Chapter Eight: The Other Meaning of Mistletoe
"Enough. Today we start with the Imperius curse."
Hermione's stomach did a flip. "Sir?" she asked, bewildered by the sudden shift in topic from preparing to go on the run from the Ministry to learning to cast Unforgivables. She had just begun to think of the preparations she would need to do over the holidays before Snape's segue, and how to raise the question that had been on her mind.
"What?" Snape asked impatiently.
Hermione fiddled with the edge of her sweater. "Isn't the Imperius Curse kind of...an Unforgivable?"
"How astute of you to notice," Snape said, voice lacking his usual bite. "What else can you tell me about it?"
Hermione peered closer at her professor, and noticed that his hair was lanker and greasier than usual, and the circles under his eyes seemed darker than they had been before. "It requires a lot of magical power and you have to be very intent on bending someone else's will to yours…"
"Reading up on the Dark Arts in your spare time, are you?"
"That's not—" Hermione spluttered. "It was assigned reading for class!"
"So it was," Snape said. He closed his eyes for a moment as his jaw clenched, before his face relaxed itself again.
"Sir...are you alright?" Hermione asked.
"That is none of your concern." The muscles of his jaws tightened again, making the already angular planes of his face stand out even more. "It seems you have a solid understanding of the theory behind the curse. I will not be teaching you how to cast Unforgivables, as exciting as that would be, and I do not want you practicing them either. I want you, however, to have a very extensive understanding of how the curse works and how to dispel it, and be prepared to use it in a worst-case scenario. Even a poorly cast Imperio can be effective if powered properly."
Hermione sagged in relief. Despite everything they'd done, she didn't think she was up for casting Unforgivables anytime soon, not even in the name of the greater good.
"Do you know how to fight off the Imperius curse?"
"No," she said. "I never managed it in Moody's class."
"Do you know why Potter managed it when you couldn't?" he asked, phrasing his question in such a way that it was not an insult for once.
"Because he's magically stronger than I am?" she asked, unsure.
"Wrong. He fights off the Imperius curse because he is so very convinced of his own ideas that he would never let his will be bent to that of others. His conviction, or rather, his thick skull, is what protects him where others fail." Snape sneered.
"So...I should...have more conviction?" Hermione asked, brows furrowed.
"You do not have the same kind of self-belief that Potter does, so you cannot fight off the Imperius with mere conviction alone. But you can protect yourself with Occlumency—find a place deep within yourself, and bury your most treasured secrets, so that if someone puts you under the Imperius a part of your mind will remain protected and desperate to fight for what is yours when you are ordered to go against your will," he said.
Hermione's lips parted in surprise. Her mind briefly wondered what sorts of things Snape would bury as his most treasured secrets before she resolutely turned away from that topic.
Snape cleared his throat. "You will find the relevant sections in your Occlumency text. I will not be casting the Imperius curse on you," he said. "I do not think you will need it, though we can practice your mental defence skills with the Confundus once you have done the required reading and exercises."
"All right," she whispered, disappointed and relieved at the same time.
"That's all for today. Do you have any questions?"
Hermione gathered her nerves. "I would like to learn healing and counter curses," she said, and waited for a response.
"Have you not been studying the texts?" Snape asked.
"I have—but I think I would really benefit from hands-on study, especially if we're going to be on the run and if it might not be safe to go to a hospital. I need to know how to do things right the first time fast if someone ever gets hurt in combat," she said, hands clutching her uniform.
Professor Snape looked at her with a pained expression on his face but didn't say anything for a moment. "I have no time to teach you such things. But I will see what I can do," he said. "Is there anything else?"
"N-no sir," she stammered. She had wanted to ask more about how to prepare for the upcoming year on the run, but realised that Snape was reaching his limit for the day. She could find out everything else she needed to know through research and list making. "Thank you. Goodnight, Professor Snape."
Snape said nothing to her evening farewell as usual, but Hermione could've sworn she heard a faint "goodnight" right before the heavy wooden door to the classroom closed.
"Severus, how good to see you," Dumbledore rasped.
"Albus," Severus greeted, and sat down on the gaudy jewel-coloured loveseat Dumbledore indicated for him to sit on. They were in the Headmaster's study—a room off the side of the office without portraits, lined to the ceiling with books, furnished with a garish purple and teal sofa and loveseat set.
