Chapter 6: Lessons
Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm
All the world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling – I just play for non-profit.
The number of readers, subscribers, and favorites that this story is getting astounds me. Thanks to those who supported this story so far – and peremptory thanks to those of you who will review this chapter. *Jedi mind-control hand-wave*
Cheers!
The front door at Spinner's End swung open at Hermione's knock, but the professor was nowhere to be seen. She moved into the study, where she saw her notebook and essay precisely where she had left them. Gathering them up and wondering if Snape would take her to task for leaving her things in what he might rightfully consider his private space, she walked down to the lab.
"Good morning, Professor," she said as brightly as she could, looking in from the doorway. When Snape made no response – he was rummaging through shelves in the store room – Hermione stepped into the room with him.
"I've brought my essay and notes," she added lightly.
"I would expect nothing less, Miss Granger," he said evenly, brushing past her into the main room of the laboratory. In his hands was a large container with the label "whole shrivelfigs, Abyssinian." He set this down on the table Hermione had worked at the day before, next to an empty jar, already labeled "Abyssinian shrivelfigs – skinned" in the Potions Master's distinctive spiky script. He held out his hands in wordless demand of her essay and notebook.
Handing these to him, Hermione steadfastly reminded herself that ingredient preparation was genuinely valuable work, not punishment. No matter how much skinning shrivelfigs might sound like most any Potions detention story she'd ever heard, this was to develop her technique, not to discipline her.
"Do you require a demonstration of the proper way to skin a shrivelfig, Miss Granger?" he asked in an entirely disinterested tone.
"I don't think so, sir," Hermione responded, hoping that she could find a balance between being confident in her abilities and not inviting extra criticism if she failed to live up to her own estimation.
"Show me."
She complied, taking the silver knife from the table, making five shallow, length-wise cuts along the fig and neatly peeling back the sections, leaving the pith of the fig on the table and dicing the outer layers of skin.
"Did I instruct you to prepare the skin"?" Snape asked silkily, raising one eyebrow dangerously.
Hermione thought it was a good sign that he was attacking her thoroughness, rather than any shoddiness he found in her technique. "No, sir," she responded simply.
"Then why, pray tell, did you do so?"
"I noticed that you were low on shrivelfig skin when I was putting the staghorn beetle parts away a while back, sir," she answered honestly. She met his icy gaze with as steady and amiable a look as possible, and thought she detected a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes.
Without saying anything, Snape placed another jar on the table and turned away.
Hermione wondered where Snape had procured the second jar from, and then saw that it was already labeled – he had clearly been planning on having her save the skins all along. She allowed herself a brief flash of triumph, feeling as if she'd passed a sort of test.
Snape busied himself over a cauldron – Hermione kept sending stealthy looks in his direction and made note, as best she could, of the ingredients and steps. The box of shrivelfigs was as large as the previous day's sack of abalone had been, but Hermione was not daunted. She sliced and diced her way through the mound with great care and found herself taking satisfaction in each perfectly-skinned fig, in every perfectly-cut skin. Between glances at Snape's cauldron – she thought he was preparing the same strengthening potion as before – Hermione occupied her mind by mentally reciting the properties and uses of shrivelfigs and listening every potion she could think of that used them.
With her mind and hands so occupied, the task passed very quickly. Before she could really feel the tedium of the chore, the box of whole shrivelfigs was empty, and she was sealing the jars of piths and skins.
"Put those away," came Snape's voice from behind her, startling her. Always pleased for an opportunity to go into the store room – they were rare, as Snape apparently considered anyone other than himself untrustworthy – Hermione obeyed.
The store room was lined with shelves, much like the rest of the house, but these shelves had been divided to make a pattern of cubby-holes. In addition to the wall lining, there were four free-standing, double-sided sets of shelves, all of which were carefully labeled, holding ingredients sorted first by type (animal, vegetable, mineral) and then by name and method of preparation. The bottom level of each of the wall-length shelves was charmed with a stringent protective spell which Hermione assumed needed a pass-phrase to undo, and held the more volatile ingredients, while the far wall from the door had a complex series of cooling charms to provide cold storage. The room was always immaculate and perfectly ordered, and it smelled faintly of lavender and earth. Hermione found the room to be extremely comforting.
After taking a moment to drink in the warm scent and practicality of the room, Hermione stowed away the shrivelfig parts. She checked and double-checked the shelves, making sure that she'd stored the ingredients in their proper place – she had only once before been trusted with storing ingredients, although Snape had no problem sending her to fetch something, and she wanted to make sure that he had no reason to doubt her ability to find the right cubby.
Returning to the lab proper, Hermione was largely unsurprised to see another pile of ingredients on what she'd come to think of as 'her' work table. There was a large bundle of aconite as well as two jars awaiting preparation.
