"'The creation of the Fiendfyre is nothing more than an outlet for the wizard's subconscious potential.'"
"'The outpouring', Miss Granger. If you recite the text by heart, keep it straight."
"'The outpouring of the Fiendfyre…'"
It was not very clear what the difference was, and how the fire could 'outpour'. The book was written in a rather clumsy language, clearly not as a school textbook.
"What then, Miss Granger?"
One could have thought that the professor was not listening carefully, especially since he was busy preparing for tomorrow's classes. That, however, generally did not occur to Snape.
"'The outpouring of the Fiendfyre is nothing more than an outlet for the wizard's subconscious potential'… Sorry, sir, but I don't understand what you want."
"I want smart students to attend my lessons. And a new cauldron for a Skele-Gro – both the old ones are no good. As for you, Miss Granger, you should repeat the entire phrase once again… Mentally. I can no longer listen to it. And try to convey the meaning in your own words. The meaning, please, do not just find the synonyms."
Hermione blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. Right. No practice in casting the Fiendfyre again, then. Snape, once more, had decided to crush her with theory. Of course, having one wand between two of them, they hardly had another choice. Generally, Hermione loved to read and study magic books, but under the supervision of Professor Snape her favourite pastime had turned into a drill. Twenty-four storage jars of various ingredients for compound potions and eighteen sorting trays were on the table in front of the professor. It took even the nimble Snape five minutes to fill one tray with content from all the jars. In total, the preparation of tomorrow's lesson for the fourth year should have taken him an hour and a half. There was nothing to distract him – the lucky students from the junior years had already cleaned the cauldrons and had been sent back to their dormitories. During that hour and a half, Snape would simply make Hermione reinvent the bloody Fiendfyre. Only one thing was good – without his wand the professor was sitting quietly and did not try to unexpectedly cast unpleasant spells onto Hermione, forcing her to block them with Protego. If Ron were getting such detentions, he'd master the Shield Charm in no time.
"So?" the professor asked the stony peas gloomily as he shook them out of their pods. But it was Hermione who was supposed to answer.
"In order to summon the Fiendfyre, wizards must turn to their subconscious, sir."
"All right. Turn to yours, then."
"Did I say it wrong again, sir?"
"I don't know yet. If by turning to your subconscious, you manage to cast the Fiendfyre, then everything is correct. Though, address it politely, otherwise the subconscious might not answer you."
How can anyone study like this?! What a dreadful habit to pick on every single word!
"Sir, I don't understand –"
"My point exactly," the professor sighed. "What is, in your opinion, the subconscious potential of a wizard?"
Hermione had a feeling that she would hate the phrase 'subconscious potential' for a very long time. Okay, just concentrate. She thoughtfully stirred a brew in a small cauldron that stood in front of her which was a base for a Swelling Solution for the second year. The girl suddenly felt an agonizing desire to be in her second year again. Or even in the first. Either way Professor Dumbledore would still be alive. 'No, not now. Don't think about him. And remember about Occlumency. Always.' But how difficult it was!
"The subconscious potential, I think, depends on the wizard's personality. These may be unexpressed, unfulfilled desires…"
"Dreams. However, not everyone has dreams that look like the Fiendfyre. For most wizards they are concentrated in their Patronuses," Snape finished with the peas and switched to frog eyes.
"Unconscious fears, maybe? Something that might scare if it took place in real life."
"A Boggart. Although I hardly understood what you said. We are finished with Boggarts for today, Miss Granger. If Remus Lupin walks by, tell him to visit me in my office. I will enlighten him on that subject separately."
Hermione swallowed – 'calm down, it's just a coincidence'. The thing is, right now, under a parchment with her notes on the Fiendfyre, the Marauder's Map was lying on Hermione's desk. The Map was quite animated at the moment – Hogwarts' staff were looking for Dean Thomas, who had disappeared after Advanced Potions. With no luck, of course – Dean had been escorted to the Room of Requirement by Neville a long time ago. Odd that Professor Snape did not care much. Or was he just pretending? Most likely, he had simply grown arrogant in the position of headmaster. Perhaps he had thought it did not suit him to chase guilty students along the school corridors like in the old times… Nevertheless, it was not because of Dean that Hermione was entrusted with the Map. Neville simply did not wish to arouse unnecessary suspicion and explain to the DA members why he possessed something that had belonged to Harry Potter. Of course, this could be attributed to a long-standing friendship with Harry, but the main problem was that the Map did not care about the Polyjuice Potion and had shown Potter's location as well as everyone else's. Therefore, the Map ended up with Hermione in her detention; and the girl had been surreptitiously scanning it for the appearance of Remus Lupin.
