Author's note:
Yep, I'm stretching credibility a little here, but, given the crazy plot so far I don't think it's too wildly OCC for the conversation at dinner to take the direction it does… (It is a Christmas story after all - didn't want to get too dark…) But you didn't expect Snape to discuss the price of fish either... Please persevere - several threads start to get tied up in this chapter.
DECK THE HALLS
By Bellegeste
CHAPTER 11: RHYME OR REASON
Tuesday 24th December
After a conversation with Hulmin (translated from Parsel with much hilarity on Harry's part), Hermione knew she'd never be able to view Snape in the same light again. It had taken some time to convince the snake that she was not a 's-shamelessss temptresssss, come to s-steal s-Snape'ss affectionsss…", but once he understood she was no threat, he became confidentially outrageous.
"Oooh, that time he frisssked me for s-scale mitesss - I came over all of a s-slough!" and "…s-so I s-slithered up his s-sleeve and s-started s-squeezing…"
x x x
Sitting at the dinner table now, with Harry opposite her and Snape at the head of the table, Hermione could not help her mouth quirking into a smile at the mental image of the dignified Potions master grappling with the lascivious, infatuated Runespoor…
Oh no, he'd think she was laughing at him. Serious! She must talk about something serious and sensible. Stay factual, Harry had said, keep off the subject of Potionsand homework; no personal questions. So, what could they discuss? She didn't want to resort to the weather – that would be far too banal ('Do you think it's cold enough to snow? Will we get a white Christmas?'). Actually, there was one question which had been puzzling her.
"On Saturday, Sir, why did Luna snap Harry's wand? It was working - it needn't have gone in the cauldron at all."
He rested his fork on his plate and eyed her.
"Did Longbottom not explain?"
"He tried," Harry scoffed, " but he gets so bogged down in the technicalities. We didn't have all week to listen to him rambling on."
Snape, regarding Harry with a mixture of impatience and disappointment, actually defended Neville. Wonders will never cease!
"Longbottom's perseverance does him credit, Harry. Do not mock it. A little more application from you would not go amiss…"
"Oh, so Neville's suddenly a whiz-kid too!" Harry heard the whine creeping into his voice. Everybody, it seemed, could earn Snape's approval but him.
"The boy is no genius, Harry, but his methods - lumpen though they may be - have yielded results. You could do worse than to learn from his example…" He turned back to Hermione. "You were saying, Miss Granger?"
"Oh, yes, Sir. When we were at the… …'ceremony', we didn't really understand what was going on. We couldn't see the point of breaking the wand."
"It is a pertinent question, Hermione. I'm surprised, Harry, that it has not occurred to you to ask it."
Oh, don't mind me, I'm just your son - the ignorant one who never asks anything relevant; the one who can't do anything right. Harry took a huge mouthful and chewed laboriously, cutting himself out of the conversation.
"We believe - that is, Longbottom and I share the belief - that Harry's wand was an active constituent in the process of healing and renewal - "
"But, Sir, I thought it was all connected with the Solstice. That's what Luna's been saying, though I don't know whether i believe her. She said it is a time of 'rebirth' - wasn't it all tied up with the solar cycle? And all her healing herbs? And Earth Energy?"
At the mention of Luna's name, Snape's expression became ambivalent, as though he'd been eating an over-ripe Stilton cheese which smelled abominable but, surprisingly, didn't taste so bad.
"Who can say for certain?" he said, carefully noncommittal. "The solstice is a time of intense ecliptic activity. Powerful forces are at work. If a wizard has the ability to channel those energies, who knows what might happen. Miss Lovegood's talents are… unusual. I cannot wholly discount her contribution." That seemed remarkably open-minded for Snape.
"But, you say Harry's wand…?"
"…acted as a catalyst for the regenerative reaction?" Snape took a slow sip of Merlot and swallowed appreciatively. "Yes, I think so."
"Catalyst?" Harry gulped, still chewing.
