Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, except for Lilith the owl. This was written solely for my own entertainment and the entertainment of other fans of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. No money is changing hands here. I wonder, is it a requirement that we post these disclaimer things here? Maybe I should read fanfiction.net's terms of service more carefully.
Hermione mounted the steps to the girls' dorm alone. It had been a very bad day, and she was so tired she wanted to go straight to bed, homework be damned. A magical scuffle in the corridor outside the Potions dungeon had resulted in her front teeth growing to several times their natural size (which, she felt, was overlarge to begin with), and she had run to the hospital wing in tears after a particularly stinging remark by Professor Snape.
It was lucky, she reflected, that it had been her front two teeth that had been enlarged, rather than her incisors. Otherwise, she might have taken the opportunity to bite the professor. Why did he have to be so nasty? She was good in potions, better than any other fourth-year student, with the possible exception of Draco Malfoy. She was always respectful. She never talked back. She always did her homework. What more could a teacher possibly want from a student? Granted, Snape had always bullied the Gryffindors as much as possible, but he was usually easier on the girls, and he had never said anything so cruel to Parvati Patil or Lavendar Brown. Was it because Hermione was Muggle-born? Because she was Harry's friend? Or was there some major flaw in her that she could not see? And if it was the latter, did anyone else hate her because of it? She had never felt so insecure.
As she entered her dorm room, Hermione shivered, suddenly cold. Her window was open, and there was a draft coming in, blowing the gauzy draperies and chilling the room. She went to shut the window, but was interrupted halfway there by a loud hoot. She started. There was a large owl on her bed.
It was a beautiful owl, with ghost-pale feathers streaked a deep brownish-black, the color of wet maple-tree bark. It regarded Hermione with ebon eyes. The young witch had seen many owls, of many different species, some of them very beautiful, but never before had she encountered one that made her feel as if she were in the presence of a divine being. "Hello," she breathed softly, "You're lovely…what brought you here?"
The owl cocked its head, motes of light glimmering in the depths of its eyes, then hooted again. Hermione noticed something lying by its feet. "You've brought me something? Thank you…" She moved cautiously to her bedside and sat, picking up a package wrapped in silver tissue. She inspected it briefly, then reached to stroke the owl cautiously. It did not seem to object. "Whose…do you belong to anyone?" She asked the owl, almost expecting a verbal answer, so wise was the bird's expression.
The owl shifted slightly, and a fine silver chain about its neck glistened. Hermione leaned in to inspect the circular pendant in the chain's center. The name 'Lilith, Queen of the Night', was engraved there in delicate cursive. As Hermione studied it, the letters changed, flashing the words, 'If lost or injured, please return to Severus Snape, care of Hogwarts'. Hermione blinked. "You're *Snape's* owl?!" Lilith, the owl, snapped her beak and hopped away as if angered by Hermione's skepticism.
"Sorry…I just…didn't know he had a familiar." As if on cue, Hermione's own pet, Crookshanks, slunk out from under Lavendar's bed and strolled up to his mistress' feet, rubbing against her and blinking up blandly at the strange owl. Lilith regarded him dubiously, then flapped her wings and rose to perch on the canopy of the bed. Crookshanks leapt onto the bed next to Hermione and butted his head against first her arm, then the silver package she held in her hands.
"Oh, right," she said, "I should open this…" There was obvious hesitation in her tone. After what Snape had said to her today…she felt bad enough already. She didn't want to leave herself open for another ego-crushing insult. Still, if she sent the package back unopened, it might get her in trouble for rudeness. Or it might be something related to classwork she had missed today, in which case she definitely wanted it. She hated trying to copy from Harry or Ron's notes. The former had nearly illegible handwriting, and the latter peppered his notes with irrelevant comments about the teacher of the class, the Slytherin students, or how bored he was.
Lilith hooted loudly from her perch over Hermione's head, causing her to jump and waken from her reverie. Taking the cry as a command, Hermione sighed, "All right, then," and gently pulled the end of the black yarn binding the package, then unfolded the tissue.
