The Grist of Her Mill
By SilentG
Chapter 5
Severus Snape sat at the High Table, thinking that if he didn't know for a fact there was to be bread pudding with clotted cream and maple syrup for dessert, he'd just up and quit Hogwarts here and now, walk straight out the front doors, and go and live anonymously as a Bezoar Harvester in Turkey.
He'd been expecting the owls when they arrived, delivering the Potions essays, and to be honest with himself, he had actually been looking forward to seeing them. And not only Miss Granger's, whose work was the only reason he'd requested to be added to the list of recipients. Not that he'd ever admit it, but since Neville's departure from his Laboratory, this year's crop of Upper-sixths had been shaping up to be his best ever, and there was no denying it: this was largely due to Hermione Granger. It was insupportable, really, actually enjoying brief moments of his classroom time because of a Gryffindor, but there it was. Not that he'd ever admit it.
He'd noticed Potter and Weasley looking around the Great Hall before they began to inhale their dinners, and he'd assumed they were looking for their Oracle, Granger, who wasn't at dinner for some reason. She didn't turn up, however, and the anticipation on the boys' faces abated when the owls began to arrive.
The biggest owl in the school, Borgnine (named by some long-gone Muggle Studies professor), swooped down from the rafters, circled the High Table, and dropped his burden quite gracefully into Snape's outstretched hands. He got a curious look from Minerva and endured Dumbledore's significantly upraised eyebrows – Snape roundly discouraged students from corresponding with him, even on school business - before focusing his attention on his delivery.
A dismissive shrug was his only acknowledgement of their interest in him, and anyway, their attention was quickly diverted as pandemonium erupted on the floor.
When conflicts and rowdiness arose at the student tables, usually only one house was involved, or a few students flanking an aisle between tables. This made it fairly easy to determine what was happening and diffuse the situation. Seldom was more than one teacher needed, and the melees were often extinguishable with one well-placed 'group glare' directly from the table (a technique known only to parents and teachers of teenagers).
Tonight, mere seconds after the packages had been distributed to the Upper-sixths, a wave of laughter and raised voices swept across the floor to the High Table, and students began getting up from the benches and gathering into excited, distracted clutches.
The protocol was, under such circumstances, for the four Heads of House to rise, cast an individual glare at their respective house table and, barring that, signal the Prefects. If that didn't do the trick, the next step was to descend from the Head Table and approach their House tables. Synchronous with this action, the Headmaster would make eye contact with the Head Boy and Girl from his chair, and signal for them to act. Dumbledore would intervene only as a last resort.
As there were no students, including Prefects and Head Students, paying any attention to the Head Table, the normal routine would have been ineffective. So Sprout, McGonagall and Flitwick all rose and moved as a body towards the milling groups of students, trying as they went to find and corral a Prefect from their own House.
Snape, however, did not receive the signal, transmitted by mere eye contact, for this corporate offensive, because he had opened his essay package and was looking with confusion, then dismay, then apoplectic rage at the document at the top of the pile.
His stomach sinking under the weight of impending doom, Professor Snape closed his eyes.
-*~~*~~*-
Harry dragged his gaze away from the murderous glare of his Potions master to see his own head of house looking speculatively at him from the other end of the Gryffindor table. Turning to look up at the scowling Professor sitting next to her own empty chair at the High Table, realisation dawned on her face and, her lips pressed together so tightly that only a thin line remained, Professor McGonagall made her way through the throngs of milling students to stand next to the two boys. "Am I to understand that you two had something to do with ... this?" She gestured expansively at the chaos around her. "Where is Miss Granger?" she demanded. Without awaiting an answer, she turned to the Head Girl Susan Bones, who had just then appeared at her elbow. "Fetch Miss Granger."
"Yes, Professor," she replied before scurrying off.
Professor McGonagall turned back to her two recalcitrant students. "Do you care to explain yourselves now, or shall we await the presence of your solicitor?"
