AN: Hello. Don't know if I bothered with the It's-Not-Mine-It's-JKR's disclaimer before, but I am now. So there it is. Also, If I forgot to mention it, this is a post-Voldemort SSxHG fic. All shall be explained (hopefully) within the story. Enjoy!
Unlikely is an UnderstatementChapter 2
Hermione awoke slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning, stretching luxuriously. She snuggled down into the covers, still in a blissful sleep-muddled state. Until she noticed her bed was, in actuality, a couch.
At this she managed to force herself upright, all remains of sleep dashed from her mind. Bright morning sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the homey little room. Everything was a little shabby, but warm, surrounded by the comfortable clutter that she recognized as pervading the room of any single male. She herself was lying tangled in sheets and blankets on a fairly large couch in the middle of the room. Upon further inspection she found her clothes were still on, and her shoes lay in a pile beside the couch. Peering over the back, she could see a door, open, which looked to lead into a proper bedroom, and a tall redhead who was currently walking through it.
"Morning, Hermione," Bill called, noting the bewildered face peering over his sofa. Her hair had taken on a life of it's own over the night, curls standing up in spikes all over her head. She looked as if she'd been mildly electrocuted; very childlike.
"Morning, Bill," she responded, eyes following him carefully as he came round to sit in the stuffed chair nearby. "Mind telling me why I'm waking up on your couch?" she asked innocently, eying the steaming mug of something he held.
"Willow tea, Mum's special. Would you like a cup?" he asked, following her gaze. Hermione nodded gravely. Usually coffee was her preferred wake up cup, but Molly Weasley's mix smelled phenomenal. Bill disappeared into his bedroom again, though why he'd keep a kettle brewing in there Hermione couldn't figure out for the life of her. A few minutes later he returned with a second mug in hand, cream and sugar following in the air behind. The brew was spicy and alive, nearly as good as caffeine. Nearly.
"Well, awful awkward to wake up in here I suppose. You remember coming here last night?" began Bill. Hermione shook her head, took another sip of tea. "Well, we – me, you and Sinistra – walked back up to the castle, rather late last night, after having been at the Jolly Goblin for drinks – "
"Yes, I remember all this. We parted at the doors, Sinistra off to her rooms at the Astronomy tower. You offered to help me find my rooms," Hermione said impatiently. Bill nodded and smiled at her, took another sip of tea.
"Right, right. Well, we walked around aimlessly for a bit, kind of half looking for your rooms. You'd already started to fade, no doubt the lateness of the hour and the long day catching up with you. I hit on the idea of going to ask the Headmaster where he'd set you up. Unfortunately, when we got to his door, it was apparent that he was already asleep, and I was in certainly not going to risk his wrath by waking him up."
"Well developed sense of self-preservation there, I see."
"Comes with being a former curse-breaker. Learn to spot obvious hazards. Anyway, you'd practically fallen asleep on your feet by the time we'd reached Snape's offices. So I picked you up, levitated the luggage, and set you up on the couch. Couldn't have you sleeping on the cold stone floors. Mum would kill me," Bill finished cheerily, throwing her another bright smile.
"Well, sounds about right. Mind if I wash up a bit?"
"Sure thing. Bathroom is right through the back, on the left. Your bags are over there. Breakfast in the Great Hall ends in about an hour, if you feel up to it."
"Bill, what time is it?"
"Around - " and he stared at his watch for a moment, brow furrowed. Hermione peered over interestedly, always fascinated by the myriad hands of any wizard clock. "Looks to be about ten o'clock," he finished.
"Ten!" she squeaked, and leapt form the couch.
"Not a late riser, I take it?"
"Not at all!" Hermione called as she grabbed her bags and dashed towards the bathroom.
Ten minutes later found her dressed in clean clothes, hair tamed – somewhat – and walking alongside Bill towards the Great Hall. Her stomach was growling intermittently, reminding her that she'd eaten next to nothing yesterday. The smell of food wafted down from the open doors, a heady scent of cinnamon and bacon and -
"Mm, steak and eggs. Brunch is the greatest thing ever invented," commented Bill appreciatively, his eyes happily half closed as he sniffed the air. Hermione suppressed her giggles as the expression on his face struck her suddenly as similar to the ones Crookshanks would make.
