Hermione ran up the steps as fast as she could. The stairs gave way to all kinds of noises as they groaned under her heavy footfalls.
"STUPID MUDBLOOD FILTH! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU VERMIN…FOUL CREATURE!!!!" Hermione cursed as she wrestled with the tattered grey curtains.
Eventually the cursing subsided and clenched her jaw as she stifled the urge to curse back at her.
She opened the bedroom door, closing and locking it, even though she knew herself to be alone in the house. She walked to her trunk and pulled out the large black box that contained the manuscript of her potions professor. Her hands were sweating and she had to go wash them before she handled the pages. Hermione was all too aware the effect oils had on documents, and even though these weren't old yet, they would be someday, and decided to honor them accordingly.
Drying her hands, she walked back to her desk and pulled out the long letter with the instructions for his work.
Wow, he liked the sonnet piece. So he wanted a potion penned the same way for the cover… And he wanted two copies, he had requested, understanding it would take longer than four weeks, but wanting to see the first as soon as it was ready. Wow, that meant serious money. He had agreed to her price and she remove the light pouch from the box which held the deposit. She opened it and dumped the contents on her bed.
Her eyes widened in surprise as hundreds of gold galleons littered the coverlet in half an instant. The pouch had been charmed to hold a large amount despite it's size and weight.
She looked back at the letter and then at the pile of gold. …Half of your payment has been included, for a total of 1300 galleons...
Holy crap. She had hardly expected such a fee. But then the first copy was 800 and the second was 500. Amazing. It would take a lot of time. She felt the pressure loom, as she knew she was not only being paid for her time, but also for her talent. She had better be good.
She took the pouch to the bed and refilled it. It took nearly fifteen minutes get all of the coins back in the leather pouch and wondered to herself when she'd get to make a trip to Gringotts. She wasn't one to leave a fortune lying around. She pulled the string and hid it in the recesses of her trunk.
She washed her hands again and immersed herself in the text. It was loosely bound between hard brown leather, the pages neatly stacked. She ran her fingers over the cover, something she did often to books she loved. She enjoyed the feel of old tomes and was terribly careful when turning pages.
On the first page, she found his prologue and read in earnest his passionate plea to the scientific wizarding community to rededicate themselves to the valid work of examining again and challenging what scholars claim to already know. She was moved by his dissertation, his poetic phrasing apparent throughout the letter.
There was a section on epistemology and one on potions ingredients that were becoming scarce or endangered, with his suggestions on alternatives to be explored. It was innovative and refreshing to see he thought about the environment and practicality of such things. He wrote as if he was speaking to her and she could hear his silky tones clearly in her mind. Why didn't he sound like this in class?
He spent so much time berating the students, wouldn't they be thrilled if they knew his enthusiasm for the subject matter? Probably not.
She was hired to write not to read, and she pulled out her parchment box. She picked up the slip of off-white linen paper he had selected and laid it on top of the lid. Opening the box, several sheets appeared for her to take. She slipped out two and laid them in the upper corner of her desk.
He had specified the blackest ink, probably because he wanted it to always be readable even with passage of time. Lighter or greyer colors didn't tend to hold their pigment well.
Taking a lined guide and placing it beneath the first page, the artist began experimenting with the script and text until it suited her. The first page was important, and she jotted down notes and ideas of what the cover page should look like.
It took several hours, but she finally penned the script she would used a variation of the one she had used in her letter to him with the samples. It was an improvement. She stood and let out a stretch.
She felt icky, and turned on the shower to wash up before she went downstairs. She turned it as hot as she could make it and let the pulsing stream of water hit her shoulders that ached from poor posture. She needed to work on that. Once she was sufficiently relaxed she adjusted the temperature— time had made it too hot to tolerate.
She lathered her curly brown mass of hair, thankful she had bottled some concentrated Sleekeasy's to add to her regular shampoo. She hadn't had to deal with a wiry mess in some time.
