Chapter 9
Hermione drew a deep breath and then descended the staircase. All around her hung the portraits of thousands of people, each talking, laughing, and moving from frame to frame as she passed. A low murmur surrounded her, while the grinding of the shifting staircases sounded below. The red carpet at her feet was the path she followed mindlessly, her thoughts centered on her destination.
The Dungeon.
It was the first Saturday of the semester, and while Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws slept soundly, Hermione would be beginning the first of a long series of detentions with Professor Snape.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She stopped at the top of the third floor staircase and waited patiently for it to maneuver back into position. Her eyes strayed to a picture frame currently unoccupied. The foreground was of a beautiful garden, with columns of rosebushes and ornate benches along gravel paths. Everything in the garden seemed to glow with its own inner light. But in the background, hung black clouds, and the occasional flash of thunder lit the frame eerily. In her eyes it was the garden of Eden. Lush and alive, with the suffering of evil waiting--always waiting--for light's weakest moment.
A sudden and violent shake of the landing announced the staircase, and Hermione stepped off the platform and once again began her trek down. Five, ten, twenty steps to the next landing, and Hermione stepped onto the final staircase without thinking. But with a lurch the staircase moved, throwing her off balance so that she had to grab a hold of the banister as the usually slow moving stairs shifted at top speed to crash into the far wall. Loosing her footing, Hermione dropped to her seat, one foot slipping completely out from under her before she gained purchase on one of the steps.
Startled, she looked down the staircase before attempting to stand up. But with an earthquake like shake, the staircase had her once again firmly planted on her butt. Frustrated, she gave a great sigh. "You're going to make me late for detention. Now will you please right yourself so I can get going; or I'm not going to be able to get any breakfast first."
To her amazement, the staircase threw itself back and forth, almost as if it were shaking its head 'no'.
With a frustrated growl, Hermione looked over her shoulder trying to figure out where she'd ended up in this labyrinth of doorways. But all she saw was a solid wall, and yet more pictures. Grabbing a hold of the banister Hermione stood and walked back up to the platform she'd landed on. She was about to try once more to plead with the monstrous steps when another picture caught her attention; this one holding her violently still.
It was the same picture as the one above, only this one was reversed. The garden itself was nearly dead. The rosebushes were withered and decrepit, leaves drooping and falling, while dead blossoms fell onto the weed ridden path. Yet in the background the sun rose high and bright in the blue sky, while lazy, fluffy white clouds drifted across the panel. This picture had a small placard set into the frame bearing the pieces title, "Beauty's Garden".
She didn't understand why, but the picture made her decidedly uneasy, made her mind want to cry and laugh at the same time. This dead decrepit thing, this was Beauty's garden? How could that be? Nothing grew, nothing lived. It was simply dead, through and through.
Tension filled her body so that she stepped away from the picture, but the frame seemed to chase her, seemed to demand she pay attention. She took another step back, and bumped into someone rather tall and fuzzy. With a startled cry, Hermione swung around and found herself looking deeply into a pair of mirth filled eyes.
Dumbledore smiled down at her before indicating the painting. "You are not the first or the last to be confused by this painting, Miss Granger. It is a work of art that goes beyond the beauty of the drawing itself." He offered another smile and then stepped past her to touch the placard lightly with his wizened fingertips.
Curious and still a great deal weary of the picture, Hermione moved to the other side of the frame. "Sir, I saw the exact same picture on the third floor, only that one was reversed, the garden was alive and beautiful, but the sky was filled with storm clouds. Why would someone paint two opposite pictures like that and then only label this one."
Dumbledore regarded her curiously before turning to take her elbow and propelling them back onto the staircase. He then took out his wand and tapped the banister lightly. "Third floor, please." There was an empty second, and then the staircase was not only swinging back into place, but was rising upward, and as Hermione looked, each of Hogwart's seven staircases began to shift and float around, swinging left and right, up and down in a dance of stone and red carpet that at once held Hermione awed by the magic of this wondrous place.
With a final daring maneuver, the staircase settled onto the third floor landing. With her elbow still clutched warmly in his hand, Dumbledore escorted Hermione up onto the landing before they both looked pointedly at "Beauty's Garden"'s other half.
For a long time they stood and just looked at it in silence. The turbulent clouds, the lightly swaying rose blossoms; everything about this picture was in total opposition to the frame a floor below. Finally, Hermione shook her head. "It's like the artist got confused, like he painted one light and one dark painting and then cut them both in half before gluing them back together wrong."
Dumbledore looked down at her and offered a soft nod. "I thought much the same thing when I first saw these paintings. I couldn't for the life of me, fathom why someone would paint two pictures in such a completely opposite way." He paused, turning to face her. "One must ask themselves, why do this, why make this kind of statement. Have you any ideas, Miss Granger?"
Something in the back of her mind told her this was a trick, told her immediately she didn't have the knowledge base to answer such a complex question. But she also knew Dumbledore wasn't trying to make her feel foolish, only point her in the right direction.
With a shake of her head, Hermione admitted she had none. Then that warm hand was back, this time on her shoulder, and Hermione couldn't help but smile into those kind blue eyes. "Art is a highly personal thing, my dear. The meaning of art changes based on who is looking at it. I have often considered art one of the truest forms of magic." He looked back at the paining. "Would you care to hear my take on these particular pieces of work?"
Without hesitation Hermione nodded, and the Headmaster turned back once again to look at her; this time, his gaze was penetrating. "I have looked at these paintings again and again over the years, and I've come to the conclusion that the trick is in the word 'Garden'."
Puzzled, Hermione looked back at the painting, seeing the gorgeous flowers, and knowing that in its brother, the blossoms were black with death. "I-I don't understand, Professor."
But Dumbledore didn't answer, instead he placed his hand on the small of Hermione's back and urged her back towards the staircase and then down. They walked slowly together, down first the third and then second staircases before coming to the ground floor. With a gentle push, the Headmaster sent Hermione off towards the dungeons as he turned down the hallway towards the Great Hall.
Hermione was three feet from the large wooden archway leading to the dungeons before she turned around. "Professor Dumbledore," she watched as he turned around at her call. "Sir, sir, why is the word "Garden" so important?"
That twinkle was clearly visible before it dimmed. "It is important to me, Miss Granger, because I find myself wondering often, which parts of the paintings are the true gardens. Is it the flowers either dead or alive, or is it the sky, clear or filled with such rage? If I am seeing two different images of Beauty's Garden, would young Miss Beauty have preferred the flowers of the earth, or the clouds of the sky as her garden?" And then with another soft smile, Dumbledore turned and entered the Great Hall, leaving Hermione with much to think about.
Severus glanced at the clock and cursed softly before resuming his pacing once again. She was ten minutes late. A million scenarios raced through his head. Perhaps she'd gotten sick? Maybe she'd overslept? What if she'd been roped into another one of Potter's schemes and had been hurt? What if his Slytherins had attacked on her way down?
With a growl he looked again at the clock.
The dungeons were cold at nine in the morning, and he forced his pacing towards the fire to stoke it once again. He didn't often give weekend detentions; it was during this little amount of free time that he often spent talking to Morganna or even visiting her in America when he could get away. The rest of the time he engaged in his many passions, from potions to controlling his vast fortune.
Lately, he'd taken to thinking of her.
Slumping into his chair he considered his newest past time. It was no longer a weekend activity; no, now it was taking over nearly every waking moment. He thought about her as he readied for the day, he watched her at breakfast, during classes he wondered how she might have answered the questions he posed to the other students, lunch again found him watching her, between classes he worried that one of his Slytherins might attack her again, then it was back to dinner to watch her laugh and correct her merry gang. But the worst, the absolute worst, was that he dreamed about her.
His dreams were innocent enough. Most nights found them sitting together over a cup of tea discussing things he couldn't quite hear. Others involved props like chessboards or a potions set. In those dreams he didn't wear the glamour he'd created, his face was as it was meant to be, and she would often comment on it, little things he knew came from his own self-consciousness, "It's like I'm seeing you for the first time", "You look different tonight, Severus."
Severus, she always called him by his name in the dreams, and the way she said it—it was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Part of him knew it was his imagination, and he scoffed at the very idea that the cynical Professor Severus Snape could have an imagination, let alone one that produced a woman who made his name sound sinful, but the other part of him remembered that he'd once had the type of imagination to brew extraordinary bedtime stories that would have even Mellisson enrapture.
Then there was his dead wife.
Sighing, Severus stood and returned to pacing the classroom. When he wasn't thinking of her, he was thinking about Mellisson. Would she be furious? Would she blame him for dreaming about another? Part of him knew she wouldn't, that she'd have wanted him to move on, to be happy; and yet, some small hidden part of himself told him, that Mellisson—like all women—could say one thing, and mean another.
