Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim, dissuade, dissent, decry, debug, demystify,
debrief and disillusion the general public as to my right to use these
characters: I have none. Yup, that's right, J.K. invented them and here I
am, using them for my own twisted pleasure, without having paid billions of
dollars to either the author herself, or Warner Bros. And you know what?
I'm not about to give them any money either, because I hereby do all of the
aforementioned things in relation to the ludicrous state of the world's
copyright acts. I think, as long as one is careful to acknowledge the
author, and fails to make any profit from the use of copyrighted material
(and really, is anyone seriously going to suggest that fanfiction authors
are making money? I think not, apart from that guy in Japan who wrote the
next HP book and sold millions of copies, but let's just ignore him).
So, W.B, J.K, don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway, and I doubt you'd find any joy in wrenching my poor belongings from me in lieu of payment.
Author's note: Sorry I've been so lax in updating, which is a trait I despise myself. I'm in the middle of writing a novel, and, as it could possibly get me some much-needed dosh, I've been anxious to spend as much time on it as possible. Sorry. You'll be glad to note that both the novel and this story are the same length at the moment- 50,000 words. So I am putting in as much effort on this.
Chapter Seven Ailie looked up as Hermione's head appeared through the fireplace. She shivered. Somehow, she still couldn't get used to floo travel.
'Have you got a spare minute?' Hermione asked.
Ailie put aside the book she had been reading and looked at her friend, who was emerging from the fireplace. She was startled to note the ashen complexion of her companion. Ailie frowned. 'So, what's up?'
'I've decided we should give Professor Snape the potion,' Hermione said, looking nervous.
Ailie smiled.
***
Snape stalked into the dining hall, twenty minutes late for lunch, and was not at all gratified to see the entirety of the staff waiting for him. Well, almost the entirety- Granger was the one exception, but Snape was reluctant in his current mood to include her in his concept of 'staff.' In fact, if he could have his wish, he would disclude her from the category of 'at Hogwarts' as well.
Sighing inwardly, Snape proceeded to his seat and sat down, ignoring the interested looks from the rest of the staff. He had known this would happen. It would be too much to expect that the gossip-starved harpies of Hogwarts would behave like the adults they were supposed to be, and mind their own gods-damned business.
After all, it had only been a good twenty hours since they had stood, gawping, as the Granger girl had vented her childish spleen at him in a most undignified fashion. Snape almost groaned. What a mess. It was bad enough that the infant had decided to yell at him in the upper reaches of her voice, attracting the attention of the entire castle, but he had retaliated. Ugh. You should have known better, Severus, he berated himself. Not that the girl hadn't deserved far more of a lashing than he had had a chance to give- but he should have remained under his own control. The child was not important enough to provoke his anger.
And now he had to put up with the stares of the people who had witnessed it. How much of the conversation they had viewed, he did not know. He had only noticed them as the girl had fled out the door- well, if he had to be honest, she had rather composedly walked out the door, which was not something he was used to experiencing after yelling at children. Unsettling, really, how the girl had managed to be so composed, so completely unafraid as she had exited the room. Perhaps it was yet more evidence of her lack of sense- a smart wizard would know to be afraid of Severus Snape's anger after such an outburst.
Assuming a facade of complete composure, Snape glanced up from his meal. The entire staff was still staring at him. He attempted his patented glare, but couldn't put his heart into it. For some reason, after seeing him put down by a mere child, the rest of the teaching staff seemed to view him as more of a specimen than a threat. His glares wouldn't work, nor even a good sneer. He knew. He had tried both as he had swept past them out of the library yesterday, and they had had as little effect as they did now.
It was partly his own fault for losing his control with the girl in the first place. While he despised the curiosity of his infantile associates, he was forced to admit that the situation would never have presented itself if he had not yelled at her, an uncharacteristic loss of composure for him. He didn't yell. He threatened. When he was really angry, he whispered. Never a yell.
He blamed it on the effects of that dratted Wiccan girl he had rescued. He had been entirely out of sorts since he had rescued the ungrateful wench. Apparently, the transference of emotional habits was unavoidable, part of the whole insane process. Normally one to appreciate the variations on the magical arts, Snape had of late decided he despised the whole of Wiccan practice.
Control. He had to find some way to regain control over himself.
Not that he would lose control again with her. It had simply been the unfairness of Hermione's accusations. Of course he knew she was no longer a student. He had seen her in her classes, taking control easily, slipping into the role of a teacher as though she had been doing it for years. Despite her assertion, he had noticed that she was now in the staff room, and not in the dormitory. He occasionally sat next to her at dinner, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't blind.
No, of course he wasn't blind. He was a fully-grown male, and could not have missed the fact that for the first time in approximately fifteen years, Dumbledore had hired someone under forty. It wasn't that Granger was attractive, particularly, but a man who had lived in the wasteland of the Hogwarts staff room for the last few years would have to be dead not to notice that there was a... well, if he was honest with himself, he could almost say 'pretty' young girl. On a good day. Shapely, maybe. If he was to be particularly kind, pleasant-looking, not the sort of figure that one would cringe at, mostly. If he was very kind. Oh, who was he kidding- the girl was attractive, and her presence by the fire in the staff room could hardly be missed, especially when grandfatherly letches like Flitwick and Watson constantly practiced their octogenarian chivalry on the wench. There, he had said it. But that had nothing to do with his loss of control. Not a thing.
