your new living conditions must have kept you occupied. But now, as you see, several weeks have passed, more than month in fact, I was hoping that you would start accepting the situation. After all, Gryffindors are very resilient."
Granger's breathing had hastened, she was fuming. "Several weeks? In case it escaped your notice, Sir, I have been my parents' daughter for almost seventeen years. And it has not even been that many weeks since I had lost them. I doubt even the next seventeen years would be sufficient enough for me to accept that."
"You misunderstand me, my girl," Albus said softly.
But Granger abruptly stood up. "I would like to be excused, Sir." Without waiting for a reply, she stalked away.
Albus shook his head and muttered something under his breath that Severus could mot catch.
"You never had a sense of subtlety, Albus, but you have stooped to downright stupidity now. A pity," Severus said dryly.
UUUUUUU
Mum always said that Hermione had a fiery temper, which was inherited. Her Dad was a patient man though. It was very rare that he lost his composure. But when he did, Hermione pitied the one on the receiving end of it.
One such person was a Mr. Harold Young. His son, Justin, had played a particularly nasty prank on Hermione in her Muggle school once. That had resulted in Hermione having to deal with a bad case of body rash for a good two weeks. Her Dad had stood relatively silent while her Mum was seething, sitting in the Principal's office. But when Mr. Young had made a comment about 'Boys will be boys' and Hermione should not have picked up a fight with his son, her Dad had, for the first time, shown his true anger in front of Hermione. The rest was history... Suffice it to say that Justin Young never bothered Hermione again.
It had happened when she was Eight. After that, it was only twice more in her life that she had had the misfortune of watching her Dad in a temper. But thankfully, it was never directed at her.
The trouble was that her Mum's usual short temper mingled with her Dad's, had Hermione at a loss. Although it was a recent condition she had developed, that was the reason, Hermione surmised, for her magic to crack when she was in a fury.
And she was in a fury, currently. The window pane was already trembling. Accompanying that was the armoire, the doors of which were thudding loudly. As it was not the first episode witnessed by Crookshanks since arriving at the Spinner's End, the familiar had found a safe place under the bed to hide.
"How dare the Headmaster say that!" Hermione hissed. "They are all selfish. Blind to my plight."
Finally, the doors of the armoire cracked, too. Hermione felt sated at that. Now, her magic was attacking the door to the room.
"And to think that the Headmaster would care!" Hermione huffed. "Oh, I was such a fool!"
She looked up at the ceiling. "This is NOT my home!"
In the middle of that, there was a rapping on the already thudding door. "Miss Granger?"
"GO AWAY!" She shrieked, despite herself. Her anger rose at hearing that deplorable voice, thus bolstering the magic.
Every time Hermione began cutting a slack for Snape, something or the other reminded her just what the man had done. Today, it was the Headmaster. In her growing rage, all she had gotten to know from Mrs. Frost and Mr. Mallard was pushed into a quiet corner in her mind.
At another knock, the magic finally cracked the door from its hinges and the light, old wood fell on the floor. But that resulted in a clear line of sight for the despicable man inside the room. Hermione rose her chin in defiance, daring him to object, magic still cracking around her.
He looked around the room, slowly being destroyed. His impassive face did not betray a sign of emotion. Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Quite impressive," he muttered acerbically.
"Go away."
Snape raised a brow at her, but Hermione hardly gave him a mind anymore. The trembling glass of the window finally came down with a shatter.
It was only when Hermione heard the muffled meows of Crookshanks that she snapped back to normalcy. Another frightened meow and her magic stopped cracking altogether. Hermione turned to look from where her familiar was calling, and found him hiding behind her trunk.
"Oh, dear," she gasped. Hermione quickly rushed towards the scared animal. The feline cringed and recoiled as Hermione approached him. She felt a pang of guilt and slowly crouched to reach him.
"I'm so sorry, Crooksie," she said earnestly. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Love."
UUUUUUU
What! Severus reflected. It is my bloody house that you are destroying and the infernal cat is getting the apology!
He cleared his throat. But the girl was trying to pet the animal. He was still standing outside the doorway due to the wards. Looking inside, he cursed. She had made a proper ruckus of the perfectly decent bedroom.
Granger was supposed to be turning Seventeen in a few months. Of age. It was not Accidental Magic, no. It was a rough form of Wandless magic, combined with a Non-verbal streak. The girl was powerful enough for that. Her anger could be channelised into learning the art of Wandless magic officially at some point. There were very few people who could manage that. Albus Dumbledore being one of those few. Severus, too, could do a bit of Wandless magic, but not to such degree.
He could see potential. Some right guidance and the girl could become a talented witch. Granger had, for the most part, been overshadowed by the Boy-Who-Lived. But if one evaluated her individually, anybody with eyes could see that she was the reason that the Boy Wonder had survived thus far despite his mindless, reckless quests.
