Snape Gets His
Disclaimer: nya nya nya nya, JK. I've stolen your characters. Yeah, right.
Chapter Three
Hermione Granger walked along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, lost in contemplation. She had been back at the school for a month now, and felt absolutely lost. It was barely a year since her own graduation, and she was having trouble adjusting to her new role in the school.
Contrary to what every other person in the school had seemed to assume, Hermione had been confused at her graduation, and not a little scared. Everyone had presumed that she knew where she was going, what she wanted to do- so much so that no-one had ever bothered to talk to her about it. No-one had been there to help in her decision- her family, being muggles, were unable, and her friends and teachers unwilling.
Teaching had come as a surprise as much to her as to the people around her. It had just seemed... something to do. Unwilling to leave the comfort zone of her school, Hermione had simply found a way to return to it. And her teachers had been delighted. After all, she had been their best student, graduating with honours.
Hermione had to admit to herself that she was enjoying her time at Hogwarts, regardless of her confusion. After a six-month training course (it would usually take a year, but she had taken double subjects), she had been free to begin her placement with Hogwarts. In another year - if her fellow teachers gave her good reports, of course - she would be a fully- qualified teacher and able to assume the role as a professor of her own standing, instead of assisting and substituting. Even though it was what she had chosen, it was a strange idea.
She trailed her hand along a stone window ledge, noting that the sun was well and truly down. Time to get back to her quarters, she supposed, before curfew. With a grimace, Hermione realised she was still thinking like a student. As a member of the staff, she was entitled to walk the corridors whenever she wished. Still, she began to trace the route back to her quarters, consoling herself that some habits took time to kill.
Once inside her rooms, Hermione sat at the window seat, looking out at the moon. The orb was waning fast, soon to be gone. Up here, looking down at the empty grounds and up at the cold sky, Hermione had to fight back a surge of loneliness. She felt so out of place here, now. Every corridor reminded her of her student days, every giggle of a time when she and Harry and Ron had performed some mischievous trick. Watching the students chat together at dinnertime, Hermione wished she could be amongst them. Sitting at the teacher's table was a scary- and isolating- experience, amongst people who still had her firmly placed in the 'student' part of their mind.
However, looking down at the many faces she saw in her class rooms, Hermione had to admit her place was no longer with the student population, and nor did she want it to be. Though quite a few students remained who had been at the school when she graduated- it had only been a year, after all- there was no hiding the fact that her particular friends had gone off into the world. Even Ginny was gone- graduated a few months earlier.
Hermione felt an aching emptiness in her stomach, and sighed. This was not the way she should behave. Self-pity never got anyone anywhere. Setting her chin determinedly, she headed for the door. Not all of her friends had gone. Hagrid, reliable, familiar, was still in his little hut.
She was at the door of the hut and had knocked before she realised that none of the lights were on. Of course. Hagrid would be in the Forbidden Forest. Even Fang would be gone. The hut was as cold and empty as she felt.
Hermione managed to walk all the way to her room and close the door before giving in to the tears surging behind her eyelids.
***
Snape was not having A Good Day. The wound in his leg had festered, despite Poppy Pomfrey's ministrations, and so he was forced to return to the infirmary daily for treatment. Which meant that that little - wretch - who had done him the injury in the first place got within shouting distance about three times a day.
This morning she had thrown a bedpan at him. Thankfully, it had been empty. After lunch, she had thrown yet another pair of scissors- where did she get her hands on them?- but he, being a cautious man, had managed to avoid an inadvertent vasectomy. Now, it being well after dinner, he was on his way to yet another treatment- and another round with the pernicious wench.
Dumbledore had talked with her, Snape knew he had. The old man had explained the situation, what had happened- everything. But the witch had developed a pathological dislike of him, and could not be dissuaded.
Not that he really blamed her. Witch was the word- she wasn't part of the wizarding community, but she wasn't a muggle either. Dumbledore had mentioned something about 'wiccan', though Snape had been too distracted to take real note. The thing was, she had observed horrific things, and thought he was a representative of the people who had done them. Of course she would hate him.
But the constant uproar was giving Snape a serious headache. He undoubtedly deserved whatever insults she could find to hurl at him- but did she have to do it in another language? Snape had a smattering of Gaelic, just enough to catch a word here or there, but it was only enough to give him the merest hints of what he was being accused of.
The last round had been the worst. She had yelled the entire time he was in the room, barely pausing for breath. He hadn't caught much, but- with a cat? Really, he had no particular interest in such things. And what she accused him of doing with his grandmother was surely impossible; the old woman had died two years before he was born. Though, with the wench's low opinion of him, she no doubt suspected him of it anyway.
