"Hermia? Hermia!"
It took Hermione several seconds to realise that Remus was talking to her. After three weeks she still wasn't used to being addressed as 'Hermia'. The name was much shorter than her own and the stress was placed differently. She looked up from her Magical Runes textbook. She actually got what she wanted from the Time Tuner - Potions and Advanced Magical Runes didn't collide in her new schedule.
"Yes, what is it, Remus?"
He was waving his hand in front of her face. Some people around the common room watched them with amusement.
"Now, waving your hand is not the best way to attract girl's attention, Remus." Sirius commented innocently. He got up from his place on the couch and threw himself to his knees in front of Hermione. "Oh, beautiful lady, will you do me an honour and accompany me to the Ravenclaw - Slytherin match on Saturday?"
Incredulity on her face made Remus choke with laughter. "Well, you certainly did attract her attention, Sirius," he breathed, wiping tears form his eyes. "Hermia, would you help me with my Transfiguration assignment? You have taken Arithmancy, so you would have better insight into the problem than James." He shoved his notes under her nose.
She took a look at them, frowning in thought. "I think I have seen a book in the Arithmancy section in the library that would be helpful." She rose from her chair beside the window and began to walk towards the door. "Are you coming?"
Remus grinned. "Sure. You're a saviour Hermia."
Sirius shook his head in disbelief. "Remus beat me in picking a girl. That's new."
Hermione had to roll her eyes. Did Sirius ever think of anything but girls? He was the most social animal she had ever met, he had girls fawning all over him and he never seemed to be alone. Remus was more like herself. He was rather studious and usually participated in James' and Sirius' pranks in order to keep them out of trouble - not that he had much of success. It was the role she had played with Harry and Ron. Education mattered to Remus no less that to her. With a pang of guilt Hermione thought that she would rather have Remus around than Harry and Ron. He didn't mock her drive to know things, he didn't tease her about her need to learn. On the other hand, she missed Harry and Ron, especially her bickering with Ron. Sirius and James were fun, but they didn't exactly fill in for her best friends.
There was also the matter of Peter Pettigrew. He was nothing like she expected. Instead of a trembling coward and traitor she remembered from her third year, she met a shy young man, hero-worshipping James Potter and Sirius Black. Knowing how he would turn out, Hermione supposed she would never be comfortable around him, never would trust him with anything. But truth to be told, he reminded her a little of Neville Longbottom.
"So, are you going to go to the match?" Remus questioned her on their way to the library.
She wrinkled up her nose comically. "Et tu, Remus?"
"Hey, I'm not inviting you, just asking."
"To stare at the bunch of..." She swallowed the rest of her response, remembering Ron and Harry being oh-so-offended by it. It was fun to watch her friends playing and cheer for the House team, but it was not to be the case this time.
"Thank you, but no. Gryffindor isn't even playing, so what's the point?"
"Sirius will be heartbroken." Remus winked at her, not arguing. Although a Beater himself, he was tolerant of people less inclined to sports.
"Laura Johnson will console him." Sirius exaggerated advances towards Hermione have been the best joke in the Gryffindor common room for the last three weeks. Surprisingly, she didn't mind. She was rather flattered that the most wanted boy at Hogwarts was showering her with compliments, even though he wasn't serious.
They entered the library and went to the Arithmancy section. 'Numbers in Relation to Other Disciplines of Magic' was a big, heavy tome, Hermione remembered, and therefore hard to miss, so she was surprised she couldn't find it.
"Let's ask Madam Letter," Remus suggested.
Madam Letter was a tall, thin and grey-haired old woman, much like Madam Pince. Do all librarians look like this? Hermione wondered. The one she remembered from her Muggle school was just the same.
"It has already been borrowed." Madam Letter pointed her quill to the back of the room. "You may ask him if he's finished."
By the window, at the table as far removed from the entrance as possible, surrounded by the piles of books, sat Severus Snape. Quill in hand, he was taking notes from five books simultaneously, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. Remus' face fell.
"It's a lost cause, Hermia," he sighed with resignation. "I will try to figure it out myself."
Hermione felt a little irritated. What was it with them? Snape couldn't be that bad, surely? Then she remembered Professor Snape. He definitely could.
"Let's ask him, at least. He won't hex us."
"I wouldn't be so sure." murmured Remus, but followed Hermione. When they reached their destination, she cleared her throat.
"Sore throat is a case for Madam Pomfrey, not for me, Rogers." Severus spoke without raising his eyes.
"What are you working on, Severus?" she asked bravely. His reaction startled her a little. His head shot up rapidly; eyes narrowed and hostile.
"First, Rogers, I didn't give you permission to use my first name. Second, I fail to see why would my work be any of your concern."
