Chapter Fifteen: Revelations and Ruminations
Hermione skidded down the corridor behind Harry, both of them a few paces behind the absolutely frantic Ginny.
Luggage.threats.Ron. Luggage in hiding. Luggage threatening Ron. Homicidal luggage threatening Ron.
Mrs Norris.
"Oh, shit," she said aloud.
How to put it? Harry, Ginny, the reason Ron's in the hospital wing used to hold my clothing?
Not quite. This would take a little bit of work.
Shit.
"Is he going to be alright?" Harry asked in a hushed voice. Madam Pomfrey nodded. Worry lines were etched on her brow. "He's been worked over, though a little strangely if I do say so, but yes, Mr Weasley shouldn't have to spend too much time here. He'll mend in a few days and he'll be fine."
Hermione left out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"How bad was it?"
"A broken leg, twisted ankle, extensive bruising and cracked ribs and collarbone." All three winced in sympathy.
"I bet it was that git Malfoy!" Harry. Ginny sniffed loudly. "How could he? Just because he's not Head-Boy!"
"Knowing Malfoy, that's all the reason he'd need." Harry put a comforting arm around her shoulders and the red-head leaned against it. "Then again, there wasn't any chance that Malfoy could've got it anyway, with his shocking marks in charms."
Even Hermione had to admit that the extra effort Ron had been putting into his work over the past year had certainly paid off. His grades in everything except potions had risen remarkably, which just went to show what he could do if he tried. Six years late, of course, she mused, but he must have finally realised that he needed to work a little harder in order to get the same grades Bill and Charlie (and even the twins, though they'd never really worked!) had received. And if he were to get into Auror training at the end of the year like he wanted, well, he needed above average grades.
"It wasn't Malfoy," she said abruptly.
The other two stared at her.
"Well, of course it was, Hermione," said Harry. "Who else would it have been?"
"Not a who. A what." She paused, drew in breath. "A what?"
"A suitcase, to be exact."
"Okay, now you've lost me. What kind of suitcase does that?" Ginny threw up her hands. Hermione felt herself reddening. "Um, my one, actually."
Harry was staring at her as though she'd grown an extra head. "Your.suitcase.was responsible for bashing up Ron? Um, no offence, Mione, but why don't I believe that?"
"Because you're prejudiced against Malfoy?"
"Mione, I sincerely hope you're not saying that you like him."
"Like him? Like, how do you mean?" Under his close scrutiny her blush deepened.
Harry looked even more shocked. "You like him. Really like him. Don't you?"
"No! I'm just saying that you think it's his fault because you don't like him."
"And you think it isn't his fault because."
".because I know who is responsible. The luggage."
"Great, the luggage. Well, where do we find this luggage?" Ginny asked sarcastically.
"Um, I don't know. But honestly, it's a suitcase, with feet, and it bites. If you don't believe me, ask Professor Dumbledore. He's well acquainted with it."
"It's alright, Mione, I believe you," Harry said heavily. The mention of Dumbledore had, as she'd expected, erased his doubts. That, and, of course, six years of living in a world where anything was possible if you knew the right bit of Latin.
"What's so funny?" he asked after a moment. Hermione was fighting a chesire grin.
"I was just thinking that you could also ask Filch. Or haven't either of you noticed that Mrs Norris isn't drifting around the castle anymore?"
They stared at her. "You're right," Ginny said slowly, "I haven't seen her at all this year. That is strange."
"The luggage has something to do with that, I guess?" asked Harry curiously.
Hermione's smile blossomed. "Oh, yes," she said with fervour.
"I hate to break up this sweet little chat, but you're blocking the doorway."
Prof. Severus Snape sneered himself into the room, exuding malice, and holding in each hand a flask of a different brightly coloured liquid.
"Poppy? Your skel-e-grow and swedish bitters."
The medi-witch took each bottle with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Severus, I'm sorry about the short notice but I didn't realise I was out of stock until I got a patient, tonight." With a jerk of her head she indicated the prone form of Ron Weasley on the nearest bed.
Snape's lips thinned. "Ah, that explains the fan club, then. Tell me. Did our dearest Head Boy fall off his broom?"
Silence.
"Or, perhaps, he decided to go duelling with Longbottom."