Ye gods. Here was Flitwick now, rising with a frown of concern and walking around the table, no doubt to take him to task for yelling at one of the old wizard's favourite ex-students. And there was Minerva, raising an eyebrow at him and being no help at all. So much for scholarly solidarity. Friends with the woman for years and she deserts at the first sign of trouble- well, actually, the tally for the Head of Gryffindor's stern talks with him was averaging three a week. But still.
Merlin take this. Snape set down his knife and fork with a clang and rose, ignoring the raised eyebrows around the table at his not even having touched lunch. Not even favouring them with a glare, he turned and swept from the room, seeking the safety and silence of his rooms.
***
'So I called him a heartless old hermit, and he said that I'd made Harry and Ron into idiots- which they are not- and he called me an infant!' Hermione drew a couple of deep breaths, the anger of the previous evening still strong in her mind. 'An infant, can you believe it? That man is so infuriating! I just want to-' With a grunt of frustration, Hermione wrung her hands together in an eloquent gesture, making her companion smile.
'So you want to get him back, do you?' Ailie asked, in glad tones. 'Now you know how I feel.'
'Hah!' muttered Hermione, her eyes still focused on an inward picture. 'Seven years with that... monster! And he calls me an infant! Ugh!'
'Yes, so we're making the potion, right?'
'Yes!' Hermione glared into the fire, her fists clenched. 'See how he likes feeling helpless.'
Ailie grinned to herself. She had a feeling she knew exactly how Snape would like feeling helpless. After all, she had known exactly what he had been feeling for the last three weeks, every moment.
'That... rat!' Hermione fumed. 'I can't even think of a word for him. Do you know he called me a-'
'Well, you did tell him to shove his potions advice where the sun doesn't shine,' Ailie said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. It was disturbing to report information that wasn't in her head a second ago.
Hermione frowned. 'How did you know that?'
Ailie shrugged, her eyes downcast. 'I know everything about Snape. Do you think that this whole 'soul bonding' thing is all fun? Everything the man feels gets transferred to me, if it's strong enough.' At that thought, Ailie grinned. Not everything about the situation was a burden. It was quite handy to figure out the man's thoughts on certain topics while he was still denying them to himself. Quite handy indeed. 'I have to find some way to show him who's boss. Now do you see why we need to prepare that potion straight away?'
Still distracted by her anger at Snape, Hermione nodded absently. 'We can start it as soon as I get the ingredients.'
'Good. When?'
Ailie noted with distress her companion's frown. 'Oh, a week or so. I have to find a time when Snape isn't in his rooms, so I can steal a few things without his noticing. The only time that is certain to happen is the Head of House meeting at the end of the week.'
Ailie shook her head. 'No. Too far away. We need to do it soon.'
'How?' Hermione asked. 'I can't just walk in and take ingredients. He's sure to suspect something.'
'What about that invisible thing you can do? Just walk in there.'
Hermione shook her head, a nervous look in her eyes. 'Do you think he won't notice when cupboards just start opening by themselves? Anyway, he seems to know when I'm being invisible. I don't know how,' she concluded in a puzzled tone.
Ailie smirked. She had a feeling she knew exactly how- or why- Snape could detect when Hermione was around him, even invisible. She giggled. This was definitely a situation she could manipulate.
'What?' Hermione looked at her friend curiously.
'Nothing,' Ailie replied, composing herself. 'I was just wondering if you've found out any way for me to have better control over this... thing with Snape.'
'Maybe.' Hermione rose. 'I have some books on meditation techniques that might be helpful. I'll just go get them- they're in my room.' With a quick movement, Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the box on the mantelpiece and jumped into the fire. Ailie cringed. It was something she would have to get used to, obviously.
In a moment, Hermione was back, several books in hand. Ailie took them from her, distracted. A plan was forming in her mind on how keep Snape out of his rooms.
'Have you got a list of all the ingredients we need for the potion?' she asked. Hermione nodded, a puzzled look on her face. 'Good,' Ailie continued. 'Then I say let's start right away.'
'But what are we going to do?' Hermione asked, looking up the list of ingredients in the potions book.
'You are going to raid the old bat's cupboards. I am going to fight with him.' Ailie smiled at Hermione's startled look. 'Don't worry. We'll take it outside. I have a feeling,' she added, 'that very soon Snape is going to want to take a walk.'
***
Snape ceased his pacing of his study. This was ridiculous. He wasn't getting any work done this way, and his carpet was getting worn.
A sudden urge for the open air struck him. The harsh winter landscape outside would be just the thing to suit his mood, and once this restlessness was walked off, he would be able to sit and concentrate.
Grabbing his cloak, he headed for the door.
Once outside the castle, Snape obeyed a sudden inclination to head west, toward the Quiddich pitches. It wasn't often he went this way. In fact, it wasn't often he walked at all, preferring the solitude of the dungeons.