Granger's contribution could be invaluable in the war. But who would train her? Severus could—in fact, he would be interested in training somebody with a working brain for a change after teaching a bunch of dunderheads for years. But she would never accept the idea.
He took out his wand. With a few well-aimed Reparo, the room was restored.
Granger had finally stopped cooing over that cat of hers, and was watching him warily. Severus did not miss the blood rush to her face in mortification and probably humiliation as she realised that she had lost her composure.
The girl looked somewhat drained, he noted. A little resigned, too, dare he said. Perhaps he could offer to teach her Occlumency now. After the great show of temper, she was embarrassed. That could work in his favour.
"Miss Granger," he said, "After a lengthy discussion with the-" no, dragging Albus would spark her temper further, "-Head of House of yours, in her capacity as the Deputy Head of the Order, we have come to a decision that it is imperative for you to learn the art of Occlumency."
Granger narrowed her eyes, but her silence indicated him to continue. "The Dark Lord, as you are aware, is of the belief that you wil have a significant part in breaking the Potter boy. After the term at Hogwarts begins, you can be summoned by him to prove that you are working on those lines."
When Granger looked up as he had paused, Severus was satisfied that she was listening. "In order to conceal your true motives and intentions, Occlumency is a requirement for you. When you go before the Dark Lord, he will want memories of you working in his favour—memories that you will have to fabricate. As you must have surmised that it is inevitable, and needless to mention, imperative for the safety of your friend."
Severus watched as the girl took her time to consider and contemplate the idea. She was biting her lower lip, a habit that peeved him too much. The cat, he noticed, was luxuriously curled up on the bed. As if on cue, it looked up at Severus and blinked. The Potions Master scowled at the creature in disgust.
Severus, get a grip, he chided himself. That is an animal!
"Who will teach me?" She finally asked.
"As the Headmaster has a slew of Order missions and Hogwarts to look after, the responsibility falls on my shoulders," he made sure to sound a tad bit reluctant, like it was a great favour he was lending her.j
"You?" She repeated.
"I am the only one privy to the Dark Lord's methods, Miss Granger," he added. "But, of course, the Headmaster will oblige if you request him to teach you."
She rolled her eyes, muttering something incoherent in regards to Albus. Severus was too much a Slytherin to know when to strike and how. Granger was too furious with the old man to approach him, let alone be taught by him.
"But can you even teach me?" She asked.
The statement hung in the air till Severus came to the conclusion that it was meant as a jibe, related to the atrocious disaster that were Potter's lessons.
Severus pulled his robe around himself tightly and folded his arms. "If you are dim enough not to even realise that it was your very own imbecile of a friend due to whom the Occlumency lessons that I invested my spare time in—which is too scarce, mind you—were the epitome of failure in the history of learning, I must ask you, can you even learn from me?"
Granger blinked before narrowing her eyes. "That was not what I meant. Of course, it was Harry's fault that those lessons were a dismal failure. He never worked on them earnestly."
Now, it was Severus' turn to blink. Granger was, in a way, berating her friend? In Severus' opinion, the trio did everything but breathed for one another.
"What I meant was," she said, "I have read many books on Occlumency when you were teaching Harry. All the books said that Occlumency cannot be taught in real terms. It is mostly an inbuilt strength and everybody has their own way of dealing with it. So how can you teach me?"
Ah, a sensible question, Severus reflected. "Your knowledge is correct. Occlumency cannot be taught. But one can be guided into it. You will have your individual approach to it, I cannot tell you precisely how to go about it. But I can guide you, and pose challenge enough for you to start Occluding on reflex as you feel an intrusion to your mind."
"I do know the basics of it," she said. "Meditation, that is. I meditate sometimes, I think that can help."
"That can be beneficial, yes," he conceded.
"When will we start?" Severus marked a sense of longing there, a hunger to learn. Of course, the know-it-all was enthusiastic enough to learn that she had momentarily forgotten her enmity towards him, too. Such a contrast to the Boy Wonder.
"Tomorrow, itself," he announced. "Alternate days in the week."
"After my shift," she added.
"Must you continue to waste your time on that banal job?" He said bitterly. They were short on time, anyway. "How much do you suppose you can even earn? Or is it your preposterous culinary skills that you dream to improve, because that is beyond you."
Granger pursed her lips in an impression of Minerva. "Firstly, Sir, it is not a waste of time. It is my way of coping, staying away from this place. Second, I am not doing this job for money. In fact, I am doing it for free, Third, you hardly know of my culinary skills to make a comment on it. And fourth, I am not answerable to you, or take orders from you. Whether I work in a bakery or I waste all my money in a Quidditch store, it does not concern you."
