Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns it all, I just borrow without meaning any harm.
Rated: G
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 2: Reunion; required item: an escaped beastie of Hagrid's; required phrase: 'Old age doesn't necessarily mean wisdom.'; set five years after Hermione's graduation.
Snow on Our Skin
by Claudia
Two
Reunion
Dumbledore had sent the school's sleighs to pick up the alumni who arrived at Hogsmeade station that crystal clear winter day. It was the day before New Year's Eve, and as always, the biggest wizarding community was covered in a deep, harsh and fluffy layer of snow that weighed down heavily the boughs of the trees and glittered bluish in the cold rays of the winter sun. The world was asleep, nothing disturbed the silence.
The school was nearly deserted at this time of year, with most of the students gone home for the holidays. This left ample space to accommodate an entire year of former Hogwarts students. Most of them stayed the night only, but a few had sent word they would like to spend a couple of days at the castle.
It had been five years since the graduation of Hermione Granger, and she had accepted the invitation gladly, had even confirmed her stay in a personal card with season's greetings to the Potions Master. Throughout the years, they had kept in touch, on a basis regular enough not having to fill pages with empty words. It had all started out with a rather formal letter of thanks from Hermione's side. Professor Snape had offered her almost full access to his library in her last summer term, and thus had helped her to absorb more knowledge than necessary for her N.E.W.T.s. They then had started to discuss new books as well as scientific articles, and Severus - he had insisted on dropping the formalities in her second year at university - had proved very supportive in her studies. Somehow, though, they had never managed to find a time and place for a reunion.
For the first time in ages, Severus had decided against withdrawing to the Snape family cottage for the holidays, and stayed at the school. While he was not exactly standing on the stairs to the Great Hall to welcome the alumni, he yet expected the arrival of the sleighs with some anticipation. He wasn't especially happy about Albus' meddling with his affairs, now that he no longer worked as a spy. He had a feeling that Albus put too much into his friendship with Hermione, for it was merely that, a wonderful friendship, nothing more and nothing less. But then again, old age didn't necessarily mean wisdom.
Severus had gone for a walk in the dry wintry cold that led him to Hogsmeade and back again, where he had picked up something he had ordered at Quills and Quartos. He was following the tracks of the sleighs back up to the castle, when he heard the jingling of bells and the voices and laughter of people - not of children, but of adults. Severus stepped aside to let the sleighs pass, and he could make out a couple of familiar faces among the muffled-up travellers. There were the Patil sisters, of course, and the round face of Longbottom, Malfoy of course, and Susan Bones. He could see the Thestrals, but Hermione he could not spot.
A sinking feeling spread in his stomach, and he was glad he had pulled up the hood of his greatcoat against the cold. He knew he wasn't exactly everybody's favourite teacher, and somehow he didn't want to be the first person they saw upon returning to their former school. He just hadn't seen her yet, that was all. She had written to him that she would come, and that she was looking forward to it, and to seeing him.
Suddenly, Severus realised how much meeting her meant to him. She was one of the few good friends he had, and outside the school in particular, and he had been looking forward to discussing so much with her during her stay, discussing and showing her things as was only possible when you meet in person.
He quickened his steps, following the sleighs. When he finally reached the main entrance, house-elves were unloading the luggage, and Hagrid was fussing over the Thestrals. Tenebrus, Hagrid's favourite, seemed agitated for some reason. He was a tad fatter than the other beasts, if fat was what you could call a skinny bag of bones. Hagrid had him by a fork of his breast harness and was stroking his scaly coat with the other hand; Tenebrus was beating his wings in agitation, and stomping his massive hooves.
"What's wrong with him?" Severus asked, keeping a good distance to any of the beasts. It was sad enough that he was able to see them at all, the proof for Death's existence.
Hagrid took a moment to reply. He hadn't much to do with the Potions Master, and the civil question was unusual. "Dunno, professor. Bu' th'air smells of a storm comin'."
Severus cast a glance heavenward. Indeed, a dark wall of clouds was building up against the darker outline of the mountains in the quickly settling dusk. "Indeed. Well, take care," Severus replied, pushed back the hood, and entered the shelter of the ancient walls. The memory of Tenebrus' escape at a quite similar occasion the other year was still rather vivid, obliviating and misinforming Muggles, endless hours spent searching out in the cold. It seemed then as if Hagrid had forgotten about the Thestral's matchless sense of direction. Anyway.