"Strip and save the leaves and flowers," Snape instructed, already removed to his own workstation once again, "and grind the stems into powder. I trust that this is a task you can accomplish without supervision?" He gave her a sharp look.
"Yes, sir," Hermione said dutifully. It was not lost on her that he had apparently already assumed that she was capable of preparing aconite without his instruction – at least, he wasn't looming over her as he had before allowing her to prepare the shrivelfigs or abalone. Maybe if I don't listen to the way he speaks, but just pay attention to his actions, she thought wryly, I'll start to get the impression that he doesn't consider me to be a total imbecile.
She put away her silver knife, undid the twine holding the aconite together, and set to work. Aconite had a light scent that reminded her of her grandfather's pipe tobacco. Hermione breathed in deeply as she stripped leaves from their stems, releasing more of the fragrance.
"Miss Granger," Snape's sharp voice cut in on her ruminations, "what are you doing?"
Hermione stopped, giving her professor a wide-eyed look of surprise. She dropped the now-bare twig, tucking her hands behind her back like a child caught reaching into the cookie jar.
"Doing? I was preparing the aconite, sir," she said, totally at a loss for what line she'd crossed.
"Fresh aconite," Snape said, looking very hard at her and enunciating his words with extra care.
"Yes…sir?" The clarification had done nothing for Hermione.
"Tell me, Miss Granger, have you prepared fresh aconite before?"
"I haven't prepared aconite at all, except for the dried leaves I readied for the Wolfsbane potion not long ago, sir," she responded.
"And you simply thought you'd rush ahead into this task, did you? You were confident enough in your knowledge to eschew aid when it was offered to you and charge ahead in ignorance?"
Apparently so, she thought, but managed to bite the thought back. "Was I preparing it incorrectly?"
"Not technically," sniffed the Potions Master disdainfully.
"Then I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," she said with frank puzzlement.
"The action of preparation was correct," he reiterated, "but unless you wish to suffer nerve damage and arrhythmia, I suggest you provide yourself with gloves. The sap of fresh aconite is toxic."
Hermione fairly flew over to the sink, scrubbing her hands hurriedly. Her back being turned to him, she missed the look of amusement that flitted over the man's normally impassive face.
"You are quite the perfect embodiment of your House, Miss Granger," he said. Despite the fact that his tone held all its normal bite, Hermione thought it sounded less heart-felt than most of his taunts, which was encouraging in a very small way.
Satisfied that her hands were clean – and paying very close attention to the sensations her fingers were reporting back to her in case something should go awry – Hermione returned to the table.
"I'm sorry," she said meekly.
"It does not concern me if you choose to endanger yourself, Miss Granger," came the brusque response.
"I should have made certain that I understood how best to prepare fresh aconite," she added, squaring her shoulders in preparation for one of his famously insulting dressing-downs.
"You should have," he said with a sharp nod. "You will find a spare pair of gloves in the lab study. By the end of the week, I expect you to have procured a set for yourself – or to have informed me if you are incapable of doing so."
This sad, Snape cast her one last stern look, turned on his heel, and returned to his own lab bench, hastily picking up a stirring rod and attending to his potion. A rather stunned Hermione watched him for a moment, waiting for him to turn around or somehow continue with his lecture. Surely, surely that brief reprimand hadn't been all that he had to say on the matter. Hermione had witnessed deductions of house points that had seriously injured Gryffindor's standings, outbursts that had left fifth- and sixth-years in tears, and (one one extraordinarily memorable occasion) a tongue-lashing that had ended with Snape incinerating a student's desk before sending her, sobbing, to the Headmaster's office – all over situations comparable to the error she just made, seemingly small lapses in judgment that had rarely resulted in any actual damage to anyone, although some potions had been irretrievably ruined. So for Snape to merely acknowledge her error and move on – it was like the sun rising in the North: unheard of.
When her made no apparent attempt to resume any lecturing but merely began decanting his potion, Hermione went into the study. The gloves Snape had mentioned were sitting right out on the table. As Hermione had never seen them before, and never known her professor to leave anything aside from books lying around, she assumed that he'd set them out specifically for her. This act, so unlike her school-days concept of Professor Snape, was strangely touching. Hermione shook her head as she tried to imagine Ron's reaction if she told him that Snape had been considerate, had gone even the slightest bit out of his way to do something for her.
She pulled her gloves on as she walked back to her work bench, flexing her fingers. The gloves were very supple and comfortable – she felt barely encumbered at all as she picked up a new piece of aconite and began stripping away the leaves. She worked in silence as Snape left the lab with vials of his potion in hand, she assumed that he was going to Floo them to St. Mungo's as he had with the previous day's efforts.