-*~~*~~*-
The first few moments after the essays had been delivered were positively golden. One by one, as the students opened the packages and started reading, they howled with laughter and began passing the parchments around to their schoolmates.
It was gratifying to see how the humour was appreciated - the reactions of those present at the study-group on Saturday were most noticeable, because they recognised the context immediately. Harry and Ron grinned at each other, while making a show of opening their own packages, although they knew exactly what was inside... ('...the zero-hour comportment of the prankster is a major, but often overlooked, component of a successful prank...' - Gred and Forge Weasley).
They both knew that Hermione would be absolutely furious at them for putting her in such a position, but they also knew that she would cover for them, and her word in the matter was so watertight that no action could be taken against anyone without it. She of course would know that they were responsible, but they'd make it up to her somehow - exactly how was a little hazy at the moment. However, without her evidence, the boys reckoned, it would be virtually impossible for the prank to be pinned on them - they'd covered their bases that well.
Two unforeseen elements were, unfortunately, making it look likely that their seemingly ironclad plan was in serious jeopardy.
The first was the unpredicted reaction of the students, most of whom passed close to the two boys expressly to give them a congratulatory thumbs-up, or even to voice their appreciation for the story. Harry and Ron were frankly perplexed that anyone would be so certain it was them - the fact that the whole school did was, to say the least, dismaying.
The second was less obvious, but much, much worse. The fact that Professor Snape had received a copy of the essays and, therefore, the parody. That was bad, very bad. And although they would under normal circumstances consider his accusatory glare a matter of course, not to be concerned about; the suspicious behaviour of their schoolmates made it very unlikely that their Head of House would attempt to insulate them from the wrath of their biggest detractor.
Ron gulped as he looked at McGonagall, who stood, grim-faced, with her arms crossed . Harry was preoccupied with the High Table, where Snape was engaged in a heated conversation with the Headmaster who, for once, looked very concerned. With a sigh, Harry turned back to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, Hermione didn't have anything to do with it. She didn't know. You might as well just talk to us." The disapproving Transfiguration Professor held out her hand, and Harry gave her the wad of parchments, which had gotten crushed in his nervous fingers.
-*~~*~~*-
Flanking Hermione, Susan Bones hurriedly warded the door to her little office, and the two girls rushed at a race-walk back towards the Great Hall. Susan briefed her on the events in the Great Hall, but Hermione was too preoccupied with the memory of the horrid, inflammatory little document to really hear. Professor Snape and the Headmaster are going to think we're mocking them, she thought with horror. No-one has ever ridiculed a teacher like this before – we'll all be expelled!
She arrived at the Great Hall to glimpse Snape at the Head Table looking angrier than she'd ever seen him, and Dumbledore looking very flustered and upset. An uneasy silence blanketed the room, which was under the watchful glare of the teachers, while a bunch of embarrassed-looking Prefects made their way through the room, collecting the offending parchments.
As they approached their respective dining tables, the Headmaster signalled to them to approach him. Seeing Hermione, Snape scowled blackly, muttering something under his breath. Dumbledore said, "Miss Bones, kindly see your Head of House. Miss Granger, Professor McGonagall and I would like to see you in my office."
-*~~*~~*-
At the High Table, Snape scanned the parchment, which had the apt title Her Secret Shame, then read it carefully through. Rage and apprehension fought for space in his gut, although the former was what showed on his face as he gazed at the two most likely suspects. As often happened, their expressions immediately betrayed their guilt, which for once left Snape profoundly dismayed, rather than triumphant. The idea that they knew, or even suspected, his secret shame, was intolerable.
But how had they found out? Admittedly, seeing Dangerous Escapism on the table at the library on Saturday had been a shock, but he thought he'd handled it without revealing anything. Despite the fact that the unexpected discovery had startled him into departing abruptly, unable to take full advantage of his original intention (which was, with luck, to mock - or at the very least, to goad, chide or distract-- the assembly). But he hadn't betrayed himself, had he?