Lupin was supposed to come close to midnight, transformed… No, not into a werewolf, but into Ron Weasley, who by that time would already be sitting in the Room of Requirement. However, anything could happen, and it was decided to insure Lupin with the Marauder's Map. The headmaster's laboratory was hardly the most suitable place for this, but the guys had no choice. The Owlery, where the real Ron and fake Neville were serving their detention for a memorable fight with the Slytherins, was even less suitable for looking after a member of the Order of the Phoenix sneaking into Hogwarts. The main problem was not the Dementors nor Mr Filch, assigned to keep an eye on the punished students, but Amicus Carrow, who had been dropping in from time to time to supervise or, rather, to make fun of the kids.
"Why is it called Fiendfyre?" Snape asked.
Why? This was not mentioned in the book. The names of the spells, however, quite often had the most bizarre origins. If she were given access to the Restricted Section, she would find out, but to just come up with the answer… Hermione frowned thoughtfully. Professor Snape's logic usually had nothing in common with her own. If he did not raise a definite question, but demanded extensive reasoning, their thought processes diverged diametrically. Hermione had become quite accustomed to it. Remarkable, how quickly human beings could adapt to any new circumstances. Hermione, personally, had never thought that she could get used to Snape's detentions, however, everything was relative. The dungeons were dark and freezing cold, of course, but now it seemed a mere trifle. The girl had already learned to put on two sweaters under her new grey robes, which were sewn from a very impractical fabric: it was always crumpled, did not keep the warmth at all and looked dreadful – a perfect match for the place, in fact. Though, Hermione had managed to dispel the darkness to some extent. The laboratory was now neat and tidy; and when the professor was in a moderately nasty mood, he would even allow her to light more candles. Following the sarcastic advice, given by Snape during her first detention, she had put a Gryffindor flag and a picture of Harry on her desk – why not? Let the headmaster think that Hermione was missing her friend. The picture was from much happier times – their first year. The three of them were in the foreground: Harry was holding his first ever caught Snitch in his outstretched hand, Ron was shouting something and Hermione was looking to the side and turned en face only if the viewer tapped the photograph on its frame. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall stood smiling behind them. McGonagall had not changed at all since that day, and neither had Dumbledore, except, he was still alive back then. Snape had not removed the picture from her desk but had turned the frame face down on particularly nasty days. Hermione, however, persistently put it back. Again, she was thinking about Dumbledore. Occlumency!
"Miss Granger, how is your astral travel going? Have you found anything new there about Fiendfyre?" the professor shook a jar of frog eyes – empty. He slapped his robes pocket in search of his wand, jerked his hand back and went to collect a new jar from the storage rack the non-magic way.
"May I have some more time to think, sir?"
"Do you have so many thoughts about the origin of the name? All right, you may."
Good thing that Snape continued showering Hermione with his sarcasm, otherwise she could have grown accustomed to him entirely. She found it difficult to perceive a man, who had been teaching her magic for six years and with whom she had recently been spending every evening, as a deadly enemy. Harry would be able to do so, but Snape and he were a special case. Hermione thought that she would be quite happy if she could return to the feelings she had had last year, when she knew that Severus Snape was an unpleasant person, but she could at least respect him as a teacher and a talented wizard. Not to mention the fact that he had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had a dangerous mission infiltrating the Dark Lord and had been under the auspices of Albus Dumbledore. The latter had cost Dumbledore dearly. Here we go again! Occlumency!
"I've been meaning to ask you for some time, Miss Granger: are you starving?" uttered the headmaster, searching for the needed jar on the rack.
Actually, Hermione was hungry, but Snape would not ask just out of curiosity.
"No, sir, the porridge is quite enough."
"Then why do my flobberworms disappear all the time?"
Wow! He had noticed. And that's despite the fact they multiply so quickly… The main thing was not to answer the question directly:
"I don't eat flobberworms, Professor."
"This must be unpleasant for you, but now we have something in common."
Hermione, pretending to be busy with stirring the base of Swelling Solution, hastily changed the subject:
"Sir, I think it's too thick. Maybe I should add a spoonful of leech juice?"
"Do as you see fit."
Was he not even going to check? If she's wrong it would take them another four hours to brew a new one. Well, if he trusted her so much… Hermione added the juice, stirring the concoction a little more. Seemed to be all right.