Drying off, she admired her figure in the mirror as she decided what she'd wear. Who cares? It's just you anyway. Her belly was a little rounded, but she wasn't particularly athletic. Her hips were rounded and her bum a bit large for her taste but she looked nice in a dress. She opted for her comfy jeans and a old cotton t-shirt. She blotted her hair with a towel as much as she could and quietly descended the stairs toward food.
Veggie sandwich… cheese… avocado… sprouts... Her stomach growled as her foot hit the first step. She nearly jumped a foot in the air and grabbed the rail to prevent a rapid fall a stuntman would be proud of as the portrait bellowed.
"FUCKING NOISY MUDBLOOD! AH HAHAHAHAHA!" It cackled.
"SON OF A BITCH! SHUT–UP YOU HAG!" Hermione screamed back, ignoring her continued ranting. For heavens sakes…
She went to the kitchens attempting to slam the swinging kitchen door unsatisfyingly as it swung back and swatted her hard in the ass.
"Damn it."
***
Days passed and they all looked the same as she spent the majority of her time penning the beautiful piece of work. She was amazed by his observations and theories, not nearly as boring and droll as most of the texts she read. Of course this was a modern work, and it was easier to read by far. He put quotes at the beginning of each chapter, citing famous wizards, witches and potions masters, as well as making several literary references. She was able to make those quotes particularly elegant, yet still legible, as she began each chapter. He was very well read, but she knew that. Or did she?
They never talked. He'd never consider talking with her about such things, she was sure. He didn't know she existed expect to annoy him. She sighed and felt pretty foolish about her silly fantasies about a man she could never know. She doubted he'd ever let anyone get close enough, but it was all speculation based on what limited interaction she had with him.
To her surprise he had attended dinner last night, along with Remus and Molly, Minerva and Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley was a bit late but made it. He had seemed almost normal as he smiled at jokes and seemed almost civil. Was this him, the real him on off hours?
She tried not to stare at him too much as he sat there. His face was so much more handsome when he smiled, she thought and resisted the urge to sigh. It wasn't feeling like a schoolgirl crush anymore and felt the itch to write.
Molly had asked her to play, and she obliged a bit embarrassed—but Dumbledore was there and she wanted to properly thank him for the gift she hadn't played much since her arrival.
They smiled as she played a classical work, which she had known how to play for years. She hadn't made too many mistakes, but wished she had anticipated this especially since Snape was here. Hermione Granger wasn't perfect, but she'd like to be, or at least give it her best effort.
"Bravo, bravo, Miss Granger. Tell me do you know any Muggle tunes?"
"You mean more recent?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, non-classical pieces… whatever strikes you." Albus smiled with a twinkle. She could've sworn he was jolly St. Nicolas in another life.
She looked up at Snape and Lupin and decided on one she enjoyed a great deal, they had possibly heard of it. It was from their time, maybe their childhood. She loved Billy Joel and Cold Spring Harbor was one of her favorites.
She began to play the rapid flurry of joyful notes as she selected the least melancholy tune on the album. She hummed to herself,
'Once upon a time in the land of misty satin dreams,
there stood a house and a man who painted nature scenes,
he painted trees, and field and animals and streams
and he stayed and he didn't hear the falling of the rain…'
Remus gave a toothy grin as she saw he recognized the song. She smiled back. Snape also appeared a bit surprised.
You're too young to know that, Snape thought.
"That's from before you were born, Hermione!" Remus exclaimed over the piano.
"Thanks a lot! I love this song."
"What are the words?" Albus asked.
Hermione tried to remember where she was in the fast paced tune as she conversed.
"Will it always be the same as we recall, does it touch you when the rain begins to fall… aw but I don't wanna know and I don't wanna see…" she sang softly.
"… another rainy day without you lying next to me…" Remus chimed in.
Before long everyone was smiling, Remus sang admirably despite out of key notes and Hermione mouthed the words to remind him as she played on. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Severus' lips mutter words familiar to him, though he wouldn't admit it.