"Actually, sir, I think luggage was hungry."
Snape snorted and a slow smirk twisted his thin mouth. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "Once again I find myself in the position of commending your case's intelligence. I wonder if it would consider hiring out its services. It could be a valuable asset to the community."
Hermione glared at him, though it lacked some force. "I hardly think attacking one of my friends qualifies it for the Order of Merlin, professor."
"Really? Perhaps you're right. He's still breathing. An award for special services to the school and another chance when he's awake."
Harry interjected. "You.you knew about this, this luggage?" Surprise was written on his face. So was poorly-concealed distaste, though that was usually a standard whenever he found himself in a conversation with Snape he couldn't avoid.
"No, Mr Potter, I make a habit out of reading the minds of all my students," Snape drawled in reply, smirking as Harry's stare turned poisonous for a moment, before it was redirected towards the floor.
Hermione was thoughtful. How could it have been managed? Then she wondered. "Madame Pomfrey, where was Ron found?"
The medi-witch stuck her head out of her office and said "In the main corridor. He dragged himself up from the dungeons and a third-year girl saw him and helped him here. Then I sent her off to find one of the older Gryffindors, to let his friends know."
"And she found me near the portrait," Ginny added.
"It must have got him just after he finished detention with me." Snape nodded again. "Yes, that would fit."
"It must have been hovering outside our classes, then, to find out when he'd have detention and ambush him."
Hermione shook her head, something about that already bothering her. "No, Harry, how could it know that he'd get detention?"
Snape let out a loud groan and put a hand to his head. "By orchestrating it, of course. And to think I blamed Weasley and Potter."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked quickly.
"My stores," he replied, voice muffled.
"Stores? What stores? What happened?"
Ginny and Harry exchanged an equally puzzled look. Not only was Snape not being nasty, he was positively communicative and co-operative! In a very Snape-ish kind of way, of course. And Hermione was acting as though that were normal. Strange, very strange.
"What stores, Se-Sir?"
"What ones do you think, Miss Granger?" He emphasised the name. Belatedly Hermione realised that she'd almost slipped. Big time. There was no way either of her friends would believe there wasn't anything going on between her and Snape, then! A small part of her mind said it wouldn't mind if there was. She told it to be quiet. Quickly.
"Someone broke into the Potions storeroom and damaged quite a few important ingredients, as though they'd been hurriedly looking for something, or as though the shelves had been shaken."
"Or knocked."
"By luggage. Yes, only the lowest shelves were touched." He raised his head, and his eyes, which met Hermione's, were filled with evil glee.
Not the expression she'd been expecting, certainly.
"Professor?"
He raised an insolent, insouciant eye-brow. "Goodnight, Miss Granger. Weasley. Potter."
In a swirl of robes, Snape stalked from the room, leaving Hermione thoughtful and the others still puzzled.
"He was almost pleasant. It must be something he ate," Harry said finally. Ginny gave Hermione a quizzical look and said nothing, but the faintest hints of a smile were tugging at her mouth.
She asked sweetly, "So, Hermione, what exactly did happen to Mrs Norris?"
An hour or so later, just after curfew, Severus Snape stalked through the Hogwarts grounds, lost in thought.
He found the whole concept of the walk therapeutic in a mind-numbing way. Whenever he needed to think, or relax, he usually ended up doing the rounds. Occasionally he had the chance to spring students in various tangles of limbs and guilty expressions. That was always guaranteed to improve his mood.
Currently he was mulling over the curiosity so inaccurately termed the luggage. Luggage, yes, suitcase, yes, but they were hardly labels to describe it. It had a temperament he was used to seeing in the students of his House, but it also had two rows of very hairy little feet and bleached mahogany teeth. It had a nasty looking latch. It also, most importantly, seemed to have a very jealous disposition.
No doubt Weasley had aroused its protective instincts by drooling around Hermione Granger like a kneazel in heat.
He smirked to himself. The thought of Weasley being done over by a suitcase that came to his knees nearly made all the years of aggravation that the boy had given him worthwhile. Anything, just to think of that irritating brat coming off second-best to something designed to hold clothing.
Yes, there was justice somewhere in the world. Certainly it was worth a few potions ingredients to see this.
