Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 9
As soon as the door to Snape's office closed behind them, he dropped any pretence and guided her gently by her unhurt shoulder to sit in front of his desk.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded. The change in demeanour took Hermione by surprise, though she'd been hoping for it all along, and she stumbled over her words.
"Yes– no, I- he didn't," she faltered, and bowed her head as her eyes inadvertently filled with tears again.
She felt rather than saw him step away from her, and heard him moving around the room behind her. There was the clink of glass on glass, and a moment later she felt a vial being pressed into her hand.
"Calming Draught," he stated simply, as he conjured a second chair with a wave of his wand and sat in front of her, their knees almost touching.
She downed the pale liquid in a gulp and almost instantly felt her body relax, though her mind was still racing from the confrontation.
"I'm okay," she said, wiping her eyes and feeling the scratches on her cheek where it had chafed against the wall. He took her chin in one hand and tilted her face to the light so he could inspect the damage himself, before a murmured accio brought a jar of healing salve from across the room.
"Would you prefer to do this, or shall I?" he asked, about to dip his fingers into the jar. She nodded for him to continue and he spread a liberal amount of the salve carefully across her cheek. She closed her eyes, concentrating on taking even breaths as she felt the slight roughness of his fingertips through the coolness of the balm.
A minute or so later, the scratches were gone. She opened her eyes and watched him put the lid on the jar and banish it back to it's place on a shelf.
"Now, let's see about that arm," he said, gesturing for her to hold out the injured appendage. She did so with difficulty, wincing as he manoeuvred the limb up level with her shoulder.
"I think you made it worse dragging me down here," she commented.
"It appears to be just a strain," he countered, giving her a dark look, "but shall I call Madam Pomfrey to look at it?" he asked, and she shook her head vigorously. Involving anyone else would mean telling them what happened, and Snape would be forced to punish Goyle more severely; in turn, possibly imposing a punishment from Voldemort on himself. It was selflessly Gryffindor reasoning, but she was quickly learning the value of discretion.
"It will heal itself, of course, however there is a charm which will fix it immediately. Have you learnt it in your Medicinal Magic classes?"
She shook her head.
"Well in that case, you should visit the Mediwitch later today. There's no sense being in unnecessary discomfort."
She nodded uncertainly. She didn't want to explain to Madam Pomfrey how she'd received the injury. She could, of course, make up a convincing lie, although Quidditch was out of the question. It was common knowledge among the teachers that Hermione Granger and a broomstick was a combination no less hazardous than Gilderoy Lockhart and a room full of pixies. Perhaps she could tell the matron she'd strained her shoulder carrying too many books in her satchel. Now that was a believable lie. Still, it would be easier if she didn't have to lie at all.
"Do you know the charm, sir? Can you teach me?"
"Yes, I know it," he replied, "and no, I won't teach it to you."
She opened her mouth to ask why, but he anticipated her question.
"It wouldn't be appropriate," he said stiffly, and cleared his throat. "Besides, it is best you learn from a qualified instructor. Healing spells are not to be trifled with and personal experience is no match for a Mediwitch."
She nodded again and he sat back to regard her with a contemplative expression before continuing. "I apologise if my actions compounded your injury, but I acted for the benefit of the other two Slytherins in the corridor at the time."
She looked at him, startled. "There were more? But I didn't see…"
"Please, Miss Granger," he said, "credit them with some intelligence. Mr Goyle may not have your brains or the subtlety of Mr Malfoy, but he wouldn't be fool enough to attack the Head Girl alone, even in his own territory."
"So you don't believe his version of events?"
"Hardly," Snape said derisively. "Given your injury and emotional state, I'd not have believed him even if I hadn't witnessed some of it for myself."
"How much did you hear?" she asked. A furious blush rose in her cheeks as she thought of Goyle's leering comment about her and the Potions master.
"I said I witnessed, not heard," he corrected. "By the time I was within hearing range, you'd managed to free yourself from his grasp."
"Oh," she replied, sinking back into her chair with relief.
"Well?"
She must have look confused because he rolled his eyes and elaborated. "Are you going to enlighten me with what he said to upset you so?"
The blush rose in her cheeks again and she looked away. "Oh, um," she faltered. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," he insisted, leaning forward and gripping the armrests on her chair, giving her no choice but to look at him.
"Miss Granger, if he threatened you we need to know. It is one thing for me to turn a blind eye to his crude actions, but I cannot justify ignoring threats made to a Muggleborn student by the son of a Death Eater. If anything were to happen, Dumbledore would have my head before the Dark Lord could get summon me to take it himself."
She sighed, trying to avoid his gaze. "It wasn't a threat, per se," she admitted. "It was the insinuation he made that bothered me most of all."
"What insinuation?"
"It doesn't matter because there's no truth in it," she said hurriedly, and seeing his look added, "besides, it wasn't Goyle who upset me in the first place. I was already on edge before I ran into him." She didn't really want Snape to know the details of the argument with her friends, but perhaps he would drop the subject if he thought the altercation wasn't the sole cause of her distress.
"What insinuation?" he repeated, obviously not deterred. "You know I can find out if I have to, Miss Granger. Do not make me do this the hard way."
