It's perhaps a tribute to the disorganized, carefree nature of the Death
Eaters – the same disorganized, carefree nature that caused them to
persistently forget about attacking Harry Potter until the very end of the
year, every single year – that two of the most feared figures in the
wizarding world were sitting on Bellatrix Lestrange's canopy bed, happily
trading a plate of cookies back and forth. Bellatrix, who had no time for
such frivolities, sat at her desk with an arsenal of nail products lined up
like tiny soldiers before her. She had decided to change the world by
changing her nail polish.
"I don't think anyone who wears turquoise nail polish could be seen as entirely evil, do you?" she asked.
"Why don't you wear black nail polish? Black is a very..." Severus paused to eat another oatmeal raisin cookie, "a very underrated color."
"Severus, the idea is to show people that I'm a nice person. To me, turquoise says, "I enjoy deworming orphans in Somalia, and I do it with a brilliant and loveable smile. Aren't my well proportioned teeth shiny?" It has a modern, joyous feel. If it had a scent it would smell like disinfectant. But a nice disinfectant."
"I sincerely hope that no one who deworms orphans in Somalia wears nail polish of any kind. I can only imagine the infections it would breed."
"It's symbolic, Severus," replied Bellatrix, her voice lilting in such a way as to inform him that he was an idiot.
"Now, turquoise," replied Voldemort, as a chocolate chip dislodged itself from the cookie and wobbled on his chin, before beginning its descent into Bellatrix's sheets, "that's interesting. These cookies are wonderful, incidentally. To me, turquoise says, 'I am strident. In a fight, I would probably poke my fingers in your eyes, and it would hurt a lot. I read Shakespeare, but my favorite one is Titus Andronicus. I hate your children, but I will bring them gifts so that you can't tell.' It's the color of duplicity. That's what turquoise says to me."
"Really!" cried Bellatrix. "Now to me a hearty maroon says "Titus Andronicus is my favorite play, and it's very underrated.' Actually, I think it also says, 'I don't like any other Shakespearean plays except Titus Andronicus, and I'm aware that Titus was written as a parody, but I try to avoid mentioning that fact when I allude to it, because I worry that it means it's not a serious work. Can parodies be serious works?' There's something erudite but a tiny bit insecure about maroon."
"I like maroon a great deal," Voldemort replied. "It's old world, European; there's something subtly depraved about it. If I were a French symbolist I would say it conjures up the word 'boudoir.' It's a color that feels like something the communists would have labeled as decadent, and as a rule, I believe strongly in everything the communists labeled as decadent."
"Maybe I should paint them maroon?" suggested Bellatrix.
"But it could also symbolize bloodlust. Which seems a little angry."
"How do you feel about tangerine?"
Lord Voldemort looked about to reply, but then suddenly turned and caught sight of Severus, who had been staring at his half-consumed cookie for the past few minutes and had begun mumbling unintelligible things to himself.
"Are you alright?" asked Voldemort.
"Hmm?" said Professor Snape. "Sorry. Just a bit distracted."
"You've been missing the colors-we-have-enjoyed bonanza," pointed out Bellatrix, "what's the matter?"
"It's just... did she really say I was a bastard? It seems a touch harsh."
"Sevvie, you left her hiding behind a flowerpot, and then you stranded her so you could talk to an old girlfriend. You were a bastard. I would have killed you. It would have been brutal and painful. I would have enjoyed it. Oh dear, maybe that's why I don't do well at relationships."
"I think many men are just intimidated by your passion," replied Voldemort softly.
"But I'm normally a bastard. It's something everyone accepts."
"No, no, Severus, you're mean and cruel usually, but it's pointed cruelty. And there's a beautiful aspect to it, like watching a muggle swordsman defeat another man in battle. There's no beauty to watching some careless twat with a gun accidentally kill someone else."
"What are you talking about Bellatrix?"
"I take it any emotional wound you did the Granger girl was unintentional?"
"Precisely."