Severus cleared his mind and found himself hiding memories from the Headmaster for the first time since he had started working for him. He hid his memories of his time spent with Granger deep within his mind, hidden behind layers of memories of sleepless nights and mind-numbing marking. He took care especially to conceal the conflicted feelings he had that came about from Granger's conversations.
"Tea?" Dumbledore indicated the jade green tea set before them with his withered hand, seemingly entirely unaware of Severus' inner struggles.
Severus nodded, then poured them both cups of black tea. He downed his in a few gulps and poured himself another. Tea did nothing for him at this point, but everything was worse without caffeine and Dumbledore never served coffee.
After he finished drinking, he gestured for Dumbledore to give him his hand. The Headmaster stretched his cursed hand, a faint tremor visible in his fingers. Severus studied the blackened flesh, noting that Dumbledore's fingers looked skinnier and more claw-like compared with the last time he had seen them, and the greying of his flesh went further up Dumbledore's arm.
"How long, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.
Severus resisted the urge to grip his hand tighter. "Not long now. Perhaps six months, eight if we're lucky," he said.
"Good, good," Dumbledore said. Severus felt the tension in his shoulders increase.
"Good?" he asked.
"Everything is going according to schedule," Dumbledore said.
"And what is this schedule?" Severus asked, fully expecting a non-answer.
"All in due time my boy, all in due time," Dumbledore said, inscrutable as ever.
"And how are Potter's lessons going?" Severus asked again, resigning himself to another non-answer.
"Very well, but you know not to ask about those." Dumbledore shot Severus a pointed look.
Severus inclined his and poured himself another cup of tea.
"What are your holiday plans this year?" Dumbledore asked, as if Severus ever had any.
"The same thing I do every year, I imagine," Severus said dryly. "Return to my coffin and hibernate until everyone stops being so bloody cheerful."
"Severus," Dumbledore said reproachfully.
"Albus," Severus mocked. Then he straightened up. "In all likelihood I will be visiting the Malfoys for their annual Christmas celebration, as you well know." He did not mention his plans to hide away Hermione Granger's parents.
Dumbledore shot him a penetrating look. "Take care to keep track of what Lord Voldemort is doing, especially how he treats his snake."
"His snake?" Severus was taken aback.
"Yes, his snake," Dumbledore said, and left it at that.
Hermione looked at herself critically in the mirror. Blonde did not suit her, no surprise given her winter pallor, but she felt like she had done a convincing job of Transfiguring her normally dark brown hair into a light shade of blonde. McGonagall had taught them how to Transfigure their eyebrows to different colours in class the previous week; Hermione thought the magic had potential as a disguise. It wouldn't hold to close scrutiny, as she looked the same as she ever did, but it was a good foray into Human Transfiguration.
Her hands shook as she pointed her wand at herself—it always made her nervous to cast at herself—and spelled her nose larger. The effect was not...horrible. She definitely looked different. She was still somewhat recognizable if she squinted, though, and that wouldn't do. Taking a deep breath, Hermione focused on holding her hand steady through the wand movements and changed the shape of her cheeks. There. Now she looked markedly different.
Emerging slowly from the girl's bathroom, Hermione headed to the library to study and see if anybody would recognise her or question her.
She had just seated herself when Luna approached her.
"Hermione! There you are!" Luna exclaimed, flopping down into a cushy armchair. Luna peered quizzically at her face.
"Look! Our hair colour matches today!" she exclaimed. "Should I change my hair too some other time? I haven't learned yet, but I'm sure you can teach me."
Hermione sighed. She hadn't expected to be found out so soon.
"What a pleasant surprise! I'm...practicing for Transfiguration class," she half-fibbed. It could count as practice for the Transfiguration NEWT she might not take. "How did you know it was me?"
"You've got a very definite pattern to the Wrackspurts that fly around you," Luna stated matter-of-factly. "And the way you sit. You always tilt your body in a certain way and fold your arms just so."
"I see," Hermione said helplessly, then cast a Finite at herself. The tight and tingly sensation of Transfiguration on her skin stopped immediately, and the small headache she had been developing vanished.
