Chapter 4
"Mum! Dad! Are you ready?" Hermione called up the stairs. "We need to go!"
"Sweetie, it's still early," her mother came down the stairs with bleary eyes. "Your professor's not going to be at this place for another few hours."
"But we can't be late!" Hermione whined. "What if I don't get my school supplies? I get my wand today, I can't miss it!"
"Hermione," her dad came down the stairs to give her a stern look, although he broke it with a yawn, "your mother and I will get ready and we will take you there early, like we agreed. But you can't demand too much from people, okay? Not everyone has the same standards. They're, aaaahhhh, all trying their best, just like your teachers. Remember our talk?"
Hermione nodded reluctantly. She never liked her elementary school teachers, because they never taught at a good pace. Her parents told her they had to teach so that all the kids could understand, but she didn't get why they couldn't. She kind of understood that she didn't really blame her teachers, they were just doing their jobs, but she did judge the other kids even when she tried not to. They just seemed so …. Stupid.
"Are you going to be nice to the other kids today?" her dad asked. "Try to make friends?"
"I don't like other kids and they don't like me," Hermione protested. "They don't understand anything, and they think I'm weird."
"That's at your old school," he said gently. "You have to give these kids a chance to like you, okay? You can't say they aren't smart if you've never met them, can you sweetie?"
"No, dad," her anger ran from her shoulders down her arms. Dad always knew how to get her to calm down.
"And if people are mean, what does that say about them?" Her daddy encouraged.
At this, Hermione smiled. It was something dad had told her many times over the years. "They are hurting, or don't know better. It isn't my fault."
"It's not," her dad affirmed. "Everyone can choose to control their emotions. You can't force anyone to feel angry or sad. If you're trying to be kind and they get upset, that's on them."
"I know," Hermione said softly. "Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
She bit her lip. "I-I'm not scared, I promise. I want to go! I'm excited! But … what if I need you guys? What if I want to come home?"
Her dad leaned down and gave her a hug, and mum followed suit. They had her in a family hug when mum answered her questions.
"Professor McGonagall told us that you'll be put into little houses with other kids, and that the prefects are like the parents. There's even a Head Girl and Head Boy to help you."
"But they're kids!" Hermione protested. "Kids don't like me!"
Her mum stroked her hair. "If you need to, I'm sure you can talk to any of your teachers. They're supposed to take care of you too, like we would."
"Then … I should help them like I help at home," Hermione decided. "It will be my home, so I should contribute."
Her parents laughed, making Hermione feel just a little better. "I'm sure if they need your help, they will ask. But, even if you don't need to do anything, there's nothing wrong with offering help and making sure you treat them kindly."
Hermione nodded, still biting her lip.
"You'll be okay, sweetheart," her dad told her. "Say your prayers every morning and night, read your scriptures, and trust the feelings the Spirit prompts. You're a good girl, and I know you'll make us proud. Just … tone it down a little, just at first? Let people see you without your books so they can get to know you."
Hermione slumped. "They should like me with my books."
"They will, once they get to know you," her mom promised. "But they can't get to know you if you're always behind a book, can they? Now, come on. You need some breakfast before such a big day. How do you feel about oatcakes?"
SSHGSSHGSSHG
Hermione's determination to be fast made them the first ones at the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed extremely uncomfortable in the dingy environment, nervously standing in the doorway for a few moments before taking their daughter's hands and heading up to the bar.
"Looking for someone?" the barkeep asked with a quirked brow.
Mr. Granger nodded. "Erm, a Professor McGonagall?"
The barkeep pointed to a small doorway. "Go on an' 'ead through there to wait. She ain't 'ere yet."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger pulled Hermione to the door while Hermione called, "Thank you!" to the strange man. Both her parents shared a worried smile at her naïveté but didn't say anything to the little girl. She was kind and naïve, and that was fine as an 11-year-old. Just … not in the middle of a dingy bar.
Slowly but surely, more parents and kids arrived in the back room. Her parents would introduce themselves and present business cards to those who lived near London, the other adults would do the same, and then they seemed to simultaneously introduce their kids to each other. Hermione was forcibly introduced to the other kids who seemed just as weirded out as she was by the adults, but she played nice until the Deputy Headmistress arrived.
After brief introductions and a wave of her wand at the bricks in the room, they were entranced to see the wall open up to reveal an entire street that looked straight out of the sixteenth century.
"Alright students!" Professor McGonagall called the moment they entered the alley. "This is Diagon Alley. It is our biggest shopping district in Wizarding Britain, so you will understand why you need to keep together in our group. We don't want anyone getting lost today."
Everyone shuffled close to their parents, and Minerva nodded in approval. "Follow me closely now! We'll begin with a visit to Gringotts, the Wizard Bank. There you can exchange your pounds to galleons or even open an account for your children. Come along!"
It was hard to miss Gringotts. It was tall and multi-storied, positively towering over the other shops in the alley. It was snow white, grand, and very very imposing. It reminded Hermione of magic itself, especially when she felt the buzz in her own when the crossed the doorway.
"Did you feel that?" she said excitedly to the nearest child, a well-groomed little boy named Justin.
"Feel what now?" he asked.
Hermione hopped up and down. "The magic! Right at the door!"
