Chapter 8. Setting Up the Attack
After lunch, Hermione decided that now was as good a time as any to start researching the house-elves--- and besides, a trek to the library on the first day of vacation would almost certainly get rid of Ron at least and probably all three of the others, leaving her with a little peace.
And a chance to see Snape, insinuated a corner of her mind, which she chose to ignore.
"I'm going to the library," she announced brightly as they headed out of the Great Hall. "See you in a bit---"
"Sure," said Ginny easily, seeming to understand. But to Hermione's surprise, neither of the boys made their usual exclamations of disgust. Instead, they exchanged a very odd sort of look, then Ron said--- reluctantly to her ears--- "We'll come with you."
"Er--- yeah, never too early to get to work, right?" Harry added.
Hermione looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowed. "Since when do either of you even think about your homework before Christmas?" she asked.
"Er--- I guess you must be rubbing off on us," Ron said, shooting Harry what could only be described as a pleading glance.
"Yeah--- and we have a lot more work this year, besides," Harry added. "The O.W.L.s are coming up---"
But it didn't take a genius to figure out that their sudden enthusiasm for their work had nothing to do with O.W.L.s. "You're--- body-guarding me, is that it?" she demanded, and had the satisfaction of seeing the guilty, startled looks on both male faces. "Because of what happened last night."
The boys looked at each other again, then Ron said sheepishly, "Well, like McGonagall said, you'd had a rough time---"
"We just figured you wouldn't want to be alone, that's all, and we didn't think you'd like to ask---" Harry said.
Hermione couldn't decide whether to be touched or vexed by their reactions. "Honestly---" Her first instinct was to chase them off---
Wait, said a little voice in her head. Would you want to throw them off if you didn't want to sneak off to see... Snape?
And she had to admit that the voice had a point.
"Well, all right, you two," she said ruefully. "You can tag along after me if you want--- though you'll probably bore yourselves stiff, as my current plan involves spending most of break in the library."
Harry and Ron's faces were studies in mixed emotions: they looked as though they couldn't decided whether to be relieved or annoyed. "Well," said Harry brightly, "if we start getting really bored, we can always take turns, can't we?"
For some reason the thought of being alone with Ron bothered her--- but, strangely, not with
Harry. Why is that? But she only laughed. "Well, then, come along, my gallant knights," she
teased, and they trooped gamely after her to the library, with Ginny in their wake.
******
After flashing her prefect's badge at Madam Pince, Hermione made straight for the Restricted Section, causing Harry and Ron--- again--- to exchange looks.
Ron opened his mouth, but before he could speak, they were intercepted by the formidable librarian. "Fourth years not allowed back there!" she exclaimed, practically collaring Ginny, then turning a sharp gaze on the boys. "And I'm sure you two are up to no good---"
"Please, Madam Pince," Hermione interceded--- she was one of the few students the librarian actually liked, as they shared a love of the printed word. "They're with me, all three of them---"
Madam Pince sniffed. "Well, I suppose I can let the fifth years in," she said, "but you, Miss Weasley, will have to find some other mischief to keep you occupied--- or, heaven forbid, actually study."
Hermione shot her a sympathetic glance as Madam Pince trooped her off, then set off for the Restricted Section.
"What d'you want back here?" Ron whispered.
"Right--- we haven't got any assignments that call for it---" Harry paused. "You haven't even got your course books with you---"
She grinned, feeling a little hint of mischief as she anticipated the boys' reactions to her next bombshell. "It's not schoolwork," she said, "well--- not technically---"
"Not technically?" Ron repeated, scratching his head. "How d'you mean?"
"It's something professor Snape gave me the idea for last night---" she said airily, as she began searching the rows of Restricted books for something on house-elves.
"Snape!" Ron forgot to whisper, and she and Harry both shushed him, lest Madam Pince hear them. He lowered his voice, still looking furious. "After what--- after you---"
Hermione gave him a severe look. "Actually, Ron, it was the best thing he could do for me--- give me something---" her voice shook all on its own, no acting needed--- "else to think about." She managed a grin. "Besides, I think you'll like this project--- both of you."
Ron looked mutinous, Harry merely skeptical. "What is it?" the latter asked.
"Well, somehow he'd found out about S.P.E.W.---"
Ron snorted--- then looked embarrassed, torn between his dislike of Snape and his disdain for her elf-rights project.
