Chapter 9: The (Second) First Day
Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm
I do not own the Ministry of Magic, nor the concept of portkeys, nor any other part of the Potterverse. JK Rowling does, and it's only by her grace that I can borrow her creation and make my own stories with it. She's a classy lady.
Early update! Yesterday was my birthday, so I took some 'me time' to edit this and get it up. Expect a new update by early next week, I hope.
You guys rock! Special thanks to everyone who's added this to their favorites or their alert list, and an extra heap of internet karma to those of you who have left reviews. You guys are my heroes, really.
After this coming week, I'd like to have an established day to do posting, so that if I happen to only post once a week, you at least know when to expect it. Does anyone have suggestions for what a good day might be?
And now – on with the story! Today's the big move-out day.
The next morning was surprisingly normal. Hermione knew, intellectually, that she was a young woman, past her teenage years and past her normal schooling experience, but she still always somehow expected teary good-byes from a frenetic mother when she went off on her scholastic adventures. To have her mother make coffee and breakfast and then leave with little more than normal morning conversation and a hug and a kiss good-bye was, therefore, peculiar. The strangeness of the normalcy did not negate their comfort – Hermione was glad for anything that didn't remind her that she was about to embark on a journey of indeterminate duration and destination with one of the most feared and hated of all Hogwarts professors.
Two owls arrived, one with a note from Harry and Ron, and another from Lupin – it had a little squiggle near the bottom which Remus' post-script informed her was Teddy's attempt at a signature. With a fond smile, Hermione filed both letters into the note-box from Mrs. Weasley, marking the first letters of her journey. Since she was both pressed for time and at a bit of a loss for anything to write in response, she decided that it would be better to respond to the letters at the end of the day, when she had new experiences to draw on.
All too soon – or not soon enough, she was so torn between anxiety over an extended period of time in the sole company of her grumpy Professor and excitement at the idea of having her days filled with learning and adventure that she wasn't sure which emotion was dominant – she had no more excuses to stay in her parents' home. She'd seen them off to work, checked and re-checked her packing, pet Crookshanks furiously while explaining that she hardly thought that Professor Snape would approve of his company, and shrunk the box containing her spare books so that it fit easily in her pocket. It was not quite ten in the morning, and Hermione was at a loss for what to do. Lupin, Harry, and Ron would all be busy, which left her with only Crookshanks for company.
The half-kneazle apparently understood that he was about to be abandoned: he clung like a shadow to Hermione, as if convinced that he might follow her wherever she tried to run off to.
To pass the time, Hermione picked up one of her childhood fantasy books and began leafing through it, thinking fondly of the times when she had yearned for magic to be real, and the delight that had come with the realization that it was, and that she could take part in that wondrous world.
Lost as she was in pages and memories, the time passed quickly. Putting aside the book with a smile, Hermione checked her pockets to be sure she had all her packing, and Apparated to Spinner's End
"Good morning, Professor Snape," Hermione said brightly as the man opened the door moments later.
"You brought your spare books?" Snape prompted in way of reply.
"Yes," Hermione said as she reached into her pocket for the box that contained the books in question, pulling it out and displaying it.
Snape nodded and opened the door.
"Where would you like them shelved?" Hermione asked, even as she noticed an empty shelf on the parlour wall, to which Snape promptly pointed. With a nod, Hermione walked over. As she began un-shrinking and shelving her books, she noticed that the two couches, the chair, and the small coffee table all had been neatly draped in dustcloths.
"You are prepared?" Snape asked peremptorily as she finished with the last of her books.
"Yes," Hermione responded.
Snape gave an idyll wave of his hand at this statement, and the white sheets lifted up, unfolded themselves, and settled gracefully over their furniture. With a gesture for Hermione to precede him, Snape opened the front door, dousing the lights and shutting the curtains with a flick of his fingers. He followed Hermione outside, producing a key and locking the front door and mumbling foreign words that she couldn't recognize as he did so. Stepping off the stoop, Snape pulled out his wand. Hermione followed him, and was somewhat shocked to see the house disappear as she did so – all that was left was a vacant lot with a few tattered remnants of a house. As she had always followed Lupin's lead and Apparated directly onto Snape's doorstep, Hermione had no idea if this was a customary precaution or done only because they were taking leave of the house.