Justin just looked at her like she was mad, but nothing could diminish Hermione's mood today. She practically bobbed as they approached the desk of one of the short little creatures. They looked strange, but no less strange than the people outside dressed in funny hats. They, at least, were dressed in little suits.
"What is your business with Gringotts today?" the goblin said with a toothy sneer.
Hermione cocked her head. "Are you alright, sir? Are we bothering you? We can go to another teller."
The goblin looked down at her in surprise while her parents looked surprised at her question.
"Hermione, we're not close to this, er, person," her daddy said.
"I am as well as I have ever been," the goblin said after a moment, stopping her dad's reproof. "You are a wizarding child, are you not?"
Hermione was puzzled. "I'm a witch, if that's what you mean. These are my parents, they're not. We need to convert pounds to the wizarding currency. How does that work by the way? Is there one magical money that is used in all the countries, or is it like normal money that's different depending on the country?"
The goblin looked surprised. "It is different for each wizarding community, but the same across Europe."
"That's so cool! It's like the Euro for wizards!" Hermione blurted, hopping up and down. "And what kind of magical person are you, sir? Are you dwarves?"
"Goblins," the creature said with a chucking laugh. "You are strange, little one. Are you not afraid of us?"
"Afraid?" she looked at him again. "Bankers aren't scary, though. I mean, your teeth maybe …"
The goblin shook his head and gave her a toothy grin before turning to her parents. "How much are you here to convert today?"
While the goblin sent for the currency, Hermione pestered him with questions.
"Why is this place called Gringotts?" Hermione blurted, unable to contain herself.
"Hermione, he is not here to answer your questions," her daddy told her gently. "You can't pester him."
"We have time while they fetch your galleons," the goblin waved of her dad's complaints and leaned over the desk to regard her more closely. "I don't mind your questions, little one. We are called Gringotts because it is the name of our clan of goblins."
"You have a clan? Like they did in Scotland?" Hermione followed up quickly "Like a family?"
"Not quite," the goblin chuckled. "No, we are our own government, little witch. Our own nation, if you will."
"If you're a different country, why do you handle this one's money?" she asked, even more confused. "Aren't you citizens, since you live here?"
The goblin scowled, and Hermione shrank. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't, little witch," he said with a glower. "It is simply not a pleasant topic. In short, no - goblins do not count as people within the wizard's society."
"But, you're a person," she protested, confused. "A smart person, too. A banker."
Dan and Emma were becoming more worried about the goblins there. They kept glancing over to their teller booth thing, as if they were an unusual sight. Normally, they would have attributed it to their daughter's bouncing nature, but they didn't seem amused or even curious. They seemed downright disapproving.
The goblin gave Hermione a smile. "You are an interesting witch, little one. Why do you ask so many questions?"
"How am I supposed to know everything if I don't ask?" she huffed. "I'm supposed to be a know-it-all."
"Hermione, we told you not to call yourself that," her mother remanded immediately. "It's not a kind thing."
"Why not?" Hermione argued. "I want to know it all! I want to know everything! It doesn't have to be an insult."
"An impatient witch, too," the goblin noted, turning to her parents. "Is she always so … undeterrable?"
They nodded emphatically.
A goblin came with a large pouch of coins and gave them to their teller. The goblin handed it to her parents and gave Hermione another happy glance as her parents turned to walk her back out of the bank.
Suddenly thinking of something, Hermione ran back to the goblin, ignoring the protests of her parents. The goblin looked at her in what she'd recognized as amusement.
"Yes, little witch?"
"I didn't learn your name," she said, practically apologizing. Even goblins must count as neighbours.
Dan and Emma looked at their daughter, so completely unfazed by the strange creature, being so polite to a fault and felt pride. She may be impatient, easily bored, and too quick to judge, but she was also fearless, kind, and curious. Their naive little girl.
"I am Debrok," the goblin replied, his throat clicking slightly at the 'k' in his name and giving it an exotic quality. "Run along, little witch. I have work to do."
Hermione ran back to her parents while waving goodbye to the goblin. "Thank you, Debrok!"
Dan and Emma took each hand of their little girl. "Sweetheart, we don't run off and we especially don't run off to strangers."
"We're supposed to be kind to everyone, dad," Hermione objected. "And he answered my questions. I like him."
She skipped forward with a happy gait, swinging her parents' arms. They shared an exasperated look.
"We still don't want you to run off," her father persevered.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Hermione sighed irritably. "I just wanted to know his name."
McGonagall was waiting for everyone in front of the bank, patiently attending to everyone's questions . When the last family joined the group, she announced the next stop. "Now that you have converted your money, we'll head to what you are all surely looking forward to the most; we're going to Ollivander's to get you all wands!"
Hermione was practically jumping. This was it! She'd been practicing for years, fighting with her magic to obey her wandless – sometimes nonverbal – spells. She'd done every spell in the book, spending weeks getting each of them just right. When she'd done her second bout of accidental magic in front of muggles, guy one – she fondly referred to him as One even though she knew his name was Garret – had brought her another book. It was simpler than the one he'd left before, but it was still the same process to learn each new spell; weeks of practice to control the potency and to be able to consistently get it right.
She hoped with a wand she could learn all her new ones much quicker.