When he reentered the lab a few minutes later, Snape quietly set about cleaning his supplies, and Hermione took time to appreciate the immaculate care he gave every task. Students had never had much of an opportunity to see the Potions Master at work unless he were correcting someone's flawed technique or demonstrating a particular part of a potion, so it was an experience that Hermione still, after almost two months of their post-schooling acquaintance, was caught by surprise by. The painstaking fashion in which he went about hand-scrubbing every tool and implement was almost daunting. Hermione could easily someone else thinking that Snape was wasting time with his deliberate and measured actions, but she could see the results of it in his flawless lab.
As if he was aware of her scrutiny, Snape began speaking, and at his voice, Hermione hastily resumed her rapid pace of stripping aconite.
"Miss Granger," he said, "can you tell me why some of your class-mate's potions inexplicably failed, despite the fact that they claimed to have followed every step properly?"
"Well, they must have been mistaken, mustn't they, sir?" she asked, noting with pleasure that she was almost done with stripping all of the aconite stems of their leaves.
"What about the ones who were not mistaken?" he persisted.
"I don't know, sir," she responded cautiously. It was a bit rich to assume that she could remember specific instances of other's failures – spectacular as some of them had been – now, when it was more than two years since she'd last been in the same classroom as Snape.
"It has to do with the interaction on different ingredients and essences," he prompted, sweeping past her just as she finished putting the lid on the jar of aconite leaves and picking it up.
"Their ingredients were too fresh or stale?"
"Hardly, Miss Granger," he said from the store-room, hardly bothering to lift his already quiet voice, so that she had to strain to hear him. "If that were the case, there would have been more consistent failure across the class. Consider this: each student is held accountable for cleaning his own equipment, and expected to use only his own equipment."
He came out of the store room and returned to the sink, where he began thoroughly drying and replacing his equipment.
"Cross-contamination," Hermione said suddenly, "from poorly washed tools." Remembering the one time that Snape had allowed her to clean his own potion-making equipment, Hermione hoped she'd done well enough at the time – and wondered how long it would be before she'd be trusted with the station again.
Snape said nothing, but merely watched as Hermione ground the aconite stems in a stone mortar, dumping the granules into a smaller jar.
Hermione felt as if the day had progressed fairly well so far – even with her poor approach to the aconite, he had behaved fairly mildly, even if his words were as strict as ever, so she felt it was safe enough to ask a fairly innocuous question.
"The potion you made today – it was the same as the version you gave to St. Mungo's yesterday?" she asked, carefully keeping her eyes on her work.
"Yes," Snape replied curtly, moving away from where he had been watching her progress and vanishing into the study.
"Surely that's a good sign?" she continued, raising her voice to beat the distance he put between them.
"It is would seem encouraging," he replied evasively, and Hermione, hearing the tell-tale thump of books on a tabletop, knew that the conversation was over.
Snape did not reappear at all as she ground the aconite. When she was finished, she sealed the jar carefully and put it away in the store room. He had come out of the study and was on the stairway leading up from the lab as she exited the storeroom, and beckoned for her to follow him.
Together they went into the kitchen, where Hermione was surprised to see the table already set with tea, salad, and a selection of cold-cuts.
"I will not have it said that I neglect my apprentice," Snape said with an abrupt gesture for her to seat herself.
If she didn't examine it too closely, Hermione thought, that was almost a very backhanded way of saying that he was looking after her health and truly did have her best interest at heart. It could just as easily mean that she was no good to him if she passed out from hunger – and now that she didn't have a task to occupy herself with, Hermione was aware that breakfast had been quite some time ago – but she chose not to dwell on that possibility. She sat, giving her curt master a smile of appreciation.
Snape sat opposite her and began pouring tea as Hermione fidgeted with her fork and noted the apparent inequality of the distribution of food – where her plate had a normal, healthy serving of meats and salad, Snape's had what seemed to be no more than a few mouthfuls. Finished with serving the tea, Snape met her critical gaze with his own neutral one, but said nothing; he merely picked up his fork and began taking daintily miniscule bites of salad.
His prim manner reminded Hermione of nothing so much as a finicky cat, and she had to stifle a grin at the mental image of him curling up in front of a fire and preening in a very feline manner.
Although she liked to think of herself as being above the mindless prattle of other girls her age, Hermione was still not one to suffer silence easily. So it was that after only a few moments, in which Snape gave no indication of being inclined to conversation, she began to cast about for a topic to discuss.
Her mind wandered until she remembered that she hadn't actually thanked Snape for allowing her Sunday off. If she wanted this apprenticeship to go well, she figured she might as well start off by being polite as possible. Maybe he would soften up, if he was sure that she really did respect and appreciate him.
"Thank you for allowing me Sunday afternoon," she said after a few more bites of silence.
Snape nodded, as if in thought. He was giving her a pensive look, and Hermione found herself unable to continue speaking.
"...I hope it is an enjoyable one," he said at length, "for you will have very little time with your friends once the next few weeks have gone by."
Hermione looked up from her plate suddenly at the ominous tone to his words.