To Hermione's surprise, a small bunch of flowers fell out of the tissue package, followed by six folded sheets of parchment. She picked up the flowers and stared at them. The arrangement of the miniature bouquet was almost stark in its simplicity, but pretty nonetheless. A single white Madonna lily was at the center, surrounded by a spray of tiny black blossoms that she recognized as a species used in healing potions. They were dried, and had probably originally been procured for that very purpose. Wrapped around the blooms was a sprig of dark green fern and a silver ribbon. She set the bouquet aside on her nightstand slowly, then unfolded the papers. Five sheets were neat potions notes, written in a spidery, sloping script. The sixth appeared to be a letter, written in the same manner as the notes.
Miss Granger; read the letter,
As you missed Potions class in its entirety today, and as I have little hope that your fellow Gryffindors have taken notes sufficient to enlighten you as to the topics covered, I have taken the liberty of sending you a copy of the information. Kindly study and commit it to memory so that I do not regret the effort.
Hermione smirked slightly. The wording was vintage Snape, but as far as she knew he had never made a copy of notes for an absent student before. Nor, to her knowledge, had he ever sent anyone flowers. Perhaps this was a peace offering of sorts. She read on.
I am not accustomed to apologizing to students, but I fear I must ask you to excuse my comment of earlier today. In addition to being highly unprofessional, it was unnecessarily cruel.
"Yes, it was," agreed Hermione aloud, but she felt a knot that had been inside her chest for most of the afternoon begin to loosen slightly.
I have been under considerable stress lately. I cannot disclose to you the details, nor do I think you would be interested, but suffice to say my nerves got the better of my tongue for a brief moment. I was angry at the disruption caused by Potter and Malfoy's little magical skirmish, and I took it out on the nearest persons available. I am sorry.
The last three words seemed to have been scrawled in more haste than the others, as if they had been forced out.
I am also aware that there is little excuse for my comment, and I do not expect your forgiveness. I am hard on students in class in order to make sure their attentions do not stray. Wandering minds can in fact result in serious injury and/or death in a Potions class. I was present at an accident during my own sixth year that nearly resulted in permanent blindness for a young Slytherin.
"I guess that makes sense," Hermione mused aloud. And, she thought to herself, it also would explain why he was so hard on Neville Longbottom, who had had more than one potion explode in his face. Still, Snape's badgering seemed to do more to disrupt poor Neville's concentration than to enhance it.
I believe after several years of teaching, my habits of speech in the classroom have spread to my behavior outside instruction periods. You would, of course, be well within your rights to approach the Headmaster with a complaint. I am in fact somewhat surprised you have not done so already.
She had thought of it, but after reading these dispassionate words, she set the idea aside for good. She had hesitated initially for fear that if she got Snape in trouble, he might retaliate by giving her and her friends an even harder time in class. But now…well, he had apologized. Ron would have recommended that she milk it for all it was worth, but Hermione was never one to hold grudges, not for long, not even over someone as disagreeable as Severus Snape.
Regardless of your decision, the note went on, I would like to assure you that I shall never again disparage your appearance in any way. After the incident I recalled my own adolescence and the effect that such a remark would have had on me at that time in my life. I will not insult you by attempting to soothe any emotional pain my comment might have caused you. I trust you are mature enough to give such hurt no more attention than it deserves.
"That's…an odd thing to say…" Hermione muttered. She wasn't quite certain she understood what the professor was getting at. Perhaps he just meant that he didn't want to permanently damage her self-esteem. Or maybe, having taught adolescents for several years, he was tired of observing teen angst and self-pity and was warning her not to sink to such depths. In any case, the reference to her maturity seemed to be the next closest thing to a compliment.
The flowers were an afterthought. The lily is from the garden in my estate, which I rarely visit, but at which I had a brief errand this afternoon. I assume you will recognize the other blossoms. I recommend you keep them, as we will be brewing a complex potion using them in a month or less, depending on the efforts put forth by your classmates.