Pausing he turned to look at the door, willing Hermione to enter. To his very great surprise, she did just that.
Breathing heavily, Hermione burst into the room, throwing a look of guilty fear at him before lowering her gaze. Turning, she took hold of the door and slowly pushed it shut.
Suddenly, they were alone, the only two people in the room, the only two people who would ever know what went on. He felt that lightening streak of adrenaline race through him as he watched her bring a hand to her breast, still trying to catch her breath. His mouth went dry. It was such a strange feeling to have once again. He could remember watching Mellisson that first time out in the sun, and like now, the picture in his mind seemed to slow, so that he could catch every detail, from the way her hand lifted to brush back her hair, the way her robes parted a few inches when she drew those deep breathes, the way her lips parted as she swallowed, the way....
"You're late. Explain." Like a shield from his own inappropriate thoughts, his arms came up to cross over his chest, and he knew his face was like granite. It usually amused him to know that he could change his appearance so rapidly, but today it annoyed him, he didn't want to frighten her.
Strangely, she didn't seem to notice his change in demeanor, she drew one final deep breath and then squared her shoulders before walking towards him. Her voice was still a little breathless. "I'm sorry Professor Snape, the staircases trapped me on the way down, and then Professor Dumbledore saved me, but we noticed a painting on the wall and he insisted on going up to look at the other one, and then—well, I'm late. I ran as fast as I could, again, I'm sorry."
The staircases had trapped her and Albus had saved her? Something about that sounded very much like a set up to him. "What do you mean, the headmaster insisted that you look at a painting, didn't you tell him you were already late for detention?"
The glaring look she gave him, had him struggling hard to maintain his stoic face. She very nearly huffed as she answered. "I wasn't late when I came down, I was early even. I was going to eat breakfast when the staircases shuffled out of the way and I couldn't get down. Obviously I was a little upset, so I didn't think about checking the clock when Professor Dumbledore found me. Further, I didn't think it was my place to say anything when he insisted on going back up to the third floor to see the other painting."
His mind worked overtime with the information. When he came upon the answer, he groaned inwardly, but decided he might as well find out if Albus was truly interfering. "You said this 'other painting' was on the third floor, exactly, which painting were you referring too?"
Rightly so, she looked a little stunned by his question—since when did the horrible Professor Snape give a hippogriffs tail about art work—but after a moment of indecision she stated calmly, "Beauty's Garden."
He was SO going to kill that crazy, matchmaking, old coot!
"Fine," he said as he turned back towards his desk, not letting her see the burning color of his cheeks. "Do not be tardy again, Miss Granger or I will be forced to give you yet another weeks worth of detention to teach you how to tell time." Not that he wouldn't mind having her all to himself for seven more Saturdays, no that thought sounded fine to him, but she might, and if the huff she made was any indication, she minded quite a bit.
He decided to ignore her. "You will sit here," he said, indicating the desk directly in front of his own. Moving beyond, he rounded his own desk, and bent down to retrieve a basket of scrolls, each one tied with either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw colors. When he straightened up, he saw she was seated neatly in chair, her hands folded before her on the desk.
As a teacher, he was thankfully, not one of those men who found a young woman in a pleated school uniform even remotely attractive; he did however, find her tan dress slacks and cream colored sweater a bit distracting. With her black robes to outline her adult body, he found himself quickly turning his attention back to the basket of scrolls.
Part of him wanted to be cruel to her for making him feel this way, but it was a small part; the majority of him reveled in the ability to feel this way again, and was only slightly disappointed in the fact that he couldn't openly pursue her as he had Mellisson. On the other hand, he suddenly thought, it might fun to use his acquired Death Eater skills at subterfuge to get what he wanted, namely, Hermione Granger.
So many different ways to play the same game; so many different ways to win the prize.
With a smirk to himself, Severus dropped the basket onto the desk before her, watching her eyes dilate as she took in the dozens of scrolls. He cleared his throat, waiting until her eyes were once again on him; he was going to enjoy this.
"Before you is a stack of essays, you will grade them all before leaving. Do you have any questions?"
Her large brown eyes grew even larger. He could almost hear her mind working. When she finally managed to ask her question, it was with disbelief in her voice. "Sir, you...you want me to grade these essays?" She stressed the word grade.
He smiled down at her, and then quickly correct himself, when her eyes grew even larger. "I was under the impression, Miss Granger, that you took great pleasure in correcting your fellow students; it seemed to me, that you might enjoy this task." It was so hard not to smile again as she struggled not to appear too pleased with the fact that he was trusting her to grade a few papers—ah, but the best was yet to come.
"Yes Sir," she said, and then stumbled, realizing she'd all but admitted to being a know it all, before shaking her head, "I mean, no Sir." Then she realized she'd denied the task. Finally, she just grabbed the handles of the basket and pulled it towards her. "I'll get started, Professor."
He nodded, turning swiftly back to his desk to hide his smile as he retrieved a quill and bottle of red ink. Handing them to her, he returned to his desk and took out his own quill and ink set before reaching a hand into the pile of fifth year essays on enlargement potions, all the while watching as Hermione undid the first blue ribbon scroll.
Let the game begin.
She wasn't quite sure how to handle the new confidence that Snape seemed to have in her abilities. More than once he'd called her an insufferable know it all, and now he seemed to think she did know it all...or at least third year silencing potions.
Every now and then she'd look up from the scrolls she was grading to see if he was staring at her, to check and make sure he wasn't trying to catch her- -oh she didn't know--cheating some how, grading Hufflepuff papers wrong. But he never seemed to be looking at her, instead he continued to work meticulously over his own basket of scrolls. Every now and the he'd dip his quill into the bottle of red ink, but mostly he read with an every changing display of looks upon his face. Sometimes he wore no expression, while other times he scowled down at the papers in disgust--that was when he usually reached for the ink well. Every now and then he's nod his head, roll the scroll back up, and put it away. It was those lucky students that received Snape's approval. Hermione wondered if her scroll had been one of them.
Shaking her head slightly she returned to the task at hand. Reading through a scroll, she'd quickly assess the work before offering constructive criticisms and grading it before stacking it neatly in a pile beside her. She's had 45 to start, and with a stack nearly four rows high now, she was almost done.
"Miss Granger?"
Started at the sudden break in silence, Hermione jerked her head up to look directly into pitch black eyes. "Yes Professor?"
"I see you have not yet finished grading those scrolls." She nodded, there were still about 10 left in the basket. Snape gave a deep sigh and then stood. With his dark grace he moved to the glowing fireplace and tossed in a hand of powder. Dobby's head was immediately visible.
"Professor Snape Sir, what can Dobby be getting for you?"
Without sparing Hermione a glance, he gave his order. "A selection for two from this afternoon's lunch fairs, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Also, two butterbeers from the stores if you please, Dobby."
"Dobby is most pleased to be serving you, Professor Snape, Sir. But beggin' yer pardon Sir, Nata is wanting to bring you the food herself, Sir, if this is alright?"
Snape's back was to her, but Hermione had a very strange impression, that when the potions master answered in the affirmative, he might have been smiling when he said the words.
"Dobby will be telling Nata right away. Dobby knows Nata will be very happy to see her master." And with that, Dobby disappeared and the fire went from green to red.
Master.
The word hung over the room like a thick blanket. Even when Snape returned to his seat and continued to grade, Hermione felt sick to her stomach just hearing that word. She'd spent years trying to show people that elves were living, breathing, knowing creatures that deserved the respect of wizards the world over; not the back of their hand and scornful words.
She knew the whole history of the elves. How they'd once been a proud race of creatures but had been enslaved by a ruthless wizard nearly a thousand years ago. Now wizards and witches took them for granted, expecting elves to do their bidding, not caring that elves could feel or think for themselves, had dreams and desires, hopes and--
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"What?" Started out of her thoughts, Hermione looked up to find Snape watching her, his black eyes seeming to burrow into her soul. She wanted to tell him, wanted to yell and scream at him that he was a cruel man, even more so than she's thought before. To enslave a fellow creature of the world--it was worse than being a Death Eater.
But in the end, all she could say was, "It's nothing, Professor."
His eyes never left hers, and she was too proud on this topic of justice to look away. But Snape wasn't your ordinary teacher, he seemed to read minds, and this was no exception. Maybe he knew her better than she thought, maybe he'd heard about S.P.E.W. Whatever it was, the conversation wasn't over yet.
