Author's note: Right…okay, I believe this chapter is TWELVE PAGES in Microsoft word, not that it matters, because quality is what we're all looking for, isn't it? And I can't promise quality because I'm feeling very stupid. Also, I did spell-check but I probably did not catch everything, so I apologise, but I was trying to get this out ASAP.
And…there were some people who corrected me on some stuff so I just want to mention those things for a moment.
Dahlia – I know it's called Pygmalion, you know it's called Pygmalion, but I wasn't sure everyone else does, so I stuck with My Fair Lady because everyone knows that one…except wizards and witches.
SemiCharmed – I apologise, you are correct, five brothers, not three. But, the reason behind the half blood thing is simply that I thought it would be in Draco's line of thinking to consider Harry Potter a half-blood. Like Hitler thought of people with Jewish grandparents as Jews, so the Malfoys would turn their nose up at anything less than perfectly 'pure.'
Also note: anything from Pygmalion/My Fair Lady is in italics…just so everyone knows and it's clear.
So, everyone, enjoy, and I'm terribly sorry if it's not up to normal standard. What can I say? I'm retarded.
Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.
Chapter 6 – The Trapdoor Laboratory
Hermione had a rather pleasant week…in comparison to her weekend, that is. By the end of the week she found she still had an essay on Glow Charms to write, another essay on Incendiary Potions, a project on Egyptian runes and a grand total of one hundred and fifty pages to read in various textbooks.
And then there were rehearsals…with Deb…and…oh bloody boggarts' balls…Snape.
Hermione hurried up to Deb's chambers after a morning session of homework and a quick lunch. She knocked tentatively and waited for what seemed an age.
"Hello Hermione," Deb boomed as she flung the door open, "How are we on this grand and fine afternoon?"
"Um…we're…we're…"
"Scared out of your skin, it looks," Deb said, taking her by the shoulder and leading her in warmly, "Don't worry, we won't bite…not yet anyway."
Hermione saw Snape rise out of one of Deb's red leather armchairs. He looked- to her great surprise – calm…and, not angry. He had a polite and neutral regard, almost as though someone had wiped off the mask of anger and bitterness he wore to classes, leaving him oddly blank, and perhaps a little more vulnerable.
He nodded toward her, "Good Afternoon Miss Granger." He was…polite…it was insane!
"Good Afternoon Professor," she replied quietly.
"Oh for heaven's sake, stop speaking like that," Deb stomped her foot irritably, "you sound like you've got poles up your arses…gee, I have quite a fixation on arses don't I? Never mind." She gestured to each of the in turn, "Severus, this is Hermione, Hermione, Severus; I don't believe you've met before."
They simply stood at either ends of the room, looking at each other, quite uncomfortable.
"Oh, look at you two morons, standing around like you'd never seen each other before," she walked over to Snape and pushed him toward Hermione, pushing him at the end so that he nearly fell over.
"You'd better get used to each other, or you'll end up hating every minute you spend with one another."
"That wouldn't be all bad for me," Hermione replied, "Considering the bet we made."
At this Snape turned on his heel and glared at Deb.
"Deborah Daniels, what have you done?" he hissed.
She smiled her manic and gleeful smile and retorted, "I made a bet with her that she'd enjoy this. If she loses, she gets the same treatment you got: a tattoo on the…"
"Don't talk about it while she's here!" He whispered furiously.
"Why not," Deb asked calmly, "she already knows."
"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU TOLD HER!!!???"
"Yes."
At first he looked like he was going to literally bite Deb's head off, but instead, he rounded on Hermione, and she instinctively drew back in fear. He pointed one long accusing finger at her and walked towards her until his long accusing nose was centimeters from her own, his face set in a mould of absolute outrage.
"If you let one word escape your lips about it…"
"Who am I going to tell?" she asked, clenching her fists and standing firm, "Harry? Ron? Don't you think that would lead to some rather odd questions like, for instance, how on earth do I know that my teacher has a tattoo on his backside? Don't you think that would look slightly strange?"