Legilimency, she thought. She had backed herself into a corner, though at least if she explained it now, she supposed she could gloss over it a little. Anything was preferable to him ferreting around in her mind for the details.
She sighed and conceded. "He said they'd seen me down here a little too often lately, and I must be desperate to remain top of the class."
She stared at her hands as Snape pushed himself away from her and stood. When she looked up again, he was facing the bookshelf. In profile, she could see the lines creasing his forehead. He looked furious.
"Is that all he said?" The voice was one of barely-concealed anger.
She bit her lip.
"Well?" he said again, and Hermione's eyes widened as he withdrew his wand from an unseen pocket.
"Wait." She panicked. "I'll tell you. I just... it was humiliating enough having to hear it once, without being forced to relive it again."
After a moment of deliberation, he seemed to relent, and he put his wand down on his desk and strode across the room to a small cupboard next to the bookshelves. She watched with apprehension as he withdrew a Pensive, slightly smaller and made of darker stone than the Headmaster's.
"Perhaps this would be easier," he said, placing it on the desk in front of her. "If anyone else needs to see it, you won't have to go through it again."
She nodded gratefully, but hesitated. "Sir, how do I... I've never done this before."
He picked up his wand again and motioned for her to stand and move closer to the desk.
"Allow me," he said, placing the tip of his dark-wooded wand to her temple. She couldn't be sure whether she imagined the small spark of magic when it first made contact with her skin.
"Think of the memory you wish for me to extract," he intoned.
Closing her eyes, she thought back to lunchtime, and the reason she'd been running late for the meeting at all. Not wanting him to see the words exchanged between Harry and Ron, she hastily though of the dark dungeon corridor and subsequent exchange with the Slytherin student. She wondered briefly if Snape, upon viewing the memory, would be able to feel her relief at his appearance, or the disconcerting jolt of her stomach when he had healed her cheek...
Wait a minute! she thought frantically, he doesn't need to see that! The memory can end when he appears in the corridor!
She opened her eyes and tried to pull away, but it seemed as though Snape's wandtip was fixed to her temple. Seeing her movement, he muttered an indiscernible incantation and she watched as he withdrew his wand, bringing a long grey strand of memory away from her temple with it. The sensation was incredibly strange, like a little worm was tickling her head, inside and out. It ended a moment later as the strand broke and Snape siphoned it into the stone bowl.
Hermione sat down quickly as a wave of dizziness hit her. "That felt odd," she murmured, putting her head in her hands.
"It is a strange sensation," he agreed. "It becomes easier with practice, as does the separation of only what thoughts are needed from the rest of your memories. The dizziness is a common side effect of first-time extraction. It should pass momentarily."
She exhaled an unsteady breath and raised her head gingerly. It wasn't completely gone, but she felt better.
"I will return momentarily," Snape said, and without waiting for a response, plunged his head into Hermione's memories.
Hermione watched the Potions master for a few minutes. It was the strangest feeling, waiting for him while he sat, motionless, with his head in a stone bowl. It certainly would have made an odd tableau, she thought, if anyone else had entered his office at the time.
She took the opportunity to study the man in front of her; what she could see, anyway. Resting lightly on the desk either side of the Pensive, his hands looked thin but strong. As pale as the rest of his exposed skin, Hermione could see the veins running under the surface. She'd never considered a particular body part could be beautiful, but there was something about his hands that captivated her. She could watch him preparing potions for hours, the precision and coordination of his hands as he chopped, sliced, mashed and stirred.
In plunging his head into the bowl, Snape's dark hair had splayed forwards and a few strands were haphazardly hanging over the edge of the Pensive. It was greasy, but not overtly so, she thought. Certainly not greasy enough to have earned him the cruel nickname students used behind his back.
His hair had parted at the base of his skull, and Hermione stared at his exposed neck peeking from above the high-collared shirt and coat. She had a sudden compulsion to reach out and touch the pale skin, and fleeting wondered if one could feel touches to their physical being whilst their mind was in a Pensive.
Shaking her head, she wondered what had come over her. The Calming Draught couldn't possibly have relaxed her that much. Perhaps her overwrought emotions were playing tricks on her mind.
She couldn't help but think how kind he'd been to her this afternoon. He hadn't sneered or ridiculed her once since they had entered his office. He'd understood her distress and kept her calm, even if it was via a potion. The most surprising thing, she realised with a start, was that none of his actions had seemed awkward or uncomfortable for either of them. He'd sat with her to talk, instead of towering over her in his usual dominating fashion. He'd healed her face and been nothing but sincere in his concern for her.
If this was the Professor Snape that Slytherin students saw, it was no wonder they had so much respect for their Head of House.
Hermione thought back to her last few encounters with the Potions master. She had been seeing a different side of him, even since the night he had instructed her on making the Wolfsbane. Then, after the Quidditch match last night, she'd had the distinct impression he was holding back laughter over the fireworks, even if they were insulting him.
And today? She felt like she was seeing the real Severus Snape for the first time; complete, open and nothing held back. There was no apathetic façade hiding what he really felt, and Hermione would have never have guessed the cold, black eyes could show so much feeling in their depths. She'd seen anger in those eyes before, but never anything akin to compassion.