"You dislike the notion that I own a house elf." He said slowly, his accent thick as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
That was it! Sitting to her full height, Hermione Granger took a deep breath and gave her most hated professor the death-glare of a lifetime. "Excuse me Professor Snape, but you do not own anything! No freethinking, loving, caring creature can ever be owned. You can spend time with them, love them, or even hate them, but you'll never truly own something that's sentient. So yes, Professor, I very much dislike the idea that you think you own anything, especially a house elf." She finished proud and determined, her voice clinging to the air about them like fog, thick and heavy.
She thought he'd sneer, instead he continued to stare at her. "Miss Granger, Wizarding Law states that house elves are servants, just as in the old days of human kind. As a muggle born, I'm sure you're aware of slavery."
Suddenly furious, Hermione stood, her chair tipping over in her haste. "Are you daring to suggest that slavery of human beings is justified in anyway, and thereby drawing a conclusion that it is perfectly acceptable to enslave house elves because of a horribly degrading stain on human history? How can you even suggest such a thing? Have you any idea what it's like to be a slave, what they go through?!"
Just as quickly, he rose, and even though he was a good five feet from her, he seemed to tower over her with his taller frame. When he spoke, his voice was haunted and his eyes blank. "Yes, Miss Granger, I know exactly what it is to be a slave. In fact, I know more than you will ever know yourself from reading ancient texts and holding freedom rallies."
He was right. Suddenly, the anger drained out of her, and Hermione saw that the man before her was just that, a man. He'd had his dignity stripped from him long ago, and all that remained was a puppet, strings being pulled both by Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore.
With his gaze so intensely blank, she couldn't bear to look at him any longer, and she turned away, busing herself with righting her chair and sitting back down. She didn't look at him, but when she heard him sit, she couldn't help but pose the question, "If that's true, if you know what it means, then how can you say you own another creature?"
He sighed, and the sound made her look up at him. He looked suddenly tired and perhaps a bit angry at himself. "Because, Miss Granger, that is the way things are."
"But--"
Snape shook his head. "No 'buts'. Some are made to be masters, others to be slaves, there is no getting around the programming we are born and raised with."
She shook her head. "No, I think your wrong Professor." She watched him closely to see how he'd react, but he simply looked at her. "If you were right, and we were simply stuck with the roles given to us at birth, I'd never be here, I'd never be in the wizarding world. Harry would never have been taken from it. And Morganna would have never become a world famous muggle singer.
"We're put on this earth to do something with our lives, to make a difference." She paused and looked at him, seeing she had his full attention. "I mean, well, people all over the wizarding world think your...well, think you're a Death Eater," she paused again to see how he'd take this conversation path, but when he again did nothing, she took that as her cue to continue. "But you're not. Your life is dedicated to changing the way people think, by eliminating Voldemort and bringing peace back to our world. You didn't just follow the path you'd been given, you made your own path. Something's you'll spend a lifetime paying for, spend a lifetime trying to change, but you made a difference, and that difference means that paths can be changed. And...and if paths can be changed, then wizards can learn to understand that house elves have feelings and emotions, and have every right to be free." She held his eyes, "Just like muggles realized with non-Anglo-Saxon human beings."
His gaze was penetrating, it was as if he could see into her very soul, weighing her words and her convictions behind them. He opened his mouth, no doubt words of wisdom beyond her years about to pour forth from a man who'd seen too much, lived too much; but in the end, his actions spoke louder than words ever could.
There was a popping sound from the vicinity of the fireplace, and Hermione turned just in time to see a large serving tray bound through the hearth before it clattered to the ground and a very pudgy, three foot high elf burst into the room and ran straight for Snape.
"Master Severus! Oh, Master Severus!"
Some men are born great, and others have greatness thrust upon them; whichever Severus Snape was, Hermione was now, more than ever, proud to know this incredible man.
The smile that broke across his stoic face was genuine, as was the large opening of his arms as he welcomed the elf that wept with happiness to see her master. "Nata," was all he said, but he took her into his arms and held her in a fierce hug that rendered Hermione breathless. It wasn't a pose you ever expected to see Severus Snape use--not ever.
"Oh, Master Severus, Nata has so much to tell you! Nata has been visiting all sorts of places, and she has brought back all kinds of stories to tell Master Severus and the twins!" The little elf hugged Severus once again. "It is so good to be getting home again though, sir, so good indeed. And I did what you told me, yes, sir, I even got a special something just for Nata, and it was a beautiful pair of mittens, in red and purple! Yous've been so proud of Nata, Master Severus, so proud of little Nata!"
That smile was still there, and Hermione could hardly prevent dying from seeing him bend his head and lightly kiss the top of the house elf's head. "I'm so pleased to hear that you had a good vacation Nata. It was one well deserved, and you should take them more often."
But Nata just shook her head. "Nata is thinking it was a good adventure, but she is even happier to be bringing Master Severus something to eat." Then, as if remembering, she ran back to the tray and lifted it high above her head before carrying it to Severus's desk. With a wiggle of her fingertips, the food--which had been jostled by the sudden drop when Nata had seen her master--instantly righted itself and split into portions for the two guests.
Having gotten to his feet, Severus walked to the desk and inspected the food. "Thank you, Nata, the selection is wonderful." Then he looked up, and caught Hermione's stunned expression. "Nata, I'd like you to meet Miss Hermione Granger."
The house elf turned then, and bestowed upon Hermione the most beautiful of smiles. "Dobby has told Nata much about you Miss Hermione. Dobby has said that you are friends with Harry Potter, and that you is trying to free the house elves." Nata moved towards Hermione and extended her hand to shake. "Nata is most happy to be making your acquaintance Miss Hermione, and if there is anything you'd be needing, Nata asks that you call upon her at any time."
She couldn't help it, with a smile, Hermione shook the elf's hand. "Thank you Nata, it's nice to know that not all the house elves hate me."
"Oh no," said Nata, shaking her head wildly as her little puppy ears shook as well, her large eyes growing even larger. "Oh no, Miss Hermione, not all the house elves hate you at all. In fact, Dobby and Nata went just last week, and only most of the elves hated you."
With a laugh, Hermione squatted down before Nata. "Well, that is good news. I'm very glad to hear that you had a lovely vacation, Nata. It's good to know that Dobby has some company in the kitchens as well."
And then, the funniest sight she'd ever seen in her life happened. With tan skin, house elves looked very drab, like the clothes they usually wore. But all at once, Nata's whole face turned a bright, neon pink and she covered her tiny nose and batted her eyelashes. "Well Miss Hermione...Nata is thinking it is very nice to have company with Dobby herself." And then with that and a puff of smoke, Nata disappeared in a way only house elves could--with wandless magic.
Slightly taken aback, Hermione turned to look at Severus and was rewarded with a smile and a twinkling of his eyes that suddenly reminded Hermione of Dumbledore. She stared at him openly for about five seconds before he shook his head and moved to sit at his desk. "Nata's a bit taken with Dobby as I'm sure you can tell."
Nodding, Hermione walked over to the desk, and then went back to drag a chair up along side. A million thoughts raced through her head all at once, but the one that stuck out the most was the one she voiced as Severus removed the cap from her Butterbeer. "You let her go on vacation."
He scoffed, not pausing in his task. "I demanded she take a vacation. The little thing would work herself to death if she could."
"But why?!" The question was irrational, completely and utterly, but Hermione couldn't help but ask it. "Why do they insist on killing themselves over their own enslavement?"
Severus all but shoved a plate into her hand, then sat back and ignored her question, munching on a bunch of grapes before taking a swig of his butterbeer. With no answers seemingly forthcoming, Hermione absently twirled her pasta using a fork and spoon.
"It's because," Severus broke the silence after another swallow of butterbeer, "they have nothing else." He held up his hand when Hermione tried to protest. "Hear me out. For a thousand years they've been mistreated, one after another. When the braver ones are born, like Dobby, they're immediately considered outcasts by wizards and their own kind. No one wants to be an outcast. So they fall in line, each doing what their parents did, and so on down the line of succession."
Hermione took a sip of her own butterbeer, shivering a little at the warming sensation that filled her throat and stomach. "But why don't they fight. They have a power no other creature in the world does, they can do wandless magic, real magic."
Severus shook his head. "They used to be much stronger, stronger than even wizards." He cocked an eyebrow at her when she stopped eating. "Didn't know that, did you?" He asked, and when she shook her head, he continued. "You won't find it in many books, in fact, you'll never find it in a book outside the restriction, restricted section. It's taboo to talk about it, and indeed most wizards don't even know about it."
And then he grabbed a bit of bread and took a bite. Hermione was on the edge of her seat, the fork full of pasta three inches from her open lips. She felt as if she was on the verge of learning some great mystery, of finally uncovering that which she'd needed to know for so long.
