OPOET
ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS THREE
Chapter One
She couldn't quite keep a smile from curling up the corners of her lips as she stood there, leaning against the stone wall of Flourish and Blotts and gazing out upon the crowd bustling around her. After all of the horror and uncertainty of the past year, it was infinitely comforting to her to see how absolutely normal this mob of parents and students appeared to be on the fine, late August day.
Of course, she admitted to herself, Diagon Alley had always been one of her favorite places, and the busy day devoted to the collection of school supplies for the upcoming school year had always been one that she looked forward to with a great deal of happy anticipation.
For a moment, her smile faded as she considered the fact that she had always been different from the majority of her classmates. She had no doubt that for most of them, it was the end of the school year that aroused their keenest excitement. For her, there had always been a slight let down upon the completion of the final exams, a vague but undeniable anxiety over the fact that for the long summer weeks there would be no assignments, tests or essays.
Her unbounded enthusiasm for studying and thirst for knowledge were just two of the many things that had always set her apart from the others, she supposed. She had been gratified to earn the affection and respect of her parents and the vast majority of her teachers because of her scholarly inclination, and had always been justifiably proud of her abilities. But it was clearer to her as she grew older that it was also something that made most people feel quite uncomfortable in her presence. Knowing that she was also a very powerful witch may have contributed to their uneasiness, of course, as did the fact that she was Muggle-born. Although the vast majority of the wizarding world accepted her without question, she still sometimes wondered if she still wasn't at something of a disadvantage because she was not associated with the old ways and the established families.
By now her expression had turned decidedly somber as she stared down at the sidewalk and considered the matter. She supposed that all children wanted to stand out in some way, to be counted as special. And yet, in your fantasies your uniqueness always generated approbation as well as notoriety. The fact of the matter was that, most of the time, talents that set one apart from others also tended to invoke feelings of envy and hatred much more readily than they aroused appreciation and affection.
Trying to draw her mind away from this rather depressing train of thought, she returned her attention to the crowd rushing past her. She found herself smiling again as she searched through the sea of faces and expertly picked out which of the new students were Muggle-born. They were all doing their best to keep from appearing out of place, attempting not to look too astonished at the extraordinary sights and sounds that surrounded them. But every few seconds their eyes would fall upon something so spectacular, bewildering or wondrous that they would find themselves with their mouths gaping open in surprise. Their parents always gave themselves away as well: the shell-shocked look upon their faces and the way their brows furrowed in concentration as they attempted to convert the price tags from wizarding currency to pounds. Judging by the scowls upon the faces of the mothers and fathers, most of them were rapidly approaching the end of their patience.
She felt her spirits lifting considerably as she contemplated the fact that it had taken her only a very short time to become acclimated to this world. In fact, her visits to the ostensibly 'normal' world was admittedly becoming less and less real to her.
Who knew, she thought, shifting her feet slightly as she huddled back against the wall as the mob bustled past her, perhaps in another seven years one of these currently flabbergasted youngsters would find themselves in the same position as she was today-returning to Diagon Alley as an adult. But this time, she grinned, the school supplies she was gathering were those of her own choosing rather than items from a pre-ordained list. That was just one of the privileges that you earned when you were elevated from the rank of student to that of teacher.
She dropped her eyes surreptitiously, unable to stop herself from peeking just one more time at the elegant gold lettering embossed upon the top of her briefcase.
"Professor Hermione Granger-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The attaché, crafted of rich, soft and luxuriant leather, had been her parents' final gift to her as she prepared to leave the house this morning. It had definitely been a bittersweet parting, the knowledge that she was truly 'leaving home' this time making her departure especially significant to all of them. As much as a first job always seemed to be such an important step in anyone's life, this distinctive milestone marking the end of her childhood seemed decidedly momentous in her case. Although she intended to visit her parents regularly, she had gently declined her mother's invitation to spend the next summer, as usual, on holiday with them. From now on, she had told her, she intended to spend her summer break traveling by herself or doing research.
