Chapter 7: The Birthday
Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm
I don't own Severus Snape, Acromantulas, or any other aspect of JK Rowling's creation. I am happier this way, because, really, who wants to be the wealthiest woman in Britain? Anything that you recognize is hers, or a variation thereof. I shall try my best to give credit where credit is due in every way possible.
Side note – oh my goodness! This story in the last 20 days has gotten over 2000 individual readers, which is incredible to me! I quite nearly fell out of my chair when I checked my traffic for Tuesday (the day I posted the last chapter) and saw 700 unique visitors, and we're up to almost 100 subscriptions/favourites. Thank you ALL for going on this adventure with me! Super special thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story, as well. I'm doing my best to keep on top of reviews, and additional thanks to those of you who aren't members but review anyway. I love you guys too, even if I can't respond directly to you. It is for you wonderful people that I write.
Now – onto the story!
The next morning dawned on a very contrite Hermione. The more she reviewed the exchanges with Snape from the previous day, the more embarrassed she felt. He was right, she thought as she burrowed deeper under her covers, trying to milk as many moments of warmth and comfort as possible, I couldn't wait even a week before I started questioning him.
Hermione knew that a large part of the conflict from the afternoon before came from the independent nature that had developed lately, mainly due (she assumed) to the influence of Harry and Ron. Before befriending them in first year, she would have never dreamed of questioning the authority of a teacher, never even considered breaking a rule. As rules were pushed further and further in their various madcap adventures from first through sixth year, a certain recklessness had developed in the boys, matched by a stubborn independence in Hermione. The seventh year that they spent essentially living alone had cemented that feeling of head-strong autonomy. Returning to Hogwarts as eighth-year students and the Golden Trio who had saved all of wizarding Britain, they had received a great deal of license.
While she liked to think that she hadn't abused that license, Hermione saw the result of it in her interactions with Snape, and felt very much the fool.
Of course, she'd assumed that if anyone would be the sort of master to allow her a great deal of freedom and self-guided study, it would be the reticent Potions Master. She had thought that the apprenticeship would be something of an extended independent study, given that he normally showed no indication to do more with his students than absolutely necessary.
To be proven wrong in this assumption was at once puzzling and strangely gratifying – or it could be, she thought, if it were under a less acerbic and unpredictable master.
"I'm very much the fool, Crookshanks," she told the lump of warmth nestled against her side. "I just don't like being told as much by Professor Snape."
Friday and Saturday passed without fuss – Hermione managed to keep her head down and her mouth shut, answering questions Snape put to her, and speaking enough to be cordial, but otherwise minding her own business. For his part, Snape seemed perfectly content to not seek out any extraneous conversation, and so the two days were spent in quiet efficiency.
Hermione was put through alternating rounds of researching the properties of ingredients, and hands-on preparation of those ingredients. She was grateful to note that she didn't handle every ingredient she was made to research. On Friday, Snape took the time to demonstrate how to prepare the ingredients she was processing (asphodel and black beetles), but on Saturday, he contented himself with verbal instruction and then monitoring her efforts. Both days, he interrupted her studies to make her eat, both times with caustic comments about not wanting to neglect her well-being Hermione wondered if this was some sort of snide rebuttal for the way she'd previously questioned his decisions, or if he was simply looking after her best interests. Sticking determinedly with her plan of action, however, she simply thanked him for the meal and ate quickly before returning to her tasks.
On Saturday morning she had received an owl from Harry and Ron, instructing her to meet them at Grimmauld Place at half past twelve on the following day, and to be prepared for an afternoon in the city. In it, Harry added in a post-script that Lupin had told him about the travels that Hermione would soon be embarking on. Both men had then told Ron, who had reacted predictably poorly. Harry said that Ron was putting on a show of being unconcerned, but that he, Harry, suspected that Hermione would be getting some suspicious questions from Ron on Sunday.
This letter had reassured her – Hermione had been unsure how to tell Harry and Ron that she'd be leaving, and was glad that Remus had done it for her. While they had been separated in the last year – while she was at Hogwarts and Harry and Ron were already beginning with the Ministry – between owl post, Floo visits, and weekends and holidays, it had almost been as if they were all living in the same place still. While she was reasonably certain that their friendship was mature enough to handle separation, even a year-long separation, she didn't know how either boy (especially Ron) would react to her leaving for an extended trip at Snape's behest. From his post-script, Hermione could tell that Harry was taking the news with his usual (at least, usual since Snape's true loyalties had been uncovered) good grace, and that was comfort enough for Hermione to feel optimistic about facing Ron.