She continued on to Why Judy Why, a more somber melody, but they enjoyed it as Remus continued to hum,
'Of all the people in the world that I know,
you're the best place to go when I cry when I cry…
A man my age is very young so I'm told,
why do I feel so old, tell me why Judy why… hmmmm… '
She saw a smirk from Snape at this stanza, which hadn't even been sung aloud. She smiled inwardly as she realized she truly did not know what experiences Snape had that lent the opportunity for a pureblood to become so familiar with Muggle music. When she ended, she launched into a more upbeat song, Everybody Loves You Now. They were all laughing after it ended and she was grateful for the reprieve from sad discussion.
"Perhaps you'll sing for us sometime Hermione," Albus inquired.
"Oh no, I couldn't." She was feeling unusually shy in present company, and that was a bit strange as she was very comfortable in her own voice. She had hung before at a local club, but those were strangers. This was a bit too intimate. You're sure this doesn't have something to do with a certain person… she taunted herself.
Sensing her distress, Snape found an opportunity to cut in. He was all about discomfort and throwing people off-balance. "Nonsense. Miss Granger has an exceptional singing voice, Headmaster." He fixed her with a gaze which she completely misinterpreted as positive.
"Thank you, Professor Snape." He had not even commented at the performance.
"Where did you hear her before, Severus?" Minerva asked.
"She sang a duet with Pansy Parkinson in the Requiem at St. Peter's last week."
"Indeed," Albus commented. "Well my dear, I don't wish to put you on the spot. But we'd love to hear from you."
She did feel put on the spot, but she couldn't play and seriously sing, so she stood up and swallowed.
She let the clear notes of her high voice ring throughout the living room as she sang the sacred music, an arrangement of Requiem not sung that day at St. Peter's.
… qui tolis pecatta mundi, dona eis requiem… dona eis requiem— sempeternam… Requiemmm…
She barely finished as the screaming profanities ensued again.
Good grief. Snape hid a smile, though he could not deny her voice was lovely.
"Excuse me." She muttered as they heard her run upstairs, yell at the painting, and cover it up. She ran back downstairs.
"Well, I think that's enough for one night don't you?" Hermione stated.
"Beautiful, Hermione that was just beautiful, " Minerva offered.
"Yes, thank you," Remus said. He seemed a bit misty and Hermione patted his arm.
Well, at least he got a bit of a break from his grief.
"Molly, as always, that was a delicious dinner," Snape said. Even he had to give her snaps for that. Molly was by far an outstanding chef. He nodded to Hermione and that was all the comment she got.
That earned a rather severe look from the Headmaster, but he didn't speak of it.
She adjourned upstairs after goodbyes were said, and found a spare scrap of parchment to write down her ideas…
I hate to love him
The exquisite torture of unrequited love
His voice and manner
Haunt my dreams
In both sun and shadow.
Love? Ugh! She crumpled it up and shot at the wastebasket for a two point shot, and missed. She threw herself down on the bed and opted for sleep over work.
***
Severus Snape disapparated to Hogwarts grounds in thought about the interesting evening. Truly, it had been the first evening in a while where he'd actually allowed himself to enjoy the company of his peers. He had even tolerated the werewolf. And his horrible singing. More like howling. So off key!
And Granger. She was more talented than he gave her credit for. What couldn't she do? She sang, she played an instrument. He hadn't played in years and he found himself envying her as she recalled the chords from memory. She looked beautiful, easy and relaxed, so natural as the notes erupted from her throat. Where did they come from, so airy it seemed dreamlike? Yes, my boy, you fall in the music 'appreciation' category.
She seemed quite a bit older and more mature than her peers. She tended not to outrageously sigh and huff like she used to. She was a pouter. But he couldn't remember how long it had been. She was headstrong, but intelligent.