Pausing outside the infirmary's entrance, Snape took a moment to steel himself. Past experience had taught him to be prepared.
He entered, and was confronted with silence. There was no sign of Pomfrey, and, by the look of the shadow on the curtain that separated her from the rest of the room, his torturer was asleep. Snape let out a sigh. Relief.
Giving in to the tug that pulled at him when he was around her, Snape quietly walked over to the cubicle, and ventured a look at the strange girl there. Her face was relaxed in sleep, looking almost pleasant in the firelight. Her stay in the infirmary was more due to confusion about what to do with her, than to continued illness. Judging by the energy with which she railed at him, she had recovered quite nicely.
Snape moved to stand by her bed, knowing he was risking injury, but strangely uncaring. The link he had felt with this girl had not changed with her awakening. He still felt a connection to her, still felt her anger at him a little more deeply than he should. It was a puzzle to him.
The girl beneath his gaze stirred, and Snape retreated beyond the curtain shielding her from the room. Though he had to admit, grudgingly, that the girl's anger was justified, given that she saw him as a member of a group that had mistreated her in all but the most vicious of ways, he wasn't forced to enjoy her bouts of fury.
Snape sighed, and turned to leave. This slow torture was getting him down- he was acting strange even to himself these days. Weakness, he liked to think, was not an infection that corrupted his personality. At least, not often. And, he assured himself, it would not do so now.
With his pride aligned and back in place, Snape stalked to his rooms. Poppy and her treatments of his cut could go hang.
***
Hermione grimaced as the headache splintered through her head. It probably served her right for crying like a schoolgirl. Which she no longer was, she reminded herself firmly.
But sitting in the dark wincing in pain was not going to make the morning come any sooner, and she was out of headache relief potion. She smiled to herself in the dark. She had been in the wizarding world for far too long- her mother would be disappointed. In her notoriously organized family, a badly-stocked medical cupboard was tantamount to denouncing heritage. There were some disadvantages to having the world available at the flick of a wand.
Not everything, however, she thought, as she sat up and planted her feet on the floor. Had she known the exact location of Madame Pomfrey's stock of headache relief potion, she could have simply summoned some to her bedside. The down side of that method was if she got it wrong; if there was no potion, who knew what she could summon in its place? She didn't relish the idea of summoning an irate mediwitch accidentally.
Besides, she could probably do with the walk down to the infirmary. It would clear her head.
Wandering down the corridors of Hogwarts at night had always been, for Hermione, a thrilling experience. Usually because she was beneath an invisibility cloak with Ron and Harry, off to some adventure, telling them off for being careless but being thrilled herself all the same. The excitement of wandering around invisible at night had never lost its thrill for her, even after she had begun to lose her childish joy of the invisibility cloak. In her later years, she had often borrowed Harry's cloak to sneak into the library to study, her heart racing as she approached her own secret haven. Walking around in the cloak had given her the privileges of a ghost, the privilege of being the only person around, owning Hogwarts for a while, in a way. At least, at night, her invisibility was her own intention.
With an impish grin, Hermione cast a cloaking spell on herself. It would do her spirits no harm to revisit an old indulgence tonight.
Sneaking quietly into the infirmary, Hermione made a beeline for the medicine cabinet. She grinned wider as she managed to open it with the gentlest of whispered spells and a hushed click.
'Who's there?'
The voice, strong but tinted with fear, echoed through the room, and Hermione jumped. Apparently, her skills at sneaking had rusted somewhat with lack of practice.
She turned, expecting to see a frightened student, but instead could spy no-one in the infirmary. That was strange. She knew Poppy Pomfrey didn't have any patients, but had assumed that some student had had an accident sometime during the night, yet no-one was there. She frowned, her brow furrowing. Something was amiss, she could feel it.
Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she looked around the room. There was someone here, she was certain- that had been no childhood ghost speaking to her. Yet- wait! No, there it was. Hermione broke out in a smile. A simple concealing charm, at the end of the room, hid a curtained partition, though 'hid' was not really the proper word- it simply made one not want to notice it, to want to pass on. Now that she knew about it, she could see it quite easily.
As quietly as she could, Hermione crept over to the cubicle. Her curiosity hadn't changed since her school days, either.
Rounding the curtain, Hermione spied a girl of about her own age, maybe older, though it was difficult to tell. Fear widened her eyes as she looked around the room, making her look younger, vulnerable. So palpable was her fear that Hermione couldn't help pitying her, and swiftly removed the cloaking charm around her.
