VODDLEMORT

This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.

A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. I think some of you read too much into a couple of half-smiles and a little understanding. Well you'll see in this chapter...

Hermione and her mother were cleaning breakfast away when the Hogwarts owl arrived. With trembling hands, Hermione replaced the small stack of floral-patterned yellow plates on the redwood table and sat down with a thump on a conveniently placed matching chair. One hand pressed against her mouth as the dignified barn owl landed in front of her and extended a claw holding a rolled-up parchment tied with a red ribbon. A crust of toast was within easy reach of its beak. Peck, peck.

"Well, go on. Open it," her mother, a straight-nosed brunette with humorous eyes and an obstinate chin, encouraged her.

"It's my N.E.W.T.s," Hermione muttered.

"Of course it is, dear. You knew they were coming today." Mrs. Granger turned on the tap and poured in some dish detergent. The sink began to fill. "You've faced a basilisk and fought gangs of Death Eaters. Surely you're not more frightened of a little piece of paper."

Hermione took the missive and offered its bearer a shred of smoked salmon. She'd seen owls fishing on a TV documentary a few weeks earlier. It seemed to like it rather better than toast. She shredded a whole slice and began to hand-feed it.

"But this is my future, Mum. What if I've failed?" she worried.

"If the basilisk or your Dark Lord had had their way –"

"Not my Dark Lord!"

"– You wouldn't have had a future! You have to read it sooner or later. It might as well be now."

"Yes, Mum," Hermione sighed. She offered the last piece to the bird, then shooed it away, "Thanks, you'd better be off now."

It ruffled all its feathers and fixed a greedy eye on her.

"There isn't any more. Off with you."

A rather disgruntled owl flew away, leaving the slight bushy-haired girl pulling off the ribbon. Her mother turned off the tap and came over to the table.

"How did you do?"

She picked up the discarded plates as her daughter turned her a face glowing with relief.

"It's OK, mum. It's all Os!"

"What else did you expect? Have you ever got less?"

"There was that time in the O.W.L.s when the astronomy exam was interrupted. I only got a conceded O for that."

"Yes, but none of your N.E.W.T.s were disrupted. It's over three months since Voddlemort -"

""Voldemort," Hermione huffed an exasperated sigh.

"That's what I said, Voddlemort. Anyway it's getting on for four months since he died. You haven't had any more troubles with Death Eaters, have you?"

"Not at Hogwarts or anywhere else I've been. There were pitched battles in Wiltshire and Somerset though."

"Exactly! So why did you think you might do less well this time?"

Mrs. Granger took the plates to the sink and returned for the cups.

"I didn't really. I just get nervous about it. And don't tell me it's silly that, after all I've done, I still see failed exams when there's a Boggart, because I know it is and it doesn't help." Hermione frowned as she turned the parchment over. "Is this all, though? I thought there'd be copies of the teachers' recommendations. Oh, silly of me, there's a second sheet."

She scanned it rapidly, "Outstanding – Excellent – Most talented student for decades. Oh!"

Her eyes widened, then narrowed alarmingly, and her cheeks got redder and redder as her face twisted into a scowl.

"I hate him. I hate him. Look what he's written!"

She jumped up to give the parchment to her mother, who shook her head and lifted wet, gloved hands out of the sink. She held a plate in one hand, a dish-brush in the other.

"You hold it for me. Where's my glasses?"

Hermione pulled the small silver-rimmed pair out of her mother's top pocket and balanced them on her nose.

"There, look. The spiky black scrawl. I hate him."

Mrs. Granger read aloud, "One can only hope Miss Granger will eventually outgrow her determination to demonstrate her exemplary knowledge and application to all who will listen and many who will not. Anyone with the patience to put up with her will acquire an excellent student." She cast her daughter a commiserating look. "Well, that's not too bad really."

"Not too bad? It's awful!" And to think she'd felt a little bit of sympathy last time she'd encountered him. And he'd already written this and probably been laughing at her. It all went to show you could never trust him to be fair.