Hermione touched Remus' arm to stop him from whatever he was about to reply. As much as giving Snape a nice put-down would be gratifying, they needed the book more. In for a penny, in for a pound.
"Your work is my concern, Snape, because you have borrowed 'Numbers in Relation to Other Disciplines of Magic' which I need. I merely wondered if you finished with it and if I could borrow it."
Her calm response seemed to have an effect on him. He watched her so intensely that it was making her nervous. Not for the first time. Every breakfast she could feel his eyes on her. Every exchange of looks was making her wonder what he really thought about her. The only words she heard from him after he had introduced himself were: 'Rogers' when she happened to pass him in the corridor. It was a simple acknowledgement, but there was significance to it she could easily recognise. He never acknowledged any of her companions, and if the companions happened to be James or his friends, they were always greeted with a cold sneer and an insult. She has never replied those greetings; his strange, searching gaze always made her shut up and only nod in response.
"I'm finished." He pulled the volume from under the parchments and handed it to her. "Here."
"Thank you, Snape," she smiled at him. Not hearing a reply, she turned back and walked away, Remus in tow.
"How did you do it?" he asked in a low voice.
"How did I do what?"
"Made him give you the book! Even though I was standing right beside you. And he didn't even snarl at me!"
She shrugged. "Perhaps because you didn't provoke him?"
Her friend pondered her explanation. "Perhaps."
So far she had witnessed only one more confrontation between the Marauders and Severus Snape. She couldn't help but notice that it were the Gryffindors who usually started trading insults with him. That time, after the Quidditch practice, Snape's razor-sharp tongue was backed-up by Evan Rosier's hot temper, and they almost started duelling on the Quidditch pitch. What Snape was doing there Hermione had no idea, since Snape was not on the team. The DADA professor, appearing out of the blue, put an argument to an end, taking ten points off per capita. Since there were four Gryffindors and two Slytherins, the former were down by twenty points. Hermione's friends were not happy bunnies afterwards, general opinion being that they have been set up.
"Why do you guys hate each other so much?" It was the question she wanted to ask since day one, but never found the right moment.
Remus smiled bitterly. "He's the mean, sarcastic, egoistic Slytherin whose mission in life is to make the life of Gryffindors a living hell. You can't blame us for disliking him."
"You don't dislike him, you hate him. Well, perhaps not you, Remus, but James and Sirius certainly do."
"Perhaps because he hates us and makes no secret of it."
"It's more than that. There must be a reason."
Remus sighed. "An ugly story, Hermia. Actually more than one. You wouldn't believe what this slimeball is capable of. And no, I don't feel like telling it."
Hermione gave him evaluating look, trying to decide if pressing on the subject would be of any use. No, it wouldn't. She shifted the tome borrowed from the library from her right hand to the left and acknowledged the end of the conversation.
Just what Snape was capable of? Why was he so mean and cold, unable to accept the smallest signs of affection, like being on the first-name basis? Was it only because she was a Gryffindor? Or was it something more?
One drop, just one drop, no more... Severus was measuring the amount of dragonsblood, still remembering the pain of making a mistake in the brewing of Scarlet Elixir. He was now much more experienced with it than two years ago. Practice makes a master. He had a lot of practice lately.
"You done, boy?" came the voice from the office of the Potions' teacher. Professor Monday emerged, coughing.
"Almost, Professor."
"What are you making this time?"
"Invigorating Potion for Madam Pomfrey," Severus lied, slipping the vial with the rest of dragonsblood into his pocket. The rest of ingredients looked similar enough not to raise any suspicion. Monday wouldn't notice if someone brew the Polyjuice Potion right under his nose, he thought. He was actually incredibly lucky to have such an incompetent and oblivious Potions teacher. Professor Monday was only too happy to have such an eager student, thinking it was his guidance and influence that made Severus so interested in the art of Potions making. Snape never cared to break this belief, granting himself access to the Potions lab and stores whenever he needed.
"Ah, yes, Invigorating Potion... I don't remember her asking for it..."
"You have asked me to prepare it two days ago, Professor." Two days ago Monday had coughing attacks every half an hour, and concentrated more on them than on what people were saying to him.
"On Monday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, I might not remember then... how is it going?"
"I will be done in an hour or two."
"Good, good. I'll leave you, I must go to Madam Pomfrey..." he coughed. "You will manage on your own?"
Severus had to stop himself form a snort. "I think so, Professor."
"Good, good. I have the lesson with Slytherin and Ravenclaw seventh-years first period tomorrow morning, so you will tell me how it turned out, mhm?"
"All right, Professor."
"Good night, boy."
"Good night, sir."
When the door closed, Snape pulled out the vial. One drop of dragonsblood every twenty minutes, for two hours, stir clockwise every half an hour... It would take some time. He pulled out the latest Oneiromancy text Professor Andermin had given him. It was so old that the script was barely visible, translating from Latin making the reading even more difficult.