His face relaxed to simply look annoyed and his accusatory finger lowered.
"Severus, you're being irrational," Deb said quietly, her hand now on his shoulder, "Calm down, she won't tell anyone. If you go on pointing fingers and screaming like a schoolboy, you're going to make this very uncomfortable."
"What? You mean even more than it already is?" he rumbled.
"Exactly."
Hermione smiled a weary smile and shook a heavy head. Always playing games with one another.
"Now, I think we'll begin with something easier…like the first scene…I'll do all the other roles…" Deb settled herself on her desk, "…And you two do your parts."
"I don't need this script." Snape said blandly as he retrieved it from his bag.
"Fair enough," Deb replied, "Chuck it back here then."
Snape rolled his eyes as he walked towards her to return it by hand.
"Do you believe Mr Bernard Shaw would've appreciated you throwing his script about like a pair of dirty long johns?"
"I don't think he'd give a flying firecracker actually. Do you?"
Snape clenched his jaw and swooped back to where he'd been standing.
"Wait," Hermione broke in, "Does that mean that you already know all your lines Professor?"
"Considering I just returned the script I would imagine the answer to that question is yes."
"Don't worry Hermione," Deb interjected, "You'll know them eventually, and Severus has a near photographic memory. As long as you've got a feel for them by now. Let's just get cracking, shall we? From the first scene, methinks, where Higgins first speaks…no, wait, from where the chap tells Eliza someone's watching her. Are we ready…very good, let's begin. Hermione, why don't you stand on this side of this chair here…" Deb pointed her to one of the armchairs in front of her desk, "…And you, Severus, you stand on the other side of the other chair there…the tea cup is on the desk for you…you know what to do I imagine?"
"Indeed."
"Then let's begin, I'll start with the bystander's line…Ahem…'Ere, you be careful: better give him a flower for it. There's a bloke 'ere, behind that pillar, takin' down ev'ry blessed word you're sayin'."
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to think through Eliza's Doolittle's mind. She mimed looking around an invisible pillar (feeling very stupid) and warped herself into hysterics.
"I ain't done nothin' wrong by speaking to the gentleman. I've a right to sell flowers if I keep off the kerb. I'm a respectable girl: so help me, I never spoke to him 'cept so far as to buy a flower off me."
"What's all the bit of a noise?" Deb mimed the two bystanders, "'S a Tec takin 'er down."
"Well I'm makin an honest livin'!" Hermione continued the hysteric parody And Deb slotted in the bystanders in their respective curiosity.
"There, there, there, there! Who's hurting you, you silly girl? What do you take me for?" Snape stepped away from his armchair and further towards her.
"On my Bible oath I never spoke a word-" Hermione quivered and shook, feeling yet more stupid, trying to remain in character.
"Oh, shut up, shut up. Do I look like a policeman? Snape was very good at being snappy…Hermione reminded herself of how much practice he had.
"Then what d'ya take down me words for?" Hermione put hands to her hips indignantly, "How do I know y' took me down right? You just show me what you wrote about me."
Snape removed a small notebook from his inner pocket and flipped it open. Hermione examined it and saw real signs there that she really didn't understand.
"Oh-ow-oo," Hermione sighed in mock incomprehension, "What's that? That ain't proper writin'. I can't read it."
"I can. It says, 'I say, cap'n; n' baw ya flahr orf a pore gel.'"
"Oh, it's cause I called 'im cap'n" Hermione turned to Deb, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, But she took no notice. "I meant no harm. Oh, sir, don't let him lay a charge against me for a word like that!"
Deb quickly slipped into Pickering, "Charge? I'll make no charge." She turned to Snape, "Really, sir, if you are a detective you needn't begin protecting me against molestation from young women until I ask for it. Anyone can tell the girl meant no harm." She muttered in an undertone the bystander's line, "'E ain't no Tec, he's a gentleman: look at 'is boots."