"Thus inferring that you did not – would not – inflict deliberate emotional harm upon her?"
"Exactly."
"You would refrain from doing so out of concern for her emotional state?"
"Yes."
"Hurting her would afford you no pleasure?"
"I agree."
"So you do like her!"
"I didn't say that."
"Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn't give a damn. You always like baiting people. Seeing other people in emotional distress always affords you pleasure unless you particularly like someone. You're infatuated with her, aren't you!?"
"I'm not even going to justify that with an answer."
"Well, why not? She's really wonderful Severus; I had a lovely chat with her. Did you know she likes house elves? I must introduce her to Kreacher sometime!"
"I'm loathe to interrupt," stated Voldemort, "but could someone tell me what's going on?"
"He took Hermione Granger to meet Narcissa. Narcissa responded in the way she's always responded upon meeting an uncultured seventeen year old. Or is she eighteen? I suppose it's not terribly important."
"Oh," said Voldemort with a slight quiver, as he bit his lower lip with a fang, "Narcissa."
"I don't understand why everyone dislikes her," mentioned Snape, "I think she's a very sensitive woman."
Bellatrix snorted and turned her attention back to her nail polish.
"Dislike her?" said Voldemort. "Not at all. I'm intimidated by her; I would never want to be left alone in a room with her, because once she saw me after... after the accident and started screaming "ugly, ugly" and tried to throw herself out the window."
"That bitch," muttered Bellatrix.
"I often wish," Voldemort continued with a sigh, "that I still had hair. If I had hair, I could spend an inordinate amount of time on it, and grow it out to fantastic lengths, and then maybe nobody would notice that my face looks like a sketch by Picasso. All that aside though, I'm grateful to her. Who but a woman like Narcissa could bankrupt Lucius Malfoy?"
"I didn't know Lucius was bankrupt," mused Bellatrix idly, as she shook a bottle of polish.
"Of course he is," declared Voldemort, "a man like Lucius doesn't join a rebel faction just for the fun of it. He's too canny for that. I generously provide the funds he needs to maintain his patronage network – connections which prove beneficial to us all – through the occasional bout of conspicuous consumption."
"You don't give me money," noted Severus, "I have to scrimp by on a teacher's salary. You mean you've been financing the Malfoys all these years?"
"Severus, Lucius had a unique ability to deal well with high ranking figures. I needed someone in society. Let's not be petty. Are you planning to apologize?"
"Pardon?"
"To that agreeable Granger girl. You've insulted her; an apology might not go amiss. Bear in mind that this is a situation where I would have no qualms with Crucio-ing you should you not agree."
Severus raised his eyebrows in polite wonder, and smirked with the left side of his face in an expression that signified, 'I so respect the vigor of your opinions, however much they call to mind the ravings of madman.'
"You needn't actually say you're sorry, you know. There are other ways," noted Bellatrix, who, herself, could think of quite a number of other ways to make people express remorse and subjugation.
"You could send flowers, for instance," said Voldemort.
Bellatrix smirked. "Good idea. Try hyacinths."
"Or chocolates."
"Because she's probably feeling really good about her body after the run in with Narcissa. Personally, after a visit with Narcissa, I always decide that I'm going live off wheat germ. But I'm sure that Hermione is a much more secure individual."
"You're not helping, Bellatrix," stated Severus.
"Let me choose the gift," suggested Voldemort, "I could find something appropriate."
"The last time you gave her a gift you gave her a human skull."
"She didn't like it?"
"No."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought it was an especially beautiful one."
"If you gave me a skull," murmured Bellatrix, gazing steadfastly down at the table, "I would have appreciated it."
"Really?" replied Voldemort, smiling timidly.
"Uh-huh," murmured Bellatrix, blushing slightly.
"I collect them, you know. I have one that used to belong to Byron. It's the skull of a medieval monk. Byron drank claret out of it. Would you like to come over to my house some evening and see them? We could maybe even try drinking claret out of it." Voldemort's little crimson pupils were dilated with longing.