She knew he would still treat her the same in class. He had no choice. But she found herself fervently hoping he had resolved to trust her and forgo his normal pretence when they were alone.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the Potions master unexpectedly withdrew from the Pensive. If he had been angry before, it was nothing compared to the look on his face now.
"That little... shit," he finally muttered through clenched teeth. "How dare he suggest that I would..."
Snape stood and began pacing back and forth behind the desk. "I'm not sure what galls me more," he said in a low voice. "The insinuation that I would do such a thing with any student, or the idea that blood purity would sway my decision."
"Wouldn't it?" she asked. "With a woman, I mean, not a student," she added quickly.
"No," he said, and she recoiled at the forcefulness of his tone. He came around the front of the desk and sat facing her again. There was a resigned, pensive look on his face as he started speaking.
"I was brought up to believe in the sanctity of pure blood. I had it drilled into me from a very young age that to pollute the bloodlines of my family name with Muggle blood was not only a crime, but one punishable by death."
He nodded at Hermione's horrified look.
"Coming to Hogwarts was something of a revelation for me. On one side, my fellow Slytherins were reinforcing that which had been preached to me throughout my childhood, and on the other, Muggle-born students were proving them wrong by academically bettering us all."
"You already know I didn't join the Dark Lord because I believed in what he was trying to do." She nodded grimly, thinking back to the scenes in Dumbledore's Pensive, and Snape went on. "I joined out of a lust for power and revenge, and I'll be the first to admit they were all the wrong reasons for making such a life-altering decision. I was young, naïve and blinded by false promises of vengeance against anyone who had wronged me, but I never believed purity of blood set one witch or wizard above another."
Hermione stared her professor, stunned into silence by the sincerity of his words. Thinking back, she realised he was speaking truthfully. For all the times he had insulted her, he had never mentioned her heritage. His students were mocked for being Gryffindors or abysmal students, pureblood or not.
She become conscious of him watching her, waiting for her reaction. She gave him a small, hesitant smile.
"I guess it's like that Muggle saying," she said lightly. "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family." Losing her smile, she continued seriously, "It's good to know you don't hold something against me which is out of my control, even if others do."
"And it's those others you need to be careful of," he countered. "Slytherins do not like feeling threatened."
"Threatened?" Her brow furrowed in confusion and Snape rolled his eyes.
"Don't you see, Hermione?" he implored. "You, the brightest witch of your generation, are Muggleborn. There isn't a trace of magic in your family, not one iota. You disprove everything the Dark Lord stands for, and being Potter's friend only makes you all the more valuable target."
"Oh," was all she managed to say. She was shaken by the realisation of just how vulnerable she was. Since her first year, she'd recognised being Harry's friend could put her in danger. She'd never consider her own self, who she was, would also be a threat. Goyle had proven today that she wasn't safe, even within the protected walls of Hogwarts. She exhaled a breath and looked up at Snape.
"I didn't realise it was that serious," she admitted, "but I'm not going to hide away until the threat has passed."
"No one would expect you to," he replied with a smirk, not unkindly. She could hear the hidden you're a Gryffindor jest in his words, but for the first time, it didn't bother her.
"You just need to be on your guard," he cautioned. "Do not come down here unaccompanied, even if that means having Potter or Weasley escort you. I assure you Mr Goyle will not try such a thing again, but that does not mean others won't attempt to succeed where he failed."
Hermione shivered.
"I think that is enough excitement for one afternoon," Snape declared, standing up. "You should have Madam Pomfrey look at your arm as soon as possible."
"What about the arrangements for my work?" she asked, suddenly remembering the original purpose of their meeting.
"I think under the circumstances we can discuss that next time we meet," he replied. "Come, I will escort you up to the Entrance Hall."
She followed him across the room. There would be no further discussion once they were outside his office, and Snape was reaching for the door when she spoke.
"Sir?"
He turned back to her.
"I just wanted to say thank you," she said, "for being there in the corridor, and helping and... well... just, everything. Thank you."
He considered her for a moment, before simply nodding.
No words passed between them as he led her upstairs. She had to walk quickly to keep up with his lengthy strides, and the irritation in his demeanour would have told anyone who saw them she was not in her teacher's favour.
A handful of students were milling around in the Entrance Hall but most made themselves scarce at the sight of the Potions master. Hermione thought to thank him again, but he silenced her with a glare.
"Detention, Miss Granger," he said silkily. "Tuesday, after dinner; and do not let me catch you in that part of the dungeons again."
"Yes, Professor," she murmured, trying to look contrite for the benefit of the remaining students, who were watching the exchange interestedly. It wasn't every day the Head Girl received detention.
A swirl of black robes later and the Potions master was gone. Hermione headed upstairs, deliberating between finding Harry and going to the Hospital Wing. Her arm was hurting more than she had let on to Snape, so she decided to make a quick detour to the Hospital Wing first. Hopefully Madam Pomfrey would heal the injury, scold her for 'carrying too many books' and send her on her way.
To be continued...
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