"And he suggested that I go and look up the origins of house-elves before I went about campaigning for their rights." She couldn't fight a sheepish grin. "Actually he told me that originally they were... how'd he put it---" she tried to remember his exact words--- "'they weren't nearly as nice as goblins, nor as magically weak as a phoenix.'" she shot Ron an arch look. "That make you think better of him--- talking me out of the house-elf rights campaign?"
Ron again looked torn, but Harry spluttered. "Leave it to Snape," he said, "to manage it." He blinked. "So--- if the elves were all that bad, how'd they turn into---"
"Winky," snorted Ron.
"That's what I'm supposed to be looking up," Hermione said with some asperity. "So, if the two of you wouldn't mind---"
"We'll help," said Ron, a little too eagerly, and Harry nodded, grinning at her.
"All right," she said, "but mind you don't open any of the books--- I'm the only one who's
supposed to have access, and Madam Pince will throw us out if the silly things start screaming."
*****
In the next week, they quickly reached an unspoken truce: mornings the boys spent in the library helping Hermione with her research, afternoons they either played in the snow or lounged around the Gryffindor common room, Hermione reading and the boys playing chess or getting up to mischief with Ginny.
Though even Ron had to admit that the history of house-elves was at least somewhat interesting--- and to Hermione, downright fascinating. Most of the books on it were secondary sources, as the transformation had come about sometime before the Middle Ages--- she was having trouble pinning down the exact dates--- but it was very clear that the creatures from which the house-elves had come were absolutely terrifying. Stories of bizarre assaults, willful destruction of breakable items like buildings, and other kinds of violence were rampant.
Harry wasn't surprised. "If you'd had Dobby trying to 'help' you," he said dryly, "you wouldn't be either."
Remembering the countless "helpful" incidents that Dobby had perpetrated on Harry in their second year, Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
"But why didn't anyone do something about them sooner?" Ron asked, puzzled, as they sat one morning poring over a particularly gruesome tale of bloodshed.
"Because," said Hermione, looking up from the book to pull another one over in front of them--- "they were harmless little imps until they started interbreeding with djinn--- honestly, Ron, with your brother over in Egypt, I'd think you'd know---"
Ron looked annoyed. "I don't see why---"
"Because djinn guard treasure, for one thing," said Harry, sticking up for her, which was unusual--- it was usually the boys against Hermione when it came to anything having to do with studying. She guessed it was just one more little way of "cheering her up."
"And then their natural predators couldn't keep up with them," Hermione said, "so there as a population explosion---"
Ron shuddered. "Just what you'd want," he muttered, "a bloody mess of those things---"
"Exactly. Now," said Hermione, returning to the books, "I'd just like to know how they were changed...."
Snape's words came back to her: some of my father's ancestors were involved--- along with a few of the Potter family.... She rather thought Harry would like to know something about his ancestors--- but they weren't in any of the books she was finding.
Well, she'd have to ask him--- when Harry and Ron finally left her alone.
It had taken them until Christmas Eve to reach that dead end; as Ron said loudly, it was a good thing, for he didn't plan to spend Christmas Day in the library. The afternoon and evening were spent in excited anticipation of the Christmas feast the next day--- even Hermione, with everything she had on her mind, couldn't help but look forward to Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
And to seeing Snape. He hadn't been at meals when she and the boys had--- but most of the holiday meals, with the exception of the feast, were quite informal, with everyone wandering in at their leisure. But surely he'd be there for the Christmas feast, wouldn't he? He had been their third year, when the school was almost as deserted as it was this year....
Hermione, of course, kept that thought to herself. She didn't want to spoil Harry and Ron's anticipation of the feast.
But it was the last thought she had before going to sleep that night.
*****
Christmas morning, Hermione awoke to Crookshanks' weight on her chest and a loud purring in her ears--- to say nothing of a cold, wet nose on hers.
"Merry Christmas to you too, furball," she said affectionately, rolling over and hugging the cat to her chest. He purred even louder--- Crookshanks being quite a cuddler by feline standards, as least where she was concerned. She sat up and looked at the pile of presents on the end of her bed. "And what have we got here, d'you think?"
There was the usual heap of presents from her parents, a mixture of things Muggle and magical--- mostly books, on spells and science; Hermione liked trying to reconcile the two. And she knew her parents wanted her to keep some contact with her roots, even as they encouraged her to find her place in her new world. Well, the balancing act was about to get harder....