"You are doing it for free?" Severus raised his brow. What a foolish girl. "You are working for eight hours a day without even getting paid?"
"Not everything is about money, but I don't expect the likes of you to understand that," she said simply. "The lady who runs the bakery, Mrs. Frost, is an elderly woman. She has the responsibility of two grandchildren, alone. Her grandson is in a need of a surgery, for which she is saving, thus she cannot afford any paid assistance, which she very much needs. If I can help her while she is dealing with so much, I don't consider it a waste."
"And you have to bear the burden of her sorrows on your shoulders, don't you, Miss Granger?" He drawled.
"Yes, after all, I am not blessed enough to be as apathetic as you, Sir," she said sarcastically. "Only you can manage to live in bliss while the others suffer—a subtle art that I can never come to learn."
"I will not be spoken to in this manner under my own roof, Miss Granger," he hissed.
"And I would like to never speak to you in any manner whatsoever, Sir," she retorted. Then, she gasped, cradling her hand to her chest, the one that bore the band.
Damn it! The bond took that as a command, Severus cursed inwardly. "You can speak to me in whichever manner you desire, Miss Granger," he said hurriedly.
"Just get out!" She hissed. Without waiting for a response, the broken door forcefully fell back to the doorframe, shutting on his face, only with a touch of Granger's anger.
Suppressing his urge to slam his fist on the door, Severus erected his Shields.
UUUUUUU
After the little altercation the evening before, Severus had not expected that the girl would still stand on their agreement of Occlumency lessons. But did she ever cease to surprise him? No. So here she was, standing outside his Lab, around Eight in the evening, asking him to start the lesson.
"Did you have any dinner?" He asked.
"I think it'd be better without having eaten," she replied. The girl did not look vindictive like she was the last evening. But he was sure that her temper would soon strike.
"Very well," he stepped aside. "Come in."
Severus watched as the girl took in the surroundings, her eyes running over the various ingredients stored in glass jars with interest and recognition. The two cauldrons that sat simmering caught her with caution, he noted. The blue flames that the liquid was emitting was a telltale to anyone educated enough in the field to know that it was poisonous to inhale for too long. But as she peered closer, Severus knew exactly when she recognised the charms set on the cauldron to abstain the fumes from pervading the room. Her face was an open book, a danger for anyone dealing with the Dark Lord. Occlumency would take care of that and only Occlumency could.
The Cellar was spacious enough to have accommodated a desk and three chairs where he worked. While Granger was taking her time looking at the various potion books stacked on shelves, Severus vanished the desk and one extra chair with it, which created more space.
She walked to the chairs when he gestured her to sit. He noticed how she surreptitiously kept the tip of her wand a little exposed below the sleeve of her shirt, for easy access. She was at least vigilant.
He stood behind the empty chair in front of her as the girl sat on hers. She was biting her lips, but nothing other than that betrayed her apprehension. Severus glanced at her hands, not being contorted but folded in her lap. The lip biting would have to stop. He reminded himself not to pass that as an order to her, repeating his mistake.
"I find it utterly useless to ask you what you understand by Occlumency," he began, "Because in your own words, you have grasped the concept from many a books. And as you can meditate already, we will not dwell into the basics, short on time as we are. But if you have questions before we begin, you may ask."
"As I have read, Sir," she started and Severus noticed that now when he was in the capacity of a teacher, the girl was showing the usual respect to him that she had always had. Whether it was reflexive or intended, he knew not. "I will have to create a shield to keep the more classified information hidden. But are we to work to my repelling you out of mind, for if that became a reflex for me, Voldemort will-"
"Not his name, girl!" He hissed, running a hand on his marked forearm.
"I am not afraid of him," she declared.
"Even so," he snarled. "Whenever the Dark Lord's name is mentioned in the presence of the one bearing the Dark Mark, he knows. As I often interact with the Headmaster, it can be mistaken for him taking the name. But not every time. You have a role to play, to pretend to be meek in regards to him, even fearful."
"Of which I'm none," she muttered.
"Nevertheless, feign it," he demanded. "You need to pretend to be working for him, you need to be servile."
"That doesn't mean that I have to like it," she countered. "Even if he expects you to order me to work against Harry, I can still show that I'm very much reluctant."
"So the next errand the Dark Lord bestows upon me is to break you, too?" He snapped. "He expects me to take full control of you, using the advantages that the Dark Wedding provides.
If you do not come out as he wishes, he will be suspicious. The Dark Lord only likes those who serve him, are terrified of him, and wants that they show it."
Granger's lips curled in distaste. "I can never comprehend why somebody would give up all shreds of self-respect and bow down to the likes of him."
"The Dark Arts," he said, "Are too addictive to consider the mundane ideas of self-respect."
