Chapter 13
A dramatic entrance had been what he was going for, but judging by the empty response of the class, it failed. Correction; not so much failed, he would say, but it simply did not work out the way that he'd intended it to. He'd pictured walking in with lively energy, wordlessly getting all the students to clench up in their seats, not daring to look back, lest he punish them, only, it didn't happen that way. It's through no effort of his, though, that his attempt at an entrance failed. He can just say, quite frankly, that it failed. Nothing more than that.
However, failure is failure, and as such, regardless of what caused it and what didn't, failure should always be atoned for and rectified. His own life and errors as testaments, he understands that failure should be made up for, in either equal measure as the attempt that failed, or much better. He'll aim for the much better option of the two, in this particular case of his.
Let it be that this entrance didn't have the effect that it needed to have, but now that he has made it to the front of the class, and the students are one by one, nudging each other to look up straight ahead, he has his moment to rectify his failure. Absolutely not, his failure will not be grander than the remission that he is to make up for it. His atonement for what he failed to achieve, shall be firstly, perfectly executed, and secondly, implicitly received to spark the fitting reaction.
'Single file. To my desk.'
Simply that. Simply in that quiet, unrushed tone.
Atonement made. Reaction rendered.
The students, one by one, careful not to jump in ahead of filing out of the desks before their turn, understand without instruction, what it is that he needs from them. They all know better than to ask him, in these Inquisitorial Squad times much less, what he means for them to bring to his desk, and for that reason, one by one, they walk with their parchment of homework clutched between their hands, to neatly leave on his desk.
His eyes follow them as they go, simply because he can, and possibly because he likes to watch the fruit of his command place them all in order, which really, is the proof of his atonement. No particular interest to watch any one singular person has gripped his heart, until she, Miss Granger, the girl who still has not come to claim her timetable from him, slips out of her seat to join the queue that her classmates made.
His eyes watch her closely. They follow her, in fact. To his desk, and then back to her own desk, they carefully keep on her. Once she takes her seat, momentarily arranging her parchment and textbook before her, he waits another moment or two, for everyone else to get their work on his desk, and later settle in their seats with perfect silence. A small tear of parchment could fall on the ground, and with the silence filling the room, it would be heard.
That is precisely the way that he likes it. And that is precisely the way that he needs it to be, to deal with Miss Granger once and for all.
'There is word going around,' he begins, deliberately steering his eyes to her, 'that a select number of students are engaging in extra-curricular activities.'
That word is weeks old, two most probably. He'd heard it among the corridors, here and there. Hushed whispers in the shadows, by people who dared not be caught speaking such a thing by Dolores Umbridge. It is hardly to be considered a rumoured word, more than a certainty at this point, but that is not the heart of what he is trying to achieve here. The heart of the matter is to get Miss Granger, to fidget, even just a small bit and give herself away. He expects the whole class to remain silent, which they do, and he even expects her to remain stubborn and not give anything away, which she does, but that is perfectly in line with what he has in mind.
'Miss Granger,' he simply speaks her name, nothing more than that.
'Professor Snape?' she responds.
Interesting, her response. He would have thought that she would respond with the customary, 'Professor,' and yet, she added his name after his title. Clear defiance that is. Any one of her classmates may not be able to detect that defiance on her part, expect, he is able. Five too many emotional interactions with her, have begrudgingly attuned him to her more personal mannerisms. For that reason, he says nothing else for a moment, giving her time to dive into her own thoughts and wonder. At the point, some moments later, where he notices that she is beginning to feel impatient with him for only looking at her, and not saying anything, he decides to address.
'You have the tendency to swallow information whole, am I correct?'
A clear line, part of what makes a frown exactly that, forms on her forehead, just ready to communicate her feelings on that matter, but she doesn't not present it with words. It is not that he knew that she would refuse to answer that, although, he is not in the least surprised that she does not want to admit the part of her that is not admirable.
'Am I correct?' he asks again.
He could've ordered her to give him an answer, only, the result would've been an answer, and an answer only, not the momentarily tight expression which crosses her face. And then, of course, his answer from her mouth.
'Yes,' tightly leaves her mouth.
'Of course,' he tactfully mocks as he always knew that he would get the opportunity. 'Now tell me, what does the recent decree say about extracurricular activities?'