"Ah, Minerva," a Mozart-esque figure greeted them when they entered. "9½", Fir and Dragon Heartstring. Excellent for transfiguration." He winked at the kids. "I never forget a single wand I've sold."
"It's true," Professor McGonagall told them. "He's absolutely uncanny."
Hermione was entranced. He sounded so smart. Remembering every wand? Including measurements? What were the wood and heartstring about?
"Welcome to Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.," the man said with a happy smile. "I will tell you what I tell every young witch and wizard who comes into this shop; each wand is different, just like every person. It's not as simple as giving you a wand – oh no! – because the wand chooses the wizard. It takes some trial and error, but in the end you'll find a wonderful companion to help you succeed."
It took a long time for each kid in front of her to go, but she didn't mind. Every child got a different wand, each one accompanied by an analysis from the old, wise owner. He was fascinating, and his wands were even moreso. He spoke about them like they were friends of his. 'Cherry wood and unicorn hair, a true wonder wand. It's capable of the best charms.' 'Oh, the refined chestnut wand. Keep your head with this one, it's little cocky.' 'Fascinating! Dogwood and phoenix feather. Be ready to assist a stunning performer.'
It was funny to see the wands pick their new owners. One spouted flowers, another whistled (the dogwood), another practically shot a multi-colour spectacle of sparks like fireworks from its tip. One of the boys even got When he got to her, he took to her with a tape measure and nodded minutely. "Alright, give me a minute."
He went to the shelves and pulled a few boxes from the shelves.
"Here we are," he deposited the boxes on the desk. "Let's see what there is to you, Miss-"
"Hermione Granger, sir," she inserted politely, although she was still bouncing on heel.
"Miss Granger, try this, please." He handed her a lightly-coloured wand. "Apple wood and unicorn hair."
Hermione took it and felt that it was wrong immediately. She pushed it back into Ollivander's hand, who looked at her curiously.
"You haven't even tried it," he noted.
"It feels wrong," she insisted. "Can we try a different one?"
He seemed to size her up at that, but obediently put the wand back in its box and banished it to its place on the shelves, but he did the same with another two boxes.
"Let's try this one then," Ollivander picked up another wand and extended it to her. "Maybe an alder wand for you, hmmm? Quite a mature wand, likes to be used for advanced spellwork and wandless incantation."
Hermione grabbed it eagerly, but was disappointed when it felt sluggish in her hand.
"Not this one," Hermione said sadly, returning the wand to Ollivander. She had wanted to be described as advanced and mature, but apparently not.
He went back to the shelves and grabbed a few more wands. The went through cypress and fir, kingwood and laurel. The laurel was closest, but still not quite right. It felt nearly scalding in her hand, and she pressed it back into the wandmaker's hand with a strangely sad feeling.
"I almost want it to be that one," Hermione admitted when he put it back. "I'm sorry I'm being difficult."
"Ah, it's no matter," he dismissed quickly with a light in his eyes that made her like the man. "We learn from every wand that passes through your hand. For example, I've decided you're definitely a dragon heartstring kind of girl. It's just the wood we need to find."
At Hermione's dejected face, he tried to comfort her. "Each wand has a personality, little witch, and in this endeavor, as in friendship, not just any wand will do. We're not finding you a piece of wood - we're finding you a partner."
He took his latest batch of wands back to the shelves, unaware of the impact his words had on the little girl. Her parents did, though. They saw how her face, that had been so excited upon entering the shop, now looked so hopeless. They knew she hadn't had friends for a long time; they had blamed the magic, or at least its secrecy. It had developed a wall between her and her peers. Before her magic hit, she'd been at least somewhat sociable with one or two people, but after … It was only her teachers and them. Authourity seemed to calm her, make it easier for her to interact and associate. Today had been a blessing to see because all of those walls had come down around others with her powers, but they could see just how debilitating those years of hiding had been to her. She was just so afraid of not being wanted, no matter how much she tried to hide it. Even if it was just a wand, any rejection hurt their daughter deeply.
They didn't need to worry. Ollivander returned with two more wands for her to try.
"These wands are a little fussier about who they choose," Ollivander told her with a smile, "but I think they might be closer to what you need. Here." He handed her a wand made of a sand-coloured wood with a long handle. "Myrtle and dragon heartstring, 9", reasonably flexible. An excellent healing wand, quite grounded."
Hermione took the wand a little more tentatively in her hand and waved it in a lumos. It worked for her, the light coming through the wand readily enough. It still felt off, though, like something was missing.
"A good match, but not quite what you need," the old man said with a gentle smile. "Let's try the next one."
He put the wand away and pulled a honey-hued wand from its velvet holder. It looked so . . . pretty, to Hermione at least. The honey wood had little streaks of darker colour that climbed up the wand and divided the patterned handle into a pretty contrast.
"Gorse wood and dragon heartstring, 10½", unyielding but for a little give," Ollivander introduced it. "A fiery wand. Quite like the myrtle, it's wonderful for protective and healing magics but also unsuitable for divination. That being said it is also a proficient dueling wand as it is far more … prickly than the last, so take care where you direct it."
