"Miss Granger! Wake up! Granger!"
Infuriating girl. If she hadn't been up so late doing - Snape paused to check the stack of papers on the bedside table - all of her homework... and it was complete. No wonder it was like trying to wake the dead getting her up. He prodded her a bit, shook her gently, and finally gave up and shook her hard. She still stayed unconscious. He stood up and thought carefully, then leant down, shaking her hard and yelling,
"Miss Granger! Ten points from Gryffindor and detention with Filch! Conduct unbecoming of a Head Girl! I'm failing you on your Potions NEWT!" She was suddenly bolt upright and protesting in gibberish.
"No- Professor- pleashe- didna- wha?" Her plain brown eyes finally focused on the face attached to the shoulders she had latched onto in her hysteria. They were thin, pajama-clad shoulders, and had just begun to shake.
"Miss Granger!" Being roared at by Snape was grating on the mind at such an ungodly hour. "Unhand me this instant!"
"Sorry, sir... What time is it?" She sounded anything but sorry, having taken quite poorly to the fact that Snape wasn't even out of his pajamas yet and was yelling at her to get out of bed. He didn't look bad in stripes, though...
The HELL?!
"Miss Granger! I will not tolerate such language! Do not think even for an instant that just because I cannot deduct points that I cannot make your time here... difficult." His voice had switched gears from a horrifying yell to smooth, threatening tones in under a second.
"Sorry, sir. I wasn't thinking." She wondered how her half-asleep mind had managed to blare the query aloud.
"As per usual. I expect you to be at the door table in ten minutes." He turned on his heel and left. How he got his pajamas to billow was a mystery to Hermione. She had nearly fallen back into the covers when he reappeared in the doorway.
"Miss Granger, a word of advice. If you mention my sleeping attire to anyone, your Potions NEWT drops by forty percent." She nodded, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. He left again, face set in the most dreadful scowl, the one he saved for Harry.
Summoning all of her energy into one great effort, she dragged herself into a standing position. Her back and neck protested loudly at this treatment, her joints scolding her fiercely. Ignoring them she yawned and stretched, only to become aware of a sharp pain in her neck. Alas, the lot of a bookworm.
Pulling on her white robe, she stumbled into the bathroom. She broke showering world records for speed, a habit picked up from waking up late in the morning every day after an intense night of study. After casting a few quick drying spells on herself, she flew out the door and back into her bedroom to change.
###
Snape sat in the living room, tapping his foot and checking his pocketwatch every few seconds for dramatic effect. He heard the shower water start and groaned miserably. Perfect. Late thanks to female vanity. Albus was going to pay for this. "Albus, here. I got you more lemon drops in Vancouver. Oh, try these saltwater taffies. No thanks, I've already tried one." Maybe he could find a new poison at the conference. Something painful, slow, and untraceable...What the naked student!?
Hermione Granger, in all her bushy-haired glory, had just raced into her bedroom to change. The difficulty in this was that the bedroom was down the hall from the bathroom, having resulted in Snape being exposed to a great deal of young, supple flesh. Particularly the bits that jiggled as she ran.
"MISS GRANGER! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!? IF YOU CANNOT KEEP YOURSELF PROPERLY CLOTHED, I SHALL ATTEND THE CONFERENCE ALONE! AUGH!" At least, that's what he would have said, had his tongue been operational. It was currently attached to the roof of his suddenly parched mouth.
Fifteen agonizing seconds later, Granger leapt athletically out of her bedroom in proper muggle attire. Professor Snape was cooly waiting for her, tapping his foot and looking at his watch pointedly. He was dressed in dark indigo jeans and a pitch-black golf shirt. His hair was straightened and looked oddly clean. If Snape was dressing for an occasion, it was sure to be an important one.
"Professor, the mandatory lecture for me is in the afternoon two days from now. Not that I mind, but why are-"
"I'm going for breakfast. There will be some other reputable Potions Masters and Mistresses in the Hall, whom I intend to see. If you slow my progress, things will not go well for you. Are we understood?" A direct answer from the head of Slytherin was not exactly forthcoming.
"No, sir, not at all! Why-"
"I was under the impression that you were an intelligent young woman, Miss Granger. I have been misinformed, appa-"
"Sir, I just wanted to kn-"
"Miss Granger. Never interrupt me. Ever." She opened her mouth to argue, but caught the slightly manic glint in his eyes and thought better of it.
"Yes, sir."
It may have been just as easy to lie, but he could think of no excuse to drag her around. His own reasons were fairly simple: point of conversation, or excuse to leave said conversation. Children always had something wrong with them that needed to be attended to.
