By Distinct Vagueness
Chapter 9
Severus watched the retreating back of his godson as the office door clicked softly behind him, before sighing and standing up. In well-rehearsed steps, he went to the small cabinet mounted on the wall and pulled out a glass and a decanter. The latter wasn't far from empty, so he poured the last of the amber liquid into his glass. Placing the decanter onto the desk, he made his way to the other door, pushing aside the curtain and muttering "Nox" as he went.
Surrounded by the dim glow of candles and shelves of books, Severus closed his eyes for a moment. This, he knew, was his sanctuary. Pages and pages of willing knowledge, crisp between his fingers, and the warmth of his drink as he tipped the glass to his lips. It was strange sometimes, the way that his thoughts would slip away from here, even though they were always just waiting outside. Not tonight though. Tonight, Hermione Granger weighed on his mind.
He had only contemplated briefly on finding her within this room. It unsettled him that she hadn't broken the asylum he found here. He hadn't felt comfortable in here for a while after he had found Albus rooting around his Muggle collection, sucking on some infernal confectionary and claiming he was looking for 'a good mystery', so the thought of a student invasion had been unbearable. Miss Granger's presence, however, hadn't been an invasion. Niggling at his subconscious, a thought suggested that perhaps he had been simply waiting for her to discover this trove of texts, and more strangely, that he was prepared to accept it. Grudgingly, yes, but his reaction had only been so severe as to raise an eyebrow. He'd even allowed her to loan one of his collection for the weekend.
Was it because of how she'd undertaken to help him after returning from the Dark Lord? No. He hadn't known then and it was also before he'd arrived temporarily blind. So why hadn't he taken the usual route, scared her witless and doled out punishment?
Severus frowned, swirling his drink in his right hand. It would appear that he'd uncovered some sort of blind spot when it came to Miss Granger. It wasn't a good discovery. Weak areas soon became evident to those you least wanted to see. Weakness was easily exploited.
He took a sip and swallowed slowly, before moving to the leather chair in a corner of the room and sinking into it. It was possible he was taking this too seriously. Miss Granger wasn't a threat to his safety. She wasn't a spy, looking for flaws to expose in his character. She had dutifully followed his wishes in not informing Dumbledore of his condition that night, which had, he admitted now he knew, surprised him. Before now he would have expected her to go haring to the Headmaster or Minerva in such a situation.
She had surprised him.
Few people, let alone students had done so. Severus was generally right in his primary assumptions of them all. He could predict upon first glance which ones would be scratching their heads well into seventh year and constantly incurring his wrath, and the few who would follow his directions, managing to narrowly escape disaster somewhat satisfactorily.
Miss Granger was an exception and had been for some time now. For a few years, he'd written her off as sickeningly overeager in classes. One of those who sucked up and memorised knowledge like a sponge, until, inevitably, they were full and proved themselves as incapable of thinking independently. He had watched in amusement in her third year as she overexerted herself, arriving exhausted to his lessons, but still an exemplary member of the class. During her fifth year, the standard material in her essays began to change. There were the usual answers required, along with the extra rolls of parchments she always attached, but there began to emerge something different. Actually enjoying reading his student's work was a rarity for Severus, unless it involved guffawing over unbelievable stupidity, but with her essays, he often found himself absorbing her words with genuine interest. She brought something more than grasp to the subjects he taught. She presented her own perspective and supported it bravely against any critique he brought up. He'd found himself actually putting her homework to the bottom of the pile as something to look forward to, unconsciously 'saving the best for last'.
This uncharacteristic habit of his was precisely why he hesitated in pushing the girl aside, as he would with anyone else. Brow furrowed, Severus stood up and returned to his office and set the empty tumbler on his desk before taking a seat there. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a spare roll of parchment and a quill. Dipping the nib into a fresh bottle of black ink, he began to write.
-
At the Gryffindor table the next morning, Ron was looking on in amusement, and even Harry had a rare smile as they observed their female companion cut into a fried egg with unnecessary vigour. Her jaw set in a firm line of satisfaction as the yolk split, haemorrhaging orange, Hermione glanced up and frowned as she saw them watching her.
"What?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did that egg ever do to you, Hermione?"
