Chapter Three
Hermione had never made so many mistakes in such a simple potion. He had to seize her hand over the cauldron more than once to stop her from destroying the potion.
"Miss Granger, you already Flobberworm Mucus, powdered ginger root now."
She swapped the bowls and poured in the ginger.
Hermione reddened as she heard him mutter, "Stupid girl." His foul mood certainty wasn't helping the situation.
"Stir vigorously, Miss Granger. It will take more energy than that." Hermione tried, but her arms felt like lead; she couldn't summon the energy to move her hand any faster. She suddenly felt very lightheaded and clung to the desk with her other hand.
"I can't stir it any faster." She said, a small plea to her tone. Frustrated with her unusual incompetence, Snape grasped her hand roughly and stirred the potion for her. Hermione stayed very silent, trying to ignore the lump rising in her throat at failing in front of him. He had been so nice over the past month. The only thing that had changed was...Mrs. Norris. The school could still talk of little else. Of course Snape was in a foul mood; this was the first he had seen of her since Saturday (she had cancelled Monday's lesson to research). Surely he couldn't be taking his hatred of Harry out on her. Not that it would be the first time. Harry had gone unpunished yet again, although Snape had held him behind to scrape tubeworms off desks. And Snape had almost been undermined by Lockhart, but even he had to admit... Lockhart's skills were renowned. He written books. She sighed; why couldn't things just go normally.
Her quiet contemplation was not lost on Professor Snape as, while he despised the girl for her friendship, she was acting distinctly odd. On autopilot; and making enough mistakes she may have well have cancelled this lesson too. Snape was unsure of her reasons for cancelling Monday's tutoring as she had not been in the infirmary; he checked (in passing), but he was glad of the break. The last thing he particularly wanted after Saturday night's ordeal was to see another member of that infuriating trio. Snape glowered into her cauldron, wishing wholeheartedly that he had chosen a potion without a waiting period. Sitting in silence in the company of Granger was not an experience he relished. Snape sighed heavily.
"Stop," He said sharply. "The potion has to brew for thirty minutes."
"Thirty?" She said, looking astonishingly miserable.
"Do I get the impression you wish to leave Miss Granger? By all means, this is not my idea of an enjoyable afternoon."
She ignored his comment, seemingly deaf to the malice with which he administered it.
"Is there anything I should prepare in the meantime, sir?" He almost regretted his comment.
"Read the instructions, and you may find out." Snape swept through the tables to his desk and began grading papers with as little animation as Hermione read Snape's potions textbook.
Having discovered she did, in fact, not have to prepare anything, Hermione sat at the table with her head on her arms. Morosely staring into the small, flickering fire under her cauldron.
Snape noticed her curious lack of curiosity, of spirit. She seemed particularly wretched; in such a despondent state, he had to wonder if it were just the effect of the cat on the entire, or if there was something else bothering her. Her focus left her utterly unaware of Professor Snape's gaze, fixed intently upon her slight form. His vile mood dissipated slightly as he surveyed the girl, who suddenly appeared rather small and vulnerable, so consumed she was by her troubles. Snape's cynicism told him it was merely another spat between the two toddlers she called friends. Still, he somehow felt oddly responsible for her struggles. He had thought he would never see the mistakes she made this evening. Despite the waiting time, Snape didn't think the potion would be salvageable, but perhaps, this once, the girl didn't have to know this. He sighed again, scowling as he found Potter's excuse for an essay in front of him. What a poor excuse for magic, clearly an inherited trait from James, he thought scathingly.
Harry's being the last essay of second years Snape had to grade, he too stared into the oblivion of his desk for as long as he could manage. Finally, he raised his head to see Granger observing him, having been torn from her fiery trance. He had wondered briefly what had caused the change when he saw the potion bubbling over the side of the cauldron and onto Miss Granger's hands.
Hurrying around his desk, Snape deftly vanished the cauldron and potion, leaving Hermione's hands clean but viciously blistering in boils.
"Miss Granger! How long has this been on your hands? Why didn't you cry out?" Once again, Snape was rather frustrated with her carelessness.
"I- I don't know, sir, I don't think long." He glanced at her eyes a moment, meeting them briefly before she broke the contact. He returned his attention to her hands, muttering a healing spell. He doubted it would scar, just be very painful for a few hours.
"They will be fine, Miss Granger, just so long as you rest them and remember next time you have a voice for a reason. Now." The pause stretched out as though she knew what was to come. "You will tell me why you are so clumsy." It was not a question.
Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the words to make him understand. She heard his sigh of frustration. When did I come to recognise that? She thought gloomily.
"Is it Mrs Norris?" He inquired, somewhat exasperated. "Because she will be completely fine. Unfortunately," He muttered, pleased when she gave him a weak smile but shook her head. He tried again. "Trouble in paradise?" No, she wouldn't even entertain the idea of telling him anything about that, "Are you homesick?" Granger seemed to deflate a little. Jackpot. "It happens often, Miss Granger, usually around this time when the students have been here a month or two. I have little Slytherins through my door night and day. It is nothing to be ashamed of, no need for Gryffindor behaviour." It was quite a speech for him; he felt rather impressed; he'd managed to hold back the snark.