His thoughts drifted off the luggage and onto its supposed owner, Hermione Granger. His spirits deflated, ruining the moment.
Miss Granger. Hermione. She had certainly changed in the years that he'd been teaching her, hadn't she?
No longer such a loud, irritating, know-it-all.Still a know-it-all; he doubted anything would ever wipe that from her system, but not so loud, and no more irritating.
Well, except when she deliberately provoked him. But he was justified in snarling at her then; she certainly knew exactly what to say to make him flare up. And he could always manage to provoke her in turn.
Similarly, he felt more like smiling when she was around than when she wasn't. Cheesy, that's what it was. Absolutely, completely and utterly cheesy, but he found himself inordinately pleased by her company in a way far from the 'appropriate' boundaries and distances he liked to set between himself and everyone he interacted with.
He let out a slight groan, and leant against the side wall of the nearest building, one of the greenhouses.
What was it about Hermione Granger that had made him start to think of her so differently from all his other students? Perhaps she was an adult, she was a Gryffindor, she had sauce and pluck and blind courage like most of her house, and she had the intellect to lead him to appreciate her as almost an academic equal, but she was still a student, and, as such, he had a duty of care towards her. In loco parentis. Not the type of thoughts he was beginning to entertain.
He groaned again. Put a hand against his head, rubbed his temples with tired fingers. To hell with the girl, and to hell with him for letting his thinking carry him away. She was a student, not some sort of object for any fantasies he might concoct! (And why on earth was he starting to concoct some now, anyway? He hadn't been close with anyone that way since he had begun teaching!) Even if she did seem to want something she called friendship from him - something he was unaccustomed to giving to any but very few people in his life - even if she did seem to enjoy the arguments they had managed to get into despite themselves, she wasn't prepared for, nor would she be willing to accept, anything more. Disgust radiated through his thoughts. At himself, his weaknesses, his craving for a little bit of contact and his warped idea of interaction that could so pervert the innocently-meant regard of a young girl. A child. A student.
What kind of teacher was he?
Suppressing another shudder, Snape gathered up his robes and strode purposely, noiselessly, back towards his dungeons. Enough of this maudlin reflection for one night.
Luggage, on the other hand, was more than a little pleased with itself. That interfering git would no longer be a threat to the Mistress, it was sure. It had shown him. It felt like a victorious crusader riding out of battle on a steaming, sweating mount, flanks heaving with exertion but with the gleam of victory in its eyes.
So pleased was it, that it sought, like any good knight on the return from a successful campaign, the company and attention of its squires.
It could already feel the polish soaking into its wood, the wet sponges bringing its metal work to a gleaming, glistening shine.
It hurried its steps towards the kitchens.
Dobby was so happy to see "Mr Trunk" that the luggage had three coats of polish and two baths before it once again felt blissfully clean, and retired to the restricted section of the library.
I've got a thing for Snape. I haven't got a thing for Snape. I have got a thing for him. Haven't. Have.
Damn.
The last of the petals came off in Hermione's fingers, leaving her staring at a mess on her bed and an inescapable conclusion.
Idly she rubbed a hand through Crookshanks' fur, and snuck a glance over at the luggage, quiescent in the corner of the room. Over a week since Ron had been allowed out of the hospital wing, and the suitcase was still on probation. Because she could understand why it had tried to remove Ron (it must see him as a rival) she had decided to forgive it, but that didn't mean she was particularly happy with it. The luggage had apologised with an air of put-upon puzzlement, rubbing itself against her legs and regarding her with suspicion, but they were on their way to being friends again. Actually she felt quite chuffed that it cared about her enough to pull the whole stunt.
It didn't help that far from being angry about the luggage's performance, Snape seemed to find it extremely funny.
Snape. Oh, dear. When on earth had that thrice-damned git had time to worm his way into her affections? Certainly, he'd managed somehow.
What she wasn't sure about was how aware Snape himself was of her changing views towards him.
No doubt, he'd find the whole situation completely ludicrous.
Hermione tried to put his smirk out of her head and returned to revising her redrafted notes about the Photo-Quill, determined to have them in some kind of order before tomorrow night, when Snape and she had decided to test the unwieldy invention on that other cumbersome construction, the obnoxious antique mirror.
