Hermione was sitting in the empty common room during lunch, trying to sneak in an extra half-hour of studying before potions. Her conversation with the headmaster was ever on her mind the past few days, as well as the argument with Harry weeks ago when she'd made the facetious comment regarding Occlumency. She'd taken to writing out her schedule, adding in the amounts of time dedicated to homework and revising. She then added her prefect duties, which had mysteriously been altered back to her original arrangements, definitely not something she was going to question too closely feeling that Dumbledore likely had a hand in the change. She then attempted to puzzle out where she could squeeze out two or three hours a week to devote to learning how to block off her mind. Dumbledore may have wanted her to drop a class, but it wouldn't really aid the mission to get Professor Snape to take her on as a pupil for this extra curricular activity. Even if she did drop Astronomy, she had given the headmaster's request due consideration after all, the professor still had classes to teach, and secrecy was of the utmost importance.
She also suspected that if she did as Dumbledore requested in order to gain the headmaster's approval, it would not gain the Potion Master's good graces, not that she was entirely certain that he was in possession of good graces to start with. He would probably sneer at her and remark on the headmaster's favoritism of the "Insufferable Know-It-All' and how it did not obligate him to extend the same treatment to her. Treatment that would likely result in a waste of his valuable time. He'd probably also point out that her friend, 'the Great Harry Potter' had failed under his tutelage, a statement he would utter in a sneer complete with curled lip and glowering countenance. He'd then continue to illustrate his objection by bringing up the fact that she had been reduced to tears a number of times over the past years by his truthful, yet brutal criticisms and that she was likely unable to school her emotional state to focus on her mental protections.
She'd have to concede that particular point, lately she had been rather…temperamental when it came to certain members of her peer group, but she was starting to come to grips with their mistaken ideas as they pertained to her social life. She'd even admit that her over-reactions had only fueled the gossip surrounding her. If she stopped reacting, the rumors would likely shift to something more entertaining, if equally erroneous in nature. Next she'd be hearing that she was a jilted lover, and that Harry and Ron had taken up the torch for one another…
But the problem currently before her was to get Snape cornered privately so that she could voice her request. She glanced at her watch, suppressing a mild oath. Being late to potions was not going to endear her to the snarky man at all. She'd be lucky if she made it to class before he stormed into the classroom, robes billowing. She scrambled for her bag and dashed out of the room, slamming the portrait in her haste, earning her an incensed, "Really! How rude, one does not slam portraits girl!" from the Fat Lady.
Hermione didn't even turn as she called out her apology, focusing instead on the nine flights of stairs she had to descend to reach her potions class. Why there was a sub-level under the dungeons was an enigma, but that was the location of her Advanced Potions course. She managed to half skid, half run to the door, panting from her exertions but thankful that the door was still open, signaling that she arrived before her professor. The rapid slapping of her shoes on the stone corridor had alerted the class of a late arrival, so it was only natural that all eyes were trained on the doorway as she stepped through. Their regard caused her cheeks to flush, but it was the venom-laced voice that uttered, "five points from Gryffindor for running in the hall, Miss Granger," that caused her cringe and the heat of embarrassment to color her ears and neck.
But he didn't stop there, instead continuing to add to her mortification with, "I suggest that you take your seat before I am forced to give you detention as a remedy for your tardiness." And as though he commanded the signal to start classes, the bell rang, making her late by his standard because she was not in her seat and ready for the afternoon's lesson.
She squeaked and shifted to her seat, the professor hard on her heels as the door slammed with a bang. Merlin knew she didn't have time for detention, and what type of example would she set if she, a prefect, received detention? Detention…it would give her an opportunity to approach Snape, but there was no assurance that he would oversee her punishment. He could fob it off to Filch or any number of the teachers. Professor Sprout probably needed help getting the green houses and all the plants in them secured for winter, or she could end up in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, much like first year, only without Harry or Neville to keep her company.
