Chapter One: Introducing the suffering
academic, esteemed Professor Lupin, and one Professor Snape
The almost-full moon shone through the window of the Gryffindor
girls' dormitories on the third night of term, and already
Hermione Granger was in the middle of a tricky essay of utmost
importance on "Dark magic and its appeal to wizards -
discuss why wizards are drawn to the 'dark side.'" for the
recently re-employed Remus Lupin1, her tutor in
Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts. Hermione sat on her bed,
surrounded by textbooks, parchment, and quills. She just wanted
to be alone, so she had pulled the curtains around her bed,
muttered a quick but powerful silencing charm and a charm to keep
the curtains where they were, and then performed a very tricky
semi-transfiguration she had thought up once in fourth year,
probably while she and Ron were in the midst of a fight, which
almost combined the curtains with a one-way mirror, making the
curtains see-through on her side, but perfectly normal on the
other. She was currently skimming through numerous texts for
anything that might help with her essay, bored out of her mind
and unwilling to search the restricted section. She stopped when
she heard Pavarti Patil talking in her sleep about some boy
(whose name sounded somewhat like Neville's, but, Hermione
surmised, that wasn't likely). Hermione put the book down in
resignation, then sighed and stretched. Her thoughts were clearly
elsewhere, and she was in a mood to write them down.
Grabbing a special scrap of parchment from a concealed hole in
the wall behind her bed (which she had found on her first night
in first year, just 5 hours faster than Fred and George Weasley
had found their first passage), she transfigured the strange,
wood-like parchment back into her journal, and retrieved a pen
she had modified for such a purpose, finding quills too trivial
for journal writing. She began to write, reading softly aloud as
she did, and pausing now and then to think: "Nothing's
really ever happened to me, in the way of love... There was a
boy, once, who I think I liked when I was 10. But he's barely
even a hazy memory now. Of course, there was Gilderoy Lockhart in
second year." She paused, furrowing her brow, thinking
carefully, before continuing, "But even though he seemed
like my whole world at the time, I know that this is different.
And if you're thinking of a certain Bulgarian quidditch player,
you are sorely wrong, because I shall maintain until, through and
after my death that we really were just friends.
"In the past 16 years that I've been around, my studies have
never been so obviously affected by anything, let alone a man,
and a man that until recently I never thought I could be in the
same room with, without wanting to hex him into next week, at
that. It's so annoying, this love. And I'm determined to keep it
a secret. Hell, if Harry or Ron, or anyone, found out, they'd
take me down to Pomfrey and demand I be taken to St. Mungo's.
Permanently." She smiled a bit at that, but secretly she
knew that her two best friends' hate for the man, coupled with
Ron's affection for her, would probably end up in broken
friendships all over the place.
"Besides," she continued, doggedly making excuses,
"it's against the rules, and for good reason. He can't
possibly even like me, anyways. And the age difference is just
too big for me, him, or in fact anyone, to ignore. And it's not
as though my parents would welcome it. Nor would Dumbledore...oh
god, I'm talking like it's a possibility - and damn, I've
admitted that I do like him. I can't let him find out then, I
can't let anyone find out. It certainly can't happen at all. I
won't let myself fall in love with him. It is not a
possibility." Although she wanted most desperately,
most secretly, at the core of her heart, for it to be possible,
she slammed the book shut and waved her wand, and in a moment's
concentration her bed was cleared of its avalanche of books and
parchment, and her journal was re-transfigured and replaced. She
got under the covers and closed her eyes, willing for sleep,
unable to keep his face from her eyelids, nor shake him from her
thoughts.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
"Severus, it's only four students. How much damage can they
possibly do?" Severus snorted. Clearly, the Headmaster had
no idea what those idiots were capable of, or he was blissfully
ignoring cold hard fact to try and coax Severus into
co-operating. "They're obviously well acquainted with the
curriculum. It could be good for you, and now that your other
job's finished, you've got lots of spare time to kill." Yes.
Between teaching and making more potions to supply Madam
Pomphrey, he had so much time on his hands he simply did
not know what to do. Now that prices of the pre-made
potions Pomphrey normally would use had risen outrageously due to
high demand and lack of skill and, they had figured, Severus was
the best in the country, he was now slaving over the cauldron, or
rather, several at a time (often right through his classes or
right through the night as well), making Wolfsbane and supplying
the hospital wing.