"Eat, Hermione, before it gets cold." Severus indicated the fork full of pasta, and it was to the credit of this great secret that Hermione didn't realize for a full week he'd called her Hermione instead of Miss Granger. "Xare Von Agerhine was the first wizard to enslave house elves. This you already know, but what you don't know is the reason why. Oh the books say he was annoyed with them, but that doesn't begin to describe what happened.
"It's rare you see, to find a house elf that could be considered normal looking, let alone beautiful, but long ago, elves, not house elves were beautiful creatures found only in the deepest of woods." He took another bite, and Hermione did as well, not wanting to break the spell that had come over Severus. "Xare was like most wizards, crude with newly developed wands. Simple spells were the best he could do, but the man was clever, and he set out to find an elf and get it to teach him more complicated spells.
"He traveled for many years, some accounts say nearly 20 before he found an elf dwelling. As he hid himself, he saw a beautiful elf taking her evening bath. No one knows what she looked like, only that her beauty was beyond belief. We know her name was Aquina, and she was the daughter of the elven price. There are many different accounts of what happened next, but suffice it to say Xare managed to kidnap Aquina and demanded that she teach him the advanced spells. Her life in danger, Aquina relented, and taught Xare everything she knew. The task took years, and during this time, Xare took advantage of Aquina and she bore a daughter, Nindy.
"But as Xare grew stronger, Nindy grew uglier. It seems elves and humans were never meant to breed together. Nindy grew so ugly that Xare could not bear to look at her, and threw her into the cellar and continued on with the lessons Aquina taught him. But Aquina was desperate to protect her daughter, and secretly taught her all the magic she could under the cover of night.
"When the time came, and Xare knew all Aquina could teach him, he threw her into the cellar as well and went back to the deep woods to find the other elves." Severus paused then and looked at Hermione, curious as to how she was handling the story. Whatever he saw, at least he continued.
"For the first time in many years Aquina was able to see her daughter, and the sight was so repulsive to her that she bore her own eyes out rather than see the monstrosity that had come from her own womb." When Hermione gasped, Severus paid her no mind. "But Nindy had become a strong magic user over the horrifying years, and she quickly freed herself and her mother. Then the two of them went to the deep woods to warn the other elves.
"But when they arrived, the elves were so horrified by the sight of Aquina and her grotesque daughter, that they turned the two away without ever hearing what they had to say." Severus shrugged, "Consequently, Xare arrived and quickly enslaved all the elves, who had no idea a human had obtained such magical powers.
"A private man with great ambition, Xare kept his conquest a secret, and silently moved from one deep wood to another, enslaving more and more of the unknowing elves. Jealous of the beauty of the male elves, he slaughtered them, and bedded the females, with the outcome always the same, deformed offspring.
"By this time in the story Aquina disappears. It is believed she died somehow. What we do know is that Nindy moved from deep wood to deep wood, searching for her kind, only to be turned away for her appearance. Finally, time and destiny caught up with her, and Nindy came to the deep wood of Britain, now called Sherwood Forrest of the famed Robinhood." He smiled when she blinked, "Oh yes, Miss Granger, there is more truth than fiction to the haunting of Sherwood Forrest, for you see, it was here the great race known as elves died out.
"Xare had come to enslave the last remaining group of elves, and Nindy, his now adult daughter, had come to save them. However, Nindy did something different this time, she cast a charm over herself to make her look like her mother. She hoped that with her appearance changed she'd have a chance to warn the elves and be heard. The problem was, Aquina was said to marry the prince of Sherwood Forrest, and when she disappeared the prince had become enraged. When he saw Nindy wearing the face of Aquina, he allowed his anger and embarrassment to impair his judgement, and he struck her down. When she tried to warn him anyway, he silenced her with magic. She was unable to warn them due to a prince's vanity, and because of that Xare came and slaughtered the males and enslaved the females."
"That...that's horrible." Her hands were shaking, and tears swam in her eyes for Nindy and the other elf females. "How-how could Xare do such a thing?"
"Power." It was one word, but it was enough.
Severus continued. "Xare rounded all the females up and was stunned to see who he thought was Aquina. Unable to speak, Nindy could not change her appearance, and so she was led to Xare's bedchamber. I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say Nindy became pregnant, and bore Xare a son named Edoss, who was even more grotesque than the other children born to Xare.
"Disgusted with the legions of deformed children, Xare decided to turn a profit. He sold his own children as slaves, and when his children ran out, sold the elf females as well. They were scattered across the globe, all but Nindy disguised as Aquina.
"Xare held a most cunning power, and with the threat of elves forever gone, he set out to teach wizards and witches the spells he'd learned from Aquina and the other helpless elf females. He became rich and powerful, a wizard looked up to by so many from his day and age. Later, he changed his name, and it is by that name that history records his deeds."
And then Severus was silent, staring into the bottle of butterbeer now empty in front of him. Horrified by the tale, Hermione found herself desperately wanting to know more, and praying she never heard another word. But in the end, she had to know.
"By what name did history record him, Professor?"
Severus shook his head and then turned to look her full in the eye, piercing darkness against calming brown.
"They called him Merlin, Miss Granger, the greatest wizard ever known."
Somehow, she'd known. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd been sure of it, and yet her stomach turned all the same as she thought about how often she's looked up to the bearded wizard of legend.
Shaking her head, half attempting to bore the tale out, she asked the burning question. "What happened to Nindy and her son?"
The smile that came to Severus's face then was sickening, and Hermione chose to look down at her food rather than at his face. "That is of course the purpose of this telling. Nindy, having been locked away in the cellar for all those years was without a stitch of education. What I mean is, she could neither read, nor write. Now think this through, Miss Granger. Had Nindy been able to write, could she not still have warned the last remaining clutch of elves? Could she not have warned them as she'd dedicated her life to doing?" He paused and waited, and still not looking at him, Hermione nodded. "So you see, Nindy herself, the first of the species we would call house elf had no education, and was therefore, the first of her kind to be likewise enslaved."
Slowly, her mind working overtime, Hermione's eyes rose to lock with those of Severus'. She shook her head as if to deny her own conclusions, but Severus nodded. "Yes Miss Granger, that which enslaves the race has nothing to do with their lack of conviction to be free, they simply do not understand the meaning of the word. They speak because man has taught them how, they do wandless magic because it is in their blood to do so, but other than that they know very little." He paused then, his eyes solid with conviction. "In other words, S.P.E.W. can do nothing for them, because they must want to be free before they can be, and to desire freedom means they must understand what it means.
"Do you understand, Miss Granger?"
Lunch all but forgotten, she stared openly at him, analyzing his words as her brain worked to calculate the sheer volume of the change he'd made in her life. Hesitantly, her mind still working, she answered. "You're saying...that the next step is not to...to get wizards to free the elves...but to get the elves to desire their own freedom."
"Yes," he said, sitting back in his chair. "But it's not so simple as that. You've tried for ages to get elves to take vacations and ask for compensation, and as Nata said, you're hated nearly Britain over. Therefore, if you cannot make house elves desire something by simply telling them about--"
"Then I need to make them understand what they're missing! That's it! That's what you mean, isn't it?"
A simple inclination of his head was all he offered, but it was enough. Suddenly it all fell into place. She couldn't force house elves to desire freedom, she'd have to show them what freedom was, in and over itself.
Pushing back from the desk and standing, she dragged the chair back to her desk and quickly picked up the next scroll to be graded. Her mind was split between grading the work and her new mission.
Without another word, Severus cleared the dishes and got back to work himself, using substantially less red ink as he continued.
An hour later, Hermione presented the graded basket of scrolls. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"
Eyeing her, Severus leaned back and contemplated her. "I think that's enough for one Saturday, Miss Granger. Be on time next week." And with that, he settled back into his chair and went back to grading papers.
But Hermione wasn't done. Clearing her throat, she got his attention. "Sir, I have just one more question." He nodded for her to continue. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed forward. "You never really answered my question about what happened to Nindy."
Severus smiled, as if to himself, "Nindy, was eventually sold like the rest of the house elves. However, Nindy had a taste of freedom in her, and she passed that freedom onto her children, and they passed it onto their children and so forth. Every now and again, an elf like Dobby is born, desiring more than what he has, but Nindy's offspring were all born that way. They are the elves that favor you, Miss Granger, the ones Nata and Dobby have encountered on their short excursions."
When Hermione left that day from Saturday detention, she knew something powerful had been born inside her. She'd changed due to a few hours with Severus Snape, a change that began a movement of unprecedented proportions.