So it was that Hermione made her way to Spinner's End on Sunday morning, pleased with her success at reining in her tongue in the last two days – and the lack of conflict that had resulted. She expected a repeat performance in this shortened day, and was looking forward to the reward of a relaxing afternoon with her friends.
Snape opened the door at her knock but did not grant her entry; rather, he let her stand on the porch as he peered at her from inside.
"When am I rid of you today?" he asked, even as she opened her mouth to say hello. Although the words were biting, Hermione got the distinct impression that it was more out of habit than any real desire to be unkind, and so she took no offense.
"I was hoping to leave about noon, sir," she replied.
"Very well," said Snape, stepping back and opening the door fully so that she could enter.
Snape lead her into the study, where he sat near a pile of books and loose parchments that suggested that he had long been awake and busy this morning.
"Tell me about Ashwinder eggs," he said without preamble.
"I'm sorry, sir?" Hermione asked, taken by surprise.
"Your research into the central use of Ashwinder eggs," he elaborated. "The research you completed only days ago. Share it with me."
"I gave you my paper, sir," Hermione said hastily, wondering what he was getting at.
"I am aware of that, Miss Granger," Snape said with a clipped sigh, pursing his lip and quirking one eyebrow in apparent annoyance. "I now wish for you to summarize your research for me." He fell silent, clasping his hands in front of him and giving her an expectant look.
Breathing in deeply, Hermione forced herself to return his gaze, even as she hastily recalled her research.
"The only potions that use Ashwinder eggs as a central ingredient are potions that focus on compulsion," she began. "Although they are used in other potions as supporting ingredients – mostly healing potions for ague and joint-related ailments -, almost every potion that is built around them is used for forcing an emotional or mental state on the subject. The two best examples of this are Amortentia, a powerful love potion, and the Zwingend Draught, which is banned from production and sale in the UK and most of Europe, because it mimics the effects of the Imperius curse." Hermione paused, wondering if she could continue, but as Snape gave no indication that he intended to move or speak, she continued to elaborate on the other potions that Ashwinder eggs were used in, and how they related to the theme of compulsion.
Snape listened patiently through her explanation, his face entirely expressionless and his posture unmoving. It was rather gratifying, Hermione noted in a distant way, to have someone who seemed so content to simply listen. Harry and Ron, along with all her other classmates, would have fidgeted and been bored; her teachers would have been looking for points to interject their own comments or additional findings; but Snape merely sat and took in what she said.
When she was done, Hermione simply stopped talking and watched Snape for some sign of his approval or disapproval. She received none: his face remained blank, but he began to fire off questions; asking her specifics about the creation of different potions she'd mentioned, asking for the name of different references she'd cited, demanding clarification of an idea here, or elaboration of something she had mentioned.
He continued this rapid-fire interrogation, which she scrambled to keep up with, for more than an hour. As time stretched on, the conversation – if one could call it that – was about nothing remotely concerning Ashwinder eggs or potions about compulsion. Indeed, Hermione noted that the tangents that Snape was pursuing were nearly parallel to those that she had followed after her own research. It was an exhilarating challenge. Once Hermione had answered a question, Snape would throw out another one without pause; if she fumbled with an answer or couldn't come up with something right away, Snape would make a dismissive noise and produce another question.
As they approached the second hour of this verbal back-and-forth, it ended as abruptly as it had begun. Snape stood up, holding a parchment forward for Hermione to take. Taking it, she was surprised to see what appeared to be a list of all the questions she had just mis-answered or hadn't been able to answer at all. She looked up at Snape, fairly certain that she knew what was coming, but awaiting his instructions nonetheless. A small part of her mind was busy being impressed at this feat – she hadn't noticed him putting up any charms and he hadn't had enough time to make note of every question as they went along. I wonder what it'd take to get him to show me that, she wondered.
"Use whatever research is necessary, but I want those questions answered," Snape said as he strode from the room. "By the time you leave."
As he had left her with only twelve questions and two hours in which to answer them, Hermione thought this was a fair task – not to mention a pleasant break from the monotony of looking up the properties of different plant and animal bits – and set to work with a will.
Hermione neither saw nor heard anything from Snape as she worked her way through the questions, pulling out many of his books for reference and once even Apparating home to retrieve a book. She was happy for her increasing level of comfort in the study, and the concurrently growing level of familiarity with its shelves and filing.