"That sounds wonderful," sighed Bellatrix.
"If you two need privacy, I can go on my way," stated Severus.
"Well, we might have a few things that we should talk over, Bella and I," declared the Dark Lord.
"And I have to finish my nails."
"I'll walk you out," suggested Voldemort.
As the two men strode through the grassy gardens – overwhelmed though they might have been with topiaries of snakes and skulls – towards the portkey Severus wondered aloud.
"What did you do with Rudolphus? You didn't kill him, did you?"
"I sent him off to Mongolia to find kappas."
"My Lord.... It's a very easy mistake to make, I've made it myself, but they're actually Japanese. He won't have much success in Mongolia."
"Really. You don't say. Well, I hope someone tells him about it. The poor fellow will be out there for months. Months, and months, and months. Lots of months! Lots and lots of them! Maybe he'll die. Wouldn't that be awful? I certainly would hate it if he should die."
"I see."
"Before you go, allow me to impart to you one suggestion on an appropriate peace offering. I used to use it quite a lot as a student when I was dating Ravenclaws..."
Severus found himself the next afternoon sprinting through the hallways as though he was being pursued by a pack of dementors.
He had intended to go to Hermione's Head Girl's room and inconspicuously slip a note under the door expressing his regrets, and his desire to meet with her at eight that evening. This plan was foiled when he realized, halfway up the flight of stairs, that the doors of the Head Girl's room had to remain partially open, not enough to seriously inconvenience the resident, but enough for teachers passing by to insure that nothing untoward was occurring within the room. He realized that this meant that, if Miss Granger were inside her room, she would probably see him, and she might yell at him, and then he would look as though he were involved in a relationship with a student in which she felt it was her right to yell at him. That wouldn't do at all.
Upon his arrival, he thought of lingering outside in the hallways until he could ascertain whether or not Miss Granger was on the premises, but, after Professor Flitwick shot him a dirty look, he realized that he might seem like the kind of Professor who would linger outside Head Girl's rooms in the hopes of seeing something which he had no lascivious intent to see. That wouldn't do either.
So he crammed the note through her door, and fled – fled as he'd never fled a menacing pack of aurors or the mauderers of his youth. In his haste, he bumped into Susan Bones, and proceeded to deduct twenty points from Hufflepuff.
"Pardon me, sir," replied Susan haughtily, "But Albus... Professor Dumbledore... says that you aren't allowed to deduct points from me anymore."
"Why on earth not you stupid, disagreeable girl?"
"He's my Godfather. I suggest you take it up with him. Or I could. I don't think he'd be pleased. It would be easier all around if you just added the points back on."
Professor Snape was dumbfounded. "I can't believe you have the unprecedented gall to attempt intimidation tactics on me. You can send Albus to talk to me about it. Anytime."
He stormed off, his robes billowing behind him like a beetle.
And he waited. He waited patiently. Around 7:55 he began drumming his fingers on the tabletop. At 8:02 he decided that Miss Granger was probably being late to be belligerent. At 8:04 he decided that there was, after all, a possibility that she didn't receive his note. At 8:05 he began to decide that she was a silly schoolgirl, and all of this was absurd. And at 8:06 Hermione Granger swept into the room like the Avenging Wrath of God.
"Talk," she demanded.
"I brought you a gift. Flowers."
"Professor Snape, I find it highly inappropriate for you to give me flowers at this point in time."
"See?" declared Professor Snape proudly brandishing two books before her, "I got you both Flowers for Algernon and Les Fleurs du Mal. I wasn't sure which you'd prefer. The Algernon is an early edition, but I personally think you'll get more intellectual satisfaction out of the Baudelaire."
"That is somewhat clever. But it's no excuse. How could you leave me there? And really, how could you just agree with that horrible woman when she told me I was ugly."
"Well you must admit, Miss Granger..."
Hermione looked about to burst into tears.
"I don't mean that you're ugly. I don't think you're ugly. But I did tell you to try to look pretty."