She shot a sidelong glance at Harry, who was her partner in advanced potions. He must have sensed her regard because he flashed her a quick smile of reassurance before applying himself to taking notes from the blackboard. Hermione followed his lead, noting with half her attention that they were going to be brewing a healing draught while the other half was wrestling over whether learning Occlumency was worth another detention on her record or not. She chanced another glace to the boy sitting next to her, taking in the furrowed brow, the slightly more rested look in his eyes and the rigid posture he always had when in the dungeons. She scratched a few more sentences before making up her mind.
The rest of potions passed by quickly, for all that it was a double session and the Professor seemed to be in rare form where his temper was concerned. She took her sample vial as well as Harry's to deposit on his desk, thankful that both potions were the right color and viscosity.
"Three points, Miss Granger, for sloppiness." When she was about to voice her protest he barked out, "The label is crooked and the handwriting is barely legible. Uniformity and conscientiousness is the expected standard, not the exception in advance potions, you would do well to remember that. Oh, and five points from Mr. Potter for being too arrogant to turn in his own assignment. You may inform him of it since you seem to relish being his personal servant."
She suppressed her desire to snarl back, this was a teacher after all, and one whom she'd attacked with a disarming spell in third year, so she all ready had a dismal track record where he was concerned. The fact that her actions in saving Sirius that night bilked him out of his Order of Merlin was also a mark against her, whether he knew it or not, surely he suspected at least. She reminded herself that she needed his help, and for that, she must give him the respect he was due. And he was due some acknowledgement for the precarious situation he was in, a double agent for Dumbledore who must tread carefully to avoid discovery. However, knowing that fact, and being able to repress the surge of temper at his treatment, were two different things entirely.
But who was to say that he wasn't possessed of a naturally sour disposition. Voldemort or not, he might still treat students in the same manner as he presently did. Or he might not, and she wondered what sort of man he would be if Voldemort were defeated. From what Harry said, he was nasty when he was a teenager, but James and Sirius had provoked him in the pensieve memory. There was also the knowledge that Snape's dad seemed to be foul and domineering and that he also was lonely in his adolescent years, things she knew from Harry confiding to her about the images he'd seen the one and only time he'd shielded against the professor's use of Legilimens. She also knew that she was not to be in possession of such information, and if Snape knew that she knew, not only would Harry no longer be a threat to You-Know-Who, but she would also find herself on the business end of the ex-death eater's wand, probably oblivated to the point where she had no recollection of the Wizarding world's existence.
At any rate, she decided it was a puzzle for another time. She shouldered her bag as she made her exit, the Slytherin and Hufflepuff sixth years waiting to enter for their final class. It was then that Hermione saw her opportunity and took it. There stood Pansy, hanging on Malfoy's shirttails, simpering up at him while he had an expression of patent boredom as he waited for the rival house members to exit the dungeon.
"Well, well, if it isn't the bloody mudblood." It was Pansy's favorite insult to fling her way whenever possible, though it was going a bit stale from two weeks worth of use. It used to garner open laughter from her housemates, but now it only resulted in a twist of lips that barely acknowledged the insult's delivery, and that was as far as their amusement went.
Naturally she had to retaliate, "And here I thought Slytherins were reputed to be cunning, but that couldn't possibly be the truth if you lack enough intelligence to find something new to insult me over."
"Slut!"
"Bitch!" God, she'd wanted to say that since eavesdropping on the conversation in the loo.
"Ugly, good for nothing Mudblood!"
"There's that word again," she said shaking her head, "Let's try something original shall we?" She paused, visually inspecting the girl before her, repressing the urge to circle the girl like a shark, using words and her critical stare instead. "You may have a body to die for, Pansy, you have a face to defend it as well…" She watched in satisfaction as the dark haired Slytherin puzzled through the meaning of the insult, finally coming up with the fact that she'd just had it inferred that her face was repellant enough to keep people away from her slim body. And it had struck a nerve with the girl, as she was aware of being called pug-faced behind her back.