There were also the usual thank-you gifts, mostly little tokens from Zonko's ("Goodness, why would I want an exploding quill?" she asked, and Crookshanks sneezed) and Honeydukes, from the younger students she tutored, and Neville Longbottom, who was only passing most of his classes because she helped him. And there was a set of books on the magical potential of cats for her and a set of magical fake mice that scampered about under a Wriggle-Legs Hex for Crookshanks, both from Professor Arabella Figg, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who shared Hermione's love of cats. The venerable witch had invited Hermione to her office to meet all five of hers, and had been most impressed with Crookshanks, whom she pronounced to be half-Kneazle, which excited Hermione no end--- a real wizarding pet!
From Harry and Ron were the usual boxes of Honeydukes candy--- though she noticed that Ron's had more of the look of "--- and flowers" to it than she really wanted to handle at the moment. This suspicion was confirmed by her present from Mrs. Weasley--- in addition to the usual baked goods, there was her very first Weasley sweater, in a lovely shade of periwinkle blue. "Oh, dear," she said to Crookshanks. "This doesn't look good." Not that she didn't like Ron--- but she really wasn't up to an... escalation, not just now.
But the package at the bottom of the pile pushed all other thoughts out of her head very quickly. It was a small squashy thing, wrapped in plain dark green paper so thick it was almost cloth, with a Gladrags seal on it. There was no card attached.
"Who can this be from?" she asked Crookshanks, holding it out for him to sniff. The cat, who had an amazing nose for trouble, having found out Peter Pettigrew in their third year, could probably tell her more about it than any spell--- and after recent events, she was feeling quite cautious about unknown packages.
Crookshanks dutifully whuffled the parcel--- and purred loudly. "Well, if you say so," she said ruefully, and broke the seal, carefully pulling away the wrapping.
Something soft and silky, like a handful of moonbeams, puddled out into her hands--- along with two rolls of parchment. One had the Gladrags seal on it, the other was sealed with a crest she didn't recognize: a feathered serpent coiled around a quill. She tried to break the seal, but it wouldn't break.
"Hmmmm." Whoever had sent her this clearly wanted to create a bit of a puzzle--- which in its way was a present in itself.
But only a bit of a puzzle--- after a moment she remembered that some seals could only be broken
by the addressee. She pressed her thumb to it, and the little parchment rolled open.
"I thought you might find a good use for this. Rather a superior model to the
one Potter has from his father--- (there was a large dark blot after that,
suggesting words crossed out by the writer). But then, you have more need
of it. I think I need not tell you to keep this a secret--- from everyone except
the Headmaster, from whom I believe this place has no secrets."
It was signed, "S.S."
Hermione caught her breath, running her hands over the silvery folds. "Oh---" An Invisibility Cloak of her very own--- better than Harry's, according to....
Severus. It was the first time she'd called him by his given name in her thoughts--- even when she'd said his name down in the Potions classroom, she hadn't really thought of him that way.
But she couldn't not, not after... this. Because this was not only a gift whose generosity bordered on philanthropy... but a thoughtful present (how else could she slip down to see him?) and one that reflected his trust in her--- that she wouldn't use it for mere mischief.
Not for the first time, she thought, He's treating me like a grown woman.
For a moment she could only hold tight to the cloak and blink back tears that startled her; then with a wrench, she set the parchment aside, carefully rerolling it. As she suspected, the seal re-stuck to the parchment, holding it shut. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped it under her pillow, caught up her wand from the bedside table, and murmured a Freezing Charm to hold it in place. The house-elves would be able to move it when they did laundry--- after reading in detail about their powers, she was sure of that!--- but they'd know enough to put it back where they found it and ask no questions. And she didn't want anyone else finding it by mistake--- the memory of Lockhart's card under her pillow could still embarrass her (not least because she hadn't seen through that lying twit herself).
"Well, let's see what this thing can do," she said to Crookshanks, who was purring happily and snuffling the cloak. She picked up the Gladrags scroll, unrolled it, and started to read.
And got another shock. It wasn't just an Invisibility Cloak--- it was a Concealment Cloak. Not only did it make the wearer invisible, like Harry's cloak--- it made them inaudible (unless they pulled down the hood) and even somewhat intangible: you couldn't slide through walls or anything big and solid, but you could move through crowds without jostling anyone, or through spaces just a little too small.
She had to grin at that, remembering some of her research into physics. Wonder if the wizarding world has found a way around Heisenberg? It would certainly explain Apparation, as well as this cloak.... Which was probably not anything she could ask... Severus... about. Somehow, she doubted he'd ever studied any of the Muggle equivalents of magic. But Professor Vector had... now that had promise....