"I did!"
"It would seem Narcissa didn't think so."
"Because she's a horrible woman!"
"Not just that, she's an aesthete. She's finely tuned, some would say unpleasantly so, towards beauty. Did you every read "The Fall of the House of Usher?" No, actually, that's a bad example. Against Nature by Huysmans, that makes more sense."
"Sorry. I'm both unattractive and ignorant." Hermione seemed on the verge of tears once again.
"Don't say that. You're the most intelligent Gryffindor I know."
"Only Gryffindor?" enquired Hermione.
"It would be the general consensus among all teachers that you're clever. I see no reason to harp upon the point, Miss Granger."
"Of course, Professor," said Hermione, straightening her posture and flicking any traces of mistiness from her eyes.
"Against Nature is about this man who loves beauty so much that he shuts himself off from the rest of the world so that he can live surrounded by good food and paintings and all sorts of other lovely things. It's not so much a book with a plot as it is an encyclopedia of decadence. It details the main character's attempt to turn his life into a work of art. Narcissa is exactly like that."
"I still think she's perfectly horrible."
"You're entitled."
"It wasn't a total loss, though. I had a nice chat with some woman in the hallway. But why did you have to side with Narcissa? I suppose I thought we might be... not friends exactly, I wouldn't presume, but... kind to each other."
"I heard about that chat. Miss Granger, I think there's something I must tell you. As a friend. Or if not a friend then perhaps as a man – yes, as a man who's made some bad choices. Or good choices, I suppose. Depends on who you talk to. So I'm speaking to you as a man – a man who's made choices."
"I'm sorry Professor, but I don't what you're talking about."
"It pertains to Willard. To Willard, and also to the woman you met."
"Yes?"
"They're Death Eaters, Miss Granger. Willard is otherwise known as Voldemort."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Professor. I knew that. Don't try to change the subject."
"You knew?"
"Of course. I've just been being really, really polite about it."
"How?"
"I'm the smartest Gryffindor you know, and Voldemort's face is one of the most easily recognized in the wizarding world. I saw him leaving your chambers one day, and I panicked, and I was going to call someone and save the school, but he was skipping. It was kind of endearing. Skipping and holding this dead sprig of flowers. And I decided it would be better not to die. And then he introduced himself to me as Willard, and I figured if he wanted to kill us all he would have done it, he wouldn't try to pretend to be a caretaker, so I just went along with it. He's actually not such a bad sort. Not that I approve of his policies. And he is a very strange man. But I understand why you'd keep in touch."
"And you know the woman is..."
"Bellatrix Lestrange. Yes. And I'm furious about Sirius for Harry's sake, but it was in the midst of a battle. Perhaps if we tried to understand each other things like that wouldn't happen anymore. Gandhi said, 'An eye for an eye leaves us all blind.' I think that's true, don't you?"
"Miss Granger, you're a marvel. Narcissa is a silly, silly woman."
"Thank you, Professor Snape. I know I am. But it's nice to hear you say it."
"I don't mean that in any way to imply that I think you're a marvel, it has nothing to with my subjective opinion, it's just that your response towards these events..."
"You could leave it at the 'marvel' thing, Professor."
"Indeed, Miss Granger."
"There is one thing I'd like though. And if you could see to it, I'd consider the Narcissa incident completely behind us."
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Lestrange said that she had some information on Elfton. I'd really like to see it, I'm still terribly interested. She said she'd be willing to meet with me."
"Would you like to meet with her?"
"Could you talk to Willard as well? I'd like to talk to both of them. Do they get along all right? I don't want to force them to convene together if they positively hate each other."
"Oh, I don't think they hate each other. Are you going to keep calling him Willard?"
"Do you think it would bother him?"
"I think some perverse part of his personality might find it charming."
"Good then. I've got used to calling him Willard. I'd hate to have to switch over to something like, "Your Grandiose Majesty of Darkness." I mean, it would be very hard to call someone you've seen skipping a Majesty of Darkness."