"How are all your people down at Selsey?" Snape asked politely.
"Who told you my people come from Selsey?" Deb asked heatedly.
"Never mind; they do." Snape sneered. He really did do it well, Hermione thought.
Snape turned to her. "How did you come to be so far east?" He looked at his little notepad. "You were born in Lisson Grove."
"Oooh, what 'arm is my in leavin' Lisson Grove? It weren't fit for pigs to live in; and I had to pay four-and-six." Hermione really started the works. She wailed like a cat stuck in a tree. Hermione was rather sure Snape really was offended by the noise.
"Oh, live where you like but stop that noise!"
"Come, come! He can't touch you: you've a right to live where you please." Deb jumped off the desk and stood nearer to Hermione, still looking over lines in the script.
"I'm a good girl, I am!" Hermione moaned.
"Yes, yes." Deb patted her gingerly and twitched again into a bystander. "Where do I come from?" She turned to Snape.
"Hoxton." Snape replied succinctly.
"Well, who said I didn't? Blimey, you know ev'ryfink, you do!" Deb switched again to a posh lady, Miss Eynesford-Hill. Hermione quickly glanced over her coming lines.
"You, sir, do you think you could find me a taxi?"
"I don't know whether you've noticed it madam but it's stopped raining." Snape continued his disdainful manner, "You can get a motorbus to Hampton Court… Well that's where you live, isn't it?"
"What impertinence!" Deb shook her head and flipped over to bystander mode.
"'Ere, tell him where 'e comes from 'f ya wanna go fortune-tellin'." She pointed to herself and Snape responded.
"Cheltenham, Harrow, Cambridge, and er…" Snape looked at his notepad once again "India?"
"Quite right!" Deb looked impressed for a moment then became bystander again, "Blimey." 'E ain't a Tec, he's a bloomin' busy-body. That's what 'e is." Just as the words slipped from her mouth she had become Pickering again. Hermione suspected she had training in acting as well, Never mind Snape. "If I may ask, sir, do you do this sort of thing for a living, in a music hall?"
"Well I have thought of it." Snape replied thoughtfully, "Perhaps I will one day."
"He's no gentleman; he ain't interfere with a poor girl." Hermione murmured.
"How do you do it, may I ask?" Deb asked interestedly.
"Simple phonetics. The science of speech. That's my profession: also my hobby. Anyone can spot an Irishman or a Yorkshireman by his brogue, but I can place a man within six miles. I can place him within two miles in London. Sometimes within two streets." Snape looked very pleased with himself indeed, the resemblance to Rex Harrison was mind-boggling.
"Ought to be ashamed of himself, unmanly coward!" Hermione continued angrily.
"Is there a living in that?" Deb asked Snape.
"Oh yes. Quite a fat one." Snape replied quite politely, considering.
"Let him mind his own business and leave a poor girl-" Hermione muttered again.
"WOMAN! CEASE THIS DETESTABLE BOOHOOING INSTANTLY; OR ELSE SEEK THE SHELTER OF SOME OTHER PLACE OF WORSHIP."
Hermione would've responded slightly stronger had she not been scared out of her wits. He was bloody scary when he did that, roaring like a maniac. She'd only ever seen him do that kind of shouting when he'd thought he'd captured Sirius Black. Oddly Enough, he'd been screaming at her then too.
"I've a right to be here if I like, same as you." Hermione quavered.
"A woman who utters such disgusting and depressing noise has no right to be anywhere--no right to live." Hermione thought he sounded like he really believed it. Was it because he did, or was it because he was a spectacular actor? "Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Shakespeare and Milton and the Bible; don't sit there crooning like a bilious pigeon."
"Ah-ah-aw-aw-boo-boo!" Hermione howled.
