Chapter Seven: Slytherin and Solidago

There were exactly four paces between the two furthest walls.  In one corner, a threadbare blanket lay; as far away as possible, sat a small table with impossibly large library books and a pile of scrawled upon and ink-stained parchment.

The quill lay on the floor.

Severus Snape regarded the ink on the boards with controlled regret.  He'd long ago given up on dismay, horror and shock.  The greater the reaction he showed, the greater reaction he received in return.  It was all a case of Newton's law, he observed idly.  "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," he quoted, quietly amused.  And it was certainly true, wasn't it?  The more he did, the more he got belted.  Fingers with a will of their own played across the fresh welts on his lower back.

He hadn't been quick enough with the right answer, that time.  And that was what he was supposed to be doing now: studying the tomes dumped upon him, with a view for memorising every thing they contained.  No matter that he was only a third year, and they far beyond the grasp of a clever seventh; any failure was seen as deliberate disobedience, and earned a beating without any other provocation needed. 

But that worked the opposite way, too.  Since he'd get hit whatever he did, what was the point of trying to stop it?  His meagre efforts were never good enough. 

Slowly, silently, he slid down to a sitting position against the wall and waited.

That was long ago.  Not long enough.  The man pushed the irritating little memories to the back of his mind, where they belonged, and opened the heavy potions book on the desk before him.  It was a familiar friend, now.  Not like the first time he'd seen it…

"Stupid creature!  Can't you understand anything?  Or are you just a squib?"

"I'm not a squib."  The young Severus forced his voice to remain calm.  It was still an effort, but then, he was still a year or two away from going to Howarts, depending on how early his father decided to let him go.

"Prove it."  The leather covered book shot across the room and slapped him in the chest.  "Make the Draught of All-Healing."

"The what?"  That wasn't the right answer.  But sometimes his tongue betrayed him.

"So you question what I say, hmmm?"  The soft, mocking laugh that calculated to set a child's nerves aflame filtered through the room. 

"No, sir."

"Really?"  Almost a gentle purr, but much crueler.  Harder.  Colder.  Much more familiar.

The tall shadow detached itself from the desk and came to hover over him.  Slender fingers caressed his chin, tilted his face so that pale eyes could peruse the child's frightened features. 

"No, don't answer me."  The fingers trailed over the boy's mouth, stopping any words he had intended to blurt out. 

"Useless, stupid boy.  Squib.  A little demented goblin, aren't you?"

"Y-yes…"

"Yes, that's right.  Good boy.  Say it: I'm a stupid, demented goblin!"

The sullen lips twitched as his father's hand moved up to his hairline, entwining its fingers in the too-long unwashed hair.  

"I'm a stupid, demented goblin."

"Good boy…"

"It's obvious who I take after.  Not Mother." No, she was part-Harpy, the boy's mind finished.

Cruel lips clamped tightly over malformed, yellow teeth, stretching into a ghastly, skeletal smile.

"Oh, you will pay…" the mouth hissed, eyes lighting with a sudden, nasty delight. 

"Dear boy."

That was the last thing he remembered for several days, and it was the last time he deliberately antagonised his father.

Snape shook his head.  Just read the damn book.  This was what he got for being altruistic, was it?  Chased by stupid memories he thought he'd lost a lifetime ago.  Because it was a lifetime ago that he'd lived them.  He wasn't that person any more.

No, a little voice tickled, you've grown past that, haven't you?  You've become the monster.  Not that you ever had any doubt you would.

"Oh, shut up," he told it, and forced himself to keep flicking through the book.  If he remembered correctly, there was something here that would stabilise the Muggle-born girl's mental state, and allow her to face her problems without getting mired down in them.  It was a potion he rarely brewed, since Slytherins preferred to come to terms with things without drugs, and Madame Pomfrey didn't approve of something that could so greatly alter someone's perceptions. 

But Pomfrey wouldn't know about the Elixir of Solidago until the girl had drunk it, after he'd physically poured it down her neck if necessary.  Snape had a nagging suspicion that this situation was exactly why the Headmaster had requested the Gryffindor girl spend her holidays here, with him, in his domain; he knew all too well the feelings she would be sorting through – they were minor compared to some that he still carried around – and by placing her here, Dumbledore was giving him tacit permission to deal with them, and help her deal with them, as he saw fit.  Not that he liked the idea of playing nursemaid to a Gryffindor…

She'd actually been almost pleasant when they'd been working on her present pet project though, he remembered, and he almost smiled.  He found some of her ideas a little far-fetched, but it was a pleasure to see a student so involved in an academic puzzle of their own devising, that they were interested in because they wanted to be, not because of schoolwork or some misplaced beliefs.  Like that House Elf incident.  How well he remembered the most-infamous of Granger's campaigns!  He far preferred her with a text-book spread across her knees and a notebook in her hand, researching something, creating contentions and substantiating them with scientific argument, than twitching in her seat in class, hand waving madly in the air to give an answer that held no meaning for most of her companions, or spouting self-righteous nonsense about politics she barely understood.  But then, subtlety was hardly her strong suit, was it?  She was a Gryffindor, after all. 