Hermione accepted the outstretched wand with a bit of excitement. This was a wand she really wanted to hold; it looked like a proper witch's wand, organic-looking because of the colours in the wood but wonderfully distinguished and swishy, straight and perfectly smooth. The handle was carved with the loveliest Celtic design but was smoothed over with lacquer to keep it just as smooth as the shaft. Immediately, the wand emitted a few sunny yellow sparks and nearly glowed happily when she held it in her hand. The glow extended into her, it seemed, and the magic rejoiced at the happy tingle she got from the wand. The wand was warm and comforting, seemingly filled with a strong spirit. The wandmaker was right; the wand felt like a friend. She beamed up at the wonderful Mr. Ollivander who gave her a pleased smile.
"A wonderful match," he agreed with her unspoken sentiments, and proffered her a sneaky smile. "You know, gorse usually chooses unicorn hair to complement its light nature, but with dragon heartstring ... You're going to be quite impossible to contain, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir!" Hermione said with an enthusiastic, somewhat cheeky smile back.
Ollivander laughed. "And proud of it too. Well, I'm not too worried. The gorse's energy is a lot like sunshine; I will only look forward to seeing what grows under your influence, Miss Granger."
Hermione wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, but he'd said it with an important and informative enough tone to make her curious. Before she could ask, she realized the other kids were anxious to get to the other shopping and she shouldn't delay them. So she thanked him for his words and especially for the wand and followed her parents out of the shop.
The more Hermione went around that day, picking up books and supplies, the encounter in the shop stuck with her. Just … how did a wand pick someone? How did he make wands so they had personalities?
She knew her parents wouldn't be okay with her running off, but she needed answers. When they were distracted in the Apothecary, she snuck out the open door and headed back to Ollivander's.
The man looked up as the bell dinged on the door, apparently unsurprised by her appearance.
"Hermione Granger," Ollivander left his ledger on the desk and approached her. "I wondered if you might be back in my shop today."
"I-I was curious," Hermione stammered. "I'm sorry if-"
"You're not a bother, of course," he offered her the chair in the corner and she sat there while the old man leant upon his desk. "So, you want to know how my wands come to be, do you?"
"How do they have personalities?" she asked quickly. "Does that mean they're alive?"
"In short, no," Ollivander answered kindly. "The wands are very much an extension of their wizard or witch, Miss Granger. The 'personalities' as we call them are revealing of their aptitude for certain aspects of a person's disposition."
Clearly, he realized how lost she was and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts into a more recognizable order. "Fire, Miss Granger. Fire burns, emits heat, and can catch on other flammable objects, correct?"
She nodded.
"Now, picture different types of fire that can only burn very specific types of wood, or materials," he continued. "If I had a fire that could only burn left socks, but you only had the right ones, would you be able to use it?"
"No, sir."
He nodded. "So it is with your magic. The wands can only use your magic, or socks, if that's what it responds to. For example, your wand reacts best to people who already are in tune with their magic. It tells me you've dabbled in wandless magic before your trip to the Alley today."
She blushed.
He gave her a shrewd look. "The difference between a fire, Miss Granger, and your magic is that your magic is directly linked to who you are. Your personality or soul – as some would say – is the guide for your magic. If you're a little cocky or kind or violent, generally the wand will be the same. If you don't have the aptitude for, say, craftmanship, then your wand generally won't either.
"Some wands do select wizards who complement them, rather than match them," Ollivander explained as well. "However, the magic of the person has to know that those pieces are missing and want to be rounded out. So you see, the personalities of the wands are genuinely the personalities of the person the wand is waiting for. Each wood can support certain personalities, but it does not have one of its own."
"That makes a lot more sense," Hermione agreed, but then looked at the shelves. "Do you have every type of personality here?"
"Heavens no," he laughed. "No, Miss Granger, that would take as much room as the Alley. Each person is very different, but the wand doesn't need to be so specific. Wands grow with the wizard or witch, learning with every spell and with each bit of time spent in their proximity. So, you see, I only need to get close."
Hermione giggled at the twinkle in his eyes as he said that. "That's amazing, sir."
"Thank you." The man gave a little bow.
"Hermione!" her parents stormed into the shop to see their daughter sat in the waiting chair, talking to Ollivander. A man in black entered just behind them, still as a statue to observe the scene. "We told you not to run off!"
"It was no problem," Ollivander told them kindly. "It's not often I get to inspire a love of my craft into one so young."
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, but Hermione knows she can't disobey the rules just because she's curious," Emma said sternly, turning to her daughter. "Come on, we're leaving. You are in big trouble, young lady."
Hermione huffed but nodded, trudging towards the door. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. It was really interesting."
"I enjoyed your visit as well," he smiled at the downtrodden girl. "A love of learning should never be discouraged."
"However," the man in black enunciated, his voice dark and deep, "a love of rule-breaking should immediately be curbed."
Hermione stared at the man. His face seemed fixed with a permanent scowl, his teeth slightly crooked. His hair was long, but flat in a way hers never could be. He looked proud, standing straight and tall. So, tall, actually; taller than her dad. But his words about rule-breaking seemed to hit her straight in the heart. She had made an adult who she didn't know scowl, she had made someone angry, and it felt bitter inside her.
"Ah, Professor Snape!" Ollivander greeted with a respectful nod. "How is your cherry and dragon heartstring?"
Professor? Hermione's heart leapt to her throat. No, this is not how I want to meet a professor!