Just as she ceased to shriek, Deb clicked her fingers and music rang from the walls. Snape began his poem over it.
"Look at her: a
prisoner of the gutter,
Condemned by every syllable she utters,
By right she should be taken out and hung,
For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue."
"Ah-ah-aw-aw-oo-oo!" Hermione continued yowling.
"'Ah-ah-aw-aw-oo-oo' Heavens! What a sound!" Snape mimed writing it in his notepad, and continued, the music heeding his cues.
"This is what the
British population,
Calls an elementary education."
"Come, sir; I think you picked a poor example." Deb argued Pickering-ly.
"Did I...?" Snape raised his eyebrows and pointed ambiguously.
"Hear them down in Soho Square,
Dropping 'h's everywhere,
Speaking English anyway they like.
You sir: did you go to school?"
"What d'ya tike me faw, a fool?" Said Deb.
"Well, no one taught
him "take" instead if "tike".
Hear a Yorkshireman, or worse,
Hear a Cornishman converse;
They'd rather hear a choir singing flat.
Chickens, cackling in a barn;
Just like this one." Snape pointed to Hermione, as is she were a pair of
old socks.
"Garn!" Hermione said lowly.
'Garn'--I ask you, sir: what sort of word is that?" Snape shrugged. And persisted.
"It's "ow"
and "garn" that keep her in her place,
Not her wretched clothes and dirty face.
Why can't the English teach their children how to speak?
This verbal class distinction, by now, should be antique.
If you spoke as she does, sir, instead of the way you do,
Why you might be selling flowers too."
"I beg your pardon." Deb asked, still doing a little jig to the music. Snape ignored her and maintained his pace.
"An Englishman's way of
speaking absolutely classifies him.
The moment he talks, he makes some other Englishman despise him.
One common language I'm afraid we'll never get.
Oh why can't the English learn to…" Snape put down his notepad, in lieu of
paying for his invisible coffee.
"Set a good example to
people, who's English, is painful to your ears.
The Scotch and the Irish leave you close to tears!
There are even places where English completely disappears,"
Snape extended a hand for non-existent change.
"Why, in America they haven't used it for years." Deb chuckled and Snape drained the empty teacup.
Why can't the English
teach their children how to speak?
Norwegians learn Norwegian; the Greeks are taught their Greek.
In France every Frenchman knows his language from
"A" to "Zed"--
The French don't care what they do, actually, as long as they pronounce it
properly."
Snape moved toward Hermione leaned on the armchair beside her.
"Arabians learn
Arabian with the speed of summer lightning.
The Hebrews learn it backwards which is absolutely frightening.
Use proper English, you're regarded as a freak.
Oh why can't the English--
Why can't the English learn to speak?"
The music stopped and Deb laughed uproariously and put her arms around the incongruous two actors, who unwillingly coalesced with her. "This is going to be fantastic! I love it! I just love it. Everyone's going to love it! I know they will. I'm so excited; I just don't have the words."
"That's a first," Snape retorted.
"You know," She smiled serenely, "I'm so happy I don't even feel like responding to that."
"How sad," Snape sneered sarcastically, "The world will be left lacking your heavenly rejoinders for today."
"Don't worry," Deb nodded reassuringly, "I'll make up for it tomorrow."
At Sunday lunch, Hermione found herself discussing Ginny's ideas for the musical. The whole thing seemed to permeate through everyone's minds, harnessing them in for Deb's joyride. Even Quidditch seemed pale in comparison to this colorful adventure.
"I really think we should stick to the original costumes…or something similar," Ginny decided, "I think it should be the way the old one was because that worked so well."
"What does Dean say?" Hermione asked, trying not to think about what they'd make her wear for the Embassy ball in the musical.
"He agrees, and since he's the student leader of the team, that's what we'll be doing."
"Wait," Hermione asked, suddenly snapping into her logic, "How do you know about the original?"
"Deb showed it to us yesterday, Hermione, weren't you there?"