Her gaze remained at him for a moment more, and Severus did not need Legilimency to know that she was wondering how addicted he was of the said arts.
"Coming back to the question," she dismissed the conversation, "Am I to work to my repelling you out of mind, because if that became a reflex action for me, Tom Riddle will know that I have been practising Occlumency."
Severus raised a brow at her choice of address to the Dark Lord.
"I am not going to resort to some stupid, fear inflicting monickers like You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she announced with a look of determination on her face. "His name is Riddle, that will be how I address him."
Severus entirely ignored her explanation, although he did marvel the girl's straightforwardness in the matter. "You will not try to repel me, no. That exercise was relevant in Potter's case. You, however, will only concentrate on forming the Shields. Once that is successful, if somebody ever tried to penetrate through it, you will face no problem in concealing your memories from the intruder."
"Alright," she nodded. Granger sat up straight, and closed her eyes for a moment, "I an ready."
Severus unfolded his arms and withdrew his wand from his shields. It went easier than it had with Potter. Maybe because the boy had no knowledge whatsoever of the art. He was thick, but Granger had possessed enough information that he did not need to spoon feed her.
She had her eyes closed, her hand were clenched tightly, as if the closed fists were keeping her Shields intact. But the outwards signs of Occluding were to be avoided later.
"Legilimens," he said, immediately finding the access to her mind. He faced no resistance. The silver whisks of memorise swirled around him with no reservation. But Granger's mind was well organised for the most part. He studied how her mechanics worked, briefly.
The first memory that he could enter was of the girl writing a letter to Potter. He could only catch a few lines though.
'... sending you late birthday wishes. All I can say in my defence is that I have not been myself lately... I just needed some time. Still need it, to be honest. But that does not make me any...'
He could feel the girl's half-heartedness and dismay while writing letter.
Severus could also feel some very dismal attempts of Granger trying to hide the letter from him. Something akin to transparent gushes of water engulfed the sight of the letter, but it was still very much visible. He recognised her Shields to be water. The elements were generally considered to be a good defence. His own Shields were water, as well.
Next, he met with a memory of the girl conversing with the Headmaster. It was of the evening before. Severus was struck with her indignation and exasperation as she listened to Albus.
'...between your new job and adjusting into your new home, it must have been...'
The deep-seated anger at the 'atrocious house' being referred to as her home danced naked in front of Severus. In that moment, Granger had recalled her home, where she had grown up, where her parents had been—and now were not. Her thoughts had revered back to her parents and the grief that it flickered had given rise to the fury.
The gush of water again tried to cover the scene up, as weak as it was. Severus waited in that memory to examine how far could she go with the strengthening of the Shields.
As the Headmaster continued with his mindless chatter, Severus could feel Granger's furor intensifying at being demanded to show resilience. The words practically stung her because she knew that she could never muster enough resilience to move forward with her life without looking back at what she had lost, and feel the guilt that it was all for her being a witch that had caused her perfectly innocent Muggle parents to die.
Severus had had enough. The girl's grief was flickering his guilt, too. Deciding that her Shields did not have much of a scope, anyway, he withdrew from her mind.
Granger was kneeling on the ground, panting. Her hair covered most of her face. Her fists were now loosely open on her sides.
Severus heartily prayed that the girl would not go into a sobbing fit after revisiting her emotions. He could still feel each of those—pathetic—feelings around himself. Yes, pathetic, because he could not manage to deal with her grief, the grief that was so similar to what he felt when Lily had died. Severus could manage anything from anger to foolishness, but not weeping and tears. He felt utterly helpless and useless when somebody teared up before him—like a few of his First years did, at the beginning of the term.
Betraying no emotions, he said coldly, "Your choice of element is fine. But you lack strength."
She looked up at him. Realisation dawned on her face that the intrusion was over. A little embarrassed, she climbed to her feet, but swayed slightly. She quickly took a seat. "I was trying," she hoarsely whispered.
"Try harder," he said icily. Then, he hastily added, "If you can." Better not confuse the infernal bond. Severus could feel the slow beginning of a headache again.
She ran her hands through her hair. "I need a Pensieve to store some of my memories."
In all honesty, Severus was relieved. He summoned his Pensieve and conjured a small table to place the basin on. Before the lessons turned into a vindictive imbroglio, it was better to let the girl not visit all those memories again. That would be a respite to Severus' sense of guilt, too.
"I can't use my wand," she said.
Severus nodded wordlessly and brought the tip of his own wand to her temples. "Bring the memories to the forefront of your mind."
"I know how it's done."
Soon, Severus withdrew a long, silver strand of memory from her mind, and let it swirl inside the Pensieve. He retook his place behind his chair.
Granger rubbed her temples and blinked a few times to get rid of the wooziness. Again, she clenched her fists tightly.
