Author's Note: And here it is! The promised prequel. Thanks to everyone for the encouragement (responses to individual reviews follow the story). Special thanks to Rosa, without whose encouragement this chapter would have taken me much longer to write.
All characters are property of J.K. Rowling, except for Lilith, who is mine, but who I will lend out upon request. Just be forewarned she prefers to snack on canned lobster and will drink only Evian spring water (which, incidentally, is copyright whatever company owns it.)
"I see no difference."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted saying them. The Dark Mark on his arm was stinging, Karkaroff would not leave him alone, Moody was breathing down his neck, even Dumbledore kept giving him ambiguous sidelong glances when they passed in the halls. Snape was seething. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a petty exchange of schoolyard insults, but seeing the results of the spell on Goyle had forced him to deal with it. Furnunculus was an ugly hex. He sent the Slytherin off to the hospital wing quickly lest his disgust show on his face. When the Weasley boy had forced Hermione Granger's condition to his attention, he had wanted to lash out at something, anything, wanted to pick a fight, and the four words had escaped from his throat before he could stop himself.
He felt a pang of dismay as the girl's eyes flooded. He had half-hoped she would give him an excuse to take points off Gryffindor, say something nasty, give him the finger. Maybe even kick him in the shin. He wouldn't put it past her, not after the disarming spell she had thrown at him last year in the Shrieking Shack. Instead, she whimpered. The way her freakishly elongated teeth muffled the sound made it even more pathetic. And then she ran.
Gods, he hated it when girls cried. It was one thing he never could learn to deal with, it always made him feel foolish, as if something was expected of him and he didn't know what it was. He blinked after her, showing no emotion himself, but feeling as though he ought to follow her and…do something. Then a volley of shouting from Weasley and Potter broke him out of his reverie. Ahh, the reaction he had been hoping for. He couldn't quite determine their exact wording, but then he didn't need to. On blessedly familiar ground once more, he took fifty points from their house, then sentenced them to detention, tacking on a threat for good measure. Then he swept into the classroom, barely noticing the delighted giggles and admiring looks the Slytherins were giving him.
Trying to forget the Granger girl's expression, Snape gave the class their usual dose of mixed information and verbal abuse, most of the latter directed at the Gryffindors, then his gaze fell on Potter, and his mood lightened a bit. The boy was sitting alone, and would have looked forlorn if not for the murderous glare he was directing at Snape. Well, here was a good distraction. And they were testing antidotes today, too. Potter would make a perfect guinea pig.
Unfortunately, his potential poison victim was called out of class, and falling back on Neville Longbottom did not make him feel any better. As the students feverishly worked on their potions, Snape's mind wandered back to Hermione. Why did adolescent girls have to be so damnably sensitive? Honestly, big front teeth weren't all that bad as flaws went. He felt a bit indignant, annoyed at her for getting so upset. It occurred to him that he could take more points off Gryffindor for her unsanctioned exit, but he suspected McGonagall or Dumbledore himself might call him on that, since she really had obviously needed to go to the hospital wing.
He began to wonder if she would return to class that day. Perhaps the spell had been more serious than it looked. A simple densaugeo hex was little more than an inconvenience, but Snape knew there were nasty variations on it. He had seen one particularly brutal one, performed by one of the LeStranges, that caused a hapless Muggle's teeth to curl upward into the roof of his mouth, piercing his soft palate and entering his brain in a matter of moments, killing him gruesomely. He pinched the bridge of his nose unhappily. If Miss Granger had been seriously injured or disfigured, he would feel even guiltier than he already did.
He stiffened. Guilty? Had he just admitted to feeling…guilty? That was a disturbing development.
After class, Snape swung by the hospital wing on the way to his own chambers. Hermione was not there. Madam Pomfrey gave him a rather harsh look, and he wondered if his comment had been repeated.
"Miss Granger did not return to Potions," he told the healer stiffly, "I trust she is in satisfactory condition to make up the work before the next class?"
"You'd do better to ask her yourself," Madam Pomfrey told him coldly.
"Is she here invisible somewhere, or are you suggesting I invade the Gryffindor girls' dormitory?"
The nurse scowled for a moment, then told him, "She's physically fine, just a bit down. No doubt she'll come to you for whatever work she's missed."