"No," She said forcefully, surprising him. "No. I am not homesick. I will not be homesick."
He groaned, "Miss Granger..."
"No. There is nothing to be homesick for; this is my home. Why should I wish to leave?" Her voice raised until she was shouting at him. "Absolutely nothing would change from me being at home. I would be just as- just as..." Her speech faltered as she considered what she was saying, her little mouth set itself in a defiant line. "-just as alone. And Miserable. And lonely and- and- and..." Tears obscured her vision as she ran from the room, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and the mildly astonished Potions Professor.
She continued running out into the late autumn sunlight, coming to rest finally at the edge of the lake, facing the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest. Here she stopped, desperate breaths trying to fill her lungs with the crisp air, and cried bitterly. For her parents, her shame, her hopeless loneliness, and the blasted cat. Concealed in Professor Sprout's veggie patch, she screamed silent screams until, her energy entirely exhausted from the run and sobs racking her body, Hermione curled into a ball and fell into an anguished sleep.
Professor Snape had remained seated for several moments following her impassioned outburst. Curious about the little witch, he returned to fourth-year essays that awaited his attention and hoped she at least confided in Minerva. He had had a similar experience with several of his younger Slytherins, occasionally forgetting that Granger was only a second year and had yet to become fully accustomed to Hogwarts. She seemed to have thrived, considering the disaster that was her first year. And, he supposed, the threats of Malfoy against Mudbloods could not have helped. Discovering bigotry at such a young age could not be a pleasant experience.
The sun dipped low as Hogwarts moved in its now-established rhythm; a chill now covered the grounds upon the sun's disappearance, and so students were generally gathered in their various common rooms. Snape was just finishing his marking for the day, having been forced to endure three more grades of filth, when McGonagall knocked upon his office door.
"How may I help you, Minerva?" He said shortly, it had been a tiring day.
"Severus, have you seen Miss Granger? I was under the impression you had a lesson with her this afternoon and have been unable to locate her."
"I am afraid I have not. Our lesson ended somewhat abruptly. I had actually hoped you would have spoken to her by now."
McGonagall surveyed his expression carefully, unable to glean much from a well-practised Occlumens but curious all the same.
"What exactly did she need to speak with me about?" She inquired.
"It can wait," He replied cryptically, "we should find her first. Would you like me to search the grounds? It's getting late."
"Thank you, Severus; I would appreciate that. Normally I would assume she had retreated to bed but, these times..."
"Of course." he followed her from the door.
Snape examined the grounds from the door; it was difficult to make out the dark student robes in the darkness. Where would a distraught Granger go? He made his way to the lake, that being the most private spot on the grounds. He doubted she had ventured into the forest and sincerely hoped she had better sense. As luck would have it, he thought rather bitterly, as he discovered a sleeping girl. Curled tightly in the vegetable garden, no doubt subconsciously trying to stave off the cold. He cleared his throat. Hermione made no move to suggest he had heard her.
"Miss Granger," Snape said with a little more force than he had intended, prodding her with his foot. Her eyes sprang open. He cocked his head, looking almost thoughtful. "You will catch a cold sleeping here."
She almost smiled, attempting to get up despite the burning pain in both her palms. Blinking away tears, Hermione stared resolutely at her feet, determined not to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing her cry twice in an evening. He held out his hand.
"You hand, Miss Granger," Snape demanded impatiently.
"I can walk just fine, thanks."
He glared at her. "I merely meant to check your injuries, Miss Granger, but if you prefer to remain in pain..."
"No. I- Sorry." She said lamely, feeling herself redden.
He examined her hands; only mild blisters remained, missed with his first healing spells. He cast again, healing all the blisters and relieving Hermione of a great deal of pain.
"Thank you, sir."
"Professor McGonagall is looking for you. It's late."
Hermione took in her surroundings for the first time since waking to Snape's gentle nudge and not so gentle exclamation of her name. The sun had fully set now, and it was very cold; she had only her robe with no cloak. They began to walk towards the castle in silence. It felt so much further this time as she began to shiver almost uncontrollably, unable to keep the cold at bay now she was not asleep.
"My apologies, Miss Granger." Said Snape suddenly, and she felt a delicious wave of warmth wash over her.
Of course, no wonder he was not cold with no cloak either, a warming charm. She mentally added it to her list of spells to learn, not wishing to carry around a bottled flame this winter. Hermione thought back to that strange encounter with Snape the previous winter. He had taken Harry's book (something about Quidditch) but had not noticed they were huddled around a little flame she had jarred for warmth. She giggled, not unnoticed by Snape, it seemed so slight now, but they had loathed Snape for his confiscation at the time. They reached the steps.
"Go to Professor McGonagall's office; I will alert her to your presence."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your..." She paused, entirely unsure of what she was trying to thank him for. "...consideration." Hermione finished, cursing her lack of wit.
She turned quickly and ran up the stairs, hoping McGonagall would believe her facade.
Authors note:
Thank you RiMat for your kind review. This is my first fanfiction and you have bolstered my confidence and motivation immeasurably.
All characters and recognizable content belongs to J.K Rowling of course, I am just resurrecting her discarded characters for a good time.