The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all

AN: I'm really sorry for the delay! I fully intend to finish this story — I know how it ends! — I've just hit a few brick walls on the way. Hopefully, I'm back on track now. Thanks for your patience : )

Twenty One

There was a Weasley lunch to attend that Sunday afternoon. I could have cried at the thought of it. It is such an awful thing to say, but that is how melodramatic I felt when I dragged myself from my bed that following morning. After a generous slug of Hangover Cure, I'd had to throw myself down onto the settee to let it work its magic before I could do anything productive.

Once presentable and fully functioning, I headed to The Burrow. It started well enough and I thought I'd been lucky, making through the actual lunch unscathed. My appetite was hardly at its best, but, mindfully, so as not to draw unwanted attention, I'd ensured to fill my plate with my usual portion. To my relief nothing unusual was noted. It was only later, however, when I was sat out in the garden watching the children play with their toys, that I realised I was not to be entirely successful. Ginny flopped down beside me and the somewhat pregnant pause that prefaced her speech told me I should brace myself.

'Where did you disappear off to last night, then?'

I made not to wince at her directness. 'Just home,' I replied simply. 'I should have, ah, said goodbye… Think I'd had a bit too much wine and needed my bed.'

My gut clenched at the obfuscation. There was somewhat of a loaded silence following that and I knew with dawning apprehension what was to follow. I could see by the way she casually picked at the grass and the studied nonchalance on her face. I should have known better. Of course Harry would have told her what he had seen that morning from my fireplace.

'We, ah, did think you might be seeing someone — '

I issued a little sigh.

'Oh — he has only told me of his suspicions; no one else.'

'And what did he say exactly?'

'That he thought you had someone over… You don't have to tell us, of course, we were just happy that you —'

My insides cringed unbidden. 'I'm not seeing anyone,' I interposed, working to keep my tone bitterness free. 'It was just a… brief thing — someone from work.'

I wished I hadn't added the last part. Ginny knew that most of my male colleagues were a few generations older than me, and further still, that the only regard I held them in was contempt. But what else could I have said? The truth? Merlin forbid; there would come time enough for that melodrama. I was lucky to have postponed it for as long as I did.

In any case, to her credit, she didn't probe any further. This was always the way between Ginny and me — we never discussed the sordid details. That's what inevitably comes of being in relationship with her brother and she with one of my best friends.

Never mind that it was always in my nature to be somewhat prudish when it suited.

'I see,' she said thoughtfully.

I knew what she was thinking now — that I was not one for casual flings. My predictable existence had made a rod for my own back, I realised. Any deviation from my staid, chartered course would attract far more interest than most. I did not resent it so very much, of course, but I valued some privacy, nevertheless.

'You know you may always talk to me, Hermione? I wouldn't tell Harry anything, if you wished it.'

Uneasily, I wondered then if she might not know who my mystery caller was… But I decided that was nigh on impossible to know. I nodded with an encouraging, grateful smile and she left me be, turning her attention to her children and husband. I simply watched for a time, amazed at the pure happiness that emanated effortlessly from that tableau. Perfection even, one might say. Certainly, I felt my throat dry unbidden and I swallowed against a traitorous pang of anxiety. I didn't yearn for children or domesticity, as such, but the human condition could not be ignored. I yearned for something, I knew that much.

It had to be a blip, to be sure. It was nothing more than that. And for most, perhaps, a blip was not anything to dwell on too deeply. But I began considering how stale my life had become, and so, a blip might be rather more on par with a calamity than anything else.

And yet, the prospect was not so very gloomy looking, however. Notwithstanding my aspirations for my future happiness, I wondered if I might not actually have had a lucky escape with the events of the previous evening.

The occasion he had said there could never be anything between us, well, I'd obviously misinterpreted his meaning. I thought he envisioned it would be circumstance and our shared past that might prevent anything more than a dalliance. Certainly, that is what I had thought, and I can't say I would have entirely disagreed with him.