"I see. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, for your cooperation." The retort, though dripping with sarcasm, lacked the sting that marked Snape's usual delivery.
"Gregory Goyle is fine as well," she added as he swiveled to leave. He paused, privately berating himself for forgetting to ask about his other student, and thereby betraying his particular concern for Granger.
"Ah. Excellent." He fumbled for an appropriate barb, "I had little doubt of that, however, as his departure was marked by far less whimpering." He swept out, leaving the healer gritting her teeth behind him.
Snape stifled a small smile, feeling as though he had redeemed himself as far as his reputation for waspishness was concerned. The pleasure of it faded quickly, however, as he realized he still felt oddly obligated to Hermione Granger.
In his own chambers, he found an elf delivering his laundered robes and ordered it to bring him dinner. It obeyed eagerly. The house elves liked him for some odd reason. He knew none of their names and cared little what they did or what happened to them, but he spoke to the elves and most of his students in the same cold, sardonic way, so perhaps the elves felt he looked on them as equals. He didn't really care. It pleased him to be an iconoclast.
Snape wandered into the large, dark room he reserved for his owl, Lilith, and lit a ball of soft blue magelight. Dark eyes flickered at him from a corner, and a soft hoot greeted him, followed by a rustle of wings and the familiar light touch on his shoulder that meant the bird was now resting there. Owls, with their hollow bones, were stunningly light creatures. Lilith looked bigger than a decent-sized cat, but weighed less than a book. Snape stroked her feathers gently and sighed. "Did you sleep well today, pretty thing?" Anyone listening would have thought Snape had gone mad, so drastic was the change in his voice.
Lilith shifted slightly on his shoulder, and a pinfeather brushed his cheek.
"I have had better days, as well. Will you dine with me?" When he had bought Lilith, a few years ago now, he had spoken to her merely for amusement's sake. Now, however, he found it…pleasant…to have some living thing to come home to. He had never owned any sort of pet as a child, and only a small rat-snake as a familiar in school. Some Slytherins enjoyed snakes very much, but Snape had never found it a particularly charismatic companion. It rarely even moved in the damp coolness of the Slytherin dormitories. Lilith, on the other hand, was better company than any human he'd ever known. Sometimes he felt foolish for conversing with her, but he felt sure no one would ever learn of this, his one fatuous habit. He carried her into the main room of his chamber on his shoulder and sat in a large armchair by the fire. Lilith pushed off his shoulder and fluttered to settle on the back of the chair across from him.
Snape stared into the warm red embers in the fireplace for a moment, reaching out to them with his mind and coaxing them into full blaze. He had never had as much talent with the wand as some of his peers, though he was far from incompetent, but his potions skills were matched by an unusual knack for elemental telekinesis. Water he could shape with effort, and sometimes earth and softer rocks. Control of air eluded him. But flame was something he could manipulate easily, sinking into the rhythms of its energy. It was a form of meditation. The grip of his mind sapped the fire of all its red and gold hues, leaving it green and blue and white. Then his subconscious began to form the tongues of flame into images. On the chair next to him, Lilith shifted, turning her head to watch the strange movements.
Lilies came to mind first of all. Tiny white lilies like those he placed on his mothers' grave on the last Tuesday of each month. She had died on a Tuesday, in the late afternoon as the sun was slanting golden through the trees. He had been eleven years old. A month after her death was his first day at Hogwarts. He had been young and shaky and uncertain, and had covered it up with a cold arrogance that won him a place of respect among his Slytherin fellows. He tried to convince himself she would have been pleased, but he knew she had hoped he would be in Ravenclaw, as she and his father had been.
It had taken him almost a decade to forgive her for dying.
"Lilith," he said after a moment, reaching for his wand, "I am going to send you to Snape Manor."
The owl hooted in return, fluffing her feathers importantly. She was used to apparating. He kept small items of great importance at his manor house in the Welsh countryside. Occasionally he would send her to fetch something for him. She seemed to enjoy the magical rush.
He looked away from the fire to smile at her slightly, nodding. "Fetch me a lily from the garden. You know the kind I mean." He gestured to the flames, where a floral image still danced.