The man nodded back. "Still functioning, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you for guarding our wayward ward while I fetched her parents." The man turned to her, his black eyes probing hers. "You are going to be a headache at school."
Hermione shook her head emphatically. "No, sir. I won't be trouble, sir. I'm so sor-"
"Save your apologies for when you truly mean them," Professor Snape sneered cuttingly. "You wanted to come here and you did. You're only sorry you were caught, Miss Granger, and I do not accept apologies for that offense."
Turning to her parents, he gave them a cutting look. "Did you finish your purchasing?"
"No, we still need-"
He held up his hand to cut them off. "Very well. Finish fetching her supplies, then meet me in The Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding side. We have things to discuss."
Without waiting for them to respond, Professor Snape walked out of the shop and down the Alley. Hermione gaped after him in awe. Her heart hurt from his verbal lashing but in a good way, the way she'd been taught comes with personal change. She knew she would try her hardest to earn his good opinion and to never to disappoint Professor Snape again.
Her parents gave her a good five-minute lecture on how irresponsible she'd been, how she could have been taken or lost. She felt bad for making them worry, but their remarks hadn't cut her like Professor Snape's. Her heart still throbbed painfully in a way that made sure she knew to feel sad for days.
They went back to pick up a trunk with the other kids and doubled back to get a potions kit and cauldron after. The trunk was the hardest and best part because they finally got to put down their supplies once they had it picked out and they ended up putting everything in the trunk to be wheeled around with them in the Alley. And it was a brilliant trunk! Real leather, beautiful metal embellishments, and it had a small extension charm on the inside that Hermione had read about, making it even bigger to hold all her things. The hard part, though, was dragging Mr. Granger out of there when he decided he wanted one for himself.
When all the kids had their supplies, Professor McGonagall passed out tickets to the Hogwarts express and gave them clear instructions on how to board the platform. The other families left or wandered around the Alley, but Hermione's parents took her hand and led her directly towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was clear she wouldn't be allowed to wander anymore today.
Professor Snape was sat at a table in the corner with a drink of some amber liquid in his hand. Her parents hesitated at the sight, but nevertheless made their way over to the table and greeted her future Professor. The professor's gaze was as cold as it was stern, and Hermione felt the pangs in her heart when she thought that she must be the reason for his sour mood.
"You may not want your daughter here for this conversation," the Professor led off with. "I could place a silencing charm around her head so she remains oblivious, if you like."
Hermione looked in alarm at her parents, but they simply shook their heads at the Professor. His pleasant smirk seemed to die a little.
"Have a seat."
His tone brokered no argument, and the family sat down with him. Hermione's guilt at her previous behavior was nearly boiling over her lips. Still, the look on his face restrained her from her declarations and apologies.
"The reason for this meeting is my meddling colleagues have decided to volunteer me for the delightful task of accompanying your daughter to her weekly worship," he said with a low voice. "Now, I'm sure you'd prefer a female professor accompany your daughter; all you need do is say so and I'll leave you to your day."
Was he my escort? Hermione's heart jumped a little. But he hates me!
"I don't know about that," her mom said, casting a look at her husband. "You did help us find our daughter today. I'd say you'd be a fine choice."
Snape looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "If that's the case, let me introduce myself.
"I am Severus Snape, and I was once a willing follower to what you would call a war criminal," the Professor elucidated to his audience, his tone low and dangerous. "I am a murderer, a liar, and a criminal in my own right. I became a Potions Master and teacher only because it was convenient, and the potions I have brewed have been used to control politicians, poison enemies, and torture anyone who earned my Master's displeasure."
He leaned back, taking in the pale look on both of her parents' faces. Hermione thought he sounded straight out of a spy thriller, all dark and morally ambiguous. He almost sounded like some kind of supervillain. But why would he tell them if he was?
"Now tell me," Professor Snape drawled, "do you believe someone like me should be around your daughter, let alone in your place of worship?"
Hermione's parents looked at each other, and the silence was deafening between the parties at the table. Professor Snape stood, downed the last of his drink, and deposited some silver coins on the table. The look he gave them was stiffly indifferent.
"I'll send a different Professor to meet with you before the term begins," Professor Snape told them. "Good day."
He started to walk away, and Hermione jumped up. "Wait!"
He froze at the sound of her voice, but barely turned so he was looking at her over his shoulder. His eyes were narrowed and glowering.
"What?" the Professor snapped.
Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't thought about what she wanted besides stopping him from leaving. The story he presented with just a few words, the disappointment she obviously was to him, it made her want to prove herself to him. More than that, he was clearly only telling them this because he thought they deserved to know who he was before they had him take care of her. The fact that he was honest was something Hermione felt strangely comforted by. He seemed … angry. But not maliciously. Not like he wanted to hurt her. And that made him okay.
"You aren't still like that, though?" Hermione asked finally.
He rounded on her, his face hard and unfeeling. "You will find, Miss Granger, that even if circumstances change, people remain the same."
"That's not true," Hermione argued. "People change all the time! Did you try to be better, to make things better?"
His face shuddered and she saw something unrecognizable in his eyes. "There is no amount of effort that could be exerted to expunge me of my guilt. I will never be a good man, Miss Granger."
That was a feeling she understood. In the church, there were so many expectations for her behavior that missing one of them left her feeling undeniably inadequate to the task. But she remembered what her dad had told her when she admitted that.