The Great Hall was largely as she remembered. The tables were still in the middle, empty and ghostlike now. She was tempted to go to her old table, sit in her old seat on the bench; there would be no Harry and Ron across from her though. Tapestries still hung the walls, and above the ceiling was bright blue with streaks of cotton clouds, as enchanted as it had ever been. Up on the dais was the head table, currently serving Sunday brunch for a few of the staff. A queasy twist churned her stomach up as she realized that that was where she would take meals for the next ten months. Just another reminder of her new status.
She took an empty seat next to Bill, who was already heaping eggs and meat on his plate with one hand, while another poured orange juice. It was a talent she'd seen Harry, Ron, and sundry college boyfriends perform. Hermione was even more surprised to find a plate of bacon and cinnamon buns shoved at her from the redhead's general direction.
The smell of cinnamon was incredibly tantalizing, and Hermione dug in with a relish. Food never tasted as good as it did here. She didn't notice as teachers filed in and out around her, just dealt out the customary nod when any figure approached and got back to her food.
Coffee. The smell of a freshly brewed pot was now winding its way around the table. Hermione's head shot up. It was here, somewhere, when it hadn't been just moments ago. Smelled good. Dark roast, strongly brewed, maybe Colombian? She scanned slowly, looking for the source. Wait, wait, down the table, past Flitwick. There!
Hermione was out of her seat and off like a shot. All higher brain functions had been shut down by the caffeine drive. Enter disastrous side effects.
Her hand was on the handle of the cup before she realized what was happening. Actually, her hand was on top of another hand, which was on the handle. A long fingered, thin, pale hand. Said hand belonged to the angry, glittering eyes which were glaring death at her right now. These eyes also appeared to own a dark, smooth voice which was currently trying to break through the caffeine-need haze in her brain.
"Miss Granger….Miss Granger!"
"Oh. Um." She was stalled. Her brain had finally caught up with her instincts and was slapping them silly.
"Not very articulate this morning, are we Miss Granger?" he asked lowly.
"I lacked my morning coffee, sir," she replied stiffly. Snape. She had tried to take Snape's coffee. Her hand still lay on top of his. Hermione pulled her hand back in a flash, pulling it safely behind her back. His still lay wrapped around the mug handle, still as a corpse's.
"Well, then. When you have satisfied your chemical dependency and regained your nominal functionality, I expect to see you in my office," he said smoothly and stood and stalked out in a swirl of black robes. The cup of coffee left with him.
"Here you go Hermione, dear," said Professor Sprout cheerily, and shoved a large mug of coffee into her hands. "Don't mind him. He's always sour in the mornings. Sit and chat a moment before you go and face the devil."
She pulled out a seat for Hermione, between her and Minerva, which the girl gratefully fell into. Hermione sipped her coffee in silence as the two witches chatted around her.
"Well, honestly Minerva, I don't think I'm going to have the greenhouses ready come September. It may have to be field work for the first semester."
"Honestly, Bryony, if you'd come back from Brazil just a little earlier you wouldn't have such trouble taming the place. The plants do get into a sulk when you leave."
"Are you ready for classes, Hermione?" asked Professor Sprout sweetly.
"Nearly, I did some prep work after I got the letter, but I've only had a week so I haven't quite made it to the spring semester yet Professor Sprout," she responded eagerly.
"Call me Bryony, dear. I'm not your professor any more."
"Hermione, you might want to get ready for your appointment. Severus should have calmed down and ingested some civility along with his coffee by now. He'll be waiting for you, and the longer he waits the more snappish he becomes," said McGonagall. Hermione nodded and drained the last of her coffee before heading at a brisk walk for the door. Not a run. She refused to hurry to accommodate Snape, even against her punctual nature.
She stopped at the gargoyle that stood guard before what were traditionally the Headmaster's offices and straightened herself up.
"You the new girl?"
Hermione twirled around quickly, wand in hand, in search of the voice. The gargoyle winked at her. She had thought it was the same guardian as in her school days, but now wasn't too sure.
"He's a nasty one, he is. What's a slip of a filly like you need to see him for?" it asked cheerily. Hermione smiled back.
"I've got a meeting with him, and being late is not an agreeable option. He didn't give me today's password though," she said uncertainly. Definitely not the same gargoyle; the former hadn't been quite so talkative. Perhaps this wasn't the right room after all.
