AN: Ahhh, a slightly longer chapter for your literary pleasure. Sorry about the lessened Snape-Hermione interaction in this one. There is an OC, and this was basically an intro for them. I promise a greater SS/HG element in the next one.
Unlikely is an Understatement
Chapter 4
Dinner had been as dinner at Hogwarts had always been: tailored to the diner and encouraging of seconds. Hermione was relishing her return to the candlelit hall and changing ceiling, not to mention the fabulous roast beef. Conversation had been amiable, and the banter between professors was endlessly amusing. How had she missed all of this in her student days? How could she have thought them stiff, or silly, or austere? Well, Trelawney had always been a caricature of silly. And Snape, he had always been the epitome of cynicism. She took a thoughtful bite of roast beef, and nodded vaguely at one of McGongall's comments. Snape, indeed, was still as nasty and sarcastic and spiteful and – speak of the devil.
He stalked into the hall, cape billowing behind him melodramatically, and took his place at the head of the table with nary a word or a glance to anyone. Most of the staff barely spared him a glare, and turned back to their dinners. Hermione caught Bill's eyes across the table, and stifled her laughter. Conversation slowly died around the table; those professors who stood to leave were hastily cowed back into their seats.
When the door opened at the far end of the Great Hall, it did not fly ajar on its hinges on a gust of a foreboding wind. Nor did the candles sizzle and pop out of existence. And the windows steadfastly refused to shatter and rattle ominously. Instead the door edged open somewhat meekly – which, in hindsight, should have been a dead giveaway – and revealed a woman and two luggage. Without announcement she walked up sedately up to the dais; her bags grew legs and followed at a respectable distance.
She was a small woman, standing barely five foot two, but was by no means slight. Even more impressive than her curves – deliberately emphasized by tight muggle jeans and top – was the power radiating off her in waves. A small smile played across her lips (made up in bright red lipstick) that reached entirely up into her green eyes and set them sparkling.
"May I introduce Miss Wreneth Proctor," Snape said smoothly, standing and extending a hand to the lady across the table. She clasped it firmly and smiled again at him while her eyes darted around the table. Hermione stared unabashedly.
"Miss Proctor will be the new Muggle Studies professor here. I'm sure she will be most heartily welcomed. I am certainly most pleased at her acceptance of the position," Snape murmured, as he glided around the edge of the table to lead her to her seat. Placed a chaste kiss to the hand he was still holding. Bowed. Then excused himself, and in a billow of black robes was gone from the Great Hall.
Wreneth sat quietly, and bravely faced a table full of shocked Professors. Sprout looked wryly amused, and was sharing looks with Hooch next to her. Flitwick was blinking rapidly, while McGonagall looked as though she was going to have kittens. Bill was laughing at the expression on Hermione's face, which resembled that of a frog.
"Welcome, Miss Proctor, it's good to see you here again," Minerva finally said, a bit curtly. At this the table broke into welcomes and chatter as professors reached around to shake hands and welcome the young woman. Hermione murmured a hello and turned back to her food, finishing quickly and curtly excusing herself. She did not notice the pair of green eyes that followed her exit intently.
She had headed immediately to her rooms, her steps echoing angrily in the halls. That girl was bothering her, nudging at her mind. She knew she'd heard the name before, but couldn't place it for the life of her. Arriving at her door, or rather, wall, she realized that she hadn't changed the password. Performing the incantation cleared her head, calmed her down, and nearly buried her irrational anger at Snape and jealousy of the New Girl.
"Desumo Mnemosyne!" she finished, and directed her wand at the wall. It stubbornly refused to react under the jet of white sparks issued at it. Despite it's lack of facial features, the wall gave off an overwhelming air of smirking. Hermione stamped her foot and glared at it.
"Desumo Mnemosyne!"
"MNEMOSYNE!"
She stood, breathing heavily, wand out and quivering as she glared at the stones. If it had been possible, the wall would have been giggling and blowing raspberries at her. Hermione had plagued by Snape that entire day, and was determined not to be bested by a wall that had adopted his personality. She steeled herself for a final attempt. Deep breath. Arm rose high over her head, ready to come down in a furious display of power.
"DIS – "
"Hermione, it might be best not to pull the wall to pieces. It most certainly will hold a grudge then. And I don't think you want to have to enter your quarters through the windows," McGonagall said calmly from behind Hermione. The girl whirled around, wall forgotten for the moment.
"Honestly, is sneaking up on people silently a requirement for teachers?" she snapped, before regaining her composure. McGonagall merely smiled at her dryly before addressing the wall.
"Mnemosyne. And you'd better behave yourself for Miss Granger, for your own safety. Not even Severus ever tried to pull you to pieces," she snapped at the wall, waiting as it rippled into the arched tunnel with a distinctly contrite air. "Cheeky thing. Mustn't let it walk all over you. Now, I was looking to invite you for a cup of tea, but as we're so far from the tower I suppose it's a wasted effort," she continued in her usual crisp tones.
"Well, I could do with a cuppa, and it would be a nice way to inaugurate my new home. Not to mention a very small thank you for the help with the wall. Come on in, Professor," she invited, and began to walk down the hallway.