A time or two, Hermione was tempted to look at the stack of books that Snape had been busy with when she arrived, but as he had somehow managed to leave everything face-down , she felt it was in her best interests not to pry.
She was re-shelving the last of the books she'd referenced when the Potions Master returned to the room almost precisely two hours later. As she turned to hand him the parchment, an unusual bookend caught her eye, and she paused to investigate it: a thick glass box with a silver medallion inside. It took a moment for the meaning of that artifact to sink into Hermione's mind.
"You received an Order of Merlin?" she asked, facing him and trying not to sound incredulous. "But it was never announced! I'm sure I would remember if it had been, Harry and Remus were ever so upset with –"
"The Ministry felt no need to disturb themselves with publicity," Snape cut in, his face impassive, "especially as I was yet unconscious at the time."
"Still," Hermione said reprovingly, "After you were on the mend, I'd have thought they would – Hang on," she interrupted herself, her mind switching tracks. "I thought you said that it was a bad time for you to be in Britain, but if you've been given the Order…"
Again, Snape cut her off. "The War is an uncomfortable topic for the Ministry," he said blankly. "They did very little to distinguish themselves, and would much rather let the matter drop. Furthermore, my own involvement was, as you are no doubt well-aware, received with mixed feelings. If they could have, I am sure it would have been preferable to forget me entirely, but that would have caused certain busybodies -" here his eyes grew sharp as he threw a direct look her way, before returning to their customary blankness "—to rally to the cause and bring further embarrassment to the Ministry. By giving me due credit, they were able to all the more quickly allow the matter to fade into obscurity. That does not, however, alter the fact that I am most unpopular with the majority of Wizarding Britain."
"But after all you did…" Hermione allowed her protest to trail off at a sharp quirk of the Potions Master's eyebrow.
"I do not need accolades or acknowledgment," and though his tone was severe, she noted that his face had softened somewhat. "Nothing of my role was glorious, and I am not proud of much of what I had to do. I know what I did, and results," here he pulled a bitter face, "suggest that I did it well. That is gracious plenty."
For a single, unguarded instant, Hermione saw a depth of tiredness and emotion on the man's face that she might have, in her student days, thought impossible. Remus' words about how little Snape was able to be human echoed in her memory, and she felt a brief pang of – not pity, she decided, but something akin to admiration or gratitude – for the man. He began sorting through his parchments in silence, his face once again a stony mask. Hermione watched him quietly. Racking her brains, she was hard-pressed to remember any instance of him willingly talking about his role as a double-agent. She was bizarrely gratified, and wondered what had prompted him to lower his walls – however slightly or briefly.
After another moment's silence, Snape looked up. He held out one hand, into which Hermione placed her parchment.
"I shall expect lists of the properties of black opals when you return tomorrow," he said, as if the past conversation had never happened, "Very well, Miss Granger, be gone with you."' He flicked his fingers at her in a dismissive gesture, turning and sweeping from the room.
While he hadn't in any way acknowledged her birthday, Hermione observed as she gathered her notebooks and left, giving her only one ingredient to research made it seem like, at the very least, he was cognizant of the fact that one does not take an afternoon off only to devote it to studying. In a very Slytherin way, she could almost consider it a birthday present – the gift of time to devote to her own pursuits.
When Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place not much later, it was to find Harry, Ron, and Remus already waiting for her with a grin and a happy-birthday hug apiece. They gave her their well-wishes in a rather rushed manner.
"There's a portkey just outside of Hogsmeade leaving in under ten minutes," Lupin explained as he ushered her to the door. "Apparate to the front stoop of the Shrieking Shack, it isn't far from there."
Hermione and the boys obeyed, and set off at a trot down the lane leading away from Hogsmeade.
"The clerk said it was a boot of some sort," said Lupin as the four spread out, searching for anything that looked like it might whisk them away. "Ah! Here it is," he beckoned them over to a single tall lady's boot, holding it out for Hermione to touch.
Harry looked to his wristwatch. "Should be about a minute to go," he said, hooking one finger through the laces.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, gripping the tongue of the boot very firmly.
"Paris," Ron said with a wide grin, laying his hand too close to her own. "Thought you might enjoy some time abroad with real company."
The barb annoyed Hermione, but just as she opened her mouth to retort, she felt a jerking sensation behind her navel, and the companions were sent whirling through the darkness. Before she could get truly disoriented, there was a haze of light that settled itself into a picturesque lane lined with narrow houses.
