Chapter 9

Severus was always observant, both to his detriment and to his benefit. The detriment being that even if he despised a student – like Potter – he still payed them far too much mind. But this week he'd found it a slim comfort.

Draco was having regular rows with his classmates and was having a difficult time managing his dreadful temper. Growing up with Lucius' expectations had done that to the boy, but he had taken to watching the boy at meals and in class to make sure he was taking the appropriate care with himself. He had found Zabini to be a surprising match for the boy, but when he carefully considered the two he had to admit the genius. Ever non-judgemental Zabini tampered Draco's own malicious temper, but with cunning. And Malfoy clearly provided the boy with some measure of entertainment as the Italian boy seemed to shoot Draco mirthful grins whenever they spoke.

Hermione Granger was another he watched. So far she seemed content with her friends in Gryffindor's third year, but he also noticed how she unconsciously gravitated to the outside of any groups – she seemed to fear making herself a nuisance to them. She especially avoided Miss Spinnet, always placing herself on the other side of the group. This action wouldn't be obvious to them – no girl who interjected so loudly and vehemently mid-conversation could possibly have such insecurities, not in their two-dimensional minds – but it was clear that the girl feared to become too close or too far from any group she was a part of.

The Weasley Twins must have picked up on it subconsciously, he noticed, because they seemed to constantly put her between the two of them in a move of genuine affection for the young charge they'd picked up.

After the first class there had been no further attempts at sabotage, but he had forced a seating chart on the unsuspecting students. Severus had not done so before this year, but ingredients were costly and Miss Granger needed to be paired up with her classmates (if he were being honest, it was not about the ingredients but trying to help her).

The ever-solitary Mister Price of his own house was therefore partnered with the first-year girl. There were no protests and no gripes from the close-lipped beanpole Slytherin, only a silent shuffling of his gear as he sat in his seat and a polite introduction to the one of Miss Granger only after she had offered one first. He hadn't seen a problem in the pairing yet. It seemed someone in Slytherin had discerned his very subtle praise of Miss Granger's first potion because he never bemoaned being with a less experienced brewer. Price worked silently with his partner and calmed the girl with small phrases when she worked herself into a frazzled frenetic fever. It was quite a good pairing, in his mind.

Her tutor … that was a different dynamic altogether. It needed to be, he knew, but he worried he'd made the situation too volatile. He'd selected a Hufflepuff for her tutor, much to the fear of the wayward Miss Quinn. She was a good student that had been an excellent Sixth-Year Prefect, but Sprout never reused Prefects. Different ever year so more students had the opportunity, or some rubbish of the socialist side. Miss Quinn wanted to be a private tutor – the wizarding world's equivalent to primary school teacher and nanny for the purebloods – and needed the experience. She also had excellent scores and was someone no one would contest as Miss Granger's tutor.

Yet he had underestimated the Hufflepuff's vigor. There was a fire in the girl's belly that had been tamped down in his class, and the same sort of fighting spirit as Miss Granger when teaching. It would be a good profession for her once she was dealing with more … easily convinced children. Her and Miss Granger argued not half an hour into their first tutoring session about the usefulness of one charm over another.

Honestly, he couldn't have cared less about the subject so long as Miss Granger controlled her outbursts of magic. He'd been informed of the incident on the train, after all, and would prefer not to have a repeat. He considered it a good sign that she hadn't cursed Miss Quinn (accidentally or otherwise).

Yes, so far she was doing fine. Adjusting well.

His unfounded attention to the girl did not curb his anger though as he pulled his muggle suit from the closet Sunday morning with a grimace and a cleansing charm. He wore the thing rarely – once or twice a year – but there were never positive experiences associated with it. He felt his shields raising just at the sight of the suit.

He was dressed and fuming when the happy, rhythmic knocking came. "Enter!"

A bushy head on top of Sunday best skipped into the room. She had a habit of skipping to get places quickly, as if she was convinced it was the fastest way.

"Get in, Miss Granger," he snapped, "before you let in the cold."

Hermione quickly did as he asked, a little too zealously by the slamming of the door. Glaring at her seemed to have no effect against her as she came to stand next to his desk.