###
Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk, disintegrating his teeth. He was trying to beat his own record for Most Lemon Drops Inside His Mouth At Once and was up to 13. Sweet and sour, the perfect balance of flavour. He tried to smile, but the candies were preventing the muscles in his jaw from executing that particular maneuver.He thought of Severus, and how much the boy despised his perfect little candies. Albus Dumbledore was not often a vengeful man, but when Severus had told Minerva in the staff room that 'No grown wizard should ever like sweets that much. It's not normal.', a little harmless torture had seemed in order.
Dumbledore giggled merrily through his mouthful of candy, reveling in how easy it was to get Severus off the Hogwarts grounds. Normally he was kicking and screaming. He would be forced of the grounds nonetheless, but would be loud about it. It had been simple enough to enlist Professor Darling. It was pretty much accepted now that almost every magical person over the age of three owed him a life debt. He collected life debts.
"Albus, don't be a fool."
"I'm not, Minnie." She had looked at him disbelievingly at this comment, so he had added, "Fine, then. A poll, all right? By show of hands, who in this room owes me a life debt?" The staff room was quite full. One at a time, hands were raised. Even Minerva raised her hand, albeit grudgingly.
"Still, this proves nothing."
"Of course not, my dear." And then she hit him, Your Honour.
It would be good for Severus to get out and meet some new people, perhaps enjoy the fresh air of Canada. He could almost see the vein throbbing on Snape's forehead.
Hermione was a sweet, intelligent girl. It was puzzling that Severus should dislike her so much. Perhaps three days in her company would change his mind a little. Or drive him nutters. Either way, it would be entertaining. Scheming was one thing that the old man delighted in. It was like chess, really. He could have been a Slytherin, as Minerva often informed him.
Three days. He picked out three lemon drops from his near-empty bag, each slightly deformed. He popped one into his mouth, then put the other two aside. He felt Godlike. It was a very nice feeling.
###
I will not go fanboy. I will not go fanboy. I will not go fanboy. I will no- Merlin! Mistress Wheathson! I didn't know she was going to be here! I wonder if I could get her to autograph my copy of Potions Practically...Professor Snape was in heaven. Surrounded on all sides by people he knew and respected, and who knew and respected him equally in return. There were no dunderheaded students, either. Anybody in the room was there because they had something to add to the general knowledge of potions. He was sitting at a table in the hall with a legendary Tim Hortons coffee and maple dip doughnut, surveying the crowd of people with great interest.
Granger had long abandoned him for the medicinal lecture with some shy Canadian girls. Polite, the Canadians. Quiet, intelligent and eager to please. He was on the verge of offering a trade. They seemed to like Granger well enough.
"Attention, may I have your attention! Hello!" A tall, gangly, boy of a wizard had a sonorus charm on his cracking voice. He wore a vest with a name tag that nobody could make out and a pin with the Canadian flag on his breast pocket. Eventually the room took notice of him. When he saw the sheer volume of eyes trained on him, his voice lowered a few decibels and his speech became interspersed with the word 'um'.
"Um... thank you all for um coming, um it's my pleasure to be your host while you are all um staying in um Canada. For those of you who don't um know, Professor um Darling is um going to be um giving his lecture in the last afternoon of the conference.
"Students and apprentices may want to attend the um lecture on medicinal potions in the Rosedale Room two floors up, or perhaps um the temporary lab in the um basement. For the Potions Masters and Mistresses, there are several lectures this morning, all of which are detailed in these pamphlets."
Severus looked at the bit of paper that Granger had shoved into his hands earlier while saying, "Hi there Professor I'm just going to go to the medicinal lecture see you in three hours here's the program bye." She had spoken so quickly and without proper enunciation that he missed entirely what she said, but she was gone before he could demand an explanation.
"Please um help yourself to breakfast, and direct any um questions to the desk in this room. Um, thank you." The nervous boy pointed his wand at his throat and muttered the counter charm, then got off his chair and scurried away, leaving the audience to lose interest in him and continue what they were doing.
Severus looked at the modest pamphlet, checking over the five lectures available during the day. Mistress Wheathson would be speaking in a quarter of an hour on new crossbreeds of potions, a subject that fascinated him above all else. It was Wheathson's specialty, hence her trademark lack of eyebrows.
Snape smirked to himself, in a manner that could almost be described as happy.
###
Seven hours later, having finished his book of essays on transfiguration Minerva had given him as a gag gift, reached onto the coffee table for the second text. It was well known among the Hogwarts staff that the feared Professor Snape had been caught alone in the staff room, brandishing his wand, and cursing foully at a furry teacup. The strict head of Gryffindor had nearly ruptured her diaphragm she was laughing so hard. The icing on the cake was the booklet detailing proper wand techniques that he had received for Christmas.Disguised with a clever charm as a particularly dull book, the secondary reading material he had packed was a comic. It was not out of shame that he hid what he was reading, but the image of He-Whose-Wrath-Must-Not-Be-Incurred reading a Batman comic was not exactly... sane. In all fairness, it was an excellent comic. Frank Miller's work.