It had been difficult to see the unshed tears gleaming in her mother's eyes as she had bid her farewell. Her parents had wholeheartedly declared their support of her decision to pursue a teaching career within the magical community rather than to attend a Muggle University. She had been rather surprised at their acceptance of her decision, but her father had admitted to her privately that she had seemed happier at Hogwarts than she had ever been at any of her previous schools, even with all the carnage and uncertainty of the past few years. So they had decided not to try and change her mind once she had announced her decision.
Of course, she mused, as her fingers brushed against the gold lettering again, one reason that she had been so content at Hogwarts was because she had for first time developed some real and lasting friendships. It was going to be exceedingly strange to roam the familiar hallways of the castle without the two people who had been her constant companions.
Harry was off in seclusion somewhere, attending to his bruised body and battered spirit, both of which had been taxed to the limit during his final battle with Lord Voldemort. He had decided to take a well-deserved rest from his exertions and retire from the scrutiny of the public spotlight. He had allowed no one to accompany him and Hermione had no doubt that it would be a while before he reappeared.
Ron, on the other hand, was basking in the glow of his new-found celebrity, gaining a great deal of interest from the public as a new and talented member of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. Although he was still known in some circles primarily for being "Harry Potter's best friend," Hermione was hopeful that he would continue to become known as his own man as well.
But as happy as she was for her friends, she had to admit that she was selfishly wishing that they could be with her today. It didn't seem right somehow that she was not meeting them for a butterbeer in "The Leaky Cauldron" or indulging in a delicious sundae on the patio of "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor'. She felt her heart throb painfully for a moment as she glanced at the tables filled with smiling students, jabbering away merrily. It had become a tradition for them to meet and do their shopping together, sharing stories of their summer holidays as they threaded their way through the shops. Well at least, she allowed, shrugging her shoulders, this year she wouldn't have to stand behind them, her eyes glazed over in boredom as they endlessly debated the pros and cons of the latest, hideously expensive broom on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
But today she would even have gladly endured that, she had to admit. It was a strange feeling to suddenly feel so isolated while in the midst of such a mob of people. Besides the obviously new students, she had picked out many familiar faces, of course, But while they had nodded and waved to her in a friendly fashion, there was a certain reticence in their manner that was even more pronounced than it had been during her tenure as 'Head Girl'.
She frowned and stared down at the tips of her shoes for a moment. She was immensely excited about becoming a teacher, but it was going to be strange to deal with her former classmates as a superior. On the other hand, she had no doubt that there would also be a period of awkward transition with her former professors who were now to be her colleagues. She supposed it would take a fair amount of time before she began to relax in their presence, and they in hers.
Not that she had any reason to worry about that quite yet, she decided. As far as she could tell, she was the only teacher to be visiting the Alley today. Headmistress McGonagall had informed her that most of the staff would be returning to Hogwarts the week before September 1, a new tradition that she was quietly promoting. Apparently, Minerva was not going to continue Dumbledore's tradition that neither the students nor the teachers were introduced to the new staff members until the welcoming feast.
At that thought, she could not prevent a sly smile from appearing upon her face. That had been one of the very few things that she, Harry and Ron had been able to depend upon during the uncertainty of the past tumultuous years. It had been rather comforting to know that, whoever the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, Professor Snape could be counted upon to disapprove of the choice. They had rather looked forward to seeing how fiercely he could scowl and how high he could draw up his eyebrows to signify his immense disapproval of the choice. In fact, for the past two years they had taken to laughing openly at his expressions, their giggles hidden by the polite applause welcoming the new teacher. Perhaps, she thought, she had better perform an 'Uncheering Spell' upon herself before her first staff meeting to make sure she didn't chuckle out loud at Snape's reaction. But, on the other hand, it wasn't a good idea to make herself too depressed. He would probably not show any pleasure at her appointment either, and it wouldn't do to depress herself to the point where she would burst into tears in front of him.
She frowned suddenly as she recalled Minerva's response to her last letter. Hermione had admitted that, while the task of assuming the role of Professor of Transfiguration was a challenge in itself, the thought of having to assume the responsibility of being Head of the Gryffindor House was an even more daunting task. She had inquired, as cryptically as she could, if any of the other houses would be undergoing staffing changes as well. She was sure that McGonagall would realize that while she expected to maintain a cordial relationship with Flitwick and Sprout, the Gryffindor/Slytherin relationship would undoubtedly be a markedly contentious one if Snape continued to head the infamous house of Salazar. The Headmistress' response, delivered by owl just before she left her parents house this morning, had been a brusque statement that 'no changes were anticipated at the present time.'
