Disclaimer: As always Harry Potter is the sole property (dang it) of J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 2: The Work of My FingersHer head hit the pillow and mercifully did not wake until mid-morning, obtaining some of the most restful sleep that she'd had since term's end.
She had missed Ron and Ginny, but appreciated the solitude.
As she descended the rickety stairs, she attempted to make no noise so as to avoid a certain portrait of an unnamed person who might shriek out foul obscenities at the Muggleborn witch. Such a profane discourse was inescapable at some point, but could only serve to remind her of the current predicament in which she found herself.
She strode into the kitchen in comfortable, pale blue, striped pajamas where Mrs. Weasley greeted her.
"Good morning, dear. Sleep well?"
"Yes, ma'am." Hermione was chipper, she just found herself longing for a cup of caffeine that had taken a hold of her of late. "Do you have coffee?"
"Yes, dear. Right here, you take cream and sugar?"
"Yes, thank you." Hermione stretched and was grateful for the warm mug held in front of her.
"You were so tired last night I thought it best not to disturb you."
"Thank you, I needed the sleep. Did Professor Dumbledore send any…"
"Yes, of course dear. Your parents are well and safe." A brief pause, as Molly sat across from her. "I am so glad you are here. Professor Snape told me of your recent run in with Lucius Malfoy. He is most relieved that your family decided to relocate."
He was? Professor, I didn't know you cared. "Mrs. Weasley, why isn't Malfoy in Azkaban? I was so surprised to see him." That was an understatement. Her heart nearly leapt in her chest at the mere mention of him.
"Oh Hermione, that Malfoy! He is as slippery as they come. Surely that devil has bribed some Ministry officials to delay the trial. He managed some swift and private appeals, which has prolonged his prosecution. Kept it all out of the papers, he did. He likely owns part of them, except the Quibbler perhaps. At this rate I doubt he'll see the inside of prison anytime soon." Molly Weasley possessed an angry tone which left a flavor in the air that promised that were Lucius Malfoy to walk through the door at present, Molly would surely curse him into the next century.
"I apologize for leaving you early, as I have some urgent business to attend. I'll return this evening. I hope you won't be too lonely for company."
"Actually I'm sure I'll spend a good deal of time in the library. We spent so much time cleaning before, that I didn't get to thoroughly enjoy it," Hermione offered truthfully. Yet, though tomes were amongst some of her closest friends, she wondered if she could spend an entire summer without human contact.
"Oh and before I forget, Professor Dumbledore brought one more item from your home for your enjoyment. Come see." With a wave of her hand, the copper-haired woman motherly shooed her into the den.
"It's a bit larger than it was originally I'd wager. But you know how Albus does things."
Before Hermione's saucer eyes stood her piano, engorged to the size of a Baby Grand, but unmistakably the same. "Oh!" She hugged Mrs. Weasley. "This is wonderful!" The huge smile was obvious on Hermione's face as she beamed. "When you see Dumbledore next can you tell him I said thank you? Or, do you have an owl?"
They were very careful about sending owls from the Headquarters. Any number of letters could be and had been intercepted. Most letters were quite cryptic as occasion called for it.
"Certainly dear. You'll have to play for us sometime. There is an order meeting on Friday and dinner afterward. Perhaps you'll consider giving a performance?" The look in Mrs. Weasley's eyes was pleading with a pleasant twinkle.
Truly any music would be a happy distraction from the recent melancholy air of things. The headquarters so obviously belonged to Sirius Black's family. He himself had detested it, being holed up here as a necessity for months on end. The Black household was a testament to hatred of Muggles everywhere and he loathed it. When, or if Harry came she wondered if this place would cause him more suffering than comfort could afford amongst friends.
She opened the bench to retrieve the well-worn pages of music she had almost memorized. She wondered if she could perhaps send off for additional music by mail.