"I'm a little early, sorry, but Mom and Dad wanted me to tell you what to expect today," she smiled up at him. "Is that okay?"

"Sit," he instructed, indicating the sofa across from him. She followed his command immediately, even after just a few days of class. He allowed himself a smirk. "Tell me what I must know."

She straightened herself up and pulled out a piece of paper from her little Sunday purse, unfolding it vigorously to get to the list she'd undoubtedly made in preparation. "So mum said the easiest way to explain is to take you through what's going to happen today. That okay?"

He nodded.

"Okay, so usually the first hour and a bit is sacrament meeting," Hermione told him with a smile. "It's the best part. We sing, take the sacrament, and listen to talks or testimony. You don't have to take the sacrament, sir. It's meant to remind us of our covenants, but if you haven't made any to God then that's fine."

Severus tilted his head. Covenant … a promise of a very religious sense, but akin to an oath in their own world. Little Miss Granger seemed to just gloss over it like it was common knowledge as opposed to something quite uncommon in all the societies he knew of.

"After Sacrament, it's time for classes for you and Primary for me," she continued, biting her lip. "Will you be okay on your own?"

"I will not be leaving your side, Miss Granger," he intoned lowly. "Part of my responsibility in taking you is to escort you to all the events you must attend. Including the Primary."

"But, it's for kids!" Hermione argued. "You'll be really bored, sir."

"Will you be?" he levelled his gaze at her as her face flushed guiltily. "I assumed so. You have informed me yourself that boredom can trigger your accidental magic, Miss Granger, and therefore I will be watching over your classes as well."

She blushed in fury, but wisely didn't fight him. Instead she looked at her paper. "Mum says we need to say hi to the bishop when we get there."

"Bishop?"

Hermione nodded. "A bishop is the priesthood holder in charge of a ward, or, er – how do I put it? – the ward is a group of us in one area. Anyone who lives nearby is the bishop's responsibility. Hogwarts isn't really on anyone's maps, but mom says my bishop will be Bishop Boyd."

"And we … greet him? Why?"

Severus was picturing the bishops of the Catholic church, men in robes and tall hats who stood at the front of a large room like they stood on top a great mountain and would probably only need a look at him to decide his soul was in peril.

"So he knows I'm there and can welcome me to the ward," she responded as if it was obvious. "Mom told him I was going to be there without my family, and she says he's going to call them every week to let them know how I am. He thinks I phone them instead of sending owls, but my parents want him to tell them how I am too. I'm going to make a good impression so he doesn't worry mum and dad."

Though he huffed out his frustration he still nodded his acquiescence, making her smile too enthusiastically in return.

He was powerless against the roll of his eyes at her overeager expression. "You've eaten?"

Her curls bounced up and down with her head. "And you have all your belongings?"

Again, the frenetic shaking. She was faintly blurring with the movement. "We are still early, but if you wish to speak with your… bishop … we should leave now. You need the extra Potions tutoring and I will not spend a second longer than necessary catering to foolishness."

The girl was not pleased with his comment but followed him out obediently with her face scrunched up her presumably grand effort at keeping herself silent at his disregard for her faith. A clever girl she was to keep her mouth shut, and hopefully clever enough to forsake the foolish practise of religion before the end of the year for his own sanity.

The bishop wasn't wearing white or red robes, or robes of any sort. He was a typical big-bellied married man with a cheery smile and bright eyes popping from his hooded lids. His wife – a homely woman with soft eyes and short hair – was actually on his arm as he came to greet Hermione and himself. A wise move, Severus could see, because the woman immediately crouched down to greet Hermione with a smile every mother but his seemed versed in.

"Hello thaur, hen," her thick Scottish accent made him cringe. "Yoo're Hermione, arenae ye?"

Hermione looked confused by the dialect but nodded as if she understood. The woman clasped her hand and shook it happily. The women from there engaged in small talk under his scrutiny.

"She's been looking forward tae meeting you since your parents called," the bishop explained, smiling at the young girl. "It's good to have you in the ward, Sister Granger."