"Well you can't blame him for not liking you much if you stole such expensive ingredients from him."

Hermione had had to tell her parents the truth and that had led to further revelations that had shocked them. The school had kept them informed about the course of the war, but they'd had no idea how much had centred around their daughter.

"Just be grateful he didn't write that in his report. It could have been much worse," Mrs. Granger added, turning back to the sink.

"What could have been worse?" Mr. Granger wandered in from the study with the Times crossword in his hand. "Seven letter word meaning former?" he appealed to his womenfolk.

"Onetime?"

"Retired? Ancient?"

"Starts with a Q."

"Quondam!" Mrs. Granger beat her daughter to the punch.

"That's it! So Mya, what's wrong?" He looked at the parchments and the discarded ribbon with surprise. "Not happy with your N.E.W.T.s?"

"The marks are OK," Hermione grumbled. "And most of the teachers' comments. It's just Professor Snape."

Her father ambled over to exchange his newspaper for the sheet was holding out to him. As he read, he ran his hand over his balding head with its fluffy ring of sandy hair.

"Hmmm, what an idiosyncratic mode of expression. I don't think it's as bad as you're making out. He calls you an excellent student and says your knowledge and application are exemplary."

"But look what else he says! He won't get away with this! I'm going to Diagon straight away to owl him."

"But, Hermione -"

Half an hour later, Hermione was queuing at Eeylops with her last two weeks' pay, just enough to buy a small Short-Eared Owl and some basic owl-care products. Although all Eeylops owls would carry a message at any time of day, she preferred using a species that was naturally partly-diurnal. Besides English owls were cheaper than imported species. She felt a bit guilty spending money she was supposed to be saving, but it was about time she had her own means of communicating with other witches and wizards.

Returnig home, she started to draft a letter. It proved much harder than she'd expected, but she decided her fifth attempt was good enough to send. She thought it sounded dignified and mature.

Professor Snape,

I would like an explanation of the very ungenerous comments you made in my recommendation. When and where may I see you?

Sincerely,

H. Granger

All that Saturday afternoon, she fretted around the house, with hands that wouldn't settle and a mind clouded by resentment. Long before her owl finally returned, even her gentle absent-minded father was ready to hex her, if he hadn't been a Muggle, and her mother had made hasty arrangements to spend the day with her sister.

"There you are, Athenais," Hermione cooed as the bird coasted in through the window. "Good girl, back from the battus horribilis of the dungeons without even a scratch."

The historical Athenais, one of Louis XIV's mistresses, had been a shady character, poisoner and Satanist, but Hermione had always loved the musical-sounding version of the name Athena. She had been pleased to discover an earlier and much nicer Athenais, more commonly called by her other name Eudocia, in her readings of Byzantine history.

The tiny owl preened itself and consented to eat a water-cracker. As Hermione unrolled the parchment, Athenais glided around the room with long lazy wing-strokes before settling on her owner's shoulder.

It wasn't the safest perch. A moment later, the little owl soared to the top of the bookshelf as an incensed Hermione jumped to her feet, throwing away her letter, and began striding around the room muttering rude names.

"Arrogant, acid-tongued alligator. Biased, bullying bat. Cruel, callous creep." She got as far as "Irritating, ill-tempered icicle" before the dearth of good J and K insults slowed her progress. "Jerk" and "jackass", yes, but "jaundiced" and "judgmental" didn't have a sharp enough edge and "jealous" didn't quite fit.

When she found herself looking up K with dictionary in one hand and thesaurus in the other, she stopped in abrupt realisation and slammed both volumes back on the shelves. Athenais gave her a reproachful look, but, since Short-eared Owls are silent, was unable to back up her disapproval with hooting.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione laughed at herself. "I put up with him for seven years of misery without ever getting this angry. Why am I fussing now, when I don't have to see him anymore?"