The girl had a lot on her mind tonight: every now and then she either recalled the last-year Battle of the Astronomy Tower or the circumstances of the murder of Harry's parents, in which the headmaster had also been involved. A terrible man with terrible deeds. Take for instance all those hideous disapparitions to Voldemort three or four times a week… What did he do there? After such thoughts Hermione had a strong desire to kick over the cauldron and curse the professor. She could even kill him as he still did not have a wand, although Hermione could have done that on the first day of her detentions – the headmaster had been injured so badly at the end of it, that he had been incapable of even holding his wand. The girl really hoped that she would never regret helping him that day. So far, in spite of everything, she had no regrets, because Ron had told the truth today. This red-haired wizard, the best friend of the Chosen One, was generally not such a simpleton as one would think. Perhaps he was the first from whom Hermione had heard the bleak truth: Snape was a traitor and a murderer, but he was the best they could count on. That was right. Snape was still a part of old Hogwarts, and he was a really powerful wizard. If there were no him, no one would save Hogwarts. Not Carrow, not Greyback, nor a new generation such as Draco Malfoy's. Why did Snape need this himself? Well, he had asked that very question earlier on, but had never answered it. At least Hogwarts still existed under his charge. Hermione felt scared for a moment, imagining the protective charms falling from the castle as the destructive will of the Dark Lord smashed it brick by brick. No, not brick by brick – into the smallest dust, like the one into which Snape had reduced the window in the Transfiguration class.
"Miss Granger?"
"Another minute, sir, if you don't mind."
Hermione found it hard to hate someone, even Snape, but hatred, of course, was needed for their cause. Sometimes she seemed to be able to awaken this feeling in herself, though lately it had been less and less often. Viscous routine filled more and more space. The days flew past, there was no opportunity to get close to the Pensieve, she studied the Fiendfyre and the professor sorted herbs, packaged in paper bags. At times he infuriated her, or aroused contempt, or simply frightened her. Despite this, more and more often she felt calm with him, and that was the worst of all. A school axiom said, 'you can't feel good in Snape's presence'. However, if feeling good meant that no one beats you and there is an opportunity to do your homework, then it was good even with Snape. She must be insane.
"Miss Granger, I have already forgotten my question."
"You asked why it's called Fiendfyre, Professor. I don't know the answer."
"Yes, it was well worth considering."
"I went through all the options, not one is suitable. Maybe it refers to the intensity of the flame, to its ability to burn out everything in its path, to its… inextinguishability. To its ruthlessness."
"You are talking about its properties, Miss Granger, and I asked about the meaning," the professor bent over a large cauldron at the other end of the laboratory, in which a Skele-Gro was slowly ripening. Given the increased frequency of student fights, there was a constant need for this potion in the Hospital Wing. "And the meaning is that Fiendfyre releases demons," Snape explained calmly, pouring half of one of the bags into the cauldron.
"I thought you said there was no dark magic in this spell," Hermione reminded grimly.
"This is a figure of speech…" the professor was thoughtful for a while and then he added the remnants of the herb into the Skele-Gro and crumpled the empty bag in his hand. "Fiendfyre will not provide obedient otherworldly beings which are ready to serve you at one cost or another. It outpours the demons of your soul, Miss Granger, those you don't know about and might have never known," he returned to his desk and Hermione rushed to write everything down. "We are talking about those properties of your nature that potentially allow you to master dark magic and potentially give you the ability to kill – they create the damaging power of the flame. The art of controlling the Fiendfyre is precisely to appreciate the power of your own demons and, after releasing them, to be able to cope with them. Keeping your demons in check is not easy, and no one but you can stop them. That's why we are in no hurry to outpour the fire. Precisely 'to outpour', not 'to create', because Fiendfyre always exists – from a wizard's birth to his death."
Hermione put a full stop, reread the paragraph, and was horrified. Well, at least it became clearer. She glanced at the professor, maybe he would add something else for total clarity, but it looked like the theoretical reference was over. Snape resumed sorting frog eyes to match the number of the students in the class, and his face was hidden behind strands of black hair. Something alerted Hermione.
"Professor, may I ask… Have you used this spell often?" she said carefully.
She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't answer, but Snape responded in his usual voice:
"No, not often. This spell does not apply to everyday magic. Personally, I don't like it. It's not an easy spell for me… There are times, however, when nothing can replace it. Have you chosen the scheme for calling the fire yet?" he turned to her.