Besides those large improvements on Harry's cloak, there were dozens of small ones: the clasps that adhered around your face and body, so that there was no danger of the cloak slipping off as Harry's had done at least once; the climate-control lining; the Exaudio Charm that let you make yourself heard by a specific person if you chose.... Hermione read through the manual (well, it was, even if it was odd to think of a manual for a piece of clothing!) at first with wonder and delight... then with a growing feeling of alarm, even guilt. This would have cost a fortune... and somehow, she just didn't think Snape's salary as a teacher (even at Hogwarts, which had to be one of the more luxurious schools in existence) would cover too many extravagances like this....
But he'd been a Slytherin, hadn't he? She'd never heard of a Slytherin who wasn't wealthy.... But then why was he teaching here, if his family had money? And his mother taught at Durmstrang....
This was getting complicated.
But before she could finished puzzling it out, she heard footsteps outside her door, and then a knock--- "Merry Christmas, Hermione!" called three voices from outside her door.
"Hold on a moment--- I'm in a state of dishabille!" Hermione called, hastily folding the cloak around the manual and sliding it under her pillow, then grabbing her dressing gown as she got to her feet. "'Speak friend and enter.'"
To her surprise, it was Ginny who got the quote--- her high voice chimed out, "'Mellon'!" and then all three of her friends had piled into the room.
"I didn't know you'd read Tolkien," she said to younger girl as Harry and Ron started exclaiming sarcastically over the books.
Ginny grinned. "Muggle Studies--- I'm doing an independent project on Muggles' understanding of magic, remember---"
Hermione could have kicked herself--- but before she could apologize, Ron noticed the sweater, and insisted she wear it.
Harry seemed to notice her twitch. "Now we've all got one---"
"One big happy family!" said Ginny (whose sweater was a very pretty red that somehow went with her red hair instead of clashing as one would expect--- but then, Mrs. Weasley would know what colors looked good on redheads, even if she did get everything Ron owned in maroon). She gave Harry an adoring look... that was the twin of the one Ron was giving Hermione.
Who swallowed a sigh. Oh, dear.
*****
The one thing Hermione wanted to do more than any other that Christmas morning was to go down to the dungeons and thank Snape for his gift to her--- but that, alas, was not to be. After breakfast--- at which Snape was conspicuous by his absence, in Hermione's opinion--- Ron and Harry dragged the girls outside for a snowball fight that lasted until almost dinnertime. They dragged themselves upstairs to change--- no one wanted to spoil the Christmas feast by eating it in wet clothing--- and lay about on the chairs and the huge hearthrug in the common room, catching their breaths, until it was time for the feast.
When they arrived at the dining hall, they found all the House tables pushed against the walls, and a small table in the center of the room.
Ginny frowned. "What---"
"This is just like our third year," Harry whispered to her, making her face turn as red as her hair. "When the school's almost empty---"
He was interrupted by the Headmaster, who entered the room at that moment--- "That's odd," said Ron--- "the teachers always beat us here"--- followed by Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Figg, and--- Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she sternly told it to behave itself--- Snape, who brought up the rear looking even more sour than usual. "Since we have so few students staying over break--- why, the whole of Ravenclaw and Slytherin are gone---" which explained Flitwick's absence--- "it makes little sense to rattle around at our separate tables at what ought to be a festive occasion."
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron and Harry glance from Snape to each other, and grin. She could almost hear their thoughts: "Not likely."
But the four of them, along with a pair of rather nervous-looking baby Hufflepuffs, settled into seats along with the professors. Professor Sprout, looking even more motherly than usual, settled next to her little charges (who looked quite relieved, and even more so when Ginny, shooting Hermione a wink under her long red bangs, sat on their other side). Harry sat next to Ginny and Ron next to him. McGonagall settled between Sprout and Dumbledore, who gallantly handed Figg into the seat on his other side, between him and Snape.
Which left Hermione sitting between Ron... and Snape.
Oh, dear.
The sudden slight quirk of his eyebrow when he took note of the way the table had sorted itself out somehow settled her--- he's as startled as I am? --- and she perched herself next to him, stoutly ignoring the cotillion of butterflies making free of her stomach.
The look on Professor Dumbledore's face--- just an instant's flicker of his eyes for one to the other of them--- suggested that the seating arrangements were not accidental. Funny; she'd never figured him for cruel. But then, as with most things, he probably had a good reason.