The bishop turned to Severus then and extended his hand. "You must be her instructor. I'm Bishop Boyd."

Severus refused to shake, standing firm. "I am Professor Severus Snape. And you aren't from the area."

"I came here for work and stayed fer my wife," Bishop Boyd laughed. He seemed disappointed, but not offended at Severus' dismissal and simply lowered his hand. He continued to talk as if they were forming a connection. "Picked up a bit of a lilt over the years though. Could ye tell I'm not a northerner?"

"Obviously."

Hermione grabbed his hand then, but showed no reason for doing so; she was still engaged in her little discussion with the Bishop's wife. He ignored her public clinging and returned focus to the cheerful man.

"My pupil is to remain in my line of sight for all her activities while we are off school grounds," Professor Snape informed them as monotonously as if reading it straight from a book. "However, Miss Granger has expressed concerns over me being present in her classes today."

The Bishop nodded understandingly.

"It'll be strange to the other kids, but there's no rules 'bout it. Yer twelfth birthday is in two weeks, yes?" The bishop asked the girl at his side who nodded excitedly. "Then there'll be no need to go to Primary. We'll start you in Young Women's just a couple weeks early."

The girl bounced excitedly out from behind him and grabbed the Bishop's hand in a vigorous, jumping shake that made her already turbulent curls jumble messily. "Thank you! Thank you!"

The glass doors opened behind him and he saw two young boys in suits with name tags come through the door. The Bishop greeted them instantly and brought them over, presenting them to Professor Snape and Hermione.

"Professor Snape, Sister Granger, these are Elders Miles and Cross," Bishop Boyd pronounced.

"Ah, yes," Severus regarded them both with disdain. "Your … peddlers."

"We prefer the name 'missionaries'," the boy wearing the badge of Elder Cross pointed out with an indulgent smile, as if he hadn't just been insulted by a stranger. "Anyways, today we're just here to answer any questions you have, Professor. I'm sure our church might be a little confusing for you at times; it's practically a different culture here, so we want to make sure you're comfortable."

Hermione jumped up then and looked up the boy in front of her, her eyes discerning. "I've seen you before."

Elder Cross bent down and looked at the girl too, like long-lost acquaintances. "Hey, you're the dentist's kid, aren't ya? From London, the, the-shoot, what's the name?"

"Happy Smiles Dentistry?" Hermione provided helpfully.

He snapped his fingers. "That's the one"

"My parents run it." Hermione emphasized her pride with a little 11-year-old jump. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Elder Nathan Cross, at your service," they shook hands and Elder Cross looked up at his companion. "This girl's parents took out my wisdom teeth. You know the story I told you, 'bout me fighting the nurses and stuff?"

His companion laughed. "You thought you were Batman, right?"

Severus scoffed at them, instantly silencing the pair. "I see that no matter what religion, boys are still idiots. And these are your emissaries?"

That scathing comment had been directed to the Bishop, but it was Elder Miles who answered. "Better a smile than a scowl, sir."

His sneer deepened even as Elder Cross elbowed his companion.

Severus stood tall and glowered at the pair. "Let me disabuse you of any false notions you're harboring in your skulls; I am here to accompany Miss Granger and nothing more. There will be no attempts to convert me, no invitations to tea, and no heartfelt exchanges of beliefs. Is that clear?"

They nodded but indulgently, making Severus gnash his teeth. It was the nod of appeasement you give a sulky toddler, not one for a grown man like him and certainly not one that would denote respect. But before he could chew into them, Hermione grabbed his hand once again and looked at him with her own disapproving glare.

"Be nice!" she emphasized with a tug on his arm. "You don't have to be mean, we're not in class!"

He sighed. The girl clearly believed their strange, informal relationship was for after class hours and she included Sunday church in the mix. If he wanted to kill that trusting light in her eyes he could chew into that comment and continue his vitriol but he wouldn't. He felt strangely helpless against the little puff-ball and her simple understanding. Rolling his eyes at her, he turned to the two unperturbed Elders.

"Very well, I will not object to your company today," he offered. There would be no apologies, but Miss Granger jumped in excitement so it must have been enough. "But my warning still stands."