He had heard the full story from Dumbledore about her ploy to lure that troll Umbridge into the dark forest. Magnificent. Worthy of Slytherin even. Of course she had also solved his potions riddle when the trio went after the Philosopher's Stone, and brewed the insanely touchy Polyjuice potion her second year. She was twelve!
She'd overloaded herself with classes her third year and still came out smelling like a rose when grades were being passed out. He was sure she'd break. But oh no… damned girl. Minerva's pride and joy. Surely her Owls would be superior as well. Thank Merlin for her, Potter would be dead by now if it weren't for her.
He felt the mark scorch his arm and he disapparated before entering the castle.
The robes and silver mask weren't always customary and this was fortunately one of those times.
"My Lord." He bowed obediently.
The circle of Death Eaters was small this evening, a bit of chill in the air, they were far north, and it had been raining. Lucius was present, as well as Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and McNair. The Lestranges and Crabbe managed release from jail while they awaited trial... still— suspicious to say the least. They likely owed Malfoy quite a bit for that feat. The payment for favors was steep. Snape made a point never to be in anyone's debt.
Bellatrix had a hard time standing upright, having been tortured severely for all of their failures at the Department of Mysteries. She had been punished for allowing the prophecy to be destroyed. There were no excuses. She could scarcely stand for someone to touch her.
"My servants. I come before you today, to offer up a new plan. One of which I expect our dear Snape to play a key role. Step forward."
Severus did so, and looked submissive but obedient. The right balance was important. He didn't want to be viewed as weak. "The next part of our plan is crucial," he hissed. "Your charge is to make a list of all known virgins in the school once term begins. Leave no one out."
Snape nodded, "Yes, My Lord." Just thirty minutes ago he was listening to sacred music and now he was called this half-snake half-man 'My Lord'. Merlin, the irony.
He knew better than to ask what they would be for. It didn't sound good. He would tell them when they needed to know. But he hoped, yes…
McNair was thick and his thinking cap was a bit lower than everyone else's. "What are the virgins for My Lord?" he asked a bit too eagerly.
A good question. A reasonable question. Everyone was thinking it, they just weren't stupid enough to vocalize it.
"SILENCE! Crucio!" When Voldemort was casting the Unforgivables… well it was bad. That's why poor Bellatrix was in the shape she was in.
McNair cried out and he was a bloody mess on the muddy ground. He quite obviously could not get up, or he would have done so. All of the expressions of the remaining Death Eaters remained emotionless. Snape was often grateful for the privacy the masks afforded.
He stood there awaiting further instruction. "And do you want to know my plans for them, Severus?"
"As you wish, My Lord," Snape replied.
"That is the correct answer," he hissed. Merlin, but he was scary when he was this calm. So unpredictable.
"Very well. We will be performing one of the ancient sacrifices, a blood ritual involving the power of virgins."
Snape's mind whirled with spells he had only heard vaguely about. There were plenty of dark rituals involving blood, and some rare potions which called for virgin's blood, (freely given) which was difficult to collect. Most of those potions were scarcely used any more.
"Those of you who have daughters, do you know whether or not they have been spoiled?"
Parkinson spoke up quickly, aware he had the only unmarried daughter, "I offer Pansy, when I can ascertain her status."
"Don't be so sure, Patrick. These days, who knows? That's where you come in Professor Snape. Surely you can devise some method of locating the virgins among the student body."
"Yes, Master." Oh no. Please let them be loose and sex crazed this year. I promise I won't patrol bushes or look in closets. Gods, how to explain this to the Headmaster?
Snape was paralyzed somewhat as they were adjourned. He has actually made it though a Death eater meeting without being cursed.
All in all, it was a victory. But he didn't feel like celebrating.
***
Hermione vocalized aloud her frustration with an ARGGGH! And once again the portrait woke up screaming those filthy epithets.
"MUDBLOOD FILTH! FREAK OF NATURE, GET OUT GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU…"
That was it. The last straw. She had been working for hours— and after tearing up the same page for the third time, Hermione was officially losing it. She was living here for three months and she was not gonna let some dead old bigoted cow yell at her all summer.