"Ready?" He asked. At her nod, he pointed his wand at her again. "Legilimens."
Severus was drawn into her mind again. The same well-organised space. When he focused, he could hear distant words of various memories, all too mingled together for him to comprehend.
The first memory that he entered was of a bookstore that Severus recognised to be the one in the vicinity. The man who had come to meet Granger in the bakery on her first day—when Severus was compelled to keep his watch on the obstinate girl—was talking.
'If you need anymore books on the medical stuff, I can order them for you,' the man was saying. 'I used to do it all the time for my daughter. She is in the Medical school, too.'
'Oh, that's great,' Granger gave him a small smile—half hearted, Severus noted. It was an attempt to make polite conversation. 'Which college, if you don't mind telling?'
'Brighten and Sussex.' The pride in his tone did not go amiss. 'She's a hardworking student, really.'
Severus could read Granger's thoughts, all lucid to him. She was thinking about how his grin resembled what her own father used to offer when talking about his daughter's achievements. The thought that even when she would become a Healer, she would have nobody to boast about her, was again inflicting grief and longing.
Severus clenched his jaw. He wondered who would be worse affected by the session—the girl or he, himself.
The gush of water again hardly did anything to conceal either the scene or her thoughts. Severus left that memory himself, and lodged onto another, hoping that it would be somewhat different.
Severus could not smell but feel the aroma of a Sphered's Pie being cooked, just as Granger did, in the memory.
'Oh, hello, Pumpkin!' A man whom Severus recognised to be Dr. Granger said cheerfully, standing by the stove. Severus could barely suppress a groan on finding himself stuck in another of those guilt-inflicting memories. Had he not known better, he would have thought that the girl was bringing on the selected memories to torment him. 'I was going to call you.'
'I was just showering,' Granger said, walking to the stove and taking a deep breath in the aroma. 'You need any help?'
'I would have, had I fancied a burnt dinner,' her father said teasingly.
Severus could read that Granger was telling herself how wonderful it was to indulge herself in those easy banters with her parents, leaving the stress of the upcoming war aside for some time. Those emotions were not negative, but filled with adoration and glee.
Severus noticed that Granger's Shield worked a little better in hiding that memory from him. It could either be because she had made a few attempts till now or the fact that the memory was not bringing her any grief.
He decided to lodge in another memory to check his theory.
The next memory was of the Granger residence again. He watched the family of three having a meal on the dining table. That memory reflected some tension from the girl, a sense of stress. That was a new emotion he had encountered. Severus decided to wait.
'We won't push you, Hermione, but we wish you would just let it off your chest,' Dr. Granger, Severus recognised her as Granger's mother, was saying. 'I know we don't know much about your other world, but we know our daughter when she is stressed.'
Severus observed a reluctance on the girl's side to reveal whatever was weighing on her mind. 'It's just something with Harry... You know his Godfather just passed away... I'm just a bit worried about him, that's all.'
Severus read her thoughts, her mind racing over the possibilities and probabilities of the war which was just around the corner.
Mrs. Granger held her daughter's hand, which reflected a sense of warmth in the memory. 'Do you want to tell us anything, Love?'
Something like trepidation flickered on Mr. Granger's face. 'Yes, Pumpkin.' Severus could tell that Granger sensed the reluctance in her father's voice, but she felt confused as to the cause, until it hit her.
She let out a laughter. 'No, it's not that!' Potter's face flashed in front of Granger's eyes, filling her with warmth again, but Severus with his usual contempt that the boy deserved from him. 'Look at you, Dad. No, Harry is just a friend. Stop looking as if I'm going to elope with him or something.'
That brought a relieved smile on her father's face and earned a giggle from her mother.
'I absolutely trust you, Love,' the man said. 'But these adolescent boys-'
'Sam!' Mrs. Granger said in light admonishment. 'She's old enough to see people for who they are.' Then turning to the girl, 'Don't listen to your father, Love, he's just too protective of his little girl. We have met Harry, he is a good lad-'
'Mum!' Granger laughed again. 'He's like my brother!' With that, she thought how her father would react if he ever got to know that his 'little girl' had fought with a bunch of Death Eaters only weeks ago.
'Then, the other one? Ron?' Mrs. Granger prompted.
'Mum!'
'Jean!'
That earned the discomfort of both the other family members while Mrs. Granger only drew her amusement from it.
Severus could not witness anymore as the gust of water engulfed the scene enough to hide it from him. But that did not provide a valid answer to his previous confusion as to the cause of strengthening of the shield.
Severus decided to watch one last memory before withdrawing. He hoped that it solved the mystery.
He found himself in the Gryffindor common room. Potter, Granger and Weasley were huddled in a corner. With a morose Potter and baffled Weasley, Severus could feel Granger's worry for her friends, especially for the Boy Wonder.
