Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 11
The following morning Hermione was relieved to see Snape at breakfast, looking as surly as ever, but seemingly unharmed. Potions was her first lessons that morning, and she made her way down to the dungeons with Harry, then parted with him when they entered the classroom, each sitting with their respective partners.
Hermione watched from her seat behind her friend as he exchanged cool glances with Malfoy. Despite their dislike of one another, they seemed to be getting on well enough to work together now. Harry needed a decent grade in Potions to enter Auror training, and Malfoy had a natural flair for the art. She wondered what the Slytherin would think of her new appointment with Snape?
The Potions master entered the classroom from his office, carrying a pile of parchments which turned out to be their last essays.
"Adequate," he commented as he handed them out. "However adequate will not suffice in my class. I expect nothing below Outstanding from my students, and should I not receive it in the future, you will find yourself without a place in this subject."
Hermione attempted to catch her teacher's eye as he passed her parchment back to her, but he resolutely ignored her. Slightly put out, although she knew he would act no different than usual in public, she glanced down at her essay. Flipping to the last page, she was pleased to see 96 scrawled in the bottom corner, but equally surprised to see a few lines of text above it in that distinctive red ink he favoured.
She very seldom received any feedback at all on her Potions essays. It seemed, in her case, Snape had twisted the old adage so if he didn't have anything nasty to say, he didn't say anything at all.
She glanced curiously up at the Potions master, who was across the other side of the room, before lowering her eyes again to read his scrawl:
We will discuss our arrangement tonight. After dinner, go to the first floor East corridor. There is a door near the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith. It will open at precisely five minutes past six. Do not be late.
She grinned momentarily at the irony of Snape passing notes in class, then shoved the parchment in her bag and started work on her potion.
After dinner, she found the portrait and the inconspicuous wooden door next to it with but a minute to spare. The corridor was empty; it only led to the Charms classroom and students were done with lessons for the day, so she feigned interest in the little witch in the portrait until she heard a soft click and the door swung open.
Whatever was beyond the door was in darkness, and she cautiously stepped in, closing the door behind her. A murmured lumos from somewhere very close startled her, and she found herself blinking up at Snape, his wand raised between them.
"Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting. "Did anyone see you come in?"
"No, sir." She shook her head. "There was no one around. What is this place?"
"It's a more convenient entrance to my workroom, which you'll be using from now on. After yesterday's events, I thought it prudent you not be seen in the dungeons any more often than necessary for your regular lessons."
She nodded in agreement. "Thank you, sir... but how do I make it open from the outside? Is there a password?"
"No," he said. "The door is keyed to ones wand, rather than a word, so if you'll touch your wand to the handle..." He gestured to the door.
She withdrew her wand and followed his direction. He murmured an incantation which caused the door and her wand to glow momentarily.
"You'll be able to open it from either side," he stated. "If anyone should see you enter or leave, and ask, simply inform them it is a shortcut used by only teachers and the Head Boy and Girl."
"Come." He led off down the corridor, lit only by the light emanating from his wand. Hermione realised as they walked they had yet to descend below the level of the first floor where she had entered the corridor. Now she thought about it, when she had previously visited Snape's private laboratory, they had taken a flight of stairs up from the level of the Potions classroom.
She commented on it as they continued walking.
"An astute observation," he said. "The Potions classroom is located in the dungeons due to the volatile nature of some ingredients when exposed to sunlight. The Head of Slytherin, however, has not always been the Potions teacher, nor been so comfortable living in the dark. Rumour has it Salazar Slytherin, for all his cunning, was terribly claustrophobic."
Hermione laughed, the sound echoing off the bare stone walls. "You're not serious, are you, sir?"
"Deadly," he replied as they reached the end of the corridor and another wooden door. "Either that, or he just liked having windows to spy on his rival Houses."
He opened the door and ushered her into a room she instantly recognised. She'd seen a glimpse of it when she'd been in his lab making the Wolfsbane, and the room was every bit as pleasant as it had seemed from that first glance.
One entire wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with hundreds upon hundreds of books, both old and new. Two comfortable armchairs and a matching couch sat facing the fireplace in a rough semi-circle, the dark blue upholstery contrasting with the warm ochre hues of the rug in front of the hearth.
On her left were three doors, the third of which she recognised at the one leading to the lab. In front of her was a desk, bigger and more luxurious than the one in Snape's other office, but still piled high with books and parchments. And behind the desk was...
"Oh, wow," she said, walking across the room to stand in front of the enormous window. She could see the lake and the Forbidden Forest, and in the distance, the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade village. "No wonder you like being Head of Slytherin if these are the rooms that come with the job. This view would be amazing during the day."
He stood next to her, arms folded. "It is," he admitted. "Although I don't find myself here during the day often enough to enjoy it." He paused. "Now, to business."
He beckoned her to follow him to the door which led to his lab. "As you've guessed," he said, "these are my private quarters. I trust you will respect my privacy and only enter them for the purposes of accessing the workroom."