She stormed out in the hall, her hair flying behind her as she screamed louder. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU OLD SMARMY BITCH!"
"BOIL COVERED DISEASE INFESTED PIECE OF SHI.."
"ROTTEN CRAPPY EXCUSE FOR A PAINTING! CAN EVEN HURL A DECENT INSULT…."
"I BEG YOUR PARDON! DIRTY FUCKING GRYFFINDOR, YEAH THAT"S YOU!!!!"
The yelling continued as Hermione practically fought a losing battle with the portrait of a woman who was at some point Sirius Black's mother. Hermione was quickly becoming hoarse, and she preferred not to scream.
Then she had an epiphany. While Sirius' mother continued to shriek with glee, gloating at her belief that she had indeed won the shouting match, the clever witch descended the stairs to the piano below. Hermione made sure to choose the most God-awful music ever and play as loudly as possible. 'I'M HENRY THE EIGHTH I AM, HENRY THE EIGHTH I AM I AM…'
She laughed maniacally as she pounded out the tune on the keys, keeping the pedal depressed almost the whole time completely drowning out the noisy painting. Then abruptly, she switched to Beethoven, Brahms, and Chopin, the greats.
"Are we coming to some kind of agreement Ms. Black?" She called up.
She screamed again bellowing her all too familiar insults down the stairs.
Hermione changed tactics again playing an obnoxious rap tune. She wished she had her boom box here to plug in. No electricity was a limitation she had to endure. The screeching stopped again and Hermione rewarded her with a beautiful arrangement of Tchaikovsky's work.
"Did you say something, Mrs. Black? Now, that's sooo much better isn't it? I know we can work out an arrangement that is mutually beneficial for both of us…"
She heard some mumbling that was still a curse but not nearly so loud.
Hermione returned upstairs and leaned against the wall.
"The next time to open your big fat face to scream for no reason, I promise you I will march right down there and play the most loathsome music you have ever heard. And I do promise you, it can get much worse."
Mrs. Black said nothing and Hermione took it for a yes.
"Wait a minute Mudblood," She began. "What do I get in return for my silence?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed, "My name is Hermione. And it depends. What do you want?"
The elderly woman frowned in thought. "I want these curtains pulled back at all times."
"I'll try. I'll mention it to the other people who come in. Hey, and no being a bitch to Harry okay?"
Mrs. Black's furious look was a devil's glare, but she reluctantly agreed. "Alright! Alright. I would like the antique barley twist chair from downstairs moved back up here across from me with Phineas Nigellus' painting from the library."
"The chair I can do, but do you and Phineas argue?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, of course. He's an asshole. But he's family." She said it matter of factly.
"No deal."
"Okay, I'll try to be civil," she said through gritted paint chips. Truth be told, she was lonely. The house was mostly vacant and she liked it when Hermione played traditional music.
"Alright, we'll try it out. I'll have to wait for Molly Weasley or Remus to perform the sticking charm."
"And one more thing…" Hermione gave her a look like she was pushing it. And eyebrow asked her to continue. "No singing."
"Except when company is here?" Hermione didn't want to give up the thing that had been offering a good deal of cheer to her friends and the Order.
She groaned. "Okay."
Hermione took the curtains and curled them neatly behind the hooks on each side of the portrait.
Hermione bounded down the stairs to retrieve the chair and brought it to rest across from the life-size portrait. It would have to be right next to her bedroom. She hoped she and Phineas would be quiet.
***
The manuscript was coming along splendidly if she did say so herself and it was killing her to keep this a secret. It was brilliant, and she had read it many times over while she transcribed. Her fingers ached from the repetitive position of her hand. When she soaked her hand up her wrist in warm water and Epsom salts, it left other members of the household with the impression that she had been tickling the ivories too much.
