Changes Made
Chapter Ten
Hermione sat with her legs thrown over the arm of a very comfortable chair, scribbling busily in a notebook. Harry knocked on the door.
"Come in," Hermione called, without looking up.
"I'm finished with all of my homework," Harry announced. "Took me ages! What are you doing?" He crossed the room and peered over her shoulder at the notebook. Crookshanks appeared from behind a potted plant, purring and rubbing against Harry's ankles. Harry obligingly scratched him behind the ears.
"Writing down everything we've extracted from Snape's mind," Hermione told him. "Maybe I can find out more about him by piecing things together. I thought of it during lessons today. We've got quite a bit, even after only three days."
"Why would anyone want to know more about Snape?" Harry asked dubiously.
"For one thing, because it might help us figure out why he feels it necessary to be less than polite to you," Hermione answered, continuing to write. "Can you tell me more about the memory of that fight you saw? More detail?" Harry described it to her.
"Good, it matches with what I saw. Do you think Snape is the man yelling or the boy in the corner?" Hermione asked.
"Definitely the boy in the corner," Harry answered. "Did you write the one where he was in his room? He was zapping flies with his wand."
"Boys," Hermione said, making Harry laugh. A few lines later, Hermione declared that she had everything written down.
"You know," she said. "We haven't been to see Hagrid yet. Fancy a walk?"
Harry and Hermione trooped out of the castle onto the sunny grounds. The perfectly manicured lawns swept magnificently away from the castle to the forest, broken here and there by decorative trees. The lake rippled as a gentle breeze blew across it. A puff of smoke issued from Hagrid's chimney as they approached.
"What's he doing in there?" Harry wondered aloud. "You don't think it's another dragon, do you?"
"Harry, don't even joke," Hermione groaned. She knocked on the door, and Fang barked inside.
"Come in!" Hagrid grunted. Harry turned the handle, letting Hermione and himself through the door.
"Hullo, Hagrid," Harry said cheerfully.
"Nice to see you, Hagrid," Hermione echoed. "What are you doing?"
Hagrid straightened from his position bent over the fireplace.
"Oh, jes' cookin'," he answered. "Toadstool stew, Olympe's recipe. You ken try it, when I'm done," he offered.
"No thanks," Hermione said hastily. "Dinner won't be long. How's Olympe?"
"Top form," Hagrid answered. "Never been better."
"What have you been doing all summer?" Harry asked interestedly. "Anything for the Order?"
"Now, yeh know I'm not allowed to tell yeh, strictly speakin'," Hagrid said, leaning close, "An' I'm not going to," he finished moving back to the fire. "I 'ave been doin' some investigatin' fer Dumbledore, though." He reached a metal spoon into the pot, attempting to dip himself a taste. When he pulled the spoon out again, the bowl had collapsed, hanging off the stem like a wet leaf. "Mebbe it's too hot," Hagrid growled. He set the spoon on the table and sat down. "Now, how 'bout yerselves. What 'ave you been up to?"
"Not much," Harry answered. "Mostly just lying around at the Dursley's. They stay away from me now, without locking me in or anything. Aunt Petunia even smuggled me a bit of pocket money. She threatened to flay me if I told Uncle Vernon, though."
Hagrid chuckled. "I guess Dumbledore's warnin' scared her righ' well. 'Ow 'bout you, 'Ermione?"
"Homework, mostly. I did paint my room though, Gryffindor colours. And I did a load of shopping."
"An' 'ow's Crookshanks?"
"Doing well, still mucking about in the garden. He hasn't caught any rats lately, though, I think he was missing the excitement here. My parents bought me an owl, Griselda. She's really happy, too."
"Yeah, I think she brought me a letter," Hagrid said thoughtfully. "Pretty bird. Now I should tell yeh, this year's gon' ta be excitin'." He leaned over the table. "I've even got an Erumpet, but yer not to tell anyone abou' that."
"Hagrid, are you sure we can handle that?" Hermione asked doubtfully. "They're really dangerous when provoked, and you remember what happened last time we had a really big animal and Malfoy in the same pen."
"We'll be keepin' 'im far away from you all," Hagrid assured her. "Don' you worry. An' I do 'ave a couple o' less dangerous critters fer yeh, too. Jarveys and Malaclaws an' the like."
"Sounds great," Harry said.
"I also got a Runespore as a special treat. I thought yeh might like it, 'Arry." Hagrid turned back to the fire. Harry looked quizzically at Hermione, who mouthed that she'd tell him later. Hagrid produced another puff of smoke from his stew. The acrid scent made Hermione's eyes water. Fang struggled to his feet and barked twice before coming to lay his head on Hermione's lap, drooling all over the floor. Hagrid finally managed to get some stew into a bowl, which he set on the table.
"Are yeh sure yeh don' want some?" Hagrid offered again.
"Really Hagrid, thanks," Hermione said, standing. "It was great to see you. I'll be back soon."
