Chapter 2 - Really? No, Not Really.*
Sighing deeply, Severus Snape grabbed the portkey on Albus Dumbledore's desk. He hoped with every fiber of his being that the last image the Headmaster would have of his Potions Master would be that of weary resignation and bone-numbing fatigue, since that's what the man actually felt. Once he realized where he was, Snape wished he'd hexed Dumbledore on his way out.
He was at her house.
Anyone who had ever talked to her would know that this was her house.
She had always made sure that everyone knew where she came from - her Muggle address, her Muggle parents, and their Muggle career. He could remember the address, her parents' names, even that they'd had something to do with teeth. Although it had been two years since he'd last heard it, he was certain that the information had been permanently burned into every neurotransmitter in his brain. So here he was, standing at the front door of the small but tidy house that accommodated everything important to her: her history, her childhood, her future.
They - Mr. and Mrs. Granger - were, of course, long gone. They'd been among the first casualties of Voldemort's final campaign. Their deaths had been one of the few badly miscalculated moves that Tom Riddle had made.
Believing that all his Death Eaters would forever be loyal had been the would-be dictator's first mistake. Snape took great pride in being the proof of that miscalculation. Killing Hermione's parents had been Voldemort's second and final error.
Lord Voldemort (Snape had trouble with that honorific; when all was said and done, the man had at one time been called Little Tommy Riddle) made his most critical mistake when he'd presumed that killing a Mudblood's family as an example would provide some kind of rallying point for his planned purification of the magical community of the tainted blood of the non- magical.
The Mudblood he had chosen to target - Hermione Granger - had garnered more respect in her few years as a student at Hogwarts than Tom Riddle as the Dark Lord could ever hope to buy or coerce. By killing Granger's parents, Voldemort did more to galvanize the resistance against him than all the work Dumbledore's Army could have done in decades. In the end, Voldemort's inability to see the value in simple kindness had spelled his own doom.
Hermione Granger had tutored, befriended, or at least listened sympathetically to nearly every Slytherin that had passed through Hogwarts' Great Hall. Those few moments of compassion and impartiality completely eroded Voldemort's base of power; not a single Slytherin family had been unaffected by that one Gryffindor's kindheartedness. If he'd been the Grinch, Tom Riddle couldn't have been more completely undone than he was by this one Cindy Loo Who.
Still, that same Gryffindor had been a particular pain in the Potions Master's posterior. Her hand seemed to be permanently elevated; her expression, constantly hopeful; her outlook, eternally optimistic. It would be impossible to design a more annoying presence in Severus Snape's life. The fact that she and her family played a crucial role in the demise of Tom Riddle merely added a bitter, ironic aftertaste to the pill she had been.
And yet, here he was, at her house. Surely, God was convulsed in paroxysms of sadistic laughter. Snape could only roll his eyes at the perfect justice that was being doled out and curse the meddling mischief-maker that was Albus Dumbledore.
Knowing enough about Muggle life to touch the illuminated button outside the door, Snape pressed firmly and steeled himself to be greeted by Hogwarts' resident do-gooder. That was not the woman who opened the door.
For a long moment, Severus Snape stared speechlessly at the unfamiliar woman standing before him. Where he had expected a bushy-haired, naïve girl, he was greeted by a siren. Granted, her hair was still unspeakably wild and her eyes were preternaturally wise, but nothing else about this woman resembled the Gryffindor know-it-all.
She wore a form-fitting t-shirt and jeans that, while loose, seemed to accentuate every feminine curve of her body. Her feet were bare and Snape was mildly surprised to notice that her toenails were painted blue and that there was a silver ring around the second toe of her left foot.
If Hermione was surprised at the presence of her former Potions professor, nothing in her expression showed it. She looked at him steadily, waiting for him to level her with some cutting comment.
It would seem that the evening was full of surprises for both of them; he had no sarcastic greeting for her.
"Miss Granger?" Snape finally said, in a voice that broke noticeably over her name.