"Wh-…oh." Hermione realised what he was referring to. She hadn't actually intended to eat the egg in the first place; perhaps that was why she mutilated it. "Nothing. Just hungry, that's all." She punctuated her sentence by crunching into a piece of dry toast.
Harry and Ron's eyes remained trained on her, accompanied by small grins, until she gave them a good stare. It was only as they were finishing breakfast that their attentions were drawn back again.
A large eagle owl descended from the rafters and landed neatly on the Gryffindor table before Hermione. It held out its leg until she took the scroll attached there, and then proceeded to preen its feathers in an air of self-importance. It eyed a twittering baby barn owl on the Hufflepuff table rather disdainfully as it did so.
Her friend's watched as she slid a fingernail under the seal and began to read, carefully keeping it from their line of sight.
Miss Granger,
It has come to my attention that my reaction to my unforeseen discovery last night was hasty. You have my assurance that my words were spoken from shock and also irritation at my own carelessness. I would prefer to discuss this matter in a calmer manner. We can do so if you would attend at your regular time this evening, forgoing your usual duties.
I must ask you to retain your previous discretion, though I realise you don't need to be told.
Professor Snape.
Hermione read the words twice, frowning slightly at first, but then relaxing. Though the words 'apologise' or 'sorry' were never mentioned, his letter had an as contrite tone as you could get from Professor Snape. She smiled slightly. His change in heart must have been quite dramatic or him to send this letter. She realised that she also felt quite relieved. Before last night, she had begun to see a different side of his dark, overbearing persona, and had unconsciously feared she might lose sight of it. She had liked the feeling that people could change, no matter what their reputation was.
She looked up to the High Table. Only a few teachers remained there, sipping at cups of tea or coffee, and Professor Snape was not one of them. Tucking the note into her pocket, she stood up.
"Finished?" she asked brightly, dodging Harry and Ron's identical curious glances.
-
"Reconciled yet?" said Draco in a low voice as he leant past her to pour the contents of a measuring tube down the sink.
Hermione glanced at him as she put her own equipment away. "What are you talking about?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm talking about Hurricane Hermione. Last night."
"Oh, that."
"He didn't mean it, you know."
"Didn't mean what?"
"Whatever he said to you. His best defence to shock is to churn out sarcasm."
"Yes, he said something along the same lines himself," answered Hermione, closing a cupboard door calmly and rinsing her hands.
"He did?" said Draco, looking bemused.
Hermione nodded. "Not that it's any of your business." She smiled shortly and headed in the direction of her desk. As she sat down, she realised that Ron's narrowed eyes were on her.
"What?" she asked, for the second time that morning.
"Nice little conversation you had there with Malfoy."
"Draco," she corrected, without thinking. "And your point is?"
Ron stared at her. "Since when are you on chatting basis with the ferret?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you really have to keep calling him that? It isn't necessary anymore."
"'Anymore'? Ron echoed. "Did something happen around here that I don't know about?"
Hermione sighed. "Look, he hasn't been the Draco Malfoy we used to know for a long time. He's also Head Boy, if you forgot, and it's my responsibility to get on with him."
"It's not your responsibility to have little chit-chats during Potions," the redhead persisted. The bell went during these words and the class began to put their things away.
The Head Girl fixed him with a glare. "Are you going to grow up anytime soon, Ron? If you didn't cling to first impressions so steadfastly, you might be able to see that people change. He's not a git, or a ferret, or a 'typical Slytherin', at least not anymore. If you have a problem with that, then it's just that- your problem. He's certainly behaving more maturely than you are right now, Ronald Weasley."
This was said with utmost equanimity, and as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, she looked into the eyes of her silent friend and shrugged. As she made her way out of the classroom, she suddenly stopped, remembering what she'd meant to do since breakfast. Hermione turned and walked back inside, pushing past the other outgoing students. Professor Snape was examining some vials on his desk and placing them into a silver tray.
"Professor?"
Snape glanced up, at first irritated, but then his features seemed to cloud a little. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked around the room. A few students still remained, wiping desks or placing books back into their bags. "Seven o' clock, sir?"