She had stayed up as late as her eyes would allow, without sacrificing uniformity in her writing. Letting out a loud yawn, she walked down the steps to the library for a break, walking to her favorite chair now occupied by her employer.
Speak of the devil. "So how has your summer been, Professor Snape?"
He didn't even look up from his book to address her. "Miss Granger, contrary to what you might think, I would prefer not to engage in idle chit-chat about my summer with you. I expect you to treat me the same way as you do when school is in session,"he rebuked and casually turned a page. He was definitely living up to the greasy git reputation.
This was the man she was attracted to? Hell! That was painful. She willed herself not to react, hard to believe after all they years his dry rude comments could still affect her so. She muttered a small apology and walked silently toward the den.
He was a night owl too. It was two a.m., and she realized she and Snape were the only two people here. Was he waiting for someone?
Not gonna cry, not gonna cry… her eyes smarted. Hermione was tired. She had just spent nearly 8 straight hours on his research. He had some nerve! But despite her hard work on the text, he didn't know about her and she couldn't fault him for being the usual bastard he was. Shit.
She sat at the piano without thinking, and began to finger the keys lightly. It was almost a lullaby. She knew several. She played 'Nocturne' by Sarah McLaughlin and felt her shoulders relax.
***
Her apology was soft but he heard it. That scolding ached him more than any attempt from her speaking back. Merlin, how on earth did he expect to encourage her if he couldn't even be civil? He raked his fingers through his black mane and couldn't read any more. What was keeping Albus anyway?
He got up and paced. No more academic texts. He rubbed his eyes and perused the volumes. James Joyce, Hermann Melville, Emily Dickenson… He pulled out a book filled with Shakespearean sonnets and returned to his seat.
Then he heard the faint tinkling in the next room and anticipated the worst. He darted into the next room. "Miss Granger!"he snarled in a whisper. "Do you want to invite condemnation from above?"
She just looked at him smugly and played a bit louder, "Do you hear any screeching Professor Snape?"
He didn't, to his surprise. Why wasn't she shouting?
"What did you do to the portrait,?" he asked coolly.
Hermione smiled a sweet clever smile and kept playing. "We've come to an understanding."
That earned her an eyebrow raise.
I'll see your sexy eyebrow/ lip curl and raise you another smile.
Dumbledore strode in finally, and Snape turned to greet him.
"My dear Hermione, you're up awfully late." He cheerfully observed.
"Well, it's not a school night." She smiled and finished the piece, "I was just going to bed anyway. Goodnight."
Dumbledore and Snape met in the library and Hermione felt curiosity prick at her as she wondered on the conversation.
***
Damn, but there was no whisky around.
"Albus, you're not going to like this," Snape dreadfully began.
"There was a meeting this evening."
"Yes," Snape replied. "The Dark Lord asked me… well, he asked me to provide him with a list of all of the virgins on the school roll."
Dumbledore could not and did not respond. His flashing eyes were ones of a crazed man. There was a good reason why Dumbledore was greatly feared by Voldemort, and Snape saw it right there. Nobody threatened his students. No one.
After a few moments he asked, "What do you think it means?"
"I do not know. But I will read up on it." It was all he could do. Read. Granger's solutions weren't so bad anyway. It had served Snape well.
"I will talk to Remus. Perhaps he will have some knowledge of it."
"I will do my best, Headmaster." A piece of silence threatened them both with unanswered questions. "Bloody hell."
"My sentiments exactly, Severus."
"Even Patrick Parkinson offered up his own daughter. Not that he had a choice." Snape took a deep breath. "I sincerely hope we have a free thinking student population this year."
Albus frowned but didn't argue.
Author's notes:
Thank you for reading! Please review! I'm trying to pick up the pace. Hope you enjoyed the match between Hermione and Mrs. Black.
Thank you Ash and Merry the Psychotic Coconut!
I can't wait to write more for you! I promise to keep up with the other story as well. Just wanted to launch this fic with a bang. It's half written in my head anyway.