The girl drew in breath when Hermione came into view, but didn't look particularly shocked, Hermione noticed. So. Someone who was ready to expect anything.
'Who are you?' The girl's voice broke the stillness in the room.
'My name is Hermione Granger,' Hermione answered briskly. She wanted to be kind, but the girl's voice was almost accusatory. She wondered what had made her that way. 'I'm sorry if I scared you. I just needed a headache potion.'
The girl's brow furrowed, and Hermione realised she didn't know what she was talking about. 'It's a draught to relieve a headache. Madame Pomfrey keeps a good supply.' The girl nodded, and Hermione wondered again what this girl was. She didn't start at magic tricks happening before her, yet didn't know of the simplest of things, such as a headache relief potion.
'I hope I didn't scare you,' Hermione repeated, and the girl's eyes refocussed on her.
'You didn't,' she said. 'I was just wondering who it could be. I couldn't sleep.'
Hermione smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. 'I'm sorry to hear that. Did you want me to fetch Madame Pomfrey? She could give you a sleeping draught.'
The girl grimaced, and for a moment Hermione wondered what she had said wrong. 'No. I need no more of your wizardly concoctions.'
Taken aback, Hermione stared at the girl. That last remark had had a little too much vehemence. A part of her prompted her to investigate, but her natural reserve prevented it. she sufficed with a simple, 'Oh.'
After a moment's silence, Hermione rallied. 'So what's your name?'
The girl looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You may call me Ailie.'
Hermione caught the subterfuge in her voice. 'What's your real name?'
Obviously surprised, the girl gave her an appraising look. 'I can't tell you that. Names are powerful things to just give away.'
'Hmm.' Hermione found herself without voice. She had never come across a person like this before. Somehow, though, she could sense that the girl was not completely distrustful of her. Testing, she asked, 'But is Ailie a name other people usually call you?'
'Yes.' The girl nodded.
Silence filled the room as Hermione tried to think of what to say. She was never the best conversationalist at the best of times, and finding things to talk about with a stranger in the dead of night proved difficult.
Finally, Ailie broke the pause. 'Why were you wandering around invisible?'
Hermione gave a self-conscious laugh. 'I, um- I used to walk around invisible at night, when I was a student here.'
'Oh.' The girl on the bed frowned in puzzlement. 'Do they not like students walking freely, here?'
Hermione gasped, and chuckled. 'No- I mean, yes. Students can move around almost as they like, in the daytime. But it's not unusual for a school to frown on students being out of bounds at night-time.'
'But surely night is the most magical time? Do you people not want to teach your students skills?'
Hermione paused, not quite knowing how to answer that. She sufficed with, 'They seem to fare pretty well by learning in the day time.'
Ailie snorted and looked away in disgust. Hermione, sensing an argument in the making, chose not to inquire about the source of the other girl's attitude.
Deciding to take the offensive, she asked, 'Why are you in here?'
The girl frowned at her. 'I was brought by that ugly wizard, Snop- Snap, something.'
'Snape?' Hermione smiled at Ailie's acid tone in pronouncing the name. Usually, it took people at least a month's acquaintance to develop such an attitude toward the ominous Potions Master.
'Yes. You know him.' It was an accusation.
'Yes.' Hermione's wry smile was designed to convey her own opinion.
She was surprised to see the girl's answering smile.
'I see not everyone here loves that - man. The nurse and the other wizard treat him as a friend.'
'They would. They've been colleagues for a long time, and I'm just a- ' Hermione paused, realising what she had been about to say. 'Well, I'm a colleague of his too, I suppose.' She was surprised by the thought. She had never thought of herself as Snape's colleague, never conceived herself as anything but his subordinate. The idea was unsettling.
Ailie seemed to sense her confusion. 'Don't worry. I am glad that you do not class yourself in the same category as - him.' Again, her tone made the word an insult. Hermione mused on the connotations that might have.
Across from her, the girl yawned. Hermione looked at her, startled. She had forgotten she was in the infirmary.
'You should get some sleep. You need to- well, get over what ever you need to get over.'
Ailie nodded. 'It was nice of you to talk to me.'
Hermione smiled, her first genuine smile for quite a few weeks. 'Not at all. It was nice to talk to someone so... interesting. Goodnight.'
'Peace,' Ailie answered, her eyes closing.