She glanced at the flames, then back at him, spreading her wings in preparation. He gestured at her with his wand, murmuring the requisite cantrip, and she vanished. He pocketed his wand once more, settling into his chair. Lilith knew where the portkey on the manor grounds was, and would return by way of it in less than fifteen minutes. With the flower.
He sighed, already regretting what he intended to do with said flower. Perhaps if he sent it anonymously, Granger would not realize who it came from, and he could retain his reputation for being a cold, unapologetic bastard. But not signing his name to it seemed too much like cowardice. Severus was not a Gryffindor; courage was not among his more obvious qualities, but he felt it was beneath him to fear the reaction of a prepubescent girl.
"Accio," he sighed reluctantly, extending his hand for the parchment and quill that flew toward him as he spoke. Best to just write out a quick note and get it over with. But how does one apologize for lack of professionalism, to a student no less, and still retain one's dignity? 'Miss Granger: Sorry I shattered your frail teenage ego in front of a couple dozen of your peers. Henceforward I will attempt to maintain a level of maturity appropriate to my position as your professor.' He flung the quill and parchment on the coffee table in front of him irritably. The blue-green flames glittered.
The house elf came and left his dinner quietly on the table by the door. It knew better than to bother him when he appeared to be thinking. He waited until it had gone, then stood and went to retrieve the tray. Halfway there, however, a better idea occurred to him and he swerved toward his desk, where his books of lesson plans lay. All the books were heavy, ornate, and bound in tooled dragonhide. He used a charm to erase them at the end of every school year, then began writing his lesson plans in them again immediately. There was one book for each year; seven in all. He picked up the fourth year book and flipped to the section for the Gryffindor/Slytherin class, then turned pages until he found the notes for the day's lesson. Granger would want these. She had missed the lesson, and he knew none of the other Gryffindors took notes of appropriate detail. They were far too busy hating him to pay much attention to the information he presented. He smirked slightly at this thought and took a small box out of his desk drawer, carrying it and the planbook to his previous seat by the fire. He arranged the book and the parchment, then opened the box. Inside was a quill specifically enchanted to make copies of whatever papers were presented it, a Christmas gift from Dumbledore from several years ago. It worked quickly and precisely, but he rarely had occasion to make copies of things, so it was in near-pristine condition. Snape tapped it with his wand to activate it, directing it to the appropriate pages, then leaned back to watch as it scraped rapidly over the paper, accurately mimicking his own handwriting. He would send the copies of the notes to Miss Granger. Perhaps if he started out his own letter with an admonition to study them carefully, he could sort of…sneak in an apology in the middle of it…
A glimmer of silver-green mana announced Lilith's return to the chambers. She settled on the back of his chair with a soft rustle of feathers. A blossom fell into his lap, along with a couple sprigs of fern. He chuckled. "Trust you to think of aesthetics at a time like this," he told the owl.
She hooted indignantly and prodded his scalp with a talon.
"Ow! Bloody raptors…" he grumbled, not entirely serious. He picked up the lily and fern and gathered them gently, then cast about for something to tie them with, eventually resorting to digging through the drawers of his mahogany rolltop desk. He found a few sheets of black tissue, but no string. Lilith fluttered off the chair back and into her room, returning momentarily with a bundle of dried blossoms tied with waxed packaging string. She dropped them almost onto his head before resuming her place by the fire.
"Oof…oh…yes, that'll do…" he untied the string, then studied the blossoms. They were a deep purple color when fresh, but these had been long dried and were black as Lilith's eyes from petal to root. They were the blooms of a subtle breed of hellebore, adapted by himself and Professor Sprout a little less than a decade ago and named Flormortis for their funereal color and powerful poisonous properties. Poisonous, yet conversely useful in healing potions, particularly restorative and resuscitative draughts. Third years were introduced to the plant as an essential ingredient (in small amounts) in potions for regulating the pulse. The blooms were pretty, in a way, he reflected, and snapped off a few small sprigs for use in the bouquet. He cut a length of string and wrapped it around the flowers, tying it in a small knot. Lilith clicked her beak disapprovingly.
He sighed, "Oh, very well…here…" He tapped the string with his wand, transfiguring it into a fine silver ribbon. "Does that meet with your approval?"
She settled slightly, looking smug.