"You really feel that way?" her dad asked, kneeling next to her.
Hermione was in tears, and just nodded. "I never remember to pray. I don't like Primary. I can't turn the other cheek to the people in my class, I always insult them right back. I don't do anything right."
Her dad nodded. "Wait right here, I think I know the answer."
He stood and went to his desk, picking up the scripture set he always had there and flipped it open. After a few minutes of searching, he came back and handed it to me. "Verse 27."
"'And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.'"
Her dad wrapped her in a hug. "If you know what's wrong, that's half the battle, sweetheart. No one is perfect, not one. Just know, your Heavenly Father is patient with you. He knows that it can take a 'mighty change of heart' to change in some case, or in others it's a matter of time. That's why he tells us not only to forgive others, but to honour the forgiveness he gives us by forgiving ourselves."
Hermione didn't even think. Her legs stepped her forward and her arms wrapped around him. He smelt comforting, like cologne but without the sting. Her heart warmed and she recognized the feeling as an affirmation that she had done the right thing hugging him.
He didn't think that, though.
"Miss Granger, get off me!" Professor Snape cried out. "What are you doing?"
"You needed a hug, sir," Hermione told him, not letting go.
"I do not hug my students," her Professor was still trying to step back and out of her grip. She just moved with him. "Release me."
"Come on, it's just a hug," she looked up at the man. The angry look in his eyes made her back away immediately and fold her hands. Snape straightened his frock coat and looked down at her, and Hermione looked down. "Sir, I … I came across badly today. Don't hate me, please. Can I prove to you that I'm nice? You can come with me on Sundays, sir; I would like that. You can get to know me better…"
He gave her a scathing look. "Do you have no sense, girl? I am not a good man."
"I have a good feeling about you," Hermione smiled up at him shyly. "And you don't do that stuff now, do you?"
Merlin, she was going to be a Gryffindor. Snape had approximately five people in his life who dared to hug him who had not been expressly invited, and four of those were Gryffindors. The other was Tonks, but that little beast probably lost all shame the same place she lost her ability to stand on two legs without destroying something.
"I'm being railroaded by a little girl," he finally sighed. A little stronger, he snarled at the her, "What you believe of me matters little, Miss Granger. Your parents would still need to approve."
Hermione grabbed his hand – he didn't even have time to deal with that particular infraction at that point – and pulled him back to the table, where her parents sat with bemused expressions. "Mum, Dad, Professor Snape is going to bring me to church every week. That's fine, right?"
Her mother's expression melted first, and she nodded. Her dad was harder to read, but eventually nodded as well.
"I trust you, sweetheart. You'll write to us every week, and you'll explain our church to the Professor?"
Hermione nodded excitedly and gripped them both in a hug. "Thank you!"
"None of you have any sense," the Professor groused. "This is not reasonable!"
"Oh, sit back down, Professor," Emma Granger chuckled. "You'll never change Hermione's mind, not like that. Now, maybe you can tell us something more about you?"
"I'm going to need another drink for this," he sighed. With a flick of his hand, the glass soared across the room to Tom, the barkeep, for a refill. When it got its portion of amber liquid restored, he moved to bring it back but the little slip of a girl grabbed his hand once again.
"Ooh, let me!" she jumped excitedly before waving her hand towards the glass. It soared into the girl's outstretched hand, although it spilled a little on the way. She presented it to the wide-eyed Professor with an excited grin. "Here you are!"
He plucked it from her grip and put it on the table immediately. Tom was looking at Miss Granger with the same measure of shock that Severus himself was feeling, even if secretly, so he sat the girl back down and took a seat next to her.
"Miss Granger, where did you learn a wandless, wordless summoning charm?" he asked the girl, his voice low.
Her smile seemed a titch more timid now that she was being interrogated. "I'm sorry I spilled, Professor. Was it okay, though? It's been a while since I've done summoning and banishing; I'm actually working on autonomizing right now. I want to be able to make the dishes do themselves, and maybe make scrub brushes work on their own for the floor. Do you think we'll work through things like that this year in charms?"
"Hermione, we don't use magic for chores," her mother reminded her.
He watched the girl sag. "I know, but what if-"
"No what ifs, no buts," her mother replied. "You can learn it, but you can't use it to do things for you. You need to learn how to live without it as well as with it. You can't always take the easy way out, young lady."
"Even in the Wizarding world, many of our preparations for magic are done without the use of it," Severus added pointedly. The girl's gaze snapped up to his. "Magic isn't just one-off with no consequences, Miss Granger. It lingers in the air, dissipated only over time. Your home undoubtedly has a magical tinge to it that the skilled witch or wizard would notice. This is why some things are better done without magic.
"In potions, for example, any extra magical interference could prove disastrous. If you tried to autonomize the collection of an ingredient, the knife cutting your knotgrass, or even levitate something as simple as a salamander heart into the potion, the very ingredients would be compromised. Laziness is not tolerated in my field."
"Really?" Hermione squealed a little and bounced in her chair. Snape looked at her incredulously. "You teach Potions? That sounds amazing! My book doesn't have any potions at all! It only ever talks about some of the plants and stuff. So potions are really precise?"
"Very," Severus nodded. "But you haven't answered my question; where did you learn wandless, wordless magic?"