Hermione didn't notice most of the conversation, or even the meal itself; she was too busy being aware of Snape's presence to her left, the subtle warmth of his body and the tingling all down her arm and side. Though she decided after a minute that sitting next to him was better than sitting anywhere else--- this way she could avoid the temptation to look at him, or the shock of catching sight of him unexpectedly when she turned to speak to someone else.
Maybe that was why he'd been missing meals....
She was so caught up in her half-articulate reverie that Professor Figg had to say her name twice to get her attention. "Er--- yes, Professor Figg?"
"I just wanted to ask what you thought of my Christmas present," she said dryly, "though if it was that bad---"
Hermione wrenched her mind back to the Real World. "Oh, the books are wonderful!" she replied, looking up at the old witch--- and trying not to let her voice hitch at the glance she got of Snape, out of the corner of her eye. "And Crookshanks loves his mice--- fake," she added for the benefit of the little Hufflepuffs, who were looking horrified.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips impatiently. "Arabella," she said, "professors at this school do not single any of their pupils out for special attentions--- it smacks of favoritism---"
"Oh, put a sock in it, Minnie," grumped Professor Figg, much to everyone's surprise. "I'm hardly one to play favorites---" her eyes suddenly twinkled--- "ask Severus if you don't believe me."
Snape looked considerably displeased at being dragged into the conversation. He set down his fork--- Hermione noticed with a start that his plate was mostly untouched--- and answered curtly, "True enough---" Some of Hermione's curiosity must have showed on her face, for he added, "Professor Figg was Head of Slytherin when I was a student here."
Hermione shot a glance at Harry, who'd dropped his fork onto a plate with a slight clatter muffled, thankfully, by the turkey. Professor Figg had been his neighbor when he lived with the Dursleys--- must be a dreadful shock, discovering that she was Slytherin. He caught Hermione's eye and let his eyebrows fly up into his untidy hair. Sh shrugged minutely.
McGonagall, meanwhile, shot a piercing look at the two Slytherins. "Oh, I remember---" Hermione wondered at the bitterness in her tone.
"Then don't complain if I've softened up a bit." Figg resumed dissecting her turkey with the air of one who'd scored a point.
Hermione exchanged glances with the other Gryffindors. She could almost see the dozen or so questions flitting about their heads, but before she could ask---
"You're not usually that slow on the uptake, girl," Professor Figg addressed her in the dry bark that was her usual manner with the students she thought could handle it-- a mark of respect, however backhanded. "Old Crookshanks nabbed your tongue for you?"
Hermione couldn't suppress a blush, aware of Snape carefully not looking at her.
Professor Sprout took it on herself to be helpful. "Oh, Arabella," she said in a conspiratorial sort of way, "don't you remember being that age?"
Professor Figg snorted--- then looked keenly at Hermione, no doubt taking in the blush. "So that's how it is!" she said. "So--- which one of these strapping lads---" she looked from Harry to Ron, who turned as red as his hair--- "has caught your fancy, girl? Or is it someone who's deserted you to return to the bosom of his family for the holidays, eh?" She laughed, a real witch's cackle.
The reactions at the table were as varied as their owners. Sprout looked mildly surprised, the baby Hufflepuffs dumbfounded. Ginny was trying not to gape and Harry not to laugh, while Ron spluttered. Dumbledore and McGonagall--- the only ones, other than Snape and herself, who knew anything of substance about Hermione's recent experiences--- both looked a little worried, and McGonagall began, "Really, Arabella---"
But before she could finish, Snape's voice cut through hers like serrated steel. "Don't let Professor Figg's, ah, bluntness, distress you, Miss Granger," he said in a dry tone that carried through the hall for all that it was no louder than a whisper--- "She has the distinction of being the only teacher Hogwarts has ever had to show her students less quarter than I--- though perhaps spending the last decade as a Muggle has mellowed her a bit."
An unpleasant hush followed his words, in which the professors all exchanged an unreadable series of not-quite-glances, with the exception of Snape, who suddenly looked off into the distance. It was as if he'd said something truly nasty, even by his usual standards.
The silence was broken by the scrick of Snape's chair across the stone floor. "If you'll all excuse me---"
Dumbledore, who until now had appeared content to let the discussion follow its natural course, looked up from his third helping of turkey. "Must you, Severus?" he asked mildly. "We haven't even started on dessert---" He turned to Professor Figg. "Do help me persuade him, Arabella--- you were his Head of House once, after all." He regarded Professor Figg with a kindly expression that--- from where Hermione was sitting, anyway--- seemed to have more than a hint of steel in it.