She silently opened the door further and stepped back, giving him ample room to enter.
He entered and looked around the vestibule. To his left, a small door most likely concealed a closet. A staircase further down the left hand wall was partially visible from his vantage point. Bright lights and a tile floor through an entry directly across from where he stood revealed a portion of the kitchen and, completing his quick clockwise examination of the entrance hall, a wide arched entryway led into the living room.
The foyer itself was small but well lit, an Arts and Crafts bench within easy reach of the door. With its clean, simple lines, exposed oak joints, and high slatted sides, Snape recognized the Mackintosh design. Even without inspecting it closely, he had no doubt that, if it wasn't an original piece, it was a stunning reproduction. A copper-framed rectangular mirror with Celtic knot work wrought into the corners hung on the wall above it.
Stepping through into the living room, he immediately noticed the understated oak and walnut furnishings. Most of the pieces, like the bench in the foyer, were from the British Arts and Crafts movement. Not as severe or bold as their gothic inspiration; ornate but carefully handcrafted - a style that appealed to the Potions Master. He was pleasantly surprised. Given the over-achieving nature of Miss Granger, he'd expected a décor equally over the top; something fussy and complicated, not the simple elegance of William Morris or Liberty & Co.
There wasn't an overabundance of furniture in the parlor but what was there was obviously well-made and maintained. A massive bookcase with glass- fronted shelves atop a wide cabinet-lined base dominated one wall. Its copper hinges and handles had aged to a soft patina and the shelves were filled to overflowing with a combination of books, photographs, and innumerable small artifacts that achieved what design advertisements always strived for but never really achieved: a welcoming, homey atmosphere.
Hermione had been watching Snape, observing him as he took in the surroundings. She'd braced herself for some withering glance or critical comment about the furnishings. His lack of snide commentary had thrown her. After allowing him a few moments to acclimate to the surroundings - her home, she reminded herself - she offered to take his bag.
"No, thank you," he said off-handedly. His tone was almost civil. This was definitely not what Hermione had been expecting. She was, for one of the few times in her life, at a loss for words.
Several minutes passed while the pair tried to readjust their perception. Hermione concentrated on anticipating the next move or comment of her visitor, while Snape tried to reconcile what he was seeing with what he'd expected. Neither of them was particularly successful.
Her frustration finally got the better of her and Hermione sighed in exasperation.
"Well, at least let me show you to your room," she said. She'd tried to infuse her tone with a heavy dose of aggravation but it came out sounding rather apologetic.
Snape followed her silently, noting the well-tended house as they walked out of the living room, past the kitchen, to the stairway.
At the upstairs landing, Hermione pointed to her left. "That will be your room. The bath is the second door on the right. This," she tilted her head briefly at the door to the right of the stairs, "is my room."
At his raised eyebrow, she elaborated. "My parents' room is at the end of the hall. I . I've left it as it was." She shrugged and, for a moment, a hint of the young girl he'd remembered appeared. "It's probably silly but I just wasn't comfortable taking their room." Her voice was nearly a whisper.
"Understandable," he said softly. Something about her suddenly vulnerable demeanor leached the sarcasm from his voice, leaving only a soft baritone rumble that was uncomfortably gentle - though it was hard to tell which of them felt more awkward.
"Well," Hermione said, steeling herself, "I'll leave you to get settled. Supper will be in -"she checked her watch. "25 minutes." She turned and quickly descended the stairs.
That was the Hermione Granger he'd expected, Snape thought to himself. Completely punctual, completely predictable and completely in denial that life might not follow her detailed expectations.
* sorry, it's a throw-away line, referring to an American ad campaign in 2000 for Tostitos corn chips, featuring Chris Elliott (American comedian/actor of Dave Letterman fame and son of Bob Elliott of Bob and Ray fame, for you radio and classic comedy aficionados).
Here's a link: .
Frankly, if you have to look it up, it won't be funny unless, of course, you were able to use this line to reject an unwanted sexual advance. I know, TMI.