And then on Monday, after Potions, he had asked Miss Granger to stay and speak to him before he'd seen the book. If he had seen it, he would certainly have tried to foreshorten her stay rather than prolong it. Prolong it? Now where did that idea come from? Of course, the interview was exactly of the duration required to cover the necessary information.
When he did notice the dratted novel, it was too late, because Miss Granger had noticed it also. The thought of Miss Granger reading it panicked him so much that he briefly considered confiscating it, but dismissed the idea immediately, thinking (rightly) that doing so would just make her more interested.
He had already aroused her suspicions, with his uncharacteristically clumsy request to see their practice essays, and then his odd behaviour after they both saw the book. He was forced to back-pedal, just to keep from sinking.
All he could do was watch her stick the dangerous item into her bag and walk away, and hope that she was above indulging in such plebeian drivel. Dear Merlin, let her disdain it, as well she should. It was a hope, but a faint one.
Turning to vent his spleen on the Headmaster, he regretted again the out-gassing of hubris that had brought him to this moment of peril.
-*~~*~~*-
The event horizon of his doom was the staff dinner customarily held the Friday after the students left for the summer. Unlike most social functions, this was an event that Severus Snape actually enjoyed attending, chiefly because he could freely lambaste students from other houses without the other staff members taking points from Slytherin in retaliation.
This night, however, the beginning of the first summer since 1981with Sirius Black at large, talk was not on the students.
Conversation centred around the condemned man's guilt or innocence, and while Snape was by no means the only professor who held to the conviction that Black was guilty and would be dead before the end of the year, he was the only one at the table who took the matter personally. He was particularly rankled by Dumbledore's placid assertion that Black would be exonerated before the end of Harry's school career. "That will be a tall order, Albus," Snape said acidly, "since the boy is bound to get expelled sooner or later."
The talk had been moderately civil up to then, but of course McGonagall had to jump in and defend her precious Potter, and Albus just smiled beatifically and ate his fourth serving of Crème Caramel, and as a result Snape went into a white-hot rage. As Snape threw his napkin down and prepared to get up, Minerva said "Albus, how certain are you that Sirius Black is innocent?"
The old man replied, "As certain as I am that I didn't shave this morning." The laughter around the dining table was appreciative, but strained.
"Severus," Minerva called to his back as he headed for the door, "would you care to enter into a wager?" The smile on her face didn't quite meet her eyes.
"I would, Minerva," Snape stopped but didn't turn around, "but I don't trust you to set the stakes."
"Nor I you, Severus. What about a little friendly bet," Snape turned as she was speaking, "on whether or not Black gets cleared. I say he will. You say he won't. Well??"
Wagers between the heads of the two rival houses were legendary, and the conversation shot back and forth like a comedy routine. "Time frame?"
"Let's say, since Albus and you are so certain, before Potter leaves Hogwarts."
"For any reason?"
"I'm willing to agree to that."
"Stakes?"
"We'll let Albus decide. Do we have a bet?"
"Yes." Snape approached the dinner table, leaned over between Sprout and Flitwick, and shook Minerva's stiffly-proffered hand. They both turned to Albus with inquiring looks.
"Do I have to name the stakes now? I'd like to think about it," the Headmaster said in a vague voice. He often put on his doddering, bemused persona when his two favourite staff members fought.
"I am prepared to trust you, Albus. I don't know about Severus." Minerva gave Snape a cool look and he replied by rolling his eyes.
"I trust Albus only because he knows that I'd resign if I thought that he was cheating me; and if he did, whom would you have to yap to, Minerva? I suggest that the stakes, whatever Albus names, be subject to the agreement of the winner, if you concur?" She nodded.
Snape turned and went, with more grace and less acrimony than previously. The conversation had been a success; he called his dearest friend 'Albus' before he left.
Professor McGonagall caught up with Snape in the passageway outside the staff room the next morning. "Severus," she called as she struggled to match his long strides. He stopped dead, causing her to overshoot him and backtrack to his still, forbidding form.