She drew her wand, dropping the name calling in favor of a tangible form of retaliation. Pansy took a page from Malfoy's book and snapped her wand to cast a Densaugeo hex. And Hermione in turn used her wand, flicking the end up as she'd practiced in Defense Against the Dark Arts using the Strepho shield to protect herself. As in her Defense class, the hex bounced off, rebounding on the unfortunate Slytherin due to the Gryffindor's control over the barrier, yet another skill practiced during the class. It hit Pansy, who did not dodge in time, her teeth beginning to lengthen, causing Harry, whom Hermione had forgotten about completely, to muffle his laughter behind his hand."
"Congratulations," came a cold voice from behind, "you've just secured yourself a date with three pounds of boomslang skin and sixty-odd rat corpses…detention Miss Granger!"
She turned to find that Professor Snape was standing in the doorway behind her. She turned a bit green at the idea of rat corpses, and wondered what she'd be harvesting. "W-what time?" she managed to get out.
"Eight o'clock, sharp."
She ducked her head in response, grabbing Harry by the arm and beating a hasty exit before her friend could object to the fact that she got detention for defending herself when Pansy, who had attacked her, managed to escape with no consequences. Not that engorged teeth was exactly an attractive addition to her features. Mission accomplished, one detention with Snape.
She timed the end of her rounds to place her near the dungeons. At some point in the afternoon, it had dawned on her that she hadn't thought her tactics out very thoroughly. She realized that while she could never be in the Slytherin house, she did need to consider their philosophy. They, as a whole weren't evil per se; neither did they do anything without some personal gain. If she wanted him to mentor her, she had to figure out something to bring to the table as a bargaining chip, something that would entice him to agree to her request.
She had given it consideration, and decided on three points to present. She, Ron and Harry all knew of his dealings with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, so in order to protect himself in case one of them were captured, she should learn Occlumency and teach it to the boys in turn, thereby ensuring that his position remained unknown among the death eater ranks. Secondly, the best way to meet for the lessons would be detentions, and she figured that he would delight in giving her distasteful, disgusting tasks to perform as penance for taking up his time. The only way to make the deal sweeter would probably be if she were Harry, instead of his female friend. Lastly, though she was loath to be responsible for more house point deductions, it would be perfectly reasonable for him to remove points for her failed attempts at deflecting his mental intrusion.
It was entirely feasible that Gryffindor would lose the house cup this year, and that the fault would lie with her and her idealistic notions of helping Harry… And that only served to remind her of Dumbledore's words about going to great lengths to protect one another, which brought her back to the task at hand. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath before pushing open the door to her potions classroom, eyes immediately seeking out her professor in position behind his desk, grading a pile of scrolls.
He looked up at her entrance, "You may start with the boomslang, I want it shredded uniformly. The seventh years will be using it tomorrow in preparation for their NEWTs. After that, the rats." He said this with a raised eyebrow, and a tone that seemed almost pleased. "You will harvest the spleen, eyes, claws, testicles and tail. The corpses are in the container by the spare cauldrons. Stop wasting time and get started." He continued grading the paper before him, using liberal amounts of red ink to mark the errors.
Hermione located a knife and a cutting board, slicing the skin into equal lengths before pulling apart each segment with her fingers to render it shredded. It took her the better part of an hour and a half to wade through all three pounds, and not for the first time did she feel grateful for the fact that she maintained short nails instead of growing them out long and keeping them polished like Lavender and Pavarti. She moved on to the glass jar, finding it full of deceased rodent bodies preserved in noxious yellow liquid. Breathing through her nose was out, the smell making her nauseous, but if she took in air through her mouth, she could almost taste the fluid from the fumes as she fished the first carcass out. She chose to solve the problem by stepping away from the table she was working at and casting a quick bubble-head charm, ensuring that she had a supply of breathable air.