"Your wand, Harry, has inherited the Phoenix's powers of reincarnation. You have already observed that for yourself. All Longbottom did was to extrapolate from that, the theory that the process of renewal would be empathetic - that the wand would extend its healing to its comrades in distress… Maybe even shed a tear or two…"
"But it was all a guess? You didn't know?"
"No." Snape's smile was indecipherable.
"Blimey! Wasn't that a bit risky?"
"I am not averse to taking risks, Harry…"
Hermione was feeling less wary of Snape now; she could even contemplate holding a normal conversation. The wine was relaxing them all.
"So, is Luna a crackpot or not, Sir? What do you think? All her talk about paganism and alternative spirituality… and shamans - Father Christmas being based on a red and white toadstool - that sort of thing. Is she serious? She's so obsessed with her various cults, and she comes out with all these names - oh, I don't know: Thor, Freya, Cerridwen, Ragnarok, Aradia, Julbock - he's some sort of Swedish Yuletide goat, so she says - I mean, does it still have any relevance or not? Or is it utter rubbish?"
She had spoken with passion, her irritation with all-things-Luna lending a denunciatory tinge to her words. Snape regarded her with amusement.
"You have set a very high threshold for your Leap of Faith, Hermione. An analytical mind of your calibre…"
Hermione blushed, wished she had a Muggle tape-recorder. Had he really said that? She'd barely got over the fact that he was using her name, let alone paying her compliments. What on earth had Harry said to him?
"…may find Miss Lovegood's beliefs hard to accept uncritically. One cannot deny that she is indiscriminately eclectic in her choices. But neither can we dismiss all her notions as unsound. There can be no doubt, for instance, that occasions such as the Muggle Christmas are firmly rooted in pre-Christian practice…"
Oh no, he's a teacher! Why did I open my big mouth? Hermione could almost hear the professorial gears engaging.
"Christmas, as you should be aware, is by no means a 'pure-blood' festival. Its origins can be traced to ancient Mesopotamia, with the legends of Marduk, and down through history through the twelve day Egyptian celebrations for the birth of the god, Horus, to the feasts of the Roman Saturnalia… And, as Lovegood rightly says, many Celtic rites have been incorporated into what you regard as the Christmas tradition. Santa's eight reindeer - whose names I shall not even attempt to recall - represent, I gather, the eight main festivals in the Druidic calendar. Druids consider the deer to be a sacred animal."
"But are they stoned on magic mushrooms?" Harry wanted to know.
Snape ignored him.
"So, Lovegood referred to Ragnarok, did she? Curious." The Potions master swirled his wine thoughtfully.
"Why, Sir?"
"Why? Oh, it's the second time that name has cropped up this week. An unlikely coincidence. There was something Professor Sprout said… Something about dogs…" He tried to remember.
"I bet she'll have nightmares about dogs for the rest of her life," put in Harry. "Those Crups went berserk! I've never seen anything like it."
"Ah, yes. It was one of her ridiculous rhymes. I thought nothing of it at the time, other than the obvious reference in the first line. But now, perhaps I should wonder…" He quoted:
"Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark!
The beggars are come to town -
Some in rags, and some in jags,
And one in a velvet gown!"
"So?" said Harry. "What's odd about that? It's a nursery rhyme, and a pretty dull one at that."
"Indeed."
"And what's a 'jag' when it's at home? Apart from a posh Muggle car, I mean."
"Evidently etymology is another educational shortfall which we shall have to address, Harry. I am unfamiliar with the vehicle you mention. In this instance, 'jag' derives from a Middle English root, with which, I dare say, you do not wish to concern yourself. It means a garment with a ragged, hanging hem. That's all."
Snape looked ready to change the subject but Hermione was intrigued.
"Aren't you going to tell us what the rhyme is about, Sir?"
"Curiosity, Miss Granger…"
"…killed the cat. I know. But I'm interested."