Although she had been somewhat disheartened by the reply, she had also found herself strangely intrigued. The events of the past year had greatly increased Hermione's appreciation of the Potions Master's devotion and loyalty to Dumbledore. But she had certainly never seen any evidence that Snape derived the slightest enjoyment or satisfaction from teaching-other than the fact that it gave him the opportunity of deducting points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. With Voldemort defeated and Albus Dumbledore laid to his well-deserved rest, she honestly could not think of any reason for Snape to remain at the school.
Perhaps, she allowed, she did not know the 'greasy-haired git' as well as she thought she did. She smiled again, the echo of that oft-repeated insult again reminding her of how often she had listened to Ron and Harry deride the man. And yet, she reprimanded herself, it was paramount that she adopt a more mature attitude. She was a teacher now, and if she wished for her colleagues to treat her with respect and common courtesy, she had better be prepared to return the favor.
She glanced down at her watch and gasped in surprise as she realized what time it was. She had been standing there, daydreaming, for nearly half an hour now, and had only fifteen minutes to get to Madame Malkins to pick up her robes before they closed. With a disgusted shake of her head, she abruptly turned and prepared to propel herself through the crowd.
Unfortunately, her hasty and unexpected movement meant had placed her directly in the path of someone who was walking, quite briskly, in the opposite direction. Hermione found the time to utter a brief cry of surprise, but both parties were moving so quickly that their momentum continued to drive them forward, leaving them unable to avoid the collision. A moment later she found herself soundly deposited upon the pavement, rump-first. The man reeled backwards but managed, by a rather undignified flapping motion of his arms, to remain upright. The crowd around them was suddenly stilled and silent, although the expressions of the students were quickly moving from shock to amusement at the sight of Professor Snape glaring down at a stunned and flustered Hermione Granger.
"I-I'm sorry," she sputtered, awkwardly trying to stand while simultaneously dusting the edges of her robes. She supposed that there was a great deal of dirt upon her backside as well, but decided it would be rather undignified to brush it off in full view of the crowd. "I didn't see you."
"That would appear to be obvious," replied Snape. He flicked an annoyed glance at the onlookers. "Move on!" he growled, waving his hand angrily. Instantly, the grins on the onlookers faces disappeared and within just a few seconds the crowd has dispersed.
"I am sorry," she repeated, her discomfiture amplified by the guilt she felt, given that she had just been thinking rather unkind thoughts about the man in front of her.
"So you have already said, Miss Granger" he noted, bending down suddenly to retrieve something from the pavement.
To her chagrin, she realized that she had dropped the briefcase, and that his right eyebrow had shot skyward as he straightened up and made a show of reading the inscription.
"I beg your pardon, Professor Granger," he corrected himself, holding the case out to her in his left hand as he idly brushed off the front of his cloak with his right. His robe appeared to be pristinely clean as usual, but there was something in his movements that suggested he considered himself somewhat contaminated by their brief collision and wanted to ensure that he had managed to erase any trace of their encounter.
She reached out for the case and her embarrassment suddenly evaporated, and would have been replaced by anger at the distinctly disdainful tone of his voice and the rudeness of his manner had she not instead been shocked into silence. For there, gleaming upon the third finger of his left hand, was a ring. A large gold band, to be precise, and its appearance and location left no doubt what it signified. She found herself staring at it, unwilling to believe her eyes.
"You appear to be surprised, Professor," he drawled.
She blinked and belatedly accepted the briefcase from his hand. She stood hugging the attaché with both hands, her mouth moving wordlessly for a moment as Snape took a step backward and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I take it you had not heard the news of my marriage?" he chided. Shaking his head, he smiled nastily and continued, "Dear me, I always thought you prided yourself on knowing everything, Professor."
"I've been on holiday with my parents," she suddenly blurted out. "And I decided not to subscribe to the Daily Prophet this summer." She stopped abruptly, clamping her teeth down upon her lip. She was humiliated enough as it was, no need to continue to keep babbling on to him, telling him that she had wanted to spend the last few weeks with her parents exclusively in the Muggle world.
