Chapter 3
A day ago, back in his office with Miss Granger, precisely after she disappeared from his sight, and he found himself thinking back to his exchange with her, a quite disturbing thought entered his mind. As a consequence of the thought, some precious muscles on his face twitched in a rather unpleasant way, even for his usual demeanour, immediately shunning the thought.
His mind, for it's part just as hastily rejected the idea, instructing him that as she was no longer in his presence, it would not do, to give the subject of her any more thought. He instead firmly reminded himself that outside of his Potions classroom, he shouldn't be giving Miss Granger any small room in his mind. That was how he convinced himself to revisit that particularly disturbing thought, only once he saw her on their set appointment; not a second before, and definitely not within his Potions classroom.
Unfortunately, that set appointment has now come.
Internally sighing, he brings to his conscious how he honestly would've preferred if it this appointment didn't come at all, so that he wouldn't be forced to retrieve from the deliberately repressed stores of his mind, a particularly disturbing thought concerning one of his students. And not only one of his students, but one of the only two students in their year, who he feels that he shouldn't be wasting any of his favour on.
Apart from Potter, Miss Hermione Granger is the only other student in their entire year, that he feels shouldn't have any part in his approval, seeing as she already gets it from the rest of the staff, and she also seems to have an insatiable need to visibly excel in front of others. Excelling is not his problem with her, it's rather her need to make the whole world aware of her excellence, that he is against.
But never mind that.
That fault of hers, and his distaste for it, can wait until one of his Potions lessons.
For now, she is here, and the sound of her voice is calling for his attention from the door, leaving him no other choice, but to grunt his reply to her, while he prepares his mind to confront that very disturbing thought that he had filed away, for later use. He also lifts his head, mostly to inspect that she indeed is dressed in school uniform, as she ought to be. Her being in uniform confirms that she does have a free period, and is not excused from lessons today. With the all the disturbance caused by the TriWizard Tournament this year, nearly anything is possible, especially after Potter got into the Tournament.
'Miss Granger,' he acknowledges her approaching presence.
'Good afternoon, Professor,' she greets him.
'You have a free period, I take it?' he rhetorically asks, setting his quill down at the same time.
At times, he likes to do that; he likes to ask questions that she precisely has the answers to, just so he can shut her down with a snide comment when she replies to them. He would not stretch as to say that he derives pleasure from doing it, however, he cannot say that he doesn't get some inkling of satisfaction from it either.
'I actually have two free periods, sir,' is her reply.
If he hadn't already had his eyes on her, he would've looked up at her, for the sole reason of viewing the accompanying facial expression to that reply. Her tone came out with such pride, as though she found pleasure in proving his assumption wrong, that a careful look at the expression to go with it, is innately required from him.
He doesn't find a self-satisfied look on her face, but still, his eyes leisurely roam over her face for longer than they ought to. If mostly -only- to dive into that disturbing thought that he had that day, he keeps his eyes travelling all over her face. Against his better will, as he did then, he begins to wonder if by allowing her to brew potions like she asked him to do, he somehow developed a slight tolerance for her. The very foundation of that thought is unstable, because he simply can't have developed that sort of thing, for that sort of student. He simply can't.
Tolerance? For Miss Granger? Really?
He thinks not.
Tolerance, to him, is a sacred form of acceptance, and no, he does not just happen to have it for any which being who crosses his path. Much less a hungry student such as Miss Granger. It disturbs him to even wonder if he has, because the probability of that, is as void as him being married to the love of his life. That being so, he can't possibly have developed a tolerance for Miss Granger, out of everyone that is within his range of acquaintance. And now replaying the boasting note in her tone, he can satisfactorily confirm that absolutely not, he has not developed a tolerance for Miss Granger.
'Hand me your timetable,' he softly orders as a way of relieving himself from his previous thoughts.
For a short moment, he watches her rummage through the bag slung over her shoulder, until she hands her timetable over to him. Taking it from her hand, he casts his eyes down to study her schedule, and then with his wand, waves over it to circle three separate days and six separate free periods. Four of the six periods, he really counts as two separate, because they are double free periods.
He finds the chance odd, that she happens to have double free days on the days that he too has double free periods. Although he says nothing to her about the strange coincidence as he hands her timetable back, he's honestly just relieved that she has a sufficient number of free periods during the day. It's better for him that way, because he can mix whatever nuisance she is likely to become, in with the mess that the rest of the students seem to create for him to deal with during the day, as opposed to making her a nightly burden. With that somewhat pleasant thought, he holds her timetable out for her to take, which she does.