The expression in his black eyes flickered a little. She'd obviously kept in mind the last line of his letter. He nodded shortly.
"Miss Granger," he said, dismissively.
She nodded in return. "Professor."
With that, she turned and left the room. Snape picked up the tray and also exited, but through the door that led to his office. Neither really noticed Draco Malfoy, who had been standing in the corner wiping away spilled ingredients from a work surface. But he wasn't pondering the brief exchange between his godfather and the Head Girl. In his mind, he was still going over the way he had just been described to Weasley. Without meaning to, a small smile spread across his face, giving a somewhat extraordinary light to his usually pale attributes.
-
Harry chewed his last forkful of meat and potato pie thoughtfully. The table was mainly quiet, since it was almost the end of lunchtime. Hermione wasn't present. She had wolfed down her own lunch and then retreated to the library. The only sound around him was his best friend, who seemed intent on ranting as loud and long as possible.
"…And then she tells me to grow up! Are you listening to me?"
Harry glanced at him. "Do I have to?"
It didn't seem that Ron had heard his response, however, as he continued on in the same fashion.
"I mean, Harry, come on. She was smiling at him. I don't think there was that much to it, but still. The only reason she's ever been on speaking terms with that slimy little ferret is to exchange insults."
"I don't know, Ron. He hasn't said a word to me all year, except to ask me to pass him the pickled slugs in Potions once."
"Exact- what?" Ron broke off- apparently confusion had derailed him.
Harry shrugged. "Don't start thinking I'm defending him or anything, but Hermione's sort of right. He hasn't gone out of his way to insult us or anything for a good while now. Maybe- and I hate to say this- he has changed."
Ron began to shake his head. "And when exactly did you figure this out, Harry? When you were buried in the library somewhere? Or when you were holed up in our room?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? Harry, since Christmas you've been acting like some kind of recluse. Even if I don't agree with Hermione on some things, we are in agreement that you're not yourself anymore."
Harry stared at him. He opened his mouth, and then thought better of it, abruptly standing up. It was then he spoke. "I am myself, Ron. That's the problem."
"Is that you talking, or is that just self-pity?" Ron asked. From the expression on his friend's face, he appeared to have struck a nerve. Harry wasted no time in striding away from the table without another word.
Ron debated for a moment whether to go after him or not but then took a sip from his goblet instead. He had a feeling now wasn't the time.
-
Strangely, tonight didn't hold the feelings she'd had when requesting to assist him. Hermione felt oddly at ease as she walked through the entrance hall, down the stairs into the shadowy underbelly of the castle and then as she lifted her hand to knock gently on his door. There had been something about his nod in class today, and in his letter, that signified he had accepted she had shown him all her cards in this matter and was perhaps about to allow her a glimpse at his. That something held her back from apprehension. She hoped that if she could just listen to him, without any partake of her own, she might just gleam something from tonight's 'discussion' that would be helpful in her plan with Draco. But that was a particular card she was choosing to hold back from the cold exterior inside the office right now.
"Come in."
And so she did. Waiting for him to clear the pile of work on his desk to a drawer, she took the liberty of sitting across from him.
"Good evening Professor."
The drawer closed. "The same to you, Miss Granger. I do not wish to dally with pleasantries, however."
He folded his arms and sat back in his seat. When there had been uncomfortable silence for a few moments, Hermione began to wonder whether she had been supposed to say something. He saved her the trouble, however, as he began to talk.
"Miss Granger, the reason I was so quick in dismissing you last night wasn't just shock."
His black gaze levelled with hers. "It was anger."
When Hermione started to open her mouth, he continued. "There was a time, years ago, when I allowed myself to be naïve and remiss when I returned from the Dark Lord. It didn't occur to me that anyone who saw me, or attempted to aid me, would incur punishment for it. Followers of the Dark Lord are…disciplined when he saw fit and it was intended that you suffer the entire discipline, unrelieved by anyone, no mater what it was. Of course, I wasn't the only one to find help in some source if I incurred his wrath, but if he knew you sought help…"
He paused. Hermione knew what was coming next.
"She was just…a stranger, really." Snape glanced up at her. "Do you know the owner of The Three Broomsticks? Madam Rosmerta?"