He was startled when he rounded a stand on the pitch to see a figure facing the other way. As he walked forward, it turned. For some reason, he wasn't at all surprised to see that it was the Wiccan girl, standing as if she had been waiting for him.
No, he wasn't surprised at all.
'What,' he said silkily as he walked toward her, 'exactly is it that you've called me out here for?'
He was pleased to note the surprise that sparked in the girl's eyes. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't reply.
'You didn't think I wouldn't be suspicious of sudden inclinations to catch some fresh air, did you?' he asked.
With displeasure he saw the girl's smirk. 'You weren't suspicious at all,' she said. 'You only figured it out when you saw me.'
*Damn! * he said inwardly. Irritated, he waved his hand.
'Regardless,' he said. 'You have called me out here for something. Kindly get it over with so I can return to the castle, instead of standing out here in the cold.'
This time it was the girl's turn to be irritated. 'I owe you something, Snape.'
'Oh yes?' Snape smiled evilly.
'Yes. And you can be sure I will pay you back for what you've done to me.' From her tone, Snape guessed that she wasn't talking about being indebted to him for her life.
'You impudent girl. Do not think you can threaten me.' Arms crossed, Snape stalked forward and loomed over the young girl. 'You childish anger only amuses me. But should it proceed to the point that it is no longer funny do not for a moment think that I would not snap you like a twig.' Again, a disconcerting flash of amusement appeared in the girl's eyes.
'Arguing with you is too easy,' she said, and Snape frowned in puzzlement. She smiled at him. 'I know exactly what sort of comeback you're likely to give. I'm in your head, Snape. Remember?'
Snape glared at her. An unfamiliar look came across the girl's face, and a sudden instinct made him reach for his wand.
Unfortunately, he was too late.
'*Accio* wand!' Ailie's hand shot out and Snape's wand flew into it.
'*Expelliarmus!'* Snape said, and the wand was dashed from her hand. 'Accio!' In an instant, the wand was back in his own hand.
'*Accio!*' The wand flew back into Ailie's hand, much to Snape's surprise. His wand shouldn't have done that- only a wand owned by the girl herself should have obeyed in that way.
Ailie smiled cruelly. '*Emasclio.*' Snape blanched, but saw a flicker of surprise dawn on Ailie's face. He breathed a sigh of relief. That curse was a particularly cruel one.
'*Accio.*' With outstretched hand, Snape regained his wand. 'You see, Ailie, this wand has a block placed on it. It cannot harm its owner.' Snape silently thanked Dumbledore's precaution, one set in place when Snape had been experiencing less than happy days. He saw Ailie open her mouth and grinned. '*Silencio!*'
'You ignorant bat!' Ailie yelled. 'How dare you-' She stopped in surprise. The last time she had heard that spell, her vocal cords had been incapacitated.
Snape looked down at his wand. What was wrong with it? It was true that he didn't often use it, but wands simply didn't break down.
Snape looked at Ailie, seeing the confusion he was feeling mirrored in her eyes. Baffled and angry, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the castle.
He was definitely not in the mood for this.
***
The door opened with a click. Hermione put her wand back into her pocket and cautiously peeked around the door, ready to duck back if Snape was still within. Not that there was any need- as an extra precaution, she had made herself invisible again.
The coast was clear. Quickly, Hermione walked over to the stores cabinet and opened it, securing the ingredients swiftly. Luckily, Snape was a creature of habit, and her years of schooling had given her a familiarity with the order of his stores cupboards.
Her job done, Hermione hoisted her bag on her shoulder and made to leave. Walking past Snape's desk, she paused. She had never really had a chance to look around in here. Either she had been on a clandestine trip such as this one, or she had been sent to fetch an ingredient while Snape waited, and hadn't dared to take too much time.
But what was stopping her now? Knowing Ailie, she would argue with Snape for at least a half hour. At the very least, she had ten minutes, the time it would take for Snape to get outside, turn around, and come back. Plenty of time to satisfy her curiosity.
Tremulously, she approached his desk, promising herself that she would just look. After all, Snape would probably notice if anything was moved, and that would defeat the whole purpose of the trip.
Carefully, Hermione looked over the items scattered on the desk. Open, but shoved to the side, was a book on moonlit potions. With a wistful smile, Hermione ran a finger down a page. She missed potions-making. As horrible as the style of teaching had been, Hermione had been able to appreciate the 'art' in potions making, that element that Snape, so careful to inform them of in his opening speech, had prevented most of his students from seeing. He had been too concerned with his own petty favouritisms.
A frown crossed Hermione's face, and she turned away from the beguiling book. She felt, sometimes, that she understood Snape. It would be frustrating to know a subject so well, to love it, and to face incompetence at every turn when trying to promote it to others. She knew that feeling all too well. The difference, however, was that when she had been trying to teach Neville how to correctly prepare mugwort over and over again, and when she had had to repeatedly explain to Ron how arithmancy worked, her frustrations at their slowness had remained bottled up. She had attempted to understand why they were so slow.