Hermione blinked and reached into her bag. She wanted to levitate the parchment, but did not dare, so brought it and put it on his desk:
"Here, Professor."
The headmaster pushed aside a sorting tray and automatically took a quill from its inkwell.
"I'm not sure about the central part," Hermione tucked a lock of hair behind her ear nervously. "Based on distribution of magical energy it should work, but, perhaps, this is not the best option. I went over several ways and, in the end, tried to combine two schemes –"
"I see. No need to jabber. In terms of the distribution of magical energy, the scheme is optimal. Practice it," he returned the quill to the inkwell and the parchment to Hermione.
Not a single error? It was pleasant, even though Snape did not express any approval.
"Should I start now, Professor?"
"No, in July."
All right.
Hermione moved aside as a precaution, although if she unleashed the Fiendfyre accidentally, there would be no escape from the laboratory. Still, the girl directed her wand away from the professor; it was not a part of her plan to set him on fire again. In fact, Hermione had already tried practicing the wand movement according to her scheme, but she had no doubt that the scrupulous Snape would find fault in it. She was right. The professor watched her efforts for about five minutes then obviously could not stand it any longer. He walked to her swiftly, swinging the flaps of his black robes.
"Stop clutching so desperately at your wand. You will strangle it!" he gave Hermione's hand a short slap (painful, actually!) "Relax your fingers, the wand will not break loose… This spell is not a directed one like 'Stupefy' or 'Expelliarmus', it's far more important to trace the pattern flawlessly."
One, two, three…
Hermione nodded. Actually, she was quite teachable, and it was not necessary to look at her as if there were nothing easier than to cast Fiendfyre. Once again, she repeated the entire pattern in the air, except for the final stage that released the fire. Snape winced and asked insidiously:
"Where were you aiming with this spell, hypothetically?"
Four, five, six…
"At your office door, sir."
It really would be great, but the Pensieve most definitely would not survive the Fiendfyre.
"It's gratifying. So, you haven't missed Professor McGonagall?"
Wow, how witty we are! And vindictive.
"No, sir."
"Then why are you trying to destroy the ceiling?"
"Sorry, sir."
"Repeat."
Seven, eight, nine…
Hermione waved her wand.
"Wrong. You don't understand the principle," the professor grabbed her hand holding her wand. His icy fingers squeezed hers as tight as a vice. "Begin."
Once again Hermione started tracing the scheme, but this time twice as slow.
"Ouch!"
"Don't pause at this stage."
"You'll break my wrist! Sir…"
He released her hand. Thank Merlin! She thought he would go to the end. Hermione took half a step back apprehensively, rubbing her wrist.
"We are reproducing your scheme," the headmaster said calmly.
Ten!
"Sir, if, as you say, there is no mistake, then I just lack the skill. Maybe you can show me how to do it? Please."
"So, you would prefer me to break my wrist instead. I see."
"Sir?"
"Even the Dark Lord would not be able to trace the pattern of your scheme, Miss Granger. It cannot be done without dropping the wand in the middle."
What? Couldn't he have said that straight away?!
"I warned you not to be limited by theory. The scheme was calculated correctly, but not for a human hand. Is it clear to you where the error is?"
Excellent, Miss Granger is a bookworm. Big news!
"Yes, sir."
"Correct it."
One, two, three…
Hermione collected the parchment and sat at her desk to redraw the scheme.
It was good that she had had time to do Transfiguration homework earlier while the professor had been checking students' tests. Hermione stirred the brewing base of a Swelling Solution a tad more – if she got the wrong consistency, Snape would no longer trust her to add leech juice. Poor Mudblood would not have any privileges left at all. Hermione suppressed a chuckle and began to recall, under protection of Occlumency, how the Swelling Solution lesson went in their year. The moment had been truly significant – their first diversion with underlying cause: in order to cover her unauthorised trip to the Potions Master's office, Harry and Ron had thrown Filibuster's fireworks into Goyle's cauldron. The consequences were dire and Snape, of course, was furious. Causing mayhem in Professor Snape's classroom for the first time had been so scary; she had thought he would eat them alive if he had caught them. And now it was… Also scary, even more so, but in a completely different way. It was crazy how much time had passed since that day! Tomorrow it would be six years! Perhaps, we should celebrate, Professor? And how was he still not tired of seeing her at detention every evening?
"Have you finished?"
"Yes, sir."