"Yes, thanks, Hagrid. I look…er…forward to lessons." Harry said. Hermione bit back a smile. On the table, stew began to seep onto the table from the bottom of the bowl.
"Well, bye then. An' be careful!" Hagrid called as they left. Once they were safely outside, Hermione explained the Harry what a Runespore was.
"It's basically a three-headed snake. Each head serves a different purpose, and it's known to be a very vocal snake, and thus useful for, er, parselmouths, like yourself. You might enjoy it, Harry."
"Not if the rumours start up again," Harry said darkly.
"I bet Hagrid'll let you have a go at it alone," Hermione said cheerfully. "And did you know, it's also the only known species that produces its eggs through its mouth?"
"Fascinating," came Harry's dry response.
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Dinner in the Great Hall was pleasant. Hagrid's fingers were bandaged, probably wounds from the stew, but everything else was uneventful. Once again Hermione was seated next to the Potions professor, although he seemed to be growing less uncomfortable about it, Hermione thought. She was glad to have Harry's distracting chatter, however, which kept her from thinking too much about the clues she'd derived from Snape's memories.
After a lengthy game of chess with Harry, Hermione excused herself to bed. Crookshanks looked up from where he was curled on her bedspread, purring as she entered. Hermione lifted the notebook containing her collection of Snape's memories and leafed through it slowly. There was a good bit of information there! Still reading, she lay down on her stomach next to Crookshanks, who lashed his tail playfully over the book.
"Crookshanks," Hermione laughed, "cut it out!" She pushed his tail away and turned another page. Crookshanks lashed his tail again.
"Are you trying to tell me something?" Hermione asked, looking at her cat. Crookshanks blinked.
"Dumb question," Hermione said, reaching out to scratch him behind the ears. "From what I have here, I think his teenage life was a lot like the cliched loners in Muggle soap operas," Hermione told Crookshanks, who was, by all appearances, listening. "His parents fought when he was younger, abusive dad, it looks like, he was lonely all the time, picked on by more attractive people, and ended up falling into the wrong crowd. Actually, it's sort of predictable. Just look at him! It's obvious he's had a pretty rotten life…I wonder if anyone ever tried to change that," she mused. Crookshanks purred even louder. A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Hold on, Crookshanks. I need to look something up."
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Snape stood outside the castle, listening to the wind as it rustled the trees in the forest across the grounds. He walked slowly next to the cool stone wall, thinking. It was strange, he mused, how hard he found it to fight Hermione away during Occlumency lessons. For her, they were more like Legilimency lessons. That morning, she'd pulled from his mind no less than four memories of his miserable childhood, three from Hogwarts, and another of Lily Evans.
He wondered what she thought of him. Not pity, he hoped fervently. He couldn't stand being pitied. She never radiated anything but a young, scholarly air of attention during lessons… and in the Hospital Wing? That didn't count. She'd been injured and grateful for his prompt and effective treatment. What did he want her to think of him, Snape wondered. Why did it matter? What could he possibly care about the feelings of a sixteen-year-old girl?
But for some reason, he did care. He wanted Hermione to think well of him, to find some redeeming quality in his nature. He'd never been kind to her in the past. In fact, some days he'd been downright rotten to her for no particular reason. Or at least, he corrected himself, for reasons not pertaining to her. If she put the pieces together, which Snape was certain she would, what would she think of him?
It wasn't her temperament to assume the obvious immediately, Snape knew. She appreciated the refined skills it took to be truly good at magic and potion making, or at least she appreciated the good marks and recognition. That much he'd seen in class and heard from the other teachers. She cared a great deal about her friends, few as they were - anyone could see that. She often visited Hagrid; he'd observed her on several occasions making her way across the grounds to his home. And she was very, very clever. Her keen intelligence and logic were what made her such an outstanding student. Others were smart, but Hermione's ability to comprehend situations ahead of anyone else marked her immediately as special. There was something in her eyes that gave that away.
And that was another thing about Hermione, Snape thought. She wore her emotions like a neon sign. If she was having a bad day, you knew. If she was pleased with herself, it showed. If she was in pain, Snape thought with a twinge, you could feel it. It was all there. Maybe that was part of what attracted him so much, how unlike himself she was.
And yet, only parts of her were really different. The memories he'd seen included several of a younger Hermione, always alone. She watched as the other girls at school laughed and played together, watched as groups of them trooped by together on the sidewalk as she worked unceasingly on homework. Hermione was certainly better at distracting herself from that than he was, he decided. She drowned herself in studying. Or perhaps that was just the way Hermione was, never happy unless she was learning something new.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A gust of wind blew stray hair across his face. Snape decided it was time to go inside.
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A tap at her window woke Hermione the next morning. She opened her eyes sleepily to find herself staring Crookshanks in the face. With a groan, she rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the window. When she opened it, Griselda flew in, carrying a letter and small parcel tied to her leg. She waited just long enough for Hermione to untie her burden before gliding across the room to her open cage, and more importantly, her water bowl. It was a message from her parents.