'Dumbledore wouldn't even look me in the eye!' The Potter brat spat. 'What am I supposed to tell him? And he doesn't have much say, anyway, what with that toad becoming the High Inquisitor now.'
Severus recognised the conversation to date back to somewhere around that foul woman, Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts.
'And it doesn't help that not many people believe you, Mate,' Weasley said.
'Ronald, you are not helping!' Granger shushed the boy, wondering how dimwitted he could be at times, but she was without malice. Severus suppressed the urge to snort as Weasley gave a sheepish look to the girl that made him look absolutely ridiculous.
Then, Severus was struck with a sense of triumph coming from the girl, as if she had figured out the solution to a riddle. 'Harry! We can use Rita Skeeter! If she writes about you, if she takes an interview from you, everyone will believe you!'
That interview had earned Severus the wrath of the Dark Lord, but at the very least, most people had started believing that the Dark Lord was back. Albus had been ecstatic. That had been Granger's idea, he realised. Although it was not a surprise as the other two members of the trio could hardly find their own hands to work with.
'And why would she help us?' Weasley mouthed Severus' doubt. 'She's as bad as that toad.'
'Do you ever pay attention when I speak, Ron?' Granger huffed. 'I can still manipulate her with her little secret.'
An image of a beetle being caught in a small bottle flashed in front of Granger's eyes. Rita Skeeter was an Animagus, unregistered. Severus inwardly admired the girl for that stealthy Slytherin trick.
'You're bloody brilliant, Hermione!' Weasley shrieked. 'Harry, Mate, this idea is fucking amazing!'
'Ron, language! There are First years around.' The girl chided, earning a sheepish smile from the Weasley boy.
The memory ended when the girl successfully concealed the memory, too, her last thought being that the Potter boy would need some convincing of the plan.
Severus withdrew from Granger's mind. The girl had collapsed to her knees again, but she was not panting as badly. Though he could see that she looked paler. She raised her head to briefly meet his eyes, then averted her gaze from him. She got up and stumbled a bit before reclaiming the chair.
"There are a few things that we need to discuss," he started, unconsciously rubbing his temples where the headache was quite prominent. "When do you feel erecting your Shields most favourable, and when it is most difficult? In regards to the type of memory or the emotions they reflects, that is."
Granger considered the question for a long minute. "It's hardest when...the memory is about...when I feel aggrieved." She ended in a whisper. "When the emotions are more...manageable, I am better able to shield them."
"Yes, that was my assumption," he agreed. "You need to leash the more intense emotions, Miss Granger."
"And how do I do that?" She was abstaining herself from snapping, but only barely.
Don't grieve, was what Severus was tempted to say. But he found himself quite reluctant to voice that. He did not know how the girl was supposed to do the said job. After Lily was gone, Severus had numbed out on emotions mostly. Whatever grief he felt for her death had been channelised into his determination to fulfil the promise he had made to Albus, to protect the sorry hide of Lily's good-for-nothing son.
"Channelize it," Severus found himself saying. At Granger's look of confusion, he elaborated, "If you have anger and dolor the most intense emotions, channelise them to drive you and your determination. Your sense of loss will only make you miserable, but if you know how to turn it into strengthening your determination to outwit the Dark Lord, you will not only serve a purpose to the cause, but also, in a way, avenge...the wrongs committed on your family."
At that, she shot him a vengeful look, one that Severus was quite used to by now.
"How ironic," she muttered.
Severus clenched his fists. "Your lesson is over," he stopped short of a snarl. "I've tolerated too much of dramatics for a day."
"When is the next lesson?" She ignored his comment, and got up and walked to the Pensieve. Severus, wordlessly, restored her memories in her mind.
"The next session is scheduled for day after tomorrow," he said, turning away from the girl. He needed to take a potion for his headache before it became too loud.
"Thank you for the lesson, Sir." The cold sentence carried no earnestness. But it also did not carry Granger's usual accusatory tone. It was just that, a sentence. When he heard the girl leaving, he allowed himself a long sigh.
It was a bad idea, he knew. By the end of it, either Granger would build a stronger mind or he would lose his mind altogether.
He rummaged through the cupboard but found no vials left for the headache. Severus cursed loudly. He had not payed mind to keeping himself stocked. Now, he would only receive a respite from the nasty headache twenty hours later.
UUUUUUUU
"Oh God, Crooks, he has another headache," Hermione groused to Crookshanks as he sat curled up on his blankets. "Since last night!" Maybe the knowledge peeved her so much because of her Healer instincts. How could a man suffer from spasms and aches on a daily basis without getting any medical care as such!