Hermione skidded down the corridor behind Harry, both of them a few paces behind the absolutely frantic Ginny.
Luggage.threats.Ron. Luggage in hiding. Luggage threatening Ron. Homicidal luggage threatening Ron.
Mrs Norris.
"Oh, shit," she said aloud.
How to put it? Harry, Ginny, the reason Ron's in the hospital wing used to hold my clothing?
Not quite. This would take a little bit of work.
Shit.
"Is he going to be alright?" Harry asked in a hushed voice. Madam Pomfrey nodded. Worry lines were etched on her brow. "He's been worked over, though a little strangely if I do say so, but yes, Mr Weasley shouldn't have to spend too much time here. He'll mend in a few days and he'll be fine."
Hermione left out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"How bad was it?"
"A broken leg, twisted ankle, extensive bruising and cracked ribs and collarbone." All three winced in sympathy.
"I bet it was that git Malfoy!" Harry. Ginny sniffed loudly. "How could he? Just because he's not Head-Boy!"
"Knowing Malfoy, that's all the reason he'd need." Harry put a comforting arm around her shoulders and the red-head leaned against it. "Then again, there wasn't any chance that Malfoy could've got it anyway, with his shocking marks in charms."
Even Hermione had to admit that the extra effort Ron had been putting into his work over the past year had certainly paid off. His grades in everything except potions had risen remarkably, which just went to show what he could do if he tried. Six years late, of course, she mused, but he must have finally realised that he needed to work a little harder in order to get the same grades Bill and Charlie (and even the twins, though they'd never really worked!) had received. And if he were to get into Auror training at the end of the year like he wanted, well, he needed above average grades.
"It wasn't Malfoy," she said abruptly.
The other two stared at her.
"Well, of course it was, Hermione," said Harry. "Who else would it have been?"
"Not a who. A what." She paused, drew in breath. "A what?"
"A suitcase, to be exact."
"Okay, now you've lost me. What kind of suitcase does that?" Ginny threw up her hands. Hermione felt herself reddening. "Um, my one, actually."
Harry was staring at her as though she'd grown an extra head. "Your.suitcase.was responsible for bashing up Ron? Um, no offence, Mione, but why don't I believe that?"
"Because you're prejudiced against Malfoy?"
"Mione, I sincerely hope you're not saying that you like him."
"Like him? Like, how do you mean?" Under his close scrutiny her blush deepened.
Harry looked even more shocked. "You like him. Really like him. Don't you?"
"No! I'm just saying that you think it's his fault because you don't like him."
"And you think it isn't his fault because."
".because I know who is responsible. The luggage."
"Great, the luggage. Well, where do we find this luggage?" Ginny asked sarcastically.
"Um, I don't know. But honestly, it's a suitcase, with feet, and it bites. If you don't believe me, ask Professor Dumbledore. He's well acquainted with it."
"It's alright, Mione, I believe you," Harry said heavily. The mention of Dumbledore had, as she'd expected, erased his doubts. That, and, of course, six years of living in a world where anything was possible if you knew the right bit of Latin.
"What's so funny?" he asked after a moment. Hermione was fighting a chesire grin.
"I was just thinking that you could also ask Filch. Or haven't either of you noticed that Mrs Norris isn't drifting around the castle anymore?"
They stared at her. "You're right," Ginny said slowly, "I haven't seen her at all this year. That is strange."
"The luggage has something to do with that, I guess?" asked Harry curiously.
Hermione's smile blossomed. "Oh, yes," she said with fervour.
"I hate to break up this sweet little chat, but you're blocking the doorway."
Prof. Severus Snape sneered himself into the room, exuding malice, and holding in each hand a flask of a different brightly coloured liquid.
"Poppy? Your skel-e-grow and swedish bitters."
The medi-witch took each bottle with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Severus, I'm sorry about the short notice but I didn't realise I was out of stock until I got a patient, tonight." With a jerk of her head she indicated the prone form of Ron Weasley on the nearest bed.
Snape's lips thinned. "Ah, that explains the fan club, then. Tell me. Did our dearest Head Boy fall off his broom?"
Silence.
"Or, perhaps, he decided to go duelling with Longbottom."
