The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all

Eleven

It came to pass that only a day later he returned. It was, of course, under the cover of darkness, but this time, his arrival was precipitated by a note telling me to expect him at seven o'clock. It still only gave me half an hour's grace, and still no recourse to object, but it was a concession, at least. It seemed to me I would have to learn to be grateful for small mercies where this man was concerned.

The events of the previous evening smarted in me a certain level of continued indignation, therefore, I bullishly endeavoured not to alter my plans to accommodate his whims. I had my dinner cooking and he could bloody well wait, I decided.

Unfortunately, this indignation did not preclude me from briefly checking my appearance in the mirror, and I wondered if I'd thrown my pride to the wayside. I scowled at myself in disgust and returned to the kitchen, whereupon I bolted a swig of wine and told myself to be cool, calm, and collected. If he insisted on playing games, I told myself I was not to rise to it. I would simply demand he leave.

I was removing my lasagne from the oven when he appeared.

'How fortuitous,' he observed, removing his scarf and gloves.

I fought not to sigh loudly. 'Would you like some?' I asked through a slightly clenched jaw.

'It'd be rude not to.'

The irony of him being concerned about being rude was not lost on me. It had never troubled him before, and likewise, why should I worry? I rather unceremoniously slapped a piece onto a plate, the result of which looked as though the lasagne had been dropped from a great height. I smiled to myself as I set the plate down heavily before him.

'Would you like some wine? I only have red.'

'Thank you.'

I nearly laughed aloud as I wondered what Harry and Ron would have thought could they have seen tableau we presented. I attended to my plate with some trepidation, but considered that after my performance yesterday Severus Snape could surely not be so stupid as to risk my ire again. I resolved that if he did dare to criticise my cooking he would end up wearing his lasagne.

As it transpired, he was not disposed to conversation whilst eating. Indeed, I noticed he ate rather robustly. I chanced a few glances while he was thus occupied and, probably for the first time since our re-acquaintance, I wondered as to his personal circumstances. I knew at that point I could never ask — not if I didn't want my head bitten off, anyway. I resented once more that I was such an open book to him, and yet he was a… brick wall. A complete and utter brick wall.

Uncomfortably, I found myself wondering what it might be like to bash that wall right down. Perhaps, bash was not quite the correct word. One could not take a sledgehammer to him; far more subtle means would be required, I decided. But yes, I found I was interested to know what lay beneath, despite the exasperation he had caused me. Troublingly, I thought that it might even be because of it. I could not deny his presence didn't keep me on my toes.

He appeared to sense my appraisal and he paused to look at me with a frown.

'More?' I wordlessly sent the leftovers his way.

He really was an enigma, I thought, as I Banished my own plate to the sink. An enigma, certainly, but as he spooned the remainder of the lasagne onto his plate, I considered he was still just a man.

I allowed myself a small smile; they were not all so very different.

I set myself to the dishes and once they were dispensed with, and there could be no further legitimate delay, I dropped onto the settee. 'I assume you did not drop by just to sample my culinary skills? And do not even think of giving marks out of ten.' I swung my legs up onto the cushions and let my back rest against the arm. 'I'll hex you, otherwise.'

He chose not to sit and he paid my grumpy remark no heed. He stood in front of the fire with his hands clasped behind him. 'Did you not have questions to be answered; or did I mistake your meaning last night?'

The expression on his face was one of fond remembrance. I closed my eyes and buried my head against the settee. I'd be haunted for many years to come by that performance, I realised.

'Why don't you start at the beginning?' I prompted.

He inclined his head a fraction in acknowledgement and I fought not to raise my arms up and cry out in jubilation at finally getting the result I wanted.

'Six or seven years ago I was contacted by the company Veneficiis with a view to consulting on some of their research and development. They were looking to overhaul some of their more lucrative brands… such as Sleekeazy, Mrs Skower and so on. You may imagine that working on such pointless fripperies as shampoo was hardly an ambition of mine, but after the war I was at a loose end.'

I subconsciously touched the ends of my pony tail; Sleekeazy was my best friend.

'I had occasion, of course, to visit their production facilities. I'm not sure I'd ever seen so many greenhouses in one place before. There was something that stood out like a sore thumb, however, and that was the quality of their crops. Much of it was substandard; over-cultivated, perhaps. Yet, the brews were not obviously compromised in their efficacy. Of course, I was later to discover they were bringing in supplementary, better quality, plants to use. '

He paced slowly over the carpet and did not look at me as he spoke. As for myself, had I not been so very interested, I felt I could have closed my eyes and let his softly-spoken words lull me to sleep. He'd always had that hypnotic quality of speaking; it had been actually to our benefit that we'd all been terrified of him at Hogwarts.