Laziness. She was beginning to realise that all that made Snape push his students so hard was laziness, and nastiness of temper. When she had been at school she had looked up to him, in some ways. As fascinated with all things magical as she was, he had seemed like a god in his extensive knowledge of potions. Every question, it seemed, met with an answer in him.
Yet now that she was slowly distancing herself from the fantastical world of her childhood, Hermione was beginning to see that a knowledge of potions did not a master of everything make. While Snape might have been an expert on potions-making, he was lacking in all areas of human feeling. Why, the only person Hermione had ever seen him be more than civil with was Dumbledore, although sometimes not even then. He seemed to hate the world, apart from his precious Slytherins and their pureblood fathers.
Snape's failure to even try to be a decent human being was what got to Hermione. It would take so little for him to be nice- if just once he had encouraged her in any way during potions class- if he had just answered her questions politely-
A sound in the corridor made Hermione jump, and she tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A muffled hiss sounded in the corridor beyond, and Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It was only Mrs Norris, chasing something down the passageway. The noise, however, had reminded her of her mission, and, after waiting a few minutes for Mrs Norris to move on, Hermione opened the door.
Swiftly she walked along the hall toward the stairs, the sound of her shoes magically muffled. Just as she reached the stairway, however, she noted another noise. This time it couldn't be mistaken- someone was walking down the stairs to the dungeons, and at this time of year it was only likely to be one person.
Quickly, Hermione ducked back into the corridor. Her experiences with Snape had taught her to be cautious even when invisible. It would do no good just to stand still- she must find somewhere out of his way.
Unfortunately, the only places were the doorways to his office and his classroom. She could probably pass unnoticed if she stood quietly in one of them- but the question was, which room was he heading for? It was likely that he would be going to his office during the holidays- but what if he had something he needed to do in the classroom?
Needing to make a decision, Hermione quickly pressed herself into the classroom's doorway. It was the least likely of the two.
She watched nervously as Snape stalked toward her. By the look on his face, whatever Ailie had found to argue with him about had disturbed him. It was slightly unexpected- puzzlement, concern and a touch of sadness crossed the older man's features, where Hermione was used to, and would have expected, anger. It made him look almost human.
It occured to Hermione that it wasn't often a person could observe Snape like this. In all her childhood years, she had faced him in fear, in anger or in trepidation. Such feelings didn't really give a girl time to ponder on the man. Now, walking slowly as he was, obviously lost in his own thoughts, Hermione was free to take in his appearance with more ease than before.
Though they had always referred to him as a 'greasy-haired git,' Hermione had never really thought Snape at all unkempt, just a little messy. She could see as he approached that his long black hair, which had been shoulder-length for as long as she had known him, was tousled, probably from running his hands through it at odd times like she had seen him do when he was concentrating on a particularly difficult potion. It hang lankly over his downturned face, shadowing it, and giving Hermione the urge to push it back for him. She had never been able to stand untidy hair in her face, and the mere sight of it on someone else irritated her no end- it had taken her all her years of school to train Ron to keep his out of his face.
Snape's shadowed features looked old in the dim light of the hall. No, perhaps not old, just weary. Hermione remembered looking at him occasionally in Potions after she, Ron and Harry had found out he was a spy for Dumbledore, and noticing a flicker of that weariness. In later years as he became more and more guarded she had supposed it a fancy of her imagination, and forgotten to look for it. His pale skin was highlighted by the darkness around him, and for the first time Hermione wondered if the man ever allowed himself some sunlight.
His brow furrowed, drawing two fine black eyebrows together in a graceful curve. Hermione was used to seeing one of those brows raised in contempt, used to seeing his frown only from anger. His expression now, however, somehow seemed quite sad. His dark eyes were downcast, two unfathomable black pools.
Snape reached his study door and pulled out a key. Hermione had often wondered at that- an unmagically locked door was so much easier to break into than one supplemented with magical wards. She had supposed it was his aversion to 'foolish wand waving.'
With a swiftness that startled her, Snape swept around and looked directly at where she was standing. Her heart beat in her throat. She should have known he would notice her- he always seemed to know that she was there even though she was invisible.
It took a few seconds for the realisation to sink in that he wasn't staring at her, but through her, unnoticing. He was considering the door behind her. Hermione breathed out silently.
In the rush of relief, Hermione realised that Snape's eyes and hers were directly level. She had never realised before that she and Snape were almost the same height, allowing for her heeled boots. His eyes were not as completely black as they appeared from a distance, though she had long suspected as much. They were like the bitterest of chocolate, the darkest brown she had ever seen. Surprisingly, there were no crows' feet around his eyes, no marks to show the worry and strain he had been through in his years. In fact, Hermione thought whimsically, if he didn't frown so often, Snape might have looked a lot younger than he was.
The object of her gaze leant forward slightly, and Hermione was reminded that he still might decide to enter the classroom. She pressed herself as far back as she could in the doorway, hoping by force of will to disappear into the wood. Snape appeared to come to a decision, however, and turned back to his own door.
His profile was turned to Hermione as he inserted the key in the door and turned it. For a moment he paused, his hand on the door handle, and once more Hermione was disturbed by the sadness shown on his face. The moment was dashed aside, however, as Snape sneered nastily, the movement transforming his face into its usual evil mask. Noting the quick change, Hermione shook herself. It would be dangerous to forget just how nasty Snape could make himself be, when he wanted to.