Sighing deeply, Severus Snape grabbed the portkey on Albus Dumbledore's desk. He hoped with every fiber of his being that the last image the Headmaster would have of his Potions Master would be that of weary resignation and bone-numbing fatigue, since that's what the man actually felt. Once he realized where he was, Snape wished he'd hexed Dumbledore on his way out.
He was at her house.
Anyone who had ever talked to her would know that this was her house.
She had always made sure that everyone knew where she came from - her Muggle address, her Muggle parents, and their Muggle career. He could remember the address, her parents' names, even that they'd had something to do with teeth. Although it had been two years since he'd last heard it, he was certain that the information had been permanently burned into every neurotransmitter in his brain. So here he was, standing at the front door of the small but tidy house that accommodated everything important to her: her history, her childhood, her future.
They - Mr. and Mrs. Granger - were, of course, long gone. They'd been among the first casualties of Voldemort's final campaign. Their deaths had been one of the few badly miscalculated moves that Tom Riddle had made.
Believing that all his Death Eaters would forever be loyal had been the would-be dictator's first mistake. Snape took great pride in being the proof of that miscalculation. Killing Hermione's parents had been Voldemort's second and final error.
Lord Voldemort (Snape had trouble with that honorific; when all was said and done, the man had at one time been called Little Tommy Riddle) made his most critical mistake when he'd presumed that killing a Mudblood's family as an example would provide some kind of rallying point for his planned purification of the magical community of the tainted blood of the non- magical.
The Mudblood he had chosen to target - Hermione Granger - had garnered more respect in her few years as a student at Hogwarts than Tom Riddle as the Dark Lord could ever hope to buy or coerce. By killing Granger's parents, Voldemort did more to galvanize the resistance against him than all the work Dumbledore's Army could have done in decades. In the end, Voldemort's inability to see the value in simple kindness had spelled his own doom.
Hermione Granger had tutored, befriended, or at least listened sympathetically to nearly every Slytherin that had passed through Hogwarts' Great Hall. Those few moments of compassion and impartiality completely eroded Voldemort's base of power; not a single Slytherin family had been unaffected by that one Gryffindor's kindheartedness. If he'd been the Grinch, Tom Riddle couldn't have been more completely undone than he was by this one Cindy Loo Who.
Still, that same Gryffindor had been a particular pain in the Potions Master's posterior. Her hand seemed to be permanently elevated; her expression, constantly hopeful; her outlook, eternally optimistic. It would be impossible to design a more annoying presence in Severus Snape's life. The fact that she and her family played a crucial role in the demise of Tom Riddle merely added a bitter, ironic aftertaste to the pill she had been.
And yet, here he was, at her house. Surely, God was convulsed in paroxysms of sadistic laughter. Snape could only roll his eyes at the perfect justice that was being doled out and curse the meddling mischief-maker that was Albus Dumbledore.
Knowing enough about Muggle life to touch the illuminated button outside the door, Snape pressed firmly and steeled himself to be greeted by Hogwarts' resident do-gooder. That was not the woman who opened the door.
For a long moment, Severus Snape stared speechlessly at the unfamiliar woman standing before him. Where he had expected a bushy-haired, naïve girl, he was greeted by a siren. Granted, her hair was still unspeakably wild and her eyes were preternaturally wise, but nothing else about this woman resembled the Gryffindor know-it-all.
She wore a form-fitting t-shirt and jeans that, while loose, seemed to accentuate every feminine curve of her body. Her feet were bare and Snape was mildly surprised to notice that her toenails were painted blue and that there was a silver ring around the second toe of her left foot.
If Hermione was surprised at the presence of her former Potions professor, nothing in her expression showed it. She looked at him steadily, waiting for him to level her with some cutting comment.
It would seem that the evening was full of surprises for both of them; he had no sarcastic greeting for her.
"Miss Granger?" Snape finally said, in a voice that broke noticeably over her name.