Hermione drew a deep breath and then descended the staircase. All around her hung the portraits of thousands of people, each talking, laughing, and moving from frame to frame as she passed. A low murmur surrounded her, while the grinding of the shifting staircases sounded below. The red carpet at her feet was the path she followed mindlessly, her thoughts centered on her destination.
The Dungeon.
It was the first Saturday of the semester, and while Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws slept soundly, Hermione would be beginning the first of a long series of detentions with Professor Snape.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She stopped at the top of the third floor staircase and waited patiently for it to maneuver back into position. Her eyes strayed to a picture frame currently unoccupied. The foreground was of a beautiful garden, with columns of rosebushes and ornate benches along gravel paths. Everything in the garden seemed to glow with its own inner light. But in the background, hung black clouds, and the occasional flash of thunder lit the frame eerily. In her eyes it was the garden of Eden. Lush and alive, with the suffering of evil waiting--always waiting--for light's weakest moment.
A sudden and violent shake of the landing announced the staircase, and Hermione stepped off the platform and once again began her trek down. Five, ten, twenty steps to the next landing, and Hermione stepped onto the final staircase without thinking. But with a lurch the staircase moved, throwing her off balance so that she had to grab a hold of the banister as the usually slow moving stairs shifted at top speed to crash into the far wall. Loosing her footing, Hermione dropped to her seat, one foot slipping completely out from under her before she gained purchase on one of the steps.
Startled, she looked down the staircase before attempting to stand up. But with an earthquake like shake, the staircase had her once again firmly planted on her butt. Frustrated, she gave a great sigh. "You're going to make me late for detention. Now will you please right yourself so I can get going; or I'm not going to be able to get any breakfast first."
To her amazement, the staircase threw itself back and forth, almost as if it were shaking its head 'no'.
With a frustrated growl, Hermione looked over her shoulder trying to figure out where she'd ended up in this labyrinth of doorways. But all she saw was a solid wall, and yet more pictures. Grabbing a hold of the banister Hermione stood and walked back up to the platform she'd landed on. She was about to try once more to plead with the monstrous steps when another picture caught her attention; this one holding her violently still.
It was the same picture as the one above, only this one was reversed. The garden itself was nearly dead. The rosebushes were withered and decrepit, leaves drooping and falling, while dead blossoms fell onto the weed ridden path. Yet in the background the sun rose high and bright in the blue sky, while lazy, fluffy white clouds drifted across the panel. This picture had a small placard set into the frame bearing the pieces title, "Beauty's Garden".
She didn't understand why, but the picture made her decidedly uneasy, made her mind want to cry and laugh at the same time. This dead decrepit thing, this was Beauty's garden? How could that be? Nothing grew, nothing lived. It was simply dead, through and through.
Tension filled her body so that she stepped away from the picture, but the frame seemed to chase her, seemed to demand she pay attention. She took another step back, and bumped into someone rather tall and fuzzy. With a startled cry, Hermione swung around and found herself looking deeply into a pair of mirth filled eyes.
Dumbledore smiled down at her before indicating the painting. "You are not the first or the last to be confused by this painting, Miss Granger. It is a work of art that goes beyond the beauty of the drawing itself." He offered another smile and then stepped past her to touch the placard lightly with his wizened fingertips.
Curious and still a great deal weary of the picture, Hermione moved to the other side of the frame. "Sir, I saw the exact same picture on the third floor, only that one was reversed, the garden was alive and beautiful, but the sky was filled with storm clouds. Why would someone paint two opposite pictures like that and then only label this one."
Dumbledore regarded her curiously before turning to take her elbow and propelling them back onto the staircase. He then took out his wand and tapped the banister lightly. "Third floor, please." There was an empty second, and then the staircase was not only swinging back into place, but was rising upward, and as Hermione looked, each of Hogwart's seven staircases began to shift and float around, swinging left and right, up and down in a dance of stone and red carpet that at once held Hermione awed by the magic of this wondrous place.
With a final daring maneuver, the staircase settled onto the third floor landing. With her elbow still clutched warmly in his hand, Dumbledore escorted Hermione up onto the landing before they both looked pointedly at "Beauty's Garden"'s other half.
For a long time they stood and just looked at it in silence. The turbulent clouds, the lightly swaying rose blossoms; everything about this picture was in total opposition to the frame a floor below. Finally, Hermione shook her head. "It's like the artist got confused, like he painted one light and one dark painting and then cut them both in half before gluing them back together wrong."
Dumbledore looked down at her and offered a soft nod. "I thought much the same thing when I first saw these paintings. I couldn't for the life of me, fathom why someone would paint two pictures in such a completely opposite way." He paused, turning to face her. "One must ask themselves, why do this, why make this kind of statement. Have you any ideas, Miss Granger?"
Something in the back of her mind told her this was a trick, told her immediately she didn't have the knowledge base to answer such a complex question. But she also knew Dumbledore wasn't trying to make her feel foolish, only point her in the right direction.
With a shake of her head, Hermione admitted she had none. Then that warm hand was back, this time on her shoulder, and Hermione couldn't help but smile into those kind blue eyes. "Art is a highly personal thing, my dear. The meaning of art changes based on who is looking at it. I have often considered art one of the truest forms of magic." He looked back at the paining. "Would you care to hear my take on these particular pieces of work?"
Without hesitation Hermione nodded, and the Headmaster turned back once again to look at her; this time, his gaze was penetrating. "I have looked at these paintings again and again over the years, and I've come to the conclusion that the trick is in the word 'Garden'."
Puzzled, Hermione looked back at the painting, seeing the gorgeous flowers, and knowing that in its brother, the blossoms were black with death. "I-I don't understand, Professor."
But Dumbledore didn't answer, instead he placed his hand on the small of Hermione's back and urged her back towards the staircase and then down. They walked slowly together, down first the third and then second staircases before coming to the ground floor. With a gentle push, the Headmaster sent Hermione off towards the dungeons as he turned down the hallway towards the Great Hall.
Hermione was three feet from the large wooden archway leading to the dungeons before she turned around. "Professor Dumbledore," she watched as he turned around at her call. "Sir, sir, why is the word "Garden" so important?"
That twinkle was clearly visible before it dimmed. "It is important to me, Miss Granger, because I find myself wondering often, which parts of the paintings are the true gardens. Is it the flowers either dead or alive, or is it the sky, clear or filled with such rage? If I am seeing two different images of Beauty's Garden, would young Miss Beauty have preferred the flowers of the earth, or the clouds of the sky as her garden?" And then with another soft smile, Dumbledore turned and entered the Great Hall, leaving Hermione with much to think about.
Severus glanced at the clock and cursed softly before resuming his pacing once again. She was ten minutes late. A million scenarios raced through his head. Perhaps she'd gotten sick? Maybe she'd overslept? What if she'd been roped into another one of Potter's schemes and had been hurt? What if his Slytherins had attacked on her way down?
With a growl he looked again at the clock.
The dungeons were cold at nine in the morning, and he forced his pacing towards the fire to stoke it once again. He didn't often give weekend detentions; it was during this little amount of free time that he often spent talking to Morganna or even visiting her in America when he could get away. The rest of the time he engaged in his many passions, from potions to controlling his vast fortune.
Lately, he'd taken to thinking of her.
Slumping into his chair he considered his newest past time. It was no longer a weekend activity; no, now it was taking over nearly every waking moment. He thought about her as he readied for the day, he watched her at breakfast, during classes he wondered how she might have answered the questions he posed to the other students, lunch again found him watching her, between classes he worried that one of his Slytherins might attack her again, then it was back to dinner to watch her laugh and correct her merry gang. But the worst, the absolute worst, was that he dreamed about her.
His dreams were innocent enough. Most nights found them sitting together over a cup of tea discussing things he couldn't quite hear. Others involved props like chessboards or a potions set. In those dreams he didn't wear the glamour he'd created, his face was as it was meant to be, and she would often comment on it, little things he knew came from his own self-consciousness, "It's like I'm seeing you for the first time", "You look different tonight, Severus."
Severus, she always called him by his name in the dreams, and the way she said it—it was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Part of him knew it was his imagination, and he scoffed at the very idea that the cynical Professor Severus Snape could have an imagination, let alone one that produced a woman who made his name sound sinful, but the other part of him remembered that he'd once had the type of imagination to brew extraordinary bedtime stories that would have even Mellisson enrapture.
Then there was his dead wife.
Sighing, Severus stood and returned to pacing the classroom. When he wasn't thinking of her, he was thinking about Mellisson. Would she be furious? Would she blame him for dreaming about another? Part of him knew she wouldn't, that she'd have wanted him to move on, to be happy; and yet, some small hidden part of himself told him, that Mellisson—like all women—could say one thing, and mean another.