He snorted and headed back to his chair, stopping to grab a slice of buttered bread from his dinner tray on the way. He chewed very slowly for several minutes, working up his resolve once more, then swallowed, picked up pen and parchment, and began to write.
Miss Granger;
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.
There, now. That was a fine beginning. It skirted the issue very effectively. He sighed and stared into the fire for a moment, searching for further inspiration. To his chagrin, the flames resolved themselves into Hermione's face, hands cupped over hexed teeth, sparks of tears glittering on her cheeks. He cursed under his breath and scribbled,
I'm sorry, damn it! Stop looking at me like that!
He stared at what he'd written, then groped for his wand. Perhaps a different approach was in order. He cast an erasing charm, then twirled his pen in his fingers idly. Lilith preened his hair with her beak.
Why was this bothering him so much? He didn't have to apologize. Usually he took the attitude that the little monsters deserved whatever resulted from magical mini-duels in the corridors, and chastised them accordingly. He could remember at least a dozen disfiguring hexes cast on him during his own years at Hogwarts, most of them emanating from the wands of Sirius Black and James Potter, although some of the worst ones were actually sneak attacks from his fellow Slytherins. His skin had been turned alternately green and hairy, his robes made transparent, his feet enlarged to such a degree he could scarcely lift them to walk, he had been levitated upside down, tormented with itching and tickling curses…He dropped his pen, struck by an epiphany.
Well, of course. That explained it all.
He saw something of himself in Hermione Granger.
The house brain…something of an outcast, but with one or two confidants who, if they did not entirely understand her, at least liked her…bookish…driven…with a defensive shell of logic built around her, but underneath that…He clutched his arm. Gods help her if what was underneath that shell was anything like what had been under his own.
After a moment and a few nuzzles from Lilith, he picked up the pen again.
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.
The poor girl probably got enough teasing from her peers. He had. As he recalled, adolescence was difficult enough without the adults around you adding to your insecurity.
He reread the short paragraph several times and found it lacking in sincerity. He was apologizing to a young girl, after all, eloquence was not going to impress her. A simple mumbled 'sorry' would mean more. He scowled in frustration.
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.
Persons? Plural? That was somewhat less than accurate, he reflected. After all, he hadn't told Weasley he could impale someone on his nose, or called Potter 'Scarface'. Although he might have, if the girl's reaction hadn't unbalanced him so. Rejecting the idea of editing what he had already written, he took a deep breath and scrawled the three essential words before he could stop himself.
I am sorry.
There. That wasn't so hard, was it? He reflected a moment, then answered himself with an emphatic 'YES'. Lilith made a soothing clucking sound, and he patted her absently and murmured, "Do help yourself to the dinner tray."
She considered, then fluttered over and took a small piece of chicken.
I am also aware that there is little excuse for my comment, and I do not expect your forgiveness.
That was quite true. To apologize to Granger was to admit weakness. A Slytherin would move right in for the kill. Because she was not a Slytherin, he had a small spark of hope that she would not hold this over his head, might not even insist on his dismissal. Still, forgiveness was a bit too much to expect.
A bizarre urge to explain himself came over him.
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.
He remembered that incident all too vividly. Narcissa Shackleton, now Narcissa Malfoy, had accidentally tipped an entire vial of sea urchin spines into a recipe that called for only six. The explosion was spectacular. Scalding liquid had rained down upon the entire class. And elegant, fragile Narcissa had fallen on the classroom floor, clutching her face and screaming.
It had taken five months before her eyes were properly restored.
I believe after several years of teaching, my habits of speech in the classroom have spread to my behavior outside instruction periods.
Which was a pathetic excuse, but so be it.
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.
"Although I may be speaking too soon," he conceded aloud. In fact, Granger's actions might prove to be a moot point if she had told Madam Pomfrey what he had said to her. The plump, motherly medi-witch had never liked him much, and while she was too gentle and honest to try and get him dismissed behind his back, she might very well file a report to Dumbledore.
He sighed despairingly. It was times like these he wished he had studied Space-Time Reality in school rather than potions. If he had, perhaps he could have traveled into the past and kept his own mouth shut.
Regardless of your decision 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.
It would have devastated him, a comment like that from an authority figure. He would have hidden in his room for a week. He would have wanted to keep hiding for a month. He hoped she did not attach enough credence to his opinions of her to be so badly hurt…
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.