Needing no further question, she starts to recite that, 'It states that-' only for him to stop her right there with his own words.
'Precisely as I thought,' he dryly comments.
His comment clamps her up all of a sudden. Quite angrily so, that the shade of her face changes a bit. His immediate brain finds it quite unnerving that he's seen her face angry enough times, to read it as it begins to appear. Honestly, what has his life come to, that he recognises when a student is angry?
Do better, Severus, he warns himself.
Move on from recognising her mannerisms and expressions, to making sure that she is finished enough with you in this lesson, to forever break the tie that you have to her.
'It seems that select people have the gall to start new extracurricular activities,' he picks up his speech, 'when they have not, at the very least, put an end to others before engaged in. No matter,' he deliberately looks away from her. 'I expect the pattern to be the same in this case as well.'
Again, inspired by his words, he recognises the upset look that her face takes on. Oh, that expression. She looks ready to give him an answer, and so, please, he begs, he simply dares her to ask if she's the one who he is talking about.
'Miss Granger?' he, with a specific purpose, pushes just that little bit.
'You didn't let me finish with what the decree says,' hotly comes from her, nearly as an arrow would shoot out from a bow.
Both the fire in and the answer itself, take him by cunning surprise. He cannot say why he is surprised so, when she has clearly shown him that she no longer fears him. He supposes that he had been waiting to hear her call his name again, challenging him, perhaps?
'I wasn't aware that you understood the concept of finishing anything.'
'The-' she hastily starts, only to stop herself at the last moment, do what looks like is compose herself, what with her eyes closing, taking in a breath, and then opening her eyes.
'Professor, the new school legislation forbids all and any extracurricular activity that is not sanctioned by the new governing system currently at Hogwarts. That means that any, and all parties found guilty of engaging in extracurricular activities, will be punished accordingly. I hardly believe that anyone would want to be punished, at the risk of finishing an unauthorised activity, Professor.'
Oh-ho-ho, that little tart of a girl!
Not only did she get him so far into her explanation of what the decree states, but she did it so well, that by the time that he realised that the closing sentence was a direct response to what he accused her of, it was too late to take his mind back from the explanation that she gave. She caught him, very well, and cleverly, she caught him.
And another thing, her response is total rubbish. She cannot honestly think that he would believe that, can she?
He will not deny it, she is doing a good job of fighting him, but even so, he must display himself uncaring and unaffected. What she doesn't see about him, she can never know, which is why he should act as though she said nothing that impacted him, and rather give the class an assignment to do.
'Read,' he smoothly pulls the word, his eyes leisurely roaming from student to student. 'And not one person dare ask me what to read!'
Making sure that he's gotten his point across, seeing all of them reach for their textbooks, not in the same haste as they did in their first and second years, but in haste all the same, he dramatically turns his back on them, for his own desk. As he walks to his desk, he considers how one would question why in the world he has chosen to allow Hermione Granger the freedom to come and go as she pleases.
Not in his thoughts, however.
No, in his thoughts, she stopped being a person of interest long after he realised that she was no longer afraid of him. Through her behaviour, he deducted that she simply wanted nothing to do with him, and rather lost whatever genuine little respect she did not have for him, for bearing the Mark of the Dark Lord.
The coming and going freedom that one would wonder about, if they were so interested to discover, would obviously be referring to how much he waits for her to approach him, except for the occasional day when he feels the itch to get rid of her once and for all. His such attempts have all failed so far, and still, when she approaches him, they never resolve anything. She always leaves, and then they go on ignoring each other, until he gets his itch, which in turn, resolves nothing between them.
How he wishes that he hadn't tricked her into being the one to end brewing potions. He has only himself to blame.
He has only himself to blame for identifying with her back then, through her show of weakness, because he too, had felt a moment of weakness. It had been a raw moment in which she caught him. Albus had just left from giving him the command that he would have to present himself to the Dark Lord that very same day, and he… He had felt so weak in following through with that command… It meant going back to face the one who killed Lily in the first place, and while he had been in that moment of dark despair, reliving the effect the death of Lily had on him, she showed up.