It had begun during her Occlumency lesson last evening, and it had still not subsided. She wondered why the man was not simply taking a potion for it. Maybe, she decided, he did not have one in his Lab. After the numerous headaches he suffered, she was certain that her stock had run out.
The lesson could have been a debacle, but surprisingly, it had been almost bearable. She was already erecting Shields, fragile though they were, but good enough for her very first attempt at it. Although it was draining. Each memory brought back such emotions that by the end of it, she was ready to give into her urge to just cry.
After the brief first session, she had decided to put some of her memories in the Pensieve to keep the man from witnessing some more private moments. She had also included her conversation with Mrs. Frost and Mr. Mallard about Snape with that. She could not risk him getting wind of it.
She had given some thought to what she was expected to do—to pretend to defy Harry for Voldemort. She could not even imagine doing it. But she had to put up a show to protect her friend. What she had written to Harry was true, it was as much her fight, and not just because of her parents. She would not see more deaths.
Snape had asked her to channelize her emotions into helping her. She could try to do that. Every time she thought of her Mum and Dad, she did feel a burning fury to avenge their murders. Perhaps, a little more organised channelising would be beneficial.
Hermione got dressed in her Muggle clothes and half-heartedly tried to brush her hair, and later settled upon just tying it into a messy ponytail. The curls were hard to distinguish from tangles, anyway. She petted Crookshanks before giving him some treats. Hermione wore her satchel and if someone were to question her why she had kept a couple of Aspirins in there, she would blame the Healer instincts.
A quick breakfast and a cup of tea felt good after the night without dinner, for her stomach had been too restless after the Occlumency.
When she heard a light pecking on the window of the living room, she noticed Amber back. Before Snape could leave his favoured armchair, as she had noticed that he always grumbled when he was made to sit anywhere else, mostly due to Crooks—she quickly went to open the window.
As expected, Amber was carrying a letter. It had her name on it. "Hello, Love. Thank you for bringing my mail." Hermione stroked his feathers, and fed him a strip of bacon that she had snatched from her own plate. Amber happily took it.
She gently untied the letter from his leg, after which he flew away, but not before nipping on Hermione's finger affectionately.
Hermione looked at the letter—it was from Harry. Even without reading the name, she recognised his clumsy penmanship. He was still not acquainted to write with a quill. She closed the window, wincing at the dust that sullied her hand.
That was enough, she decided. If cleaning was indeed a chore she had to do, she could very well do it somewhere truly needed.
She grabbed the usual rag that she used to clean the kitchen table everyday. But instead, she started cleaning the wooden frame of the window thoroughly. There was a generous sitting of dust on the windowsill. The glass was patched, depicting the lack of care. Even the curtains were only cleaned by magic, and she could even smell the distinct smell of dust on them. No sense of hygiene, whatsoever!
"Miss Granger," Snape's sudden interruption startled her. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Why, playing chess, Sir," she rolled her eyes, though her back was to the man. "I am cleaning."
"I can see that," he bit out. "Cleaning the kitchen table suffices everyday, does it not?"
"This place is so dirty that I can't stand it anymore," she muttered in annoyance. If he did not care for cleanliness, he could very well find some other lavishly dusty corner to live in.
"No. You will not do it." It was an outright command. Hermione instantly stopped, having no intentions of enduring the burning on her finger. "If you are not willing to," he hastily added.
Hermione frowned and turned to him. Snape was no longer sitting. He was standing stiffly with his arms crossed. "I am, in fact, very much willing to do it. It is extremely dirty, I simply cannot stand to live like this." She declared.
Wordlessly, she watched Snape flick his wand at the window. The once dusty wood and windowsill were clean in an instant. "It is not your job to tend to the house, Miss Granger. You are not a house-elf."
Hermione's frown deepened, partially because of the mention of the elves, and partially in confusion. It was not as if Hermione was committing herself to behave like his house-help. She knew it was not her 'job' or an obligation. But Snape was paying entirely too much attention to it, by his standards. "I know that," she said, staring at him in confusion.
"So I would request you not to indulge yourself in the petty housework," he said icily. "If you have so much time to spare, practise Occlumency on your own."
"I am perfectly capable of making my own schedule, thank you," she huffed.
Hermione walked back to the kitchen and instead cleaned the already-clean table. As every day, a neatly folded handkerchief appeared in front of her that she washed under the running water in the sink.
But her mind continued running through what Snape had said. Granted, he was the one who had found the methods to manipulate the terms of the bond so that she was not required to do all the said chores. But it seemed that he was completely averse to the idea of her working in the house.
Hermione was given some easy chores at her home, too. Sometimes she even volunteered to wash the dishes or weed the garden. Nothing major but cleaning and dusting were common for her to sometimes help her parents with, especially when guests were to arrive. It surely did not make her a house-help.
The man was a complete mystery to her.