"Erm…no, I was…Professor Daniels excused me so that I could do homework."
"Oh," Ginny shrugged, "Well, it was great! I loved it! I just wonder who Deb has to play Higgins and Eliza."
"Oh," Hermione sighed, "I'm sure you'll be surprised when you find out?"
"Hermione, do you know?" Ginny asked in suspicious awe.
"No, no, no," Hermione shook her head, "I just…well, Professor Daniels is very…eccentric, so her choices will be too."
"Right," Ginny nodded doubtfully, still eyeing Hermione curiously.
Hermione avoided Ginny's eyes and looked up to the staff table. Deb was immersed in conversation with Snape…Severus, whatever… then Deb looked over to Hermione, winked and nodded her head in the direction of the door. Hermione nodded and apologized to Ginny,
"Sorry Gin, got to finish off some of my work, just remembered a few pages I haven't read."
Ginny squinted at her, trying to decide if she was being truthful.
"Alright, see you later," she said with a slow nod.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and rushed out towards the dungeons. She didn't see Ginny turn to the boys in concern.
"Hey, you two clowns," she tugged at Harry and Ron's sleeves, their owners, as usual, discussing a Quidditch tactic. She wasn't sure how much Quidditch there was to talk about, but now with Harry as team captain, and Ron as Keeper, they seemed to have no vocabulary outside of Quidditch terminology.
"Oy, boys!" she pulled harder.
"What Gin?" Ron asked angrily.
"Have you noticed Hermione's acting a bit strange lately?"
"No," Ron said immediately, "I'm sure you're imagining it."
"Don't worry, Gin," Harry soother, "I'm sure she's just a little stressed, that's all. Remember she's taking extra lessons with Professor Daniels."
"Yeah, I suppose," Ginny acquiesced, though still unsatisfied.
She resolved to find out what was eating Hermione Granger.
Hermione made her way down the numerous staircases to the dungeons and rounded the corner to Snape's classroom. The man himself and Deb were walking down the corridor opposite. He nodded politely as he approached and waved a hand to make the door open.
"We will not be working here," He said shortly as he continued a door behind his desk, "Serpentine!" he growled at the door, and it opened quickly and quietly, seemingly fearful of the password-giver.
"Tell us something we don't know, mate," Deb retorted.
"I was not stating it for you sake, Deborah," he snarled, "I was stating it for Miss Granger's sake, seeing as she's the only one here who doesn't know about the trapdoor laboratory." He pushed the door open and allowed the two women through to the next room, a rather small store room, with a small trapdoor in the floor.
"Trapdoor Laboratory?" Hermione asked curiously. As Snape politely opened the door and pushed the ladder down for them.
"The Potions masters' private laboratory," Deb explained as they descended into the darkness below, "Far from the prying eyes and hands of juvenile delinquents, as he so kindly puts it."
They were in a dank chamber, whose only furnishing was a dusty old cabinet and a spindly spiral staircase winding up and through a hole in the ceiling, which was the only source of the sparse light, suffusing the sultry darkness.
"Each teacher, you will find, has a private laboratory for private experiments," Snape continued Deb's explanation in his very pragmatic teacher-voice, "As no teacher here is without a few minor distractions from Hogwarts education. Mine happens to be up this staircase…all the way up it."
Snape opened the cabinet, which revealed a ring of keys hanging on a hook. As he returned to them, Deb walked towards the staircase, "It's a long walk, Hermione, my girl, you'll have your exercise for the week, I can tell you that. Are we ready Severus?"
"Indeed," he muttered and led them up and out.
Deb hadn't been kidding. It seemed the staircase led up…in fact all the way to the top of the castle…to a door with seventeen locks, one in the centre and sixteen round the edges. Snape took the largest key on the ring, swiftly placed it in the keyhole and turned.
"Ascot Gavotte!" he proclaimed, and the other sixteen keys on the rings suddenly sprang off, jumped into their respective keyholes and turned in unison.