How could she forget? Disaster! Though, subconsciously, she had got so used to his silent 'Accio' over the six years that the equally silent approach of the professor took her by surprise. He snatched the parchment with the new scheme from under her hands and, of course, saw the Marauder's Map. Snape winced:
"Again that nasty thing. When are you going to grow up, Miss Granger?"
Hermione hastily folded up the map and pressed it against the desk with both hands.
"It's not a 'nasty thing', sir. It's a gift from my friend. Very useful if, for example, I wish to avoid meeting Professor Carrow."
"Are you afraid of him so much?" Snape asked mockingly, almost angrily.
"He is unpleasant to me. Sir."
Actually, as much as you are, but there is an Occlumency for that case. Snape gave her another mortifying look, snorting contemptuously.
"You can let go of your map and put it in your bag. I don't need it. Your scheme is correct. Now practice it," the headmaster said walking out of the laboratory, leaving the girl alone. This meant that he had managed to see everything he needed, because usually he preferred not to leave the Mudblood unattended.
Hermione sobbed, jumped to her feet, overturning the chair onto the floor, and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag. Lupin had not appeared on the map yet, but Harry and Ron had just left the half-empty Owlery. Why had she brought this map to the dungeons? Had she lost her mind or was overworked? Bringing the Marauder's Map to Snape's lair! Why had no one stopped her? Everything was lost!
Hermione pulled off her shoes angrily, kicked them under the table and ran after the professor. The girl hoped she would be there on time, because she could not even use her enchanted galleon to warn Harry – at best, the Chosen Boy would think that it was necessary to save either her or Lupin, not himself. At least one thing was in her favour: unlike her, the headmaster most definitely would not run around Hogwarts like a madman, therefore she had a chance to outpace him. Where Snape was heading she knew for sure – to the western staircase, which was used to return from the Owlery. Ron and Harry were about to appear on it. More precisely it was Ron and Neville, who were supposed to appear there, but Snape would easily put two and two together. He had no difficulty adding even eight-digit numbers. Polyjuice Potion, Boomslang skin… Oh, he'd figure it out.
She was right! Hermione sprung out onto the stair landing feeling a sharp stitch in her side and immediately saw Snape. Could he apparate within Hogwarts or just knew a lot of secret passages? Either way the professor was right in front of her and accompanied by Carrow. It looked like the headmaster had met the Dark Arts teacher right here on the landing – Carrow was still holding onto the railing as though attempting to go downstairs. Hermione did not dare to come any closer, fearing that the sensitive ears of the Death Eaters would hear her struggling breath. Everything was clear – thanks to her they were setting up an ambush to catch Harry Potter. Idiot, idiot, idiot! However, all was not lost yet. If they moved a little bit, she'd be able to slip past them and warn Harry… Hermione could not take out the map – there was no one else on the stairs and the rustle would be heard, but according to her calculations the boys should reach here in a minute or so. The girl begun to tiptoe towards the steps, there was almost nothing to lose.
Suddenly, fate took pity: the professors, fascinated by the discussion of the Mudblood Thomas' disappearance, finally cleared the stairs and moved in Hermione's direction. Baffled, the girl hastily retreated towards the wall, almost imprinting herself into it as the Death Eaters passed her. When they were a few feet away, she silently sank onto the steps. So, Snape hadn't noticed, had he? As soon as the professors turned the corner, Hermione pulled the map from her pocket with trembling hands. Lupin was still absent, but Harry and Ron were about to reach the landing and be in front of her. Though, their location was, probably, obvious only to her, not to Snape – she had been looking out for her friends beforehand. As for the headmaster: the entire Hogwarts, with an abundance of moving dots, should have appeared to his eyes at once. Perhaps, he really hadn't noticed? He had seen the map only for a split second after all. The coincidence, however, was very strange. If it really was a coincidence.
Hermione wiped her forehead; even her hair was damp with sweat. How much stress was there in the final year! Harry and Ron were already at the bottom of the steps, discussing the new brood of owls and brushing feathers from their robes. Hermione, however, did not have time to chat to her friends. She got to her feet hastily and rushed back into the dungeons. She would have time to ponder the ten thousandth oddity of Severus Snape at her leisure, and now she had to return to the laboratory before him and sit there as though nothing had happened. Even if the professor had not noticed Potter, it was better not to raise unnecessary suspicions. Hermione really hoped that the conversation with Carrow would delay the headmaster at least a little and she would have time to return first. Once in the laboratory she managed to calm down a bit. Snape was absent. She put the cloak in her bag and the bag on her desk, then sat down and took her quill in her shaking hand. She was reaching for the inkwell when the headmaster entered the laboratory. He gave her a lightning-quick, searching glance. No, she was imagining it, he always looked that way.