***
Professor Severus Snape stood proudly before his creation. Papers and ink and potions ingredients still littered his desk and the dungeon floor. He had not been filled with so much pride in his life until this accomplishment. He had published, yes. But they were small articles, excellent research nonetheless, published in Ars Alchema, and the Journal of Advanced Potion Sciences.
He had written a book. It outlined his own theories and speculation of potential solutions to age-old problems he had finally conceded he alone could not solve without the aid and conjecture of the larger scientific community. He hoped that this book would offer significant opportunities for discourse on a multitude of stale topics, long abandoned for too many numerous failures. His passionate prologue had spoken of much. Snape expected that this volume might reinvigorate and motivate additional exploration of these subjects resulting in new scientific advances.
He paced as his often did, and decided he would not submit it as it was. He was too aware of his own spidery scrawl, and potion making did not lend itself well to illegible writing. Many of the words ran together in his flurry of scribbling rendering some words questionable. Most volumes now were typeset, but even they were laden with errors. Snape was old-fashioned, he decided a more traditional approach would better honor this tome.
He left immediately for Diagon Alley.
Stalking down the street as he usually did, his robes flung behind him as he entered Potente Herbs and Potables. It was on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, bordering on the less reputable Knockturn Alley. It easily served both clientele with rare potions ingredients as well as spirits, and absinthe.
"Rodolfo? Are you back here?" Snape called out.
"Severus, so could to see you. What can I do for you today? A bottle of Ogden's perhaps? I have a fine scotch as well, just came in. You didn't send ahead a list." They shook hands politely. Rodolfo Thomas had long been the proprietor of the establishment which frequently Professor Snape more often than not.
"I am in need of services. I wondered who does your labeling for your bottles, I've always admired the penmanship."
"Oh, I am sorry to say, he has long since retired. However, I know that Katie Renou at Flourish and Blotts has a fine listing of calligraphers for hire. You should call upon her."
"Very well then. Thank you."
As he took his leave, Snape felt a suspiciousness tug as the back of his mind. He told no one of the manuscript and he concerned himself with the much-needed discretion of it. He strode toward the back of the book filled shop to inquire of Ms. Renou's whereabouts.
A lovely middle-aged woman came forward to greet him, her hair twisted and secured on the back of her head in formal fashion. White lace ruffles extended down her forearms, something reminiscent of old 18th century garb. "How may I help you Mister…"
"Professor Snape. I came to see Ms. Renou."
"You have found her!" She said a bit too friendly as Snape leaned back slightly a bit repulsed by her forwardness.
"I understand that you have a listing of calligraphers for hire," he asked softly. His low voice begged discretion.
Immediately she assumed a lower tone with a more professional expression and leaned in, "Follow me, Professor Snape."
His eyes narrowed, not quite sure was to expect. Out of habit he was always defensive, his wand inches from his fingertips. Nothing is what it seems… his familiar motto.
The well-dressed librarian issued him through a door which she shut behind them. She immediately locked and warded it. Immediately she adopted a formal businesslike tone as she addressed the scholar. "Professor Snape., have you ever hired a calligrapher before?"
"No, I can't say that I have…" Snape began cautiously.
"Then I will explain to you that it is an unfortunately overlooked skilled profession, of which there are so few accomplished artisans left. Mostly people hire them for wedding invitations or parties or single letters, but I take it by your tone you have other business at hand." She rummaged for a key, which she turned in a lock and removed a large box, the wards could be felt at the edges of the air. With a touch of her fingertips the lock popped open and she removed a black bound volume.
"This is a sample of the work of 12 artists who have provided alphabetic samples. Some possess such skill that they will, for a fee, provide you a script unique to your particular task that would be used on no other manuscript. If you do not like it however, the fee is not refundable and they will gladly pen it in another fashion." She handed him the portfolio as he carefully opened it.
He carefully noted the work of the artists as she continued to speak. The first page was entirely too flowery, words inundated with long tendrils which would make his book impossible to read without straining one's eyes.
"There are no names here," he commented.