"What...what will change after that, sir?"
"I will be away on a journey of sorts. The country's climate being what it currently is, politically, I think it will benefit me to spend a good deal of my near future abroad."
"Abroad?" Hermione asked, her voice a squeak of surprise.
"For possibly as much as a year." There was no emotion in Snape's voice or face as he said this – he could have been discussing the weather, or the number of stones in the floor of his laboratory, for all the interest he showed.
"A year, Professor?" Hermione repeated, coming very close to incredulous.
"Tut tut, Miss Granger," the man responded, Vanishing his half-eated pie and its plate with a wave of his hand, "Less than two days into the apprenticeship, and you already find cause to question my judgment? Where is that vaunted Gryffindor steadfastness? Where the manic dedication?"
Hermione could think of no satisfying way to respond to Snape. She ducked her head and ate in silence for a moment, turning the sudden proclamation over in her head. It occurred to her after a short while that he hadn't mentioned one exceedingly important fact.
"So, this travel abroad," she began haltingly, fiddling with her teacup, "I am accompanying you, aren't I?" she found that, try as she might, she could not bring herself to look directly at him as she asked this.
"You are my apprentice," Snape said after a long moment's pause. "I would not be so remiss in my duties as to abandon you."
"I thought not, but you didn't say, and I only wanted to be sure," responded Hermione in a rush.
"You take the news ill," he said shortly, fixing her with a scrutinizing gaze. It wasn't a question.
"I suppose so," Hermione admitted, strangely relived by Snape's bluntness. For someone of a House that placed a great deal of emphasis on duplicity and intrigue, he was curiously straightforward about some things. Mostly his displeasure, she amended glumly.
"You question, perhaps, the usefulness of such a venture?"
Although his tone was mild, there was a tightness around Snape's eyes that belied his tenseness, and Hermione took the time to finish her salad as she thought over her response.
"I understand that you would not deliberately hinder the progress of the apprenticeship," she said at length.
"And yet you still doubt the wisdom of a journey abroad."
Hermione said nothing, focusing very carefully on finishing her meats.
"Can you really think of nothing that you stand to gain from this?" asked Snape, his voice suddenly at its deepest and most dangerous.
"Not particularly," replied Hermione cautiously, unaware of what on Earth he could be hinting at.
"You're more of a fool than I thought," he snapped bitterly. "It was a deluded bit of optimism" - he said that last as though it were a dirty word - "to ever think I could help you develop some small strain of independent thought."
This statement was so venomously spoken that Hermione could think of no response. She simply stared as the man glared at her, his lips drawn back in a haughty sneer.
"You lack practical experience," he stated after a long pause, speaking with deliberate enunciation.
"What about the year that -" Hermione began, upset that Snape would dismiss the dangers that she had braved at Harry's side, but Snape held up his hand and cut her off.
"Do you wish to make a career of staying just barely ahead of the now-deceased Dark Lord? No? Do you see yourself in a future where you are forever running from Death Eaters? No? Well then, I repeat, you lack practical experience." The deriding sneer was gone from his voice, but Snape was no less vehement. His black eyes bored into hers with a daunting intensity whose source Hermione couldn't place, and the fingers that were wrapped around his teacup were white at the knuckle, so fierce was their grip.
"There is only so much you can learn, Miss Granger, while safely tucked within the library walls. As valuable as theoretical knowledge is, it is only half of the balance of true intelligence – words on parchment are rarely a true replacement for actual experience."
Snape paused, breathing in deeply through his nose, still fixing her with that peculiarly keen look.
"Oh, well of course I..." Hermione trailed off. She had been so caught up in the injustice of Snape's deciding – on a whim, as she had first thought – to uproot her life that the possibility that Snape had thought of the benefit to her had not occurred to her. It seemed a distinctly un-Slytherin thing to do.
"I know that," she finished stiffly.
"Do you, indeed," snapped the Potions Master, refilling both of their cups of tea.
"What I don't know," she added, "is how I'm to gain any more practical experience on the road than I will staying here." She reminded herself of the several times in the past weeks – in the past two days, even – that Snape had surprised her and made her feel like a fool for expecting the worst of him, but the last two months of experience were pinned against seven solid years of ill-treatment from the man. No matter how much she may have trusted him because of Dumbledore's example, she had never expected, nor received, anything but thinly-veiled cruelty at his hands. The mistrust, then, would be a hard habit to break.
"Have you ever gathered hellebore, Miss Granger?" he gave her a sly look.
"No," she replied cautiously.
"Have you ever seen a glade of sophorous gleaming silver in the moonlight?" Snape leaned forward, capturing her eyes with his own.
"No," came the resigned answer. Hermione could feel her cheeks flushing even as her heart sank in her chest.
"Have you ever had to discern healthy mistletoe from weak, so as not to collect an ineffective harvest?"
"No."
