Disclaimer: I hereby attest that I do not wish to claim, charm, copy,
fernergle, tap dance on or glance slyly at any of the characters or
situations in this story, all of which belong to the Hon. J.K Rowling and
her various masters. Except Ailie, who is mine, the character that I have,
who is my character, for me to have. Although, I have to say the way JK is
going the whole 50-year copyright thing may happen before she gets around
to releasing another damned book in this series. But I digress.
A/N: Happy new year! Here is the room for them to be locked in.
Chapter Twenty-Four- To tread this fantasy openly what have I done?
No-one was brave enough to enquire what had happened between Snape and Hermione in the next week. Not even the omnipotence of Dumbledore could discern what had created the sudden icy silence between the two. Ailie seemed incapable of whittling the information out either, neither through coercion in Hermione's case, or intuition in Snape's.
Though it wasn't totally unexpected by Hogwarts staff that the two should argue, the absolute frostiness between them was disturbing. Wizards didn't get to a reasonable age without developing a sixth sense, and the feeling whenever the two of them were in a room together was different to just a normal argument. Several of the staff were worried. Flitwick had swapped back to his old spot for meals, 'to save Hermione the trouble,' although it made little difference as both teachers avoided meals as far as possible. McGonagall attempted to talk to Hermione, even trying to get her to loosen up with a few drinks with the other women, but without directly prying there was nothing she could do.
'Ailie, you must know what's going on,' said Poppy one day when the four witches had cornered her. Ailie just shook her head absently.
'I honestly don't know. Hermione would tell me if she wanted, but she hasn't.' The young girl excused herself and headed for her rooms.
Hermione acquiesced to have tea one afternoon with her headmaster, and was surprised when she arrived to see him looking quite serious.
'Welcome, Hermione, my dear,' Dumbledore said, patting a chair across from him. Nervously, Hermione sat, feeling like she'd just been called out of class. The old man across from her smiled gently as he served her tea.
'Child, is there anything you would like to tell me?' he asked, handing her a cup and a plate full of cookies. Hermione noted that they were coconut jam macaroons- her favourite.
Taking one, she smiled. 'No sir. Everything is going quite well. The plans for the ball are well underway. I think the students will really enjoy themselves.'
'That is nice, my dear, but I believe it's not quite what I meant.' The old wizard sipped his tea and stared into the fire, as Hermione grew uncomfortable. Though she had been doing a lot of growing up lately, Dumbledore had the ability to feel eleven years old again. The silence stretched between them, and Hermione began to toy with her tea cup.
'Professor Dumbledore...' she began, looking down nervously.
'Yes, child?'
Hermione looked up into the old man's eyes, and knew it was time for her to grow up. She couldn't always run to him, crying, when life didn't go well. This was a problem she could handle by herself.
'Everything is fine. The plans for the ball are coming along well.'
A spark of disappointment flashed through her old master's eyes, and Hermione felt suddenly sad.
'Sir...' Absently, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. 'Why do you trust Professor Snape so completely?'
If Dumbledore noticed the switch back into 'student' mode, he didn't give any sign. He merely sighed.
'Hermione, my dear, the many number of times I have been asked that question are beyond count,' he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. 'And I have given many answers. But the one I will give you is; do you really think he trusts himself?'
Hermione looked at the old wizard, confused, and he twinkled at her.
'Severus deserves trust because he so carefully doubts his own, child. He has a greater watchdog than anyone the ministry would care to provide, always looking over his shoulder. Someone who would terrify many people, and who treats him more harshly than anyone else. Himself.'
The point hit home, but Hermione still frowned. 'If he knows how hard it is to be untrusted and sneered at, why does he treat others so badly all the time? He's always so- aloof, angry with people. Half the students of the school hate him so much they'd never learn anything in his classes out of spite.' Realising that she was inadvertently criticising the man beside her, she went on, 'Not that he's a bad teacher, I mean-'
Dumbledore chuckled. 'Yet another phrase I have heard many times. My dear, one thing students must learn here is that not everyone in the world is nice, or fair, or just. Severus certainly teaches them that, I will admit. Hopefully, whatever lessons he provides on the unpleasant things of the world, the rest of us make up for.' His smile was somewhat wry. He added, in a more hopeful tone, 'You may be surprised to note that our scores for potions since Severus began here have become the highest in the wizarding world. You yourself almost managed the highest mark in ten years, I believe?'
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. Draco Malfoy had beat her to the top mark in potions, no doubt with a little help from the potions master, after the disaster with the dungbomb. Dumbledore patted her hand.
'Achieving less than perfection can sometimes be a help, rather than a hindrance, child.' She nodded, knowing that that was the mature answer, but somewhere inside her the little know-it-all inner child still screamed at the unjust blemish on her perfect record. She returned her attention to the man beside her as he continued, 'As for your first question, all I may do is remind you that everyone is human- yes, even myself. Minerva deals with her students by mothering them. Filibus deals with them by befriending them. You understand them. I,' he said with a tinkle, 'act like a silly old man and entertain them. And Severus frightens them.' Hermione smiled, staring into the flames.