She tried to counter the turning of her stomach by pretending it was Wormtail under her knife, but she found that she couldn't actually make the required incisions if she believed the corpse was once human. She steeled herself and recognized the lifeless bodies for what they were, dead rats, and began the requisite cuts to get at each of the ingredients Snape demanded. Out of sixty-three rats, she managed to harvest 63 tails, 59 spleens, 120 eyes, 238 feet and 70 testicles. It was a fairly good haul, and she would challenge any other student to gather as much without damaging the delicate organs, though the whole activity left her feeling ill. It was a good thing she'd decided to skip dinner to avoid bringing it back up during detention.
She washed her hands thoroughly at the back sink, lathering twice and rinsing for two minutes before banishing the charm. Again, she fortified her will with a cleansing breath before making her way to the student desk directly in front of Snape. She waited a few minutes, still trying to gather the courage to broach the subject on her mind, glad that the man before her was distracted by his own efforts. Finally realizing that he was not going to address her anytime soon, likely assuming that she would just leave when her work was finished, she spoke to get his attention.
"P-professor Snape?"
He raised his onyx glare to meet her hazel eyes. "What is it Miss Granger?" He asked, just a shade too grouchy to be considered polite.
"I've finished the tasks you set for me." She hoped he wouldn't pick at her for stating the obvious.
"So you have, now get out." His eyes barely even ran over the products of her labor, ignoring the fact that she had taken care with the distasteful chores, even going so far as to set a preservation spell over each pile to keep it fresh until it was packaged for storage.
"Actually, th-there is something I wished to request…"
"Oh, by all means, what can I do for you?" he asked in his acerbic tone.
"I want you to teach me occlumency," she didn't bother to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the quill in his hands as she watched his grip tighten.
He brushed her mind, catching the stray thought that revealed her actions with Pansy were simply a ploy to get her in the dungeon with him, detention being a means to an end. In a whirl of moment that took her by surprise, he had drawn his wand and flicked the classroom door shut, muttering a locking charm and setting a silencing sphere so tight that it made her ears pop due to the change in air pressure. He turned his attention back to the student before him, his voice low and dangerous.
"You seem to delight in showing off all the information you've managed to absorb, even information that you are not supposed to be in possession of," he hissed. "I've heard about the headmaster forcing the head boy and head girl to rearrange the prefect schedules to allow you to complete the shift of your choice. Clearly, in your arrogance and presumption, you assume that everyone will bow to your whims. I barely tolerate your presence in my class as it is, waving your arm about like a self-important child, begging to be the center of attention. Why on Earth would I agree to spend more time with you? I've said it before, but clearly you've forgotten that you are nothing more than an insufferable Know-it-All. Is this merely another parlor trick for you to run and show off to your friends? How long before you would tell them that not only have you gained the ability to close your mind, that Professor Snape, the greasy git, taught you? Do you consider me some sort of lap dog, a pet to perform tricks at your command?" He spat the words his volume slowly rising as he towered over her while she sat in the student's desk.
Her head was bowed, his words tearing at her. Could he really believe such a thing of her, that she was that infantile? Hermione's eyes filled with a combination of frustration and dejection. This was not how she'd planned for the discussion to go, she was supposed to make her case in logical manner, and he was supposed to recognize that the idea had merit and hash out the details with her. It was disheartening to think that he was going to deny her request; he hadn't even given her the chance to explain her reasons behind the additional lessons. She jumped when he barked out, "Answer me girl! Is this some sort of game you think to play at? Does the Great Hermione Granger desire more cloak and dagger antics than even her two dunderheaded associates can provide her with? Do you get some schoolgirl thrill from the danger in confronting me, risking my exposure from your lack of discretion? What in the bloody hell do you think you are about Miss Granger?" Hard as steel, his words were harsh and calculated, exposing his belief that her proposition was nothing more than a passing amusement, some sort of folly on her part.