"Getting into the spirit, are we Severus?" Deb smiled.
Snape harrumphed at her and swung the door open to allow them entry.
Snape's private laboratory was surprisingly very similar to the double-storey conservatory that Professor Sprout used for the high maintenance plants, with strange species growing on the top level, and stores and a library in opposite corners on the bottom. It held facilities for numerous cauldrons on stone benches in the other corners, of which Hermione counted six. There was also a great deal of extra space 'for practical use of the potions' as He put it (in case there were some unexpected reactions.) And, in the centre of the laboratory, stood one circular Blackwood table in the centre of the room, around which were three leather desk chairs in classic Slytherin green. (The silver trimming went without saying.)
"We will be using the central table as a desk. I thought it most convenient because it allows our work to be combined. I believe it will be some time before we need begin any practical work, although, we can begin brewing my hybrid of your family's potion, of which I am certain we have all the ingredients. There are twelve rats in that corner and any stationery is just in the cabinet beside the library…which I believe is where we begin our research."
"Indeed," Deb swiftly took over, "We'll begin my grouping different species together by their magical properties. Severus, I imagine that somewhere in your library you possess all twelve volumes of The Avalon Encyclopedia of Flora?"
"Of course. You can begin at volume one, I at volume five and Miss Granger at volume…"
"Hold it!" Deb interrupted, "Hermione, I don't want you to do anything unless he calls you by your name. Severus, she has a name…use it!"
He winced.
"Very well. Hermione can begin at volume twelve."
"Much better. And Hermione, use his name too."
"One moment please," Snape murmured angrily, "Deborah, what gives you the right to deny me my title? The girl is my student, I her teacher, she should use my proper title, as she should use yours."
"Oh, for pity's sakes, Severus, swallow your pride and get over it. Will you cry is she doesn't call you 'Professor'?"
"You're quite intent on leaving me with no dignity whatsoever, aren't you?"
"No," she said patronizingly, patting his arm, "You've still got your clothes on, see?"
"Oh be quiet!" he barked, hand over his eyes, "I've had enough of your madhouse rhetoric."
"Good, then we can get to work."
They worked well into the evening, studying each description of each plant and categorizing it according to properties and strength. At what Hermione imagined was dinner time the house elves brought them dinner: Trays and trays of glorious food that they most certainly would not be able to finish. They all shuffled their papers around to make room for plates and cutlery, and the house elves tried to be as accommodating as possible…especially where Snape was concerned.
They sat together eating in quasi-silence, Deb humming something unidentifiable under the mouthfuls of food she was gobbling down. The conversation was sparse if anything.
"If we continue at this rate," Deb observed, "We'll be finished next month."
"Don't be ridiculous, Deborah," Snape bit back, "we may not be finished till next year."
"I think we will." Deb argued calmly.
"What do you think, Hermione?" Snape looked at her, his eyes somehow managing to burn through to the back of her skull. She looked down to her plate and managed to mumble out a response.
"I…I think somewhere between next month and next year we'll have mapped this out."
"There you are, Severus," Deb smiled, "Hermione is the voice of temperance and reasoning. I told you we'd need her."
"I never argued that her presence wouldn't be advantageous," Snape growled, "I said it would be unfair on her…"
"Oh you so did not! I remember your words very clearly. You didn't even say anything about her, you said it about you. You said 'you're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
"And I'm almost sure you are."
"Why would I want to slowly kill you in this fashion when we're all dying at about the same rate anyway?"
"I can't pretend to be able to fathom the perverted depths of your mind, Deborah, but I can only guess you derive some pleasure from it."
"Don't be ridiculous. If I got pleasure out of making you suffer I'd have sent you to your mother's house."
They ate a little more, until Deb piped up again.
"I don't know" she sighed," something about all of this seems wrong…I think we're missing something…something big."