"Much better," Luna said. "I don't think that shade of blonde was your colour. You should try black next."
Hermione coughed at the mental image, a little disturbed to imagine herself with the larger nose and black hair, then pulled her textbooks out. They had been reading for some time when Hermione heard someone sit down next to her.
"Oh, hi Harry," she said, looking up from her book.
"Studying?" he asked, pulling out his copy of the Daily Prophet, as well as what looked like the beginnings of a Charms essay Hermione knew was due in four hours. Hermione decided not to comment on it. Harry had to learn to do his own homework at some point, even if she knew she would cave in and help him correct his essay last minute as she always did.
"What's that?" she asked, a line from the newspaper catching her eye.
"The Heartbreaking Life of the Half-Blood" read the headline. The accompanying article detailed an anonymous half-blood's experience with having a Muggle mother who viewed magic as "unnatural", "evil", and "trickery", called them a "freak" during their entire childhood, and abandoned their family after a few years of increasing hostility towards any sort of magic. The article interviewed the heartbroken husband, who said marrying a Muggle had been "a mistake", and included an odd line that jumped at Hermione's attention. "The ministry never sent Obliviators after her."
"Rubbish, complete rubbish," Hermione muttered angrily, slamming the paper down on the table.
"What's rubbish?" Harry asked. Luna briefly looked up from her copy of the Quibbler but did not otherwise comment.
"This article! It's—it's ridiculous what lies they make up about Muggles! Someone at the Daily Prophet has an anti-Muggle agenda and it's working. Do you know what Ernie Macmillan asked me in Potions the other day?" Hermione whispered furiously, not wanting their conversation overheard.
"What?" Harry asked, a little taken aback.
"He asked if my parents still liked me even though I was a witch! That's preposterous—"
"Is it, though?" Harry asked quietly.
Hermione swelled with indignation. "How could you even ask that?"
"The Dursleys hate me because I'm a wizard," Harry said uncomfortably.
"Oh, Harry." Hermione cooled down immediately. "I'm so sorry—"
"It doesn't matter, because I know not all Muggles are like that," Harry added quickly.
"But not everyone else in the wizarding world knows," said Hermione. Luna shifted in her seat, but still did not comment.
Hermione looked from the Daily Prophet to Luna, who was sitting quietly behind the Quibbler.
"Luna…" Hermione started. Luna put aside her paper and tilted her head to the side, indicating that she was listening. "Could I ask you for a favour? I've got an idea—"
"I'll ask daddy," said Luna before she could finish.
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it. "I didn't even finish what I was saying," she said.
"You got the same look on your face the last time you wanted to publish an article in The Quibbler," Luna said, serene as ever.
"Yes...well...thanks, Luna." Hermione felt unbalanced by how well Luna knew her, though she was grateful to the other girl.
A small smile reached Luna's lips. She shrugged her shoulders and took The Prophet from Hermione, and flipped to the very back page, which featured an article about Celestina Warbeck's latest Christmas album, Have Yourself a Magical Little Christmas.
Hermione thought of her plans before the holidays, and thought grimly it was going to be a thoroughly magical Christmas for her.
Severus peered at Granger over his steepled fingers. A faint metallic tang filled the chill air of the dungeons. Three cauldrons of Blood Replenisher bubbled around her, and her potions-making was ever as precise and uninspired as it always was, though he supposed she would have been hard-pressed to improve upon his own modifications.
He waited for her to finish the active steps of brewing before he cleared his throat.
"Miss Granger. I have good news and bad news for you," he said.
"Yes, sir?" She looked up from the directions in her hands.
"The good news is that false Muggle identities for your parents have been arranged with my acquaintance, and I have done so in a manner that did not reveal the true identity of your parents, so we will not have to Obliviate him." Severus paused. "I have also taken it upon myself to liaise with another acquaintance to change the age on your Muggle identification and in the relevant government systems so when your parents pass on, you may inherit as an adult with no need for a guardian."
Granger's eyes widened comically. "I—thank you, sir—I can't believe I didn't think of that—"
"Don't thank me. It'll cost you 1000 galleons for all of this," Severus said, interrupting her babbling.
"Of course—I'll pay you back as soon as I can get my inheritance. What's the bad news?"
