It was a chilly evening, a first day of spring that still felt like winter.
Hermione was on her way to the Dungeons, pervaded by a feeling of despair
mixed with relief. She stopped to check her watch: seven o'clock, which
meant on time. An Order meeting was supposed to take place at eight in
Snape's classroom – stray students could not reasonably decide to take an
after-dinner stroll in such an unwelcoming place.
The four wizards and witches involved in the research of the Confusion
Potion were supposed to meet two hours before; but during the afternoon
Hermione had received owls from both Professor Vector and Ginny Weasley
mentioning previous work engagements, keeping them from arriving before
eight. The former had accepted a tenure in Arithmancy at Durmstrang, where
she also worked as a spy, and probably she was unable to take a leave from
some school event without arising suspicions; the latter was an Auror, and
probably had been detained by urgent business.
Hermione, currently the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, had pondered a
while over what to do, and resolved to floo Snape asking if she could come
a bit early anyway. Actually, she had said "I was thinking about
entertaining you for a while with my brilliant conversation anyway, if you
don't mind". It turned out that he didn't, but he had added something to
the effect of "There's no need to come here at six then. Anytime after
seven will be okay". This pretty much had done it for Hermione. He was in
no hurry to share large amounts of private time with her; one hour was
okay, two was probably a bit too much for his tastes.
Hermione had developed a strange sort of friendship with Severus Snape. Upon finishing University, she had become a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a teacher at Hogwarts, where she had now been for about six months. She had met the Potions Master for the first time in four years at the August staff meeting, and found out that he acted slightly more relaxed when there were no children around. At the dinner following the meeting, Dumbledore had pointed her to a chair directly facing Snape, who had briefed her on the current Order activities, and what she was expected to do. Apparently, they were headed for dire times, since the Death Eaters had somehow replicated artificially the veil behind which Sirius Black had disappeared, and they were trying to make numerous copies of it in order to use them as deadly weapons, of all things by substituting curtains in Muggle houses with them. It was impossible for the Order to stop the production of the veils at the moment, because there was no information on where or how they were created; but they could try and prevent the deaths, all the while trying to track Voldemort's craftsmen down. Hermione's part, she learned, consisted in developing a way of Transfiguring the killer veils into the innocuous curtains that initially took their place. It was not as simple as it sounded, because the few samples of the objects in the Order's possession seemed enchanted to resist most common forms of Transfiguration, not to mention the need to follow Death Eaters while they were breaking into Muggle houses and reversing the damage they had done, all the while remaining undetected lest the enemy became subtler and more elusive.
The project was complex enough to gain Hermione's attention, but a small part of her had focused on some gestures that were definitely unusual of Snape, at least in her former student's eyes. He did refill her goblet every time it was empty, offered her a spoonful of his ice cream (to which she had replied "You're offering me so many good things tonight!", mildly surprising herself), and lightly put a hand on the small of her back to avoid her collision with a suit of armor while they were walking back to the Great Hall through the dark corridors of the Dungeons. Although the topic had been quite grave, she had enjoyed his company, the way he punctuated the conversation with dark irony and cultured references. She had caught herself thinking that he'd been somehow chivalrous, although in a distracted way; he even tried to focus his attention on her when she spoke, mostly succeeding, too.
You idiot, Hermione told herself resentfully while stopping dead in her tracks in a hallway, not so sure of what she was going to do anymore. The clock indicated five past seven. Of course a Pure-blood wizard, and one with a specially refined heritage such as Snape, is going to know how to engage a new colleague in pleasant and interesting conversation, and how to treat a woman properly. Some of these centuries-old traditions are not as demented as the Death Eaters make them look. Of course she'd misread his small attentions, for lack of familiarity with his out-of-class demeanor, and found herself wondering if he was maybe interested in her romantically. Which didn't look half bad. And this was before all the other times she'd met him, after she'd utterly fallen head over heels for him. Probably, without reciprocation, no matter what she wanted to read into what was most likely to be innocent, friendly behavior on his part. And she had to find out as soon as possible, lest the angst and the turmoil finally deprived her of what little energy was left. This was the night she would spill her guts, and she hoped against hope he didn't do the same in return. Spill her guts, not his.
You idiot, she repeated under her breath. Look at what you've got yourself into. She mustered some more resolve, and took some tentative steps towards the Dungeons.
Hermione had developed a strange sort of friendship with Severus Snape. Upon finishing University, she had become a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a teacher at Hogwarts, where she had now been for about six months. She had met the Potions Master for the first time in four years at the August staff meeting, and found out that he acted slightly more relaxed when there were no children around. At the dinner following the meeting, Dumbledore had pointed her to a chair directly facing Snape, who had briefed her on the current Order activities, and what she was expected to do. Apparently, they were headed for dire times, since the Death Eaters had somehow replicated artificially the veil behind which Sirius Black had disappeared, and they were trying to make numerous copies of it in order to use them as deadly weapons, of all things by substituting curtains in Muggle houses with them. It was impossible for the Order to stop the production of the veils at the moment, because there was no information on where or how they were created; but they could try and prevent the deaths, all the while trying to track Voldemort's craftsmen down. Hermione's part, she learned, consisted in developing a way of Transfiguring the killer veils into the innocuous curtains that initially took their place. It was not as simple as it sounded, because the few samples of the objects in the Order's possession seemed enchanted to resist most common forms of Transfiguration, not to mention the need to follow Death Eaters while they were breaking into Muggle houses and reversing the damage they had done, all the while remaining undetected lest the enemy became subtler and more elusive.
The project was complex enough to gain Hermione's attention, but a small part of her had focused on some gestures that were definitely unusual of Snape, at least in her former student's eyes. He did refill her goblet every time it was empty, offered her a spoonful of his ice cream (to which she had replied "You're offering me so many good things tonight!", mildly surprising herself), and lightly put a hand on the small of her back to avoid her collision with a suit of armor while they were walking back to the Great Hall through the dark corridors of the Dungeons. Although the topic had been quite grave, she had enjoyed his company, the way he punctuated the conversation with dark irony and cultured references. She had caught herself thinking that he'd been somehow chivalrous, although in a distracted way; he even tried to focus his attention on her when she spoke, mostly succeeding, too.
You idiot, Hermione told herself resentfully while stopping dead in her tracks in a hallway, not so sure of what she was going to do anymore. The clock indicated five past seven. Of course a Pure-blood wizard, and one with a specially refined heritage such as Snape, is going to know how to engage a new colleague in pleasant and interesting conversation, and how to treat a woman properly. Some of these centuries-old traditions are not as demented as the Death Eaters make them look. Of course she'd misread his small attentions, for lack of familiarity with his out-of-class demeanor, and found herself wondering if he was maybe interested in her romantically. Which didn't look half bad. And this was before all the other times she'd met him, after she'd utterly fallen head over heels for him. Probably, without reciprocation, no matter what she wanted to read into what was most likely to be innocent, friendly behavior on his part. And she had to find out as soon as possible, lest the angst and the turmoil finally deprived her of what little energy was left. This was the night she would spill her guts, and she hoped against hope he didn't do the same in return. Spill her guts, not his.
You idiot, she repeated under her breath. Look at what you've got yourself into. She mustered some more resolve, and took some tentative steps towards the Dungeons.