That just about summed up everything he thought about Miss Granger.  Every time he looked at her, he saw Gryffindor, and Gryffindor, in the eyes of the Head of Slytherin, meant trouble.  Useless, inflated opinions of themselves; courage that landed them in hot water regularly; egos that never knew when to stop. 

Still, she was a lot more mature than most of her classmates.  He could never consider her a Slytherin, not while she still made so many silly, thoughtless comments, and rushed in where even Hufflepuffs were afraid to go – then again, Hufflepuffs were afraid of lots of things – but this experience might temper her character a little, so she ended up a lot less Gryffindor, a lot more self-assured and confident in her opinion of herself, less dependent and reliant on the thoughts and affections of others.  With more deviousness, less see-through, blustery courage.

With a start, Snape realised he was starting to see Miss Granger's misfortune as an opportunity to turn her into a Slytherin.  Without any chance of interference from the Potter and the Weasel. 

She could become great, you know, his mental voice nagged at him.  She could be a real credit…to Gryffindor, he squashed it firmly.  No matter how this event changes her, or how much influence I have on the development of her character – away from messy Muggle entanglements, or noble Gryffindor interference - the ultimate result still won't help Slytherin.

Then again, perhaps he could stand seeing that if it meant one less foolish soul stupidly throwing away their potential.  And she would no doubt make great contributions to the magical community, which all houses, even Gryffindor, served.  She had talent.  She had the potential.  Perhaps, with the right catalyst, the annoying little Gryffindor brat could become a force to be reckoned with, and not just a member of Potter's little clique or the object of the Weasel's lusts.  Any effort on his part would no doubt antagonise both of those irritating, hormone saturated boys, as the bushy haired prat evolved beyond their ability to comprehend.

She would never make a Slytherin, but perhaps, with the right influences – the situation was already perfect – she could become more than just another Gryffindor. 

And perhaps his holidays wouldn't be as ruined as he'd thought, with a pet project of his own, one that would have the added side-effect of annoying Harry Potter.

His lips curled as he stared down at the vellum, barely seeing the flowing script before him.

"The Elixir of Solidago.  Right, then."

Hermione floundered in the empty queasiness between sleep and waking.  Something kept trying to drag her down, keep her where she felt safe, but something else kept insisting her to wake, to break away from the haven that suddenly felt suffocating.

The room came into focus around her, and Dumbledore became visible at the foot of her bed.  "Good morning, Miss Granger," he said softly.

"Good morning," Hermione muttered, trying, for a reason she couldn't quite identify, not to meet his eyes.  It didn't seem right to look at him when she'd been the cause of so much trouble, when her relatives had insulted the man she privately felt had to be far greater than Merlin had ever been.

Opposite to Harry, Hermione felt herself permanently in awe of the kindly Headmaster.  Unlike someone like Snape, whom she could take with equanimity, even when one moment he was snarling obscenities at her and making her tremble, and the next he was complimenting her on her research.  She had a vague memory of him holding her when she cried, after fleeing the Great Hall.  Somehow, his touch had given her comfort, and let her find some measure of rest.  And when she'd been frightened in her sleep, it was Snape, or someone who looked a lot like him, who'd led her out of her confusion. 

Hermione couldn't pin down why.  Maybe it was the air of having been there himself?  But she couldn't picture Snape ever throwing himself down on his bed for a good howl, so the thought was stupid.  It had to be just that he was always so controlled that her nightmares took one look at him and fled.  She giggled.  Snape, the mighty hero, rescuing terrified maidens from the fiery clutches of their nightmares!  It didn't really fit.  But, oh, the thought of him in a suit of armour, glaring furiously through the visor…

So she was hysterical.  She didn't care.

Dumbledore raised one curious brow.  "How are you feeling, Miss Granger?"

There were a multitude of meanings in his simple words.  Hermione was having too difficult a time fighting off an image of a noble Snape saving the lovely maiden to answer.

He'd be better cast as the dragon!  She thought wildly.  Then, unbidden, came the image of Norbert with Snape's head, and set her off again.  Sometimes he pulled such faces – like when he'd told her off in the hospital wing – that she wouldn't be surprised if he started breathing fire… 

"Miss Granger, are you allright?"  Dumbledore's words were more urgent now.  She stared wildly at him.  Snape-the-dragon breathed fire at her parents, tied to the rock that the noble maiden had just vacated.  They screamed but sizzled furiously.  The maiden clapped her hands and laughed.  Then Snape-the-dragon bowed stiffly to her and stalked away on thick, leathery legs before taking to the air.