"This is just outside of the city itself," Harry explained when Hermione looked around in obvious confusion. "The French Ministry is located somewhere under Paris, and they're touchy about how close you can get to the city by Portkey. We'll Apparate into a pretty safe alley from here."
As Harry was speaking, Ron offered Hermione his arm, apparently intending to take her Side-Along, which she took. All three wizards spun on their heels, and then Hermione was stumbling away from a wobbling Ron in a dark alley, with the bustle of big-city life thrumming around them.
Ron grabbed and steadied her, and Hermione was disconcerted to notice that he held on just a moment too long, and one thumb seemed to stroke her arm, as if of its own accord. It was over so quickly that Hermione almost doubted herself, but she took care to move between Harry and Remus regardless.
"Where are we going?" she asked as they exited the alleyway and the view opened up onto a tree-lined street, with rows of shops and cafes stretching out to either side.
"There's a little diner," Remus said, leading the way and looking around as if to get his bearings, "not far from the alley. They serve Muggles, but it's wizard-run. The owner is very much like your father, Ron – obsessed with Muggles. He's totally happy to run the restaurant and just watch them come and go, listening to their conversations."
"How d'you know about it?" Harry asked as Remus lead them to a street-crossing.
"I worked for him for a while after leaving Hogwarts," Remus explained. "He wasn't thrilled about the idea of employing a werewolf, but since wizards make up very little of his custom, it was a risk he was willing to take." He steered them into a side-street which was crowded with chairs and small tables from various establishments. "I spent the better part of three years living in a tiny little alcove above the diner – it's down at the corner there, come on – before the French Ministry took exception to my presence and I had to leave."
They walked toward a very small diner, its windows warped with age and covered with chipping paint. A weather-worn sign over the door established the diner asLes Jjaune Blaireau – the Yellow Badger, as Remus translated for them.
"Did this employer of yours happen to go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked with a grin.
"Not him, but his father," Remus acknowledged, opening the door and bowing Hermione in first.
Inside, the diner was much more charming than its unprepossessing exterior would suggest. The paint on the windows dimmed the bright daylight into a varicolored glow, accented by a set of antique floor-lamps that added warmth to the room. All the walls, tables, and chairs were wood varnished to a deep, shining brown, and were off-set by trimmings in a tawny yellow. The small room had an air of infinite coziness and comfort, which was only heightened by the delightfully rich scents that hung in the air. There were a few tables full of people, but the room was peacefully quiet.
"Remus!" cried an ageing man from the doorway that lead, Hermione supposed, to the kitchens. He threaded his way nimbly through the chairs and lamps between himself and the small group, enveloping Lupin in an earnest hug. "It's been too long, my friend!"
"I have been busy, Monsieur Deforge," Remus said, patting the older man on the back. "Or hadn't you heard that Britain is only recently done with a war?" he dropped his voice for this question, looking about at the other patrons.
"Of course I know about your war, boy," Monsieur Deforge said, flapping his hands at Lupin and gesturing the group into chairs, pulling one up for himself. He spoke quite loudly, apparently unconcerned about whether or not other patrons would overhear them. "But do these wars mean that you cannot take an afternoon to visit an old friend? An old friend who, may I add, is not long bound for this world?"
"You've been claiming that you're an inch away from death since you turned twenty, you old fraud," said Lupin with evident affection. "But I am here now, am I not? And where is your famed quick service?"
Deforge leaped up with a cry of mock dismay. "I am forgetting my manners of course, because I am so excited to see you, Remus! But business first, business first – " he pulled a notepad from a tattered apron and looked at them expectantly. "What would you like to eat, my friends?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged amused looks.
"That would be easier, I think, if we had menus," Remus said in a droll tone, setting Monsieur Deforge into another display, where he apologized profusely for his lack of manners. He produced menus in short order, and then whisked away into the kitchen, promising to be back soon.
The four friends looked over the menu as they discussed their weeks. Ron, as usual, ruled the conversations with gleeful re-tellings of adventures in Auror training. Monsieur Deforge returned to take their orders. Between the two of them, Harry and Ron ordered enough food to feed a large family, while Hermione settled on the onion soup, which Lupin recommended.
As the older man walked back to the kitchen, Lupin drew the conversation away from the Aurory, asking about Ron's family.
"George is still in a bad way," Ron said glumly, his attention suddenly fixed intensely on his fork. "But Angelina Johnson has been coming by, Mum says, and she's really helping. She's not sure that he'll ever… y'know, get over it… but he might be able to get on a bit."