She was. She was listening to Professor Snape talking and she was interested - not scared, or anxious to learn in case the topic came up in a test - just plain interested. This dinner wasn't proving to be such an ordeal after all. She wasn't sure what she had expected from an evening in Snape's off-duty company - apart from that it would not include small talk - and she'd assumed it would be seriously heavy going. She offered the unfortunate, singingProfessor Sprout a silent vote of thanks.
Snape took another mouthful of wine and wiped his lips. Then he began:
"You wish to know the origins of this rhyme? It was in the early seventeenth century. A Welsh wizard – a reputable character at the outset - by the name of Cribyn Raggner, fell foul of the ruling magical establishment of the time. It was over some issue concerning the misuse of magic for personal gain - questions of land and property, so I believe. I do not know the details. Raggner and his supporters banded together in a rebel faction, with the aims of avenging themselves on the ruling elite. You will, I hope, note distinct parallels with events in our own times…"
"With V - the Dark Lord?" Hermione asked breathlessly, remembering, just in time, that Snape (unlike Harry) did not use the V word.
"Just so." He nodded at her approvingly. "History repeats itself. Though in this case their aims were less ambitious. Revenge appears to have been the prevailing motive. They were not a well-organised political opposition, more a band of magical thugs - their methods were crude in the extreme. They would roam the countryside vandalising property, causing disturbance and mayhem - wanton destruction."
"Like the Vikings? Rape and pillage?" chipped-in Harry.
Hermione tensed. She couldn't imagine how Harry could say the word 'rape' in front of his father. You never knew when Snape would flip… She saw his knuckles whiten around the stem of his goblet, but he refrained from comment.
"Raggner himself was a charismatic leader - Pureblood family, you know - and was regarded as a figurehead by the rabble who took up his cause. The man himself was killed in some insignificant raid - an ignominious demise - I forget where - but instead of folding, the group continued under its own destructive momentum.
"At some point in history, they began to associate themselves with the Norse mythological tradition of 'Ragnarok' - the doom of the gods. You, Hermione, may have heard of it under another name: Gotterdammerung. Yes? Harry? Oh, never mind."
Harry shrugged. This was more Luna's territory than his. He felt he could get through life quite adequately with a negligible knowledge of Scandinavian sagas. Snape went on:
"According to legend, Ragnarok is when the forces of darkness rise up to defeat the gods. As a story, it held immense appeal for those thugs - by setting a godly precedent for their violent revolt. Most convenient. That, of course, and the similarity of the names. That was, as I understand it, purely coincidental, but they capitalised on it. As time went by, the group adopted more of the old Norse customs. Miss Lovegood could probably tell you more about this than I can."
Snape coughed, his throat dry after speaking for so long. Hermione had to prompt him again.
"The rhyme, Sir?"
"A commemoration of a raid, Hermione. A motley gang of rebels, attacking a village - vagrants, beggars, the outcasts of society - bent on violence, with their aristocratic leader, no doubt in a 'velvet gown'. The town dogs would have barked!"
"Wow! And I thought those things were kids' stuff. Nonsense rhymes." Harry helped himself to more vegetables while he digested the story. Snape pushed away his plate. He had eaten almost nothing.
"Lots of them are," Hermione told him, "but there are quite a few based on real life." She realised that Harry's upbringing had probably not included many nursery rhymes, let alone their historical sources. "Like, 'Ring o' Roses' is supposedly about the Black Death; and isn't 'Baa baa black sheep' something to do with the wool trade and export taxes? Sir?"
Snape, it was satisfying to see, was out of his depth here. He parried the question, his hand lifting as though to ward off a physical assault and shooing away any possible link.
"I do not claim to have anything more than a passing acquaintanceship with Muggle infant literature," he said, heartily glad of the fact. "Nor indeed would I wish to. My knowledge is confined to those examples in which events in the wizard community have been assimilated into Muggle folklore…"
"Do you think Professor Sprout was trying to tell us something, Sir?" Hermione was eager, a hound on the scent of a clue. It trashed her theory about Draco, but it was a new lead…
"I doubt it. The woman just hates dogs." Snape hadn't much time for mutts either. Some more than others. Black ones in particular...