But after his words of last night, I saw that what he really meant is that he was the obstacle. He did not want any form of emotional attachment — with anyone.

And the reasons why that might be, well, they could be innumerate. He was too complex a man to fathom them all out. So, I should be grateful to have opened my eyes to him. And I was grateful, but admittedly, I was a great many other things, too.

Disappointed; frustrated… But determined and resolute, as well.

Of course, the one minor issue in all of this, despite my protracted musings on the matter, was that I had no real grasp on my own true feelings at this time. I'd become a little consumed — a little swept away by the novelty of it all. And Merlin's wand there could be no denying there was novelty.

A little carried away — that was all.

Or so I thought.

In any case, there were more pressing considerations to occupy my brain. One particular problem remained and that was what to do about progressing the investigation into the matter of the Augureys.

There were three options I concluded. One was to drop it entirely and that could simply not be borne. I could write off my fancies, but I could not write off the Augureys. It would take far more than a smart of embarrassment for that. The second option was to ignore all personal entanglements and continue co-operating with Severus Snape, and the last option was to draw a line entirely under my association with him and to continue on alone.

The latter option seemed more immediately desirable, if somewhat selfishly so. However, the more I thought on it, the more doubtful I felt. Without his particular input, I was likely to hit a brick wall sooner rather than later. Furthermore, there was the lurking, terrible prospect that he might solve it before me. I could not have stomached that.

As you see, I'm not entirely selfless in my crusades.

I chewed on my options for some days after. I abhor indecisiveness, but I was becoming remarkably accustomed to it. Still, a minor delay whilst I dithered could not hurt, I thought. In fact, a moment of temporary retreat could only be beneficial to gain some much-needed perspective. In the end, I decided I would not proceed alone, and I was settled on that. I just had to work up the impetus to get everything back on track.

Events, as they often are, though, were somewhat taken from my hands. A week had passed since that night at Hogwarts and nothing had really moved forward. I went to work, I came home, and I endeavoured to focus my mind on other matters — usually an engrossing read. I told myself umpteen times to just send an Owl to Edinburgh. Turns out I didn't need to.

The fly in the ointment came when I bumped into Neville as I stepped into the Leaky Cauldron one Friday afternoon.

'Not at work?' he enquired. His expression was one of mild disbelief.

I smiled grimly. 'I've been ordered to take the afternoon off – I've been told I'm working too many hours.'

It was true. I'd been hauled into the office to say I'd accumulated nearly a month's worth of leave by staying on beyond my usual hours. I didn't want the leave, I told them obstinately, but to no avail. For a quiet life, I'd acquiesced.

Neville's expression turned inquisitive. 'Oh… Do you have plans? I'm just about to head to a seminar. A colleague of mine has dropped out — do you fancy it?' He smiled wryly. 'It's about plants, of course.'

I'm sure my eyes lit up immediately. 'Neville, I'd love to! Thank you.' I smiled widely, feeling happy at such an unexpected turn in my otherwise dull afternoon.

We walked through to the courtyard of the Leaky, whereupon he announced he would Apparate us to the venue. Of course, I never thought it would be pertinent to ask where this venue was. And, naturally, when the world stopped spinning and I found myself staring at a familiar stone wall, in a familiar passageway, and trudged dumbly behind an oblivious Neville into a very familiar street, I felt my happiness disintegrate into something else entirely.

'I think you've been to the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers before, haven't you, Hermione?'

I blinked up at the forbidding façade and fought not to grimace. 'Indeed; I have had the pleasure once or twice.'

I watched him jump up the steps. I half-debated running in the opposite direction. Of all the luck, I thought helplessly, resisting the urge to put my head in my hands.

I heaved a steadying breath.

I would not run, of course. It was not in my nature.