"And what about Percy?" Hermione asked, "I haven't heard much about him since he regained his senses just before the Final Battle."
"Well, he's still a git, really. Just because he saw how wrong the Ministry was doesn't mean he's any less ambitious or stuck-up. Doesn't come by the house much."
From there, the conversation followed some of the two eldest Weasley brothers' exploits. With the end of the war, Bill had trifled with the idea of moving back to Egypt for more curse-breaking work, but Fleur had put her foot down, and Bill had kept his desk job at Gringotts. Charlie, however, was back out studying dragons as soon as he could be – Hermione wondered if he wasn't lucky, to have that escape from all the grief and pain that had filled wizarding Britain during the war and its aftermath. I guess I'll get to see how lucky he is, she realized.
"Ginny's been looking into a few different Quidditch teams," Harry volunteered just as Deforge returned with their lunch. A few minutes were lost as everyone savored the food.
"Any team in particular courting her?" Lupin asked after a while, dipping a breadcrust into his soup.
"The Harpies. Aubrette Griffiths has done like her mother and left the team, they're looking for a new Chaser."
"Good for her," Hermione enthused, hoping that the Quidditch talk could be kept to a minimum. "Speaking of courting - when are you proposing?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied blandly, but his cheeks and ears took on a red cast.
As this successfully diverted the conversation away from who was playing for which team, and what the most recent match scores were, Hermione was content to not follow up with more questions. She couldn't blame Harry for wanting to wait – his life had hardly been normal, and if he wanted to take time to adjust and be sure of what he wanted, she supported that.
The conversation turned to Lupin's time Flourish & Blotts, which was apparently going well. "Actually, Hermione," he added after a summary of the last week's work, "I might actually be following your parents' suggestion of a special-order service for Muggle books. The owners are quite taken with the idea; they think that, given the current state of political affairs and emotions, it might do quite well."
"Dad'll be thrilled," Ron commented, sitting back from his plates with a sigh of content.
As if he had been waiting to pounce, Deforge appeared and swept away all the plates, beaming as he accepted their compliments.
"We'll take the tab, please," Harry said, reaching for his bill-fold.
"Remus will never pay here, no no," the man countered, smiling broadly. "Nor will Harry Potter, nor their friends. This day my humble little establishment has been honored."
Harry looked slightly uncomfortable at this statement, but didn't bother to argue.
"Now," said Lupin when Deforge had disappeared again, "onto your presents, Hermione!"
Harry smiled and leaned forward, pulling two tiny parcels from his pocket and tapping them with his wand, so that they grew to a more typical size and placing them in front of Hermione. "The small one is from me, and the other from Lupin," he explained, "we just thought they'd go best together."
Smiling her thanks at the two, Hermione eagerly undid the wrapping on Harry's gift. Tearing away the paper revealed a camera, its black leather grips and gleaming brass winking smugly up at her. She flashed Harry a brilliant grin before pulling open the parcel from Lupin, which revealed a photo album, several canisters of film, and a recipe for developing potion.
"These are marvelous!" she exclaimed, placing the photo album reverently on the table top and running a hand along its decorated face before picking up the camera and examining it minutely. "Thank you – thank you both!" she beamed at them.
"They are to celebrate where your apprenticeship is taking you," Lupin said with a smile. "No matter where you travel, it's sure to be something you'll want documented."
"Happy birthday," Harry said, as Hermione once again thanked them both.
"Mum sent this along," Ron added, as he held out a small, brightly wrapped box, "and this is from me," – he handed over a very small box.
The box from Mrs. Weasley turned out to be precisely that – a box. A not inside informed Hermione that it would hold as many letters or papers as she could want to put in it, and it would keep them sorted by name and date, so that she could keep track of correspondences, especially on her trip.
"That was quite sweet of her," Hermione murmured, turning her attention to Ron's small package.
Inside, Hermione was greatly surprised to find a blue satin choker, edged with lace and decorated by a pattern of tiny seed pearls. She raised her eyebrows, darting a look at Harry and Lupin.
From the thunderstruck look both men were spotting, this gift was a revelation to them as well.
"It's beautiful," Hermione said a little hesitantly. "I'm not quite sure what to say."
"It was Great Aunt Muriel's sister's," Ron said, trying to sound casual but belied by his beet red ears and neck. "Ginny looks rubbish in blue, and Fleur said the color's too bright for her. I thought it ought to stay in the family, though."
