Beggars Can't Be Choosers

by Verity

Chapter Six

September 8, 1997

            Potions with the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years was unusually unpleasant, Severus thought. Draco Malfoy had upgraded his insults from juvenile epithets to cutting sarcasm over the summer; Neville Longbottom still quivered every time he approached the boy's table; and Pansy Parkinson had developed a fondness for a perfume that filled the classroom and made him rather nauseous. He would have to owl her mother.

            He finished the stack of papers he was grading (socializing during lunch was rather overrated, in his opinion) and became aware of the shadow that was being cast on his desk. Severus looked up, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue – and at the last moment, silenced himself.

            It was only when Severus saw her that he knew, without a doubt, that his angel was more than a figment of his imagination.

            "Professor Snape," said the angel, "Could you spare a moment of your time?"

            Wordlessly, he gestured to the chair in front his desk. But when the angel sat down, she was merely Hermione Granger – who yawned.

            "That's really rather tiring," she remarked through the yawn. "But I had to get in here and mother knows it was the easiest way. Do you want me to tell you how I saved your life or Obliviate you now?"

            "An explanation would be preferred," he replied dryly. "Starting off with who taught you Glamourie. It's outlawed by the Ministry, and I haven't heard of anyone practicing it since 1615."

            She laughed at him. "Hold still."

            The room was suddenly very cold, and Severus found himself utterly unable to concentrate on anything except her eyes, cinnamon-colored, intense, riveting… and then the spell was broken, and she sat back, satisfied.

            "There," Hermione – he couldn't think of her as Miss Granger any longer, he found. "You won't be able to repeat anything I tell you, except to Dumbledore. It's keyed to the vowed Sibyll."

            "Sibyll?" he asked.

            She sighed. "You don't know anything, do you? I am one of the born-Sibyll – there's roughly three or four of us in every century. Out of those three or four, only half ever take the vows, and only a handful every millennium takes the title. Pretentious idiots, the lot of them – the title-wearers," Hermione added hastily. "Professor Trelawney is born-Sibyll, which is enough to grant her the title. Her real first name is Margaret."

            "Ah." That explained a lot. "What, er, does a Sibyll do?" He was curious in spite of himself. Or perhaps it was the fact that his angel – no, no, Hermione – was sitting in front of him that lowered his guard.

            "Sibyll… we're gifted when we're born with the ability to have mother talk through us. Mother knows the past, the present, and the future. As we take our vows, mother talks to us… and any other talents we have as the result of being born-Sibyll increase. Mother ultimately decides who gets to take vows, and who doesn't… Tom Riddle was a born-Sibyll who took up to the second level of vows… but when he began using his powers to serve the Darkness, mother turned against him."

            "Is she a goddess?"

            Hermione laughed again, but this time, kindly. "That's kind of a limiting term, don't you think? Mother… well, she's herself. She's perhaps a ghost of a goddess, except no one would ever call mother a ghost. Any of the born-Sibyll who chooses to be vowed to her is hers- we carry out her bidding, the bidding of the place-where-light-is-gone-but-darkness-does-not-come. We have no allegiance to the Dark or to the Light. That would be too dangerous." Answering his unasked question, "Because of our powers. We see the past, the present, the future; so we have to be responsible. Also, I… can do some wandless magic, not very much yet, but a little; the Glamourie, of course; and I've a very good memory."

            "I see." He pondered this for a moment. "Why are you telling this to me?"

            "Because I need a favor."

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            Snape looked rather more surprised than she had thought he would, Hermione decided. Was it so unbelievable she would ask something of him?

            Mother believed in educating her Sibyll in fair trade, anyway. He already owed her.

            "What sort of favor?" he asked finally.

            She looked at the ceiling. "I… er… need someone to watch over me in my vows. Dumbledore can't – he's already vowed and… telling Harry is the same as telling Voldemort. Because of his scar, you know. Telling Ginny would be telling Harry."

            "Why not Professor McGonagall?"

            Idiot, she inwardly muttered. "Professor, I saved your life. It's a debt that needs repaying. Would you rather take care of it now or still owe me twenty years in the future?"

            He scowled at her. "Very well."

            "The Headmaster will talk to you," Hermione said, rather relieved that that was over. She touched a fingertip to her necklace, hidden beneath her robes, and thought yes.

            "Can I see that?" Snape asked suddenly, looking intently at her.

            She nodded and lifted it over her head. "Be careful. It can't be replaced."

            He took it from her and examined it.  "What is it?"

            "Mother's gift to her chosen ones."

            "You may go now," the Potions master said, his voice a command rather than a suggestion. He thrust the necklace towards her and turned back to the pile of papers awaiting a red-inked quill.

            Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, and pulled on just enough Glamourie to make him aware of how mother's ambassadors were supposed to be treated as she left the room.

            Odd, how mother was convinced that Snape was the right person to mentor her. Then again, he was rather tied up into the things that were going to be happening…

            She ate a croissant and an apple that she'd saved from breakfast as she walked up the stairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; the real Mad-Eye Moody was teaching this year, as he had for the last two. It was certainly an eye-opening class.

            Professor Moody didn't seem surprised to see her in early from lunch, and Hermione had time to finish her snack and her Arithmancy homework before class started. All in all, it had went quite well…

            After her last class of the day, and after she'd finished her homework, she went out on her ledge in search of mother's opinion...

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            So, the mother says to the child, you have done as I bid you. Quite well.

            Are you so sure he should be the one to mentor me? the child asks, looking up at the mother, her hands clasped behind her back.

            Oh, I am. The mother smiles fondly. You will learn in time, little Sibyll. Yes, you will learn…

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            Apologies for the long wait! My novel suddenly decided that it needed to be written, which is where I've been for the past week-or-so. *hugs* to everyone who's reviewed so far, all 49 of you!

Verity