'Are these the days that I'm supposed to meet you, Professor?' she curiously asks
Even though he slightly draws his eyebrows closer together, he doesn't give her a verbal response. Rather, he slowly rises from his seat, turns his face away from her, his back following, and then begins towards his store, at a pace that suits him and his time. On his own life, if she does not take the hint and follow him, he will send her out of here with enough humiliation to thoroughly carry her through the remainder of the year.
A large part of him, is actually hoping that she won't follow him, just so he can have the opportunity to say something hurtful as repayment for her asking that question, as though they are comfortable acquaintances mutually set to convene every so often. Just as the tolerance thought disturbed him before, this unintended assumption is blatantly disturbing to him too. He hardly likes to think of his presence in Lucius Malfoy's home as meetings, and here is a student making the subliminal, albeit unintended presumption that he would readily agree to a meeting with her, without suffering from invasion of personal time?
Her ambition is limitless!
In any case, he keeps his steps in line, still moving towards the stores, and still taking it for granted that she is following him. He wonders if he should start regretting it yet, that he allowed her the opportunity to be here in the first place. If he did, he would certainly be saving himself the disturbing and unpleasant thoughts. But oh, well… If he is to tire of her, he will simply terminate his agreement with her.
'Professor,' her voice sounds close to him, but he does nothing to acknowledge her call, 'I've looked up some of the simplest potions that I could start brewing. I also looked for the much more complex potions, but I was wondering if you would be assigning me which potions to brew?'
She looked up potions to brew?
He could snort at that, the way that surprises him in no way at all. He wouldn't have expected any less from her, although, he is a smidgeon tickled as to why in the world she seems to have it in her head, after he clearly outlined it to her that he doesn't trust her all that much in his potions store, he would allow her the freedom of choice of what to brew?
Her ambition is indeed limitlessly extensive.
And simply for that reason, he ignores her question.
For now.
Once they have entered his store, knowing very well that she's directly a step behind him, he swiftly spins on his heel, causing her to hastily jump back from him. That effect on her, is one that he likes immensely, even though she doesn't really cower away from him, as much as she makes space available between them.
'Your assumption that you are at liberty to choose what you brew in here…' he pauses, only to allow his words to seep into her understanding, before he finishes with, 'Is incorrect.'
In response, actually taking him by surprise, she innocently looks at him as her mouth expectantly lets out the question, 'What will I be brewing then, Professor?'
Did she not catch his irritable statement? Did she not detect his distaste for her assumption? Did she not realise that he stripped down whatever privilege that she thought she had, with mere words? Can she really stand there, looking at him with naïve innocence, and tell him that she can't see his attitude towards her? Or she simply choosing to believe a fantasy that is in her head?
'Miss Granger,' he slowly tests the name on his tongue, using the time to narrow his eyes at her too.
'Yes, Professor?'
There it is again. That same expectant innocence. Clearly, he did not inspire such a reaction from her, so where in the world did she find it fitting to behave this way around him? He had been about to snap at her, but her blank innocence redirected his brain from his 'Insult and Injury' encyclopaedia, to sheer concession. Something about her response now, reminds him of how he suddenly found himself relenting to her initial request that day. Seeing as he doesn't want to go back to wondering about the specific why of concession, he chooses to answer her question after all.
'You will be brewing base potions,' he says to her.
'Base potions?'
'Is that not what I said?'
He has no doubt that she at least knows what base potions are, and that her question is rather specifically to help her know for which potions she is going to be starting bases for, however, he wouldn't be Severus Snape if he made her quest for answers extremely easy, by omitting his lightly salted responses. At least this time, she seems to recognise what he did with his words, because she frowns at his question, losing the blank innocence from before.
'But which base potions, Professor?' she carefully clarifies.
What he will not do, he decides in his head, is he will not indulge her. She is, after all, the one going to be brewing them. Taking that into account, she should be able to use the set methods and ingredients, to work out which bases she is dealing with. What he will do, though, is turn from her and make as though he is rather occupied with visually getting what she will need, while talking to her.
'For now,' he deeply starts, 'you will only need to brew three base potions. These three need particular chilling, for a certain amount of days, before they are added to another brew mixture of the entire potion.'
'But for which potions, sir?' she insists on knowing.
But this girl. Honestly.
Internally sighing and rolling his eyes just the slightest, he thinks about how he should've known that she would not be satisfied with not knowing what it is exactly she is helping to brew. Still, though, he won't tell her, despite her curiosity. Which is why to expertly avoid answering her question, he starts to move his feet and gather the ingredients that she will need into a cauldron. Once he is finished with that, he produces a piece of parchment with everything that she will need, together with a list of instructions on what to do, places it inside the cauldron, and then leads her out of his store, back to the open area of his office where she will be able to set up a brewing station.