Harry's face darkened, while Lupin let out a long breath. Hermione paused, unsure if Ron had simply spoken too quickly and accidentally made that statement heavier than he had possibly intended.
"I'll be sure to wear it at Christmas, so your Mum knows it's being used well," Hermione replied diplomatically. In truth, she'd be happy to wear it more often if she had the opportunity – it was very beautiful – but the implication of Ron's words made her hesitant too seem to excited about it.
Ron nodded, a forced, jerky movement, determinedly not meeting anyone's eyes. Hermione was inordinately grateful for the presence of Harry and Lupin, which she was sure was all that was holding off a conversation that would have put quite the damper on what had been shaping up to be a pleasant afternoon.
"Well!" Remus said after a few moments of uneasy silence. "Time for us to be going, I think – here, we'll go into the kitchen and Disapparate from there, hmm?" He stood, ushering the others into the kitchen.
"Goodbye, Remus," Deforge cried, clasping the younger man in a hug as Lupin made his goodbyes. "You cannot return soon enough, boy. Do not be too long, for I am sure to be gone from this life soon."
"I'll keep that in mind," Lupin promised with a smile. "Minerva expressed the desire to wish you a happy birthday – and safe travels – in person, Hermione. What do you say to a trip to Hogwarts?"
"That sounds lovely," she responded enthusiastically. "I stopped taking tea with her, and it'd be wonderful to see her before I'm off."
"Back to the Three Broomsticks, then, I think," Lupin said, "and we'll use Rosmerta's Floo connection to get into Hogwarts."
Hermione was glad that they were Apparating to a place familiar to her – she didn't like the thought of another Side-Along with Ron, especially with his rather intimate gift sitting, shrunken along with the camera and photo album, in her pocket.
When they arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Remus excused themselves to go see Hagrid – where Hermione promised she'd find them when she was finished meeting with the Headmistress.
Settled in over tea in the Head's office, Hermione exchanged pleasantries with her former Head of House, and was delighted to hear that the school year was unfolding well. As Minerva talked, Hermione found her eye drawn frequently to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to be sleeping comfortably in his chair in a study, with a large window in the background looking out at a forest.
With the extra year's worth of seventh level students gone, life at the castle had resumed a semblance of normalcy, and McGonagall was happy to share that her chief concern at the moment was convincing Horace Slughorn to hold onto his position for just a year or two more.
"Isn't Slughorn a Potions Master?" Hermione enquired, addressing the itch of a curiosity that she'd uncovered in her search for a master.
"He's a journeyman," the Headmistress replied delicately. "Horace studied under Arth Eagleton, but never passed the requirements for a Mastery. He's a reliable enough brewer, if not innovative, and the journeyman status leaves him reasonably qualified to teach Potions."
"Oh," Hermione said, turning this information over. "I thought you had to study from a Master to gain Mastery," she said, puzzled.
"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning," McGonagall said.
"Professor Snape," Hermione clarified. "I assumed he'd gotten his Mastery under Slughorn, only he couldn't have, could he, if Slughorn's not really a Master?"
"But you don't know?" McGonagall said, giving Hermione a sharp, surprised look.
"Know what?"
"Severus studied for his Mastery with Damocles," McGonagall said, frowning. "I thought you knew – I assumed that Horace, certainly, would have mentioned it at some point."
"Damocles – the inventor of Weresbane?" Hermione asked a little shrilly, eyes wide with surprise.
"Yes. I'd have expected Horace to be more free with mention of the fact – two of his students, one the inventor of Wolfsbane… Still, I suppose it shouldn't come as a great shock that you don't know – Damocles has always kept to himself – moved away to the Continent as soon as he saw Severus confirmed as a master and member of the Guild; and I can hardly expect Severus to have told you himself. "
"No, he never mentioned it;" Hermione said, still reeling slightly from the news.
"In all my life," McGonagall said with an air of long-suffering, "I hope to never meet as reticent and stubborn a man as your new master." She made a moue of distaste, but Hermione could hear affection buried deep within her words.
"How did you handle being near him for a year, thinking that he'd killed Dumbledore?" Hermione asked suddenly, lit by some unknown inspiration.
"I almost couldn't," the older woman responded gravely. "But I had little choice. I wish that I had trusted Dumbledore's word on him more, of course," she added with a sorrowful look. "I shudder to think of how much it pained Severus to see our trust in him so…I cannot say easily, but so quickly shredded and left in tatters."