Instead of going straight to the Great Hall, he returned to his rooms in the Slytherin wing to put away his coat and the books he had picked up at Quills and Quartos. When he looked out of the window, he found that the dark clouds had gathered even more quickly than expected, and that snow was already falling. A stiff breeze had picked up and whirled the flakes around in angry gusts and eddies. He had just made it back in time.
When he entered the Great Hall, it was as noisy as ever, but luckily, the noise was not as high-pitched with the voices of children, but a little duller, with many a male baritone and bass adding body to the sound.
Most of his former students he recognised; five years was simply not a long enough time for young people to change much. Some of the young women he had to look at twice to be absolutely sure. It was interesting to see that people were mingling, and not grouping according to their Houses. It was always like this - at least Dumbledore had told him so.
As always, people made space for him as he walked through the Great Hall, but some even smiled, or nodded in greeting, or even held out a hand to shake. Severus hadn't expected this at all. At first, he felt out of place and reacted stiffly, but when he realised that the alumni's attention was sincere, he lightened up a bit.
"Oh, Professor, sorry." A man straightened his cane, and his round face radiated embarrassment and self-confidence; an odd mixture.
"Mr Longbottom," Severus nodded. He had nearly tripped over the younger man's cane. Longbottom had suffered a severe knee injury at the end of the war, and had to rely on a cane ever since. Hermione had asked him, Severus, to give Longbottom a chance to work without pressure, and he had done so. Longbottom had done quite well in the final Potions exam. Auror school must have been out of the question. "How are you?"
"I'm all right."
"Good, good," Severus nodded. He wanted to ask several questions, but he didn't know how, and when the situation became awkward, he continued on his way through the crowd. Hermione must be here somewhere.
In the end, Hermione hadn't turned up. No one had seen or heard anything of her, and the bad weather conditions didn't allow for owl-post. Severus was torn somewhere between anger and concern. She had promised to come, and it was not like her not to turn up, or even not to tell him what was wrong.
Something must have happened. He excused himself from the party, even with a welcoming drink being served. He was barely out the door, leaving amused alumni in his wake, when he literally ran into Hermione Granger. They stood in a tight embrace for a beat or two, until Hermione had regained secure footing.
"Hello, Severus." She beamed at him, her cheeks red from the cold, but flushed at the same time from the walk through the snowstorm. The snow on her cloak was melting away quickly in the relative warmth of the hall, and small puddles began to build around her boots. A house-elf appeared out of thin air to take care of her heavy holdall, which had shaken off the shrinking spell as it fell onto the flagstones.
"Hermione Granger," he replied, stepping back to allow for some private space. "We've been wondering about your whereabouts."
"Oh, that," Hermione coloured a little more, if that was even possible. "I missed the train because of the London traffic. So I had to Apparate."
"In that weather?" Severus did a bad job hiding his concern. There was no place for respect, since he considered Apparating in a snowstorm nothing short of foolhardy. Still the typical Gryffindor.
"Ah, Miss Granger!" Minerva McGonagall had noticed her arrival. "How nice to see you again! Do come in, dear, you most be frozen! Really, Severus, to keep her out there in the cold. Come, have some tea." And with that, Minerva ushered Hermione into the warmth and light of the Great Hall, there to meet her year - or what was left of it. Some had been not so lucky to survive the final battle against Voldemort with a stiff knee, as Longbottom had. And their names were in the air, of course, and deservedly so. Even in his afterlife, Potter managed to draw all attention on his person.
But this was not the time to be bitter about him. In fact, their working together in the Order had taught both of them the one or the other thing about camaraderie. Severus sighed. It had been foolish of him to assume that he would be the only one to look forward to Miss Granger's arrival. Thank goodness for her extended stay at the school. That left plenty of time to catch up.
Then he returned to the Great Hall, accepted a glass of champagne someone pushed into his unoccupied hands, and toasted the N.E.W.T.s candidates of five years ago.
~*~
Neville Longbottom had never really warmed to Potions, but he was well-versed enough in the field to make an excellent apothecary - much to the pride of his grandmother. He held and excellent position with St Mungo's. Every now and then, he published an article in the Herbology section of The Tempest, which Severus read with great interest.
He also followed the work of Dean Thomas, whom Hermione had bought those ridiculously small colour-pots. He was a freelance artist, working for various wizarding publishers, including the major newspapers and magazines.
Ron Weasley was a colleague of his, holding a position in the sports editor's office of The Daily Prophet. What else was there to say? His coverage of the Quidditch league was acceptable enough.