"And have you ever," Snape continued, a very harsh edge now evident in his tone, "had to search out the nest of an Ashwinder under the endless heated sands of the desert?"
"No," replied Hermione, defeated. Am I never to stop making a fool of myself?she wondered glumly.
"Then it should be evident to you what benefit you can gain from this venture – and that only in the realm of potion-making. Rest assured, Miss Granger, that you will learn and see more wonders in this trip than your books could ever adequately describe to you."
"Yes, sir," Hermione responded meekly. She thought it was strange to hear him speak so dismissively of book-bound lore, given the extent of his library, and wondered how best to question him on that front without giving offence. Pondering this, she drained her teacup in one long pull, then stood and began clearing away her dishes.
"Thank you for lunch," she said, remembering her resolution to be courteous. A load of good it's done you, a sneering part of her brain chided her.
Snape apparently held no compunctions about hand-cleaning cooking utensils, for in lieu of making a response to her thanks, he waved his wand lazily and the plate and cup Hermione had been holding both tugged themselves out of her grasp and began dipping themselves in the sink, which was filling with sudsy water.
The movements of the dishes were very clipped and precise, which was a sharp contrast to the cavorting sport most of the Weasleys' dishes seemed to make of washing up. Hermione smiled a bit at the memory, and then saddened as she thought of the way that all of Snape's animated belongings – or at least those she'd seen – lacked the vivaciousness of their counterparts. There was no question in Hermione's mind that this was a reflection of the owner. She was once again left feeling rather wrong-footed and contrite. It was a very peculiar sensation to feel guilty for being inconsiderate of Snape, when she had been on the receiving end of his inconsideration and even deliberate cruelty so often in the past.
We'll just have to do better, then, won't we? cheered her inner Hufflepuff, at the same moment as Snape rose from his seat, sending his dishes gliding towards the sink, and made his way into the study.
"Write out the properties, synergies, and notable uses of aconite, Miss Granger," he said in a bored tone. "When you have completed that list, move on to Acromantula venom and then Ashwinder eggs. When you return tomorrow, I expect that all three lists will be completed and you will have researched the correlation between all the potions that feature Ashwinder eggs. Any pertinent books in this library are at your disposal. Stay as long as you need to use these books, and then make yourself very scarce." He gave these instructions in a very clipped tone and then made as if to leave the room.
"Where are we going, sir?" Hermione blurted out hastily. She was sure he wouldn't welcome her company after this point, and wanted to make an effort toward some non-confrontational conversation to end the day well.
"Wherever I deem necessary," he said from the doorway, not turning to face her.
"We'll be traveling about, then?" she asked. "Will we be staying with friends of yours or…" she trailed off, unsure of how to finish. Snape didn't seem the kind to keep international pen-pals, but that was the best situation she could think of.
Snape turned slowly on his heel. "You are familiar with wizarding tents, Miss Granger?" he asked coolly.
That took Hermione completely by surprise. "I am," she said readily, "but I wouldn't think –" she cut herself off.
"Wouldn't think what?" ground out Snape tersely.
"I just never really pictured you to be the camping or out-doors type, Professor," Hermione finished lamely.
A moment passed before Snape replied.
"How little well you know me."
As he said this, the customary sneer fell from his face, and Hermione was struck by how strangely young he looked. He turned and exited the room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts. She remembered his gentle words about the hardships of her adolescence, and realized that his had been the same – if not worse. On top of that, his hardships had extended well into his adult years, unlike hers. He'd never had the security that most took for granted.
"Ugh," she imagined she heard Ron's voice, "feeling sorry for Snape? What next, you going to create the SPERM – Society for Protecting Evil, Rude Masters?"
Hermione frowned at the imagined voice and shook herself mentally, clearing her head of silly thoughts, and turned to work on her research.
Hermione did not stay long in the house at Spinner's End after her last encounter with Snape. She quickly sorted through his books for a few references, jotted down what notes she deemed necessary, and hurried off. It was unusual for her to feel so at odds with a person, so unsure of how to react or where she stood with someone. As such, Severus Snape was beginning to unnerve her.
Throughout the entirety of her high school career, Hermione had received nothing but derision and what seemed, at times, like loathing from Professor Snape. He was the only teacher who did not recognize and reward her above-and-beyond effort, who did not recognize her work as being exceptional. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to demean her and to take great pleasure in pointing out when she had erred in any way. It had grown into something of a quest for Hermione – to turn in an essay or a potion so perfect that Snape would have to admit (however grudgingly) that she had done well.
And yet, she had never succeeded. Even when he gave her the marks she felt she deserved (rare as the occasion was), Snape was silent. True, on those occasions he had reigned in his biting tongue, but Hermione had been determined to earn his approbation. In a way, it was this personal campaign that had shown Hermione how much she liked Potions. By the end of fifth year, she was beginning to understand the reverence in her professor's voice when he talked about the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of the draughts she created. [1] When Horace Slughorn took over Potions in her sixth year, she found herself enjoying the craft as much as she had before, and trying even harder – hoping that Slughorn would be so impressed that he would tell Snape of her excellence and maybe garner praise that way – but Slughorn's praise, sycophantic busybody that he was, meant very little.