"Miss Granger?"  Dumbledore stood up, studying her a minute longer, before leaving the small room in a flurry of robes, his footsteps sounding rapidly on the cobblestones outside.

Hermione didn't notice.  Much better just to lay here, she thought.  Not thinking that it really was all over now, and her parents might well have sizzled on that rock, because their relationship had managed to sizzle out, good and proper, somewhere along the line.  Somewhere, somehow, the line had bee drawn, and when she'd crossed it all-unknowing, that was it; farewell, Angelina, for the carnival truly was over.

"'How it breaks my heart to leave you…"  Half whisper, half singing.  Then she laughed.  It certainly hadn't, had it?  Mum and Dad had been so glad to see her go.  The way Dad had been talking, she almost could have thought he'd been possessed.

"…but I will love you, till I die."  Maybe she would.  Maybe she'd be able to forgive, some time, and just move on without it hurting any more. 

She would move on, she vowed silently.  She'd get over it, and she'd be able to look at a picture of her parents without a flicker of feeling.  They wouldn't mean a thing to her.  As strangers they would part, if a stranger they would have her be.  So be it, then. 

And her indifference would be because she no longer cared, not because she buried all her sorrows in a bottle of Jack Daniels' finest.  She knew her mother pretended not to see, but the young Hermione had been given 5 pounds quite regularly not to tell Mummy about the funny bottles in Daddy's desk, well before she'd ever heard of Hogwarts.  In the holidays since her first year, she'd noticed it get worse, every time; more bottles, more mood swings, more sullen silences or strange outbursts.  And every time, her mother sided with her father, acting as if his behaviour was normal, as if she didn't smell the alcohol on his breath.  At first Hermione had thought it had been some problem with work, but it had been only recently that she'd realised it had nothing to do with dentistry, and everything to do with her.  Daddy thought he'd lost his little girl to witchcraft, and dived into the bottle, thereby truly losing her to witchcraft, when she had nowhere else to go.  And Mummy, she was trapped in the middle.

All Hermione's grand resolutions slipped away in another batch of tears.

"Miss Granger," she heard faintly, and noted only absently that it wasn't Dumbledore who was talking.  It was Snape.  Snape-the-dragon! She thought instantly.  But no, he wouldn't fit into this little room.  So it had to be Snape-the-human, which, she thought, was a scary enough prospect on his own.

"She's hysterical, a natural side-effect I think, Severus.  The poor child just needs a lot of love and care to show her she's not really alone."  That was Dumbledore. 

"If you would be so kind as to allow me to make my own diagnosis, Headmaster?"  And that was pure Snape.  Dimly she realised she was grateful for his presence; she didn't think she could take any more of Dumbledore's well-meaning sympathy.  She just wanted to be alone. 

"Miss Granger?"  Thoughtful, more than sympathetic. 

"If you don't calm yourself in five minutes, you foolish girl, I will burn all of your notes regarding your little 'holiday project', and you can expect no further help from me on the matter!"

Hermione's academic instincts took over.  "Professor!  You can't do that!"

Snape smirked.  "Oh, really?" he chuckled.

She nodded emphatically.  "We were so close to finding something that would actually correlate between the two applications!  I'm sure that it only needs a little more work to find a working model."

"I concur," he said shortly. 

She blinked.  This was unexpected. 

The Potions Master turned to the Headmaster, and there was a small smile playing across his lips, mirrored in his charcoal eyes. 

"You will observe, Albus, that the subject is no longer hysterical, and would doubtless benefit from the company of her notebook more than a warm and loving hug."  He turned the last word into a sneer, but Dumbledore only smiled and shook his head.  "Perhaps that's best, then," he said.  "Especially if you're the one prescribing treatment." 

Snape shot him a hurried glare, but the Headmaster's face was placid and inscrutable as he murmured a quiet "The dragon won't eat you," to Hermione, earning himself another startled look, before sweeping calmly out of the room.

Snape got up to close the door, first stepping back to allow the luggage entrance.  "You have a visitor," he said dryly.

It pussy-footed up to the bed, when it lurked just out of trailing doona range, observing Hermione curiously.  She found herself smiling as she looked down at the obviously concerned suitcase.

"Hello, you," she said.  It twitched its lid in reply.

"Missed me?"

Twitch, twitch.

"Feeling better after that silly old cat made you feel sick?"

Twitch.  Hopping from foot to foot.

"That's good."  Hermione reached out and stroked its lid, running her fingers along the metal bands.  "I'm glad you're here."

If the luggage had eyes, it would have rolled them.  Not be with the Mistress when she was in distress?  What kind of suitcase did she think it was?

Its reverie was broken by a sharp "Miaow!" and the sound of Snape's voice observing "You seem to be popular today, Miss Granger," as Crookshanks jumped over the trunk to land on the bed beside Hermione.  With her other hand, she ruffled his fur. 