"Minerva."
"Severus, do you recognise the name Harry Howey? He was a potion-maker of note." Without waiting for any acknowledgement, she continued, "He was known for many things, but I remember particularly a definition he coined, for the word 'positive' – it is to be wrong in a loud voice." Astonishingly, for her age and station, she batted her eyes at him as she spoke.
"As I recall, Minerva, you could use that adjective to describe yourself. After all, you agreed to a wager with no set stakes, so you could theoretically lose anything if you are wrong about Black."
"Well no, actually, Severus - I never said that I was positive - I placed the bet because Albus was positive. And he isn't risking anything."
-*~~*~~*-
Peter Pettigrew was apprehended in a botched Death Eater raid on the Auror School in Scotland at the end of Harry Potter's fifth year at Hogwarts. Several Aurors and students lost their lives, including one veteran Auror who threw himself in front of a curse cast by another Death Eater to take out Pettigrew, who was already in custody and being led away.
It was a coup for The Ministry, the Aurors, The Order, and Dumbledore - the first Death Eater captured alive during an altercation, and proof positive (for most wizards and witches) that Voldemort was truly back.
Much of the information they had hoped to get from Pettigrew turned out to be incomplete or useless, but he was able to confirm (under duress) the innocence of Sirius Black in the murders for which he had been incarcerated at Azkaban for over a decade. Against the advice of Dumbledore and many Ministry officials, Peter Pettigrew was administered the Dementors' kiss - the last person to endure that punishment before the Dementors fell under the power of Voldemort.
Black had, of course, returned with triumphant pomp to Hogwarts and Dumbledore, and wasted no time gloating at Snape as he endlessly retold the tale of his exoneration to enthralled Professors in the staff-room.
Snape was not so petty as to wish death upon a man unjustly accused, so it wasn't pure malice that drove him to say, on the occasion of their first meeting, 'Oh, you. Last I heard you were in line to get the chop at the RSPCA. What happened? Did you escape by leading the dog-catchers to Lupin at full moon?'.
Needless to say, his comments drew disapproval his way and made the other professors fawn over the dog-boy even more, but only Minerva and Albus knew the real reason for his rancour. He was understandably embarrassed and apprehensive about paying the penalty for his arrogance (for once)...and he wouldn't have long to wait.
Thankfully, both of his tormentors knew better than to broadcast Minerva's victory - if Black had found out about the wager, and the result, Severus would truly have never forgiven them.
But that didn't mean that they were gentle on him, either.
The three senior staff members met in the neutral territory of the Headmaster's anteroom over tea on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after Black's departure. With glum resignation, Snape approached the table set for three, and hoped silently that whatever the penalty, it wouldn't involve fancy dress. Or worse, being nice to Gryffindors.
It didn't look good. Snape made a statement to his two companions as he sat down, to the effect that he hoped whatever was expected of him wouldn't negatively impact his House, or anything to do with school dynamics, and didn't they agree that that was only fair?
Minerva smiled smugly and said nothing. Albus kept his eyes on the tray of toast in front of him, and he looked as if he were chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Tears were actually forming in the corners of his eyes!
"Severus, you will be pleased to know," Albus began, ('or not'), Minerva muttered to herself, "that we have agreed upon your stakes in the wager, and your accomplishment of the penalty should have no impact on the school whatsoever." Minerva tried to suppress the giggle that wanted to erupt at the end of his speech, but it came out anyway, sounding more like a whinny.
"It was Albus' suggestion, and I readily agreed. You will have one year to complete your task, and as a special concession to you, because you have always been so good to me," at this point both Albus and Minerva started laughing out loud, "it can be arranged so that no-one need ever know about it." Severus Snape sat looking daggers at his two companions, while they regained their composure.
Albus suggested that they all share a pleasant tea before discussing the penalty, and Severus agreed with ill-grace. It was perhaps understandable that he didn't relish the charming repast or the company, since Minerva muttered under her breath as she handed him her cup to be filled, "Eat now, Severus, you may not be able to enjoy another meal until this time next year."