Hermione wandered out the door of the infirmary, her headache forgotten. Out of habit, she cast a cloaking spell on herself once more. That had certainly been interesting. She had never come across someone so puzzling before; with magical knowledge, yet obviously without it, rough, untrusting, but strangely friendly. And guarded. She never had mentioned the reason she was in there, nor from whence she came. And she had obviously been restraining herself on the topic of Severus Snape.
It was intriguing, Hermione mused as she wandered along, chewing her lip. It also awoke something in her that she had not had in quite some time - the thrill of being at the beginning of some wonderful mystery. The feeling transported her back to her past, and she didn't resent it at all. She had found herself another mystery at Hogwarts, and even though she was a teacher this time, she couldn't resist the need to know what it was. She was Hermione Granger, know-it-all, after all.
It was a shame Harry and Ron couldn't be there for the chase.
Caught up in her thoughts, Hermione had thrown aside her usual caution when walking at night. Bumping headlong into a solid, yet tellingly soft, object was the first she knew of another person performing nightly wanderings.
Two strong hands grasped her upper arms with painful intensity, and Hermione gasped in pain. She looked up, and wished she hadn't. She had finally managed to make the blunder she hadn't committed in all her student years, and had run headlong into Severus Snape.
'Who are you?' came Snape's harsh whisper. Hermione felt a tremor of fear run down her spine. She had never heard this most dangerous of Snape's tones, not even when Neville had blown up the entire potions classroom in year five.
When she didn't immediately answer, the hands on her arms shook her. 'It would pay you to answer me,' he said in a low tone. 'Uninvited guests at Hogwarts are not suffered lightly.'
Shocked into speech, Hermione managed a thin whisper. 'Professor Snape! It's me, Hermione Granger, sir!'
Abruptly, Snape ceased shaking her, and his grip on her relaxed somewhat. 'Miss Granger?' The confusion in his voice was evident.
Hermione nodded, then realised she was still wearing the cloaking charm. Quickly, she removed it, and was a little gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in surprise when she appeared.
The moment did not last long. Her old Potions Master quickly recovered, his customary glare replacing shock.
'And what, exactly, do you think you are doing wandering the halls invisible at this hour?'
'I'm- I'm sorry sir.'
'Be sure that you are.' Snape released her, his arms folding as he stared down at her. 'Don't let me catch you at it again, Miss Granger.' The venom in his voice was like a tangible coating, as was his dismissal.
With a quiet acquiescence, Hermione darted off, making her way to her rooms. It wasn't until she reached them and was safely inside that she realised to her chagrin that she had reacted exactly like a student.
Notes: To everyone who reviewed, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you... reviews are the only way I know people have read stuff, so even something saying 'I read it, and wasn't that impressed,' is great.
PotionsMastersMistress- thanks for pointing out my mistake- it never would have occurred to me! Corrections are always more than welcome.
Aemos- thanks for the ego-boost! I highly doubt I deserve it, as reading back over these chapters I've had a few cringeworthy moments, but it's always nice to get compliments.
Helen- all will eventually be revealed, unfortunately not at a hugely fast pace as I have four huge essays to do (why did I take an anthropology class? Why, why, why?) but I hate those people who update every two years or so, so I understand the frustration. I hope this chapter has answered your question as to whether the girl was Hermione- sorry, things will get a little more off-track before it gets to SS/HG. But I promise to make the build-up worth it.
Makota- hmm. If you read on, you will see that the 'blow on the ancient Pagans' was written as part of Snape's thought patterns. He hates everyone, so of course he's going to see the down side of everything. However, I spoke only the truth- blood sacrifice was a part of the hugely broad religion now conceptualised by the blanket term 'paganism'. It's true of just about every religion (though there are exceptions- don't stress, I'm not downing Buddhists) that bloody murder has been a part- Romans killed Christians for sport, Christians hacked to death anyone living in Jerusalem, etc. Humanity's like that, I'm sorry to say- if you want evidence, simply board a plane to just about any third world country and look at the things people do to each other- including some first world organisations who I will not mention. As for grunting, blood lust has a very stupifying effect.
I find it very interesting that someone who is so quick to stand up for peoples that have, since the Roman invasion of Britain, been dead ('ancient' Pagans), and takes offence with lightning speed on their behalf, is equally quick to give offence. You say that I am entitled to my ideas, while at the same time saying that if my ideas are what you think they are, you despise me for it (I can't really take 'fuck you' any other way).
References: The qualities of the concealing charm on the dividing curtain are borrowed from Douglas Adams' SEP field. I only wish he were around to sue me for it.
Oh- I can also be an ignoramus when it comes to British history. When I make mistakes, inform me.