"Well, I couldn't have a wand before now," she explained. "I had the book, so I just practiced. When I had it while saying the words, I practiced without them."
"No instruction? No teachers?" Snape frowned. "And you've had no issues learning these spells?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Well, mum and dad had to help me figure out pronunciations and stuff, and I had to learn phonetics. Transfiguration was hard at first because I couldn't really picture what I was supposed to turn the things into. But even if I didn't get the words right or the image, I could still get it to work a little. I had to go on fieldtrips to get the right image in my head. Then I changed it because of how the magic used the words and I figured it out. Those spells took longer. But I can usually learn a spell in a week or so."
Severus sighed. "You'll have to be more careful than that with your wand, Miss Granger. Since the power expenditure is less with a wand, there is more chance that the spell with go disastrously wrong. The correct movement in wand-based spell work is more important than even the intent, at times, and it must be precise to avoid accidents. Even though you know you cannot use your wand at home, I must also encourage you to never learn spells with your wand when alone, even at the school. Is that understood?"
Hermione nodded somberly. "Yes, sir."
He nodded severely. "Good. Now, tell me about these books."
The little soon-to-be first-year didn't hesitate. To Snape's eyes she practically vibrated as she flung her hands here and there describing the books, which order she'd read them in, and which was her favourite. Her parents often interjected, trying to calm her, redirect her, or elaborate on things their daughter forgot. They were quite a bit quieter than their daughter … Snape had to wonder just where she got this level of energy.
Even more startling than the young witch's demeanour towards these books was what she learned from them. After the comprehensive spellbook – Snape couldn't believe that there was such a dunderhead as to give that level of reading to a small child – the selections were more moderate, but still moved above the fourth-year level with the spellwork. She would need to catch up to that level in practical subjects like his own, and could use some more subject-centered theory, but she was better-read and better-practiced than any other first-year he'd known.
When she started on the questions, he raised his hand to silence the high-pitched enthusiasm. "That will do."
The girl faintly trembled in her seat to keep her mouth silent, but managed it. It was amusing to see her turn red to keep the words in her mouth.
"You are clearly well-read, and your wandless magic is undeniably impressive," Snape informed her. She beamed in pride at his words. He looked at her sternly to curb her glee but she only smiled in response. What was wrong with this girl? "However, your advanced learning will cause you a problem at the school, Miss Granger. You are far above the first-year level for spellcasting. It may take some time for you to adapt to a wand, but when you do there will be much of the school year that you will already have studied. The first year is almost exclusively theory-based, with very few subjects doing more than a few practical lessons a month. There are some bits that you could use – Potions, for example, will be new to you – but you will undoubtedly be more idle than not in your classes."
"Erm, Professor, that would be a problem," her parents said, looking at the dejected look of their daughter in a mild panic. "Would it be possible for her to work ahead? Or practice her spells during class? She sometimes has problems that, well, you know, she has a hard time stopping when she's bored."
Hermione got angry, something Severus wasn't expecting. She looked like a kitten got betrayed. "I'm old enough to control myself, mom. I haven't done anything since the last visit!"
These comments intrigued Severus. There was some dynamic here that should have been oppressive and fearful – a mother saying a daughter can't control a magic she herself doesn't have, a daughter untrusted by the parents to control herself – and yet, they seemed to do it fondly. The girl knew they said it because they loved her, and the mother wasn't afraid for her own safety but for her daughter. There was still some resentment in the daughter's tone, but she was still young; it was to be expected.
More than this happy family dynamic, accidental magic outbursts weren't that uncommon. The uncommon part was for it to happen when inactive, when there was no emotionally compromising situation. Unless …
"Miss Granger, you sometimes get upset during classes?" he queried, earning the girl's attention once again. She looked like she was going to object, so he gave her a stern look. "Do not lie, girl. You get frustrated, yes? With your teachers for not teaching you anything new, with your classmates for asking obvious questions or just not understanding something you find exceedingly simple … am I correct?"
The girl huffed and looked down to her feet, as if she'd ignore him, but then nodded.
"It doesn't always manifest in anger or upset – because who would be angry for something so unreasonable, correct? – but it does become a built-up tension, correct?" Professor Snape probed, earning another nod from the girl. "When was the last incident?"
The girl seemed genuinely ashamed, and this time didn't even acknowledge his question. In fact, she went still; like in some kind of meditative state, she was clearly thinking about the incident, maybe reliving it through her guilt. She wasn't thinking about him or how to respond at all, a different response than he was used to.
This time her parents interjected. "It was two months ago, Professor."
He waved them off and focused on the girl who was refusing to meet his gaze. "What happened last time, Miss Granger?"
The little, frizzy girl refused to meet his eyes. "I won't do it at school, so it doesn't matter."
"Hermione," her mother warned.
Finally the girl's eyes lifted from her own lap and she looked at Severus. They stared at each other – Severus because he wouldn't show her weakness by looking away, and Hermione because she was testing the man for some sort of trustworthiness – before she'd obviously decided he was a kindred spirit and moved closer. Snape flinched away from her approach and glared at the offending girl.
"What are you doing?" he snarled.
Hermione put her hands on her hips. "If I'm going to tell you, I have to whisper! Stay still!"