Minerva's words held no malice, only good-natured humour; but Severus' animosity must have shown on his face, because Albus said "Now, you two - Minerva, it was a fair bet and you won. No need to rub it in. Severus, you lost fair and square, and you may not use this incident or its consequences? as an excuse to be beastly to either Minerva or her House. That's an order."
The tea was fairly pleasant, considering. Snape, for the most part, glowered and grumped, spoke little and answered in monosyllables, but the infrequent times when he seemed to forget himself, and bantered almost playfully with Minerva, brought a tender smile to the face of his employer.
Albus had the tiniest apprehension that his penalty would be just a little bit too much for his precious Potions master... Severus would certainly think so.
But the man was so strong, so capable, that he was nearly always operating below his capacity, even with all the extra work and responsibilities he took on at the school. And Severus was so intractable, so rigid… He needed to be shaken out of his rut every now and then. Severus Snape was a master of creating an environment where he could stay the same, and relate to others the same way, for indefinite periods. It was understandable, a source of comfort, but it was useful only up to a point. In Albus' opinion, he had reached that point. Hopefully, Severus' task would move him past it.
-*~~*~~*-
Only the desiccated remains of the meal lingered on the little table. The toast, scones, butter, jam, farmers cheese, cold ham, two kinds of tea and petits fours had been vanquished and their wounded cowered under the linen napkins discarded by the three professors. Snape sat stiffly with a sour look on his face, staring through Dumbledore's forehead. It was the way he looked when Flitwick stood up to speak at staff meetings. He was impatient.
With a sigh, Dumbledore rose. "Shall we go?"
"Go? Where?" Snape said with a scowl. Minerva stood also, leaving Snape alone at the table.
"To inform you of your task, Severus. It will be much easier for me to show than to tell you." The two old Gryffindors were giggling again. It was almost too much for a poor, long-suffering Slytherin to bear!
"Perhaps I don't want to be shown," he replied petulantly, but joined them anyway. They retired to the library. Not the demesne of Madame Pince, but the Headmaster's private library, and it was as different from that staid wooden sanctuary of research as it could possibly be.
Snape had been there before, of course, to ooh and aah whenever Albus added a shelf, upholstered chair, author, book, chachke, doily or flavour of sweet to his little haven.
It was, of course, supremely comfortable, and supremely excessive and chaotic in its decoration. It was a small, fairly neat room, about 20 by 20. The walls were almost completely covered in books, which seemed to be arranged randomly, but were in fact organised by a rotating indexing system of Dumbledore's own design - currently in reverse alphabetical order by first word. Every Christmas, during the staff dinner, Dumbledore told and retold his story about leaving Lucius Malfoy in there for several hours, watching him through a magic mirror getting madder and madder, impatiently waiting and unable to find a single book he wanted. Even Snape was hard-pressed to avoid smiling at that story. At least the first four or five times he heard it. "And to think, he was too incensed to think of using 'Accio'," was the punch line.
The six or so comfortable over-stuffed chairs were all upholstered differently: brocade, velvet, combed cotton, even something that looked like fur. One had an oddly-cut, itchy-looking cobalt-blue chiffon slipcover. The prints ran from mediaeval scenes to intricately-patterned dragons to voluptuous, jostling florals. The colours were innumerable.
Each chair had a little table next to it. 'Somewhere for people to put their teacups and spectacles,' Dumbledore had said. The real reason for the tables, though, was as a place to put the countless bowls and trays and tiered dishes of sweets. There was so much candy in the room that it actually smelled sweet.
The Headmaster opened the door and gestured them into the room. "Albus, one day, you're going to come in here and eat so much candy that you'll be found weeks later, perfectly preserved, with hummingbirds gnawing on your femur."
Albus smiled angelically. "If only, Severus, if only. It would be a pleasant end, to pass over to the other side feeding the birds." He got the dreamy look on his face that indicated that he knew he'd said something funny and was waiting for everyone to get it.