"Yes. You will order by number. Only I possess the whereabouts of the calligraphers who remain anonymous for reasons of secrecy. Otherwise weddings and parties would be announced in the Prophet long before the invitations were received or information could be wrangled forcibly from the artisans. They prefer the safety this confidentiality provides. You also will remain unidentified to the artisan."
"And yourself? How is price negotiated?"
"I myself will not know what is being transcribed. And as for fees, they are outlined in lists I can provide for you, or in special circumstances can be negotiated between you both through me."
He smiled briefly. Impressed, this would do fine. He wondered though how he could trust the calligrapher. He would much prefer to know where his writings would be kept. For an indefinite period of time. He had told no one of them. "That sounds fine," he muttered absently as he continued tom peruse the pages of text.
She noted his brow furrow, "Here," she pointed, "is a list of the influences of the artist as well as methods and inks used to pen their work."
The names of the artisans who influenced the scripts had no meaning for him, but he kept noticing the magic involved. He frowned. "Do you have any traditional calligraphers?"
"Ah, yes. Most of these have long since approved of magic to aid in their work, however…" she turned pages for him, "while I'm sure many would pen them entirely by hand… ah, here. These two do work completely free of magic. Pure traditionalists. Both do beautiful work as you can see."
His eyes examined the exquisite penmanship of both artists and had a clear favorite. He pointed, "I prefer this script. Do you have a list of his fees?"
He… She smiled to herself, "yes, I have one…" she rummaged again through papers remaining in the box. "Here."
The prices were astonishingly reasonable and Ms. Renou noticed his quirked eyebrow. "Yes, 'tis not a stiff price. Though the price may differ if you require anything special, and also depending on the amount of time requires to complete the task. Are you interested in making a bid?"
"Yes. What should I do?"
"Here is a parchment where you can make a listing of your requirements and preferences. You should include style, information about length, and especially how many liberties the calligrapher may take in penning your assignment. Keep in mind, calligraphy is a labor of love, and it is most beautiful when the artist is permitted to introduce their individual signature gifts. Notice this book." She pulled a beautiful large red leather bound tome from the shelf. As she opened it, he was amazed by the gold and green leafwork which surrounded the opening letter. Animals danced about the text on the initial page, even though the writing was not obscured by the drawings. It was a book of nursery rhymes.
He thought carefully, and began to write. She stopped him, "Professor Snape, I will sit here." She pointed to a chair facing the corner of the wall. "Take as long as you wish. This parchment will disguise your handwriting affording you greater anonymity, as this will be delivered by owlpost. Be sure not to sign your name or initials. I will make the arrangements through this office. In addition some persons have wished duplicate original copies of longer works, so if you desire that, you should say so now."
"Thank you, Ms. Renou." He was lost in his own thought as he contemplated his wishes.
When she gathered his letter an tapped it sealed without glancing she noticed his cautious expression. "Do not worry yourself," she reassured him. "This person has unmatched integrity." He smiled weakly, not sure he believed that of anyone.
As the Legilimens looked into her eyes he could see it was the truth and accepted it at that.
***
Hermione sat in front of the remains of her sandwich at the kitchen table, eating an apple with her left hand, holding a book open with her right. Magical Confinement and Traps Avoided was a most interesting Defense Against the Dark Arts book Remus Lupin had mentioned to her. She intended on reading it cover to cover and had been practicing wand movements most of the morning with a harmless pencil.
Remus laughed at her as he entered the room with a chuckle. "Hermione, you know you can break for lunch."
"No, I can't actually… Remus this is great!"
"Well you need to save something for next year, " he hinted.
"What do you mean? Oh. Oh! You mean your coming back?" She asked eagerly.
"Yup, as of today I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, well, slightly used."
"Professor Lupin, that's great!" She exclaimed trying his restored title on for size. "You were the best DADA teacher we had. I was being to get worried after Umbridge you know." He smiled. Indeed he should have been flattered if all the other teachers hadn't been atrocious or deadly. Moody would've been great too, if he'd actually gotten the opportunity to teach. Dolores Umbridge was abominable.