"He'd probably enjoy seeing you, especially now that he knows that you know. Next Sunday?"
"All right. But one thing..."
"Yes?"
"Tell me precisely, in explicit detail, what I ought to wear..."
"I don't think anyone who wears turquoise nail polish could be seen as entirely evil, do you?" she asked.
"Why don't you wear black nail polish? Black is a very..." Severus paused to eat another oatmeal raisin cookie, "a very underrated color."
"Severus, the idea is to show people that I'm a nice person. To me, turquoise says, "I enjoy deworming orphans in Somalia, and I do it with a brilliant and loveable smile. Aren't my well proportioned teeth shiny?" It has a modern, joyous feel. If it had a scent it would smell like disinfectant. But a nice disinfectant."
"I sincerely hope that no one who deworms orphans in Somalia wears nail polish of any kind. I can only imagine the infections it would breed."
"It's symbolic, Severus," replied Bellatrix, her voice lilting in such a way as to inform him that he was an idiot.
"Now, turquoise," replied Voldemort, as a chocolate chip dislodged itself from the cookie and wobbled on his chin, before beginning its descent into Bellatrix's sheets, "that's interesting. These cookies are wonderful, incidentally. To me, turquoise says, 'I am strident. In a fight, I would probably poke my fingers in your eyes, and it would hurt a lot. I read Shakespeare, but my favorite one is Titus Andronicus. I hate your children, but I will bring them gifts so that you can't tell.' It's the color of duplicity. That's what turquoise says to me."
"Really!" cried Bellatrix. "Now to me a hearty maroon says "Titus Andronicus is my favorite play, and it's very underrated.' Actually, I think it also says, 'I don't like any other Shakespearean plays except Titus Andronicus, and I'm aware that Titus was written as a parody, but I try to avoid mentioning that fact when I allude to it, because I worry that it means it's not a serious work. Can parodies be serious works?' There's something erudite but a tiny bit insecure about maroon."
"I like maroon a great deal," Voldemort replied. "It's old world, European; there's something subtly depraved about it. If I were a French symbolist I would say it conjures up the word 'boudoir.' It's a color that feels like something the communists would have labeled as decadent, and as a rule, I believe strongly in everything the communists labeled as decadent."
"Maybe I should paint them maroon?" suggested Bellatrix.
"But it could also symbolize bloodlust. Which seems a little angry."
"How do you feel about tangerine?"
Lord Voldemort looked about to reply, but then suddenly turned and caught sight of Severus, who had been staring at his half-consumed cookie for the past few minutes and had begun mumbling unintelligible things to himself.
"Are you alright?" asked Voldemort.
"Hmm?" said Professor Snape. "Sorry. Just a bit distracted."
"You've been missing the colors-we-have-enjoyed bonanza," pointed out Bellatrix, "what's the matter?"
"It's just... did she really say I was a bastard? It seems a touch harsh."
"Sevvie, you left her hiding behind a flowerpot, and then you stranded her so you could talk to an old girlfriend. You were a bastard. I would have killed you. It would have been brutal and painful. I would have enjoyed it. Oh dear, maybe that's why I don't do well at relationships."
"I think many men are just intimidated by your passion," replied Voldemort softly.
"But I'm normally a bastard. It's something everyone accepts."
"No, no, Severus, you're mean and cruel usually, but it's pointed cruelty. And there's a beautiful aspect to it, like watching a muggle swordsman defeat another man in battle. There's no beauty to watching some careless twat with a gun accidentally kill someone else."
"What are you talking about Bellatrix?"
"I take it any emotional wound you did the Granger girl was unintentional?"
"Precisely."
"Thus inferring that you did not – would not – inflict deliberate emotional harm upon her?"
"Exactly."
"You would refrain from doing so out of concern for her emotional state?"
"Yes."
"Hurting her would afford you no pleasure?"
"I agree."
"So you do like her!"
"I didn't say that."
"Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn't give a damn. You always like baiting people. Seeing other people in emotional distress always affords you pleasure unless you particularly like someone. You're infatuated with her, aren't you!?"
"I'm not even going to justify that with an answer."
"Well, why not? She's really wonderful Severus; I had a lovely chat with her. Did you know she likes house elves? I must introduce her to Kreacher sometime!"
"I'm loathe to interrupt," stated Voldemort, "but could someone tell me what's going on?"
"He took Hermione Granger to meet Narcissa. Narcissa responded in the way she's always responded upon meeting an uncultured seventeen year old. Or is she eighteen? I suppose it's not terribly important."
"Oh," said Voldemort with a slight quiver, as he bit his lower lip with a fang, "Narcissa."
"I don't understand why everyone dislikes her," mentioned Snape, "I think she's a very sensitive woman."
Bellatrix snorted and turned her attention back to her nail polish.
"Dislike her?" said Voldemort. "Not at all. I'm intimidated by her; I would never want to be left alone in a room with her, because once she saw me after... after the accident and started screaming "ugly, ugly" and tried to throw herself out the window."
"That bitch," muttered Bellatrix.
"I often wish," Voldemort continued with a sigh, "that I still had hair. If I had hair, I could spend an inordinate amount of time on it, and grow it out to fantastic lengths, and then maybe nobody would notice that my face looks like a sketch by Picasso. All that aside though, I'm grateful to her. Who but a woman like Narcissa could bankrupt Lucius Malfoy?"
"I didn't know Lucius was bankrupt," mused Bellatrix idly, as she shook a bottle of polish.
"Of course he is," declared Voldemort, "a man like Lucius doesn't join a rebel faction just for the fun of it. He's too canny for that. I generously provide the funds he needs to maintain his patronage network – connections which prove beneficial to us all – through the occasional bout of conspicuous consumption."
"You don't give me money," noted Severus, "I have to scrimp by on a teacher's salary. You mean you've been financing the Malfoys all these years?"
"Severus, Lucius had a unique ability to deal well with high ranking figures. I needed someone in society. Let's not be petty. Are you planning to apologize?"
"Pardon?"
"To that agreeable Granger girl. You've insulted her; an apology might not go amiss. Bear in mind that this is a situation where I would have no qualms with Crucio-ing you should you not agree."
Severus raised his eyebrows in polite wonder, and smirked with the left side of his face in an expression that signified, 'I so respect the vigor of your opinions, however much they call to mind the ravings of madman.'
"You needn't actually say you're sorry, you know. There are other ways," noted Bellatrix, who, herself, could think of quite a number of other ways to make people express remorse and subjugation.
"You could send flowers, for instance," said Voldemort.
Bellatrix smirked. "Good idea. Try hyacinths."
"Or chocolates."
"Because she's probably feeling really good about her body after the run in with Narcissa. Personally, after a visit with Narcissa, I always decide that I'm going live off wheat germ. But I'm sure that Hermione is a much more secure individual."
"You're not helping, Bellatrix," stated Severus.
"Let me choose the gift," suggested Voldemort, "I could find something appropriate."
"The last time you gave her a gift you gave her a human skull."
"She didn't like it?"
"No."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought it was an especially beautiful one."
"If you gave me a skull," murmured Bellatrix, gazing steadfastly down at the table, "I would have appreciated it."
"Really?" replied Voldemort, smiling timidly.
"Uh-huh," murmured Bellatrix, blushing slightly.
"I collect them, you know. I have one that used to belong to Byron. It's the skull of a medieval monk. Byron drank claret out of it. Would you like to come over to my house some evening and see them? We could maybe even try drinking claret out of it." Voldemort's little crimson pupils were dilated with longing.
"That sounds wonderful," sighed Bellatrix.
"If you two need privacy, I can go on my way," stated Severus.
"Well, we might have a few things that we should talk over, Bella and I," declared the Dark Lord.
"And I have to finish my nails."