"She'll hate 'em even more now!" said Harry, his mouth full.
Snape was still ruminating on the rhymes.
"There is indeed a second example which deals with this very subject. As a matter of curiosity, can you think what it might be, Miss Granger?" He consulted Hermione.
Oh, no, he was testing her, putting her on the spot. Hermione immediately felt herself back in the classroom, required to perform, to excel, to answer correctly.
"Another rhyme?" Intellectual panic began to erase her memory.
God, it was a game to him, making students squirm. He couldn't help himself, even when he was supposed to be on holiday.
"Is it about dogs? 'Old Mother Hubbard'? 'Hey diddle diddle … the, er, little dog laughed…'? Oh, gosh. 'Leg over leg, as the dog went to Dover…'?" Hermione was dredging her childhood now.
"Forget the dogs. Think about tongue-twisters."
" 'Peter Piper'? 'Betty Botter'? I'm sorry, Sir. I don't know."
He could have his fun, watch her admit defeat. Fine, she thought, you're the great, intelligent, all-knowing Snape - happy now?
But he wasn't smirking or gloating. He topped up her goblet and, with no apparent condescension, said,
"Have you come across this one: 'Round the rugged rocks…'?"
"Oh, yes! '…the ragged rascal ran'." She completed it for him.
"Good. That is indeed the contemporary and currently accepted version. The original went more like this:
'Around the Ragnarok, the Raggner rascals ran.'
Hermione waited dutifully for the explanation which she knew would be forthcoming.
"The followers of Raggner may have latched onto the concept of Ragnarok from the Norse, but their ceremonies tended to follow Druidic examples - you see, Miss Lovegood isn't the only one with mixed allegiances – so they would gather at sites of ancient worship, holy to the Druids - henges, barrows, standing circles, places like that – to perform their own rituals. The name 'Ragnarok' came to be associated, quite mistakenly, with the stone monoliths found on many of those sites. That, Hermione, is the price you pay for ignorance. Wrong sort of rock." He gave a wry laugh.
He was beginning to make Hermione uneasy. Why harp on about some historical cult, a group of vicious, mythologically-minded yobs? The lightly academic after-dinner conversation seemed to be taking on sinister overtones.
"What is it, Sir? Is it something we should be worrying about?"
"No. No, of course not. It is just a rhyme of singularly unsavoury provenance. There is no cause for alarm. How did we get onto this subject? It is not particularly cheerful." Snape summoned a care-worn smile.
Harry got up.
"Why don't we take our coffee by the fire, and you could show Hermione the violin picture - the one you named Braque after. It's incredible the way you make it come out of the wall like that. If you feel like it, that is…"
Harry, with no attempt at subtlety, dragged in the new, safer, non-controversial topic. He remembered howastounded he had been when Snape had first transformed the blank cottage wall into a living gallery, and he knew it would be right up Hermione's street. As he squeezed behind his father's chair, his hand rested briefly on Snape's shoulder, an awkward attempt at solidarity. It was not a confident gesture. Hermione ached to see how difficult it was for them both.
Snape agreed, though he seemed preoccupied. They moved over to the fire.
"It occurs to me, Hermione," said Snape, his thoughts still juggling with their earlier discussion, "that Raggner is an anagram of your surname. It is as well you are not superstitious - Professor Trelawney would undoubtedly interpret that as an omen!" Then, seeing her startled face, he apologised, "I'm sorry - I don't suppose you find that reassuring."
No, she did not.
He materialised the Braque artwork for her. It emerged - just as it had done for Harry - from the flat, white surface of the wall in all its infinity of angles and its sombre, earthy palette of colours. She was suitably impressed.
"Can you do any more?" she asked, fired with enthusiasm. "Oh, I don't mean it to sound as though it's your 'party piece'…" Chatting to him informally left her flustered. She wondered if she were straying into personal and therefore forbidden territory.
"There's the rude one," suggested Harry, winking at her, hoping to embarrass Snape.