He didn't proceed into the lab, but instead instructed her to draw her wand again, and performed the same incantation as earlier to key the wards on the door to open for her. After ensuring it worked, he offered her a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire, and took the other himself, conjuring a teapot and offering her a cup, before proceeding to discuss the arrangement laid out by the Headmaster.
In addition to the time that would have been her Medicinal Potions class, she was required to devote some hours of her own study time to the project. She hesitated at first, loathe to sacrifice what she perceived as much-needed study time, until Snape snidely pointed out she could have taken her NEWTs in place of her OWLs two years prior, and even then achieved near-perfect scores.
At this rate, she was going to have to start keeping count of the backhanded compliments he seemed to offer whenever they were alone.
She knew he trusted her to work alone, but nevertheless he said he preferred to be in the lab while she was brewing whenever possible. Eventually, taking into account her Head Girl duties and his own hallway patrols, they managed to work out a schedule she thought she would be able to manage alongside her studies.
Wednesday afternoons were previously her Medicinal Potions class, and although Snape had a class then, she would use the time to prepare non-perishable ingredients. Before and after dinner that night, she would be brewing potions in his presence, and again at the same time on Friday. He had also conceded to allow her to work in the lab on Sunday afternoons, owing to the sheer amount of potions Madam Pomfrey had requested. The list seemed to have grown since the previous year, he commented, and both Hermione and Snape thought, but didn't say aloud, that if the worst came to pass, they would be needing many more healing potions yet.
They had just finished dividing Madam Pomfrey's list into perishable and non-perishable potions when a shrill bell rang throughout the room, startling Hermione.
"I have a potion that needs attending," Snape said, standing up. "I shall not be long."
He swept into the lab and Hermione watched him go, thinking again how much their relationship had changed in the past week. She used relationship loosely, but they had definitely progressed beyond simple student-teacher interaction.
If she didn't know better, she'd have thought the solitary man had actually been making an effort to be pleasant to her. Then again, she didn't presume to second-guess the Potions master; his attitude toward her could turn foul faster than the November weather. It only took the smallest thing to set him off. Perhaps it was she who had changed, unconsciously making an effort not to annoy him. Whoever was responsible, she found herself looking forward to the time she would be spending with him over the next few months.
She was about the refill her teacup when she glanced at the overflowing bookshelves again, and instead decided to peruse the vast collection while she waited for her teacher to return. Setting her cup on the coffee table, she made her way to the long wall of shelves, starting at one end. There were books on every topic imaginable, some predictable and other not so. Potions books took up a good quarter of the shelves and were accompanied, surprisingly enough, by a handful of Muggle chemistry texts.
There was a section of books on Dark Arts, both practice and defence, and the bottom shelf on one end contained books with titles like Muggle or Mudblood? The Silent Invasion, Blood Magic: The Power of Purity, and Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Hermione passed over those books with a frown, moving on to discover a shelf crammed with books by both wizard and Muggle authors. Snape, it seemed, had a taste for historical fiction and ancient history, and Hermione resolved to ask him at a later date if she might borrow some of the titles.
Herbology, a complementary topic to Potions, also featured prominently, along with an extensive collection of books on different magical creatures. Hermione looked around, noted Snape was still busy tending his potion, and plucked a text simply entitled Moonfillies from the shelf. Fascinated by what Snape had told her of the creature two nights ago, she flipped through the pages until she reached the chapter on human interaction, and read:
Moonfillies are notoriously shy of humans and avoid most of our species at all costs. The creatures are, however, exceptionally perceptive of human emotions, and can sense guilt, pain and shame. There have been documented accounts of moonfillies endearing themselves to humans with a strong aura of these emotions. If the moonfilly believes the human worthy of redemption, they will seek to help them overcome their pain by offering friendship and their own unique healing assets.
Her conversation with Snape on Saturday night made sense now. She'd thought long and hard afterwards on how someone as harsh as the Potions master would be recognised as friend instead of foe to such a shy creature. I have an... understanding, if you will, is what Snape had said about his association with the moonfilly. The creature obviously sensed the darkness in his past and, like perhaps only Dumbledore and herself, thought him to be worthy of a second chance.
She continued reading, until she heard a movement just behind her, and a moment later Snape's voice saying, "I wondered how long you'd be able to resist the lure of the books."
She closed the book and turned around to find him smirking lightly, but as he glanced down at the book in her hands, his face darkened.
"Interesting choice," he commented.
"I wanted to find out more about them," she said, "after our conversation the other night."
"And what did you find out?" he asked coolly, taking the book from her hands and replacing it on the shelf.
She furrowed her brow in confusion at the sudden hostility. "I didn't have the chance to read much," she murmured, and not wanting to aggravate him any further, attempted to change the subject.
"Can I ask about the potion you're working on?"
He nodded and returned to his chair in front of the fireplace, banishing the cold contents of his teacup and refilling it as Hermione sat across from him.
"As you probably know," he began, "the Dark Lord finds me useful for my potions skills as much as my closeness to Dumbledore. The latest task I have been assigned is to create a potion to replicate a curse the Dark Lord particularly favours."