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" she answered Snape.  Then, because she couldn't resist the spirit of mischief that filled her with the continued thought of Snape-as-Dragon, she added, "After all, you're here, and you're not exactly the president of my fan club.  It must be my lucky day to get such a charming visit."

Granger, one.  Snape, still forthcoming, she thought.  He was either going to laugh, or about to say something really mean. 

But he surprised her by merely commenting "I have prepared a potion that ought to help you…adjust to your new situation, and thought only to bring it to you myself, instead of trusting it to a trunk and a tabby cat.  Pray, forgive my thoughtfulness, Miss Granger."

"What kind of potion?"

"The Elixir of Solidago."  And he waited, to see what kind of response she would give.

Hermione's brow furrowed in thought.  "Isn't that some kind of mood alterer?" she asked finally.

Snape pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed from the luggage.  "Not…exactly," he said.  "It's partly a palliative, true, designed to calm and fortify the nerves, but it also has the effect of leaving the drinker in a state of objectivity to be able to carefully review anything they need to.  It's used mainly in periods of great emotional and mental stress, but I have heard of some students drinking it before particularly difficult exams, in order to maximise the amount of information they can take in.  That's not a recommendation, mind you.  The Elixir does induce a slight 'drug-happy' state, so that emotional problems can be dealt with without excess pain, so drinking it without such problems can lead to a person being so happy they forget to take the exam they've studied so hard for. All in all, a fair deal, in my eyes."

He was smiling thinly, so Hermione hazarded "Use it to cheat, suffer the consequences?"

He nodded.  "Exactly, Miss Granger."

"But…I thought…I mean, don't Slytherins…"

"Smile on cheating, not frown upon it?  We appreciate deviousness, Miss Granger.  We approve of anything that achieves results while minimising the required effort.  We don't, however, agree with being caught.  Am I making myself clear?"

Hermione thought her way through that one.  "You don't like using Solidago to cheat because its effects are noticeable?  Would you approve of something that gave the same result, only wasn't detectable?"

"In that case, Miss Granger, I wouldn't know about it to disapprove, would I?"  But his eyes glinted amusedly.

"I will never understand the way a Slytherin's mind works.  Never."

"I wouldn't make rash promises if I were you, Miss Granger.  Drink."

A potion changed hands and a pair of dark, glittering eyes danced with rapid thoughts and plans. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Author's Notes & Disclaimers:

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! 

Kat097 – wow, thanks!

strega brava – the luggage is resilient.

Dorothy – I love that idea!  They'd beat Voldie with no trouble!

tyger-chan…that would be one interesting masquerade!

Ariana Deralte – I was thinking along similar lines.  Though it makes a good plot device, it is a little weird for a parent to want to cut their child from their lives; obviously, there has to be some underlying problem, not necessarily caused by the child, that's aggravated by them.

A Vulgarweed – there is a reason she's been placed there.  Dumbledore has a reason for everything he does! 

Dru – what a compliment.  That is absolutely incredible and I am duly humble.

Cissy – that would be hilarious!  I'd love to do something along those lines, but I don't think it would fit in this story.  Maybe I might have to start another one!  Your idea's brilliant.

The disclaimer is the same as previous chapter's since I'm too lazy to update it.

While there isn't any actual Elixir of Solidago that I know of, the potential to create on does exist.  The herb solidago, otherwise known as Golden Rod or Aaron's Rod, has a very favourable effect on human emotions; it treats the kidneys, which are most affected after an emotional shock, since interestingly enough, all our emotions are worked off through the kidneys.  According to Maria Treben, the well-known herbalist, in Health Through God's Pharmacy,

"Golden Rod…should therefore be drunk without delay in cases of disappointments and emotional stress.  We feel the soothing effect of this plant almost like a calming and caressing hand; even the sight of the golden rod in nature has a quieting effect on us."

The herb itself has a quieting, palliative effect, calming the subject's emotions and stabilising their mental state, thus making it easier for them to reasonably come to terms with their problems, or so I've found.  The "drug-happy" state induced by my fictional Elixir of Solidago would have to be induced by some other substance in the potion aimed at 'unruffling' the drinker's mental feathers.  I was thinking along the lines of cannabis, since that alters the consumer's perceptions like few other substances, and this would explain why neither Pomfrey or Snape would condone the Elixir's use under regular circumstances.  In prescribing it to Hermione, Snape is a bit fearful of an emotionally wrought, perhaps suicidal Gryffindor alone at Hogwarts without her friends to talk her out of doing anything stupid.  So not having much respect for the average Gryffindor's ability to sort through their problems without help, he comes up with something that will get rid of the depression by putting her in an unusually calm and receptive state to come to terms with things.