"Actually, sir, I think luggage was hungry."
Snape snorted and a slow smirk twisted his thin mouth. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "Once again I find myself in the position of commending your case's intelligence. I wonder if it would consider hiring out its services. It could be a valuable asset to the community."
Hermione glared at him, though it lacked some force. "I hardly think attacking one of my friends qualifies it for the Order of Merlin, professor."
"Really? Perhaps you're right. He's still breathing. An award for special services to the school and another chance when he's awake."
Harry interjected. "You.you knew about this, this luggage?" Surprise was written on his face. So was poorly-concealed distaste, though that was usually a standard whenever he found himself in a conversation with Snape he couldn't avoid.
"No, Mr Potter, I make a habit out of reading the minds of all my students," Snape drawled in reply, smirking as Harry's stare turned poisonous for a moment, before it was redirected towards the floor.
Hermione was thoughtful. How could it have been managed? Then she wondered. "Madame Pomfrey, where was Ron found?"
The medi-witch stuck her head out of her office and said "In the main corridor. He dragged himself up from the dungeons and a third-year girl saw him and helped him here. Then I sent her off to find one of the older Gryffindors, to let his friends know."
"And she found me near the portrait," Ginny added.
"It must have got him just after he finished detention with me." Snape nodded again. "Yes, that would fit."
"It must have been hovering outside our classes, then, to find out when he'd have detention and ambush him."
Hermione shook her head, something about that already bothering her. "No, Harry, how could it know that he'd get detention?"
Snape let out a loud groan and put a hand to his head. "By orchestrating it, of course. And to think I blamed Weasley and Potter."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked quickly.
"My stores," he replied, voice muffled.
"Stores? What stores? What happened?"
Ginny and Harry exchanged an equally puzzled look. Not only was Snape not being nasty, he was positively communicative and co-operative! In a very Snape-ish kind of way, of course. And Hermione was acting as though that were normal. Strange, very strange.
"What stores, Se-Sir?"
"What ones do you think, Miss Granger?" He emphasised the name. Belatedly Hermione realised that she'd almost slipped. Big time. There was no way either of her friends would believe there wasn't anything going on between her and Snape, then! A small part of her mind said it wouldn't mind if there was. She told it to be quiet. Quickly.
"Someone broke into the Potions storeroom and damaged quite a few important ingredients, as though they'd been hurriedly looking for something, or as though the shelves had been shaken."
"Or knocked."
"By luggage. Yes, only the lowest shelves were touched." He raised his head, and his eyes, which met Hermione's, were filled with evil glee.
Not the expression she'd been expecting, certainly.
"Professor?"
He raised an insolent, insouciant eye-brow. "Goodnight, Miss Granger. Weasley. Potter."
In a swirl of robes, Snape stalked from the room, leaving Hermione thoughtful and the others still puzzled.
"He was almost pleasant. It must be something he ate," Harry said finally. Ginny gave Hermione a quizzical look and said nothing, but the faintest hints of a smile were tugging at her mouth.
She asked sweetly, "So, Hermione, what exactly did happen to Mrs Norris?"
An hour or so later, just after curfew, Severus Snape stalked through the Hogwarts grounds, lost in thought.
He found the whole concept of the walk therapeutic in a mind-numbing way. Whenever he needed to think, or relax, he usually ended up doing the rounds. Occasionally he had the chance to spring students in various tangles of limbs and guilty expressions. That was always guaranteed to improve his mood.
Currently he was mulling over the curiosity so inaccurately termed the luggage. Luggage, yes, suitcase, yes, but they were hardly labels to describe it. It had a temperament he was used to seeing in the students of his House, but it also had two rows of very hairy little feet and bleached mahogany teeth. It had a nasty looking latch. It also, most importantly, seemed to have a very jealous disposition.
No doubt Weasley had aroused its protective instincts by drooling around Hermione Granger like a kneazel in heat.
He smirked to himself. The thought of Weasley being done over by a suitcase that came to his knees nearly made all the years of aggravation that the boy had given him worthwhile. Anything, just to think of that irritating brat coming off second-best to something designed to hold clothing.
Yes, there was justice somewhere in the world. Certainly it was worth a few potions ingredients to see this.