The conversation lulled for a while, Hermione lost in reflection. She understood what Dumbledore had been trying to say; knew it already, even. But that didn't remove the fact that Snape had demeaned her to his friend, labelling her in the worst way possible. She had tried to convince herself that it didn't matter, that the only reason she was angry with him was the risk to Ailie, but the words in that letter had hurt her in a way she had never been hurt before. To think she had earnt, if not his respect, then his tolerance, and to see in stark black and white the truly low opinion he had of her had demeaned her in a way he couldn't possibly have achieved with any yelled insult. She hated to admit it, but it hurt.
A chime from somewhere in the room startled her out of her reverie, and Hermione sat up. It probably was time to go.
'Thank you, Professor,' she said, smiling warmly at the headmaster as she handed him her cup. 'It has been nice to sit with you.'
'Always a pleasure, my child. You know you are welcome here at any time.' Hermione nodded, and moved toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Dumbledore said, 'You do have friends here, Hermione, and they are concerned about you.' The old man paused for a second. 'Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?'
Hermione shook her head. 'Nothing, thank you. Just-' she paused. 'I would appreciate it if you didn't assign Professor Snape on any future projects with me.' Not waiting for an answer, Hermione walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.
Alone in the office, Dumbledore stared at the closed door, a contemplative frown on his face.
***
Several more conversations took place. The next day, an overcast Saturday, found Dumbledore and McGonagall with tea and buttered crumpets once again on Dumbledore's terrace. The transfiguration teacher enquired, in her own way, as to the outcome of the headmaster's talk with Hermione, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave up the subtleties and asked the question in the plainest language she could come up with.
'What the hell happened, Albus?'
Her companion looked at her, but merely shook his head.
'She didn't tell you?' McGonagall exclaimed, in surprise. It wasn't very often that the headmaster of Hogwarts didn't get any information he wanted.
The old wizard across from her shrugged. 'Whatever happened between them, I am unable to tell you, Minerva.' His companion rolled her eyes, obviously picking up on his particular brand of doublespeak, and he sighed. 'She didn't tell me.'
McGonagall sat back in her chair, perplexed. Dumbledore continued, startling her.
'While the exact details of the incident are not yet clear to me, I am able to say one thing...' McGonagall leant eagerly forward, all attentiveness. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. 'Sitting them together was not exactly the most original trick, Minerva.'
McGonagall pretended to find something of interest in her tea for a few moments, as her friend chuckled quietly to himself.
***
Another conversation took place in silence, in the confines of Hermione Granger's head. It boiled down to two questions: 'How dare he?'- the middle word emphasised and giving a hint to the furious undertone of the question- and, 'Did I really call him a murdering Death Eater bastard?' While the first question probed the subtleties of the situation as a whole, and the second was quite easily answered ('yes'), the thoughts radiating as a result of both were relatively equal in number. The phrase 'Oh, my God' took a large place in both.
There was a third question, hidden under the frantic rush of thought whenever Hermione let it come to the fore of her mind. It was mostly rhetorical, if only in the despair that shrouded it. It was, 'Why did he do this?'
***
In his own head, Snape had no such conversation.
In muggle science labs men in white coats placed small rodents in labyrinths laid with traps. In time, the small creatures would learn that to walk here and to ignore the nice smells would lead them out. They learnt, through experience, that to give in and to taste the tempting food would result in pain, and this developed in them a fear of the temptation. Eventually, some mice would avoid food, regardless of labyrinths or traps.
Being a wizard, Snape had never heard of these experiments.
***
The conversation that did occur concerning Snape was also in silence, at least on his part. Dumbledore found Snape at his desk, immersed in work. The potions master spared his headmaster a glance as the old man entered, but resumed his former pose almost immediately and gave no sign of intending to give any other recognition of Dumbledore's presence.
'I hear that your work with Miss Granger has ceased, Severus,' the old wizard began. A small grunt from the potions master's direction could have been taken for assent.
Silence again washed over the room, as Dumbledore studied his old friend. Having known the man before him since he was a young boy, the headmaster was familiar with the intricacies of Snape's body language- to the extent that, despite the latter's attempts to close himself off from the world, the older man could virtually see the answers to his questions in the way the younger man sat.
At the moment, the signs were not good. Severus had sat up slightly straighter upon the old man's entrance, a sure sign of defensiveness. Furthermore, his expression was completely blank, schooled to show nothing of what he was thinking. Usually, something showed through, whether it be a growl, a sneer, or a sardonic glance. Dumbledore hadn't seen him this unresponsive since his student days.
The headmaster glanced at the papers spread across the potions master's desk, and saw the piles of notes, corrected assignments, unfinished essays and textbooks. The desk was covered with work, as was the immediate space on the floor. This was yet another clue to the usually fastidious potions master's state of mind; Dumbledore knew that while Severus's private desk, in his private study in his chambers, was always a mess of the first order, Severus always kept his office impeccably neat, or at least to his own mind. Dark, dusty, littered with bottles of interesting specimens to frighten the unwary, but neat. It kept the students subdued, to see that their intimidating potions master was on top of his work while they, invariably, were swamped with it.