A strange expression had passed briefly over his face as he listened to her. "Yes, that is obvious," he replied, his lip curling in derision.
She stared up at him, wondering what was so obvious about it. But before she could formulate a reply, he had nodded his head curtly and moved past her.
"Good day, Professor," he muttered as he hurried away.
"Oh, yes, good day Professor Snape," she called after him. "And congratulations!" she added, hastily. She stared at the sight of his black-robed figure gliding through the crowed and rapidly retreating down the street. He gave no sign of having heard her.
She sighed and consulted her watch again. If she wished to make it to Madam Malkins in time, she would have to apparate there. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the spell. But after just a moment she opened her eyes and began to walk down the street instead. She would have plenty of time in the morning to get her robes, she reasoned. Right now, what she really wanted was a drink-something about the unexpected encounter with Snape had left her feeling curiously unsettled.
She made her way to one of the back tables in the dark, smoky barroom, suddenly blessing the fact that she was alone. She had no doubt that Ron and Harry would be as surprised as she was to find out that Snape was married. Though the initial shock would wear off soon and she could just imagine the boys making rude comments and vulgar jokes about who would be unlucky or unpleasant enough to agree to marry him. If they were here, she would have undoubtedly joined in the fun. And yet, she mused, chewing on her lip, there was something about the whole situation that made her feel uneasy.
"Good evening, Miss!"
With a start, she realized that Tom the bartender had appeared beside the table.
"What can I get you?" he asked, with his usual toothless grin.
"A butterbeer," she answered, automatically.
The man had nodded his head and turned away before she suddenly corrected herself.
"No, I'll have an Ogden's Firewhiskey instead," she said.
He turned back and regarded her with some surprise. "Of course, Miss." For a moment he wavered, seeming suddenly concerned about her. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No. I mean yes." She took in a deep breath. "Has the 'Evening Prophet' arrived yet?"
He smiled again. "Why, yes, Miss, it's just been owled to us. I'll bring you a copy."
She nodded and found herself drumming her fingertips impatiently against the table until he returned.
"Here you are," he said, setting the glass and paper down on the table before her. "Though there's not much news tonight," he murmured, in an almost apologetic manner. " 'course there hasn't been much since 'You-know-who' was defeated. Thanks to your friend," he added.
"Yes," she replied, distractedly. As much as she loved Harry, she was in no mood to discuss him at the moment. "Thank you," she said, reaching out for the paper with both hands. Tom took the hint graciously and turned back to his duties without another word.
She scanned the front page and found herself uttering a cry of exasperation. Indeed there seemed to be a dearth of newsworthy items. Though of course, she amended, most of the wizarding world would have found the Quidditch World Cup to be front page news no matter what else was happening. No doubt the continuation of the sport as usual signaled that, despite the horror of the recent war, some things never changed. One person's Diagon Alley was another's World Cup, she supposed.
She took a sip of the whiskey and forced herself to skim through the articles, looking to see if a certain Quidditch player named Ron Weasley was mentioned. But it appeared that the Chudley Cannons had not made it to the final round, for she saw no reference to either him or his team. Taking another swallow of her drink, she turned the page and found herself chuckling softly. Apparently she had been mistaken. For there was a picture of Ron waving back to her and grinning happily. She bent down to read the caption.
"The Chudley Cannons keeper Ron Weasley bravely tries to hide his disappointment that his supposed best friend, the celebrated Harry Potter, was too busy brooding to make an appearance at the Quidditch World Cup"
Hermione closed her eyes and, with a sigh, leaned back in her chair. There was only one reporter in the world who would dare write such a patently obvious load of rubbish.
"Rita Skeeter strikes again," she thought to her herself as she shook her head.
Opening her eyes, she reached for her glass and took a hearty swallow, steeling herself to read through the whole of the accompanying article. Fortunately for her, she had gulped down the burning liquid before returning her attention to the paper. Had her mouth been full, she would have ended up splattering the page with the liquid as she read:
"SEEKING A SEEKER-CANNONS CATASTROPHE BLAMED ON POTTER'S ABSENCE"
Exclusive to the Evening Prophet by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter-Snape
ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS THREE
Chapter One
She couldn't quite keep a smile from curling up the corners of her lips as she stood there, leaning against the stone wall of Flourish and Blotts and gazing out upon the crowd bustling around her. After all of the horror and uncertainty of the past year, it was infinitely comforting to her to see how absolutely normal this mob of parents and students appeared to be on the fine, late August day.