And Hermione Granger, the star of this particular Gryffindor year. He knew her better than any other of the students he had ever taught. She was researching Potions with the Ministry, but he knew that she wasn't quite happy with her work, and hadn't been for quite some time. But for plans there had been no time yet. Maybe they got a chance to talk about it in the days to come.
Most surprising of all, however, was the development in Draco Malfoy's life. He had inherited his father's estate and fortune, but other than Lucius, he put his money and political influence to good use, maybe in atonement for the faults of his father - and his own, if you could call them that; he had been but a spoiled brat, full to the brim with stupid propaganda.
Although Severus was interested in what had become of this particular year, he found it difficult to engage in small talk. It was by some considered a subtle art, but it was beyond him why anyone would find asking directly and offering information no one wanted to hear subtle. Subtlety was an art, but not in this kind of conversation. So he took to wandering from group to group, overhearing chats, or listening from time to time.
That night, he didn't have another chance to talk to Hermione - and even if, he doubted that they would have found the quiet really to talk, without any interruptions and distraction. Or at least that was what he was thinking when he returned to his rooms, having excused himself as soon as common courtesy allowed.
He had just poured himself a drink and had taken off his cravat and collar, when it knocked on his door. He opened the door on Hermione.
"Hello," she said.
"Hermione."
"I hope it's not too late," she began, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Severus stepped aside to let her in.
"It is nice to see them all again," she said, "but it's hard, too."
Severus nodded, gesturing for her to sit in an armchair by the fire. He knew she wasn't one to engage in small talk, either. Particularly with people she hadn't seen in a long time. People's interests and attitudes changed, or didn't have much with one in common, which didn't make it easier. Hermione produced a bottle of red wine from somewhere in her robes, holding it out for him.
He took it, and studied its minimalist label briefly. "A good vintage." With a flick of his wand, he summoned two bulbous, long-stemmed glasses and a corkscrew. He uncorked the bottle in a practised manner, swift movement and nice sound and all, sniffed the cork and poured himself a mouthful to taste. Severus smiled in appreciation. The wine was soft on his tongue, fruity, not too light. Perfect. Then he poured each of them a glass, and they sat, enjoying the drink in silence.
"We should have done this earlier," he said eventually.
"Absolutely." Hermione smiled warmly at him.
__
Rated: G
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 2: Reunion; required item: an escaped beastie of Hagrid's; required phrase: 'Old age doesn't necessarily mean wisdom.'; set five years after Hermione's graduation.
Snow on Our Skin
by Claudia
Two
Reunion
Dumbledore had sent the school's sleighs to pick up the alumni who arrived at Hogsmeade station that crystal clear winter day. It was the day before New Year's Eve, and as always, the biggest wizarding community was covered in a deep, harsh and fluffy layer of snow that weighed down heavily the boughs of the trees and glittered bluish in the cold rays of the winter sun. The world was asleep, nothing disturbed the silence.
The school was nearly deserted at this time of year, with most of the students gone home for the holidays. This left ample space to accommodate an entire year of former Hogwarts students. Most of them stayed the night only, but a few had sent word they would like to spend a couple of days at the castle.
It had been five years since the graduation of Hermione Granger, and she had accepted the invitation gladly, had even confirmed her stay in a personal card with season's greetings to the Potions Master. Throughout the years, they had kept in touch, on a basis regular enough not having to fill pages with empty words. It had all started out with a rather formal letter of thanks from Hermione's side. Professor Snape had offered her almost full access to his library in her last summer term, and thus had helped her to absorb more knowledge than necessary for her N.E.W.T.s. They then had started to discuss new books as well as scientific articles, and Severus - he had insisted on dropping the formalities in her second year at university - had proved very supportive in her studies. Somehow, though, they had never managed to find a time and place for a reunion.
For the first time in ages, Severus had decided against withdrawing to the Snape family cottage for the holidays, and stayed at the school. While he was not exactly standing on the stairs to the Great Hall to welcome the alumni, he yet expected the arrival of the sleighs with some anticipation. He wasn't especially happy about Albus' meddling with his affairs, now that he no longer worked as a spy. He had a feeling that Albus put too much into his friendship with Hermione, for it was merely that, a wonderful friendship, nothing more and nothing less. But then again, old age didn't necessarily mean wisdom.