Instead, and somewhat unconsciously, I straightened my robes and followed Neville up the steps and through the revolving door. There were many people milling around the entrance hall — a somewhat incongruous sight considering the place almost seemed deathly quiet on my previous visits. I quickly snatched up a small leaflet, the front of which proclaimed purpose of that day's events. It was with immense relief that as I scanned the programme, I could see the speakers listed did not include one Severus Snape. He was not even listed as giving the introduction. A surreptitious scan of the throng in front of me further told me he was not present.

I felt my shoulders relax minutely. I should have known he was far too illustrious to deign to join a silly talk on plants, as he might deem it. I'd like to contend absolutely no part of me was secretly disappointed at his lack of involvement, but it would be a lie. Such toing and froing of thoughts and feelings I was unaccustomed to. I sometimes felt like the proverbial yo-yo.

There was refreshment on hand so I picked up a cup and saucer filled with steaming hot tea and Neville and I lurked off to the side for a moment or two. I didn't recognise any of the faces around me, but Neville pointed out some of the more luminous of them. I felt a minor pang of envy as I detected the enthusiasm in Neville's tone. I wasn't sure I remembered what it was like to feel part of something so… professional and academic, I supposed.

After some moments, people started filtering through a set of double-doors. Neville and I followed, finding ourselves in a grand, circular chamber. We took our seat on the wooden benches which faced a small dais at the front of the room. I conjured a scroll of parchment, ready to take notes. All around the room Dicto-quills were poised at the ready, but I conjured myself an ink-pot instead. I much preferred to take my own notes and make my own observations as necessary.

After a lull, when everyone was seated, the doors suddenly sprang wide and I nearly flinched violently, fully expecting it might be my nemesis. It wasn't. Theobald Ridley actually appeared on the stage instead.

I envied each speaker one after the other. I dislike feeling envious, because I sometimes feel it engenders a lack of self-awareness and responsibility. Of course, I would love to be considered an expert in my field. To have a field, even! I would love to stand at the front of a room and expound to expectant faces who respected my opinion, my work — my enthusiasm. What did I have instead? But there was no real need to be envious. Only I could forge my path in life. I did not have to be held back— there was nothing that predisposed it be so. Or so I hoped.

In any case, envy was perhaps a step up from the danger of resentment. I had not fallen quite that low.

There was a break around mid-afternoon and it was only as most got to their feet that I chanced another furtive glance around. He was still not there. A trolley appeared laden with all manner of biscuits and cakes and there was a veritable surge towards it, by mostly men, it must be said. Even Neville had disappeared frantically into the melee. Left standing there, and feeling somewhat ineffectual in the process, I took myself off out into the entrance hall in search of the facilities. It was as I was returning to the chamber that I spotted Albert in his little room off the reception desk.

'Miss Granger!' he cried, motioning me inside. 'What a pleasure to see you, again!'

I stepped inside with a smile — a smile that turned faintly awkward when he shut the door behind me and indicated I should sit down. 'Hello, Albert. I'm actually attending the seminar so —'

'Oh, you have a few moments yet, I'm sure.'

He was probably right; we could hear the tones of conversation still milling out from the chamber. I felt slightly exposed, though, lingering outside the safety of the chamber, and all of a sudden, my neck started prickling uncomfortably. Sybil Trelawney would surely have deemed it a sign.

Indeed, as it transpired, Albert had barely seated himself when the door suddenly flew open.

'Fucking Herbologists,' came the irritated muttering of a voice behind me.

I closed my eyes despairingly. I heard the door click shut and then there was silence. I turned stiffly in my chair to see he was looking directly at me. I was gratified to note the widening of his eyes, and not least the incongruity of Severus Snape standing there with two cream puffs in his hands. And if I'm not mistaken, there was mild consternation in his expression, too. Fleeting, but noticeable, and much enjoyed, if truth be told.

'Granger,' he said blankly, crossing over and placing one of the cakes down next to Albert.

'Good afternoon,' I greeted evenly.