Harry's outraged vocalizations to Dumbledore had been heard, so anxious about arming the students with useful information as war loomed overhead. That's why the DA had been started and it was still in full force. Hermione knew he was spending his summer continuing to outline future lessons for more advanced defense, as well as making notes of the strengths and weaknesses of individual students. They would all learn by helping each other.
They both heard a pecking which earned a surprised but concerned look from Lupin. The tall scraggly man strode to the front door where upon opening the bird flew in, quite unusual for Headquarters. His wand out he extended it toward the bird, which flew straight to Hermione.
"Remus no! It's alright."
"You know this owl?" he asked skeptically.
"Yes, it's okay. " She eagerly removed the scroll from it's leg and pocketed it. She offered the remaining piece of bread to the owl and motioned for it to stay. Excuse me would you?"
Remus Lupin looked at her puzzled. Clearly she would need to be notified of protocol concerning mail.
Hermione bounded up the steps to her room and retrieved her wand. Scrawling her signature with the tip of her wand the parchment unraveled, revealing two letters. Yay! An assignment! And was it a big one.
She noticed the length of the... book! Wow, what an honor. She had expected more wedding announcements as was common for this type of work. It was long and she wondered how much she should charge. Her eyes scanned the requests made by the author. He (she?) had implored her to use complete discretion as this was to be published.
She scoffed. Of course she would. It is the code. Or my neck. She had read only too well about the history of the fates that had befallen artists of the past. Many were tortured for their knowledge. Only when Hermione was assured of absolute secrecy, was she was willing to offer her services through Ms. Renou.
That was the other letter in her hand.
I have discussed with you before that you have charged too little for your beautiful work. The last customer admired your penmanship very much but changed his mind once he saw your fee schedule. I believe he took it to mean that the low fee was a reflection of the quality of your work.
Take my recommendation and raise your fee. Submit me a new schedule and I am sure you will earn new clients. Though I know not of your new assignment, I assume it is of sufficient importance that the new client seemed eager and nervous of it. The person was surprised to see your fee, but I mentioned to the individual it would vary based on the work involved. Please adjust your price accordingly.
Kind regards, K. Renou
Hermione took out her quills and ink and best parchment and began to pen her careful reply. She reread the author's requests, addressing each individually. She drafted out how long she estimated it would take her to complete the task well. She suspected based on the number of pages, perhaps four weeks?
'Dear Sir or Madam,' she wrote in beautiful long script. The tail of the 'D' in dear and Madam extended straight and long ending in a tasteful flourish. The request had been for legibility above all else, so she made the words straight and tall.
He or she appeared uncertain as to how the text could be embellished so she decided to submit a few short samples of different styles. She carefully removed a few of her books from her trunk Most Potente Potions and selected a passage from a Shakespearian sonnet.
She penned each passage differently, some plain without any special adornments, others began with tasteful art. She was careful to not touch the wet ink and smear it, lest she have to begin again.
She chose at the last moment to submit something a be more artistic, perhaps a suggestion for an ornate cover of the book. She took Shakespeare's thirty-third sonnet and began drawing guides for a page to place beneath the parchment, delineating guides for her placement of ink. Carefully she began to write, in a circular pattern,
Full many a glorious morning I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, gliding pale streams with heavenly alchemy…
The words swirled around and around, tinier and tinier still, Ugh. She had to start over. Not only had she smeared the ink, she had stopped too early. She crumpled it up and cleaned the heel of her hand so she wouldn't ruin yet another parchment. She began again, moved by the gentle phrases to added tiny leaves here and there. As she ended the sonnet, "…yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth, Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth." She added a bright sun in the center surrounding the circle with pale faint images, daylilies and clouds, she had penned in pale grey ink on the backside of white vellum overlay. The result was a beautiful muting of colors. The sonnet could be clearly viewed through the sheer vellum.