"Here love, I'll let you though. Password's Mortis, in case you need to be back. He's not as nice as the old man was, but he's fair. You won't get in trouble if you don't deserve it," he said pleasantly as he rolled back and revealed the stairs. Hermione thanked him and ascended.
The office was much as she remembered, covered in books and odd instruments, dominated by the large desk in the center. Snape was nowhere to be seen, so she busied herself with a shelf of books, reading the faded titles, but not feeling daring enough to touch them.
"Find something interesting, Miss Granger?" Snape hissed softly. She flew around, startled by his sudden, silent appearance. He glared and then marched to the desk, gesturing curtly towards a chair and waiting for to take it before sitting himself. For several moments they sat in uncomfortable silence.
"I think your gargoyle's going senile," Hermione ventured eventually. A sour, harassed look answered her.
"He's a temporary replacement," Snape snapped in a tone that clearly ended the discussion. Again with the uncomfortable silence.
"Well, Miss Granger, I suppose I should welcome you as a teacher to Hogwarts," he said softly. Little yellow mental lights began to go off in Hermione's head: lecture time. "You are satisfactorily qualified for the position of Potions professor. Highly recommended by your professors, experience in the form of an acceptable thesis project, university recognition of your knowledge – overall the expected tenacity with which you cling to your increasingly thin grip on the status of scholar. An adequate resume. However, your youth and inexperience in the fields of teaching will prove a serious obstacle that no amount of time in the library will be able to solve for you, Miss Granger," he said, still in that dangerous, soft voice, threaded ever so slightly with malice. She forcibly restrained herself from leaping over the desk and throttling him then and there.
"Now, Miss Granger, if you have collected yourself and regained your composure, I'd like to begin the compulsory examination." She was still goggling at his perceptiveness; she'd thought she'd controlled her anger there masterfully. The soft thunk of a glass vial hitting the desk redirected her attention again to Snape. A clear liquid swirled viscously around the bottle as he twirled it between his fingers. Veritaserum.
"Compulsory examination, sir?"
"Yes, Miss Granger. A short test all new teachers must undergo after their arrival at the castle and before they're permitted to teach. Open." She complied automatically, a few slick drops of fluid sliding on her tongue and down her throat. The barest tingling rippled through her body, so slight she wasn't even sure she'd felt it. Snape remained looming in front of her, hands and vial tucked neatly behind his back. A wall of black not a meter from her.
"Is my name Severus Snape?" he asked abruptly, tones neat and clipped, every word snapped off with perfect diction.
"Yes."
"Were you a former prefect?"
"Yes, my sixth year."
"Did you manage to break every rule in the history of Hogwarts within your seven year tenure here?"
"Not every. I never went up to the Astronomy tower after hours to snog." The words spilled out of her before she knew what she was saying, much less try to control it.
"Indeed. I wouldn't have expected it of you. Now, did you steal ingredients from my stores when you were a second year?"
"Yes, for the polyjuice potion. How did you know?"
"I've suspected it ever since you spent a week in the infirmary waiting for the fur to disappear. Now, did Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley make any malevolent comments about my personality, appearance, or parentage?"
"Of course, you know they did. You acted like a bloody bastard towards them, especially Harry." Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth and groaned.
"You've obviously not spent much time under the effect of Veritaserum, Miss Granger, if your control is this shoddy. Now onto the real test. Are you Miss Hermione Maureen Granger?"
"Yes, obviously you twit."
"I'm going to ignore any colorful statements, for your sake. Are you Miss Hermione Maureen Granger inn mind?"
"Yes."
"In body?"
"Yes."
"In soul?"
"Yes."
"Do you, Miss Hermione Maureen Granger, have any plans to cause physical, mental, and/or spiritual misery, pain, and/or death to any of the teachers and/or students, current and/or incoming?"
"No, of course not!"
"Calm, yourself Miss Granger. Do you know of any plans whether recent, past, or forthcoming to cause physical, mental, and/or spiritual misery, pain, and/or death to any of the teachers and/or students, current and/or incoming?"
"No, sir! Certainly not!"
"I asked you to restrain your passion. Now, do you have any fears of danger to your health, life, sanity and/or safety from another party?"
"Yes."
"From whom?"