"I'll walk you out," suggested Voldemort.
As the two men strode through the grassy gardens – overwhelmed though they might have been with topiaries of snakes and skulls – towards the portkey Severus wondered aloud.
"What did you do with Rudolphus? You didn't kill him, did you?"
"I sent him off to Mongolia to find kappas."
"My Lord.... It's a very easy mistake to make, I've made it myself, but they're actually Japanese. He won't have much success in Mongolia."
"Really. You don't say. Well, I hope someone tells him about it. The poor fellow will be out there for months. Months, and months, and months. Lots of months! Lots and lots of them! Maybe he'll die. Wouldn't that be awful? I certainly would hate it if he should die."
"I see."
"Before you go, allow me to impart to you one suggestion on an appropriate peace offering. I used to use it quite a lot as a student when I was dating Ravenclaws..."
Severus found himself the next afternoon sprinting through the hallways as though he was being pursued by a pack of dementors.
He had intended to go to Hermione's Head Girl's room and inconspicuously slip a note under the door expressing his regrets, and his desire to meet with her at eight that evening. This plan was foiled when he realized, halfway up the flight of stairs, that the doors of the Head Girl's room had to remain partially open, not enough to seriously inconvenience the resident, but enough for teachers passing by to insure that nothing untoward was occurring within the room. He realized that this meant that, if Miss Granger were inside her room, she would probably see him, and she might yell at him, and then he would look as though he were involved in a relationship with a student in which she felt it was her right to yell at him. That wouldn't do at all.
Upon his arrival, he thought of lingering outside in the hallways until he could ascertain whether or not Miss Granger was on the premises, but, after Professor Flitwick shot him a dirty look, he realized that he might seem like the kind of Professor who would linger outside Head Girl's rooms in the hopes of seeing something which he had no lascivious intent to see. That wouldn't do either.
So he crammed the note through her door, and fled – fled as he'd never fled a menacing pack of aurors or the mauderers of his youth. In his haste, he bumped into Susan Bones, and proceeded to deduct twenty points from Hufflepuff.
"Pardon me, sir," replied Susan haughtily, "But Albus... Professor Dumbledore... says that you aren't allowed to deduct points from me anymore."
"Why on earth not you stupid, disagreeable girl?"
"He's my Godfather. I suggest you take it up with him. Or I could. I don't think he'd be pleased. It would be easier all around if you just added the points back on."
Professor Snape was dumbfounded. "I can't believe you have the unprecedented gall to attempt intimidation tactics on me. You can send Albus to talk to me about it. Anytime."
He stormed off, his robes billowing behind him like a beetle.
And he waited. He waited patiently. Around 7:55 he began drumming his fingers on the tabletop. At 8:02 he decided that Miss Granger was probably being late to be belligerent. At 8:04 he decided that there was, after all, a possibility that she didn't receive his note. At 8:05 he began to decide that she was a silly schoolgirl, and all of this was absurd. And at 8:06 Hermione Granger swept into the room like the Avenging Wrath of God.
"Talk," she demanded.
"I brought you a gift. Flowers."
"Professor Snape, I find it highly inappropriate for you to give me flowers at this point in time."
"See?" declared Professor Snape proudly brandishing two books before her, "I got you both Flowers for Algernon and Les Fleurs du Mal. I wasn't sure which you'd prefer. The Algernon is an early edition, but I personally think you'll get more intellectual satisfaction out of the Baudelaire."
"That is somewhat clever. But it's no excuse. How could you leave me there? And really, how could you just agree with that horrible woman when she told me I was ugly."
"Well you must admit, Miss Granger..."
Hermione looked about to burst into tears.
"I don't mean that you're ugly. I don't think you're ugly. But I did tell you to try to look pretty."
"I did!"
"It would seem Narcissa didn't think so."
"Because she's a horrible woman!"
"Not just that, she's an aesthete. She's finely tuned, some would say unpleasantly so, towards beauty. Did you every read "The Fall of the House of Usher?" No, actually, that's a bad example. Against Nature by Huysmans, that makes more sense."