Snape opened the door, shaking his head to himself while walking inside. Hermione caught the word 'never,' as the door closed of its own accord behind him and breathed out quietly.
Time to get revenge for seven very long years.
So, W.B, J.K, don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway, and I doubt you'd find any joy in wrenching my poor belongings from me in lieu of payment.
Author's note: Sorry I've been so lax in updating, which is a trait I despise myself. I'm in the middle of writing a novel, and, as it could possibly get me some much-needed dosh, I've been anxious to spend as much time on it as possible. Sorry. You'll be glad to note that both the novel and this story are the same length at the moment- 50,000 words. So I am putting in as much effort on this.
Chapter Seven Ailie looked up as Hermione's head appeared through the fireplace. She shivered. Somehow, she still couldn't get used to floo travel.
'Have you got a spare minute?' Hermione asked.
Ailie put aside the book she had been reading and looked at her friend, who was emerging from the fireplace. She was startled to note the ashen complexion of her companion. Ailie frowned. 'So, what's up?'
'I've decided we should give Professor Snape the potion,' Hermione said, looking nervous.
Ailie smiled.
***
Snape stalked into the dining hall, twenty minutes late for lunch, and was not at all gratified to see the entirety of the staff waiting for him. Well, almost the entirety- Granger was the one exception, but Snape was reluctant in his current mood to include her in his concept of 'staff.' In fact, if he could have his wish, he would disclude her from the category of 'at Hogwarts' as well.
Sighing inwardly, Snape proceeded to his seat and sat down, ignoring the interested looks from the rest of the staff. He had known this would happen. It would be too much to expect that the gossip-starved harpies of Hogwarts would behave like the adults they were supposed to be, and mind their own gods-damned business.
After all, it had only been a good twenty hours since they had stood, gawping, as the Granger girl had vented her childish spleen at him in a most undignified fashion. Snape almost groaned. What a mess. It was bad enough that the infant had decided to yell at him in the upper reaches of her voice, attracting the attention of the entire castle, but he had retaliated. Ugh. You should have known better, Severus, he berated himself. Not that the girl hadn't deserved far more of a lashing than he had had a chance to give- but he should have remained under his own control. The child was not important enough to provoke his anger.
And now he had to put up with the stares of the people who had witnessed it. How much of the conversation they had viewed, he did not know. He had only noticed them as the girl had fled out the door- well, if he had to be honest, she had rather composedly walked out the door, which was not something he was used to experiencing after yelling at children. Unsettling, really, how the girl had managed to be so composed, so completely unafraid as she had exited the room. Perhaps it was yet more evidence of her lack of sense- a smart wizard would know to be afraid of Severus Snape's anger after such an outburst.
Assuming a facade of complete composure, Snape glanced up from his meal. The entire staff was still staring at him. He attempted his patented glare, but couldn't put his heart into it. For some reason, after seeing him put down by a mere child, the rest of the teaching staff seemed to view him as more of a specimen than a threat. His glares wouldn't work, nor even a good sneer. He knew. He had tried both as he had swept past them out of the library yesterday, and they had had as little effect as they did now.
It was partly his own fault for losing his control with the girl in the first place. While he despised the curiosity of his infantile associates, he was forced to admit that the situation would never have presented itself if he had not yelled at her, an uncharacteristic loss of composure for him. He didn't yell. He threatened. When he was really angry, he whispered. Never a yell.
He blamed it on the effects of that dratted Wiccan girl he had rescued. He had been entirely out of sorts since he had rescued the ungrateful wench. Apparently, the transference of emotional habits was unavoidable, part of the whole insane process. Normally one to appreciate the variations on the magical arts, Snape had of late decided he despised the whole of Wiccan practice.
Control. He had to find some way to regain control over himself.
Not that he would lose control again with her. It had simply been the unfairness of Hermione's accusations. Of course he knew she was no longer a student. He had seen her in her classes, taking control easily, slipping into the role of a teacher as though she had been doing it for years. Despite her assertion, he had noticed that she was now in the staff room, and not in the dormitory. He occasionally sat next to her at dinner, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't blind.
No, of course he wasn't blind. He was a fully-grown male, and could not have missed the fact that for the first time in approximately fifteen years, Dumbledore had hired someone under forty. It wasn't that Granger was attractive, particularly, but a man who had lived in the wasteland of the Hogwarts staff room for the last few years would have to be dead not to notice that there was a... well, if he was honest with himself, he could almost say 'pretty' young girl. On a good day. Shapely, maybe. If he was to be particularly kind, pleasant-looking, not the sort of figure that one would cringe at, mostly. If he was very kind. Oh, who was he kidding- the girl was attractive, and her presence by the fire in the staff room could hardly be missed, especially when grandfatherly letches like Flitwick and Watson constantly practiced their octogenarian chivalry on the wench. There, he had said it. But that had nothing to do with his loss of control. Not a thing.