Figg looked away after a moment, up at Snape. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Severus, sit back down," she said irritably, "or Albus will send us all to bed without dessert."
Professor McGonagall gave a snort of a laugh--- and Snape, looking mildly irked, resumed his seat.
"Ah, good," said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together. "And, as we've all finished our dinners---" he waved his wand, and the dinner dishes were instantly replaced with an assortment of remarkable desserts.
But while the main course might be finished, Hermione's curiosity was hardly as satisfied as her appetite. What had that business among the professors meant? What was it Snape had said that set everyone off?
Well, she thought, feeling a little sneaky, she might just be able to ask him--- and actually to get a straight answer from him.
And she did need to make an opportunity to thank him for the cloak--- in private. Not only had
his note said to keep it a secret--- well, if Professor McGonagall didn't like Professor Figg giving
her a few books, she shuddered to imagine that formidable woman's reaction to the Concealment
Cloak!
*****
The arrival of the desserts served to sweeten everyone mood a little, and it was with a feeling of great contentment that the Gryffindor contingent trooped up the stairs to their tower.
"Fancy that," said Harry ruefully. "Who'd have guessed--- old Mrs. Figg, Head of Slytherin?"
"That's practically the same words you said when she turned up as our Dark Arts teacher this year," Hermione reminded him.
"And you always said she was nasty---" Ron chimed in.
"No," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, aside from shoving pictures of her cats under my nose---"
"Which she was doing to be nice, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Some people actually like them."
"--- and really, her house wasn't that awful, at least, not compared to the Dursleys," Harry finished, ignoring the interruption.
"Wouldn't anything?" Ron quipped, and the four of them laughed.
"Well, yes," said Harry, "but that's not the point--- Adeste Fidelis---" he said to the Fat Lady, who swung tipsily open--- she and her friend Vi had been having a bit of a Christmas party for themselves.
"The point," said Harry, as they settled by the fire, "is that... Professor Figg's just not what you'd expect from a Slytherin, is she? And guarding me all these years--- you'd hardly think---" He trailed off, looking into the fire.
"Maybe it has something to do with--- whatever the teachers wouldn't say," said Ginny, taking the words right out of Hermione's mouth and startling everyone considerably.
"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, looking puzzled.
"Oh, don't be thick, Ron," Hermione said crossly. "Didn't you notice--- the way they all looked at each other, after Snape said what he said about her?"
"Well, yeah, but I thought that was just because he'd insulted her," Ron said offhandedly. "I mean, really, saying she was meaner than him--- that's low."
Hermione privately disagreed, but she knew Ron wouldn't understand, and she didn't exactly want to explain. Before she could say anything, though, Ginny jumped in, again to everyone's surprise. "It's not just that," she said. "Didn't you notice, the way McGonagall talked to her--- 'I remember---' Like she'd done something awful?" She looked around at the rest--- though she had to rather crane her neck to look at Harry, as she was curled on the hearthrug by his chair.
"But what?" Hermione wondered.
But, though they talked about it until all of their remarks were punctuated at random and
ungrammatical intervals by yawns, they couldn't find an answer.
*****
It was with a certain amount of relief that Hermione finally made her way up to her room. She was quite sleepy... and there was still one more visit she needed to make....
She slipped on the Concealment Cloak--- not only did she have no desire to be caught by Filch, who patrolled the corridors ever at Christmastime, but she did want to try it out... especially on this visit. She rather thought Professor Snape would like to know how much she appreciated his gift.
The wonder of the cloak drove all sleepiness out of Hermione's mind. The lining was soft, clinging gently to her skin--- and when she closed the last of the neat little fastenings....
She didn't feel any different... until she put her hand on the bed.
For a moment, her hand actually sunk into the surface of the quilt--- then, quite suddenly, came to rest on the top, leaving no indentation to mark its presence, though she could still feel the softness of the down under her palm.
This was amazing! She was tempted to experiment a little bit more, but she reminded herself sternly that she should get down to the dungeons--- and besides, there would most likely be plenty of chances to try it out on the way.
She locked her door and slipped downstairs and out through the portrait--- the Fat Lady barely woke, which Hermione supposed was a good thing, as she didn't want her passing remembered.
The halls, of course, were completely deserted, and Hermione, to her own surprise (and slight disappointment), was able to make her way down to the dungeons without encountering even Mrs. Norris. They were also cold, and by the time she reached the corridor outside the Potions classroom, she was very glad of the cloak's climate-control lining.