Of course, she admitted to herself, Diagon Alley had always been one of her favorite places, and the busy day devoted to the collection of school supplies for the upcoming school year had always been one that she looked forward to with a great deal of happy anticipation.
For a moment, her smile faded as she considered the fact that she had always been different from the majority of her classmates. She had no doubt that for most of them, it was the end of the school year that aroused their keenest excitement. For her, there had always been a slight let down upon the completion of the final exams, a vague but undeniable anxiety over the fact that for the long summer weeks there would be no assignments, tests or essays.
Her unbounded enthusiasm for studying and thirst for knowledge were just two of the many things that had always set her apart from the others, she supposed. She had been gratified to earn the affection and respect of her parents and the vast majority of her teachers because of her scholarly inclination, and had always been justifiably proud of her abilities. But it was clearer to her as she grew older that it was also something that made most people feel quite uncomfortable in her presence. Knowing that she was also a very powerful witch may have contributed to their uneasiness, of course, as did the fact that she was Muggle-born. Although the vast majority of the wizarding world accepted her without question, she still sometimes wondered if she still wasn't at something of a disadvantage because she was not associated with the old ways and the established families.
By now her expression had turned decidedly somber as she stared down at the sidewalk and considered the matter. She supposed that all children wanted to stand out in some way, to be counted as special. And yet, in your fantasies your uniqueness always generated approbation as well as notoriety. The fact of the matter was that, most of the time, talents that set one apart from others also tended to invoke feelings of envy and hatred much more readily than they aroused appreciation and affection.
Trying to draw her mind away from this rather depressing train of thought, she returned her attention to the crowd rushing past her. She found herself smiling again as she searched through the sea of faces and expertly picked out which of the new students were Muggle-born. They were all doing their best to keep from appearing out of place, attempting not to look too astonished at the extraordinary sights and sounds that surrounded them. But every few seconds their eyes would fall upon something so spectacular, bewildering or wondrous that they would find themselves with their mouths gaping open in surprise. Their parents always gave themselves away as well: the shell-shocked look upon their faces and the way their brows furrowed in concentration as they attempted to convert the price tags from wizarding currency to pounds. Judging by the scowls upon the faces of the mothers and fathers, most of them were rapidly approaching the end of their patience.
She felt her spirits lifting considerably as she contemplated the fact that it had taken her only a very short time to become acclimated to this world. In fact, her visits to the ostensibly 'normal' world was admittedly becoming less and less real to her.
Who knew, she thought, shifting her feet slightly as she huddled back against the wall as the mob bustled past her, perhaps in another seven years one of these currently flabbergasted youngsters would find themselves in the same position as she was today-returning to Diagon Alley as an adult. But this time, she grinned, the school supplies she was gathering were those of her own choosing rather than items from a pre-ordained list. That was just one of the privileges that you earned when you were elevated from the rank of student to that of teacher.
She dropped her eyes surreptitiously, unable to stop herself from peeking just one more time at the elegant gold lettering embossed upon the top of her briefcase.
"Professor Hermione Granger-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The attaché, crafted of rich, soft and luxuriant leather, had been her parents' final gift to her as she prepared to leave the house this morning. It had definitely been a bittersweet parting, the knowledge that she was truly 'leaving home' this time making her departure especially significant to all of them. As much as a first job always seemed to be such an important step in anyone's life, this distinctive milestone marking the end of her childhood seemed decidedly momentous in her case. Although she intended to visit her parents regularly, she had gently declined her mother's invitation to spend the next summer, as usual, on holiday with them. From now on, she had told her, she intended to spend her summer break traveling by herself or doing research.