She silently opened the door further and stepped back, giving him ample room to enter.
He entered and looked around the vestibule. To his left, a small door most likely concealed a closet. A staircase further down the left hand wall was partially visible from his vantage point. Bright lights and a tile floor through an entry directly across from where he stood revealed a portion of the kitchen and, completing his quick clockwise examination of the entrance hall, a wide arched entryway led into the living room.
The foyer itself was small but well lit, an Arts and Crafts bench within easy reach of the door. With its clean, simple lines, exposed oak joints, and high slatted sides, Snape recognized the Mackintosh design. Even without inspecting it closely, he had no doubt that, if it wasn't an original piece, it was a stunning reproduction. A copper-framed rectangular mirror with Celtic knot work wrought into the corners hung on the wall above it.
Stepping through into the living room, he immediately noticed the understated oak and walnut furnishings. Most of the pieces, like the bench in the foyer, were from the British Arts and Crafts movement. Not as severe or bold as their gothic inspiration; ornate but carefully handcrafted - a style that appealed to the Potions Master. He was pleasantly surprised. Given the over-achieving nature of Miss Granger, he'd expected a décor equally over the top; something fussy and complicated, not the simple elegance of William Morris or Liberty & Co.
There wasn't an overabundance of furniture in the parlor but what was there was obviously well-made and maintained. A massive bookcase with glass- fronted shelves atop a wide cabinet-lined base dominated one wall. Its copper hinges and handles had aged to a soft patina and the shelves were filled to overflowing with a combination of books, photographs, and innumerable small artifacts that achieved what design advertisements always strived for but never really achieved: a welcoming, homey atmosphere.
Hermione had been watching Snape, observing him as he took in the surroundings. She'd braced herself for some withering glance or critical comment about the furnishings. His lack of snide commentary had thrown her. After allowing him a few moments to acclimate to the surroundings - her home, she reminded herself - she offered to take his bag.
"No, thank you," he said off-handedly. His tone was almost civil. This was definitely not what Hermione had been expecting. She was, for one of the few times in her life, at a loss for words.
Several minutes passed while the pair tried to readjust their perception. Hermione concentrated on anticipating the next move or comment of her visitor, while Snape tried to reconcile what he was seeing with what he'd expected. Neither of them was particularly successful.
Her frustration finally got the better of her and Hermione sighed in exasperation.
"Well, at least let me show you to your room," she said. She'd tried to infuse her tone with a heavy dose of aggravation but it came out sounding rather apologetic.
Snape followed her silently, noting the well-tended house as they walked out of the living room, past the kitchen, to the stairway.
At the upstairs landing, Hermione pointed to her left. "That will be your room. The bath is the second door on the right. This," she tilted her head briefly at the door to the right of the stairs, "is my room."
At his raised eyebrow, she elaborated. "My parents' room is at the end of the hall. I . I've left it as it was." She shrugged and, for a moment, a hint of the young girl he'd remembered appeared. "It's probably silly but I just wasn't comfortable taking their room." Her voice was nearly a whisper.
"Understandable," he said softly. Something about her suddenly vulnerable demeanor leached the sarcasm from his voice, leaving only a soft baritone rumble that was uncomfortably gentle - though it was hard to tell which of them felt more awkward.
"Well," Hermione said, steeling herself, "I'll leave you to get settled. Supper will be in -"she checked her watch. "25 minutes." She turned and quickly descended the stairs.
That was the Hermione Granger he'd expected, Snape thought to himself. Completely punctual, completely predictable and completely in denial that life might not follow her detailed expectations.
* sorry, it's a throw-away line, referring to an American ad campaign in 2000 for Tostitos corn chips, featuring Chris Elliott (American comedian/actor of Dave Letterman fame and son of Bob Elliott of Bob and Ray fame, for you radio and classic comedy aficionados).
Here's a link: .
Frankly, if you have to look it up, it won't be funny unless, of course, you were able to use this line to reject an unwanted sexual advance. I know, TMI.