"Won't you catch a cold?"
A Death Eater was caring about a Mudblood's health? Touching, but hard to believe.
"No, sir."
"If you get a runny nose, stay away from potions with Amanita Phalloides."
What an acid-tongued pest! Of course, he had noticed everything: her flushed face and wet hair adhering to her temples, her heavy breath. It was obvious that the student had run somewhere, moreover sock-footed. Trying to look calm, Hermione dragged her shoes from under her desk and put them on.
"Told you, you'd be cold."
He was deliberately getting her riled up, wasn't he?
"I'm not cold, sir. My feet were getting tired."
"Wear more comfortable shoes, then."
All right, she'd take it into account. She, herself, did not know why she had been drawn to heels lately. Maybe she was trying to compensate for her grey robes being uglier than a scarecrow? In any case, it was perfect for Snape, and she never saw anyone else in the evenings.
"Have you finished practicing the new pattern?" there was so much poison in his voice that it was unclear why he kept snake venoms in his laboratory.
Of course, had even sweated from doing so. However, it was best not to argue. Hermione stood up and, sensing a new wave of sarcasm, did the best she could with her wand.
"Hopeless," the professor sighed. "Even Potter would have mastered it by now."
Again he was mentioning Harry. Occlumency!
"Then, sir, you should have been teaching him," the annoyed Hermione had difficulty with restraining herself.
It was dangerous, of course, to continue this topic – talking to Snape about Potter was the same as talking to Potter about Snape.
The professor looked at her as though he had never heard a more stupid line in his life.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, this is beyond my capabilities. Besides bad temper, low intelligence and lack of diligence, your friend also has very modest magical abilities. And even those are mainly due to the influence of the Dark Lord."
No doubts anymore – he had seen Harry on the map. May Salazar damn you! Why are you so argus-eyed? One could not live long with such an abundance of talents.
"Moreover, Potter doesn't come to school," Snape added reasonably. "And by that he's doing himself a favour as he would immediately be sent to the Dark Lord from here. Dementors, portraits on the walls and even Mr Filch – all of them would be happy to fulfil the Lord's ultimate dream. I can hardly imagine how I'd teach Potter magic under such conditions. I don't think that the Dark Lord would appreciate my pedagogical zeal."
No, he hadn't seen Harry. Why else hadn't he caught him? Hermione could not think straight out of fear. Perhaps it was a sort of empathy – first he had guessed about Lupin, now about Potter. Or maybe Snape had put some kind of enchantment on the Marauder's Map? He had once held it in his hands in their third year. She'd better hide the map somewhere as soon as she was out of the dungeons.
"Why have you stopped practicing, Miss Granger?" the professor asked angrily. "If you don't wish to study, go underground after the lazy Potter and the crazy Thomas who, as I understand correctly, went there as well. Though, in this case, do not expect that the next time we meet, I will be so tolerant of your mistakes."
This was too much. Hermione lowered her wand.
"Sir, I ask you not to speak so of my friends in my presence. You cannot judge Harry, and Dean isn't crazy at all. His parents were visited by Death Eaters last week."
The professor narrowed his eyes, which made him look even more dreadful. When he spoke it was no longer a human speech but a mere hissing:
"I'm aware, Miss Granger, but I don't see a causal link between that event and his attack on the headmaster."
Of course, you are aware! Perhaps, you had been among them at Dean's house! And who, if not you, should comprehend the 'causal link' needed to attack the headmaster? No, after all, hatred was the most appropriate feeling.
"So, Dean should be glad his family was terrorised and intimidated?" Hermione wondered aloud in a high-pitched voice. "They are Muggles, they don't understand our world! And then dark wizards apparated to their home in the middle of the night and, with the help of 'Crucio', explained that their son should be quiet and not interfere in anything because Mudbloods will be killed first! The poor people had to leave the country. Do you think this is right?! Sir."
"I think this is reasonable. Your parents, I believe, also promptly left Britain?"
Occlumency!
"In any case, no one died, as far as I can judge from your story," Snape concluded coldly. "If Mr Thomas's parents had also instilled a little common sense in their son, he could have finished school."
"Dean can hardly care about school at the moment."
The headmaster shrugged with no sympathy.
"That is his business. As I have said – your generation uses any excuse not to study. Talking of which, have you had enough break? Are you ready to continue practicing?"