"Of course, Professor," Elder Cross smiled at the pair. "How about we go in and grab a seat, then, and get to know each other. Where did you grow up, sir?"

He gnashed his teeth at the audacity of such a question. "Cokeworth."

Bishop Boyd and Sister Boyd waved them goodbye. "See you after church!"

With the girl bouncing at his side, Severus was led into a large room with a fairly low but risen pulpit and a set of wooden, padded pews with ugly, horribly patterned green fabric upholstery. It was so … vibrant. Like many warm environments, Severus was forced to Occlude to keep himself from showing how uncomfortable he was within this type of environment. It was a weakness, but he knew that – without that character, he portrayed without his outward display of coldness – he would flinch just from sitting down.

Leather, leather would be better. Or just plain wood, just not in the bright tones used in these pews that were such a mixture of yellow and red that they gleamed like sunlight but instead a darker or more distressed wood.

Adults would have noticed nothing wrong with his behaviour. They would have dismissed his coldness as Severus Snape is just that way normally, Severus is always standoff-ish. He's just in a mood. They had learned that behaviour through years of knowing him, or knowing his reputation, or even experiencing other people with a similar disposition in their pasts. Some even dismissed it as being a Death Eater, proof that he was dark.

It seemed the girl had not learnt that life lesson.

Her bouncing stopped in the pew the moment he sat down stiffly next to her. In the place of her exuberance came a warm, comforting smile and a hug to his arm.

"Thank you, sir," she said happily. Clearly her bounce had made its way to voice when not in use, he observed. "You're okay, right?"

He should not be forced to comfort a child over his emotional state. There was no logic in feeling guilty for worrying the chit. But her earnest inquiry still forced his mouth open for a curt, "Yes."

Even then it wasn't enough for the girl. She bounced and got this little anxious furrow between her eyes as she scrunched up her face. "You don't sound okay. I feel like I need to help you."

Severus shot her a sharp look, normally enough to cow little children but, of course, ineffective on the brat beside him. He hated her direct speech. Her words were awful and sincere, piercing through his deceptions and hiding because they didn't focus solely on him but instead were about the girl's feelings.

"I do not require your aid to sit," Severus bit, harsher than he felt. The girl looked confused so he turned to the two annoying men to dissuade her questions. "Is this … work your profession?"

Both boys laughed, earning a deeper scowl from him.

"Naw, Professor, nothing like that," Elder Cross answered too cheerfully. "We don't get paid. Most ever member here served two-year missions for the church like us. We get sent all over the world, working every day to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ. It's purely on a volunteer basis. We actually pay for our missions ourselves."

"So you put your life on hold, do not earn a single penny, and still pay your own way in order to ...what, knock on doors?" he summarized in disbelief. "And you say most of the people in this church do so? Willingly? Are you all mentally ill?"

Elder Cross smiled indulgently, but it seemed his manner was at least getting to the boy next to him. He felt a perverse pleasure from making this goody-goody angry.

"We get more from serving than we sacrifice," the missionary told him, much to his skepticism. "Haven't you ever had the happiness that comes from just giving selflessly? The work is hard, but that just teaches us hard work, right, and then there are the blessings that come."

"More religious nonsense."

Elder Cross shook his head. "No, not really. I mean, you shouldn't expect as big of miracles as the kind Jesus performed in your life, though they do sometimes happen. That's not common. But sometimes a miracle is comfort coming either from God or an unlikely source. Or even the ability to live a productive life just from living the principles of the gospel and trying to be the best you can be. It may seem far-fetched to you, Professor, or even too small to count as a miracle, but people are happier when they open their hearts to the world around them."

Severus sneered. Open their hearts? He'd fallen in with a bunch of hippies. God-worshipping, suit-and-tie wearing hippies. Naïve little boys like them needed to be hurt, and badly before they got themselves killed by following the wrong person down an alley or trying to befriend tigers in the wild. How could anyone believe the world was a kind place that could make you happy?