'Take this,' he thrusts the cauldron towards her, which she readily takes.
'Professor, what am I allowed to do in here?'
But of course, his hope that she would get to working alone without bothering him with a single question, had been too much of a magical stretch. No matter, though, it is rather fine that she asked that question. Not that it gives her any credit in his book, in any case, but at the very least, she is well aware of her place in his office. While he has no intention of telling her what to do while she does it, in terms of the brewing, or even standing to watch over her as she does it, he has a keen interest to let her know that he does not trust her. Actually, unbeknown to her, one of the reasons that made him change his mind about leaving her alone with protective spells in place while she brewed by herself, was the terrible implication that in leaving her alone inspired; that he trusts her.
Absolutely not. No. He does not trust her!
She's Potter's right hand, right leg, and right part of the heart, so there's nothing about her for him to trust. What's significantly worse, not adding to her case at all, is that she is volunteering to do this outside of the school curriculum, with no academic benefit for her, in terms of merits. For the showy student that she is, he cannot even begin to want to trust her, after considering that.
'You are not to enter my store without me,' he begins to list. 'You are not to leave a brew unfinished. Ever!' he stops talking then, only to allow his meaning to settle in for her.
If she has to be late for her next lesson –and he prays that it would conveniently always be his- then so be it, and receive the necessary punishment. She chose this, and that alone qualifies her to be obedient to his conditions.
'You are not,' he picks up his listing, 'to carry any brew out of here. You are not to discuss these brews with your peers. And you are not, Miss Granger, to behave as though this is a luxury afforded to you. Also, it might do you good to remember that it is your choice to terminate this agreement. Verbally.'
Visibly swallowing after his terms, she minimally inclines her head to answer, 'Yes, Professor,' in acceptance.
Those two words are as good as her signature. Their agreement may not be a formally written parchment of words, but it is just as binding as another other wizarding contract. Whether she knows it or not, she has just agreed to contract with him, only being truly free once she tells him that she wants to continue no more. Seeing as she willingly came to him, she should be the one to willingly end their agreement.
'All right then, Miss Granger,' he partly mocks. 'Begin.'
Her head moves in a nod, and while he would usually not want to be watching over her, he finds that for at least some moments, he should stay to see if his presence looming over her, serves as an imposition on her. It would be much better for him, if he intimidates her to the point where she gives up this whole brewing idea, and he will be free of her once again. Just the thought of her giving up before she begins a certain appeal this him.
'Professor...' she seems to test for his reaction, even though she is now concentrated on getting her cauldron clean of its contents. 'I've always wondered about something.'
'No doubt,' he drawls in response, 'you are going to make me listen to your fruitless wonders?'
'It's just... Professor... The first potion maker. I wonder about how he gathered all the ingredients. How he knew what to do. How he knew precisely how much to add, and of which calibre. I've often-
Right there, is where he expertly waves his hand between them, and the sound of her voice instantly stops reaching his ears. A small smile, a delighted smile even, paints on his face as he watches her mouth continue to move together with the working of her hands, and the concentration of her eyes keep on the work, but he is no longer able to hear what she is saying. Fortunately, because he has no interest to know about her wonders, it's easy to tune her out.
If he had an interest to know until the end of her wonders, he'd tell her that sometime during his life, he managed to procure three pages of the original journal of the first potion maker's assistant, who had joined only three years after that potion maker grew weary of taking everything on by himself. He'd then narrate to her, that the journal itself doesn't do much to detail potions, but rather the behaviour and conclusions of the potion maker. It is rumoured that the assistant's journal had around seven thousand rolls of parchment in total, of which he barely has three pages, but a fraction torn off from the entire roll. No, just no, he has no interest in giving her all that information.
If she wishes to talk, she may. However, she should not delude herself into thinking that he will entertain his ears with the sound of her voice. He watches her, though. He watches her, because he would very much like to see her reaction when she realises that she is talking to herself. Nearly as though she heard his thoughts, she looks up, and she hastily closes her mouth, apparently realising that she's talking too much. After that, she hangs her head in shame and continues in silence.
Just as he thought, he inwardly celebrates, she didn't even hold contact for longer than she's holding her shame. Shame does that to people, excellently so. He doesn't care much for her being brave, because that does nothing for him, but he would want better than that from her. Even if she considered herself brave, his definition of brave extends far beyond courage, and more into what normal people would call insanity. So whether she is brave or not, that is not what he seeks from her, no. If she were to impress him even a fraction with so-called bravery, she would have to do, or say something drastically out of character for her goody-two shoes behaviour, and then have the strength to stand by that for as long as it takes.