"No. Sir."
"And this proves my point."
Hermione sat down in her chair angrily and turned to the cauldron. She did not even care right now that she would ruin their chance to extract the Pensieve if Snape, irritated by her behaviour, stopped the detention and sent her away. Though, it would be too easy for him to let her spend the evenings in the cosy common room full of her friends. The girl twirled her wand in annoyance. She had a very strong desire to curse Snape or, at least, to cast a Silencio upon him. Why was he provoking her? Especially, if he, himself, was wandless? What was he thinking? Hermione had never been angrier in her life. The weirdest thing was that Hermione knew she would not cause Snape any harm. At least, not now, not in this laboratory. After all, although the headmaster kept constantly insulting her and her friends, he had been teaching her spells all the same. It was not clear, however, why. Besides, he had saved her life today. Another unclear why. Though, had it not been for his peculiar organisation of the lesson that had ended up with the appearance of 'Voldemort', her life would not have needed saving in the first place.
Hermione did not know whether she was grateful or annoyed. Why, she wondered, was that demonstrative show with taking away everyone's wands needed? Or that stupid performance with matches, chalk and keys? Inimitable! Wouldn't it have been easier to borrow a wand from someone – even from his own Slytherins? Men are truly just giant babies. She could understand such behaviour from seventeen-year-old boys, who were bored at their school desks and wanted to join the war that seemed illusive within Hogwarts' walls, but what was the professor doing it for? All your troubles, sir, are from a vengeful nature. It was clear that being deprived of the wand was unpleasant, but why bother squaring off with underage blockheads? A part of Hermione felt bad for Snape. The whole school would be discussing for another month how the final year had trained defense against 'Avada Kedavra' without magic. No, by the look of it, the boys had managed to strike the right chord. That's where such foolish behavior had come from – it had been not an elaborate retaliation, but the first defensive reaction. Clearly, the guys had gotten off cheap. Knowing Snape, far worst could have happened. However, it was never possible to guess what to expect from him. Always those sharp, inexplicable mood swings, like the transition from one personality into another – from pathetic exasperation to cold rage, from arrogant snobbery to silent execution of the most difficult job that only he could do. First, he takes out his resentment on the whole class and threatens to disperse Hogwarts, then pushes her away from the Unforgivable Killing Curse with his bare hands – why such an amplitude? An absolutely crazy person! Though, oddly enough, there was not a hint of madness in the headmaster.
"Miss Granger, since you are not using your wand at the moment, can I borrow it?"
This was a perfect example. He asked as though he needed a pencil. The moon had changed its phase and the topic of magic wands was closed now? Hard to believe. Hermione looked at the headmaster incredulously but could not identify any additional feelings behind his habitual disaffection.
"Yes, sir."
What choice did she have? She approached the professor and handed him her wand. With a short, irritated nod, Snape took it without looking at her. How much they had hurt him! Merlin forbid him ever finding out that it was Ronald to blame… Occlumency, Occlumency, Occlumency…
Having returned to her seat, Hermione cautiously watched the headmaster, pretending to log the ingredients that had arrived in the morning. The professor held his hand over the cauldron with the Skele-Gro – either he was taking the temperature or determining the ripeness of the magic field. Then he waved the wand at the flame and it changed to purple. Now all that remained was to add the Spinning Drops and leave the potion to brew for another two hours with slow stirring until it was done. Snape took a measuring cup, splashed a Memory Solution by eye and, of course, hit the mark precisely. He took half a step towards the storage rack, recollected himself in time and cast 'Accio' summoning a vial with a thick slowly rotating golden liquid. With his left hand, carefully, drop by drop, the professor began adding the liquid from the vial to the cup. Obeying the barely noticeable movements of the wand, the drops disintegrated in flight into a fine watery dust, which curled in the air in two spirals and smoothly drowned in the Memory Solution. The first spiral rotated faster and to the right, the other was slower and moved to the left. Memorising the speed and movement of the spirals, the Solution in the cup began rotating as well. Precisely according to this program the ordinary Skele-Gro was going to be stirred in the cauldron for another two hours. Eight times clockwise, twelve times counter-clockwise. One could never mix a potion better with a stirring spoon. No longer hiding, Hermione watched the Potions Master with an open mouth. When Snape did not act like a jerk, or at least was silent, his magic was mesmerising. The professor's hand suddenly flinched, a drop fell out of time and the spirals disintegrated. Hermione tensed and hurriedly lowered her eyes.