"Please call me Minerva, Hermione."
Some moments later the two women were sitting before a crackling fireplace, cupping large mugs of tea. McGonagall unwound enough to relax her posture ever so slightly, while Hermione curled up onto her chair.
"I noticed you seemed very put out at dinner Hermione. Your exit was almost unseemly in its abruptness," McGonagall, never one for subtlety, began. "I was wondering if it had anything to do with the arrival of Miss Proctor." At this she gave Hermione a hard look over the tops of her spectacles. The girl had begun blushing ever so slightly, and was studying her tea intently. "Or, rather, Severus' treatment of the girl." Right in one, she thought, as Hermione's face went scarlet.
"I – well. I mean – "
"No need to explain, Hermione. His actions were highly uncharacteristic for Severus Snape, and a shock to the entire table. Not least of all to you I suspect. He does seem to enjoy making others miserable. Rather, other Gryffindors miserable," McGonagall bit off acidly. Hermione stared at her quizzically. "Oh, think on it girl. He knew it would hurt you to see how warmly he welcomed the other new teacher. The new teacher of his choice. Severus Snape is, if nothing else, terribly good at punishment." McGonagall took a deep sip of her tea and stared at the younger witch across from her, waiting on the eye contact.
"Why?" she asked heatedly, her banked fury at the headmaster rising again to a slow burn.
"Which why, Hermione?"
"Why his choice? Why the punishment? I've done nothing to the man except accept the position he offered to me," she bit out, tea forgotten as she latched onto the conversation with her typical tenacity.
"Now, Hermione, there's no need for adolescent italicization. Wreneth Proctor is the only one of the new teachers – being you and Mr. Weasley – that Severus hired to teach. Dumbledore requested that Mr. Weasley be brought in, as he was both well qualified for the position and an excellent wizard to have around for protection purposes. Albus knew his influence on the school's safety, and was rather afraid that Severus, powerful as he is, would not have the same kind of reputation. And you. Albus explicitly stated that you must be offered the potions position. He gave no reasons, except for your excellent qualifications, and would brook no objection. So, grudgingly, Severus offered two of the new teaching positions to two Gryffindor favorites."
"The punishment comes simply form the fact that he was overruled by Albus yet again. Severus loves the man dearly, but takes his cheerful requests bitterly. I imagine he felt rather threatened, that his first act as Headmaster was being determined by Albus. Not to mention he connects you rather strongly with Messrs. Potter and Weasley; the three of you were the bane of his existence for seven years. That, and he wanted Wreneth for the potions position," McGonagall finished, and took another sip of her tea, studying the rather interesting fight between shock and fury on her face. Fury won.
"Bloody git! I can't believe he would hold six years of adolescence against me as a personal grudge," she fumed.
"Seven years. And please, he is your contemporary. No need for boorish insults. You are better than that," the older witch said smartly, replying automatically in teacher-mode.
"Seven years. Three years ago really." Hermione remembered to sip at her tea, staring contemplatively into the fire. "Wreneth Proctor…I know I've heard the name before, but I can't place it."
"Ah, indeed. I would expect you'd have heard it before, though not as often as if you'd been in another house." Hermione's ears perked up at this, and she shifted eagerly towards McGonagall, eyes alight with curiosity. "Ah, settle yourself girl. You'll learn all in a minute. As curious as ever, I see. Well, nothing less than to tell you about it. You know, of course, that your first year here was the first year in seven in which Slytherin did not win the Cup?" Hermione nodded. "Well, consider this, Hermione. Miss Proctor was to Slytherin, what you were to Gryffindor." McGonagall paused a moment, letting the information sink in.
"She's a Slytherin? So that's part of why he's so fond of her then?"
"Right in one, Hermione. Wreneth Proctor came here starting in her second year. She was, rather surprisingly, sorted into Slytherin. Given the house's usual selection, Severus was ecstatic to have her. Not only not a Death-Eater-In-Training, but also brilliant. And in Potions no less. She became an instant favorite, and considering how well she survived in her house, commanded a lot of respect and fear."
"So she's really a Slytherin me. Though I don't think I commanded fear," Hermione said reflectively. She was lingering over the idea of an ecstatic Snape, and could not possibly conjure up an acceptable mental image.
"Indeed. Head girl in her day. I believe your NEWTS and OWLS may have outstripped hers, but not by much. Malachi Underwood was in the same year as her; Slytherin keeper – Quidditch prodigy – as well as intelligent in his own right. Between the two of them, Slytherin was guaranteed the cup every year," Minerva grumbled, obviously still smarting from six years of loss over ten years ago.
"Until Harry came to the school. Then Gryffindor won seven straight."
"And have lost the last three to Ravenclaw since. Mr. Potter always was excellent for a show of Gryffindor courage. And invaluable as a seeker, another prodigy. However, as handy as he was for defeating evil, he did lose Gryffindor a tremendous amount of points through his escapades."
"He earned points to. Dumbledore always seemed to have a soft spot for his victories," Hermione grinned and took another sip of her tea. The fire was dying slowly, casting the room in a deep red glow. Minerva grimaced.