Whatever limits he had placed as a personal boundary were broken as the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, brought her chubby face to his ear, and whispered, "I made someone invisible!"
Intriguing. Severus looked at the girl who was trying to hard not to look pleased, especially with that little edge of vengefulness in her eyes that seemed so out of place. "And what did this person do?"
At this, Hermione looked shy. She hummed and hawed and took a moment to form the words, as if knowing it wasn't a good enough reason. "They were holding up class."
"You mean to tell me," Severus began slowly, putting it together, "that this person was a little … slower in class?"
"They weren't understanding maths," Hermione murmured with a pout. "They kept asking obvious questions, and the teacher had already explained a million times …"
"Hermione knows she's a little faster at learning than her peers," her mother explained, casting her daughter a stern look. "But it doesn't mean the other kids aren't smart, right? Or that they don't deserve to learn at their own pace?"
"Yes, mum," the girl huffed. "But this time they were really thick!"
Severus gave the girl a shrewd glance. This is what Minerva meant at the meeting those weeks ago. Like him, she seemed easily bored with the mundane people around her. Minerva was right of course - the girl was judgmental and quick, very much ahead of her peers - but he doubted the cat had seen the angry sense of justice in the girl's eyes. This Hermione Granger was more verbose and much more happy than he was as a child, but that spark of angry justice reminded him of himself. Nothing in the world was fair, and back in the day he'd been determined to change it all. His way had been selfish, searching for wealth and renown. The girl ….
"Let me guess," he remarked, drawing the girl's eyes, "you want to be a lawyer or a politician. Maybe a doctor, but you think it might be gross."
The girl gasped. "Can you read minds?"
That brought a chuckle to his lips, but he didn't release it. He might have smirked involuntarily at the girl, but his self-control was still very much present and he wouldn't allow this girl to undermine it with her entertainment value.
Entertaining was the perfect word for the small girl. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a burden after all, provided the church wasn't an abhorrent blemish on the face of the earth. Snape regarded the young lady with a new look. Smart, entitled, and a little bit spoiled. A bit like Draco, if he were being honest. They were about the same age, just as articulate. "Miss Granger, I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts. If you find my classes boring, I will gladly give you extra work to remedy the situation."
Most kids, Draco included, would have balked at the idea. Especially since Snape was saying it as menacingly as he could. This girl, however, looked up at him and started to smile.
"Do you promise?"
He quirked a brow. "You want more work?"
"Yes, yes!" Hermione jumped excitedly. "I've asked for extra work for ages, but I only get the maths teacher to agree, and he just gives me an extra page from the same chapter. I still finish it in class with time to spare. You'll really give me extra work? In potions? They're mentioned in the books, but I don't understand how they work. How do you get a potion you can drink out of porcupine quills? They don't dissolve."
Severus cast a glance at her parents, who were now looking very amused. He gave a raised brow to them, and they gave him a smug smile in return. "You'll never get rid of her now."
He took that as a challenge and smirked wickedly at the tiny girl. "Miss Granger, extra work in my classroom involves more than brewing or writing papers. Usually its collecting and dissecting ingredients. Do you really want to milk a runespoor for venom? Or dissect a dung beetle? Because I can arrange that."
"Oh, runespoors are mentioned in the book!" Hermione gasped. "What are they? We looked them up, but couldn't find anything. They have venom, so are they snakes or spiders?"
Severus rolled his eyes. The girl was jumping around, taking the little bits of information and making grand leaps to prove how fast her brain could work. He had a feeling that there would be many instances in his future where he would need to rein in the little hellion to keep her from being dangerously wrong in her assumptions.
Regardless of those risks, the girl needed some sort of challenge if they didn't want to incite her accidental magic and he believed she needed further instruction if they were going to guide that sense of justice in her eyes into something positive. There was only one thing for it.
"Returning to the topic, if you are willing to do further work than in required of you, I believe your potential would be wasted in first-year classes," Severus decided, looking from the girl to her parents. "If your daughter swears to me she will not make me regret it, and that she will not engage in public physical displays of exuberance with me while in school – no hugs, Miss Granger, no touching – I will make the inquiries about moving her forward a year or two, or even receiving some private instruction."
Seeing the girl's ecstatic expression, he sent her a withering look. "Do not take this lightly, Miss Granger. To move ahead of your peers before even attending Hogwarts may very well make your peers envious, and it may be harder for you to make friends. You will be placed with students older than you and more mature as well; as of yet I haven't decided whether they will find you an annoyance or a novelty. They may very well be hostile and unwelcoming.
"Besides the social stigma, if I am to do this you must not fail to meet my exacting standards. You would be moving forward on a recommendation that I can revoke at any time and I will undoubtedly by made personally responsible for you. You will not cause any problems inside or outside of the classroom, you will participate in school events with your peers, and you will work hard in your studies. In Potions, my own subject, you will need tutoring in additional lessons until you are caught up. And if you fall even the slightest bit behind in your course of study I will make you regret ever asking for this placement."
Hermione couldn't contain herself. A teacher finally understood! Finally! She launched herself into the sour Professor's arms and hugged him vigorously. She jumped up and down, moving the teacher with her.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Release me!"
Both parents giggled at the pair of them. A warmth in their hearts told them, quite plainly, that this arrangement would turn out alright.