Again. Why on Thursday and why so early?
Snape silently took another cup, shook his left wrist and grabbed the vial again. Drop, drop, drop… Hermione stared at the golden dust and wondered what this unplanned call might have meant. She also thought how unfortunate it was that the boys had stolen Snape's wand just today. Ridiculous, of course, but she wished her wand was not to be used to apparate to Voldemort to do dark magic. Actually, she had the right to take her wand back. Though, he'd just take someone else's instead. Why should she help a Death Eater get to the Dark Lord in time? Nonsense! All right, with or without her wand, he'd disapparate anyway. Hermione turned away and bent over the accounting log. After all, it was not her fault… nor her poor wand's that didn't know a single dark spell…The headmaster asked to borrow her wand, how could she know why? It was very indecent to take one's wand by deception! Well, that she had figured out back at lunchtime. Frowning, Hermione turned over the page and began carefully filling it with the names of the ingredients in Latin. It was important not to make a single mistake or the professor would rip the whole page out. Madman!
"Where are your eyes, Miss Granger?" Snape suddenly pushed her elbow, and a huge blot fell on the page. Great! Ripping it out… "Can't you see that your potion is steaming? Do you want your head to double in size? Well, it won't hurt you, of course, and there is no beauty to diminish."
The professor angrily waved the wand knocking the flame under the cauldron to barely noticeable. Hermione stared at the tainted page.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Not forgiven. Redo it."
He left the laboratory slamming the door. Ran to his master, obviously. Hang on! How was she supposed to redo the potion without her… Hermione looked up – her wand was lying on her desk in front of her.
Maybe she was wrong about his Mark? Why had he left the laboratory in such a rush then? Hermione listened carefully – had he gone or not? Silence. Could he actually disapparate to the Dark Lord without a wand? A man of mystery. Hermione chewed on her quill thoughtfully, changed the base for the potion in her cauldron and made the fire stronger. Then, smitten by a brilliant idea, the girl approached Snape's office door and knocked. First politely, then louder.
"Professor? Professor Snape!"
So, he had disapparated. Somehow. Or had gone through his office to the corridor. It was highly unlikely that he had been offended by her ruining the potion and had not wished to talk to her. Hermione waited a little longer, and then cast the locking charms on both doors leading to the laboratory to prevent anyone from entering. She would be able to explain to the mistrustful headmaster anything but why she was scanning his office door for protective charms. The most important thing was not to be caught red-handed. (Hermione winced, remembering the professor's tenacious grip on her wrist.) She could have lied, for example, that she was afraid of staying alone in the dungeons. What if the Dementors or Carrow dropped in? Actually, she was really frightened of this.
Hermione quickly dragged her chair towards the enchanted office door, grabbed some blank parchments and the Fiendfyre book to write on. The charms on the door did not appear immediately, but on the fifth attempt. Wow! Hermione carefully peeled back the first layer of spells, under which were, vaguely visible, three or four more. If Snape really had gone to the Dark Lord, she would probably have enough time to finish. If not, well, at least she'd have started. Hermione adjusted her position searching for more comfort – it would take her a while to write everything down. No worries, together with a Never-Blunt Quill they had to manage it. The girl wrapped herself in the Invisibility Cloak – if the headmaster suddenly broke through into the laboratory, at least he would not immediately see her.
However, Snape did not return. An hour and a half later, pleased and smeared with ink, Hermione finished with the last layer of his protective charms. Her back and neck ached, and the Never-Blunt Quill quivered tiredly, but the girl was satisfied with the result. If his bedroom was protected in a similar way, they would get the Pensieve in the near future. Finally!
Hermione quickly packed the densely written parchments in her bag and checked the Marauder's Map – everything was quiet. Dumbledore's Army was gathered in the Room of Requirement. Great! She'd even have time to drop in, bring more flobberworms for Spooky and listen to the news. Hermione hid the Invisibility Cloak, returned the chair to its place and responsibly checked the state of the Skele-Gro and the base of the Swelling Solution. The new leech juice was really weak, after all. She added another spoonful to her cauldron then poured some flobberworms into an empty jar. Snape could swear as long as he wanted, she was not going to let Spooky down! After having that thought, Hermione dropped a bit of the Multiplying Balm on the remaining worms – that should make them multiply faster. Snape was still absent. So, he had found a way to disapparate to the Lord after all. Well, she was not going to sit in the laboratory either! Hermione cast a simple protective charm on the door and walked away.