"Cruciatus?" Hermione felt her blood run cold as Snape nodded.
"Exactly."
"You were talking with the Headmaster about a counter-potion," she mentioned. "Does that mean you've created the potion Vol- he wanted?"
"Theoretically," he confirmed. "The brew appears to be sound, however I won't know for sure until I am able to test it; something which I am loathe to do until I have the antidote on hand."
Hermione was torn between admiration of the Potions master for his ability to turn the age-old curse into a potion, and the reality of what the potion would do to its victims. One of the few redeeming features of the Cruciatus curse was the toll it took on the person casting it. None but the most powerful witch or wizard could maintain the curse for any significant length of time.
A potion giving the same effects as the curse would suffer no such impediment. It could be delivered with deadly and continual force, and it terrified Hermione to think of what such a weapon would mean in Voldemort's hands.
Her fear must have shown on her face, because Snape said, "I intend to delay its delivery to him for as long as possible, however the more time it takes, the more I risk increasing his suspicion of my true motives. He has too much faith in my abilities and does not take kindly to failure, but until I have the antidote and am confident it works, I will continue to provide incorrect variations of the real thing to demonstrate my progress."
"Who do you test it on?" she suddenly asked.
"The Dark Lord provides test subjects for my use," he said softly, regretfully, and at her horrified expression added, "I don't like it, Hermione, but I have to play my part. Most of the brews I've delivered so far kill instantly, so the victims do not needlessly suffer."
She nodded dully. It had been horrible seeing the reports of audacious Death Eater attacks splattered across the front page of the Prophet, but these subtle killings of faceless victims possibly disturbed her even more. She wondered how many people in the course of Voldemort's reigns of terror had died like that; nameless Muggles left at the side of a dirt road, or in an empty field; some never found at all. The gravity of the situation hit her and she suddenly, inexplicably, found herself in tears.
Snape, for his part, didn't offer false words of comfort, instead choosing to sit quietly until she was able to compose herself.
"I'm sorry," she began, but he stopped her.
"No, it is I who should be apologising," he said. "I shouldn't have burdened you with such knowledge."
"I did ask," she said wryly. "Serves me right for being so curious, I suppose."
He didn't smile, but his eyes glinted with a trace of amusement as he declared their meeting to be over.
"I think that's enough for tonight," he said. "I shall see you on Wednesday to begin brewing."
She stood up and made her way to the door which would take her back through to the first floor. Turning with her hand on the doorknob, she said, "Thank you, sir."
He looked confused for a moment, and she clarified her broad statement.
"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."
She left before he had time to formulate a response.
Over the next three weeks, Hermione slipped comfortably into a routine built around the time she spent brewing potions. She had taken to spending more time in Snape's lab than initially agreed upon, and despite his early protests, she had a sneaking suspicion the Potions master was glad of her company and her help. Even with her assistance, he was still putting in ridiculously long hours. He was always well into his work when she arrived in the lab, and apparently there long after she'd gone to bed. She hated to think the hours he'd be keeping without her help.
He'd been summoned twice by Voldemort, each time taking vials of the 'decoy potions' he had been keeping on hand to demonstrate his apparent progress to the Dark Lord. Each time he'd returned, no worse for wear himself, but with a steely determination in his eyes to complete the antidote as soon as possible.
Working together so often, they had become much more comfortable with one another, and had developed a cautious familiarity which bordered on friendship. He still managed to mock and sneer at her often, but it was done now in good humour, and after her initial shock in discovering his dark, sarcastic sense of humour was actually funny, she managed to give as good as she got.
His efforts to complete the antidote were being hampered. He was convinced the moonfilly droppings was the essential ingredient, but it was reacting oddly with another ingredient, and he was having trouble deducing which. At his wits end, he'd taken to testing each individually with the droppings, resulting in several melted cauldrons and one spectacular explosion. The blast thankfully didn't have any harmful effects on either occupants of the room, only leaving the Potions master, who'd been leaning over the cauldron at the time, with a rather blackened face which Hermione dared to quip matched the rest of his appearance.
"One-nil to the Gryffindor," he returned with a smirk, which left little doubt she would regret her jibe.
He got his own back the following day when she, after spending a solid hour stirring a potion, took a break and ate one of the small cakes from a tea-tray on his desk, a suggestion from Dumbledore after the Headmaster realised how many meals the two of them had been missing.
She moulted her coat of yellow feathers after a few minutes, but the rich laughter of the Potions master echoed in her mind all afternoon, and she resolved to try and coax the wonderful sound from him more often.
To be continued...
A/N: Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy is one of the books Sirius' family kept at Grimmauld Place. All other titles are my own crazy creations.
Moonfillies are a creature of my own creation, loosely based on the unicorn and the mooncalf (Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them), and the Australian children's book series, The Silver Brumby by Elynne Mitchell.
Ignatia Wildsmith did invent Floo powder, according to the HP Lexicon and JKR's website.
This story is also posted at the On-line Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org – the next chapter is already posted there!