Minerva and Severus crooked eyebrows at each other as they seated themselves in the cosy room. "Hummingbirds can't gnaw, Severus, they don't have teeth."
"Well, Minerva, thank you for that observation. I am no more convinced that you have a sense of humour; but I am reassured to know that you do occasionally use your ears. For your information, I didn't want to say 'peck', I feared that it might offend your delicate Gryffindor sensibilities." Snape was so enjoying the little repartee that he temporarily forgot to sulk, and actually got up from his chair to fetch a dish of Bertie Bott's Chocolate Bangers, Minerva's favourite sweet.
"Always has to have the last word, does our Potions master. Well, you might have the last word, Severus, but I'm going to have the last laugh. Are we even?" Snape conjured a small napkin for the melted chocolate on his colleague's fingers.
"That remains to be seen, but I highly doubt it."
-*~~*~~*-
Albus settled himself in a soft-looking chair upholstered in a patchwork design that moved. He put his hands on his knees, sighed, and said, "Severus. You always were an intelligent, if indifferent student, but what I remember you excelling in in all your studies was writing papers." Both teachers looked at him expectantly, and he smiled back at them and nodded his head. There was a pregnant pause.
"So what, Albus, for my payment are you going to make me write lines?" Snape's face resumed its customary scowl. "Or perhaps my penance is to write all of Harry Potter's essays for him?" Albus just kept smiling. "Is this a guessing game?" Snape frowned.
"No, Severus," Albus replied, smiling still, "I was just thinking to myself how much I love the both of you, and how happy I am that you've learned to get along." The words were obsequious, but the tears in the Headmaster's eyes were real.
The two professors were accustomed to the Headmaster's bursts of sentiment while in this room - something about the atmosphere encouraged confessions. Which was why Snape was always careful to keep his mouth shut. Luckily, before anything even more embarrassing could be said, Albus waved his wand and summoned a handful of small Muggle paperbacks.
"They are not filed together at present, but I wanted you to see them, Severus," he said. Snape moved to stand behind the Headmaster's chair, and Minerva stood by his side.
There were seven of them. Not a set, but published by the same company, and all with similar cover designs. They were thin, more novellas than anything, and all featured similarly ambiguous titles: Nobody's Wife, Three Guesses, Never the Bride, Uncrossable Lines, Without Passion, His Heroine, and Blindfolded Hearts.
Severus picked up Blindfolded Hearts, noting that the author was also the same for all seven books. He flipped to the inside back cover and started reading.
Lottie Guenther's first inspiration to write love stories came when her husband proposed to her on bended knee the night the two of them finished Medical School, he as a Doctor and she as a nurse. Since then, her love of romance has been fed by two round-the-world yacht trips with her mate as Skipper and her as - first mate! - and, yes, the birth of her three children. Lottie loves the quiet life, and lives on a small farm in Lincolnshire with her husband, their two youngest children, and four very ancient draught ponies. Lottie Guenther is a pseudonym.
"Draught ponies, yachting, Medical School - what is this all about, Albus? Who is this woman, Lottie Guenther?"
"She sir, is me sir."
_____________________________________
A/N: More Blackadder references, some in previous chapters. I'll enumerate them in the endnotes.
The reference 'gnawing on your femur' is in honour of Bridget Jones' Diary, the '…being gnawed to death by Alsatians…' line.
Bertie Bott's Chocolate Bangers? No, for once, I'm not being rude. They go with the beans, o'course! When I lived in England, I never ate bangers and beans (I'm a vegetarian), but I did enjoy a curry-flavoured vegetarian convenience food called 'Bean Bangers'… True story.
Kudos or flames? please review!!!
Many thanks to Isirta2001 for posting the challenge and giving me advice, to Baroness VonLooney for Brit-picking it, to my wonderful new beta pigwidgeon37, and to WIKTT for their inspiration.
TBC
Upload Date: 28-Oct-02
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