'The Journey of Oneiros is the tool that needs to be handled carefully. The more experienced a Dreamwalker, the bigger a chance to get lost one's self in an alien dream; the new...'
Auleum? What was 'auleum'? Deciding he would check up later, he read further.
'can fascinate the mind with it's unfamiliar pattern, either the complexity or simplicity...'
Elicitis? Another word he didn't know. A verb, from the context - sixth conjugation, the infinitive would be eli... hmmm, elicere? But what did it mean?
He put the text away to stir the concoction. Gods, he was tired. The way his thoughts got side-tracked was a sign he should go to bed and have some sleep. He smiled to himself, seeing as the potion he was working on turned deep red. The Scarlet Elixir was much better than any Sleeping Draught he had used until he was discovered last year and Madam Pomfrey confiscated his supply. He had to invent the new means of getting a decent sleep. And what a discovery it had turned out to be!
The different shades of red were swirling in the silver cauldron, fighting for domination. Just like the eyes of this Rogers girl. In her eyes he could see the same turmoil, emotions crossing her face and leaking out through the eyes. He couldn't help himself; he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was such a Gryffindor, all feelings clearly visible on her face even when she tried to suppress them. It was most... stimulating... to observe the play of emotions in her - he could see as irritation dissolved into eagerness, anger shifted to resignation, melancholy to joy, boredom to interest. There were those moments he was finding himself wanting to know what could cause the shift, not merely observe them...
Today, in the library, she called him by his first name. The only people that had permission to do so were his family - and if he could take the privilege back, he would, Victoria - who was dead, and Professor Andermin - who was usually formal and 'Mr Snape' was his choice of address. It was not the fact that Rogers had the nerve to call him 'Severus' that upset him (was it the infamous Gryffindor courage or equally Gryffindor thoughtlessness? he wondered); it was the unfamiliar tightness in his chest he experienced when she was saying it. As if he wished to hear it again. So he snapped at her and enlightened her just what was allowed with him and what was not in the terms of address.
But then... she smiled at him. A simple thank-you smile made him unable to utter a simple word. All he could do was sit there and stare at her, wishing he had more books she needed. What was wrong with him?
Snape rubbed his temples. He would only get a headache trying to analyse what was happening to him. The best course of action was to ignore the girl. Next week he would select a new partner for the training Severia ordered and he would focus on it.
He stirred the potion again, adding another drop of dragonsblood. It was ready, thank gods. He wouldn't keep up without it any longer. He poured the red liquid into the green flask and sealed it with a spell. He wouldn't risk somebody discovering his treasure. The treasure that granted him pleasant dreams - no nightmares, no disturbing images, just the relax and rest.
With a sigh of relief he left the lab, heading to the Serpent's Den. He hoped Rosier would be asleep already; he had no desire to listen to his endless rambles about the power he would be given by the Dark Lord. Rosier could be such a fool sometimes. He never thought, he only acted. Like a Gryffindor, but saying so would make Rosier erupt with rage even Snape wouldn't be able to control. If Rosier thought he would be given power, he was going to have a rough time among the Death Eaters.
Not that Snape had anything against Rosier. No, far from that. He kind of liked Rosier. He was the closest to a friend Severus had right now. Since Victoria's death they had a common enemy - James Potter, and a common destination - the service to the Dark Lord. Rosier's temper was sometimes a hindrance, but the fierce Slytherin was far from stupid and Snape could appreciate it. If only the man wouldn't be that loud.
After entering the Slytherin common room Snape noticed only one person. Alicia Wilkes was on her way out.
"Pretty late for a stroll, Wilkes."
She smiled naughtily. "A girl's gotta have some fun, Snape."
"Outside the Slytherin?"
Her smile widened. "Fun can be found everywhere. You should know." The suggestive wink died at the corners of her eyes as Snape's face frozen into an icy mask.
"You wanted to say something, Wilkes?"
She gulped. "Me? Like what?"
"Good. You can give my regards to your sister, Corrine. Hasn't she got herself engaged to Anthony Avery?"
She understood the threat. Her family needed the Avery money; it wouldn't be sensible to endanger her sister's engagement with idle remarks.
"See you later, Snape."
Severus clenched his teeth. He was so damn sure Corrine could keep her tongue behind her teeth. Even Slytherin girls gossip. Gods, he wished Narcissa was still at Hogwarts. Sensible, discreet Narcissa. She would save him so much trouble. As obsessed with her own revenge as he was with his, they understood each other well.
He went to his room, the biggest advantage of being a prefect. The flask in his pocket was heavy and he took it out, examining it fondly. It would last him at least a month. Oh, joy.