Snape was making complex passes with his wand, his expression intent but his lips unmoving. Hermione could feel the air crackle with magic, and then the sensation was gone – the vacant lot stood precisely as it had, and Hermione was sure that very few people (now that the two most powerful wizards in Britain had died) would be able to reveal the concealed house. She had recognized a few of the wand motions from Professor Babbling's books on the practical application of ancient runes, most of which had to do with warding. Hermione looked at her Potions Master with new respect.
"You called wand-waving foolish," she said in an almost accusatory tone.
"Of course I didn't," Snape responded with a cross look.
"You did," Hermione said emphatically. "On the first day of Potions, you talked about 'foolish wand-waving and silly incantations.'"
"And I said you would encounter neither in my class, did I not?" the man snapped. "Turning a gerbil into a teacup is foolish. Making a goblet tap-dance is silly. I have time for none such tomfoolery," he sneered, and then his expression was blank again. "Defensive warding, however, is preeminently practical. Now, Apparate to the Ministry of Magic."
His sudden changes of topic, while habitual, never failed to leave Hermione feeling wrong-footed.
"The Ministry?" she repeated.
Snape gave her an icy look. "Now," he said without bothering to repeat her destination.
Nodding quickly, Hermione spun on the spot, squeezing through the bizarre sensation of traveling through space and catching herself as the Apparition foyer of the Ministry settled around her.
She turned around, expecting Snape to appear at her side. He did not. Stepping to one side so as not to impede anyone else, Hermione took a seat on the sole purple plush chair available.
A minute passed, and then another, as Hermione tried not to stare rudely at the source of every pop that signaled another arrival.
Just as Hermione was preparing to return to Spinner's End, torn between irritation with the reticent man and confusion over why he would give her incomplete directions, Snape appeared, spinning smoothly out of nothing and striding toward the exit without losing a beat.
"Come," he said without looking back at her, offering no explanation for his absence.
"Where were you?" Hermione asked as she followed after him.
"Spinner's End," he said shortly as they crossed the foyer, which was newly decorated with a host of golden statues (two of which looked suspiciously like Harry and Dumbledore) of wizards, witches, and other magical beings.
"Doing what? You already closed up…"
"Warding," he answered irritably.
"But you'd already-" Hermione began, but Snape cut her off.
"Miss Granger, it is a highly unadvisable practice to allow anyone to see the entirety of one's defensive spelling," he said with a sigh of long-suffering as they entered one of the lifts and began descending. "I shudder to think that the fate of the wizarding world rested on your ability to conceal Potter."
"I did as best I could, but there's only so much I was able to teach myself," Hermione responded with as much dignity as she could muster, a little miffed that he would be so dismissive of her efforts.
"And that is why you are with me," Snape said curtly, his words almost lost in the cool female voice that announced that they had reached the Portkey Station. He swept out of the lift, Hermione hurrying after.
The Portkey Station was a mostly vacant chamber, done in the Minsitry's usual grandiose style of marble and gold, with small pedestals upon which small golden globes rested.
"Are those the portkeys?" Hermione asked as they entered, peering speculatively at one of the globes as Snape strode towards a small desk, manned by a bored-looking wizard, at the opposite end of the room. "I thought they were supposed to be unremarkable objects."
"These are spelled to return to the Ministry as soon as they've transported their passengers," the desk wizard answered, causing Hermione to jump as she had not expected him to have heard her.
"That's clever," Hermione said with a smile. "Do they just have another porting spell put on them for a time immediately following their original departure? Can those spells stack-?"
The wizard laughed, waving a hand. "I can't tell you our secrets," he said congenially, but he gave her a wink and added "although you're very keen to guess as much."
"If you're quite finished," Snape said with a quelling look, "we have need of a Portkey to Londonderry."
The Minsitry worker's smile didn't fade, but his expression froze as his gazed met Snape's, and then his eyes flitted down to Snape's neck, where the tip of an angry red scar was still just barely visible over the top of the Potions Master's high, tight collar. He turned his gaze to Hermione for an instant, apparently just realizing whose company he was in. To his credit, and Hermione's great relief, he said nothing.