But despite all her efforts, Snape had never been anything but indifferent to her at best, and often times cruel and rude. To see him in such different light – he was short in the lab, but not unkind; he answered questions that he would earlier have ridiculed her for asking; he kept his temper in check except for the occasions where she transgressed first – was unsettling. She found herself acting as if she were in the presence of Snape as he had been as her Professor, who was (apparently) a different man from Snape the Potions Master.
No wonder he made such a good spy, she thought ruefully, then laughed as the realization that she'd just put herself on the level with Voldemort for discerning people's motives and emotions.
When she was safely back home – away from the mixed comfort of the library and lab and unease of Snape's presence – Hermione worked completed her assignments as thoroughly as possible. She was determined to prove herself equal to the academic challenges of the apprenticeship, since Snape so clearly found her lacking in other aspects.
As she worked, Hermione pondered the best solution to the puzzle of how best to treat Snape. She came, at length, to the conclusion that she would need to stay quiet for a few days and simply observe him, volunteer as little conversation – and, therefore, opportunities to stick her foot in her mouth – as possible, and observe him. Maybe if she waited a few days, her thoughts and opinions would adjust to this man who was not the Professor Snape she was familiar with.
She liked to think that it was a sign of maturity on her part that she could decide that not talking as much as possible to prove herself was the best solution; but then reminded herself sternly that she had to see if she could actually follow through on the resolve – after all, hadn't she planned to be polite and respectful towards the man – and failed?
Her lists on potions ingredients complete, Hermione moved on to her research on Ashwinder eggs. Although she took extensive notes and wrote down reminders of many tangential thoughts she wished to pursue, Hermione focused very carefully on keeping the record of her findings on the overarching property of Ashwinder eggs limited to its subject and no others. She still felt free to delve into the issue as deeply as possible, making several references to different journals and texts, feeling very pleased at the comprehensiveness of her approach.
Looking up at the clock, Hermione realized that her parents would be due home soon. Having not quite yet sorted out her own emotions about her sudden travel plans, she wasn't quite certain of how best to bring herself to share the news with them, she paused in her research and left to talk the situation over with the only person she figured would be able to give her a balanced view on the ordeal.
A very startled Remus and Teddy Lupin looked up at her at the sound of her Apparation.
"That...man," she said peremptorily – unable to bring herself, even now, to use any explicitly derogatory name for Snape - "has up and decided to take a holiday! Goodness knows how long out of the country, on a whim of his!"
Lupin stared at her blankly for a moment before the meaning of her words sank in.
"Severus is going abroad?" he asked, "I hope he's taking you with him."
"Of – of course he is," she said quickly, although she almost smiled, remembering how quick her own mind had been to leap to that concern. "He couldn't leave me, could he? It'd be a violation of his contract, I'm sure of it."
"I didn't think it would be simple for a Master to leave their apprentice behind, no," Lupin responded, "I had just thought, from your behavior, that it was something more alarming than learning that you're to be leaving the Isles. Is that really so bad?"
He picked Teddy out of the boy's chair, moving into the sitting room with Hermione trailing after.
"I suppose it isn't," Hermione admitted, "but to just decide it for me like that, and with so little notice, it was just...rather shocking, I suppose," she finished, feeling suddenly very foolish for having reacted as strongly as she did.
"It's his right as your instructor, Hermione," Lupin chided her gently. "And, considering who it is we're talking about, I should be counting myself lucky that I had whole weeks' of notice, were I you."
This gentle tease was enough to replace Hermione's frown with a wan smile.
"I guess I am lucky, at that," she agreed. "And even if he's really...high-handed about things, I honestly think that this apprenticeship is going to work out really well, some how. He's so obviously competent in his subject, I can't help but respect him for it and want to learn from it. I'm only hoping that he'll be a little more...human, really, as time goes on."
"It is a long time since Severus has had someone against whom he did not need to guard himself," Remus said with a note of regret in his voice. "He has spent three of the last four years lying to one of the most powerfully evil wizards of magical history; he's spent most of his adult life being manipulated by Dumbledore and abhorred by students; and he's only recently been regarded with anything other than deepest mistrust by the wizarding community at large. Before that he was the unfavored runt of our year at Hogwarts, escaping from the castle only to find himself trapped in the home of a father who hated his very existence. I do not think that being human is something he's had a chance to practice much."
Hermione nodded.
"He's an excellent Potions Master and a powerful wizard. Focus on what good he can do you and maybe, in time, he'll benefit from what good you can do him," Remus added, rocking the visibly sleepy Teddy in his arms.