Everything about the facade of this room, Dumbledore noted, said in capital letters that Severus Snape was too busy to be bothered with anything.
Which was completely untrue. Exams were a few weeks away, yes, but the headmaster knew for a fact that Snape had revised the exam papers months ago. Students would now be moving into their revision period, and the number of essays the master would have to correct was the smallest of the year. The articles for Ars Alchemica that sometimes took up Severus's interest and time were no excuse, either; Dumbledore was good friends with the editor and had recently, as a favour, looked over Severus's latest paper- Snape would be waiting for the return of the article to revise it, and it wasn't usual to begin another so soon.
Anyone watching the headmaster would have been surprised at his expression at that moment. His lips tightened in a very McGonagall-like way- well, you couldn't be friends with someone for over seventy years and not pick up some of their expressions- and his brows drew together. Most wouldn't have expected such a very human expression of displeasure from the aged wizard, but then again, as he had told Miss Granger, everyone was human, and the headmaster could see two people he cared about very deeply in a lot of pain, each caused by the other.
With a look of determination, the headmaster rose and headed for the door. Severus, actively waiting for it, didn't look up at his departure.
***
Ailie sat working in the library. The power that ran through her at the moment both excited and frightened her. It was the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts that she had felt any kind of magic run through her at all- and, even though this new kind seemed to sizzle on her skin and want to come out through her fingers, instead of flowing through her blood, it was still magic.
She looked up the index and turned to the page she was looking for, her eyes lighting up as she viewed the diagrams there. There seemed so much to learn, so much to explore. She felt like she had been dumped in a new world, just like a baby, except she was fully grown. Inwardly, she was extremely grateful that, unlike the students, she was able to access any books she required in the restricted section; most of the other books were tediously infantile.
Ailie flicked through a few more pages, delighting in the range of spells she found. She had already tried out a few incantations with Snape's wand when no-one was looking, and was pleased with the results. Even without an education in wizardry, she was well above the seventh-year level in most areas of commanding magic. It was lucky that Snape seemed so preoccupied lately- she was often able to take his wand and use it for a whole day without his notice.
The trouble was, she was bored. She had done most of the basic things and had discovered just that; they were basic. She needed something to occupy her time, something...
Her eyes lit up as she spied a complicated-looking incantation near the back of the book. It was a history book, really, but Ailie had wanted some inspiration. She had found it. Quickly, she drew her quill and began to copy down what was written there (she had not bothered to memorise such an elementary spell as a replicating spell, though she was beginning to see its good points now), curling green ink into delicate lettering. The title began: 'Aladdin's cave'...
***
When the summons came, both Hermione and Snape were surprised. Usually, if the headmaster wanted to talk to a member of staff, he summoned them in person, or with a friendly note, rather than by sending a formal letter. More surprises awaited them when they reached the office at the same time, aside from the unpleasantness of seeing that the other had also been called for a meeting with the headmaster. They were forced to wait, a most unusual occurrence when it came to the seemingly omnipotent Dumbledore. Each feeling a little perturbed, the two took opposite ends of the antechamber outside the office and settled in, carefully ignoring the other.
It was ten minutes later that the door to the office opened, and a stern-faced headmaster invited them in.
Only two chairs sat in front of Dumbledore's desk, and social form dictated that it would be impolite in the extreme to move them away from each other, so Snape and Hermione were forced to sit, elbows almost touching. The headmaster took his own seat and spent several seconds staring at them.
'I have called you in to discuss the progress of your joint project,' he began. When neither appeared to be ready to volunteer information on the subject, he let out a small sigh and asked, 'Hermione? Any thoughts?'
Hermione swallowed, feeling more of a shivering first-year than she ever had. 'We have made great progress, sir. In fact, the potion has, er, reached the point where it can be easily handled by one person.' She took a breath and added, 'Professor Snape's help isn't needed.'
The headmaster gave no reaction, merely turning to Snape and inclining his head. Snape gave an imperceptible sigh and said, 'The potion has reached an adequate stage, Albus. It will be ready for the ball.'
Dumbledore gave a short nod, then looked briefly down at his hands. 'Good. I will require the two of you, then, to work on new projects at least two nights a week after classes.'
Hermione drew in a startled breath, and sensed Snape tensing at her side. She couldn't believe that Dumbledore was really asking them to work together again.
While questions spiralled through her mind, Snape asked the most logical one.
'What do you expect us to do?'
Dumbledore looked at them calmly. 'I believe that the potion to dissolve the link between yourself and Ailie, Severus, wasn't satisfactorily completed?' At the other man's nod, he continued, 'The I believe it would be beneficial to begin experimentations with Hermione's research in that area. However, I also require the two of you to work on other projects; the wards against forced entry into these grounds grow less efficient every day, and may benefit from a new approach. There may be other ways to protect the students in these halls. Finally, I would like you to think about how the information Severus gathers in his contacts with Voldemort may be of use. I know there are many capable minds focused on it,' he said, waving aside Snape's unspoken objection, 'but the ministry's potions team does not have first-hand knowledge of Voldemort's weaknesses, nor the means for application, I'm afraid.'
'Want a cure for the common cold as well?' Snape asked sardonically.