Hermione nodded; the woman had served Butterbeers to herself, Harry and Ron countless times.
"Her niece, Petra. She had just begun to work behind the bar. A little older than you are, I suppose. One night, after a meeting, I foolishly went to the pub, rather than returning home. Petra served me. She noticed the slight blood on my cloak, and the tear in the sleeve. I allowed her to take me to a back room. She was convinced I was badly hurt and would have found help for me elsewhere if I had refused."
Hermione's eyes went to his hands as he was speaking. His long fingers were gripping the edge of the desk, taut, and white at the knuckles.
"I should have left the minute she saw I had been hurt. I would have done so even quicker, if I realised Lucius had trailed me after the meeting, on instructions from our master.
"But I didn't. And the last time I saw Petra, she was in the grasp of the Dark Lord. He'd taken her for me. A gift, he said, a plaything for my services to him." Snape gave a short, humourless laugh. "He knows the pain of being in the debt of someone. For his own reasons, he 'allowed' me to erase that debt."
Hermione stared at him with horror. "He made you…"
Snape looked at her with something akin to cold amusement before it disappeared abruptly. "I never wanted to be put in that position again. What I did that night…wasn't entirely coerced. I think there was even a point when I wanted her to suffer for her stupidity in trying to help me. I was furious with her for that moment of compassion.
"It wasn't long after that I went to Dumbledore and told him everything. That anger is one of my biggest fears. I never," he punctuated the word by suddenly slamming a fist onto the tabletop, "want to feel it again."
He exhaled tiredly, his head bowed and a lock of black falling before his eyes. "I've learnt my lesson. Anything I suffer is deserved."
Slowly, with bare awareness of what she was doing, Hermione allowed her own hand to slip across the table. Brown eyes focused on his closed countenance, her small fingers gently rested atop of his clenched fist.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. His head lifted slightly at her touch and she nearly shivered as his black eyes ran the trail from her hand to her own steady gaze. "I never knew." Her eyes dropped to the desk again as she felt his hand begin to relax under her own, their fingers entwined slightly. The silence that hung in the small room was palpable.
Snape felt his shoulders begin to tense, waiting for her to recoil in disgust and back out of his office. Instead, there was the sudden sensation of her stroking the back of his hand in small circles with her thumb. He dared to look back to her eyes.
She smiled slightly as she slowly released her hand. "But I'll still be here the next time you need me." Their eyes were still locked as she stood and back towards the door. Without another word, Hermione opened the door and stepped outside.
And as she walked back to the tower, none of her explanations seemed to justify the jolt in her stomach when she had held his hand.
A/N: I can't seem to win. I arrived back from Turkey, ready to start typing up and my computer decides to be affronted that I abandoned it for a week. I tried everything, pleading with it, bargaining with it and bribing it with extra memory. It seems to have settled down a bit now. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it was great to come back and read your responses. I'm particularly eager to read them to this chapter and the last scene. Again, any lurkers out there- I'd like to know what you think of it. I'm not going to make promises on updates, as every time I do, something goes horribly wrong.
SerenitySedai- Blushes at reviewThank you, you made my day with your lovely words. Again, I apologise for the wait- explained above. I'm very glad you found this fic, though, and that you're enjoying it.
Celest-Wikit- Hope you didn't get in trouble. Sorry about the cliffy, I hope this chapter satisfies you for a little while. Thanks for the review!
M'cha Araem- Glad you liked it. I was a bit undecided over rewriting that scene actually. Wasn't sure if it was convincing or not. Thanks for your review!
Ezmerelda- Lol. Quite chuffed that I made you laugh, if unintentional. You'll notice that not of my stories are under 'Humour.' Thanks for reading!
Embattledcurve- I'm sorry if I was unclear about the Paracetamol thing. I generally use it for headaches myself, and that would have been the intended use in the paragraph you referred to. The Dreamless Sleep Potion would be the sedative, not the Paracetamol. My writing's changed? Hmm. I guess it does that from time to time. I hope you still like reading it though. Thanks for your review.
Captain Oblivious- Tonks- me too! Lol. I guess it's the scene where she knocks over the umbrella stand that wins my heart :) Thanks for your review!