"Don't let Ron hear you talking like that," Hermione said with a smile. "He'll think that Snape's recruited you for some nefarious plot."
"I've been found out!" said Remus with mock dismay. "There goes the whole plan."
"Thank you, Remus," Hermione said as the man stood up, apparently heading to put Teddy to sleep. "I guess this new arrangement will just take some getting used to."
"If there's anyone who's proven themselves capable of adapting to anything, Hermione, it's you," the man said solemnly. "Good night."
She returned home, and had just begun pulling out references to start furthering her research down different paths when Hermione heard her parents arrive home from their office. Determined to be calm and collected, she paused at the head of the stairs on her way to greet them, wondering how best to tell them. Slowly, she retreated back into her room, deciding that suppertime would be soon enough to inform them.
Suppertime, unfortunately, came very soon – her parents had brought home fish and chips, and were calling almost immediately for Hermione to join them downstairs. Lifting her chin in determination, Hermione went back out of her room and into the kitchen.
"Hello,Hermione," Mrs. Granger said, immediately sweeping her daughter up in a hug, "how was your day? For that matter, how was yesterday?"
"They were both fine," Hermione reassured her mother, turning to accept her father's hug when it was his turn, before all three sat down to the table and began pulling food out of sacks and passing around napkins and cups in a flurry of chit-chat.
Talk about her parents' day at the office lasted the little family through their brief supper, much to Hermione's increasing discomfort.
Her parents had had a great deal of difficulty with the idea of sending Hermione to a boarding school (let alone a magical boarding school!) when she had first received her letter from Hogwarts. After her second year and the incident of the Chamber of Secrets, it had been difficult to persuade them to allow her to return – they only found out about her near-death experience and days of petrification when Hermione had told them about it (much to her chagrin), and were appalled at the idea of sending their daughter back to such a dangerous place. Happily, Hermione had learned from that incident, and had told her parents as little about Sirius Black as possible when she returned after her third year. There was no keeping the return of Voldemort a secret, however, and so it was only with great difficulty – and a great many reassurances from Professor McGonagall – that Hermione was able to convince them to allow her to return to Hogwarts for her fifth year.
No matter what other problems it may have raised, Obliviating her parents had taken care of any qualms they might have otherwise had about her adventures in what should have been her seventh year . That action had, once the Grangers were brought back to themselves, apparently impressed upon them the fact that she was no longer their guileless, defenseless little girl. She hoped that this realization would make her revelation – that she was going to be gone, to an undetermined location and for an indeterminate amount of time, on a studying trip with her master – a little easier to swallow, but that did not mean that she really expected them to take it well.
As everyone began to lean back from the table and the talk died down, Hermione's mother made a motion as if to stand and begin clearing away the mess.
"Let me, Mum," Hermione said, raising her wand as she spoke. The bags and wrappings that the fish and chips had come in folded themselves smartly, organized themselves into a neat stack, and floated over to the rubbish bin. Another wave of her wand set water for tea to heating and caused three of the tea cups on the counter to right themselves and scoot over towards the kettle.
Her mother looked a bit bemused, but she sat down smartly. Ever since their experience with Obliviation, Hermione's parents had been much more cagey about magic – not that Hermione blamed them, she realized sadly. The wizarding world had always been very foreign and impenetrable to these two, and she had destabilized what little comfort they had acquired by her actions. Not that I wouldn't do it again, she thought, but it is a shame.
"I learnt a little bit about Professor Snape's plans for the immediate future of my apprenticeship," she started lightly as they waited for water to boil. "He's planning to take me abroad so that I can get more 'field experience,' as it were."
As Snape had said little more than that she 'lacked practical experience,' Hermione wasn't sure what, precisely, his intent was – just that he evidently thought it would benefit her.
In the moment that followed, her parents' faces became very shuttered – especially her mother's - and the ensuing silence was broken by the whistle of the tea kettle. Hermione raised her wand, but Mrs. Granger shook her head, standing.
"I'll see to it, Hermione," she said as she moved to the counter, "tea is personal. It needs to be poured by hand or it simply isn't right."
The woman spoke lightly, but Hermione heard an echo of her mother's mistrust of magic in her words - and found that her eyes were suddenly prickling with unshed tears. Hermione blinked rapidly as her mother poured and served the tea, accepting her cup with a steady hand and quiet thanks.
Mr. Granger, who had always been more accepting of the wizarding world and fostering Hermione's independence, spoke first.
"Going abroad could do you good," he said, although he sounded far from enthusiastic. "You've been cooped up in that castle for too much of the last eight years, been too used to being anxious about everything. A bit of a travel, without worrying about that Voldemort bloke, might do a little to stabilize you."
It wasn't exactly a kind comment – reading between the lines, she knew that he was suggesting that she'd been fed conspiracy theories and paranoia at Hogwarts – but he was at least accepting of Snape's plans.