Ye gods. Here was Flitwick now, rising with a frown of concern and walking around the table, no doubt to take him to task for yelling at one of the old wizard's favourite ex-students. And there was Minerva, raising an eyebrow at him and being no help at all. So much for scholarly solidarity. Friends with the woman for years and she deserts at the first sign of trouble- well, actually, the tally for the Head of Gryffindor's stern talks with him was averaging three a week. But still.
Merlin take this. Snape set down his knife and fork with a clang and rose, ignoring the raised eyebrows around the table at his not even having touched lunch. Not even favouring them with a glare, he turned and swept from the room, seeking the safety and silence of his rooms.
***
'So I called him a heartless old hermit, and he said that I'd made Harry and Ron into idiots- which they are not- and he called me an infant!' Hermione drew a couple of deep breaths, the anger of the previous evening still strong in her mind. 'An infant, can you believe it? That man is so infuriating! I just want to-' With a grunt of frustration, Hermione wrung her hands together in an eloquent gesture, making her companion smile.
'So you want to get him back, do you?' Ailie asked, in glad tones. 'Now you know how I feel.'
'Hah!' muttered Hermione, her eyes still focused on an inward picture. 'Seven years with that... monster! And he calls me an infant! Ugh!'
'Yes, so we're making the potion, right?'
'Yes!' Hermione glared into the fire, her fists clenched. 'See how he likes feeling helpless.'
Ailie grinned to herself. She had a feeling she knew exactly how Snape would like feeling helpless. After all, she had known exactly what he had been feeling for the last three weeks, every moment.
'That... rat!' Hermione fumed. 'I can't even think of a word for him. Do you know he called me a-'
'Well, you did tell him to shove his potions advice where the sun doesn't shine,' Ailie said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. It was disturbing to report information that wasn't in her head a second ago.
Hermione frowned. 'How did you know that?'
Ailie shrugged, her eyes downcast. 'I know everything about Snape. Do you think that this whole 'soul bonding' thing is all fun? Everything the man feels gets transferred to me, if it's strong enough.' At that thought, Ailie grinned. Not everything about the situation was a burden. It was quite handy to figure out the man's thoughts on certain topics while he was still denying them to himself. Quite handy indeed. 'I have to find some way to show him who's boss. Now do you see why we need to prepare that potion straight away?'
Still distracted by her anger at Snape, Hermione nodded absently. 'We can start it as soon as I get the ingredients.'
'Good. When?'
Ailie noted with distress her companion's frown. 'Oh, a week or so. I have to find a time when Snape isn't in his rooms, so I can steal a few things without his noticing. The only time that is certain to happen is the Head of House meeting at the end of the week.'
Ailie shook her head. 'No. Too far away. We need to do it soon.'
'How?' Hermione asked. 'I can't just walk in and take ingredients. He's sure to suspect something.'
'What about that invisible thing you can do? Just walk in there.'
Hermione shook her head, a nervous look in her eyes. 'Do you think he won't notice when cupboards just start opening by themselves? Anyway, he seems to know when I'm being invisible. I don't know how,' she concluded in a puzzled tone.
Ailie smirked. She had a feeling she knew exactly how- or why- Snape could detect when Hermione was around him, even invisible. She giggled. This was definitely a situation she could manipulate.
'What?' Hermione looked at her friend curiously.
'Nothing,' Ailie replied, composing herself. 'I was just wondering if you've found out any way for me to have better control over this... thing with Snape.'
'Maybe.' Hermione rose. 'I have some books on meditation techniques that might be helpful. I'll just go get them- they're in my room.' With a quick movement, Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the box on the mantelpiece and jumped into the fire. Ailie cringed. It was something she would have to get used to, obviously.
In a moment, Hermione was back, several books in hand. Ailie took them from her, distracted. A plan was forming in her mind on how keep Snape out of his rooms.
'Have you got a list of all the ingredients we need for the potion?' she asked. Hermione nodded, a puzzled look on her face. 'Good,' Ailie continued. 'Then I say let's start right away.'
'But what are we going to do?' Hermione asked, looking up the list of ingredients in the potions book.
'You are going to raid the old bat's cupboards. I am going to fight with him.' Ailie smiled at Hermione's startled look. 'Don't worry. We'll take it outside. I have a feeling,' she added, 'that very soon Snape is going to want to take a walk.'
***
Snape ceased his pacing of his study. This was ridiculous. He wasn't getting any work done this way, and his carpet was getting worn.
A sudden urge for the open air struck him. The harsh winter landscape outside would be just the thing to suit his mood, and once this restlessness was walked off, he would be able to sit and concentrate.
Grabbing his cloak, he headed for the door.
Once outside the castle, Snape obeyed a sudden inclination to head west, toward the Quiddich pitches. It wasn't often he went this way. In fact, it wasn't often he walked at all, preferring the solitude of the dungeons.
He was startled when he rounded a stand on the pitch to see a figure facing the other way. As he walked forward, it turned. For some reason, he wasn't at all surprised to see that it was the Wiccan girl, standing as if she had been waiting for him.
No, he wasn't surprised at all.
'What,' he said silkily as he walked toward her, 'exactly is it that you've called me out here for?'