Snape silenced him with a frown, not rising to the bait.
"Duchamp's 'Nue descendant l'escalier'1," he explained. "Angularity in motion. Hardly a subject for page three." Harry was thus rebuffed. Hermione felt obliged to show that there was no misunderstanding.
"I've seen that one in a book," she said. "It's… complex." And not at all naughty. She was cross with Harry. He could be as childish as Ron sometimes.
Snape replied to her question. He was certainly making an effort to be civil.
"To reproduce a painting requires a certain familiarity with the picture in question. Apart from that it is all down to memory and a great deal of concentration. Did you have anything particular in mind?"
Once again Hermione felt that her intellectual honour was at stake, and she didn't feel up to the challenge. She was no expert on paintings. She desperately wanted him to respect her choice, but all she could think of was the common Muggle poster-shop reproductions, debased by popularity, such as Monet's 'Water-lilies' or Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers'. It was suddenly important to her not to appear childish. Snape waited, giving her time to think. Eventually an idea came to mind, prompted - oddly enough - by the comment Snape had made himself the previous week about Pre-Raphaelite potions.. She made a tentative suggestion – he's going to hate this!
"How about a Christmas picture? Something a bit more in keeping? It is Christmas Eve after all. Well, actually, this one would be a bit before Christmas - it's where the Angel Gabriel comes to Mary… It's got a funny name; a Latin name."
Snape looked interested but perplexed.
"That doesn't give me much to go on. I shall be reduced to using Legilimens… The name of the painter? The period? Artistic school? Style?"
Hermione shook her head, annoyed with herself for even mentioning it.
"It's by the chap who painted all those women with long noses, luscious lips and long, crimpy hair…"
Damn! She shouldn't have said anything about hair. Snape didn't pick her up on it this time though.
"Rossetti?" Snape was thinking hard. "I'm not closely acquainted with that School. Are you, by any chance, referring to 'Ecce Ancilla Domini'? Why that painting in particular? It is hardly typical of Rossetti's style."
He was good. Harry had warned her. Art was one of the few of Snape's surprising, closet interests that Harry had been able to disclose to her, though Snape would, ideally, have preferred to perpetuate the illusion that his antipathy towards Muggles was absolute. But it was unrealistic to expectHermione to spend time in his home without learning anything about her host. He'd been totally scathing about Snape's taste, of course, but it was inverted boasting; she could detect his admiration for his father's talent beneath the flippancy.
"Why that one? I don't know, Sir." It was nearly as excruciating when he took her seriously as when he treated her like an insufferable child. "Something about the eyes - a haunted expression, as though she realises she's got this huge responsibility and she's overwhelmed and scared and… it's her eyes… It's alright, Sir - you don't have to bother if…"
She'd been on the point of saying 'if you're tired', but had backed off before she committed herself to anything sympathetic. She wasn't about to get familiar with Professor Snape - he'd only throw it back at her at some later date – with spikes on. He did look tired though.
"What do Muggles do on Christmas Eve?" he asked, playing safe.
"Make you peel potatoes and trim Brussels Sprouts, and clean the oven and wash the kitchen floor and sweep up pine-needles… and count Dudley's presents," grumped Harry. "I'm well out of it."
It was Harry's turn to be on the receiving end of the raised eye-brow.
"We're not all like that!" Hermione defended her family. "There's usually some sort of get-together, and we eat chocolate log, and my Mum always wants us to start the Christmas cake because we're too full on Christmas Day… and we wrap up last minute presents… and some people go to Midnight Mass - it's lovely hearing the bells pealing out and knowing that it's Christmas… and we leave a Mince Pie and a glass of sherry on the hearth for Father Christmas, and a carrot for the reindeer… and people play party games like Twister and charades and they sing carols…"
Snape and Harry were looking at each other in male dismay.
"No," they said firmly in unison.
End of Chapter. Next Chapter: RAGNAROCKET. Just when things had been going so nicely…
1. Nue Descendant l'Escalier : Naked Woman Going Downstairs