Disclaimer: nya nya nya nya, JK. I've stolen your characters. Yeah, right.
Chapter Three
Hermione Granger walked along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, lost in contemplation. She had been back at the school for a month now, and felt absolutely lost. It was barely a year since her own graduation, and she was having trouble adjusting to her new role in the school.
Contrary to what every other person in the school had seemed to assume, Hermione had been confused at her graduation, and not a little scared. Everyone had presumed that she knew where she was going, what she wanted to do- so much so that no-one had ever bothered to talk to her about it. No-one had been there to help in her decision- her family, being muggles, were unable, and her friends and teachers unwilling.
Teaching had come as a surprise as much to her as to the people around her. It had just seemed... something to do. Unwilling to leave the comfort zone of her school, Hermione had simply found a way to return to it. And her teachers had been delighted. After all, she had been their best student, graduating with honours.
Hermione had to admit to herself that she was enjoying her time at Hogwarts, regardless of her confusion. After a six-month training course (it would usually take a year, but she had taken double subjects), she had been free to begin her placement with Hogwarts. In another year - if her fellow teachers gave her good reports, of course - she would be a fully- qualified teacher and able to assume the role as a professor of her own standing, instead of assisting and substituting. Even though it was what she had chosen, it was a strange idea.
She trailed her hand along a stone window ledge, noting that the sun was well and truly down. Time to get back to her quarters, she supposed, before curfew. With a grimace, Hermione realised she was still thinking like a student. As a member of the staff, she was entitled to walk the corridors whenever she wished. Still, she began to trace the route back to her quarters, consoling herself that some habits took time to kill.
Once inside her rooms, Hermione sat at the window seat, looking out at the moon. The orb was waning fast, soon to be gone. Up here, looking down at the empty grounds and up at the cold sky, Hermione had to fight back a surge of loneliness. She felt so out of place here, now. Every corridor reminded her of her student days, every giggle of a time when she and Harry and Ron had performed some mischievous trick. Watching the students chat together at dinnertime, Hermione wished she could be amongst them. Sitting at the teacher's table was a scary- and isolating- experience, amongst people who still had her firmly placed in the 'student' part of their mind.
However, looking down at the many faces she saw in her class rooms, Hermione had to admit her place was no longer with the student population, and nor did she want it to be. Though quite a few students remained who had been at the school when she graduated- it had only been a year, after all- there was no hiding the fact that her particular friends had gone off into the world. Even Ginny was gone- graduated a few months earlier.
Hermione felt an aching emptiness in her stomach, and sighed. This was not the way she should behave. Self-pity never got anyone anywhere. Setting her chin determinedly, she headed for the door. Not all of her friends had gone. Hagrid, reliable, familiar, was still in his little hut.
She was at the door of the hut and had knocked before she realised that none of the lights were on. Of course. Hagrid would be in the Forbidden Forest. Even Fang would be gone. The hut was as cold and empty as she felt.
Hermione managed to walk all the way to her room and close the door before giving in to the tears surging behind her eyelids.
***
Snape was not having A Good Day. The wound in his leg had festered, despite Poppy Pomfrey's ministrations, and so he was forced to return to the infirmary daily for treatment. Which meant that that little - wretch - who had done him the injury in the first place got within shouting distance about three times a day.
This morning she had thrown a bedpan at him. Thankfully, it had been empty. After lunch, she had thrown yet another pair of scissors- where did she get her hands on them?- but he, being a cautious man, had managed to avoid an inadvertent vasectomy. Now, it being well after dinner, he was on his way to yet another treatment- and another round with the pernicious wench.
Dumbledore had talked with her, Snape knew he had. The old man had explained the situation, what had happened- everything. But the witch had developed a pathological dislike of him, and could not be dissuaded.
Not that he really blamed her. Witch was the word- she wasn't part of the wizarding community, but she wasn't a muggle either. Dumbledore had mentioned something about 'wiccan', though Snape had been too distracted to take real note. The thing was, she had observed horrific things, and thought he was a representative of the people who had done them. Of course she would hate him.
But the constant uproar was giving Snape a serious headache. He undoubtedly deserved whatever insults she could find to hurl at him- but did she have to do it in another language? Snape had a smattering of Gaelic, just enough to catch a word here or there, but it was only enough to give him the merest hints of what he was being accused of.
The last round had been the worst. She had yelled the entire time he was in the room, barely pausing for breath. He hadn't caught much, but- with a cat? Really, he had no particular interest in such things. And what she accused him of doing with his grandmother was surely impossible; the old woman had died two years before he was born. Though, with the wench's low opinion of him, she no doubt suspected him of it anyway.