He was pleased to note the surprise that sparked in the girl's eyes. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't reply.
'You didn't think I wouldn't be suspicious of sudden inclinations to catch some fresh air, did you?' he asked.
With displeasure he saw the girl's smirk. 'You weren't suspicious at all,' she said. 'You only figured it out when you saw me.'
*Damn! * he said inwardly. Irritated, he waved his hand.
'Regardless,' he said. 'You have called me out here for something. Kindly get it over with so I can return to the castle, instead of standing out here in the cold.'
This time it was the girl's turn to be irritated. 'I owe you something, Snape.'
'Oh yes?' Snape smiled evilly.
'Yes. And you can be sure I will pay you back for what you've done to me.' From her tone, Snape guessed that she wasn't talking about being indebted to him for her life.
'You impudent girl. Do not think you can threaten me.' Arms crossed, Snape stalked forward and loomed over the young girl. 'You childish anger only amuses me. But should it proceed to the point that it is no longer funny do not for a moment think that I would not snap you like a twig.' Again, a disconcerting flash of amusement appeared in the girl's eyes.
'Arguing with you is too easy,' she said, and Snape frowned in puzzlement. She smiled at him. 'I know exactly what sort of comeback you're likely to give. I'm in your head, Snape. Remember?'
Snape glared at her. An unfamiliar look came across the girl's face, and a sudden instinct made him reach for his wand.
Unfortunately, he was too late.
'*Accio* wand!' Ailie's hand shot out and Snape's wand flew into it.
'*Expelliarmus!'* Snape said, and the wand was dashed from her hand. 'Accio!' In an instant, the wand was back in his own hand.
'*Accio!*' The wand flew back into Ailie's hand, much to Snape's surprise. His wand shouldn't have done that- only a wand owned by the girl herself should have obeyed in that way.
Ailie smiled cruelly. '*Emasclio.*' Snape blanched, but saw a flicker of surprise dawn on Ailie's face. He breathed a sigh of relief. That curse was a particularly cruel one.
'*Accio.*' With outstretched hand, Snape regained his wand. 'You see, Ailie, this wand has a block placed on it. It cannot harm its owner.' Snape silently thanked Dumbledore's precaution, one set in place when Snape had been experiencing less than happy days. He saw Ailie open her mouth and grinned. '*Silencio!*'
'You ignorant bat!' Ailie yelled. 'How dare you-' She stopped in surprise. The last time she had heard that spell, her vocal cords had been incapacitated.
Snape looked down at his wand. What was wrong with it? It was true that he didn't often use it, but wands simply didn't break down.
Snape looked at Ailie, seeing the confusion he was feeling mirrored in her eyes. Baffled and angry, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the castle.
He was definitely not in the mood for this.
***
The door opened with a click. Hermione put her wand back into her pocket and cautiously peeked around the door, ready to duck back if Snape was still within. Not that there was any need- as an extra precaution, she had made herself invisible again.
The coast was clear. Quickly, Hermione walked over to the stores cabinet and opened it, securing the ingredients swiftly. Luckily, Snape was a creature of habit, and her years of schooling had given her a familiarity with the order of his stores cupboards.
Her job done, Hermione hoisted her bag on her shoulder and made to leave. Walking past Snape's desk, she paused. She had never really had a chance to look around in here. Either she had been on a clandestine trip such as this one, or she had been sent to fetch an ingredient while Snape waited, and hadn't dared to take too much time.
But what was stopping her now? Knowing Ailie, she would argue with Snape for at least a half hour. At the very least, she had ten minutes, the time it would take for Snape to get outside, turn around, and come back. Plenty of time to satisfy her curiosity.
Tremulously, she approached his desk, promising herself that she would just look. After all, Snape would probably notice if anything was moved, and that would defeat the whole purpose of the trip.
Carefully, Hermione looked over the items scattered on the desk. Open, but shoved to the side, was a book on moonlit potions. With a wistful smile, Hermione ran a finger down a page. She missed potions-making. As horrible as the style of teaching had been, Hermione had been able to appreciate the 'art' in potions making, that element that Snape, so careful to inform them of in his opening speech, had prevented most of his students from seeing. He had been too concerned with his own petty favouritisms.
A frown crossed Hermione's face, and she turned away from the beguiling book. She felt, sometimes, that she understood Snape. It would be frustrating to know a subject so well, to love it, and to face incompetence at every turn when trying to promote it to others. She knew that feeling all too well. The difference, however, was that when she had been trying to teach Neville how to correctly prepare mugwort over and over again, and when she had had to repeatedly explain to Ron how arithmancy worked, her frustrations at their slowness had remained bottled up. She had attempted to understand why they were so slow.
Laziness. She was beginning to realise that all that made Snape push his students so hard was laziness, and nastiness of temper. When she had been at school she had looked up to him, in some ways. As fascinated with all things magical as she was, he had seemed like a god in his extensive knowledge of potions. Every question, it seemed, met with an answer in him.