He didn't understand, she thought, biting back a sob even as tears spilled down her cheeks. She had to make him see. "I-I'm just t-trying to survive, Sir." She stammered out with a quavering voice, her throat tight. She closed her eyes a moment, waiting for some burst of outrage. When it didn't happen, she lifted her lids and fixed her gaze on his, unblinking, unwavering, all but begging him to use legilimens to read the truth in her mind. At another time, if it were another person, she might have been angry about the accusations and insults, but right now, in this moment, all she could feel was her fear for the future and her need for another tool to increase her arsenal for protection.
"I know it's dangerous, especially when anyone from your house could owl their parents, and I thought that if I made opportunities for detentions, it would be a sort of a cover…" She trailed off uncertainly, unsure of how much she should explain, whether she should even bother to lay her thoughts open for him to criticize on the matter, as it was clear that he was unwilling to take the time to teach her. When he made no response, she continued, "Maybe I was wrong in thinking that it would be enough of a reason, but don't you think it would be dangerous if I were caught? I know of your role with the Order and I don't want to jeopardize it."
This had him raising an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think that you would be allowed to live long enough to be questioned by the Dark Lord?" he questioned. "My, don't you think a lot of yourself?"
"No, I don't," she protested. "It's just that I'm close to Harry, and if you haven't noticed, most of the school thinks we're dating."
"Mind your tone Granger," he warned.
She hadn't even realized that she'd been a bit snide with her last remark; but she modulated her tone of voice accordingly. "I sort of thought that you would enjoy the idea of having a Gryffindor in detention on a regular basis to perform the less savory tasks that need to be done to secure potions ingredients." She stopped herself from using the words payback or revenge. "And if I fail to perform to expectation, you'd take house points off. And I know that Slytherins aren't known for selfless favors, but…" she couldn't think of what else to say to convince him to agree.
"Professor," she was down to begging at this point, dignity be damned. "I've read the book you gave to Harry. I've got the theory, but only you or Dumbledore can teach me the practical. You can test me during meals, classes, when you run across me patrolling. I swear this isn't an attempt to exact revenge on behalf of my housemates. There is a war brewing out there. I need your help to prepare. I know people will die." She sniffed after the statement left her lips, "I don't want it to happen, but it is inevitable. But it would be horrible if they died because I didn't do everything within my power to learn, and then pass my learning onto the one person who is slated to face Voldemort. I know you hate Harry, but do you want the wrong side to win?" She gambled by throwing Harry into the conversation at all, but she was grasping at straws. "Do you want to forever be a slave to the mark on your arm? I have to learn this to pass it on to Harry so that You-Know-Who won't be able to see what he is learning. Please Professor." She ended on a broken not, fresh tears spilling over again as she turned her eyes down. To her surprise, a linen handkerchief was pressed into her hand and a ghost of a sensation whispered over her hair briefly, as though his other hand had hovered over her head momentarily.
She snapped her head up in shock, thinking that she had imagined the whole thing, save that she was still clutching at the square of material. For an instant, no longer than it took to bat an eyelash, she saw the barest trace, a mere hint of compassion and understanding before it was gone. His face once again resumed its familiar bitter mask.
"Perhaps I've underestimated your comprehension of the situation," he commented, sounding like he was going to choke on the words, perhaps even an imperceptible amount of grudging admiration present in the words. His next declaration was delivered in the same cold, sarcastic drawl she remembered so well from class. "My terms, Miss Granger. You will outline, for me, the key points in the book you read, to be no longer than a foot and a half in length. You will serve detention again Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, where I will work with you on blocking off your mind. You will have your emotions in check at that time. Am I clear?"
"Yes sir, tha-," she began to feel a slight feeling of relief, but didn't dare show it for fear he would change his mind, with her luck, he would conclude that her tears were faked in the interest of getting her way when they had been a sincere display of her fear for herself, and those she cared about.