"I don't see what you can learn abroad that you couldn't learn safely in Britain," Mrs. Granger said at the tail end of her husband's comments. "What's the need for travel?"
"Well, part of the apprenticeship is gaining a more complete understanding of the process – like how to gather different ingredients, most of which just can't be found here. Also," she added, trying to think of things that sounded useful, even if she didn't know for a fact that Snape was planning on having her benefit by it, "a lot of potion recipes are localized – there are some German potions that I couldn't get my hands on here no matter how hard I tried. It'll give me a broader view of the subject as a whole; as well as exposing me to a world larger than the UK."
Her father was nodding in an absent-minded sort of way, and Mrs. Granger seemed slightly mollified, but she still gave a suspicious sort of sniff as she contemplated her teacup.
"How long will this trip last?" Mr. Granger asked at length.
"Professor Snape didn't say," Hermione admitted, "only that it would be for quite some time."
"I'm not sure how I feel about this," her mother said, looking to her husband as if for support. Mr. Granger merely shrugged his shoulders, his face impassive.
"I don't think that there's much choice in the matter," Hermione said as delicately as she could. It was the truth – in signing the contract as a legal adult, Hermione had confirmed that Snape had, essentially, the final say in things that related to her studies. "According to the contract – "
"We didn't sign a contract," Mrs. Granger cut in, waving her hand dismissively.
"No, but I did," Hermione said, her patience wearing thin. "I'm an adult – by anyone's standards, and I stand behind the choice I made." She lifted her chin in determination – and noticed that it was a posture that mirrored her mother's.
Mrs. Granger opened her mouth to make a reply, but her husband laid a hand on her arm and quieted her. "It's no good arguing the point," he said, his tone weary. "She's going to go." Mrs. Granger, looking deeply unsatisfied, shut her mouth and stood up, clearing away her tea and her husband's, then left the room.
Hermione fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth in the silence that followed her mother's exit.
"Don't think ill of her, Hermione," Mr. Granger said after a long time of silence. "Her faith in this world of yours has taken quite the hit, you know."
There wasn't any blame in his tone, but Hermione understood what her father meant.
"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, staring deep into her teacup as if hoping that the appropriate words would be etched into the porcelain, "I just wanted the both of you to be safe. And now I want to do something that you can be proud of."
"We'll always be proud," her dad said gruffly. "It's just hard to make the switch from being proud of your precocious little girl to being proud of your grown, capable young woman. You and your mother are a lot alike – so maybe think about it, see if you can really blame her for reacting the way she is."
With that said, Mr. Granger got to his feet, picked up Hermione's teacup, and put it in the sink. He re-crossed the room, planted a kiss on the top of his daughter's bushy hair, and left in silence.
Hermione continued to sit, staring at the patterns of the tablecloth and thinking about how this must be from her parent's perspective. It was a difficult exercise – the magical world was so natural to her now, it was difficult to imagine what it had felt like to be a complete outsider.
After following this line of thought long enough to find a little more peace with her mother's mistrust – the clock on the wall said half an hour had passed since her father had left the kitchen – Hermione roused herself enough to clean the dishes with a wave of her wand and retreat to her room. There, she finished and re-read her findings on the uses of Ashwinder eggs, and then turned her attention to extracurricular research, in which she buried herself until she felt exhaustion creeping over her. Writing one last note and marking her place in Theories of the Arcane: the Underlying Fundamentals of Magic, Hermione set aside her research for the night, crawling gratefully into bed and extinguishing her lamp.
Just two more days until it's Sunday, she thought gratefully as she waited for sleep to overtake her.
A/N
[1] – "the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power" is quoted from Sorcerer's Stone during the first Potions lesson. As if I had to tell you that. J Also, looking up the exact wording for this quote took me to a page that has a composite of pretty much every appearance Snape makes EVER in the first six books, which I, of course, felt the urgent need to read. Whoops.
* I stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Granger rather than actually giving them names, because no name I've ever read in fanfics has sounded right. I think I'd go with something like Henry and Carol, but nothing ever sounds proper. You're welcome to yell at me and tell me it sounds foolish, and I'll go back in and change things.
** I'd like to note that for as long as this remains Hermione's PoV, this story is written by an unreliable narrator. Hermione's views of Snape in her school-girl years do not agree with my own. Do YOU think I should stick with just Hermione's PoV, or should I dabble in Snape?
I'm sorry that this was delayed! All of last week and weekend was incredibly busy, and this chapter needed a lot more working-over than I had expected.
Another thing - as you may have noticed, the last few chapters have moved by very slowly and in great detail of the day-to-day. Don't worry, I won't take a chapter for each day of the apprenticeship. :P It's just really important to me to get a good, vivid base established, as that makes the whole thing run smoother from here on out.
Please review!