Hermione had no response. She simply finished drinking her tea.
"And now I hear you're to go traveling for your studies, is that correct?" McGonagall asked after a moment.
"Yes," Hermione said, letting some of the enthusiasm that she was – barely – beginning to feel sneak into her tone. "Although I can't tell you where or for how long, as I don't know myself."
"That will do you good," McGonagall said with a prim nod. "It used to be something of a tradition to take off for a year of travel and studies after the end of formal education. Pity that's gone by the wayside, really."
"I'm sure it'll be very beneficial," Hermione agreed.
The conversation wound its way back to the running of Hogwarts and the performance of its students. After her third cup of tea, Hermione noted that the afternoon was coming close to becoming the evening, and excused herself. McGonagall walked her down to Hagrid's hut, where she greeted Hermione's companions briefly before returning to the castle.
"Happy Birthday, Hermione," Hagrid said, squashing Hermione in an enthusiastic hug and pressing a bag of what felt like dozens of small, flat rocks into her hand. "Made yeh some biscuits, special recipe."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Hermione said warmly – and she meant it. Even if she couldn't even think about eating Hagrid's present without her teeth aching, the thought and act touched her immensely.
"Harry here was just warnin' me that I won' be seein' much of yeh for a while," Hagrid continued, hugging her again. "So I'll wish yeh happy journeys."
"Thanks," Hermione repeated, beaming at her friend.
"We'd best be going if you want to get home in time for dinner with your family," Remus said, "Hagrid – is your home connected to the Floo?"
"Nah," Hagrid answered, "haven' much use for it now, do I? I've got everythin' I need right here at Hogwarts."
He really should have been in Hufflepuff, Hermione thought warmly of the man.
With a chorus of farewells, the four friends made their way up to the castle, where Hermione gave a last goodbye to McGonagall and a quick greeting to Professor Vector, who they passed on their way.
All four Flooed to Grimmauld Place, from where Hermione would Apparate to her parents'. Harry and Lupin hurried into the kitchen to start their own dinner, leaving Hermione suddenly feeling very awkward with Ron.
"I didn't mean – what I said earlier. I wasn't thinking right when I said it, but I wanted to talk to you about…about what'll happen after you get back from this trip," Ron said, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
"I've really got to go," Hermione responded evasively, "I'm sure I'll see you before I go,"
"I really want to talk about this now, Hermione," Ron responded, looking at her intently.
"And I really don't," she answered shortly, heading towards the front door.
Ron caught her arm, effectively halting her egress. "I'm sorry it came out the way it did. I didn't mean to make it sound like you didn't have a choice - you can't really think I did."
"You can't really think that giving me jewelry indebts me to you, Ron," Hermione said, twisting her arm free of his grasp. "What do you want from me?"
"Oh, come off it," Ron said, his temper evidently heating up. "You said you didn't want to keep what we had up while you were at Hogwarts – fine. You wanted to work on a Potions Mastery – fine. You're going abroad for a bit of travel and study – fine. But you can't put us off forever, Hermione," he finished.
Hermione had no words with which to answer Ron. She was dimly aware of Harry coming in from the kitchen, looking as if he had been trying to give her a good-bye hug but had been brought up short by the scene.
"We're not talking about this now," Hermione said fiercely to him. Or ever, I wish, she added mentally. "Thanks for the birthday lunch Harry, Ron," she said, trying to end the encounter on a better note. "Thank Remus for me, will you?"
"Yeah," said Harry half-heartedly, still looking at Ron as if his friend had grown some a third head.
With that, Hermione flounced out the door. As she turned on her heel, envisioning her parents' front stoop, she could hear Harry's incredulous question: "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"
Although she would have liked to sit and stew over her exchange with Ron, Hermione pushed the matter to the back of her mind, intent on presenting a bright and untroubled face to her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who had either made their peace with the news of Hermione's leave-taking or decided to keep silent about their complaints, were very pleasant during supper later that evening. They passed the meal theorizing on where Snape might intend to travel, which lead Hermione mentioning various locations in Europe that she'd like to visit, telling her parents about the history of different areas. They were interested to know about correlations between wizarding and Muggle history.