Hermione was surprised to see that the usual glint of humour Dumbledore had whenever Snape was sarcastic was missing from his eye as the headmaster stared back.
'I expect the two of you should also think about protective potions,' he added. 'The ministry have made little progress in adapting them to your particular needs, Severus, despite your tutor's input.'
Hermione looked up. 'Professor Snape has a tutor?'
Snape glared at her. 'Yes, you stupid girl. Did you really think that the only potions master in all of the British Isles spent his days teaching adolescents?'
Despite herself, Hermione felt a hideous blush creep over her cheeks. She mustered up enough ire to glare at him. 'No. To tell the truth, I didn't think about it.' She turned back to Dumbledore, ignoring the muttered, 'Obviously,' from the man at her side.
'Sir, surely we can work on these things separately?' she asked, inwardly pleading with whatever gods might be listening. There was no way she could be in the same room as the sarcastic potions master for two nights- at least- per week.
Dumbledore gave her a stern look. 'Hermione,' he said, then transferred his gaze to Snape, 'Severus. An old fool I may be, but it would be impossible to miss the fact that the two of you appear to have had some form of disagreement.' He raised his eyebrows at them, inviting them to deny it, but both remained silent. 'Animosity is something that we cannot afford in this school at this time. It is too important when everyone- yes, even you, Severus- must rely on each other. There may come a day when our lives depend on it.'
Hermione felt how earnest the headmaster was, but nevertheless felt she had to say something. 'Professor,' she began, 'I understand the importance of that. But I really feel that Professor Snape and I would be able to achieve more if we just- well, we don't seem to work well together- '
'What the infant is attempting to say, Albus, is that it is impossible for anything to be achieved when an experienced potions master like myself is encumbered with a child,' Snape drawled. Hermione glared at him.
'Oh, that's a mature attitude,' she spat. 'I have such a good example to follow.'
'Enough!' Dumbledore's voice, steely and odd coming from the usually kind man, startled them both. 'The two of you have said enough. You will work together. This is far too important to be ruined by petty and childish disagreements, am I clear? I am disappointed in both of you.' With a click of his fingers, the headmaster caused the door to open, then raised his hand to rub the spot between his eyebrows, looking every inch a tired old man. Thoroughly shocked, the two members of his staff rose and left, Snape gently closing the door behind them. Both would have been even more stunned if they had seen Dumbledore straighten immediately on their departure, the facade wiped away and a small smile upon his face.
As many would have realised, Albus Dumbledore was a master manipulator. Nobody said he always had to be nice about it.
***
Ailie grinned as the final few whispered words of the spell wrapped themselves around the object, enclosing the enchantment. It was perfect. True, having to use a milk jug- unfortunately, ornate bottles weren't the most prolific item lying around the school kitchens- took away some of the effect, but it was close enough. Happy, she carefully picked up all the ingredients of the enchantment and put them back in their proper places, careful not to touch the jug that stood on Snape's desk.
He was in for one hell of a surprise.
***
Snape tersely commanded that Hermione meet him in the dungeons after dinner, and, against all her instincts, Hermione calmly agreed. While it would have done her fighting spirit good to defy him and not turn up, she knew what Dumbledore had said was true; it was important that everyone in the castle work together, and to do otherwise would be childish.
Dinner was a pleasant serving of roast pork with vegetables and gravy done to perfection, but it refused to sit still in her stomach. By the time she reached her rooms to grab her notes and some parchment, Hermione felt sick, but she made her way down to the dungeons anyway. Approaching the dreaded door to his office, the words of their last confrontation ran through her head, along with the many imagined scenarios of recent stark nights; Snape laughing at her, Snape reporting to his friends her every action, chuckled whispers in corners. The shame of it, of what he thought of her, made her cheeks burn. It didn't seem to matter that a little voice in her head told her otherwise.
While she was still calming herself enough to go in, the door was wrenched open and Snape himself was glaring down at her.
'Get in,' he directed, sweeping back to his desk. Holding her head high, Hermione stepped into the room and claimed a chair, laying her books and notes neatly on the edge of the desk.
'We will begin by revising the results of the failed potion,' Snape began, busying himself at the bookshelves behind his desk. 'It is possible there was a flaw in your reasoning, or a mistake when you copied down the recipe. We will look over your notes, and you will remember whatever you can of the books you took them from-'
Under the barrage of veiled insults, Hermione looked around her. She couldn't recall Snape's office having been so cluttered the last time she had seen it. The potions master himself, she noted now that she had the opportunity, wasn't looking in particular top form either. He seemed to have lost weight, and his skin was looking more translucent than usual. She wondered if he had been called to his other duties recently, or if the dark mark on his arm was giving him trouble.
Something unusual amongst the clutter on his desk caught her eye. It was a milk jug, a large white one with a China-blue pattern. Her brow creased in a frown. How odd. She reached to pick it up.
Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Snape noticed the movement, and the focus of it. Years of experience screamed out at him, and he frowned. He opened his mouth to say, 'Leave it alone, you stupid girl,' but never quite got there, because at the same time, his grasping hand connected with hers, in the instant she touched the jug.