His thoughts drifted off the luggage and onto its supposed owner, Hermione Granger. His spirits deflated, ruining the moment.
Miss Granger. Hermione. She had certainly changed in the years that he'd been teaching her, hadn't she?
No longer such a loud, irritating, know-it-all.Still a know-it-all; he doubted anything would ever wipe that from her system, but not so loud, and no more irritating.
Well, except when she deliberately provoked him. But he was justified in snarling at her then; she certainly knew exactly what to say to make him flare up. And he could always manage to provoke her in turn.
Similarly, he felt more like smiling when she was around than when she wasn't. Cheesy, that's what it was. Absolutely, completely and utterly cheesy, but he found himself inordinately pleased by her company in a way far from the 'appropriate' boundaries and distances he liked to set between himself and everyone he interacted with.
He let out a slight groan, and leant against the side wall of the nearest building, one of the greenhouses.
What was it about Hermione Granger that had made him start to think of her so differently from all his other students? Perhaps she was an adult, she was a Gryffindor, she had sauce and pluck and blind courage like most of her house, and she had the intellect to lead him to appreciate her as almost an academic equal, but she was still a student, and, as such, he had a duty of care towards her. In loco parentis. Not the type of thoughts he was beginning to entertain.
He groaned again. Put a hand against his head, rubbed his temples with tired fingers. To hell with the girl, and to hell with him for letting his thinking carry him away. She was a student, not some sort of object for any fantasies he might concoct! (And why on earth was he starting to concoct some now, anyway? He hadn't been close with anyone that way since he had begun teaching!) Even if she did seem to want something she called friendship from him - something he was unaccustomed to giving to any but very few people in his life - even if she did seem to enjoy the arguments they had managed to get into despite themselves, she wasn't prepared for, nor would she be willing to accept, anything more. Disgust radiated through his thoughts. At himself, his weaknesses, his craving for a little bit of contact and his warped idea of interaction that could so pervert the innocently-meant regard of a young girl. A child. A student.
What kind of teacher was he?
Suppressing another shudder, Snape gathered up his robes and strode purposely, noiselessly, back towards his dungeons. Enough of this maudlin reflection for one night.
Luggage, on the other hand, was more than a little pleased with itself. That interfering git would no longer be a threat to the Mistress, it was sure. It had shown him. It felt like a victorious crusader riding out of battle on a steaming, sweating mount, flanks heaving with exertion but with the gleam of victory in its eyes.
So pleased was it, that it sought, like any good knight on the return from a successful campaign, the company and attention of its squires.
It could already feel the polish soaking into its wood, the wet sponges bringing its metal work to a gleaming, glistening shine.
It hurried its steps towards the kitchens.
Dobby was so happy to see "Mr Trunk" that the luggage had three coats of polish and two baths before it once again felt blissfully clean, and retired to the restricted section of the library.
I've got a thing for Snape. I haven't got a thing for Snape. I have got a thing for him. Haven't. Have.
Damn.
The last of the petals came off in Hermione's fingers, leaving her staring at a mess on her bed and an inescapable conclusion.
Idly she rubbed a hand through Crookshanks' fur, and snuck a glance over at the luggage, quiescent in the corner of the room. Over a week since Ron had been allowed out of the hospital wing, and the suitcase was still on probation. Because she could understand why it had tried to remove Ron (it must see him as a rival) she had decided to forgive it, but that didn't mean she was particularly happy with it. The luggage had apologised with an air of put-upon puzzlement, rubbing itself against her legs and regarding her with suspicion, but they were on their way to being friends again. Actually she felt quite chuffed that it cared about her enough to pull the whole stunt.
It didn't help that far from being angry about the luggage's performance, Snape seemed to find it extremely funny.
Snape. Oh, dear. When on earth had that thrice-damned git had time to worm his way into her affections? Certainly, he'd managed somehow.
What she wasn't sure about was how aware Snape himself was of her changing views towards him.
No doubt, he'd find the whole situation completely ludicrous.
Hermione tried to put his smirk out of her head and returned to revising her redrafted notes about the Photo-Quill, determined to have them in some kind of order before tomorrow night, when Snape and she had decided to test the unwieldy invention on that other cumbersome construction, the obnoxious antique mirror.