Pausing outside the infirmary's entrance, Snape took a moment to steel himself. Past experience had taught him to be prepared.
He entered, and was confronted with silence. There was no sign of Pomfrey, and, by the look of the shadow on the curtain that separated her from the rest of the room, his torturer was asleep. Snape let out a sigh. Relief.
Giving in to the tug that pulled at him when he was around her, Snape quietly walked over to the cubicle, and ventured a look at the strange girl there. Her face was relaxed in sleep, looking almost pleasant in the firelight. Her stay in the infirmary was more due to confusion about what to do with her, than to continued illness. Judging by the energy with which she railed at him, she had recovered quite nicely.
Snape moved to stand by her bed, knowing he was risking injury, but strangely uncaring. The link he had felt with this girl had not changed with her awakening. He still felt a connection to her, still felt her anger at him a little more deeply than he should. It was a puzzle to him.
The girl beneath his gaze stirred, and Snape retreated beyond the curtain shielding her from the room. Though he had to admit, grudgingly, that the girl's anger was justified, given that she saw him as a member of a group that had mistreated her in all but the most vicious of ways, he wasn't forced to enjoy her bouts of fury.
Snape sighed, and turned to leave. This slow torture was getting him down- he was acting strange even to himself these days. Weakness, he liked to think, was not an infection that corrupted his personality. At least, not often. And, he assured himself, it would not do so now.
With his pride aligned and back in place, Snape stalked to his rooms. Poppy and her treatments of his cut could go hang.
***
Hermione grimaced as the headache splintered through her head. It probably served her right for crying like a schoolgirl. Which she no longer was, she reminded herself firmly.
But sitting in the dark wincing in pain was not going to make the morning come any sooner, and she was out of headache relief potion. She smiled to herself in the dark. She had been in the wizarding world for far too long- her mother would be disappointed. In her notoriously organized family, a badly-stocked medical cupboard was tantamount to denouncing heritage. There were some disadvantages to having the world available at the flick of a wand.
Not everything, however, she thought, as she sat up and planted her feet on the floor. Had she known the exact location of Madame Pomfrey's stock of headache relief potion, she could have simply summoned some to her bedside. The down side of that method was if she got it wrong; if there was no potion, who knew what she could summon in its place? She didn't relish the idea of summoning an irate mediwitch accidentally.
Besides, she could probably do with the walk down to the infirmary. It would clear her head.
Wandering down the corridors of Hogwarts at night had always been, for Hermione, a thrilling experience. Usually because she was beneath an invisibility cloak with Ron and Harry, off to some adventure, telling them off for being careless but being thrilled herself all the same. The excitement of wandering around invisible at night had never lost its thrill for her, even after she had begun to lose her childish joy of the invisibility cloak. In her later years, she had often borrowed Harry's cloak to sneak into the library to study, her heart racing as she approached her own secret haven. Walking around in the cloak had given her the privileges of a ghost, the privilege of being the only person around, owning Hogwarts for a while, in a way. At least, at night, her invisibility was her own intention.
With an impish grin, Hermione cast a cloaking spell on herself. It would do her spirits no harm to revisit an old indulgence tonight.
Sneaking quietly into the infirmary, Hermione made a beeline for the medicine cabinet. She grinned wider as she managed to open it with the gentlest of whispered spells and a hushed click.
'Who's there?'
The voice, strong but tinted with fear, echoed through the room, and Hermione jumped. Apparently, her skills at sneaking had rusted somewhat with lack of practice.
She turned, expecting to see a frightened student, but instead could spy no-one in the infirmary. That was strange. She knew Poppy Pomfrey didn't have any patients, but had assumed that some student had had an accident sometime during the night, yet no-one was there. She frowned, her brow furrowing. Something was amiss, she could feel it.
Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she looked around the room. There was someone here, she was certain- that had been no childhood ghost speaking to her. Yet- wait! No, there it was. Hermione broke out in a smile. A simple concealing charm, at the end of the room, hid a curtained partition, though 'hid' was not really the proper word- it simply made one not want to notice it, to want to pass on. Now that she knew about it, she could see it quite easily.
As quietly as she could, Hermione crept over to the cubicle. Her curiosity hadn't changed since her school days, either.
Rounding the curtain, Hermione spied a girl of about her own age, maybe older, though it was difficult to tell. Fear widened her eyes as she looked around the room, making her look younger, vulnerable. So palpable was her fear that Hermione couldn't help pitying her, and swiftly removed the cloaking charm around her.