No more attention than I deserve, he thought to himself a little glumly. Funny, he would have thought that none of the Gryffindors cared about what he said to them enough to be hurt by him. Angry, yes, or maybe scared witless like Longbottom, but not hurt, certainly not to tears. But he had seen her face before she ran off.
It would be her, too; the only one of the little red-and-gold brats to pay him attention in the classroom or out of it. Pity she paid just as much attention to him when he was being a bastard as when he was teaching.
He eyed the lily on the table, trying to think of a reasonable explanation as to why a middle-aged teacher was sending flowers to a fourteen-year-old female student. Time to lie.
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.
Lilith hooted. He suspected she would have snickered if she could have. He glared at her.
I assume you will recognize the other blossoms.
She'd better recognize them. They were the results of years of selective breeding, and he was proud of them.
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.
He wanted to write 'dunderheaded classmates'. He really did. The wizard paused writing for a moment, considering. He felt a bit better. There had been a knot in his chest for most of the evening, something he had not really noticed until now when it had begun to loosen. Lilith hopped to the arm of his chair, and he patted her indulgently before continuing the letter.
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.
"You will watch out for that beast when you deliver this," Snape warned his owl absently, "The thing looks more than half Kneazle. Perch high up."
She rustled indignantly. There were at least three dozen cats in the castle, and thus far she had proved herself a match for any of them. He cracked a very faint smile, preparing to wrap up the note with his usual snarky flourish.
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
He reread the letter a few times thoughtfully, then made one final addition to forestall any potential for blackmail:
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
Not that he expected blackmail of Hermione Granger; still, it never hurt to prepare for the possibility. His defenses had been activated for so long he was not certain how to disarm them.
The wizard sealed up the note and transfigured the black tissue to silver, then made a small package of the letter, the class notes, and the flowers and fastened them to Lilith's leg. After dispatching his feathery messenger, he picked up the food tray by the door and settled in to wait for any potential reply. His dinner was stone cold, but he had little appetite anyway. He was relieved to have the apology written and done with, but an apology was no guarantee he'd be forgiven. He felt much more vulnerable than he cared to feel. His owl seemed to take a very long time in returning.
The four-sentence reply, when it came, was a bit disappointing:
Thanks, Professor. It's okay. Here's your letter back so no one else will see it. I will see you in class.
~Hermione
'Thanks, Professor'? For what, the notes? The flowers? The apology?
'It's okay', she said. Was he forgiven? Or did she not care in the first place? Perhaps he had misinterpreted her expression earlier.
It was thoughtful of her to return the letter, though. He reread the short note several times, searching for nuance, until he began to feel ridiculously like a teenage boy poring over a love-letter. He snorted, disgusted with himself, then tossed the note into the fire.
He did not sleep well that night.
Severus washed and dressed slowly the next morning and made his way down to breakfast even more slowly, reluctant to face the day. If he were going to be dismissed, Albus would be at the high table this morning, looking stern, and would ask him to come up to his office. Snape peered into the dining hall with dread.
But Dumbledore was not there.
Hermione was, however, looking much the same as she always did, hair curling wildly around her head, robes tidy and wrinkle-free, nails and hands clean and smooth as a baby's. She was sipping a cup of juice as he walked slowly up the aisle between tables, studying her surreptitiously. Then she flicked her hair over her shoulder and he paused, marveling at how he suddenly felt lighter. A tiny white flower was pinned to her robe, just over her heart, like a corsage. It was the same way his mother had always worn the blooms.
She looked up, sensing his presence, and her right eyebrow twitched in a silent question. Stumbling for something intelligent to say, he murmured, "Interesting…accessory, Miss Granger."
She blinked, then set her cup down slowly, her eyes twinkling. Her lips quirked. It was the slightest of smiles, but it was sincere and unstrained. "Thank you, Professor," she said.
He nodded politely and went on his way, struggling not to smile in response to her, without much success. That had been forgiveness if he'd ever seen it.
It might not turn out to be such a bad day after all.
Thanks again to all who reviewed. Chapter one of this was such a rush job--I think I wrote it all in one day and only did minimal editing--I was surprised to get such a positive response. I think this will be the last chapter of this particular story. If I do get an idea for a continuation, somewhere along the line, I'll post it as a different fic.