'I found out rather by accident that these plants they were bringing in were actually wild.'

I sat up a bit straighter at this. 'Wild? But only St Mungo's has special dispensation to cultivate wild plants for potions.'

'Quite so.'

'What did you do about it?'

He fixed me with a long-suffering stare.

'Nothing?' I questioned in disbelief. Before I could continue, however, he interrupted.

'Save the homily, Granger. At the time, this was only one small piece of a jigsaw I had yet to set eyes upon. Furthermore, it was not incumbent on me to do the job of the Ministry.' His eyes glittered. 'It's the duty of your department to inspect such premises and working practices, is it not?'

I bit my lip at that. I'd never been to Veneficiis personally, but neither had I ever heard of any reported problem with the company.

As ever, he appeared to know where my thoughts were headed.

'Next time you have five minutes, check who their shareholders are. You may be unpleasantly surprised.'

I looked at him dumbly. 'You mean there are Ministry officials with an interest?'

'It's a recurring theme. There is no political will to find the answers that you or I seek. And there never will be unless hands are forced. We digress, however. It is perhaps a vanity of mine, but where possible I always endeavour to source, cultivate, procure, whatever you want to call it, my own ingredients for my own potions. Responsibly source, I might add.'

I nodded.

'It was a picture that emerged over time. The problem with the Augureys was particularly noticeable. I was finding fewer and fewer naturally shed Augurey feathers, and when you've spent as many years as I have with such pursuits, it wasn't hard to notice a pattern. And when I began to discover a few of those jinxed trees, such as the one you fell afoul of, I could easily gauge an idea of what was going on. I've been keeping an eye on it for some time, but in recent months activity has increased.'

'Why is that, do you think?'

He shook his head. 'Complacency, maybe? The taste for the spoils are proving too much of a draw. But that is where we should be able to make our advantage – when they become sloppy.'

'What do we do, then? What's the next step?'

'We must find the group responsible for smuggling and dealing in these illegally obtained ingredients. Only then can we force wider questions to be asked. How could we hope to infiltrate St Mungo's to get to the heart of their practices? How could we expose Veneficiis? We couldn't… But maybe that is where you and your department will come in, further down the line.'

I said nothing. I wondered how just the two of us could ensnare a smuggling ring. And would I end up pursuing those guilty of malpractice, as he suggested? I wondered how there could ever be a time where I could be allowed to put my ideas forward to the powers-that-be and be listened to.

Emboldened by the fact he seemed not to be disposed to talking in his usual opaque riddles, I decided to try some further questions of my own.

'Why did you decide to take this on yourself? If I may be so blunt — why should you care?'

His chin sank momentarily onto his chest, as if in thought. He stood facing from me, but nevertheless, I witnessed the small smile playing about his mouth.

'Why, the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making, of course.' He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, and I felt myself smiling in understanding.

He finally deigned to sit. 'Do you know where I see this heading, Granger, if things continue unchecked?'

I said nothing.

'If not handled properly, I see this as the end of potion-making as we know it. If we have not the natural resources, what else is there?'

'Only man-made resources.'

'Precisely; do the Muggles not already have many alternatives for our everyday potions?'

'Does the utilising of Muggle products or practices, even, necessarily have to be a bad thing?'

'At the expense of a millennia-old magical tradition? Yes it is. But don't misunderstand me; we may yet have much to learn from the Muggles.'

I couldn't help but be taken by his obvious passion for potion-making. Indeed, to a certain extent, I rather envied it. I'd always wanted to be good at everything, to the point where I never really found my true passion — my true calling, perhaps. I knew him to be highly intelligent and knowledgeable about a lot of things, but he was also an expert in his field, too.

I tried my luck again. 'How did this come to be a one-man mission?'

He sat forward and contemplated his hands. 'The rot, it would seem, is all pervading. You may well wonder at phantom expeditions to Norway, but they are necessary, because despite my personal beliefs, I have the dubious honour of being the leader of a Society which permits such members as Veneficiis and St Mungo's and so on and so forth.'

He looked directly at me then. 'All of whom pay a not insignificant annual membership subscription fee for the privilege. Fees which pay our wages, fund our research… You see now my need for delicacy?'

I frowned in thought at the complexity of the situation.

'And besides,' he continued, in a tone more unguarded than I had possibly ever heard from him. 'If you want a job doing, do it yourself, in my opinion.'

I smiled in agreement. Never were truer words spoken, I decided.

I got to my feet and fetched the wine bottle. 'Would you like a drink?'

He nodded and, as I handed him the glass, he said: 'Do you often find yourself at the bottom of a wine bottle on a weekday?'