"Former Death Eaters who were not caught, supporters of the Dark who weren't uncovered, lunatics."
"Is there anyone else you fear?"
"You." This last very quietly.
"I'm sorry, that last question was poorly worded. I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me as long as you prove yourself to be a competent professor."
"We'll see, sir."
"Indeed. Moving on, then. Will these fears for your health, safety, sanity and/or life impact your ability to teach?"
"No, they're mostly dormant. I know better than to fear this. It's only nightmare fodder."
"Very well, Miss Granger. Our compulsory test is at an end. The veritaserum will remain in your system for another half an hour or so. I would suggest avoiding extended conversations with anyone, as you have very poor control over the content of your answers as well as the length of them." He turned and moved back to sit behind the desk, elbows on the top, hands peaked in front of him. "For now, if you wish, you may express any questions you may have about the position, the castle, or your responsibilities. For it is, Miss Granger, a heavy responsibility."
"I would like to know, sir, the origin of this compulsory test. I hadn't thought it was a regular requirement of accepted teachers. I rather think there wouldn't have been quite so many instances of hiring Dark-inclined, or just plain incompetent teachers," she bubbled eagerly.
"Indeed. It was not a requirement of accepted teachers. It is my own institution as Headmaster, for those reasons you just expressed. Albus often seemed to forget that not everyone had his particular gift for perception, or his unceasing faith in Mister Potter," Snape replied smoothly, lacing his long fingers together.
"Dumbledore deserves more credit than that, as does Harry, Professor Snape. True, some of his choices for professor have been alarming, most notably Lockhart. And really I would have expected him to take action against Quirrell-Voldemort himself. But I always have respected him and his methods, despite the foggy choices he's made for his staff," she spilled hurriedly, not sure whether it was a burden or a relief to have told someone this.
"Do drop the Professor. I really am not your teacher anymore. In response, I agree Miss Granger. He's a man to be respected and whose motives and plans we could not possibly have understood. You and Bill Weasley were his last request for professors before retiring. I see you as equally an ominous choice as any he has made in the past," Snape said, smirking ever so slightly as Hermione's expression changed from carefully neutral to apoplectic.
"I assure you, your appointment as Headmaster is equally unfathomable and unpromising," Hermione bit out.
"Now, Miss Granger, all arguing aside. There are several matters that must be taken care of," he said, again in those clipped and even tones. Snape stood and nodded for Hermione to follow suit. HE ushered her towards the door as he spoke. "As you received your position just a little time ago, in which I am sure you were unable to prepare your syllabus for the year, I left you copies of the class curriculum for every year. You will find them on the desk. I expect you to familiarize yourself adequately with them in time for classes to start and hopefully as the year progresses you will be able to create your own coursework." Hermione turned around, face quickly growing red.
"What? You pompous bastard! I am perfectly capable of creating my own curriculum and teaching it, though I am sure it will be of no standard to your own flawless potions classes," she growled, just keeping herself from shouting at him.
"I expect that you're still well under the influence of the veritaserum, and shall let that pass. For now. It was very unwise to let your emotions bubble over like that while under the influence of a truth potion. Now, I was only going to remind you that all supplies for the start of term must be ordered by next Thursday. I suppose you can manage that yourself as well. Good day, Miss Granger," he said with a slight snarl before shutting the door on her. Hermione remained on the landing there for several minutes, fuming over the arrogance and humiliation she had just been treated to. A good hot shower and a nap would be just the things to calm her down now. Only, she had no rooms in which to shower and nap. Oh, bother. And she knocked on the door.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Snape hissed, holding the door just barely open in order to be able to see her.
"You neglected to assign me rooms. I had to spend last night on Bill's couch, and would rather not repeat it," she said icily. He merely sighed and stalked back into the room, returning moments later with a piece of paper.
"A map. Your rooms are in the dungeons, near the potions classroom. In fact there is access through your office to your rooms. The current password is Belladonna. I've also written the key for changing it here. Now go. And I expect you to follow a more professional and decently moral standard of living while students are here. If Bill Weasley wants you spending the nights in his rooms he can marry you properly, but the least he could have done last night was have you in his bed," he said exasperatedly, and shut the door with a thunk. Hermione was left gaping on the landing, tolerably certain that she would not survive the year without murdering Severus Snape.