She reached him when he was weak, and she too was weak with emotion. When she began to speak, he intimately identified with her weakness, latching onto her confessing her fears. Then, he was drawn to sympathy for her, because the subject of the Dark Lord was and continues to be no laughing matter. That was until she went and mentioned Potter being the hero, when Potter wasn't the one being sent out to meet the Dark Lord in the flesh, and that dug deep past his sympathy, to a place of fear that he would be the one to deal with the Dark Lord, only for Potter to receive the glory.
He only has himself to blame, as he said.
But how he wishes that he didn't have himself to blame at all.
In a small while, it will be the Christmas holidays, and he needs to go into those free of his binding. He cannot and is not comparing her to his unwilling binding to the Dark Lord, although, having already that one in place, he does not wish to add another.
The class comes to end with him bringing his thoughts to an end as well, and getting up to physically see the students out of his classroom with his eyes. His wandering eyes, although not particularly looking of her, find her… Walking to his desk, in fact, not out of the door with her two friends as it ought to be.
'Did Professor Umbridge say that I couldn't continue to brew potions?' is the first thing to leave her mouth as she reaches his desk.
Brazen, is she? Speaking about this, when half the class is still to leave the classroom? He wonders, is she looking forward to being humiliated in front of her peers? And the other thing; shameless girl that she is. He could turn his lip at her just for that. How can that be her question when she hasn't brewed potions in months? Has it escaped her mind that the term began some many fortnights ago?
This, he has to challenge.
For this, his expression has to be special; eyebrows properly raised, and eyes carefully constricted at the corners, for the right effect.
'Continue, Miss Granger?'
'Is that what she told you all that time ago?' she insists about Umbridge, as though she didn't quite catch his meaning in its depth.
'You wish to use her as an excuse, to save you from your own failure.'
It is a declaration. Not an accusation. And most definitely not an assumption.
'No, Professor,' she frowns. 'That's not it. It's only that she's capable of saying such a thing.'
'Miss Granger, do not take me for a child,' he says, quite tired of their carried over dissonance. 'You have not been to brew in some time. You cannot tell me, no, when you have done no brewing as of yet. I am quite capable of understanding more than what is implicitly stated. Do not stand there, and attempt to waste any more of my time. I should like to suffer one thing less, as it is.'
Truly, between the few unresolved meetings with her, the Order meetings, the meetings with the Dark Lord, and then the misery that is Dolores Umbridge, he would rather not like to add a girl to his load. Magic hold him to his word, but at this point, he will spell it out for her, that she should free him from the magical obligation that he tricked her into. He did it at a moment when he didn't know for sure that the Dark Lord would rise again.
'I'm sorry, Professor,' she says, sounding quite sincere. 'I didn't mean to waste your time. I know you have work to do for you-know-what, and it must be difficult.'
Closing his eyes, he thinks of how he has no energy to shout at her, or even get angry with her. This is madness with her, yes. She should just release him, yes. He is in a third contract, with a third party, that he can't release himself from, yes. His life is a dark wonder, and not the wonder of the good sort, yes. He should end this, yes.
'I have told you before, Miss Granger,' he opens his eyes, 'that you have not an idea. Cease with your insistent need to identify with me.'
'Fine,' she tightly says and then holds out her open left hand towards him.
'What?'
'You have my timetable, Professor.'
That he does, but for no longer. Without saying a word, he summons the timetable into his hands, and then he places it into her hand. And then he waits. He waits for her to tell him that this is the end. Only, she first opens her timetable, looks through it and then looks at him.
'Well?'
What is she still here for?
'You didn't…' she starts, pauses to clear her throat, and then picks up her words. 'You didn't circle any periods on here.'
On his life, he cannot give a testimony on how his magic overrides his mind, summoning a quill as it simultaneously removes her timetable from her hands, to mark his name, his name of all things, on the few places where they are able to meet. His mind should have spoken its truth, and confessed that he has no wish to be tied down by one more thing, but instead, his mind simply watches her take back her timetable, not so much as saying a, 'Thank you,' before she leaves.
Why did he do that? Is he finally beginning to lose his mind?
Either that, or his hatred for everything, including himself, is revelling in punishing him.
26Chapters
He would be the most relieved person for the small interlude that is the brief school break, were it not for the fact that he utterly hates this year. Peace and reprieve this year, have proven to be a dream so far in the distance, that he doesn't even dare to try and see if he can get a glimpse of them. He did it to himself, quite plainly, thus, he has no right to complain. All, with the exception of Umbridge, that witch, is his own doing in some small or bigger manner, so he should take the repercussions as they are. Except the issue with Albus. In that, he has no hand in and would very much appreciate it if he wasn't being thrust into it as he is being.