Existence, for them, winked out.
It felt like there should have been a 'pop.'
I can't move this thing any more recognise me any more to tread this fantasy openly what have I done? oh this uncertainty is taking me over -Portishead, 'Over'
A/N: Happy new year! Here is the room for them to be locked in.
Chapter Twenty-Four- To tread this fantasy openly what have I done?
No-one was brave enough to enquire what had happened between Snape and Hermione in the next week. Not even the omnipotence of Dumbledore could discern what had created the sudden icy silence between the two. Ailie seemed incapable of whittling the information out either, neither through coercion in Hermione's case, or intuition in Snape's.
Though it wasn't totally unexpected by Hogwarts staff that the two should argue, the absolute frostiness between them was disturbing. Wizards didn't get to a reasonable age without developing a sixth sense, and the feeling whenever the two of them were in a room together was different to just a normal argument. Several of the staff were worried. Flitwick had swapped back to his old spot for meals, 'to save Hermione the trouble,' although it made little difference as both teachers avoided meals as far as possible. McGonagall attempted to talk to Hermione, even trying to get her to loosen up with a few drinks with the other women, but without directly prying there was nothing she could do.
'Ailie, you must know what's going on,' said Poppy one day when the four witches had cornered her. Ailie just shook her head absently.
'I honestly don't know. Hermione would tell me if she wanted, but she hasn't.' The young girl excused herself and headed for her rooms.
Hermione acquiesced to have tea one afternoon with her headmaster, and was surprised when she arrived to see him looking quite serious.
'Welcome, Hermione, my dear,' Dumbledore said, patting a chair across from him. Nervously, Hermione sat, feeling like she'd just been called out of class. The old man across from her smiled gently as he served her tea.
'Child, is there anything you would like to tell me?' he asked, handing her a cup and a plate full of cookies. Hermione noted that they were coconut jam macaroons- her favourite.
Taking one, she smiled. 'No sir. Everything is going quite well. The plans for the ball are well underway. I think the students will really enjoy themselves.'
'That is nice, my dear, but I believe it's not quite what I meant.' The old wizard sipped his tea and stared into the fire, as Hermione grew uncomfortable. Though she had been doing a lot of growing up lately, Dumbledore had the ability to feel eleven years old again. The silence stretched between them, and Hermione began to toy with her tea cup.
'Professor Dumbledore...' she began, looking down nervously.
'Yes, child?'
Hermione looked up into the old man's eyes, and knew it was time for her to grow up. She couldn't always run to him, crying, when life didn't go well. This was a problem she could handle by herself.
'Everything is fine. The plans for the ball are coming along well.'
A spark of disappointment flashed through her old master's eyes, and Hermione felt suddenly sad.
'Sir...' Absently, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. 'Why do you trust Professor Snape so completely?'
If Dumbledore noticed the switch back into 'student' mode, he didn't give any sign. He merely sighed.
'Hermione, my dear, the many number of times I have been asked that question are beyond count,' he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. 'And I have given many answers. But the one I will give you is; do you really think he trusts himself?'
Hermione looked at the old wizard, confused, and he twinkled at her.
'Severus deserves trust because he so carefully doubts his own, child. He has a greater watchdog than anyone the ministry would care to provide, always looking over his shoulder. Someone who would terrify many people, and who treats him more harshly than anyone else. Himself.'
The point hit home, but Hermione still frowned. 'If he knows how hard it is to be untrusted and sneered at, why does he treat others so badly all the time? He's always so- aloof, angry with people. Half the students of the school hate him so much they'd never learn anything in his classes out of spite.' Realising that she was inadvertently criticising the man beside her, she went on, 'Not that he's a bad teacher, I mean-'
Dumbledore chuckled. 'Yet another phrase I have heard many times. My dear, one thing students must learn here is that not everyone in the world is nice, or fair, or just. Severus certainly teaches them that, I will admit. Hopefully, whatever lessons he provides on the unpleasant things of the world, the rest of us make up for.' His smile was somewhat wry. He added, in a more hopeful tone, 'You may be surprised to note that our scores for potions since Severus began here have become the highest in the wizarding world. You yourself almost managed the highest mark in ten years, I believe?'
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. Draco Malfoy had beat her to the top mark in potions, no doubt with a little help from the potions master, after the disaster with the dungbomb. Dumbledore patted her hand.
'Achieving less than perfection can sometimes be a help, rather than a hindrance, child.' She nodded, knowing that that was the mature answer, but somewhere inside her the little know-it-all inner child still screamed at the unjust blemish on her perfect record. She returned her attention to the man beside her as he continued, 'As for your first question, all I may do is remind you that everyone is human- yes, even myself. Minerva deals with her students by mothering them. Filibus deals with them by befriending them. You understand them. I,' he said with a tinkle, 'act like a silly old man and entertain them. And Severus frightens them.' Hermione smiled, staring into the flames.