"The bad news is that there has been an order for the Death Eaters to find your family." Severus paused, as she took this news in. His mind immediately flashed to Hannah Abbott's drawn face when she had received news of her mother's death, and how the Hufflepuff had not yet recovered from the news, though it had only been two months.
"However, as it is so close to Christmas, even the Death Eaters will not be out looking for your parents in full force, and their property is protected enough. But you will need to be ready to send them away as soon as possible," he said, expression guarded. He did not think it was likely her parents would be found within two weeks, as most of the Death Eaters were planning on breaking their fellow brethren out of Azkaban, but nothing was certain during a war.
Granger took a shaky breath and looked as if she was struggling to compose herself. "I can do that. Would you be able to help me over Christmas break?"
"Yes. It would be to my utter delight to break half a dozen wizarding laws with you, Miss Granger," Severus responded, utterly deadpan. He was surprised to find that he meant it to some extent.
Instead of looking offended at what he had said, Granger only smiled at him in turn. It was unnerving. People did not smile at Severus Snape, unless they were part of the Hogwarts staff (who were arguably not of sound mind) or trying to curry favour with him. Severus ignored the uncomfortable feeling blooming in his chest, and returned to his lesson plan for countering explosive hexes.
Severus hated parties. He hated them when he had been shunned and ignored at Slughorn's Slug Club parties back in his school days; he hated them when he was a Death Eater and learning his social graces from the Malfoys, forced to socialise by both his masters for "teamwork" purposes; and he hated them as an adult, forced to endure students attempting to ingratiate themselves with him when they were hopeless in the classroom. He bore the least amount of socialising as best he could and hoped there would be useful intelligence from one of the guests.
Even people-watching was extra tedious at this party, though occasionally he did see something mildly interesting. His sour expression nearly turned to one of surprise when he saw Granger enter the party with Cormac McLaggen of all people. The boy appeared to be holding her firmly by the waist, and she was squirming in an attempt to put space between the two of them. Severus stopped watching when Granger escaped McLaggen's clutches from underneath a bunch of mistletoe, and he returned to silently observing the other guests.
He was eavesdropping into Eldred Worple's conversation with Sanguini about recent vampire movements when Slughorn grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip to spin him face-to-face with his least favourite person.
"Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" hiccoughed Slughorn happily. "I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!"
Snape enjoyed the look of intense discomfort that came over the boy's face at this exclamation, then narrowed his eyes at Potter. "Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."
It was surprising the boy was even capable of following written instructions. He wondered just how thorough his annotations in his old Potions text were to turn Potter from a passable Potions student to an outstanding one.
"Well, then, it's natural ability!" shouted Slughorn. "You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, the Draught of Living Death—never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don't think even you, Severus—"
"Really?" said Severus quietly. It figured Slughorn's memory would be so biased as to remember that Potter's efforts could ever overtake his own, even when they were using the same methods. His own methods.
Slughorn seemed to sense his displeasure, because then he changed the subject to what courses the boy wonder was taking. Severus barely paid any attention to the conversation, making socially acceptable yet derisive remarks when necessary, briefly noting Luna Lovegood had made another one of her outrageous statements when a commotion by the door caught his attention.
Draco was being dragged in by Argus Filch.
The boy looked distinctly ill, and not dressed to socialise. He gave an obviously fake excuse that he was party-crashing, and Severus watched with barely concealed disgust when Draco's pretence of sucking up to Slughorn worked. Though it was good Slughorn was so soft on the Slytherins. Someone had to be.
Severus hated to ruin the party (except he didn't), but he saw an excellent opportunity to force Draco to speak with him.
"I'd like a word with you, Draco," he said.
"Now, now, Severus," said Slughorn, hiccoughing again, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard—"
"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be," Severus said curtly. He knew as a former Head Slughorn would respect this excuse, despite how lenient he liked to be. "Follow me, Draco."
Severus could feel Draco's resentment as he followed him down the hallways a short way into an empty classroom.
Severus whirled around in the gloom of the empty classroom and studied Draco's face. There were dark circles under Draco's eyes, and his skin had an unhealthy grey tinge.
"What do you think you are doing?" Severus asked quietly.
"Nothing. I was crashing a party, like I said," Draco replied with a defiant tilt of his chin.