She half-expected that his classroom would be deserted--- after all, it was Christmas night--- but no, there was a faint hint of light, though as she drew near she saw that it was under the outside door to his office rather than the classroom.
She started to knock, then realized that her fist would probably go right through the door, under the cloak at least. She started to slide her hand out from under the soft folds--- when a mischievous thought struck her. Why not test the Exaudio Charm?
The charm was triggered by a little piece of trimming on the inside of the cloak; after fumbling about for a moment, Hermione found it, and concentrated. "Professor Snape?"
The effect was quite something; she heard a muffled exclamation--- then silence.
For a moment, she was afraid the charm had somehow gone wrong--- then she heard the scrape of the door opening--- just a little.
Gratefully, she slipped through the crack and inside. Snape was standing by the door, looking mildly amused. "Well?"
"Er--- oh!" She realized that he couldn't tell if she was inside, and she hastily unfastened the cloak.
The quirk of his lips became more pronounced as she became visible. He shut the door, drew out his wand and tapped what she recognized as a one-way locking sequence: they could leave but no one else could enter. "Trying out your present?"
"Er--- yes---" Now that she was here, it was suddenly hard to get the words out. The office was dark, she noticed, and cold; the only light came from a single candle on his desk, no fire in the fireplace. She was reminded suddenly and painfully of Dickens.
"And what do you think of it, eh?" Snape was moving back around his desk.
"It's wonderful---" she paused, cleared her throat. "And--- that's why I came down here--- I wanted to thank you---"
He started, freezing for a moment, then continued around his desk to his chair, gestured for her to take a seat. "No thanks needed, child--- it's as convenient for me as for you, as I assume you've figured out."
"No--- I mean, this had to cost---" The minute the word was out of her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue; one just didn't mention things like money, not about a Christmas present.
Snape smiled thinly. "I assure you, child, my finances are quite equal to the task." A brief spasm crossed his face--- of what ,exactly, she couldn't say.
"Er---" At a loss for words, she came to stand behind one of the chairs--- somehow, she just couldn't sit. She settled the soft folds of the cloak over the back of the chair, plucking at them nervously. "And... I wanted to... to wish you a merry Christmas," she managed in a rush, not knowing that she'd wanted to until the words were out of her mouth.
No mistaking it this time: he started again, and this time she had a glimpse of his face--- astonished, he looked, and bewildered, and rather grateful. The look was gone as soon as it arrived, but it had lingered long enough to touch her. "That's... very kind of you, child," he said quietly. "And a merry Christmas to you as well--- if that's not entirely out of the question." The bitterness in his voice was like a lash, though she sensed it was aimed at himself.
"Oh, it's not---" she started, then, moved by impulse more than sense, she went around the desk and slipped her arms about him.
He started, as she'd expected, but then--- also as she'd expected--- his long thin arms came around her and he rested his cheek against the top of her head.
This wasn't like the other night, when she'd been terrified and hurting and had needed very much to be comforted. She'd gone to him for shelter and he'd offered it--- it had been for her. This was something different, warm and peaceful and... somehow... a kind of sharing. And there was plenty of time, a great deal of luxury, to realize that she liked the feel of his lean body, the ropy muscles in his back under her hands, the deep steady pounding of his heart as she rested her ear against his chest, the warm strength of his arms around her and the gentle stroking of his hands through her hair. She realized, with something of a start, that this was another gift, as unexpected as the cloak and even more welcome.
As if in answer to her thought, she heard his voice, muffled in the tangle of her hair. "Thank you, Hermione." Slight hoarseness, slight quiver in his voice; she had the oddest thought that he might be crying. "This is the best Christmas present I've received in many, many years."
She shivered a little in his arms, thinking, How sad. How sad, that something as simple as a hug could mean that much to him.
After a moment, though, he released her, with a gentle pat on her shoulder--- how, how could he be so kind now? She hardly knew him for the professor who scowled at her entire House for three hours straight once a week!--- and stepped back slightly.
Awkward moment, then--- and for the first time a question niggled at the back of her mind: what were they to each other? Not quite partners and equals, not quite teacher and student--- limbo. Something still shaking itself into place.
"Well?" She jumped at the sharpness in his voice. "If you only came to extend your holiday felicitations---"
It took a moment for her to recover, to rationalize. He has to do this. The eighth square, remember? But it still hurt.