TateyBinks: I like Snape. I didn't think I did, actually, but he's fun to write for. Liberating, even, because you don't have to make him act like a nice person all the time. ;-) And yet, I think he's one of Rowling's more 3-dimensional characters, particularly among the Hogwarts faculty.
GSYH: Thank you. ^_^
Mrs. Severus Snape: Ask and ye shall receive. Thank you for the compliment!
snapefan51: Of course he's not all bad! After all, he did save Harry's life in the first book. He's just…grouchy. ;-) I would be too, I think. I think Snape feels as though he is not entirely in control of his own destiny, being at least somewhat dependant upon Dumbledore for safety and livelihood. So he's bitter, and lashes out accordingly. I don't think he realizes the amount of power he has over his own students.
Torny: I guess the other reviews before yours just hadn't popped up yet. Actually, I'm amazed that I get reviews as quickly as I do sometimes. When I posted Little Gidding I got the first five reviews in an hour or less. And with this one, I got 14 overnight. What really blows me away, though, is when I look at stories that have 1000+ reviews. Ten, for me, is quite significant.
RavenDemos: Thanks! Hope you like part 2 just as much.
Dahlia: Hmm…well, I did try to keep him in character with the apology. But I'm not entirely sure I'd use the word 'gracious' to describe Snape. At least, I've read fanfics where he was marvelously gentlemanly, but there's not much evidence for it in the books. My take on Snape, and please don't anyone hurt me, is that he's just not entirely mature. He's brilliant, of course, but slightly unbalanced. I think he sees his students as adversaries, particularly those not of his own house, and feels like he has to be nasty to maintain control of the classroom. And control over his own domain is very important. I think that his favoritism, while it may be partially calculated due to his spy role, shows a certain lack of professionalism. I think he takes backtalking and misbehavior in his presence personally, though he maintains a cold façade. And I think he's just so damn angry he doesn't know where to find a safe outlet for his emotions, and I think he realizes this is dangerous. My main evidence for these opinions is in book 3, not during the scene in the Shrieking Shack (where he is understandably angry and distraught, confronting two men who he has every reason to fear), but afterwards, in the hospital wing, particularly after he's convinced Harry's done something to help Sirius escape. The man completely loses his cool. The imagery Rowling uses is not attractive. He obviously sees Harry as an adversary, not just a misguided child. There's no evidence that Harry did anything to help Sirius (although the reader, of course, knows that Snape's suspicions are absolutely correct), but Snape is convinced that somehow, beyond logic, this boy--this thirteen year old child--released a convicted criminal who wants to kill him *just to spite Snape*. Snape is a smart man. He knows damn well this isn't rational thought. He doesn't care. Which, to me, shows he's capable of acting completely on emotion, something that seems contradictory to his cool arrogance in the classroom.
I think Snape desperately wants to be the classic gentleman, collected, intelligent, eloquent, even gracious. But he keeps his emotions in check until they burst loose, and then he comes across as completely raving.
A lot of Snape fics depict him as this ice king, controlled and repressed, but I don't see him that way. If I did, I wouldn't like him that much. I like the enraged teenager hiding behind the arrogant teacher. But I think what I like best is that once he decides what the right thing for him to do is (and I think he uses criteria other than what the average mortal would think of as morals), he's going to do it, by God, whatever the personal cost. Saving Harry in book one falls into this category, as does his display of the Dark Mark to Fudge in book 4, and whatever it is Dumbledore asks him to do at the end, be it spying on Voldemort or something else. Actually, now that I think about it, this may be a Slytherin trait; if gaining the desired results are what is most important to a Slytherin, as is implied by no less an authority than the Sorting Hat, then not only does it not matter if said Slytherin hurts someone else to get them, it doesn't matter if the Slytherin, himself, gets hurt. That's a kind of selflessness, I think. Spooky, but impressive nonetheless.
And now that I've yet again posted another mini-essay in my review responses…heh…
Sorry for the babbling. ^_^;; Rebuttals are welcome, just be gentle.
Anakah: Cute fluffiness…heeheeeheee…::pictures Snape and Hermione with little white bunnies:: Um…I guess that's not quite what you meant. I dunno, I'll think about it. I'm classifying this story as complete for now, but you never know. I may get more ideas.