'Surely,' he carefully drawls, 'it doesn't need to be me.'
'Severus, it cannot be me. It is unwise.'
He'll have Albus know, that it's just as unwise to have him do that deed. For the love of magic, it's the same for him as well. If not more unwise.
'Minerva could do it,' he tries to convince the Headmaster to his way of reasoning. 'Or arrange for Moody to do so, Albus.'
'Harry is much better protected at Hogwarts, Severus. Alastor is not on staff at Hogwarts.'
'Moody could come here. To Hogwarts.'
Albus is too set on this, and he wonders if he is trying hard enough to convince the old man that he simply cannot be the one to teach Potter such a thing as Occlumency. Umbridge is one thing to put up with on a day to day basis, but Potter... No. Simply, no.
Potter has no sense of proper concentration to get through something as delicate as Occlumency. He would cower and shrink at the first sign of a lesson. It would be a complete waste of their time to even attempt a lesson between them.
'It should be you,' the older man quietly maintains. 'Understand, Severus.'
He is not willing to understand; that is the obstacle, even though Albus is simply asking him a favour, not delegating a task. The way that he knows the Headmaster, anything to do with precious Harry Potter, Albus would do himself and yet here they are. In this case, it seems that Albus asking him is a rather desperate favour that ultimately cannot be refused. Of course, he has a choice to say no, but really, he has no choice, seeing as Albus wouldn't ask him if there was another way.
'You detest me, Headmaster,' he resigns, briefly closing his eyes to take in what it is that he just did.
'You are well aware that I do not detest you,' Albus exhales, clear relief in his voice. 'Hear me, Severus, it is of great importance that the Dark Lord doesn't learn of this connection between himself and Harry, hence the urgency of the lessons.'
'Should I refuse?' he simply wonders.
Smiling an oddly knowing smile, Albus has an answer ready for him. Not surprisingly.
'I am hoping that you will not refuse,' he says. 'I wouldn't dare to bribe you with a comfort that you may want for yourself...'
And yet, here he is offering a bribe, by making it not seem like a bribe. Well, Albus can simply put a stopper in that, if he will. He, Severus Snape, will not accept a bribe to teach Occlumency to Harry Potter. Accepting a bribe, would be a mark to tarnish his pride that in fact, he can be bought to like and consider the boy.
'I'll decline, thank you, Albus.'
'Ah, well,' Albus carries on talking, once he sees that the pause that was supposed to be effective in getting the bait of bribe to catch, did nothing to that effect. 'Like I said, I wouldn't dare to bribe you, when there happens to be a common party between the two of you, who I believe, will make the lessons much easier. That is, if you wish to have someone there.'
That short inclination of Albus' head to the right, he does not trust it. Albus just finished with talking about bribes, and here he is, attempting another, less obvious and direct bribe. Really, if he wishes? Albus knows fully well that he would never pass up the opportunity to make Potter feel less than, much less, in front of an audience. The concern, however, is the common party that is to come. His mind can only think of one such a person, but for magic's sake, Albus cannot really mean him, can he? There's a slight wave of tolerance there, barely, really, but to place Lupin as the common party that he and Potter have between them, is outright blasphemy.
On his way to fully being disgusted, he says, 'Surely, you cannot mean...?' leaving the floor blank for the Headmaster to fill in what he needs to.
'Miss Granger? Why yes, of course, I mean her.'
Who did the Headmaster say? Did he hear correctly? Albus dares to say that so nonchalantly, as though it's a coherent fact?
'Miss Granger?'
'Miss Granger,' Albus confirms with a nod. 'I have recently come to learn that she does some additional brewing during her free periods.'
Here he thought that the old man couldn't surprise him anymore. Occlumency with Potter had seemed like the deepest that it would get, only to be rendered more than surprised at the thought of Miss Granger counted as being a common party between himself and Potter. He cannot deny the fact that the girl is friends with Potter, but to imply that she has any relation to him is mad. Lupin at least, he attended school with, but Miss Granger? Besides, she has only recently come back to brew after her forced her hand to do so.