When she affixed it to the parchment containing the circular sonnet, she was so proud of her work she scarcely wished to send it. Because she could not practice magic, or share with anyone what she was doing she regretted she could not make a copy for herself.
She included slips of various colors and weights of paper so they might choose. She listed all prices as an addition to her fee. At one and a half galleons a page the price came to 750 galleons, 800 if the author wished a design for the cover of the manuscript. She sighed. That was a lot of money, though she'd wager for a contract of this nature Ms. Renou would argue it would be still too little.
Hermione was a bit afraid she had bit off more than she could chew, but was confident that she would rise to the challenge. After all, what else did she have to do? She wrapped it flat in a box and wrapped it with self-sealing magical paper. She quickly wrote a quick note to Ms. Renou thanking her for the advice and submitting her fee, to which she would add 5% for the store. She wrapped it again with plain brown paper and brought the package downstairs to the waiting owl. It had been four hours since she'd journeyed upstairs and the owl was fortunately still calmly seated in the kitchen. The tawny creature seemed accustomed to waiting.
She opened the front door before Remus could re-enter the room and question her communiqué. The owl flew out of sight with the package and Hermione turned to innocently face him.
He met her gaze with a stern expression. She was about to be lectured.
She hardly expected a scolding over the summer, but her profound apologies echoed in her head as she listened to the chastising comments of a gruff Remus Lupin for nearly 30 minutes before an aggravated Molly Weasley gratefully intervened.
"Remus, that is quite enough." A red-faced Hermione had sunk low in her chair. His lecture had long surpassed the point of constructive and she assumed it had more to do with the loss of his dear friend Sirius Black than it did her earlier lack of judgment. "Honestly, look at her! I've been standing here for 5 minutes already, and that's long enough do see you have completely overdone it. Hermione would no more betray the Order's secrets than Dumbledore himself." Regretful tears shone in her brown orbs as Remus registered his mistake.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," the calmer man sighed.
"Remus, if Hermione needs to send an owl, that should be suitable so long as they are not often. The point is we don't want numerous owls flitting in and out dear. An owl a week should not be a dangerous tipoff." Her face smiled apologetically to the curly-haired mess in front of her and at the same time Molly shot a reassuring look to Remus. "Remus, we'll be fine."
It was going to be a long summer.
***
After making a stop in Diagon Alley, the owl continued on to Hogwarts and swooped into the Great Hall during dinner. The handsome owl dropped next to Snape and flew out of the room beckoning him to follow. Snape knew this meant he'd had a reply and he hadn't expected one so early, he had only petitioned the request this morning. He excused himself abruptly leaving a puzzled Minerva and Albus in his wake along with somewhat curious glances of other professors. They resumed their eating and discussion, long since familiarized with the brusque manners of their sardonic Potions master.
He adjourned to the privacy of his dungeons and the owl dutifully followed. With a hoot, the owl dropped the package carefully in front of the professor, whose eager hands swiftly unwrapped the brown paper. He read the enclosed letter, which offered a fee he would gladly pay… depending of course on what he found inside. He found he could not tear the magical paper and reached for his wand to mutter a slicing spell. Finally the paper yielded and magically vanished. It wouldn't have done so for someone who wasn't the intended recipient. Ingenious invention.
He opened the box carefully and admired the beautiful script that stared back at him. Yes, this would do well. He read slowly and with awe as he paid attention as much to the gentle strokes of ink as much as to the printed word. Four weeks is all? Lifting the letter he appreciated the various scripts and the thoughtful concise suggestions made by the writer.
It referred to another document and when he looked into the shallow black box he carefully lifted the sample of a concept he had rarely seen before. He touched the edges with his fingertips, turning it around and around so her could examine it. A smile crossed his lips, curling with pleasure as he appreciated the beauty of it.