Pausing he turned to look at the door, willing Hermione to enter. To his very great surprise, she did just that.
Breathing heavily, Hermione burst into the room, throwing a look of guilty fear at him before lowering her gaze. Turning, she took hold of the door and slowly pushed it shut.
Suddenly, they were alone, the only two people in the room, the only two people who would ever know what went on. He felt that lightening streak of adrenaline race through him as he watched her bring a hand to her breast, still trying to catch her breath. His mouth went dry. It was such a strange feeling to have once again. He could remember watching Mellisson that first time out in the sun, and like now, the picture in his mind seemed to slow, so that he could catch every detail, from the way her hand lifted to brush back her hair, the way her robes parted a few inches when she drew those deep breathes, the way her lips parted as she swallowed, the way....
"You're late. Explain." Like a shield from his own inappropriate thoughts, his arms came up to cross over his chest, and he knew his face was like granite. It usually amused him to know that he could change his appearance so rapidly, but today it annoyed him, he didn't want to frighten her.
Strangely, she didn't seem to notice his change in demeanor, she drew one final deep breath and then squared her shoulders before walking towards him. Her voice was still a little breathless. "I'm sorry Professor Snape, the staircases trapped me on the way down, and then Professor Dumbledore saved me, but we noticed a painting on the wall and he insisted on going up to look at the other one, and then—well, I'm late. I ran as fast as I could, again, I'm sorry."
The staircases had trapped her and Albus had saved her? Something about that sounded very much like a set up to him. "What do you mean, the headmaster insisted that you look at a painting, didn't you tell him you were already late for detention?"
The glaring look she gave him, had him struggling hard to maintain his stoic face. She very nearly huffed as she answered. "I wasn't late when I came down, I was early even. I was going to eat breakfast when the staircases shuffled out of the way and I couldn't get down. Obviously I was a little upset, so I didn't think about checking the clock when Professor Dumbledore found me. Further, I didn't think it was my place to say anything when he insisted on going back up to the third floor to see the other painting."
His mind worked overtime with the information. When he came upon the answer, he groaned inwardly, but decided he might as well find out if Albus was truly interfering. "You said this 'other painting' was on the third floor, exactly, which painting were you referring too?"
Rightly so, she looked a little stunned by his question—since when did the horrible Professor Snape give a hippogriffs tail about art work—but after a moment of indecision she stated calmly, "Beauty's Garden."
He was SO going to kill that crazy, matchmaking, old coot!
"Fine," he said as he turned back towards his desk, not letting her see the burning color of his cheeks. "Do not be tardy again, Miss Granger or I will be forced to give you yet another weeks worth of detention to teach you how to tell time." Not that he wouldn't mind having her all to himself for seven more Saturdays, no that thought sounded fine to him, but she might, and if the huff she made was any indication, she minded quite a bit.
He decided to ignore her. "You will sit here," he said, indicating the desk directly in front of his own. Moving beyond, he rounded his own desk, and bent down to retrieve a basket of scrolls, each one tied with either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw colors. When he straightened up, he saw she was seated neatly in chair, her hands folded before her on the desk.
As a teacher, he was thankfully, not one of those men who found a young woman in a pleated school uniform even remotely attractive; he did however, find her tan dress slacks and cream colored sweater a bit distracting. With her black robes to outline her adult body, he found himself quickly turning his attention back to the basket of scrolls.
Part of him wanted to be cruel to her for making him feel this way, but it was a small part; the majority of him reveled in the ability to feel this way again, and was only slightly disappointed in the fact that he couldn't openly pursue her as he had Mellisson. On the other hand, he suddenly thought, it might fun to use his acquired Death Eater skills at subterfuge to get what he wanted, namely, Hermione Granger.
So many different ways to play the same game; so many different ways to win the prize.
With a smirk to himself, Severus dropped the basket onto the desk before her, watching her eyes dilate as she took in the dozens of scrolls. He cleared his throat, waiting until her eyes were once again on him; he was going to enjoy this.
"Before you is a stack of essays, you will grade them all before leaving. Do you have any questions?"
Her large brown eyes grew even larger. He could almost hear her mind working. When she finally managed to ask her question, it was with disbelief in her voice. "Sir, you...you want me to grade these essays?" She stressed the word grade.
He smiled down at her, and then quickly correct himself, when her eyes grew even larger. "I was under the impression, Miss Granger, that you took great pleasure in correcting your fellow students; it seemed to me, that you might enjoy this task." It was so hard not to smile again as she struggled not to appear too pleased with the fact that he was trusting her to grade a few papers—ah, but the best was yet to come.
"Yes Sir," she said, and then stumbled, realizing she'd all but admitted to being a know it all, before shaking her head, "I mean, no Sir." Then she realized she'd denied the task. Finally, she just grabbed the handles of the basket and pulled it towards her. "I'll get started, Professor."
He nodded, turning swiftly back to his desk to hide his smile as he retrieved a quill and bottle of red ink. Handing them to her, he returned to his desk and took out his own quill and ink set before reaching a hand into the pile of fifth year essays on enlargement potions, all the while watching as Hermione undid the first blue ribbon scroll.
Let the game begin.
She wasn't quite sure how to handle the new confidence that Snape seemed to have in her abilities. More than once he'd called her an insufferable know it all, and now he seemed to think she did know it all...or at least third year silencing potions.
Every now and then she'd look up from the scrolls she was grading to see if he was staring at her, to check and make sure he wasn't trying to catch her- -oh she didn't know--cheating some how, grading Hufflepuff papers wrong. But he never seemed to be looking at her, instead he continued to work meticulously over his own basket of scrolls. Every now and the he'd dip his quill into the bottle of red ink, but mostly he read with an every changing display of looks upon his face. Sometimes he wore no expression, while other times he scowled down at the papers in disgust--that was when he usually reached for the ink well. Every now and then he's nod his head, roll the scroll back up, and put it away. It was those lucky students that received Snape's approval. Hermione wondered if her scroll had been one of them.
Shaking her head slightly she returned to the task at hand. Reading through a scroll, she'd quickly assess the work before offering constructive criticisms and grading it before stacking it neatly in a pile beside her. She's had 45 to start, and with a stack nearly four rows high now, she was almost done.
"Miss Granger?"
Started at the sudden break in silence, Hermione jerked her head up to look directly into pitch black eyes. "Yes Professor?"
"I see you have not yet finished grading those scrolls." She nodded, there were still about 10 left in the basket. Snape gave a deep sigh and then stood. With his dark grace he moved to the glowing fireplace and tossed in a hand of powder. Dobby's head was immediately visible.
"Professor Snape Sir, what can Dobby be getting for you?"
Without sparing Hermione a glance, he gave his order. "A selection for two from this afternoon's lunch fairs, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Also, two butterbeers from the stores if you please, Dobby."
"Dobby is most pleased to be serving you, Professor Snape, Sir. But beggin' yer pardon Sir, Nata is wanting to bring you the food herself, Sir, if this is alright?"
Snape's back was to her, but Hermione had a very strange impression, that when the potions master answered in the affirmative, he might have been smiling when he said the words.
"Dobby will be telling Nata right away. Dobby knows Nata will be very happy to see her master." And with that, Dobby disappeared and the fire went from green to red.
Master.
The word hung over the room like a thick blanket. Even when Snape returned to his seat and continued to grade, Hermione felt sick to her stomach just hearing that word. She'd spent years trying to show people that elves were living, breathing, knowing creatures that deserved the respect of wizards the world over; not the back of their hand and scornful words.
She knew the whole history of the elves. How they'd once been a proud race of creatures but had been enslaved by a ruthless wizard nearly a thousand years ago. Now wizards and witches took them for granted, expecting elves to do their bidding, not caring that elves could feel or think for themselves, had dreams and desires, hopes and--
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"What?" Started out of her thoughts, Hermione looked up to find Snape watching her, his black eyes seeming to burrow into her soul. She wanted to tell him, wanted to yell and scream at him that he was a cruel man, even more so than she's thought before. To enslave a fellow creature of the world--it was worse than being a Death Eater.
But in the end, all she could say was, "It's nothing, Professor."
His eyes never left hers, and she was too proud on this topic of justice to look away. But Snape wasn't your ordinary teacher, he seemed to read minds, and this was no exception. Maybe he knew her better than she thought, maybe he'd heard about S.P.E.W. Whatever it was, the conversation wasn't over yet.