The conversation lulled for a while, Hermione lost in reflection. She understood what Dumbledore had been trying to say; knew it already, even. But that didn't remove the fact that Snape had demeaned her to his friend, labelling her in the worst way possible. She had tried to convince herself that it didn't matter, that the only reason she was angry with him was the risk to Ailie, but the words in that letter had hurt her in a way she had never been hurt before. To think she had earnt, if not his respect, then his tolerance, and to see in stark black and white the truly low opinion he had of her had demeaned her in a way he couldn't possibly have achieved with any yelled insult. She hated to admit it, but it hurt.
A chime from somewhere in the room startled her out of her reverie, and Hermione sat up. It probably was time to go.
'Thank you, Professor,' she said, smiling warmly at the headmaster as she handed him her cup. 'It has been nice to sit with you.'
'Always a pleasure, my child. You know you are welcome here at any time.' Hermione nodded, and moved toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Dumbledore said, 'You do have friends here, Hermione, and they are concerned about you.' The old man paused for a second. 'Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?'
Hermione shook her head. 'Nothing, thank you. Just-' she paused. 'I would appreciate it if you didn't assign Professor Snape on any future projects with me.' Not waiting for an answer, Hermione walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.
Alone in the office, Dumbledore stared at the closed door, a contemplative frown on his face.
***
Several more conversations took place. The next day, an overcast Saturday, found Dumbledore and McGonagall with tea and buttered crumpets once again on Dumbledore's terrace. The transfiguration teacher enquired, in her own way, as to the outcome of the headmaster's talk with Hermione, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave up the subtleties and asked the question in the plainest language she could come up with.
'What the hell happened, Albus?'
Her companion looked at her, but merely shook his head.
'She didn't tell you?' McGonagall exclaimed, in surprise. It wasn't very often that the headmaster of Hogwarts didn't get any information he wanted.
The old wizard across from her shrugged. 'Whatever happened between them, I am unable to tell you, Minerva.' His companion rolled her eyes, obviously picking up on his particular brand of doublespeak, and he sighed. 'She didn't tell me.'
McGonagall sat back in her chair, perplexed. Dumbledore continued, startling her.
'While the exact details of the incident are not yet clear to me, I am able to say one thing...' McGonagall leant eagerly forward, all attentiveness. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. 'Sitting them together was not exactly the most original trick, Minerva.'
McGonagall pretended to find something of interest in her tea for a few moments, as her friend chuckled quietly to himself.
***
Another conversation took place in silence, in the confines of Hermione Granger's head. It boiled down to two questions: 'How dare he?'- the middle word emphasised and giving a hint to the furious undertone of the question- and, 'Did I really call him a murdering Death Eater bastard?' While the first question probed the subtleties of the situation as a whole, and the second was quite easily answered ('yes'), the thoughts radiating as a result of both were relatively equal in number. The phrase 'Oh, my God' took a large place in both.
There was a third question, hidden under the frantic rush of thought whenever Hermione let it come to the fore of her mind. It was mostly rhetorical, if only in the despair that shrouded it. It was, 'Why did he do this?'
***
In his own head, Snape had no such conversation.
In muggle science labs men in white coats placed small rodents in labyrinths laid with traps. In time, the small creatures would learn that to walk here and to ignore the nice smells would lead them out. They learnt, through experience, that to give in and to taste the tempting food would result in pain, and this developed in them a fear of the temptation. Eventually, some mice would avoid food, regardless of labyrinths or traps.
Being a wizard, Snape had never heard of these experiments.
***
The conversation that did occur concerning Snape was also in silence, at least on his part. Dumbledore found Snape at his desk, immersed in work. The potions master spared his headmaster a glance as the old man entered, but resumed his former pose almost immediately and gave no sign of intending to give any other recognition of Dumbledore's presence.
'I hear that your work with Miss Granger has ceased, Severus,' the old wizard began. A small grunt from the potions master's direction could have been taken for assent.
Silence again washed over the room, as Dumbledore studied his old friend. Having known the man before him since he was a young boy, the headmaster was familiar with the intricacies of Snape's body language- to the extent that, despite the latter's attempts to close himself off from the world, the older man could virtually see the answers to his questions in the way the younger man sat.
At the moment, the signs were not good. Severus had sat up slightly straighter upon the old man's entrance, a sure sign of defensiveness. Furthermore, his expression was completely blank, schooled to show nothing of what he was thinking. Usually, something showed through, whether it be a growl, a sneer, or a sardonic glance. Dumbledore hadn't seen him this unresponsive since his student days.
The headmaster glanced at the papers spread across the potions master's desk, and saw the piles of notes, corrected assignments, unfinished essays and textbooks. The desk was covered with work, as was the immediate space on the floor. This was yet another clue to the usually fastidious potions master's state of mind; Dumbledore knew that while Severus's private desk, in his private study in his chambers, was always a mess of the first order, Severus always kept his office impeccably neat, or at least to his own mind. Dark, dusty, littered with bottles of interesting specimens to frighten the unwary, but neat. It kept the students subdued, to see that their intimidating potions master was on top of his work while they, invariably, were swamped with it.
Everything about the facade of this room, Dumbledore noted, said in capital letters that Severus Snape was too busy to be bothered with anything.