"Don't thank me yet, I am not through. If you cannot master the technique in those three evenings, we are at quits with the project." He raised a hand to forestall her objection. "…At quits until the holidays are over and a suitable amount of time has passed so that no one becomes suspicious when you incur another set of detentions. As much as I would enjoy having you decant bubotuber pus without dragonhide gloves and scrub out botched potions from the school cauldrons with your toothbrush, it would not take a genius to piece together that something more was going on. You, as a rule, avoid detention, even if your friends don't. Five points for your short sightedness." His sneer was back in place, fixed firmly on his thin lips.
"Once you convince me that you can defend against an expected mental probe, I will test you at times when you least expect it. For every attempt that you fail at, ten points will be docked. You should always be on your guard, you will not have the luxury of a warning should a death eater attack you. Lastly, you were correct in your assumption that a Slytherin never does anyone a favor without exacting a price. My price is this, you will refrain from waving your hand in the air at every question in my classroom, and secondly, you will limit your over-achieving tendencies on my essays to no more than four extra inches. Violate these provisions and I will cease all efforts to train you. Dark Lord or not, all my teaching will be for nothing if you cannot muster enough self control to follow my instructions. Are we agreed?"
She nodded mutely, knowing that she had no other choice. Raising her hand was a habit, one she could break with minimal effort on her part as Snape never called on her anyway. The second provision was a little more difficult, but she reasoned that if she really wanted to maintain her standard, she'd just start writing smaller, he said she couldn't exceed four extra inches, he never said her writing had to be a specific size on the paper. One of the few times that Wizarding use of parchment was to her benefit as muggle paper was usually pre-lined, dictating the range of space one's writing would fit in. Yes, she could do this and make it work. He dismissed her with a jerk of his head andbringingdown the wards he'd erected before moving back behind his desk to finish grading his papers.
He watched her bolt through the door before slumping and pinching the bridge of his nose. Severus berated himself for taking on a task that guaranteed him several hours in the presence of the Gryffindor prodigy. Likely she'd have a slew of questions prepared for Monday, but he could hardly refuse her request once he'd looked into her eyes and seen the genuine fear, fear that should not have been present in any sixteen-year old girl's eyes. On the other hand, it was better for her to be aware of the jeopardy she could find herself in rather than her prancing around like a empty headed bint, begging for the likes of Rudolphus or Lucius to snap her up from off the street one day.
She wasn't stupid at least. He could tell she'd put at least some thought into how to approach him, but she'd never be a Slytherin. She lacked the calculated ruthlessness, and she'd talk, thinking that silence was an indication that she should volunteer information. But on the other hand, she was passionate when she believed what she was speaking about, and adept at hitting sensitive marks. Her insult to Pansy was rather subtle, the twist of words targeting something the girl was sensitive about, and then adding injury to the insult because it took her a minute or two to actually figure out the meaning of the remark. And she hit him in a tender spot also, he wanted nothing more to be rid of the dark mark himself, and she'd keyed into that.
It would be in his best interest to train her, in order to cover his own arse. As Hermione had pointed out, she knew he was a double agent, and that would spell bad news if anyone found out. Weasley was surrounded by a family full of Order members, and Potter had Dumbledore keeping a phoenix-eye on him, she would be the weak link, though he had not heard anything at the last meeting about her being a target. Still, he hadn't lived this long by leaving things up to chance, why start now? He just hoped that she benefited from his efforts and applied herself more diligently than Potter had last year, otherwise he'd suffer another round of migraines with nothing to show for it. Bloody Hell, what had he gotten himself into?
AN: Would have been up sooner, but I had a problem logging in to FFnet, so I'm (as usual) late. Thank you to BrennaM, who pointed out my chapter labeling snafu. Obviously I have as much trouble counting as I do being on time for posting chapters. Hugs to Raspberri13, Rane2920072, and Elbereth Gilthoniel, complements will get you everywhere...