"You dislike the notion that I own a house elf." He said slowly, his accent thick as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
That was it! Sitting to her full height, Hermione Granger took a deep breath and gave her most hated professor the death-glare of a lifetime. "Excuse me Professor Snape, but you do not own anything! No freethinking, loving, caring creature can ever be owned. You can spend time with them, love them, or even hate them, but you'll never truly own something that's sentient. So yes, Professor, I very much dislike the idea that you think you own anything, especially a house elf." She finished proud and determined, her voice clinging to the air about them like fog, thick and heavy.
She thought he'd sneer, instead he continued to stare at her. "Miss Granger, Wizarding Law states that house elves are servants, just as in the old days of human kind. As a muggle born, I'm sure you're aware of slavery."
Suddenly furious, Hermione stood, her chair tipping over in her haste. "Are you daring to suggest that slavery of human beings is justified in anyway, and thereby drawing a conclusion that it is perfectly acceptable to enslave house elves because of a horribly degrading stain on human history? How can you even suggest such a thing? Have you any idea what it's like to be a slave, what they go through?!"
Just as quickly, he rose, and even though he was a good five feet from her, he seemed to tower over her with his taller frame. When he spoke, his voice was haunted and his eyes blank. "Yes, Miss Granger, I know exactly what it is to be a slave. In fact, I know more than you will ever know yourself from reading ancient texts and holding freedom rallies."
He was right. Suddenly, the anger drained out of her, and Hermione saw that the man before her was just that, a man. He'd had his dignity stripped from him long ago, and all that remained was a puppet, strings being pulled both by Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore.
With his gaze so intensely blank, she couldn't bear to look at him any longer, and she turned away, busing herself with righting her chair and sitting back down. She didn't look at him, but when she heard him sit, she couldn't help but pose the question, "If that's true, if you know what it means, then how can you say you own another creature?"
He sighed, and the sound made her look up at him. He looked suddenly tired and perhaps a bit angry at himself. "Because, Miss Granger, that is the way things are."
"But--"
Snape shook his head. "No 'buts'. Some are made to be masters, others to be slaves, there is no getting around the programming we are born and raised with."
She shook her head. "No, I think your wrong Professor." She watched him closely to see how he'd react, but he simply looked at her. "If you were right, and we were simply stuck with the roles given to us at birth, I'd never be here, I'd never be in the wizarding world. Harry would never have been taken from it. And Morganna would have never become a world famous muggle singer.
"We're put on this earth to do something with our lives, to make a difference." She paused and looked at him, seeing she had his full attention. "I mean, well, people all over the wizarding world think your...well, think you're a Death Eater," she paused again to see how he'd take this conversation path, but when he again did nothing, she took that as her cue to continue. "But you're not. Your life is dedicated to changing the way people think, by eliminating Voldemort and bringing peace back to our world. You didn't just follow the path you'd been given, you made your own path. Something's you'll spend a lifetime paying for, spend a lifetime trying to change, but you made a difference, and that difference means that paths can be changed. And...and if paths can be changed, then wizards can learn to understand that house elves have feelings and emotions, and have every right to be free." She held his eyes, "Just like muggles realized with non-Anglo-Saxon human beings."
His gaze was penetrating, it was as if he could see into her very soul, weighing her words and her convictions behind them. He opened his mouth, no doubt words of wisdom beyond her years about to pour forth from a man who'd seen too much, lived too much; but in the end, his actions spoke louder than words ever could.
There was a popping sound from the vicinity of the fireplace, and Hermione turned just in time to see a large serving tray bound through the hearth before it clattered to the ground and a very pudgy, three foot high elf burst into the room and ran straight for Snape.
"Master Severus! Oh, Master Severus!"
Some men are born great, and others have greatness thrust upon them; whichever Severus Snape was, Hermione was now, more than ever, proud to know this incredible man.
The smile that broke across his stoic face was genuine, as was the large opening of his arms as he welcomed the elf that wept with happiness to see her master. "Nata," was all he said, but he took her into his arms and held her in a fierce hug that rendered Hermione breathless. It wasn't a pose you ever expected to see Severus Snape use--not ever.
"Oh, Master Severus, Nata has so much to tell you! Nata has been visiting all sorts of places, and she has brought back all kinds of stories to tell Master Severus and the twins!" The little elf hugged Severus once again. "It is so good to be getting home again though, sir, so good indeed. And I did what you told me, yes, sir, I even got a special something just for Nata, and it was a beautiful pair of mittens, in red and purple! Yous've been so proud of Nata, Master Severus, so proud of little Nata!"
That smile was still there, and Hermione could hardly prevent dying from seeing him bend his head and lightly kiss the top of the house elf's head. "I'm so pleased to hear that you had a good vacation Nata. It was one well deserved, and you should take them more often."
But Nata just shook her head. "Nata is thinking it was a good adventure, but she is even happier to be bringing Master Severus something to eat." Then, as if remembering, she ran back to the tray and lifted it high above her head before carrying it to Severus's desk. With a wiggle of her fingertips, the food--which had been jostled by the sudden drop when Nata had seen her master--instantly righted itself and split into portions for the two guests.
Having gotten to his feet, Severus walked to the desk and inspected the food. "Thank you, Nata, the selection is wonderful." Then he looked up, and caught Hermione's stunned expression. "Nata, I'd like you to meet Miss Hermione Granger."
The house elf turned then, and bestowed upon Hermione the most beautiful of smiles. "Dobby has told Nata much about you Miss Hermione. Dobby has said that you are friends with Harry Potter, and that you is trying to free the house elves." Nata moved towards Hermione and extended her hand to shake. "Nata is most happy to be making your acquaintance Miss Hermione, and if there is anything you'd be needing, Nata asks that you call upon her at any time."
She couldn't help it, with a smile, Hermione shook the elf's hand. "Thank you Nata, it's nice to know that not all the house elves hate me."
"Oh no," said Nata, shaking her head wildly as her little puppy ears shook as well, her large eyes growing even larger. "Oh no, Miss Hermione, not all the house elves hate you at all. In fact, Dobby and Nata went just last week, and only most of the elves hated you."
With a laugh, Hermione squatted down before Nata. "Well, that is good news. I'm very glad to hear that you had a lovely vacation, Nata. It's good to know that Dobby has some company in the kitchens as well."
And then, the funniest sight she'd ever seen in her life happened. With tan skin, house elves looked very drab, like the clothes they usually wore. But all at once, Nata's whole face turned a bright, neon pink and she covered her tiny nose and batted her eyelashes. "Well Miss Hermione...Nata is thinking it is very nice to have company with Dobby herself." And then with that and a puff of smoke, Nata disappeared in a way only house elves could--with wandless magic.
Slightly taken aback, Hermione turned to look at Severus and was rewarded with a smile and a twinkling of his eyes that suddenly reminded Hermione of Dumbledore. She stared at him openly for about five seconds before he shook his head and moved to sit at his desk. "Nata's a bit taken with Dobby as I'm sure you can tell."
Nodding, Hermione walked over to the desk, and then went back to drag a chair up along side. A million thoughts raced through her head all at once, but the one that stuck out the most was the one she voiced as Severus removed the cap from her Butterbeer. "You let her go on vacation."
He scoffed, not pausing in his task. "I demanded she take a vacation. The little thing would work herself to death if she could."
"But why?!" The question was irrational, completely and utterly, but Hermione couldn't help but ask it. "Why do they insist on killing themselves over their own enslavement?"
Severus all but shoved a plate into her hand, then sat back and ignored her question, munching on a bunch of grapes before taking a swig of his butterbeer. With no answers seemingly forthcoming, Hermione absently twirled her pasta using a fork and spoon.
"It's because," Severus broke the silence after another swallow of butterbeer, "they have nothing else." He held up his hand when Hermione tried to protest. "Hear me out. For a thousand years they've been mistreated, one after another. When the braver ones are born, like Dobby, they're immediately considered outcasts by wizards and their own kind. No one wants to be an outcast. So they fall in line, each doing what their parents did, and so on down the line of succession."
Hermione took a sip of her own butterbeer, shivering a little at the warming sensation that filled her throat and stomach. "But why don't they fight. They have a power no other creature in the world does, they can do wandless magic, real magic."
Severus shook his head. "They used to be much stronger, stronger than even wizards." He cocked an eyebrow at her when she stopped eating. "Didn't know that, did you?" He asked, and when she shook her head, he continued. "You won't find it in many books, in fact, you'll never find it in a book outside the restriction, restricted section. It's taboo to talk about it, and indeed most wizards don't even know about it."
And then he grabbed a bit of bread and took a bite. Hermione was on the edge of her seat, the fork full of pasta three inches from her open lips. She felt as if she was on the verge of learning some great mystery, of finally uncovering that which she'd needed to know for so long.