"Well, until you can be more specific we ought to take this path, as we have no other options."
"I know, smarty-pants," she murmured offhandedly, "But there's something…I'll think of it."
"Of course you will," he retorted, "you always find a way to ruin things."
"DO YOU TWO EVER GIVE EACH OTHER A REST!?"
Hermione could stand it no longer. At first their games were funny…now they were chewing each other like dogs with bones.
"Whatever do you mean, Hermione?" Deb asked, the manic smile indicating she knew exactly what Hermione was talking about.
"These…games…these stupid word games you play…you pick at each other like vultures…it's insane!"
Deb rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"I was sure I told you we were insane." She stood up to stand beside the fireplace. "I'll let you think about that a little before I explain the psychological details of it. Perhaps you'll figure it out in time.
Even though the work was thoroughly boring, Hermione found it was midnight before Hermione even remembered she had school the next day.
"Oh no!" she cried out, looking at her watch, "It's twelve o' clock. I really should get back to my dormitory."
"Well," Deb asked, retrieving her head from her large black tome. "What have you got first lesson tomorrow…or today… you know…"
"Potions…If I'm not mistaken," she murmured, looking uncomfortably towards Snape. He didn't look up from his Omniscope to reply.
"Work another two hours with us and do not attend my class tomorrow." He sounded very bored, "I assure you your peers will not be learning anything even mildly challenging. You will not miss anything substantial."
"That's Snape-language for 'you're an extraordinary student and you need not come to class because whatever they learn in two hours will take you about a minute and a half," Deb explained.
"Who said that?" Snape asked indignantly.
"You did…you just did it in a very…you way."
"Oh be quiet Deborah!" Snape barked angrily, "Just do some damn work!"
Deb laughed impishly and looked toward Hermione,
"I just love stirring him…he makes it so easy!"
Snape grunted once more and they returned to work.
At two o' clock they agreed to cease work and went away to bed. Hermione hurried away to the portrait of the fat lady and puffed out the password.
"Topsy Turvy!"
"Is it morning already?" the portrait lady said blearily as she swung open, without seeing Hermione, "Wait, who was that…where are you?"
Hermione dragged herself op to her room and sprawled herself onto the bed…very contently…after all, she didn't have to go to potions class…if it really was such a bad thing.
As Hermione lay in bed, she considered her working time with Deb and…oh Gods, Severus. Did she have to say his name? It didn't even sound right in her head. Was that even his name? She'd never even thought about his first name. Teachers don't have first names for students to use…especially not that one! Of course she knew all their first names; she just…wriggled slightly at the thought of using it.
Except Deb…but that was different, she'd barely known the woman before she'd asked to be called by her first name.
And boy was Deb weird…even when she worked. If she was thinking, there was no possible way to talk to her. Either she refused to answer, or she had completely disengaged herself from the real world and was immersed in theoretical circumstances.
Snape had been a fairly reasonably work partner, if anything he was simply quiet. He worked, asked no impertinent questions and was…kind. The word seemed very wrong in her mouth…like sand. She should've been spitting it out, but it got stuck there.
And what of this bizarre relationship? Well, Hermione couldn't know what they'd been through, and they both were victims of very powerful madmen, so their insanity was understandable…however, the incarnation of it in their relationship was…very strange to say the least.
But they were good people. Ruined, tormented, tortured, sarcastic, irreverent perversions of former-personalities, yes. But they were still good in their hearts, trying to do something good.
And the fact remained that Deb had dragged her into it for no apparent reason…apart from that bet, but that was hardly a reason. No, Hermione was certain Deb had an ulterior motive…but just what was it?
Harry and Ron stood nervously outside the Potions classroom. They almost couldn't believe it. Hermione had slept in. And not only had she slept in, but she'd also missed the start of class.
"D'you think she's sick?" Ron asked Harry worriedly.
"I can't think of any other explanation, Ron." Harry was somber.