The answer was simple. Because this was her academic record he was smirching, not her face or her forethought. This actually mattered. His antagonism had never previously affected her results. She'd come top in every test or exam and had received a steady succession of Os for her essays and potions, so she'd been willing to ignore the rest.

She sat down and picked up the letter again.

Miss Granger,

I had hoped you meant it when you said you never wanted to see me again. I see nothing to be gained in a meeting, but if you still wish it I will be in my office next Saturday at 2 p.m.

S.S.

A week! A whole week! She chewed on her lip, but finally shrugged. At least it hadn't been a complete refusal. No point continuing to fume over it. Twenty minutes later her dad, sidling into the room, was relieved to see her smiling as she encouraged Athenais and Crookshanks to play tug of war with a ball of wool.

The other owls started arriving the next day. By Friday, Hermione already had fifty inquiries, including nine from Potioneers, and an interview that morning at St. Mungo's.

Potioneer Alingsworth was a short round wizard with a toothy smile, a warm wet handclasp and a trick of speaking very soft and very fast.

"Good morning, Master. Thank you for seeing me," Hermione said as they sat down in two maroon leather armchairs. They were just a bit too soft to be comfortable, especially for such a nerve-racking occasion as this. She hoped she wouldn't make too much of a fool of herself when she tried to climb out at the end.

"Oh, no, no, no, don't call me Master!" He looked a bit horrified. "Martin will do. Yes, Martin will do perfectly."

Hermione gulped. Had Snape been making fun of her? If that detestable, duplicitous double-crosser had been within reach at that moment, she'd have given his nose another fracture.

"Professor Snape told me -"

"Yes, yes, poor dear Severus, always so formal and correct. But we're all friends here at St. Mungo's Potions Department, no standing on ceremony here."

Oh. Not such a double-crosser after all.

Another toothy smile as "Martin" leaned forward.

"He did give you such a glowing report, can't remember the last time he recommended someone so highly, yes, very glowing indeed!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"It can't have been the same as the one I read," she spluttered.

It was.

"Surprised you misunderstood after seven years, yes, seven years of his teaching. Of course, you children do take him so seriously, very seriously indeed, poor dear Severus. Such a grumpy fellow, but his bark's much worse than his bite, oh much worse. Wouldn't hurt a fly, not a fly, my dear."

Hermione goggled. Didn't he read the Daily Prophet? Didn't he know Snape had been a Death Eater, a spy and a deadly duellist who'd taken out ten villains at a time in the final battles?

"You need to learn how to read him, that's all, just a little matter of reading him right," the man continued, unaware of her thoughts.

"How did you read it then?" she demanded.

"Best student I've ever had, would keep her myself if I weren't such a curmudgeon!" His eyes twinkled. "You'll have all the Potioneers in Europe after you, Hermia, yes all of them!" He rushed on, not giving her a chance to correct his mispronunciation of her name. "Why Severus sends us all reports of his top two or three students every year but nothing like this one, nothing! Here look at the other two from your year."

He extracted two papers from the untidy pile at the front of his desk and gave them to her.

"Read them."

"Miss Brocklehurst's willingness to fill the gaps in her knowledge shows promise of her one day achieving that goal." She looked up at him.

"She's eager, very eager, always ready to learn."

"Mr. Boot moves with the pace and accuracy of an inchworm."

A slow worker but very thorough and accurate, very accurate," he explained.

Hermione's eyes went wide and her stomach felt as if it was filled with rocks.

Oh Merlin! And the man was expecting her tomorrow to discuss what she'd called his "very ungenerous comments".

He was going to wipe the floor with her.

A/N Hmmm, "poor dear Severus"? I wonder what Snape calls him?

"Battus horribilis" - Commonwealth readers will recognise this as a parody of the Queen's Xmas speech in 1992 when she talked about her "horrible year".

I've changed Potions-Masters, which is not really canon (as canon neither supports nor excludes Mastership studies in any discipline) to Potioneers, which is. (It's listed in the title of a Potions periodical.)