He was quite satisfied with his life at the moment, a mood which was entirely out of character for him. He had a warm dinner in his stomach, he had tea, he had a book, he had silence, and he had managed to not make an ass out of himself at the lectures he had attended. In fact, Mistress Wheathson had given him her owling address, in case he had any more ideas or questions he felt she might like to hear of. A piercing voice interuppted his reverie.
"Professor? I'm back!"
"Really? Should I alert the media?" Few people have the talent to make sarcasm gush from their words, let alone drip. He closed the book, not wanting to take any chances of her seeing the words. "Miss Granger, I am not blind, nor am I deaf, unfortunately. Do not interrupt my activities to state the blindingly obvious."
"Sorry, sir."
"I should assume so. How did you find the lecture? Informative?" He would have smacked himself, had the book he was holding been of lesser value to him. What did he care? He was in no way regretful of skipping the seminar. He had already logged enough time at St. Mungo's to last any normal person two lifetimes.
Hermione paused and thought, her mind grasping for a proper word to best describe how much she enjoyed the lecture. Considering how rude he'd just been, she decided to make him as uncomfortable as possible. She looked up at him, feigning deep contemplation.
"Almost... orgasmic."
"Miss Granger! Kindly limit your adjectives to slightly less obscene words!" His eyes were bulging, his face contorted into a horrendous sneer that revealed his yellow teeth, and his satisfied mood was dissipated. Granger recoiled.
"Sorry, sir. See you tomorrow, sir." She fled, blushing, into her room. He growled, then grabbed his comic again. As he rolled onto his side to get more comfortable, there was a click and the room was bathed in an eerie glow. Instantly alert, he drew his wand. The movement caused a second click, and a face appeared on a black box opposite the couch. Snape jumped off of the furniture, preparing to hex the muggle device. The screen changed from a plain, black image into a man's face, somewhat reminiscent of a floo communication.
"AND TODAY IN THE WEST BANK, A CAR BOMB KILLED FIVE CANADIAN TOURISTS. TONIGHT AT EIGHT, CBC'S OWN PETER MANSBRIDGE WILL BE INTERVIEWING THE FAMILIES OF THE VICTIMS." Snape pointed his wand directly at the man's forehead, ears paining him, when Granger ran out into the room shouting over the din.
"PROFESSOR! COULD YOU PLEASE TURN DOWN THE VOLUME?"
"WHAT?!"
"I SAID, COULD YOU-"
"I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, FOOLISH GIRL!" Comprehension dawned on the girl's features, and she dove for the couch, rooting around between the cushions. At last she gave a triumphant cry, holding up a black bit of plastic with some buttons. She expertly manipulated a button, and the man's voice became softer.
"Sir, do you want me to teach you how to use the remote?"
"Remote? What a ridiculous name for a muggle picture box." Granger's upper lip disappeared.
"The box is a television, sir. The remote is this smaller box in my hand."
"It is of no consequence. Go." Realizing that she had probably offended him, she decided to put on a bit of an act for his benefit.
"Sir, can't I just watch it for a while? My favourite show's on now." It was not exactly a lie: Star Trek was on in re-runs every hour of the day, almost. She had looked it up. Snape snarled menacingly, then relocated to the chair. He was weighing possibilities. Granger was only a Gryffindor, and couldn't help being about as subtle as a train wreck. He almost winced, realizing that he was going to give in to his curiosity.
"Go ahead, Granger. Not too loud," he said, with the air of one who suffers much.
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir." Wesley Crusher mimicked, five seconds later.
"Engage." There was a whooshing noise. Snape tsked loudly.
"What is it, sir? Too loud? I can turn it down."
"Pfft. It's fine, Granger. But you are aware that sound does not travel in space?" Hermione's finger twitched. Snape had left out the 'Miss' before her name, using just her surname in an almost affectionate manner. Plus he had just pointed out one of the biggest arguments in Star Trek, which he had only seen ten seconds of.
"Of course. What can I say? It was the eighties."
"Indeed." He put down his book and sat beside her on the couch, making sure to leave at least a foot of space between them. She handed him the remote, which he took and studied carefully. Then he turned up the volume.
###
A/N: And I think I'll leave it there, because it was getting long and I'm fresh out of creativity. Meh. Thanks to my wonderful reviewers. This chapter is dedicated to you. In fact, the entire story is dedicated to you, such as it is.
Response:
mrsshigwacobain: Good gripe, but here's my reasoning: Snape is described as the sort of guy who looks both important and ugly enough to have a huge mid-life crisis. If he looks nothing like Hermione and she looks older than she is, then most modern folk would make the false assumption that they're married or dating. Or maybe Dumbledore just put it down on the registration like that. Those are my excuses.
/Sigerson