The girl drew in breath when Hermione came into view, but didn't look particularly shocked, Hermione noticed. So. Someone who was ready to expect anything.
'Who are you?' The girl's voice broke the stillness in the room.
'My name is Hermione Granger,' Hermione answered briskly. She wanted to be kind, but the girl's voice was almost accusatory. She wondered what had made her that way. 'I'm sorry if I scared you. I just needed a headache potion.'
The girl's brow furrowed, and Hermione realised she didn't know what she was talking about. 'It's a draught to relieve a headache. Madame Pomfrey keeps a good supply.' The girl nodded, and Hermione wondered again what this girl was. She didn't start at magic tricks happening before her, yet didn't know of the simplest of things, such as a headache relief potion.
'I hope I didn't scare you,' Hermione repeated, and the girl's eyes refocussed on her.
'You didn't,' she said. 'I was just wondering who it could be. I couldn't sleep.'
Hermione smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. 'I'm sorry to hear that. Did you want me to fetch Madame Pomfrey? She could give you a sleeping draught.'
The girl grimaced, and for a moment Hermione wondered what she had said wrong. 'No. I need no more of your wizardly concoctions.'
Taken aback, Hermione stared at the girl. That last remark had had a little too much vehemence. A part of her prompted her to investigate, but her natural reserve prevented it. she sufficed with a simple, 'Oh.'
After a moment's silence, Hermione rallied. 'So what's your name?'
The girl looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You may call me Ailie.'
Hermione caught the subterfuge in her voice. 'What's your real name?'
Obviously surprised, the girl gave her an appraising look. 'I can't tell you that. Names are powerful things to just give away.'
'Hmm.' Hermione found herself without voice. She had never come across a person like this before. Somehow, though, she could sense that the girl was not completely distrustful of her. Testing, she asked, 'But is Ailie a name other people usually call you?'
'Yes.' The girl nodded.
Silence filled the room as Hermione tried to think of what to say. She was never the best conversationalist at the best of times, and finding things to talk about with a stranger in the dead of night proved difficult.
Finally, Ailie broke the pause. 'Why were you wandering around invisible?'
Hermione gave a self-conscious laugh. 'I, um- I used to walk around invisible at night, when I was a student here.'
'Oh.' The girl on the bed frowned in puzzlement. 'Do they not like students walking freely, here?'
Hermione gasped, and chuckled. 'No- I mean, yes. Students can move around almost as they like, in the daytime. But it's not unusual for a school to frown on students being out of bounds at night-time.'
'But surely night is the most magical time? Do you people not want to teach your students skills?'
Hermione paused, not quite knowing how to answer that. She sufficed with, 'They seem to fare pretty well by learning in the day time.'
Ailie snorted and looked away in disgust. Hermione, sensing an argument in the making, chose not to inquire about the source of the other girl's attitude.
Deciding to take the offensive, she asked, 'Why are you in here?'
The girl frowned at her. 'I was brought by that ugly wizard, Snop- Snap, something.'
'Snape?' Hermione smiled at Ailie's acid tone in pronouncing the name. Usually, it took people at least a month's acquaintance to develop such an attitude toward the ominous Potions Master.
'Yes. You know him.' It was an accusation.
'Yes.' Hermione's wry smile was designed to convey her own opinion.
She was surprised to see the girl's answering smile.
'I see not everyone here loves that - man. The nurse and the other wizard treat him as a friend.'
'They would. They've been colleagues for a long time, and I'm just a- ' Hermione paused, realising what she had been about to say. 'Well, I'm a colleague of his too, I suppose.' She was surprised by the thought. She had never thought of herself as Snape's colleague, never conceived herself as anything but his subordinate. The idea was unsettling.
Ailie seemed to sense her confusion. 'Don't worry. I am glad that you do not class yourself in the same category as - him.' Again, her tone made the word an insult. Hermione mused on the connotations that might have.
Across from her, the girl yawned. Hermione looked at her, startled. She had forgotten she was in the infirmary.
'You should get some sleep. You need to- well, get over what ever you need to get over.'
Ailie nodded. 'It was nice of you to talk to me.'
Hermione smiled, her first genuine smile for quite a few weeks. 'Not at all. It was nice to talk to someone so... interesting. Goodnight.'
'Peace,' Ailie answered, her eyes closing.