It had been difficult to see the unshed tears gleaming in her mother's eyes as she had bid her farewell. Her parents had wholeheartedly declared their support of her decision to pursue a teaching career within the magical community rather than to attend a Muggle University. She had been rather surprised at their acceptance of her decision, but her father had admitted to her privately that she had seemed happier at Hogwarts than she had ever been at any of her previous schools, even with all the carnage and uncertainty of the past few years. So they had decided not to try and change her mind once she had announced her decision.
Of course, she mused, as her fingers brushed against the gold lettering again, one reason that she had been so content at Hogwarts was because she had for first time developed some real and lasting friendships. It was going to be exceedingly strange to roam the familiar hallways of the castle without the two people who had been her constant companions.
Harry was off in seclusion somewhere, attending to his bruised body and battered spirit, both of which had been taxed to the limit during his final battle with Lord Voldemort. He had decided to take a well-deserved rest from his exertions and retire from the scrutiny of the public spotlight. He had allowed no one to accompany him and Hermione had no doubt that it would be a while before he reappeared.
Ron, on the other hand, was basking in the glow of his new-found celebrity, gaining a great deal of interest from the public as a new and talented member of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. Although he was still known in some circles primarily for being "Harry Potter's best friend," Hermione was hopeful that he would continue to become known as his own man as well.
But as happy as she was for her friends, she had to admit that she was selfishly wishing that they could be with her today. It didn't seem right somehow that she was not meeting them for a butterbeer in "The Leaky Cauldron" or indulging in a delicious sundae on the patio of "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor'. She felt her heart throb painfully for a moment as she glanced at the tables filled with smiling students, jabbering away merrily. It had become a tradition for them to meet and do their shopping together, sharing stories of their summer holidays as they threaded their way through the shops. Well at least, she allowed, shrugging her shoulders, this year she wouldn't have to stand behind them, her eyes glazed over in boredom as they endlessly debated the pros and cons of the latest, hideously expensive broom on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
But today she would even have gladly endured that, she had to admit. It was a strange feeling to suddenly feel so isolated while in the midst of such a mob of people. Besides the obviously new students, she had picked out many familiar faces, of course, But while they had nodded and waved to her in a friendly fashion, there was a certain reticence in their manner that was even more pronounced than it had been during her tenure as 'Head Girl'.
She frowned and stared down at the tips of her shoes for a moment. She was immensely excited about becoming a teacher, but it was going to be strange to deal with her former classmates as a superior. On the other hand, she had no doubt that there would also be a period of awkward transition with her former professors who were now to be her colleagues. She supposed it would take a fair amount of time before she began to relax in their presence, and they in hers.
Not that she had any reason to worry about that quite yet, she decided. As far as she could tell, she was the only teacher to be visiting the Alley today. Headmistress McGonagall had informed her that most of the staff would be returning to Hogwarts the week before September 1, a new tradition that she was quietly promoting. Apparently, Minerva was not going to continue Dumbledore's tradition that neither the students nor the teachers were introduced to the new staff members until the welcoming feast.
At that thought, she could not prevent a sly smile from appearing upon her face. That had been one of the very few things that she, Harry and Ron had been able to depend upon during the uncertainty of the past tumultuous years. It had been rather comforting to know that, whoever the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, Professor Snape could be counted upon to disapprove of the choice. They had rather looked forward to seeing how fiercely he could scowl and how high he could draw up his eyebrows to signify his immense disapproval of the choice. In fact, for the past two years they had taken to laughing openly at his expressions, their giggles hidden by the polite applause welcoming the new teacher. Perhaps, she thought, she had better perform an 'Uncheering Spell' upon herself before her first staff meeting to make sure she didn't chuckle out loud at Snape's reaction. But, on the other hand, it wasn't a good idea to make herself too depressed. He would probably not show any pleasure at her appointment either, and it wouldn't do to depress herself to the point where she would burst into tears in front of him.
She frowned suddenly as she recalled Minerva's response to her last letter. Hermione had admitted that, while the task of assuming the role of Professor of Transfiguration was a challenge in itself, the thought of having to assume the responsibility of being Head of the Gryffindor House was an even more daunting task. She had inquired, as cryptically as she could, if any of the other houses would be undergoing staffing changes as well. She was sure that McGonagall would realize that while she expected to maintain a cordial relationship with Flitwick and Sprout, the Gryffindor/Slytherin relationship would undoubtedly be a markedly contentious one if Snape continued to head the infamous house of Salazar. The Headmistress' response, delivered by owl just before she left her parents house this morning, had been a brusque statement that 'no changes were anticipated at the present time.'