"Actually," she said, not quite able to keep the tremor from her voice, "I wanted to see--- to see if you were still willing to let me look at your books on the origin of house-elves." She hadn't been thinking any such thing, of course--- but it was an awfully good retort, even if she hadn't managed it without stammering.
For a moment, his stern sneer flickered in the candlelight--- and she started, for a different reason this time: had she actually scored a point in a duel of words with Snape? Then the sneer twisted into a wry thin smile. "Very good, child." He turned back to her, slightly, cupping her cheek in his hand for just a heartbeat, then drawing back. "But next time, without the hesitation, yes? Make it sound like you meant it all along--- that's the point."
Merlin's teeth, she was getting lessons in sarcasm from Professor Snape! Well, who better to teach her? "You're assuming I didn't."
Again, that flicker in his eyes--- but the smile deepened. "Oh, I may regret teaching you, that I truly might." He raised an eyebrow. "In that case---"
He brushed past her, moving into the shadows, while she waited; she thought she heard a door open and close, but couldn't be certain. In any event, it was quite a while before he returned, holding several heavy old books and a couple of rolls of parchment on top of the stack.
"Here you are, then," he said. "The collected works of my many-times great-aunt Esmeralda the Transformer."
Hermione blinked, all thoughts of the eighth square or her confused relationship with the Potions Master vanishing as if Apparated. "Esmeralda the Transformer? She's your aunt?"
"Many generations back, yes." His lips curled slightly. "Or is it the fact that I have a family at all--- that I wasn't, as Sirius Black used to accuse me, hatched out of an egg like a basilisk?"
The sarcasm in his voice stung her--- but the hurt glittering in dark eyes, almost hidden in the shadows, did far worse. "I--- I don't think that---" and, on impulse--- "and really, I didn't just come down here for these---" she gestured at the books.
His expression was inscrutable in the darkness; then it melted, and he set his burden on the desk and came toward her, into the light. "As your teacher," he said didactically, "I should very well take you to task for allowing your defense, your verbal smokescreen, to falter, much less at so little provocation." She opened her mouth; he held up a finger, silencing her. "But it appears such harshness is impossible, even for me--- which fact," he added dryly, "I must ask that you not bandy about among your fellow Gryffindors, or I'll lose all control of my classroom."
"Somehow I doubt that," she answered, the wry words slipping out before she could censor them.
"You're too kind." The wry smile melted into something pensive and solemn. "Too kind by half---" The upraised finger came forward, tapped her lightly on the cheek, then before she could respond, he added, "And since I've gone to the trouble of bringing these---" a graceful gesture at the books--- "for your perusal---" he swept a hand at the two chairs beside the fire--- "shall we peruse them?"
"I--- oh, yes---" The rest of Hermione's reply, unfortunately, was smothered by a yawn. Now that the assorted excitements of this little visit were wearing off, she remembered just how tired she'd been a few hours ago.
"Or not," Snape said dryly, then at her half-uttered protest, "Come, child, the books will keep--- they're certainly not going to disappear between now and tomorrow morning, are they? Or even---" a hint of smile, almost conspiratorial--- "tomorrow night?"
She blinked slightly at that, then nodded. "Er--- no."
"And you'll be better able to appreciate them rested--- at which time I will insist on your full attention. If you're going to study my great-aunt's magnum opus, you should give it the proper respect." His hand was gentle on her shoulder, guiding her inexorably toward the door. She went, unresisting, a little startled at the speed of the shift, but rather guiltily relieved not to be handed any further complications.
On her way past the chairs, she caught up her Concealment Cloak from the one nearest the door, and caught a hint of his approving look at her deft movement. She slipped it on over her shoulders, but did not--- yet--- fasten it.
At the door, he paused, turned so that they faced one another. "Good night, Hermione. And a merry Christmas to you."
She swallowed at the earnestness in his eyes, and the sincere warmth, and again felt that disorienting question--- what were they to each other?
"And... and to you... Severus." She couldn't--- quite--- meet his eyes as she said his name.
But it seemed all right; at any rate, she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye--- then his hands were on her shoulders, gently drawing the hood of the cloak up over her head. Automatically, her hands went to the fastenings--- they brushed with his as he drew back, sending a flurry of sparks through her bones.
A moment's silence, not quite as awkward as before, then he drew back, rested a hand on the door. "Off you go, then." Gentle tone, and light, as he opened it enough to let her out.
She slipped under his arm and through the crack between door and wall--- then turned back.
But, again, the door was already closed.