"You must have only recently been weaned." People were coming in just now, all dressed as though this were some kind of special event and most of the women dressed in bright colours and happy prints. The witches of the Wizarding World would never dress in these types of revealing, bright clothes. At most lacey with a solid, light colour. Yet these women seemed to be completely unaware at how blinding they were. Was that floral, or some kind of abstract muggle painting? One of the women went up to the organ at the pulpit and began a cheerful tune. "What is that woman doing?"

"Prelude music," Hermione jumped to answer his question. "We listen to it and get ready for the meeting."

"Get ready, how?" He was cautious as to what would be required of him.

He was surprised then when the Elder beside him laughed. "Nothing like that, Professor. Some people take the time now before the meeting starts to think about what we want to learn. Like I'm hoping I can learn the patience to live with this nutter next to me. He snores like some warthog blowing bubbles."

The other Elder glared. "You don't have to tell people. Just buy some ear plugs."

"Shhh!"

Miss Granger glared at the pair of them much too seriously for her age and pointed to the pulpit. The Bishop he'd met previous was standing now, making his way to the microphone. The 'congregation' – apparently that was what they called this gaggle of hippies – turned to him to be greeted by the too cheerful smile of their Bishop.

"Good mornin," he greeted kindly. "I like ta see so many faces here today. First, we have a bit ay ward business. We 'have received the records of a member who has moved into our ward. I'd invite her to stand as we present her name. We got the membership records for Sister Hermione Granger and would like to welcome her ta the ward. Stand up, there little sister."

Severus watched the girl jump to her feet and wave to the room, earning some coos and laughs in return. Really, did she have to turn herself into a spectacle just to get attention?

"She's 'ere for boarding school, an' will be for a while, so make 'er welcome. All those who can accept this sister into our ward in full fellowship please show by the uplifted hand."

This was different. The people in the room all lifted their right hands as if swearing some kind of oath, but it was a greeting of some sort for the girl. Odd. Some cast a glance at him as well but they were quickly glared away.

"Thank you," Bishop Boyd said to his little flock. Then smiling at Hermione, "You may be seated."

She plopped herself down on the pew and made the bench wiggle just a little at her frenetic action. It seemed the girl was still buzzing from being the center of attention.

The meeting progressed. Songbooks were opened three – three! – horrible times for everyone in the room to sing their happy, spirited songs which Miss Granger seemed to think he was responsible for singing, and none of which he did. For the second song, the girl had tried to get her to stand with the rest of them only to be scowled at fiercely enough that she actually stomped her foot in frustration before she refocused on the songs she sung.

The songs, though, he could handle. It was the people who were odious. Apparently the first Sunday of each month these supposed religious leaders let any person in their audience wander up to the microphone and preach about religion. Testimony meeting, they called it. And there were so. Many. Tears.

Each woman who approached the pulpit seemed to cry and their voices because so distorted and their accents so thick that he could not understand a single word. The old men were the same, their warbling voices shaking so fiercely that he was sure the shaking was what induced the tears. He'd cry too if he couldn't be still.

His heart remained cold until the girl next to him made for the front. There had been about thirty seconds of silence – it seemed the Miss Granger could bear no more and decided to fill it herself. A part of him wondered if he should have grabbed her before she stepped on a little stool to reach the microphone.

"Hello!" She said in the bright way he now was convinced was her default. "I wanted to bear my testimony today. I know that everyone is good at heart, that we are all children of God. My teacher brought me here today and, even though he isn't really happy about it, even he feels the Spirit. I know, I can feel it when he does."

What? That girl, she dared … Severus seethed silently at her words. He did not feel some fake religious apparition. And being good? He truly needed to be crueler with the girl. She didn't even dare to look at him while she said such things.

"We are all children of God, and he loves us. I … I miss mum and dad."

His anger quickly evaporated as the girl started to cry, just a little.

"But I miss Heavenly Father too," she said with a warble. "I like thinking he acts like my own dad does. That when I pray I go into his study in heaven and talk to him. And when I talk to him, I want to be able to make him smile and tell me, 'I'm proud of you.' But he's our Father and …, *sniff*, he loves us no matter what. No matter if we've made mistakes. If we don't think we're good enough."