"Yes, well, he did indulge the boy. Made me a little tetchy to see the unswerving faith in Mr. Potter. I was almost ready to side with Severus, though I'd never tell him that." She crinkled her nose up and straightened her glasses primly. The firelight made her look so much more human. And so much older.
"Well, it's certainly getting late, and our teas are well gone, or cold." McGonagall stood, leaving her mug on the table, waiting as Hermione unfolded herself from the chair.
"I'm glad you came around. I was in need of a confiding ear. Or rather, an explanatory one."
"Hmm, I'd thought as much. It's a skill you learn as a teacher. Goodnight Hermione."
"Goodnight…Minerva."
Morning sun slanted through the high skylights, falling across Hermione's eyes. She stirred slowly, grimacing at the brightness. Rolling over, she clutched the sheets to her and stretched. The bed was nice and big, perfect really, and she sighed in contentment before crawling over to the edge to retrieve her wand. A murmured summoning spell brought her muggle watch over to the bed. It was small and silver, with delicate little hands and traditional numbers, and she much preferred it to the ornate, confusing wizarding variety.
"Eleven o'clock!!!"
She sat bolt upright, hair frizzing around her head in a mad halo. Ten minutes and a quick cleaning charm (bless the wizard who invented it!), Hermione was racing out the door with her folders of class schedules, headed for the library.
It was as she remembered it, dim and cool and reeking of books old and new. Madame Pince still stood at the front desk, and gifted Hermione with a rare smile. She returned it before sneaking back away into the depths of the room, off hunting for her favorite table. For seven years she'd secluded herself way off in the back of the library at a table between the start of the history section and the end of the potions, with a floor to ceiling window overlooking the lake. The library at university had nothing nearly so beautiful or so comforting. Hermione relaxed as she approached "her" table, only to find it occupied.
Wreneth Proctor was sitting there, focused intently on a manuscript. Several other books lay scattered about; a few potions texts, a muggle chemistry book, and the 1998 Hogwarts yearbook. Hermione cleared her throat gently, startling the woman out of her reading.
"Hermione Granger! Was wondering when I'd get a chance to talk to you. Didn't get the chance at dinner last night. Kind of overwhelmed," she said brightly, offering a hand which Hermione took hesitantly. "Take a seat. I was just reading up on you." She gestured to the yearbook, as Hermione settled herself. She glanced over at the parchment lying on the table.
"That's my university thesis!"
"Ah yeah. McGonagall cornered me this morning for a chat. Said it would be worth my while to read it, take a look at your basic info, talk with you sometime. I swear that woman has a wicked sixth sense for these things." The woman talked a mile a minute, hands flashing as she gestured along with her words. Hermione was more than a little shell-shocked, nodding along as she watched her. "So, I've been reading up on you all morning, and after the talk with McGonagall, well, we're kind of scarily similar. Just in different houses. And ten years apart. And well, we'd certainly never pass for twins, but you get the idea."
"You're not English, are you?" said Hermione, more than a bit shell-shocked by the rapid-fire conversation.
"Oh no. I'm American."
"Ah. But you came to Hogwarts?"
"Yeah. My dad was an ambassador to the English Ministry of Magic. The whole family up and moved here when I was twelve. Dad wanted me magically educated, and Hogwarts was by far the best option in Europe. Mom was a little miffed. Said they didn't teach enough synthesis magic here, but I got plenty of that at college later, so it all worked out.
"Looks like you went to an American college too. Or you're leaps and bounds ahead of British magic." She tapped meaningfully at the manuscript. "Had to find a few potions texts to be able to understand it. Very impressive. Snape was doing right by the school when he appointed you. Though I doubt he'll admit it, considering he'd rather eat nails than praise a Gryffindor," Wreneth said cheekily, green eyes ablaze with light and merriment. She has possibly the most expressive eyes I've ever seen, thought Hermione idly.
"No, I didn't go to an American university. There's a very small, potions specific, university in Ireland that I went to," Hermione answered, crinkling her nose up at the implications. Wreneth smiled and pushed the books away, leaning across the table towards Hermione with a friendly smile on her face.
"Irish Alchemical? My dad suggested that. He's very much a fan of foreign schooling. But then again, I'd spent most of my time at Hogwarts, so Salem practically was foreign." Hermione smiled at her, surprised and pleased.
"It was a good school. Had a good deal of synthesis study. I loved it. You said Salem? Salem Institute of Magic?" Hermione asked.
"The one and only. Awful close to the ancestral home – my Dad's family's been based in Salem since the witch trial incidents. Matter of family pride that we have traditional wizarding roots, as opposed to say, New Age West Coast roots. But anyways, loved going back to America for college. It was good to get back among the Muggles. And of course the theoretical magics," she chattered, and reached for the copy of Hermione's thesis. "Now in your thesis, I saw you referenced some of my research, the one about sleep potions and chemical inducement in the brain. Well, my research on the main project isn't quite finished yet, and considering the connections you're making here," she said intently and flipped the pages, jabbing at paragraphs. "And here. And here, too. I'm thinking that if the two of us worked together, we could get past the block I reached. What'd you say?" she asked, grinning. Hermione couldn't help but smile back as she clasped the hand extended towards her.