I snorted despite myself. 'With conscious effort – no, I do not.'

As I settled myself back down, and suitably fortified, I faced him and spoke bluntly. 'You will allow my assistance now, then? Full co-operation? Proper co-operation — I'll not be here to be manipulated and used.'

'What choice do I have?' He grimaced slightly as if the prospect of our co-operation pained him. I scowled at the disdain. I was sick of disdain. Why was I always met with it from all quarters? That is how it seemed to me. However, I will allow that I could not be so vain as to imagine Severus Snape's patented disdain was for me and me alone. Therefore, I should not let it trouble me so personally.

Indeed, when his next words took me by surprise, and having observed the way in which he said them, suddenly I began to think I'd been assessing him all wrong, since the very start.

'You may prove useful yet, Granger.'

That is what he said. Hardly the most inspiring vote of confidence, but instead of allowing my inner know-it-all to bridle, I decided to focus on what his words said about him, not me. They were not meant to put me in my place, as they appeared on the face of it. They really were his vote of confidence.

I thought on his actions up until this point and wondered why he had resisted involving others in his quest; why he strove to be so secretive all the time. He was no glory hunter, of course, of that I was in no doubt. Perhaps it was his independence? He was an able man; and even without the knowledge of his past, there could be no pretending that Severus Snape was used to relying on only one person – himself.

No doubt he enjoyed causing me frustration and seeing how many sarcastic remarks he could get away with before I would snap. But I'd internalised it as a personal attack, when really, I should have known this was just his modus operandi. And I thought it was becoming clear to me after hearing him speak this night… Each day he must spend keeping everyone at arm's length. Keeping them secure in their fixed orbit around him. I meant no inference through this analogy that he was narcissistic, that he saw himself at the centre of everything, more that he liked everyone where he could see them.

I found it suddenly very poignant.

Did he know what it was like to trust another? I wondered. Did he know what it was like to share burdens rather than to shoulder them? And, maybe, therein would lie his weakness, I thought. There was the crack in which to infiltrate those walls around him. If he did not know what it was to be close to someone, to find out after all these years would surely be his undoing? It was human nature, after all, to form relationships – to seek companionship.

Had anyone other than Lily Evans ever got close enough? Would he ever allow it? I was quite sure he had enough self-awareness to know his weaknesses, hence his façade of cutting comments and aloofness. Hence his high-handed and disdainful manner. It was probably second-nature to him now.

I considered that I would treasure his trust, if he would let me have it. The thought rather took me by surprise, but yes, I decided that I should like to be his friend.

Yet, here was the irony — that I should spend time fathoming the idiosyncrasies of others when I had my own to contend with. Who was I to pontificate on relationships when I often struggled to connect with others?

It was a sobering moment and I sought to get back to the matter at hand.

'So where do we start?'

He considered for a moment. 'I think Cresswell is the starting point. I may need to lean on him a bit more to squeeze out any further details.'

I raised my eyebrows at his terminology.

'As will you, Granger.'

'Me?'

'Yes… You shall play up your doubts about my character, not too difficult for you, I'm sure, and perhaps trick him into revealing more than he realises.'

I frowned. 'You're convinced he's looking to implicate you?'

He scoffed. 'I know it.'

'To what end?'

'Good old-fashioned revenge, no doubt.'

I thought about when Cresswell had told me about the punch to the face. I also thought about the other…oddities I'd discovered about the man opposite me and it occurred to me that Cresswell couldn't be responsible for all of them. I still didn't know where the other copies of the Augurey work had gone. And I didn't know how one of those copies came to be stuffed away in Snape's office.

I was grateful that night to have survived this encounter with him relatively unbruised, for a change. He could be serious, when he wanted to be, and he could curtail the condescension. I was not without humour — I didn't mind the odd sarcastic jibe. I could even admire his wit, sometimes. He liked to be in control, well, I could even stomach that. What I resented, however, was that he might manipulate me without me even realising it.

He did not see me as an equal, that much was obvious. But again, I could recognise now that this was not personal on his part— not borne of any particular personal dislike or contempt. Severus Snape simply did not have equals. In his mind I felt it was so.

And so, what remained? Ironically, it seemed to me the only option was that I should have to make it personal. I would make him take notice of me. I would make him appreciate my input, and I would make him feel grateful for it.

It was hypocritical of me, possibly, that I chose not to tell him there and then about my concerns that Cresswell might not be the only person double-crossing him. Was I not then playing the same two-handed game that I derided in him?

Maybe.

But if I was to have my moment, then I needed something.

Because I might have won this little skirmish, but I wasn't yet convinced I'd win the battle.

AN: Thanks for reading : )