Severus had gone for a walk in the dry wintry cold that led him to Hogsmeade and back again, where he had picked up something he had ordered at Quills and Quartos. He was following the tracks of the sleighs back up to the castle, when he heard the jingling of bells and the voices and laughter of people - not of children, but of adults. Severus stepped aside to let the sleighs pass, and he could make out a couple of familiar faces among the muffled-up travellers. There were the Patil sisters, of course, and the round face of Longbottom, Malfoy of course, and Susan Bones. He could see the Thestrals, but Hermione he could not spot.
A sinking feeling spread in his stomach, and he was glad he had pulled up the hood of his greatcoat against the cold. He knew he wasn't exactly everybody's favourite teacher, and somehow he didn't want to be the first person they saw upon returning to their former school. He just hadn't seen her yet, that was all. She had written to him that she would come, and that she was looking forward to it, and to seeing him.
Suddenly, Severus realised how much meeting her meant to him. She was one of the few good friends he had, and outside the school in particular, and he had been looking forward to discussing so much with her during her stay, discussing and showing her things as was only possible when you meet in person.
He quickened his steps, following the sleighs. When he finally reached the main entrance, house-elves were unloading the luggage, and Hagrid was fussing over the Thestrals. Tenebrus, Hagrid's favourite, seemed agitated for some reason. He was a tad fatter than the other beasts, if fat was what you could call a skinny bag of bones. Hagrid had him by a fork of his breast harness and was stroking his scaly coat with the other hand; Tenebrus was beating his wings in agitation, and stomping his massive hooves.
"What's wrong with him?" Severus asked, keeping a good distance to any of the beasts. It was sad enough that he was able to see them at all, the proof for Death's existence.
Hagrid took a moment to reply. He hadn't much to do with the Potions Master, and the civil question was unusual. "Dunno, professor. Bu' th'air smells of a storm comin'."
Severus cast a glance heavenward. Indeed, a dark wall of clouds was building up against the darker outline of the mountains in the quickly settling dusk. "Indeed. Well, take care," Severus replied, pushed back the hood, and entered the shelter of the ancient walls. The memory of Tenebrus' escape at a quite similar occasion the other year was still rather vivid, obliviating and misinforming Muggles, endless hours spent searching out in the cold. It seemed then as if Hagrid had forgotten about the Thestral's matchless sense of direction. Anyway.
Instead of going straight to the Great Hall, he returned to his rooms in the Slytherin wing to put away his coat and the books he had picked up at Quills and Quartos. When he looked out of the window, he found that the dark clouds had gathered even more quickly than expected, and that snow was already falling. A stiff breeze had picked up and whirled the flakes around in angry gusts and eddies. He had just made it back in time.
When he entered the Great Hall, it was as noisy as ever, but luckily, the noise was not as high-pitched with the voices of children, but a little duller, with many a male baritone and bass adding body to the sound.
Most of his former students he recognised; five years was simply not a long enough time for young people to change much. Some of the young women he had to look at twice to be absolutely sure. It was interesting to see that people were mingling, and not grouping according to their Houses. It was always like this - at least Dumbledore had told him so.
As always, people made space for him as he walked through the Great Hall, but some even smiled, or nodded in greeting, or even held out a hand to shake. Severus hadn't expected this at all. At first, he felt out of place and reacted stiffly, but when he realised that the alumni's attention was sincere, he lightened up a bit.
"Oh, Professor, sorry." A man straightened his cane, and his round face radiated embarrassment and self-confidence; an odd mixture.
"Mr Longbottom," Severus nodded. He had nearly tripped over the younger man's cane. Longbottom had suffered a severe knee injury at the end of the war, and had to rely on a cane ever since. Hermione had asked him, Severus, to give Longbottom a chance to work without pressure, and he had done so. Longbottom had done quite well in the final Potions exam. Auror school must have been out of the question. "How are you?"
"I'm all right."
"Good, good," Severus nodded. He wanted to ask several questions, but he didn't know how, and when the situation became awkward, he continued on his way through the crowd. Hermione must be here somewhere.
In the end, Hermione hadn't turned up. No one had seen or heard anything of her, and the bad weather conditions didn't allow for owl-post. Severus was torn somewhere between anger and concern. She had promised to come, and it was not like her not to turn up, or even not to tell him what was wrong.
Something must have happened. He excused himself from the party, even with a welcoming drink being served. He was barely out the door, leaving amused alumni in his wake, when he literally ran into Hermione Granger. They stood in a tight embrace for a beat or two, until Hermione had regained secure footing.