Hermione cracked a grin, thinking that it must have been quite an effort for Snape not to throw in a few disparaging adjectives to describe her classmates.
My owl will wait long enough to determine whether or not you are sending a reply. If she becomes burdensome, you may simply shoo her out the window. Please ensure that your cat does not damage her.
She glanced up Lilith, who was watching her with quiet curiosity. Owls as a rule were not disruptive creatures, and Lilith seemed far from burdensome. Hermione privately wondered where Snape had gotten such a pretty owl, and why she put up with him.
I expect to see you at the next potions class. Make certain you are prepared for it, as there are already far too many students who require extra attention to keep pace with the rest of the class.
Sincerely,
Professor Severus Snape
PS: Your decision as to whether to report the incident to Headmaster Dumbledore is, of course, your own. However, if you mention this note of apology to *anyone*, I assure you I will make certain you fail your final Potions exam.
Professor Snape
"Really," Hermione sniffed, "even when he apologizes he's obnoxious."
Lilith made an indignant sound.
"Still…" Hermione sighed and picked up the little bundle of flowers. "I expect it's difficult for him to apologize like that, particularly to a student. What do you think, Crookshanks? Do I forgive him?"
The large cat was attempting to burrow under the blankets, but he looked up at her query and replied, "mrowww," before going back to his task.
"I think so, too." The young witch leaned back on her bed. The knot in her chest was gone now. She felt better. The apology had done that much, at least. Lilith rustled her wings and hooted impatiently. Hermione started and sat up, "Sorry…you're ready to go? Hang on just a sec…"
Quickly she pulled out a quill and some ink and turned the letter over, scribbling on the back,
Thanks, Professor. It's okay. Here's your letter back so no one else will see it. I will see you in class.
~Hermione
She folded up the note again and tied it gently to Lilith's leg with the black string that had been looped around the package before. The owl immediately hopped to the window and soared away, circling around the castle toward Snape's chambers.
No sooner had Hermione closed the window behind her than Parvati and Lavendar entered. Lavendar immediately noticed the lily on her dormmate's nightstand, "Oooooh, Hermione, who gave you flowers?!"
Hermione blushed, fumbling for an answer that wouldn't cause her to fail her Potions exam. "I don't know. An owl brought them. I guess they're from a secret admirer."
The other girls giggled, "That's sweet," said Parvati, picking up the bundle gently to inspect them. "Any guesses who?"
Hermione thought fast, "Umm…Viktor's been spending a lot of time around me lately…"
That comment was sufficient to distract the other two girls. They immediately began discussing Viktor Krum's positive qualities, the other romantic possibilities among the visiting students, and the upcoming Tournament. Hermione relaxed, accepting the flowers back and tucking them in a drawer, then changing into her nightshirt and curling up to doze, determinedly tuning out the other girls' chatter. She slept well that night.
After she dressed the next morning, Hermione gently untied the silver ribbon from the bouquet, placed the black blooms in an empty vial, and pinned the lily to the front of her robe. The white stood out brightly against the unadorned black of her clothing, like a little star at her breast. She wore it down to breakfast.
If Harry or Ron noticed the bloom, they said nothing, too busy being angry at one another to think much about Hermione. However, Snape, who was the feast hall chaperone for the week, paused by them on his way up to the head table. "Interesting…accessory, Miss Granger," he commented blandly.
She put down her juice glass and looked up at him. There was less of an edge to his tone than usual, and there was a glimmer of something like relief in his eyes. She smiled slightly. "Thank you, Professor."
"What was that all about?" Ron muttered to her as Snape strode away.
Hermione shrugged innocently, reaching to take a muffin from the basket in the center of the table. She was pretty sure she had seen a faint smile flicker across Snape's lips before he had turned away.
Today would be a good day.
Author's Note: That's all there is, unless someone wants to see a prequel of Snape's thoughts as he writes the apology note. Email me or let me know in your review if you do, and I'll write it if I get a few responses.
Hermione really reminds me of what I was like around twelve and thirteen. This doesn't bode well for her future, unfortunately, but it does make her pretty easy to write for.