The penmanship and art was exquisite, the phrasing obvious despite the run-on lines uninterrupted except for the occasional space or comma. He enjoyed poetry and literature of every kind, and despite the artwork on the vellum, which was handsome in its own right for this piece, it would not do for a potions text. He penned an agreement to the cover emblem and offered suggestions for the text which could be used to create it. He allowed the artist more liberty than he thought he would have originally, seeing as how the artist had so tastefully compiled this response penned exactly to his liking.
He packed up a copy of his manuscript, and charmed it so that only the intended recipient could open it. He bound it tightly with paper and twine (adding a sack of galleons for the deposit) and reluctantly sent it off with the trustworthy messenger bound again for the calligrapher.
***
Hermione sat at dinner chatting amiably with Ron and Ginny, but quickly they found themselves exhausting topics to catch up on. Only two weeks had passed and they returned back to the painful reality of Sirius' death. They focused on Harry, who had been so clearly stricken and angry at a private funeral, held near the Forbidden Forest only three weeks ago.
Harry loved him. He had confided in him. Their brief relationship had offered Harry a family, a real family as Black loved Harry as his own son. Harry had reminded Sirius of Harry's father James, but he knew in his heart he was his own man. Sirius had now disappeared behind the mysterious veil, and Hermione feared how much time Harry might devote to recovering him from such a fearsome place. He had died in such an unusual way. But dead was dead. There was no bringing him back.
Once dinner was finished, Ginny whispered for Hermione to meet her upstairs.
"Oh, I understand," Ron rolled his eyes. "Girl talk. Fine! Exclude me. See if I care," he said playfully and wandered over to Remus.
They snuck up the steps to Hermione's room and sat on the bed.
Ginny let it out. She cried openly and Hermione hugged her.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I'm just so worried about Harry. You remember how tragically misunderstood and angry he felt after last year?"
Hermione nodded. She remembered all to well his ranting and cursing at she and Ron for keeping him in the dark. Ginny had confronted him superbly on that, sick of his self-pity.
She pulled a well used handkerchief from her robes and blew her nose loudly into it. "I don't know what I can do…" she sobbed. "I feel so helpless."
"We'll have to let Harry tell us how he wants us to help him. I already asked Dumbledore to let him come here for the summer. I thought it would be best, if the memories of this place aren't too much." Hermione gently offered.
The red-haired girl sniffed a bit as she tried to put on a more colleted face. "I… love.. him… Hermione." She sobbed again loudly and Hermione hugged her tightly as she had wondered what had brought this on.
She thought Ginny was surely over Harry as she had dated several other boys last year, and Harry seemed utterly oblivious to Ginny's affection for him until it was called out on the train last year. After Cho, he seemed a bit disinterested in romantic prospects. It was a bit too complicated for him. Certainly with Sirius gone, he may never want to attach himself again as Hermione watched him lose everyone he had loved.
At this thought Hermione released the tears that had been streaming down her face since early May. "Oh, Ginny…" she whispered.
"Do you think he could ever… do you think he'll ever notice me?" She looked up at her hopefully.
"You need to give him some time Ginny. I think it's a wonderful advantage already to be good friends with him now. He trusts you."
She nodded and tried to dry her tear-stained face before she burst into heaving sobs again. They held each other long before, Ron came in.
"Hermione? Oh no, not again…" That comment earned him death glares from the pair as Ron realized his sister was inheriting his mother's patented look.
Ron sat down beside them and embraced them both in what he thought would be a very gentlemanly, protective gesture. But when he made contact with them he too became filled with sadness he had locked deep inside himself for weeks.
"He'll be okay, I know it," he choked not really believing the statement. As if he said it out loud, it would become truth.
Eventually the siblings had to get up to leave, and descended the stairs to rejoin their mother. She and Remus were obviously engaged in the same conversation, her loving eyes red rimmed as she pulled her children close to her side in a fierce hug.
At night, Hermione knelt by her bed with her rosary. She completed five decades of Hail Marys and the other prayers. The thanked the Virgin Mary for protecting her family and for her close friends. She asked the Lord to watch over her friends and keep them safe. She prayed for the late Padfoot and spent special time in silence as she fervently prayed for Harry's peace and healing. Again she asked for the safe return of Severus Snape and peace for him as well.