Each word was running him through with a pike. This girl had such a happy view of fathers. But nearly any perspective would be happier than his own. Resentment for his own father sloshed around in his heart, shook and agitated by her words like the sea in a storm.

"I love this church, and I love how I feel when I follow the commandments," Hermione flashed a watery smile at everyone. "And I bear my testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

The tears were still flowing down her childlike, chubby cheeks, but Severus resisted the impulse to go collect her. She had done this herself and needed to face the walk back to the pew. It seemed to she felt very little shame for the tears and prance-skipped back.

The tears stilled his anger, but when she sat next to him he leaned over and warned her, "Do not ever mention me up there again. Understood?"

Hermione frowned at him, tears still in her eyes. "You're supposed to say whatever you feel."

"You should feel nothing but fear for me!" He hissed. "You will never do that again!"

It was odd that he could see exactly what was going on in her mind. She'd expected him to praise her probably for her bravery, or compliment her words, or thank her for the kindness of mentioning him. Instead, he had picked her apart. She slumped sadly and her backbone died in her spine, and it did not bring him any pleasure.

"Sorry."

He was saved from his guilt by the Elder sitting by her, who leaned over. "That was a good testimony, little Sister."

A little of the light came back to her and he felt the clenching in his stomach give. There, someone could always repair any damage he caused. He had no responsibility to the girl, to any of the students.

Still, he did not meet her gaze for the rest of the meeting.

Teenage. Girls. He was stuck. Stuck in a small room with two dozen teenage girls. Unless he was in the Slytherin girl's dormitory – which was only done for extreme illness, infighting, or emergencies – Severus never allowed himself in such a dire predicament.

Apparently this was the Young Women's class. All the girls were from Granger's age to eighteen, and all the teachers were older women with either too much energy or too little. An old woman was there knitting baby blankets, but the woman in charge was a barely thirty-years-old waif of a woman who jumped and shrieked with the girls as if she too were a teen.

He refused her invitation to sit with the teachers and stationed himself in the darkest corner, glaring at anyone who came close. He would not be sucked in here. There was not an ounce of testosterone in this room that looked like Easter had exploded on the walls with all its pastels. If Lucius saw him here he would be emasculated.

He watched as Hermione hugged – hugged! – each girl in welcome and introduced herself. The girls her own age seemed wary, but the older girls seemed to find the girl as amusing as he did. When her own introductions were done, the girls asked about him.

"Who's he?" they whispered as if he could not hear their every breath. "He's scary."

He withheld a smirk.

"That Professor Snape, he teaches Chemistry at my school," she said. Why she turned and waved at him as if he needed the reassurance that she knew he was there was ridiculous, but she just giggled at his raised brow before turning back to his friends. "He's weird and very nice."

"Weird?"

He was weird? Severus had been called worse things, but why had he earned that particular epithet?

"Everyone's a little weird," Hermione announced proudly. "I'm weird too! Besides, I like him. He just doesn't smile very much."

Ah. Insult no longer insulting, Severus relaxed back into the wall.

Hermione was invited to church activities throughout the week, and Severus vehemently declined. He was only required for this one day and one day alone. If he needed to spend another few hours a week in this horrible decorated, all too plush environment he may very go mad. To his surprise Hermione wasn't upset, and agreed with his decision wholeheartedly.

She actually told her peers that, "The Professor actually had me move ahead in my classes, so I really need to spend that time on homework anyways."

That had earned her an approving nod at which the girl gave her trademarked all too happy smile. Such a small thing that the girl seemed thrilled to receive.

After retreating to the Bishop's office for Miss Granger's phone call, the group gave her a little privacy to talk by sitting in the corner of the room.

"So, what did you think of service, Professor?" the Bishop asked.

Severus sneered. "Your teachings are foolish and naïve, your meetings run by inexperienced idiots, and those boys you assigned to me are clearly delusional to voluntarily fund their two-year folly."

There. This Bishop would undoubtedly be offended, he would not be allowed to return. McGonagall might be upset, but he would still be wasting time tutoring the girl-

Severus' thoughts froze once Bishop Boyd laughed.