"Not to mention the added benefits to the
students, and the wizarding community, need I even mention the
excellent effects it would have on Potions?" He cared. He
really did. Deep, very, very, very, deep down inside, he almost did
care about the 'community'. That's why he was trying to prevent
this idea. Those four nutcases could blow up Hogwarts without
trying, and with a bit of luck they'd blow up Hogsmeade and the
Shrieking Shack too: Whomping Willow, Hogshead and all. "I
know you don't like teaching." Understatement of The
Millenium. "And they're capable. They're all prefects, in
fact they're really quite responsible-" Dumbledore was, yet
again, trying to talk Professor Severus Snape into participating
in another of his harebrained plans to breathe life into the
gloomy lessons of potions, held in the even gloomier (if at all
possible) dungeons. It was, yet again, not working out nicely.
"Albus, you know as well as I do that Potions is a dangerous
subject which can instantaneously go wrong and I don't want
them," Or worse, he thought, me,
"being responsible for an accident which could very likely
be life threatening or even-" Snape, the slime ball, was
again trying to worm his way out of Albus' latest plans to
entertain the reader and terrorise both teachers, parents, and
even some students alike, and Snape, naturally, was successfully
failing. Again. You'd think he did it on purpose.
"Now, now, Severus. They'll only be teaching first years.
I'd hate to think you taught dangerous potions to our youngest
pupils..." Dumbledore was hardly trying. He knew Severus
would just blow his chances and Dumbledore'd be forced to pull
rank again anyway.
"Of course I don't, but there's Gryffindors involved!
They'll find a way to make it dangerous! The older pupils would
benefit more by studying individually, not by actually
teaching!" Wow, how original. That Gryffindor reference
always gets to Dumbledore, and provides the incentive to...
"Severus, I want you to do this." Ah, yes. Typical.
Most typical. The satisfaction of always being right. Not that I
like to boast or anything... just always, always be correct.
"Fine," he growled angrily and, as his teeth were
ground finer than the finest grit a bird-owner could buy, he
stalked out of the office. Snape's greasy face had a pink tinge
to it, in all its sallowness. He was incredibly annoyed. He had
to let sixth years teach first years, of all the joys, and that
know-it-all Granger, at that! Not to mention Malfoy, who'd
probably sit back and let her do all the work at any rate. He
didn't know about those two Ravenclaws, he thought maybe they and
their class could survive, if not him. But the whole
concept! To be frank, he really couldn't be bothered to organise
and supervise this little idea of Dumbledore's. It was a waste of
time and a gigantic excuse to annoy him, right at a time where he
was ready to apply for a time-turner just to complete his potion
brewing. Damn Dumbledore!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione Granger, sixth year, receiver of top-grade OWLs for
every subject (except Divination and Muggle Studies),
and prefect, was currently "walking" down the hallway
on the fifth floor in a very lady-like fashion, towards the
office of one Professor R. J. Lupin, at about 20 miles an hour
(it would have been a world record had she not been at Hogwarts
and was, most likely, implementing some form of charm or
another). The aforementioned Professor Lupin was patiently
awaiting his Wolfsbane Potion from The Potions Master, and was
busy looking out the window. He heard a knock on the door, and
told them to come in. He turned around, and was pleasantly
surprised to find Hermione there instead of Snape.
"Miss Granger, how good to see you! I was expecting Severus
with my Wolfsbane Potion," he saw her slightly distressed
look and drifted off a little sadly before finishing, "but
what is it I can help you with?"