Which was completely untrue. Exams were a few weeks away, yes, but the headmaster knew for a fact that Snape had revised the exam papers months ago. Students would now be moving into their revision period, and the number of essays the master would have to correct was the smallest of the year. The articles for Ars Alchemica that sometimes took up Severus's interest and time were no excuse, either; Dumbledore was good friends with the editor and had recently, as a favour, looked over Severus's latest paper- Snape would be waiting for the return of the article to revise it, and it wasn't usual to begin another so soon.
Anyone watching the headmaster would have been surprised at his expression at that moment. His lips tightened in a very McGonagall-like way- well, you couldn't be friends with someone for over seventy years and not pick up some of their expressions- and his brows drew together. Most wouldn't have expected such a very human expression of displeasure from the aged wizard, but then again, as he had told Miss Granger, everyone was human, and the headmaster could see two people he cared about very deeply in a lot of pain, each caused by the other.
With a look of determination, the headmaster rose and headed for the door. Severus, actively waiting for it, didn't look up at his departure.
***
Ailie sat working in the library. The power that ran through her at the moment both excited and frightened her. It was the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts that she had felt any kind of magic run through her at all- and, even though this new kind seemed to sizzle on her skin and want to come out through her fingers, instead of flowing through her blood, it was still magic.
She looked up the index and turned to the page she was looking for, her eyes lighting up as she viewed the diagrams there. There seemed so much to learn, so much to explore. She felt like she had been dumped in a new world, just like a baby, except she was fully grown. Inwardly, she was extremely grateful that, unlike the students, she was able to access any books she required in the restricted section; most of the other books were tediously infantile.
Ailie flicked through a few more pages, delighting in the range of spells she found. She had already tried out a few incantations with Snape's wand when no-one was looking, and was pleased with the results. Even without an education in wizardry, she was well above the seventh-year level in most areas of commanding magic. It was lucky that Snape seemed so preoccupied lately- she was often able to take his wand and use it for a whole day without his notice.
The trouble was, she was bored. She had done most of the basic things and had discovered just that; they were basic. She needed something to occupy her time, something...
Her eyes lit up as she spied a complicated-looking incantation near the back of the book. It was a history book, really, but Ailie had wanted some inspiration. She had found it. Quickly, she drew her quill and began to copy down what was written there (she had not bothered to memorise such an elementary spell as a replicating spell, though she was beginning to see its good points now), curling green ink into delicate lettering. The title began: 'Aladdin's cave'...
***
When the summons came, both Hermione and Snape were surprised. Usually, if the headmaster wanted to talk to a member of staff, he summoned them in person, or with a friendly note, rather than by sending a formal letter. More surprises awaited them when they reached the office at the same time, aside from the unpleasantness of seeing that the other had also been called for a meeting with the headmaster. They were forced to wait, a most unusual occurrence when it came to the seemingly omnipotent Dumbledore. Each feeling a little perturbed, the two took opposite ends of the antechamber outside the office and settled in, carefully ignoring the other.
It was ten minutes later that the door to the office opened, and a stern-faced headmaster invited them in.
Only two chairs sat in front of Dumbledore's desk, and social form dictated that it would be impolite in the extreme to move them away from each other, so Snape and Hermione were forced to sit, elbows almost touching. The headmaster took his own seat and spent several seconds staring at them.
'I have called you in to discuss the progress of your joint project,' he began. When neither appeared to be ready to volunteer information on the subject, he let out a small sigh and asked, 'Hermione? Any thoughts?'
Hermione swallowed, feeling more of a shivering first-year than she ever had. 'We have made great progress, sir. In fact, the potion has, er, reached the point where it can be easily handled by one person.' She took a breath and added, 'Professor Snape's help isn't needed.'
The headmaster gave no reaction, merely turning to Snape and inclining his head. Snape gave an imperceptible sigh and said, 'The potion has reached an adequate stage, Albus. It will be ready for the ball.'
Dumbledore gave a short nod, then looked briefly down at his hands. 'Good. I will require the two of you, then, to work on new projects at least two nights a week after classes.'
Hermione drew in a startled breath, and sensed Snape tensing at her side. She couldn't believe that Dumbledore was really asking them to work together again.
While questions spiralled through her mind, Snape asked the most logical one.
'What do you expect us to do?'
Dumbledore looked at them calmly. 'I believe that the potion to dissolve the link between yourself and Ailie, Severus, wasn't satisfactorily completed?' At the other man's nod, he continued, 'The I believe it would be beneficial to begin experimentations with Hermione's research in that area. However, I also require the two of you to work on other projects; the wards against forced entry into these grounds grow less efficient every day, and may benefit from a new approach. There may be other ways to protect the students in these halls. Finally, I would like you to think about how the information Severus gathers in his contacts with Voldemort may be of use. I know there are many capable minds focused on it,' he said, waving aside Snape's unspoken objection, 'but the ministry's potions team does not have first-hand knowledge of Voldemort's weaknesses, nor the means for application, I'm afraid.'
'Want a cure for the common cold as well?' Snape asked sardonically.
Hermione was surprised to see that the usual glint of humour Dumbledore had whenever Snape was sarcastic was missing from his eye as the headmaster stared back.