'Headmaster, Miss Granger?' he asks again, his confusion surely evident on his face as well as in his voice.
'She hasn't been brewing additionally with you?' Albus mischievously challenges.
'Additionally, no, Albus,' he corrects the older man. 'Her brewing rather just happened to be convenient at the time that she presented herself. I did not handpick her for the star pupil that she is not.'
'But she has been brewing?' Albus persists in asking.
'She has. Since last year, in fact.'
'Oh?'
That one seems to apparently take Albus by great surprise. So much so that his expression turns serious for a moment, to study him. He cannot claim to know Albus very well in that way, however, there is something about his expression that is quite intrigued to be finding out about this.
'Since last year, you say?' Albus presses. 'And may I ask, you continue to allow her, why?'
'Dispel from your mind that I value her talent, Albus,' he warns. 'She was the one who approached me, and it hurts me nothing to have brewed potions on the ready.'
'Very well,' Albus quietly accepts. 'It's settled then. I shall inform Harry, and you shall invite Miss Granger.'
Invite did he say? Going to a ball, are they?
26Chapters
He avoided giving Potter a date for the lessons until he spoke to Miss Granger first. The mention of the lessons was made, but he clearly left it open that when the time came, he would let Potter know when he would be able to start. He couldn't begin the lessons, until he found the time to inform Miss Granger, that is. He's found it now, this free period.
To get her attention, he clears his throat, immediately feeling like Umbridge afterwards. He should have simply stood there and waited for her to notice him – the sort of things that this girl has made him do, he wouldn't even recognise himself anymore. It's discomforting that she's affecting him so. He will have to be careful around her from now onwards.
'Tomorrow night,' he begrudgingly tells her. 'Nine o'clock.'
Confused, she looks at him to ask for clarification, 'Professor?'
'Was I unclear?' he asks, arching his right eyebrow.
There, Albus, he thinks as he watches her shake her head, I've invited her.
She shakes her head, indicating that he was clear enough to be understood, and yet she keeps looking at him with wonder. Magic help him, if she understood him, what more could she possibly want from him?
Going by her expression alone, he can imagine that she's curiously burning to know what she'll be doing. She'd no doubt like to prepare for whatever it is. How very unfortunate for her, though, that he won't do any such thing as entertain her curiosity. It's not only that he really has no idea what he's going to make her do while he attends to Potter, there's also the matter that she's made him run after her as though he needed her.
At every opportunity that they met, she'd left him with an unpleasant sense of being cheated, because the outcome of their exchange turned out to be different from the one that he expected. He'd been forced time and time and again, to look for her and confront her, and each time, she left him unsatisfied. Only very recently did they come to an agreement. Considering all that, perhaps he should egg her into asking him what she wants to know, just so he can deny her the answer.
'Do you have a question, Miss Granger?'
'Will I be brewing, Professor?'
No. He wants to tell her no, because that's not what he expected her to ask precisely, but looking into her eyes, looking for nothing at all, he settles on not giving her an answer. Instead, he'll keep contact with her until she's had enough of him looking at her. Only, after a few seconds of the eye contact, he's reminded that this girl is unpredictable. She's the very girl who's been making him run after her for as long as school has been in session.
When he thinks about it, there's nothing stopping her from getting upset with him or worse, bored with him, to the point where she glares at him and then gets up to leave him standing by himself. As someone who looked for his approval, she'd been easier to interact with, but now, even steadily becoming accustomed to her unpredictable reactions, it's not as easy to deal with her. It's with that thought that his eyes leave hers to search her face. Although there are no tell signs of her being more than curious still, he cannot risk her having the upper hand when he's clearly had it this since the beginning of this conversation.
Sniffing a little, he abruptly decides to leave it all here, just as abruptly turning to leave her behind for a change. He hears her do something that sounds awfully like a little gasp of shock, but he without having his eyes on her, he cannot verify it. It's possible that he's only imaging her reaction to what he would like it to be, except when he's three steps away from her, he hears a rather startled, 'Professor?' from behind him. and reconsiders that maybe she did gasp.
Good, he nearly smiles to himself on his way, loving the victory, she did gasp after all, and even better, he's the one in control once again. Perhaps Albus had been in the right to suggest for her to attend the lesson as well.