"Well, we are all inexperienced in some areas," the man dared to say. "There're no paid positions in the church, even mine, and so we all do our part to teach each other. And I suppose to someone on the outside it does seem strange to go on these missions."

This man! Professor Snape grit his teeth in irritation. It should have been so easy to offend him; his foolish views of open hearts and constant evaluation and revaluation should have made his words piercing even to an adult.

"Still," he mused, "what today did you find so naïve, 'fessor?"

He should try harder to be abrasive. "You teach of forgiveness and second chances when some deserve none, and open-heartedness when those around you would see you hurt and dead. Your members are learning nothing more than to be victims in a world filled with liars, maniacs, killers, and sadists. It goes against the nature of survival."

In a moment of fortunate timing on par with his accidental discovery of the Compulsion Concoction (a foolish name that Dumbledore had dubbed it), Miss Granger then hung up the phone and enabled him to leave the conversation and this horrible building. The sooner away, the better.

He swept the girl away from what would undoubtedly have been tearful goodbyes or more religious talk in favor of bundling the girl into apparition the moment they turned the corner away from the steepled building.

They landed at the gates of Hogwarts and Severus finally allowed himself a deep breath while the girl recovered from the motion sickness.

"When we get up to the school, you will return to your dormitory and change from your Sunday clothes into something more suitable for brewing," Severus informed her. "Will I hear any complaints from you?"

The girl shook her head no, but hesitated in a way he equated with children holding something back.

"Miss Granger, I require a verbal response, and a truthful one. You were told that today is an opportunity to brew and develop your skills for class. Do your beliefs not allow this?"

The girl bit her lip. "Sir, they don't disallow it. We're allowed to decide ourselves. But I asked mum, and I was wondering … do you always brew on Sundays? On your own?"

He wondered at her words. Something her mother had written her or told her over the phone today had made her ask this. And her choice of words made it seem that if it was not a common activity for him then she would refuse.

"Indeed," Severus nodded. "Brewing or reading. I do not have limitless time to do so as the dunderheaded students always manage to find trouble on their free days, but I enjoy the activities while I can."

"Well, if you're already spending time there…" Miss Granger smiled and skipped next to him, clearly having made her choice to be tutored that day.

He shook his head. "What do your beliefs say about Sundays?"

"Sundays are for Church activities, and resting," he was told. The girl looked him in the eye seriously. "But … mum says it's okay if I want to keep you company. Just don't make it too much of a lesson, okay?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Interesting beliefs if you can so carelessly discard them on such technicalities, Miss Granger."

Her tiny hand came to his elbow and pulled, stopping him short as she glared up at him with the most venom he'd ever seen her display. He could nearly see the steam coming from her ears as she seethed.

"Don't say that!" Her hands were on her little hips, and her lip warbled like she was holding back a series of insults. "I'm not just saying things – I'm not a hypocrite!"

Her anger brought his to the surface and she sneered at the little girl. "Really?"

"Really!" she snapped. "I'm allowed to do this!"

"Oh, allowed," drawled Severus. "How good of your God to allow you education."

The moment he mentioned her God, Severus knew he'd stepped too far. The girl had been barely withholding her anger at him, but now her hair was filled with small purple sparks jumping and curling through the nest. She was making the quintessential angry-child face, the one where they breathed viciously in an attempt to calm themselves but would inevitably end up yelling anyways.

But too his horror, instead of screaming, the sparking girl's face contorted and tears started down her face. He recoiled.

"You can't say things like that!" cried out the girl, her hands in fists. "Why would you say that?!"

The wrong move would be to remain silent; the girl was young, and clearly used to being the sole attraction to her parents, thus any sign of being ignored and the situation would escalate. This would be remembered in Severus' mind later, but for now he simply stood there, mouth gummed shut.

The girl, instead of getting angrier, instead of unleashing the blue magic that had been bouncing in her hair, wilted. Under the weight of her own anger Miss Granger sagged, everything going slack and her voice turning into a whimper. "Why do you have to be so mean?"

She was off and running before he was even considering a response.