Although she had been somewhat disheartened by the reply, she had also found herself strangely intrigued. The events of the past year had greatly increased Hermione's appreciation of the Potions Master's devotion and loyalty to Dumbledore. But she had certainly never seen any evidence that Snape derived the slightest enjoyment or satisfaction from teaching-other than the fact that it gave him the opportunity of deducting points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. With Voldemort defeated and Albus Dumbledore laid to his well-deserved rest, she honestly could not think of any reason for Snape to remain at the school.
Perhaps, she allowed, she did not know the 'greasy-haired git' as well as she thought she did. She smiled again, the echo of that oft-repeated insult again reminding her of how often she had listened to Ron and Harry deride the man. And yet, she reprimanded herself, it was paramount that she adopt a more mature attitude. She was a teacher now, and if she wished for her colleagues to treat her with respect and common courtesy, she had better be prepared to return the favor.
She glanced down at her watch and gasped in surprise as she realized what time it was. She had been standing there, daydreaming, for nearly half an hour now, and had only fifteen minutes to get to Madame Malkins to pick up her robes before they closed. With a disgusted shake of her head, she abruptly turned and prepared to propel herself through the crowd.
Unfortunately, her hasty and unexpected movement meant had placed her directly in the path of someone who was walking, quite briskly, in the opposite direction. Hermione found the time to utter a brief cry of surprise, but both parties were moving so quickly that their momentum continued to drive them forward, leaving them unable to avoid the collision. A moment later she found herself soundly deposited upon the pavement, rump-first. The man reeled backwards but managed, by a rather undignified flapping motion of his arms, to remain upright. The crowd around them was suddenly stilled and silent, although the expressions of the students were quickly moving from shock to amusement at the sight of Professor Snape glaring down at a stunned and flustered Hermione Granger.
"I-I'm sorry," she sputtered, awkwardly trying to stand while simultaneously dusting the edges of her robes. She supposed that there was a great deal of dirt upon her backside as well, but decided it would be rather undignified to brush it off in full view of the crowd. "I didn't see you."
"That would appear to be obvious," replied Snape. He flicked an annoyed glance at the onlookers. "Move on!" he growled, waving his hand angrily. Instantly, the grins on the onlookers faces disappeared and within just a few seconds the crowd has dispersed.
"I am sorry," she repeated, her discomfiture amplified by the guilt she felt, given that she had just been thinking rather unkind thoughts about the man in front of her.
"So you have already said, Miss Granger" he noted, bending down suddenly to retrieve something from the pavement.
To her chagrin, she realized that she had dropped the briefcase, and that his right eyebrow had shot skyward as he straightened up and made a show of reading the inscription.
"I beg your pardon, Professor Granger," he corrected himself, holding the case out to her in his left hand as he idly brushed off the front of his cloak with his right. His robe appeared to be pristinely clean as usual, but there was something in his movements that suggested he considered himself somewhat contaminated by their brief collision and wanted to ensure that he had managed to erase any trace of their encounter.
She reached out for the case and her embarrassment suddenly evaporated, and would have been replaced by anger at the distinctly disdainful tone of his voice and the rudeness of his manner had she not instead been shocked into silence. For there, gleaming upon the third finger of his left hand, was a ring. A large gold band, to be precise, and its appearance and location left no doubt what it signified. She found herself staring at it, unwilling to believe her eyes.
"You appear to be surprised, Professor," he drawled.
She blinked and belatedly accepted the briefcase from his hand. She stood hugging the attaché with both hands, her mouth moving wordlessly for a moment as Snape took a step backward and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I take it you had not heard the news of my marriage?" he chided. Shaking his head, he smiled nastily and continued, "Dear me, I always thought you prided yourself on knowing everything, Professor."
"I've been on holiday with my parents," she suddenly blurted out. "And I decided not to subscribe to the Daily Prophet this summer." She stopped abruptly, clamping her teeth down upon her lip. She was humiliated enough as it was, no need to continue to keep babbling on to him, telling him that she had wanted to spend the last few weeks with her parents exclusively in the Muggle world.