"Hello, Severus." She beamed at him, her cheeks red from the cold, but flushed at the same time from the walk through the snowstorm. The snow on her cloak was melting away quickly in the relative warmth of the hall, and small puddles began to build around her boots. A house-elf appeared out of thin air to take care of her heavy holdall, which had shaken off the shrinking spell as it fell onto the flagstones.
"Hermione Granger," he replied, stepping back to allow for some private space. "We've been wondering about your whereabouts."
"Oh, that," Hermione coloured a little more, if that was even possible. "I missed the train because of the London traffic. So I had to Apparate."
"In that weather?" Severus did a bad job hiding his concern. There was no place for respect, since he considered Apparating in a snowstorm nothing short of foolhardy. Still the typical Gryffindor.
"Ah, Miss Granger!" Minerva McGonagall had noticed her arrival. "How nice to see you again! Do come in, dear, you most be frozen! Really, Severus, to keep her out there in the cold. Come, have some tea." And with that, Minerva ushered Hermione into the warmth and light of the Great Hall, there to meet her year - or what was left of it. Some had been not so lucky to survive the final battle against Voldemort with a stiff knee, as Longbottom had. And their names were in the air, of course, and deservedly so. Even in his afterlife, Potter managed to draw all attention on his person.
But this was not the time to be bitter about him. In fact, their working together in the Order had taught both of them the one or the other thing about camaraderie. Severus sighed. It had been foolish of him to assume that he would be the only one to look forward to Miss Granger's arrival. Thank goodness for her extended stay at the school. That left plenty of time to catch up.
Then he returned to the Great Hall, accepted a glass of champagne someone pushed into his unoccupied hands, and toasted the N.E.W.T.s candidates of five years ago.
~*~
Neville Longbottom had never really warmed to Potions, but he was well-versed enough in the field to make an excellent apothecary - much to the pride of his grandmother. He held and excellent position with St Mungo's. Every now and then, he published an article in the Herbology section of The Tempest, which Severus read with great interest.
He also followed the work of Dean Thomas, whom Hermione had bought those ridiculously small colour-pots. He was a freelance artist, working for various wizarding publishers, including the major newspapers and magazines.
Ron Weasley was a colleague of his, holding a position in the sports editor's office of The Daily Prophet. What else was there to say? His coverage of the Quidditch league was acceptable enough.
And Hermione Granger, the star of this particular Gryffindor year. He knew her better than any other of the students he had ever taught. She was researching Potions with the Ministry, but he knew that she wasn't quite happy with her work, and hadn't been for quite some time. But for plans there had been no time yet. Maybe they got a chance to talk about it in the days to come.
Most surprising of all, however, was the development in Draco Malfoy's life. He had inherited his father's estate and fortune, but other than Lucius, he put his money and political influence to good use, maybe in atonement for the faults of his father - and his own, if you could call them that; he had been but a spoiled brat, full to the brim with stupid propaganda.
Although Severus was interested in what had become of this particular year, he found it difficult to engage in small talk. It was by some considered a subtle art, but it was beyond him why anyone would find asking directly and offering information no one wanted to hear subtle. Subtlety was an art, but not in this kind of conversation. So he took to wandering from group to group, overhearing chats, or listening from time to time.
That night, he didn't have another chance to talk to Hermione - and even if, he doubted that they would have found the quiet really to talk, without any interruptions and distraction. Or at least that was what he was thinking when he returned to his rooms, having excused himself as soon as common courtesy allowed.
He had just poured himself a drink and had taken off his cravat and collar, when it knocked on his door. He opened the door on Hermione.
"Hello," she said.
"Hermione."
"I hope it's not too late," she began, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Severus stepped aside to let her in.
"It is nice to see them all again," she said, "but it's hard, too."
Severus nodded, gesturing for her to sit in an armchair by the fire. He knew she wasn't one to engage in small talk, either. Particularly with people she hadn't seen in a long time. People's interests and attitudes changed, or didn't have much with one in common, which didn't make it easier. Hermione produced a bottle of red wine from somewhere in her robes, holding it out for him.
He took it, and studied its minimalist label briefly. "A good vintage." With a flick of his wand, he summoned two bulbous, long-stemmed glasses and a corkscrew. He uncorked the bottle in a practised manner, swift movement and nice sound and all, sniffed the cork and poured himself a mouthful to taste. Severus smiled in appreciation. The wine was soft on his tongue, fruity, not too light. Perfect. Then he poured each of them a glass, and they sat, enjoying the drink in silence.
"We should have done this earlier," he said eventually.
"Absolutely." Hermione smiled warmly at him.
__