ChelleyBean: I do try to avoid sap. I'm a little afraid the mention of his mother in this chapter was a bit of a cop-out (or Freudian, even) but I tried not to lay it on too thick.
Altagracia: Squishy…heee…I wrote a squishy story. Thanks! ;-D
kimbyann: Thank you! I just hope I haven't tested anyone's patience too severely with the length of time it took to finish said prequel.
Maggie: Thanks!
kjkh: While I don't have a problem with HG/SS fics, I don't think I want this to become one. I'm working with a more filial/platonic dynamic. Besides which, I write very little romance, and when I do, I prefer pairings that haven't been done as much. I swear one of these days I'm going to write a Madam Hooch/Madam Pomfrey fic.
Meanwhile, for anyone who likes Hermione/Snape romance fics, I highly recommend 'The Fire and the Rose', 'Falling Further In' (kaz), and 'About a Potions Master'.
weirdo: Yeah, when I was that age I was quite the little brain. I got pretty messed up in high school, unfortunately, due to clinical depression, and my academic career is currently stalled out. I hope Hermione fares better. Glad you liked!
Kate Wisdom: *blush* Thank you! I hope my version of Severus meets with your approval.
Ariana Deralte: I'm flattered! I love it when people put me on favorites. :-D
AngelOnFire: I'm never entirely satisfied in fanfic that I'm keeping the characters…well…in character. I felt comfortable with Hermione, but Snape is more difficult. I think the trick is if you want them to do something unusual, you have to build up to it rather than starting the story there, and kind of…sneak it in. ;-) And again, if the plot of the story is interesting enough, your audience is more likely to suspend disbelief. This story, unfortunately, hasn't got much of a plot. But that's okay, if you like the way I've portrayed the characters. ;-D
shadowycat: Thank you for coming back to review! It's interesting to me that this chapter was so much longer than the first. I wonder if I should edit it, but I like the way it flows, and there's more going on, I think.
Quoth the Raven: I wonder, actually, if Snape might like Hermione just a little bit (I don't even mean in a romantic sort of way, just as a person), and doesn't want to. I can picture him being a bit of a know-it-all in his student days, especially in potions. On the other hand, if he's realized it was her who set his robes on fire when she was eleven…not to mention hexing him in the Shrieking Shack…
But I agree, the insult to her appearance was an unusually low blow for him, and I'm inclined to chalk it up to stress.
Thank you for liking Lilith! I've had a fascination with barred owls ever since I saw one up close at a petting zoo in my neighborhood. Their eyes are incredible, jet black against pale, streaked feathers. Actually, if you've ever read the Sandman comics, the owl's eyes kind of reminded me of Morpheus'.
Ozma: I agree about it being one of his worst moments. My roommate thinks the bit with Sirius in the Shrieking Shack is creepier, but I think it's more understandable, considering he seems to genuinely think Sirius was trying to kill him in school. Being that nasty to a fourteen-year-old girl is more jarring to me personally, especially since I remember how sensitive I was about my appearance at fourteen (still am, actually).
Heehee…my litmus test for whether Snape's dialogue is correct is whether I can picture Rickman saying it. Which is terrible for someone who's usually a literary purist, but he's so perfect in the role, though I think he makes a rather more handsome Snape than Rowling depicted. By the way, I adore your work. I haven't left any reviews because I was in such a hurry to read what happened next in the stories, but I do hope to remedy that soon. I'm also making my roommate read them. She's on 'Squib Puppet'. ^_^
Fairy: Hermione and Snape do have their similarities, though, and I really think that if they were closer in age they'd make a sweet couple. However, the laws of wizarding society seem to be even harsher than Muggle society, and while a student-teacher romance makes a nice story, in real life it would get the teacher very fired and even more arrested. So in a sense, I agree with you, even though I like the pairing and the abovementioned SS/HG stories.
The real reason I tend to avoid romance is because so many other people do it, and do it better than I could. I read more genres than I write, I guess. *shrug*
-_-: Snape being gushy would be incredibly disturbing. ;-D I hope this chapter meet with your approval as well.
Aureola Digby: And here's the prequel. Hope you enjoyed it. ^_^