***
Disguised by thick trees, a lone owl on a high branch sat patiently outside the flat of Grimmauld Place. It's magical eyes saw quite beyond the brick, instinctively knowing the location of the addressee. He would wait for the right time.
The sun set and rose, and in the morning the curvy red-haired woman arrived at the flat. The bird silently stretched it's wings and flew in behind her stopping in a dark corner where he could not be seen.
Molly walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She ordinarily would've left the girl to her own devices but after last night, she suspected she needed some companionship.
The owl flew up the stairs to the door where the artisan slept and pecked lightly at the door.
Hermione vaguely heard something, and stumbled to the door to see what it could be. Upon opening the creaky bedroom door the familiar owl dropped the package on her bed and left without a treat. It landed above the front door and quietly hid in the shadows, anticipating the red-haired woman's departure.
Hermione's eyes popped open as she comprehended the delivery. She swiftly locked her door, and raced to the bed to open the box from her first serious client.
She took a deep breath and her jaw dropped as processed the letter and the enclosed volume of carefully written notes pertaining to potions. She could barely contain her shock as she clapped her hands over her mouth suppressing her urge to squeal. She stared for at least 5 minutes before she dared touch the research of the owner of such familiar scrawl. That handwriting… The drippy spidery text she had admired for a while, a font which she thought to be quite gothic in a fashion. Oh my God. There are reasons why I'm not supposed to know the identity of the author. What were the odds? Severus Snape, Potions Master. This was his livelihood.
'Please find enclosed the following manuscript entitled Revitalizing Potions for the Modern Age… ' he had written.
Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh! She had suspected he had been working on something. During detention and during classtime she had spied him furiously scribbling. This was it.
"Hermione, up and Adam!"
"DAMN MUDBLOODS ALWAYS IN THIS HOUSE! GET OUT! GET OUT YOU VERMIN! VILE FOULNESS…" the inevitable screeching began and Hermione could faintly hear Molly swearing to herself as she attempted to struggle to cover the portrait which was forever and hopelessly stuck to the wall.
She realized she had no time to examine the text further. She hid it in the depths of her trunk covering it with blankets and other knick-knacks. She wished she could ward it but performing magic would earn her a one-way ticket to court and expulsion.
Severus Snape was not an easy man to please, but it explained the meticulous requests of his previous letter. If anything it made sense of his oft-repeated demand to have legible handwriting. Some potions ingredients had familiar sounding names and a slip or error of any kind could be disastrous. Hermione raced through her breakfast at record speed and took a cup of coffee back to her room.
"Want to get back to you book then? Very well, you know Hermione you shouldn't push yourself so hard. The Newts are far away," but Mrs. Weasley knew better. Hermione's study habits were legendary. As she exited the headquarters the owl escaped behind and flew over the roof and out of sight. Molly spun on her heel. She could've sworn she felt something. Seeing nothing, she shrugged and left.
Author's notes:
Here is the second chapter! Sorry it's taking a while to get to the exciting stuff… more soon. I only posted yesterday, so many thanks to the following reviewers:
Ezmerelda: As always thanks for a serious review. I tried to reload the first chapter after correction but it didn't take. I will take your advice and rewrite portions of the first chapter. Thank you very much for your constructive feedback.
lyress: Thank you! I hope that the interesting relationship between Pansy and Hermione will prove to be interesting. Hopefully Pansy will return after a few chapters.
CJ: Thank you! I apologize, who was Salman Rushdie? Glad you like.
ArwenSolo: Thanks! I just finished reading The DaVinci Code and Angels and Demons, so it's been on my brain.
Azulkan2: Yeah, I've read stories where she and her parents become estranged, but truthfully I believe she was meant to be portrayed as the fortunate one. Glad you like it. She is the consummate Gryffindor—loyal to the last.