"Eat, Hermione, before it gets cold." Severus indicated the fork full of pasta, and it was to the credit of this great secret that Hermione didn't realize for a full week he'd called her Hermione instead of Miss Granger. "Xare Von Agerhine was the first wizard to enslave house elves. This you already know, but what you don't know is the reason why. Oh the books say he was annoyed with them, but that doesn't begin to describe what happened.
"It's rare you see, to find a house elf that could be considered normal looking, let alone beautiful, but long ago, elves, not house elves were beautiful creatures found only in the deepest of woods." He took another bite, and Hermione did as well, not wanting to break the spell that had come over Severus. "Xare was like most wizards, crude with newly developed wands. Simple spells were the best he could do, but the man was clever, and he set out to find an elf and get it to teach him more complicated spells.
"He traveled for many years, some accounts say nearly 20 before he found an elf dwelling. As he hid himself, he saw a beautiful elf taking her evening bath. No one knows what she looked like, only that her beauty was beyond belief. We know her name was Aquina, and she was the daughter of the elven price. There are many different accounts of what happened next, but suffice it to say Xare managed to kidnap Aquina and demanded that she teach him the advanced spells. Her life in danger, Aquina relented, and taught Xare everything she knew. The task took years, and during this time, Xare took advantage of Aquina and she bore a daughter, Nindy.
"But as Xare grew stronger, Nindy grew uglier. It seems elves and humans were never meant to breed together. Nindy grew so ugly that Xare could not bear to look at her, and threw her into the cellar and continued on with the lessons Aquina taught him. But Aquina was desperate to protect her daughter, and secretly taught her all the magic she could under the cover of night.
"When the time came, and Xare knew all Aquina could teach him, he threw her into the cellar as well and went back to the deep woods to find the other elves." Severus paused then and looked at Hermione, curious as to how she was handling the story. Whatever he saw, at least he continued.
"For the first time in many years Aquina was able to see her daughter, and the sight was so repulsive to her that she bore her own eyes out rather than see the monstrosity that had come from her own womb." When Hermione gasped, Severus paid her no mind. "But Nindy had become a strong magic user over the horrifying years, and she quickly freed herself and her mother. Then the two of them went to the deep woods to warn the other elves.
"But when they arrived, the elves were so horrified by the sight of Aquina and her grotesque daughter, that they turned the two away without ever hearing what they had to say." Severus shrugged, "Consequently, Xare arrived and quickly enslaved all the elves, who had no idea a human had obtained such magical powers.
"A private man with great ambition, Xare kept his conquest a secret, and silently moved from one deep wood to another, enslaving more and more of the unknowing elves. Jealous of the beauty of the male elves, he slaughtered them, and bedded the females, with the outcome always the same, deformed offspring.
"By this time in the story Aquina disappears. It is believed she died somehow. What we do know is that Nindy moved from deep wood to deep wood, searching for her kind, only to be turned away for her appearance. Finally, time and destiny caught up with her, and Nindy came to the deep wood of Britain, now called Sherwood Forrest of the famed Robinhood." He smiled when she blinked, "Oh yes, Miss Granger, there is more truth than fiction to the haunting of Sherwood Forrest, for you see, it was here the great race known as elves died out.
"Xare had come to enslave the last remaining group of elves, and Nindy, his now adult daughter, had come to save them. However, Nindy did something different this time, she cast a charm over herself to make her look like her mother. She hoped that with her appearance changed she'd have a chance to warn the elves and be heard. The problem was, Aquina was said to marry the prince of Sherwood Forrest, and when she disappeared the prince had become enraged. When he saw Nindy wearing the face of Aquina, he allowed his anger and embarrassment to impair his judgement, and he struck her down. When she tried to warn him anyway, he silenced her with magic. She was unable to warn them due to a prince's vanity, and because of that Xare came and slaughtered the males and enslaved the females."
"That...that's horrible." Her hands were shaking, and tears swam in her eyes for Nindy and the other elf females. "How-how could Xare do such a thing?"
"Power." It was one word, but it was enough.
Severus continued. "Xare rounded all the females up and was stunned to see who he thought was Aquina. Unable to speak, Nindy could not change her appearance, and so she was led to Xare's bedchamber. I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say Nindy became pregnant, and bore Xare a son named Edoss, who was even more grotesque than the other children born to Xare.
"Disgusted with the legions of deformed children, Xare decided to turn a profit. He sold his own children as slaves, and when his children ran out, sold the elf females as well. They were scattered across the globe, all but Nindy disguised as Aquina.
"Xare held a most cunning power, and with the threat of elves forever gone, he set out to teach wizards and witches the spells he'd learned from Aquina and the other helpless elf females. He became rich and powerful, a wizard looked up to by so many from his day and age. Later, he changed his name, and it is by that name that history records his deeds."
And then Severus was silent, staring into the bottle of butterbeer now empty in front of him. Horrified by the tale, Hermione found herself desperately wanting to know more, and praying she never heard another word. But in the end, she had to know.
"By what name did history record him, Professor?"
Severus shook his head and then turned to look her full in the eye, piercing darkness against calming brown.
"They called him Merlin, Miss Granger, the greatest wizard ever known."
Somehow, she'd known. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd been sure of it, and yet her stomach turned all the same as she thought about how often she's looked up to the bearded wizard of legend.
Shaking her head, half attempting to bore the tale out, she asked the burning question. "What happened to Nindy and her son?"
The smile that came to Severus's face then was sickening, and Hermione chose to look down at her food rather than at his face. "That is of course the purpose of this telling. Nindy, having been locked away in the cellar for all those years was without a stitch of education. What I mean is, she could neither read, nor write. Now think this through, Miss Granger. Had Nindy been able to write, could she not still have warned the last remaining clutch of elves? Could she not have warned them as she'd dedicated her life to doing?" He paused and waited, and still not looking at him, Hermione nodded. "So you see, Nindy herself, the first of the species we would call house elf had no education, and was therefore, the first of her kind to be likewise enslaved."
Slowly, her mind working overtime, Hermione's eyes rose to lock with those of Severus'. She shook her head as if to deny her own conclusions, but Severus nodded. "Yes Miss Granger, that which enslaves the race has nothing to do with their lack of conviction to be free, they simply do not understand the meaning of the word. They speak because man has taught them how, they do wandless magic because it is in their blood to do so, but other than that they know very little." He paused then, his eyes solid with conviction. "In other words, S.P.E.W. can do nothing for them, because they must want to be free before they can be, and to desire freedom means they must understand what it means.
"Do you understand, Miss Granger?"
Lunch all but forgotten, she stared openly at him, analyzing his words as her brain worked to calculate the sheer volume of the change he'd made in her life. Hesitantly, her mind still working, she answered. "You're saying...that the next step is not to...to get wizards to free the elves...but to get the elves to desire their own freedom."
"Yes," he said, sitting back in his chair. "But it's not so simple as that. You've tried for ages to get elves to take vacations and ask for compensation, and as Nata said, you're hated nearly Britain over. Therefore, if you cannot make house elves desire something by simply telling them about--"
"Then I need to make them understand what they're missing! That's it! That's what you mean, isn't it?"
A simple inclination of his head was all he offered, but it was enough. Suddenly it all fell into place. She couldn't force house elves to desire freedom, she'd have to show them what freedom was, in and over itself.
Pushing back from the desk and standing, she dragged the chair back to her desk and quickly picked up the next scroll to be graded. Her mind was split between grading the work and her new mission.
Without another word, Severus cleared the dishes and got back to work himself, using substantially less red ink as he continued.
An hour later, Hermione presented the graded basket of scrolls. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"
Eyeing her, Severus leaned back and contemplated her. "I think that's enough for one Saturday, Miss Granger. Be on time next week." And with that, he settled back into his chair and went back to grading papers.
But Hermione wasn't done. Clearing her throat, she got his attention. "Sir, I have just one more question." He nodded for her to continue. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed forward. "You never really answered my question about what happened to Nindy."
Severus smiled, as if to himself, "Nindy, was eventually sold like the rest of the house elves. However, Nindy had a taste of freedom in her, and she passed that freedom onto her children, and they passed it onto their children and so forth. Every now and again, an elf like Dobby is born, desiring more than what he has, but Nindy's offspring were all born that way. They are the elves that favor you, Miss Granger, the ones Nata and Dobby have encountered on their short excursions."
When Hermione left that day from Saturday detention, she knew something powerful had been born inside her. She'd changed due to a few hours with Severus Snape, a change that began a movement of unprecedented proportions.