"Sorry. I'm both unattractive and ignorant." Hermione seemed on the verge of tears once again.
"Don't say that. You're the most intelligent Gryffindor I know."
"Only Gryffindor?" enquired Hermione.
"It would be the general consensus among all teachers that you're clever. I see no reason to harp upon the point, Miss Granger."
"Of course, Professor," said Hermione, straightening her posture and flicking any traces of mistiness from her eyes.
"Against Nature is about this man who loves beauty so much that he shuts himself off from the rest of the world so that he can live surrounded by good food and paintings and all sorts of other lovely things. It's not so much a book with a plot as it is an encyclopedia of decadence. It details the main character's attempt to turn his life into a work of art. Narcissa is exactly like that."
"I still think she's perfectly horrible."
"You're entitled."
"It wasn't a total loss, though. I had a nice chat with some woman in the hallway. But why did you have to side with Narcissa? I suppose I thought we might be... not friends exactly, I wouldn't presume, but... kind to each other."
"I heard about that chat. Miss Granger, I think there's something I must tell you. As a friend. Or if not a friend then perhaps as a man – yes, as a man who's made some bad choices. Or good choices, I suppose. Depends on who you talk to. So I'm speaking to you as a man – a man who's made choices."
"I'm sorry Professor, but I don't what you're talking about."
"It pertains to Willard. To Willard, and also to the woman you met."
"Yes?"
"They're Death Eaters, Miss Granger. Willard is otherwise known as Voldemort."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Professor. I knew that. Don't try to change the subject."
"You knew?"
"Of course. I've just been being really, really polite about it."
"How?"
"I'm the smartest Gryffindor you know, and Voldemort's face is one of the most easily recognized in the wizarding world. I saw him leaving your chambers one day, and I panicked, and I was going to call someone and save the school, but he was skipping. It was kind of endearing. Skipping and holding this dead sprig of flowers. And I decided it would be better not to die. And then he introduced himself to me as Willard, and I figured if he wanted to kill us all he would have done it, he wouldn't try to pretend to be a caretaker, so I just went along with it. He's actually not such a bad sort. Not that I approve of his policies. And he is a very strange man. But I understand why you'd keep in touch."
"And you know the woman is..."
"Bellatrix Lestrange. Yes. And I'm furious about Sirius for Harry's sake, but it was in the midst of a battle. Perhaps if we tried to understand each other things like that wouldn't happen anymore. Gandhi said, 'An eye for an eye leaves us all blind.' I think that's true, don't you?"
"Miss Granger, you're a marvel. Narcissa is a silly, silly woman."
"Thank you, Professor Snape. I know I am. But it's nice to hear you say it."
"I don't mean that in any way to imply that I think you're a marvel, it has nothing to with my subjective opinion, it's just that your response towards these events..."
"You could leave it at the 'marvel' thing, Professor."
"Indeed, Miss Granger."
"There is one thing I'd like though. And if you could see to it, I'd consider the Narcissa incident completely behind us."
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Lestrange said that she had some information on Elfton. I'd really like to see it, I'm still terribly interested. She said she'd be willing to meet with me."
"Would you like to meet with her?"
"Could you talk to Willard as well? I'd like to talk to both of them. Do they get along all right? I don't want to force them to convene together if they positively hate each other."
"Oh, I don't think they hate each other. Are you going to keep calling him Willard?"
"Do you think it would bother him?"
"I think some perverse part of his personality might find it charming."
"Good then. I've got used to calling him Willard. I'd hate to have to switch over to something like, "Your Grandiose Majesty of Darkness." I mean, it would be very hard to call someone you've seen skipping a Majesty of Darkness."
"He'd probably enjoy seeing you, especially now that he knows that you know. Next Sunday?"
"All right. But one thing..."
"Yes?"
"Tell me precisely, in explicit detail, what I ought to wear..."