Yet now that she was slowly distancing herself from the fantastical world of her childhood, Hermione was beginning to see that a knowledge of potions did not a master of everything make. While Snape might have been an expert on potions-making, he was lacking in all areas of human feeling. Why, the only person Hermione had ever seen him be more than civil with was Dumbledore, although sometimes not even then. He seemed to hate the world, apart from his precious Slytherins and their pureblood fathers.
Snape's failure to even try to be a decent human being was what got to Hermione. It would take so little for him to be nice- if just once he had encouraged her in any way during potions class- if he had just answered her questions politely-
A sound in the corridor made Hermione jump, and she tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A muffled hiss sounded in the corridor beyond, and Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It was only Mrs Norris, chasing something down the passageway. The noise, however, had reminded her of her mission, and, after waiting a few minutes for Mrs Norris to move on, Hermione opened the door.
Swiftly she walked along the hall toward the stairs, the sound of her shoes magically muffled. Just as she reached the stairway, however, she noted another noise. This time it couldn't be mistaken- someone was walking down the stairs to the dungeons, and at this time of year it was only likely to be one person.
Quickly, Hermione ducked back into the corridor. Her experiences with Snape had taught her to be cautious even when invisible. It would do no good just to stand still- she must find somewhere out of his way.
Unfortunately, the only places were the doorways to his office and his classroom. She could probably pass unnoticed if she stood quietly in one of them- but the question was, which room was he heading for? It was likely that he would be going to his office during the holidays- but what if he had something he needed to do in the classroom?
Needing to make a decision, Hermione quickly pressed herself into the classroom's doorway. It was the least likely of the two.
She watched nervously as Snape stalked toward her. By the look on his face, whatever Ailie had found to argue with him about had disturbed him. It was slightly unexpected- puzzlement, concern and a touch of sadness crossed the older man's features, where Hermione was used to, and would have expected, anger. It made him look almost human.
It occured to Hermione that it wasn't often a person could observe Snape like this. In all her childhood years, she had faced him in fear, in anger or in trepidation. Such feelings didn't really give a girl time to ponder on the man. Now, walking slowly as he was, obviously lost in his own thoughts, Hermione was free to take in his appearance with more ease than before.
Though they had always referred to him as a 'greasy-haired git,' Hermione had never really thought Snape at all unkempt, just a little messy. She could see as he approached that his long black hair, which had been shoulder-length for as long as she had known him, was tousled, probably from running his hands through it at odd times like she had seen him do when he was concentrating on a particularly difficult potion. It hang lankly over his downturned face, shadowing it, and giving Hermione the urge to push it back for him. She had never been able to stand untidy hair in her face, and the mere sight of it on someone else irritated her no end- it had taken her all her years of school to train Ron to keep his out of his face.
Snape's shadowed features looked old in the dim light of the hall. No, perhaps not old, just weary. Hermione remembered looking at him occasionally in Potions after she, Ron and Harry had found out he was a spy for Dumbledore, and noticing a flicker of that weariness. In later years as he became more and more guarded she had supposed it a fancy of her imagination, and forgotten to look for it. His pale skin was highlighted by the darkness around him, and for the first time Hermione wondered if the man ever allowed himself some sunlight.
His brow furrowed, drawing two fine black eyebrows together in a graceful curve. Hermione was used to seeing one of those brows raised in contempt, used to seeing his frown only from anger. His expression now, however, somehow seemed quite sad. His dark eyes were downcast, two unfathomable black pools.
Snape reached his study door and pulled out a key. Hermione had often wondered at that- an unmagically locked door was so much easier to break into than one supplemented with magical wards. She had supposed it was his aversion to 'foolish wand waving.'
With a swiftness that startled her, Snape swept around and looked directly at where she was standing. Her heart beat in her throat. She should have known he would notice her- he always seemed to know that she was there even though she was invisible.
It took a few seconds for the realisation to sink in that he wasn't staring at her, but through her, unnoticing. He was considering the door behind her. Hermione breathed out silently.
In the rush of relief, Hermione realised that Snape's eyes and hers were directly level. She had never realised before that she and Snape were almost the same height, allowing for her heeled boots. His eyes were not as completely black as they appeared from a distance, though she had long suspected as much. They were like the bitterest of chocolate, the darkest brown she had ever seen. Surprisingly, there were no crows' feet around his eyes, no marks to show the worry and strain he had been through in his years. In fact, Hermione thought whimsically, if he didn't frown so often, Snape might have looked a lot younger than he was.
The object of her gaze leant forward slightly, and Hermione was reminded that he still might decide to enter the classroom. She pressed herself as far back as she could in the doorway, hoping by force of will to disappear into the wood. Snape appeared to come to a decision, however, and turned back to his own door.
His profile was turned to Hermione as he inserted the key in the door and turned it. For a moment he paused, his hand on the door handle, and once more Hermione was disturbed by the sadness shown on his face. The moment was dashed aside, however, as Snape sneered nastily, the movement transforming his face into its usual evil mask. Noting the quick change, Hermione shook herself. It would be dangerous to forget just how nasty Snape could make himself be, when he wanted to.
Snape opened the door, shaking his head to himself while walking inside. Hermione caught the word 'never,' as the door closed of its own accord behind him and breathed out quietly.
Time to get revenge for seven very long years.