Dear Hermione,
I hope you got to school in one piece. What happened to owling me when you got there?
Oops, thought Hermione.
Anyway, I want you to know I'm not angry about what you did to your bedroom. At least we'll have something to talk about, right? I've sent you one of your favourite board games, although I suspect you'll have to teach your friends how to play. Study hard, dear.
Love,
Mum
P.S. The chocolate frogs are from your father. He thought you might need some "brain food."
Hermione unwrapped the parcel. Inside, she found a travel sized Scrabble game and a pair of chocolate frogs. She smiled, touched. The note of thanks would have to wait, however, because Griselda was obviously tired, and Hermione's stomach was loudly demanding nourishment. She dressed quickly in one of her favourite new outfits, and feeling bold, made her way to the Great Hall.
"Wow, Hermione," Harry said, looking her up and down. "Is that new?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, sitting down. "It is. Do you like it?"
"No," Harry answered, looking at her again. Stung, Hermione frowned.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.
"Nothing!" Harry laughed. "That's the problem!"
Hermione grinned. Of course. She looked down at herself. Tight black pants and a close fitting, plunge-neck shirt of deep red. And then there were the outrageous pumps she'd bought on instinct. With her hair loose – smooth instead of bushy, thanks to one of Gilderoy Lockhart's Super-Conditioning Potions – she really looked good.
"Then I'll take that as a compliment." As she spoke, a Belgian waffle appeared on her plate. "Ooh, yummy," said Hermione, attention diverted. Harry looked on in amazement as she polished off her breakfast.
"And you go on at me about my eating habits," he joked, sipping his juice.
"I want some tea," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Steaming hot with honey." Then her eyes widened. She knew what that meant.
..............
"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione called, walking through the open infirmary doors.
"She's with Professor Sprout again, Miss Granger," said a voice.
Hermione froze. Professor Snape appeared from around a corner.
"Is there something you need?"
Hermione coloured furiously. There was no way she was going to tell this man about her personal problems… Snape caught sight of her face and sighed.
"Out with it, girl. Do you need an anti-cramp potion or just one for general PMS?" Hermione gasped. How had he guessed? Was he reading her mind? She gulped when she remembered that he could.
"H-how did you-"
"That brilliant shade of chartreuse you turned when inquired after your needs pretty much gave it away."
I really need to work on that, Hermione thought dully.
Snape dug through a cabinet and pulled out two bottles, one with green liquid, one with blue. "Take one." He set them on a table and returned to whatever he'd been doing out of sight. Hermione eased over to the table and read the "Reasons for taking this potion" tag. She chose the green potion for general discomfort and irritability.
"Thank you," she called, ever polite, and legged it down the hall. She stopped to catch her breath on the second floor. As she sagged against the wall, her mind was arguing with itself again.
I can't believe that just happened, thought part of her mind. There is no way he just found out- Shut up! screamed the other, more reasonable half. Get over yourself! He's just a Potions Master doing his job. He doesn't care. The less logical part of her mind sqeuaked once in protest and relented. The potion kicked in. Hermione sighed and relaxed. That was better.
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Snape waited in his quarters for his students to arrive. He was busy remembering the outfit Hermione had traipsed into the Hospital Wing wearing. Actually, he hadn't stopped remembering it since she'd fairly run from the room. The way that deep red set off her creamy skin was unbelievable. And those pants…he couldn't help but notice how well they fit…
Why you dirty old man! cried part of his mind. She's well over fifteen years your junior! But that hair tumbling down her back was something to be reckoned with. He wanted to touch it, run his fingers through it… Now that was enough. It was cute how she'd blushed, though. Like he'd never helped with "feminine complaints" before. Like he hadn't brewed the damn potion! Snape smiled to himself. Very cute. Innocent. He straightened. Too innocent. A knock came at the door. Time for lessons.
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A/N: Hello once more. So, short sentences this time...that's just sort of the way it came out. Thanks again to my fab beta, Evan M. And thanks for all the reviews you guys! I assure you, Aindel S. Druida, that this isn't going to be the typical Snape-loved-Lily things. It crossed my mind, but it isn' the soppy Hermione-reminds-him-of-Lily thing. Ick. That's just weird, plus it totally takes away from Hermione's value as a love interest. :-) We can't have that now can we?
I'm playing steamy scenes in my head, much to my own amusement....however, it might not be so amusing on paper. Sigh. I have no practice, and (teehee) no experience, so how am I supposed to write a good one? Sort of paste together a bunch of romance novels, I guess, but it would be cool to have some fresh analogies, no? Maybe that'll have to wait a few years. Or decades, depending. ;-)
Oh, and for you fab SS/HG tale lovers who haven't heard already, check out sycophanthex -dot- com and click on Ashwinder. Entirely SS/HG fics! Yay! And they're all good because you can only publish stuff based on how well it's written.
M'Kay, that's enough. Laters!