Snape swooped around the corner and sneered at them.
"And you consider yourselves her friends? What a disgrace. You don't even know why she hasn't come to class. Tsk tsk tsk. Five points from Gryffindor each for behaving in a manner unbecoming of a Gryffindor. Honestly, what has Gryffindor camaraderie come to these days…"
Harry and Ron's heads nearly exploded from the blood rushing to their head. Ten points from Gryffindor for not knowing why Hermione was not in class?
"That doesn't come anywhere near fair!" Ron whispered furiously.
"Neither does he, remember?" Harry grumbled.
They sat down at the back of the class, hoping to avoid contact with the hook-nose horror at the front of the class, though knowing he would actively seek them out and take house points for…what? Wearing the Gryffindor uniform, they guessed.
As Snape was writing on the blackboard Draco Malfoy and his loping legions walked toward them, deliberately taking the long way round to the desk in front. Draco and elbowed Harry so hard he came toppling off his stool, knocking Ron off on his way down to the floor. They landed in a great hap of limbs, slightly bruised and very peeved. They were raising themselves up and straightening out uniforms when Snape's villainous voice rang out to get them.
"Ten points from Gryffindor each for obstructing Mister Malfoy's path."
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR…mmmfmmfff"
Ron had started to scream, but Harry quickly clamped his hand over Ron's mouth, trying to avoid a disaster.
"No, Mister Potter, remove your hand, if mister Weasley has something to say, let him say it…at his own risk."
Harry didn't remove his hand as Ron struggled to free himself.
"With all due respect Professor," Harry spat, sounding as though no respect was intended, "It isn't at his own risk, it's at all Gryffindors' risk."
"Exactly. It's all for one and one for all here. Mister Weasley might like to consider that before he decides to denigrate me as he so wishes to do."
Ron flamed up in a brilliant blush and clenched his fists to glowing white.
"Less than a year now, Mister Weasley. If I can tolerate you and Mister Potter for that time, you can tolerate me for just as long."
Snape turned back to his role and read out names. To Harry and Ron's great surprise, Hermione didn't turn up and Snape didn't even read her name. What did he know that they didn't? And more importantly, why did he know?
They returned to the common room to see Hermione reading Moste Potente Potions and munching on a piece of toast.
"Hermione!" Ron shouted, "Where were you?"
"I was in bed, asleep." She answered simply, not bothering to lift her head.
"Why weren't you in class?" He asked indignantly.
"I had an exemption today?"
"Why didn't we get one?" Ron persisted.
"Because you're not helping Professor Daniels and Professor Snape make a very important potion, and neither of you have the lead role in the musical! Oh God…did I just…"
"You're doing what?" Ron asked incredulously.
"You've got what?" Harry asked in a tone to match.
Hermione clicked her tongue, cursing her temper.
"I'm helping Professor Daniels and Professor Snape with a potion and I'm Eliza Doolittle in the musical."
"You're not!" Ron whispered, disbelievingly.
"I am," Hermione replied seriously.
"Why doesn't it say your name on the cast list."
"It does, just not for that role. Professor Daniels was trying to protect me from exactly this."
The boys stood silent for a moment until Harry made the connection Hermione was hoping he would not.
"Then you know who's playing Professor Higgins."
"Err…no, Professor Daniels didn't tell me."
"Bollocks, Hermione," Harry laughed, "Don't even try lying to us. We can see right through it. You know alright."
"Yes, I do know, but I'm not telling you."
"Come on, Hermione," Ron whined, "You can't not tell us. That's not fair. We'd tell you if we knew."
"No, I don't think you would." Hermione shook her head, "I'm not telling…and that's final."
Hermione was shocked to hear the words exit her mouth almost exactly replicating her mother's angry-parent tone. But it worked on the boys, and for that she was thankful.
She held her head high, picked up her books and walked climbed out the portrait hole on her way to the next class.