'I expect the two of you should also think about protective potions,' he added. 'The ministry have made little progress in adapting them to your particular needs, Severus, despite your tutor's input.'
Hermione looked up. 'Professor Snape has a tutor?'
Snape glared at her. 'Yes, you stupid girl. Did you really think that the only potions master in all of the British Isles spent his days teaching adolescents?'
Despite herself, Hermione felt a hideous blush creep over her cheeks. She mustered up enough ire to glare at him. 'No. To tell the truth, I didn't think about it.' She turned back to Dumbledore, ignoring the muttered, 'Obviously,' from the man at her side.
'Sir, surely we can work on these things separately?' she asked, inwardly pleading with whatever gods might be listening. There was no way she could be in the same room as the sarcastic potions master for two nights- at least- per week.
Dumbledore gave her a stern look. 'Hermione,' he said, then transferred his gaze to Snape, 'Severus. An old fool I may be, but it would be impossible to miss the fact that the two of you appear to have had some form of disagreement.' He raised his eyebrows at them, inviting them to deny it, but both remained silent. 'Animosity is something that we cannot afford in this school at this time. It is too important when everyone- yes, even you, Severus- must rely on each other. There may come a day when our lives depend on it.'
Hermione felt how earnest the headmaster was, but nevertheless felt she had to say something. 'Professor,' she began, 'I understand the importance of that. But I really feel that Professor Snape and I would be able to achieve more if we just- well, we don't seem to work well together- '
'What the infant is attempting to say, Albus, is that it is impossible for anything to be achieved when an experienced potions master like myself is encumbered with a child,' Snape drawled. Hermione glared at him.
'Oh, that's a mature attitude,' she spat. 'I have such a good example to follow.'
'Enough!' Dumbledore's voice, steely and odd coming from the usually kind man, startled them both. 'The two of you have said enough. You will work together. This is far too important to be ruined by petty and childish disagreements, am I clear? I am disappointed in both of you.' With a click of his fingers, the headmaster caused the door to open, then raised his hand to rub the spot between his eyebrows, looking every inch a tired old man. Thoroughly shocked, the two members of his staff rose and left, Snape gently closing the door behind them. Both would have been even more stunned if they had seen Dumbledore straighten immediately on their departure, the facade wiped away and a small smile upon his face.
As many would have realised, Albus Dumbledore was a master manipulator. Nobody said he always had to be nice about it.
***
Ailie grinned as the final few whispered words of the spell wrapped themselves around the object, enclosing the enchantment. It was perfect. True, having to use a milk jug- unfortunately, ornate bottles weren't the most prolific item lying around the school kitchens- took away some of the effect, but it was close enough. Happy, she carefully picked up all the ingredients of the enchantment and put them back in their proper places, careful not to touch the jug that stood on Snape's desk.
He was in for one hell of a surprise.
***
Snape tersely commanded that Hermione meet him in the dungeons after dinner, and, against all her instincts, Hermione calmly agreed. While it would have done her fighting spirit good to defy him and not turn up, she knew what Dumbledore had said was true; it was important that everyone in the castle work together, and to do otherwise would be childish.
Dinner was a pleasant serving of roast pork with vegetables and gravy done to perfection, but it refused to sit still in her stomach. By the time she reached her rooms to grab her notes and some parchment, Hermione felt sick, but she made her way down to the dungeons anyway. Approaching the dreaded door to his office, the words of their last confrontation ran through her head, along with the many imagined scenarios of recent stark nights; Snape laughing at her, Snape reporting to his friends her every action, chuckled whispers in corners. The shame of it, of what he thought of her, made her cheeks burn. It didn't seem to matter that a little voice in her head told her otherwise.
While she was still calming herself enough to go in, the door was wrenched open and Snape himself was glaring down at her.
'Get in,' he directed, sweeping back to his desk. Holding her head high, Hermione stepped into the room and claimed a chair, laying her books and notes neatly on the edge of the desk.
'We will begin by revising the results of the failed potion,' Snape began, busying himself at the bookshelves behind his desk. 'It is possible there was a flaw in your reasoning, or a mistake when you copied down the recipe. We will look over your notes, and you will remember whatever you can of the books you took them from-'
Under the barrage of veiled insults, Hermione looked around her. She couldn't recall Snape's office having been so cluttered the last time she had seen it. The potions master himself, she noted now that she had the opportunity, wasn't looking in particular top form either. He seemed to have lost weight, and his skin was looking more translucent than usual. She wondered if he had been called to his other duties recently, or if the dark mark on his arm was giving him trouble.
Something unusual amongst the clutter on his desk caught her eye. It was a milk jug, a large white one with a China-blue pattern. Her brow creased in a frown. How odd. She reached to pick it up.
Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Snape noticed the movement, and the focus of it. Years of experience screamed out at him, and he frowned. He opened his mouth to say, 'Leave it alone, you stupid girl,' but never quite got there, because at the same time, his grasping hand connected with hers, in the instant she touched the jug.
Existence, for them, winked out.
It felt like there should have been a 'pop.'
I can't move this thing any more recognise me any more to tread this fantasy openly what have I done? oh this uncertainty is taking me over -Portishead, 'Over'