"It's about that essay, Professor Lupin," Hermione
began, taking a relieving breath and contemplating her choice of
words before continuing, "I can't seem to find much
information thus far, is it possible for me to look in the
restricted section?" Lupin nodded understandingly, before
transfiguring a scrap of parchment into a note that already had
his signature, telling her that it would satisfy Madam Pince. She
admired his skill in transfiguration, before thanking him and
turning quickly to leave.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Professor Severus Snape swore mildly under his hot breath as his Wolfsbane Potion messed up once more, too exhausted to put more effort into letting fly some of the harsher words he had come across in Hogwart's halls as both student and professor, or in his Death Eater days. This was considered a difficult potion, but Snape was so good at his craft that he had only began to make mistakes recently, with the inhuman amounts of potions he was making around the clock. They occured even with the most simple potions learnt in first year, and served only to annoy and put more pressure on him to perform. He could only be glad that he had not made a mistake in class which could not be remedied, nor one in front of the Granger Know-it-all, or that a fatal explosion hadn't occured, as it was likely to, he thought, tipping his ruined Wolfsbane Potion down the drain for only the second time in his life. A Wolfsbane Potion took around a month to make, relying on the lunar phases to weave its magic, and unfortunately Severus had to dig into his private stock to take a second-last bottle to Lupin, saved from embarassment only by his Slytherin and somewhat pessimistic instincts.
Carrying the potion in front of him like a battering ram, Severus hurried down the hall, hoping Lupin wouldn't notice that he was late and thus suspect he had made a mistake. He sincerely wished he could put some sort of charm on the bottle to make it unbreakable, but this potion was delicate and he was none to good with a wand, finding such waving about foolish and, of all things, loud, from an early age. The door was ajar slightly, and Snape stopped just next to the wall to catch his breath, to make it look like he had not been hurrying, but had taken his own sweet time and that was why he was late. Then he swept into the room with utmost grace and swiftness, or so he thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I commend your excellent timing, Miss Granger,"
Hermione looked over to find Professor Dumbledore had arrived
just as she had woken up in the hospital wing.
"Sir...I...can't seem to remember...what happened..."
Hermione's forehead was a street map of lines, her thought bent
on what had last happened.
"Ah," the professor began, with a bemused look which
annoyed but mostly agitated Hermione, "I do believe you were
visiting our esteemed Professor Lupin for a note, when Severus,
here," he continued, gesturing to the professor who had just
come into view, "was coming to give Professor Lupin his
Wolfsbane Potion. It is my understanding that the two of you
collided in the hallway, and the potion was tipped from its
flask." He paused a little, almost expectantly. Sighing
inwardly, Snape realised his cue when he saw it.
"The potion was tipped mostly onto you, Miss Granger, and we
are not yet sure of the effect it has had, although you have been
here in a comatose for two days." Professor Snape grunted in
a somewhat superior monotone, complete with his usual glare.
Hermione went bright red and looked away from her potions
professor.
"What happened to Professor Lupin?" she asked, finally
realising that if there was no potion for him to take he would
not have been harmless that night.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore nodded approvingly, "I'm
glad you thought of that. Well, we were going to send him out to
the Shrieking Shack, when Mr Potter found a spare dose in
Severus' private rooms. I think he mentioned something about
someone going into his private stock for Boomslang skin, but he
stopped before he mentioned their name." Dumbledore appeared
at an innocent loss as to who this might be. Snape looked
murderous. Hermione refused to look at him, the bile rose
slightly in her throat, and she gulped quite noticeably.
Dumbledore, who was in his element, smiled. "We should be
keeping you for about another two days, to check everything is
alright and that there are no negative effects from the potion,
and then, I think, you will be free to finish that essay for
Professor Lupin." And with that and a quick, almost
reassuring wink, Dumbledore exited the vicinity.
"So." Snape began, while Hermione, wishing she was
dead, was about to tear up, but was miraculously saved by two
larrikins who had just come through the door. Snape blanched
considerably.
"Hermione!" a red-faced, red-haired, and freckled boy
called before he realised the devil himself was there. Harry and
Ron slowed to a stop, Ron's face twisted in a mixture of distaste
for Snape, and pity for 'Mione, and Severus, clearly affected by
the potion, simply walked straight out of the hospital wing
(looking like he had seen You-Know-Who just break into Hogwarts)
and back down to the dungeons for a cup of tea - or perhaps
something a little stronger, if he trusted himself to make a
hooch for himself to tipple.
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1 I'm a little sorry I had to re-employ him but I do have a reason - in fact several, some of which I shall reveal here: Firstly, although he isn't going to act sad and sorry in this fic, he's just recovering from Sirius dying (which, personally, I don't think happened), and I think Dumbledore would want to monitor him closely. Also, I need him for the Wolfsbane Potion. I hope those reasons are good enough for you - and yes, I'm a lazy bugger.