A strange expression had passed briefly over his face as he listened to her. "Yes, that is obvious," he replied, his lip curling in derision.
She stared up at him, wondering what was so obvious about it. But before she could formulate a reply, he had nodded his head curtly and moved past her.
"Good day, Professor," he muttered as he hurried away.
"Oh, yes, good day Professor Snape," she called after him. "And congratulations!" she added, hastily. She stared at the sight of his black-robed figure gliding through the crowed and rapidly retreating down the street. He gave no sign of having heard her.
She sighed and consulted her watch again. If she wished to make it to Madam Malkins in time, she would have to apparate there. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the spell. But after just a moment she opened her eyes and began to walk down the street instead. She would have plenty of time in the morning to get her robes, she reasoned. Right now, what she really wanted was a drink-something about the unexpected encounter with Snape had left her feeling curiously unsettled.
She made her way to one of the back tables in the dark, smoky barroom, suddenly blessing the fact that she was alone. She had no doubt that Ron and Harry would be as surprised as she was to find out that Snape was married. Though the initial shock would wear off soon and she could just imagine the boys making rude comments and vulgar jokes about who would be unlucky or unpleasant enough to agree to marry him. If they were here, she would have undoubtedly joined in the fun. And yet, she mused, chewing on her lip, there was something about the whole situation that made her feel uneasy.
"Good evening, Miss!"
With a start, she realized that Tom the bartender had appeared beside the table.
"What can I get you?" he asked, with his usual toothless grin.
"A butterbeer," she answered, automatically.
The man had nodded his head and turned away before she suddenly corrected herself.
"No, I'll have an Ogden's Firewhiskey instead," she said.
He turned back and regarded her with some surprise. "Of course, Miss." For a moment he wavered, seeming suddenly concerned about her. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No. I mean yes." She took in a deep breath. "Has the 'Evening Prophet' arrived yet?"
He smiled again. "Why, yes, Miss, it's just been owled to us. I'll bring you a copy."
She nodded and found herself drumming her fingertips impatiently against the table until he returned.
"Here you are," he said, setting the glass and paper down on the table before her. "Though there's not much news tonight," he murmured, in an almost apologetic manner. " 'course there hasn't been much since 'You-know-who' was defeated. Thanks to your friend," he added.
"Yes," she replied, distractedly. As much as she loved Harry, she was in no mood to discuss him at the moment. "Thank you," she said, reaching out for the paper with both hands. Tom took the hint graciously and turned back to his duties without another word.
She scanned the front page and found herself uttering a cry of exasperation. Indeed there seemed to be a dearth of newsworthy items. Though of course, she amended, most of the wizarding world would have found the Quidditch World Cup to be front page news no matter what else was happening. No doubt the continuation of the sport as usual signaled that, despite the horror of the recent war, some things never changed. One person's Diagon Alley was another's World Cup, she supposed.
She took a sip of the whiskey and forced herself to skim through the articles, looking to see if a certain Quidditch player named Ron Weasley was mentioned. But it appeared that the Chudley Cannons had not made it to the final round, for she saw no reference to either him or his team. Taking another swallow of her drink, she turned the page and found herself chuckling softly. Apparently she had been mistaken. For there was a picture of Ron waving back to her and grinning happily. She bent down to read the caption.
"The Chudley Cannons keeper Ron Weasley bravely tries to hide his disappointment that his supposed best friend, the celebrated Harry Potter, was too busy brooding to make an appearance at the Quidditch World Cup"
Hermione closed her eyes and, with a sigh, leaned back in her chair. There was only one reporter in the world who would dare write such a patently obvious load of rubbish.
"Rita Skeeter strikes again," she thought to her herself as she shook her head.
Opening her eyes, she reached for her glass and took a hearty swallow, steeling herself to read through the whole of the accompanying article. Fortunately for her, she had gulped down the burning liquid before returning her attention to the paper. Had her mouth been full, she would have ended up splattering the page with the liquid as she read:
"SEEKING A SEEKER-CANNONS CATASTROPHE BLAMED ON POTTER'S ABSENCE"
Exclusive to the Evening Prophet by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter-Snape