"I don't know much about our history in the Far East," she said, "but I know that the great pyramids are the work of wizards. Muggle historians have known for ages that pyramids – especially the Great Pyramid at Giza- were placed at very special locations, either in reference to the sun, the moon, or the land, and of course they assume that they were used for some sort of divine or arcane ceremony. But the thing is, they don't know that they were places of power for ceremonies, rather than burial sites. Wizarding history is as hazy as Muggle history, so while we know that the pyramids had been hid from Muggle view before they started appearing in Muggle writings, we don't know how long they existed. There was a vizier – Imhotep, I think his name was –"
"Imhotep?" Mr. Granger asked with a frown, "But he's quite well-known. Came out with a whole slew of innovations in building and carving."
"The very same," Hermione said with a grin. "Decided he didn't like the direction that wizards of the time were taking – seclusion from Muggles, of course – and unveiled the pyramids and a host of other fairly mundane technology so that his contemporaries couldn't horde the knowledge."
Mrs. Granger looked deeply unsettled. "What other advances do we owe wizards?"
"Not terribly many that I know of," Hermione said frankly, "as most wizarding inventions revolve around magic."
Mrs. Granger began clearing away the plates and cutlery in lieu of response.
"So why let Muggles in on the pyramids?" Mr. Granger asked, leaning back away from the table.
"Pyramids can serve as conductors for magical energy," Hermione explained, "or at least, that's what the Egyptian scientists I've read about claim. Bill – Bill Weasley, Ron's older brother, he worked as a curse-breaker in Egypt for a time – says that a lot of the vaults are living quarters, and work-rooms, like they served as a place for the Egyptian wizards to live and to practice. But one of the wizards – known to the Muggles as the Pharaoh Djoser – was going after power for power's sake. Imhotep built the so-called first pyramid at Saqqara to imprison Djoser, then unveiled the pyramids at Giza and other structures which had actually been around much longer."
"What was Djoser doing?" asked Mr. Granger as Mrs. Granger brought out small slices of sugarless chocolate cake.
"What few records we have are unclear," Hermione said, wishing that it was a slice of Mrs. Weasley's rich dark chocolate cake that sat before her, "but it was centered around the Great Pyramid – the legend is that he was trying to crack the world somehow."
Mr. Granger started visibly before reclaiming his relaxed posture. "I always think I'm used to the idea of what magic can do," he said calmly, "and then you drop a little reminder, like that, that I'm not at all prepared for the idea."
"What about some of those maniacs who did so much damage – Stalin, Hitler?" Mrs. Granger asked abruptly, pulling two bags out from under the table and setting them before Hermione.
Hermione shook her head sadly. "There are dark and evil men in every part of the world, Mum," she said.
She finished her cake quickly and pulled open the first bag to reveal three beautiful self-sharpening eagle feather quills. The next bag held a set of very stylized, embellished stationary.
"Molly Weasley owled us, suggesting we collaborate," Mr. Granger said happily as Hermione thanked her parents warmly.
"We hope it'll encourage you to write," Mrs. Granger said with a smile.
"I'll do my best," Hermione said, "provided I've any time to myself."
Her parents laughed, and the conversation meandered on for a quarter of an hour, before Mr. Granger yawned and excused himself, and the whole family retreated to their beds.
Hermione pulled a few Potions texts, as well as a quill and parchment, into bed with her, lighting a small fire in a jar she kept by her bed for that very purpose, and writing out the properties, uses, and synergies of black opals and silently blessing Snape for giving her only one ingredient to research.
It was a long time before she fell asleep that night, as echoes of her conversation with Ron, and of different recent conversations with her parents, echoed through her head.
Author's Notes
Took a break from some things to get this chapter edited and posted – hope you enjoyed it!
I tried not to make Ron too much of a jerk…
*I'm totally making up the whole pyramids and Imhotep thing. He was the grand vizier responsible for building the first pyramids as a memorial to Pharaoh Djoser, but never do I recall Potterverse mentioning him. Purely made up, but relatively plausible, no? I came up with the 'cracking of the world' thing based on the fact that the Great Pyramid at Giza is placed so that it equally divides all the landmasses of the planet into equal amounts, and it's squarely on intersection of one of the longest land parallels and longest land meridians, which is crazy.
I'll hopefully have another chapter up by the start of next week, but it could be delayed a bit. I'm in the middle of two of the craziest weeks of the year, personally, so everything's kind of dependent on how little sleep I can get by on. Additionally, we're coming to the end of the stuff that I already had written for this. I've got about a chapter and a half left of pre-existing things, plus what I've been working on in my spare time. If I pace it right, that'll work out pretty perfectly so I can put in my last mostly-written chapters over the next two weeks, and then burst into a fire of progress once my own life has calmed down.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Please review. :)