Hermione wandered out the door of the infirmary, her headache forgotten. Out of habit, she cast a cloaking spell on herself once more. That had certainly been interesting. She had never come across someone so puzzling before; with magical knowledge, yet obviously without it, rough, untrusting, but strangely friendly. And guarded. She never had mentioned the reason she was in there, nor from whence she came. And she had obviously been restraining herself on the topic of Severus Snape.
It was intriguing, Hermione mused as she wandered along, chewing her lip. It also awoke something in her that she had not had in quite some time - the thrill of being at the beginning of some wonderful mystery. The feeling transported her back to her past, and she didn't resent it at all. She had found herself another mystery at Hogwarts, and even though she was a teacher this time, she couldn't resist the need to know what it was. She was Hermione Granger, know-it-all, after all.
It was a shame Harry and Ron couldn't be there for the chase.
Caught up in her thoughts, Hermione had thrown aside her usual caution when walking at night. Bumping headlong into a solid, yet tellingly soft, object was the first she knew of another person performing nightly wanderings.
Two strong hands grasped her upper arms with painful intensity, and Hermione gasped in pain. She looked up, and wished she hadn't. She had finally managed to make the blunder she hadn't committed in all her student years, and had run headlong into Severus Snape.
'Who are you?' came Snape's harsh whisper. Hermione felt a tremor of fear run down her spine. She had never heard this most dangerous of Snape's tones, not even when Neville had blown up the entire potions classroom in year five.
When she didn't immediately answer, the hands on her arms shook her. 'It would pay you to answer me,' he said in a low tone. 'Uninvited guests at Hogwarts are not suffered lightly.'
Shocked into speech, Hermione managed a thin whisper. 'Professor Snape! It's me, Hermione Granger, sir!'
Abruptly, Snape ceased shaking her, and his grip on her relaxed somewhat. 'Miss Granger?' The confusion in his voice was evident.
Hermione nodded, then realised she was still wearing the cloaking charm. Quickly, she removed it, and was a little gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in surprise when she appeared.
The moment did not last long. Her old Potions Master quickly recovered, his customary glare replacing shock.
'And what, exactly, do you think you are doing wandering the halls invisible at this hour?'
'I'm- I'm sorry sir.'
'Be sure that you are.' Snape released her, his arms folding as he stared down at her. 'Don't let me catch you at it again, Miss Granger.' The venom in his voice was like a tangible coating, as was his dismissal.
With a quiet acquiescence, Hermione darted off, making her way to her rooms. It wasn't until she reached them and was safely inside that she realised to her chagrin that she had reacted exactly like a student.
Notes: To everyone who reviewed, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you... reviews are the only way I know people have read stuff, so even something saying 'I read it, and wasn't that impressed,' is great.
PotionsMastersMistress- thanks for pointing out my mistake- it never would have occurred to me! Corrections are always more than welcome.
Aemos- thanks for the ego-boost! I highly doubt I deserve it, as reading back over these chapters I've had a few cringeworthy moments, but it's always nice to get compliments.
Helen- all will eventually be revealed, unfortunately not at a hugely fast pace as I have four huge essays to do (why did I take an anthropology class? Why, why, why?) but I hate those people who update every two years or so, so I understand the frustration. I hope this chapter has answered your question as to whether the girl was Hermione- sorry, things will get a little more off-track before it gets to SS/HG. But I promise to make the build-up worth it.
Makota- hmm. If you read on, you will see that the 'blow on the ancient Pagans' was written as part of Snape's thought patterns. He hates everyone, so of course he's going to see the down side of everything. However, I spoke only the truth- blood sacrifice was a part of the hugely broad religion now conceptualised by the blanket term 'paganism'. It's true of just about every religion (though there are exceptions- don't stress, I'm not downing Buddhists) that bloody murder has been a part- Romans killed Christians for sport, Christians hacked to death anyone living in Jerusalem, etc. Humanity's like that, I'm sorry to say- if you want evidence, simply board a plane to just about any third world country and look at the things people do to each other- including some first world organisations who I will not mention. As for grunting, blood lust has a very stupifying effect.
I find it very interesting that someone who is so quick to stand up for peoples that have, since the Roman invasion of Britain, been dead ('ancient' Pagans), and takes offence with lightning speed on their behalf, is equally quick to give offence. You say that I am entitled to my ideas, while at the same time saying that if my ideas are what you think they are, you despise me for it (I can't really take 'fuck you' any other way).
References: The qualities of the concealing charm on the dividing curtain are borrowed from Douglas Adams' SEP field. I only wish he were around to sue me for it.
Oh- I can also be an ignoramus when it comes to British history. When I make mistakes, inform me.