'To what do we owe the pleasure? Don't tell me you've had a change of heart already?'

He sat down and considered me with a raised brow. I know I blushed violently. How dare he so flippantly reference our last meeting in front of the old man, I thought resentfully.

'I have not,' I replied crisply. 'I am here attending the seminar, of course.'

He frowned contemplatively. 'Indeed… Forgive me, I had not realised professional development was so very necessary in your role as a… Ah, what was it you do, again?'

I ground my teeth together, refusing to give him any more than that.

'Miss Granger works in the Ministry, Severus,' Albert admonished, oblivious entirely to the reality of the conversation.

'Of course, silly me.'

I smiled tightly, both frustrated and amused at the false innocence being displayed.

'And entirely wasted there, I'm sure,' Albert continued, creaking to his feet to potter about at the kettle at the far end of the room.

I half expected a derisive snort from the dark man opposite me, but he ignored the comment. 'Longbottom invited you, no doubt,' he observed instead.

If there was anything remotely speculative in his tone, I'm afraid I may I have imagined it. I nodded simply, studying him in a way I hoped was polite, and not obvious. I had to blink away to avoid distraction.

'Tea, Miss Granger?' Albert called.

'Thank you, no; I'd, ah, better get back,' I said, getting to my feet, a little regretfully I admit, but then I found myself smirking despite myself. 'I'll leave you to your, ah, cream puff,' I murmured in an undertone, looking at the man seated before me.

His composure didn't flicker. 'I suppose I could always be persuaded to... let you share it with me.'

I stilled initially, and then allowed a glare. That look I felt was answer enough to indicate my exasperation. How he loved to infuriate me — to engage that part of me that was constantly poised to attack at any perceived incidence of condescension or patronisation from the opposite sex. And how he loved to do it when he knew I would not fully retaliate. Poor Albert still stood at the sink pottering with his cups, for Merlin's sake.

The irony, and it was a secret irony that I perversely enjoyed, was that he still did not fully understand the true effect he roused in me. I'm sure he wouldn't have said half the things he did if he had. I know this, because I broached this with him some time later — to see if my interpretation of it was correct. He thought it was all pure entertainment, with no idea of what he was truly cultivating.

I was too impressed by his skilled, deadpan humour to be offended. My irritation stemmed from a different source. He did not understand that I should very much like to share that cream puff with him. And perhaps, even, that I might end up spending a heated moment or two wondering what it might be like to actually be that cream puff.

He thought he had a handle on everything, that one. Severus Snape knew his own mind; who would argue with that? It wouldn't be long before I showed him otherwise.

I made no response to his jibe. I simply turned swiftly to the door to avoid any further interaction. Closing my eyes against the ridiculousness of it all, I made to cross the hall back to the chamber.

'Granger?'

I turned to see him now in the doorway. He pulled the door behind him and stepped forward. 'Our other business?' he prompted quietly.

I feigned mild disinterest. 'Yes?'

'If you wish to discuss it, I shall be in my office later.'

Ah, seriousness, finally. I paused for thought. 'I regret I have a prior engagement following the seminar. Another time, perhaps?'

He nodded. 'Very well.'

The subsequent narrowing of his eyes may also have been imagined, but then he was gone.

It was a childish route to have taken, I decided as I took my seat next to Neville. I'd cut my nose off to spite my face. I'd relegated the cause of the Augureys behind my emotional attachments. I'd done exactly what I thought I could rise above.

Did I suppose that he even cared? Did I suppose that he might now spend time pondering on what my engagement could be? Did I suppose that he might even consider it could be with the wizard next to me?

I rolled my eyes in dismay at myself. That is exactly what I'd intended to imply.

Truly tragic behaviour, I thought grimly.

And it was worse than that; I couldn't concentrate for the remainder of the afternoon and had to resort to the services of a Dicto-quill after all.

AN: Thanks for reading!