"You know what I mean. I was referring to the Bell incident. You cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled—" Draco was dead if he was expelled.
"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?"
"I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it." Severus did not add those suspicions had come from Potter, because even Draco had enough sense to discredit that.
Severus then tried to probe the boy's thoughts but found himself blocked. The resulting conversation in which he tried to gauge the boy's thoughts on the Dark Lord and his plan was as fruitless as ever, and then Severus lost all patience when Draco said Defence Against the Dark Arts was a joke class. Draco, of all people, should have known the importance of the class.
Severus snapped. "...Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance on assistants like Crabbe and Goyle—"
"...I've got other people on my side, better people!"
"Then why not confide in me, and I can—"
"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"
Severus paused again. Technically, what Draco had said was true, not that he would ever admit it. But it was for the boy's own good. "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you,"—for fuck's sake child open your eyes and see what being a Death Eater does to you, he thought—"but—"
At this, Draco opened his mouth furiously, seemed to think better of it, then stormed out of the room.
Severus let out a slow exhale. The entire conversation could have gone better, but he knew the chances of reaching through to the boy had been slim.
He then straightened up and went back to the party. He did not want to, but he could not disappear without making his excuses to Slughorn, and at the moment he had none.
The party was more unbearable than it was before. Already, he had been accosted by two students who wanted to make small talk. Severus' head hurt; he had been stretched thin; he had given Granger time off from brewing to prepare for her exams so he had to brew on top of his teaching duties, spying, and watching after Potter and Draco Malfoy. He wanted to leave, but as ambivalent as he felt about Slughorn the man had encouraged his career when he had been younger, and he felt obligated enough to make the appearance of caring about the Slytherin patronage system.
"Professor Snape! I didn't see you earlier. I've found Defence is finally interesting this year—" Oh for the love of—
It was McLaggen. Severus gave him a curt nod and hoped the boy would get the message and leave him alone, but he had no such luck. He scowled at McLaggen as the boy babbled about how there were many distinguished Aurors in his family background, and how he knew he had the talent to be one himself. He normally disliked the arrogant boy but found him more distasteful than usual this evening. The Slytherin boys in his year may have been children to evil mass-murderers but at least they had manners around women. The boy's habit of shoving appetisers into his mouth and talking before barely swallowing was also quite unseemly.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
While the boy regaled him with tales of a distant relative who had invented a potion that dealt with male pattern baldness, Severus slipped a few drops of Essence of Ipecac onto McLaggen's appetiser plate (he would've been a poor excuse for a Potions Master if he didn't carry something that allowed him a quick get-away from dull parties, after all) and watched in heavily veiled anticipation as the boy ingested the poisoned dragon tartare.
McLaggen immediately vomited on Severus' shoes.
"You've just earned yourself one month of detentions," Severus sneered, not an ounce of the delight he was feeling on the inside showing on his face. It was easy to pretend as the smell was truly foul. The boy looked at him with an expression of dumbfounded disbelief, before he nodded jerkily and rushed out the door, hand covering his mouth.
Poisoning McLaggen felt even more satisfying than his original plan of poisoning the next student who said they wanted to keep in touch after graduation, and gave him a convenient excuse to leave the party.
He relished the look of disgust on Slughorn's face when he informed the clearly inebriated man the vomit on his shoes was from McLaggen. He hinted the boy had perhaps had too much to drink and watched Slughorn's face darken at the idea of students imbibing excessively at his own party, the drunken hypocrite.
Severus vanished the vomit immediately after stepping out from the party, and was softly stalking down the draughty dungeon corridors to his chambers when he found the door of one of the abandoned classrooms left ajar.
Mood perking up at the prospect of deducting house points for possible illicit activity, Severus was disappointed when instead he found a dejected-looking Hermione Granger sitting in a corner. He opened his mouth for a moment, before he thought better of it and strode away.
AN: Hey all! Thank you all for the reviews, and I hope your holiday season doesn't get too hectic! Also to the guest who encouraged me not to give up don't worry - I've got 26 chapters of this baby written and have no intentions of not finishing this (I have wanted to write something like this since Deathly Hallows came out, and I am really looking forward to the ending of this fic), but thank you for the kind and encouraging words! :)