UUUUUUU
Severus hid himself behind the Prophet. He seldom acted upon impulse, if ever. Years of being a spy had taught him that much. If he wanted his role to remain intact, each move of his was supposed to be calculated.
Last time when he had acted on impulse was when the Potter brat had dared to invade his privacy, entering his Pensieve. He had made the boy flung to a rack full of jars, causing a jar of dead cockroaches to tumble upon his head. He had even grabbed him rather roughly by his collar, but before he could lose anymore of his composure, he was reminded of his resolve to never become like his own Father. That, and Lily's eyes staring at him with fright, had made Severus release the boy immediately. He had ordered the boy out before he could give into his impulse again.
After that, it was today that he had given into impulse. Granger, however know-it-all she might be, was an admirably intelligent witch—it was not the first time he was admitting it to himself. He would never say it out loud, but the girl had such immense potential... And although Severus begrudgingly knew that she would not have much time to pursue her passion—with the bond and their inevitably impending death, he wanted her to grow and achieve as much as she could when she had the time. That was one of the reasons why he found Granger working in that bakery such utterly useless.
But after talking to the girl yesterday, he had gotten to know that her reason was not money, but her attempt to keep her own sanity intact while she was stuck with him. That was a reason valid enough, he surmised. The other reason was to help the old woman who ran the bakery. Severus, himself, had very little to no compassion within. So he could not see why the girl would take the responsibility to help the stranger on her shoulders.
So, when he had noticed her beginning to indulge herself in house-work, a sudden flash of another dark-haired witch, working in the same house, neglecting her potential, had plagued her. His Mother was a gifted witch, a truly powerful one. Severus had inherited her power, he knew. But he had always questioned her choices in life.
Her choice to leave her home, to leave the Prince family, to leave the Wizarding World and its ample opportunities, only to rot in that hell of a place, with an abusive, Muggle husband! Despite being gifted and talented, she had wasted her magic, her skills.
And for what? Severus could never comprehend. He had asked her once, when he was old enough to evaluate the surrealities of the situation. All his Mother had said was that she loved Tobias. Loved? That abusive, disrespecting, demeaning man, whom she, herself berated at times?
It was blind servitude, Severus had decided. And though he truly respected his Mother, he could never respect her choices in life.
But he could not see a repeat of the same with another witch. It was only one instant, nothing major. But it had made Severus fear that just as Eileen Snape had succumbed to her fate, Hermione Granger would, too. His Mother had told him once that she deserved to be treated the way she was being treated, that it was her 'place'.
So whenever Granger berated him or delivered a diatribe that she was not his slave and took a stand against him, Severus felt relieved more than angry. He felt assured that another woman would not become Eileen Snape.
Seeing Granger even considering, even for a moment, to perform anything remotely resembling what his Mother used to do, had set Severus off. No. He would never let Granger succumb to the bond, even if that meant the girl despising him for the rest of their not-too-long a life.
"Sir?" The girl's voice dragged him from his contemplation. He looked up to find the girl looking a bit uncertain.
"Here," she offered him something. Warily, he took the proffered and examined it. They were two Aspirins, Muggle medicine for pain.
"And why, might I ask, you think I would be in need of these, Miss Granger?" It came out sharper than he had intended.
"Because you have a headache since last night," she said, startling him. "And the fact that you have allowed it to continue so far simply indicates that you don't have more potion left to treat it."
Severus found himself baffled and at a dearth of words. He had known that the girl could tell if he was in physical pain, but the fact that she was offering a pain killer to him puzzled him. Was he missing some detail?
"Can you feel it, as well, Miss Granger?" He asked with a frown. If she could, that would lead to even more complications.
"No," she replied, relieving him. "I can't feel the pain. But I have the knowledge of it, as if you had told me."
Ah, small mercies.
"In case you don't know," she said, "It works better if you dissolve it in some water and drink it."
He did know. His Father used Muggle medicines but they never worked very efficiently with his Mother, who sent for potions through her owl. An act that greatly infuriated his Father.
"I am aware," he simply said. But what makes you think that I would need your interference when I am well qualified as a Potions Master to treat myself with efficacy—was left unsaid as he realised that he needed the relief from the long standing headache. He decided to ignore her altogether, and picked the Prophet up.
Granger, too, perhaps found it better to leave at that. He heard the main door opening and closing as she left to another day of that inane job.
Why had she offered him a medicine? Shouldn't she be rejoicing in his discomfort as she so often implied?
The girl was a complete mystery to him.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it!
Do let me know how you find their slow progression. And THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! Really, it gives me so much inspiration to write further. I love to hear from my readers!
Three or four more chapters before they're off to Hogwarts. And I'm quite excited for you all to read what happens in Hogwarts... Anyway, thanks again for reading. :)