"Londonderry, Ireland?" the man asked casually, picking up his wand and scooting back from his desk. "Let's use this first key, if you please," and he lead them over to the nearest pedestal.
"Portus," he said with a twiddle of his wand, and then repeated the same motion without saying anything, which Hermione supposed all but confirmed her estimation of the way the portkeys returned to their location at the ministry.
"Thirty seconds, then," the man said amiably. "You'll come out about Bishop's Street Gate. Make sure you've got a good hold, and don't be afraid to send us an owl if you need another portkey for your return." He gave a jaunty wave as Hermione and Snape both touched opposite sides of the globe, Snape looking superbly bored with the goings-on.
"Thank you," Hermione managed, just as the jerking sensation behind her navel stared, and she felt herself being pulled backward out of the Ministry. After a brief moment of being simultaneously pulled in every which way and being horribly compressed on all sides, she landed gracelessly in a shadowed archway . Next to her, Snape reached out and steadied himself against the grey stone wall that surrounded them. Not far away, in a haze of color and noise, cars streaked past them.
"You'd think someone would notice people appearing here," Hermione said, shocked that the Ministry would dump them in such a populous area.
"A great deal goes unobserved in shadows," Snape said, stepping out of the alcove they had landed in as the golden globe that he had let drop vanished without a sound. "This particular location is often used by the Ministry, I am quite sure they have added a certain level of concealment to the place."
As Snape stepped into the sunlight, Hermione had the irrational urge to tell him he was about to attract attention in his teaching robes. Even as she opened her mouth, however, she realized that, while he was in his customary black trousers and frock coat, with his typical collar and tight sleeves, he was – for the first time in her knowledge – not in his teaching robes. She ought to have noticed sooner, but it was such an automatic thing for Snape to be wearing his teaching robes – even in his own house – that Hermione barely spared a glance for his attire normally. As she looked on for a moment in shock, Snape proceeded quickly into the pedestrian stream, and Hermione belatedly hurried to catch up.
Snape walked, never looking to either side, purposely toward the eastern edge of town, Hermione following him half-heartedly, craning her neck to take in the new views. At last the crowded hub of the city was behind them, giving way to more docile streets with quiet homes. These, too, Snape ignored, walking decidedly onward until the sights of the town were behind them.
For the hour and a half of their brisk walk through the town, Snape had been silent, ignoring Hermione as if she was one of the many strangers he had passed by. It was a cool day, and between the weather and the new scenery, Hermione hadn't minded the walk – had, in fact, enjoyed; but she was beginning to hope that he would soon say that they had either reached their destination (wherever that might be), or were at least taking a break.
As they approached a small copse of trees, nestled between several rolling hills, Snape stopped abruptly. He looked about, taking in the heavy clouds, the gentle trees, and the way the earth seemed to gently slope down to them on all sides, and nodded to himself.
"This will serve at present," he told Hermione, and pulled a small bundle from one of his pockets, laying it on the ground, stepping back, and returning it to what Hermione assumed was its normal size. The makings of a small canvas tent lay in a pile on the ground, and with a wave of his wand, Snape began assembling them. Tent poles sprang up, and the tent itself obligingly wriggled its way onto them, until in very short order, a rather unbecoming tent stood before them.
The tent looked shabby – there was no other word for it. Although Hermione reminded herself firmly of the roominess of the Weasley's tent, she could not fight off a certain trepidation as Snape beckoned her in, one eyebrow quirked at her obvious hesitation. Another feeling she couldn't dismiss was one of uncertain familiarity with the tent. Something about it nagged at the corners of her memory, but Hermione, being unable to place it, did her best to ignore the idea as she followed his promptings.
All doubts that Hermione might have had were banished the moment she stepped inside, however. Immediately inside the ten t was a cloakroom of sorts, bare except for a coat-hanger and a thick mat that lay just inside the entry. The exterior walls were made of tent fabric, but the interior wall was wood paneling – dark wood, and stained with age, but serviceable. There was no luxury about it, but it promised at a size and comfort level that had been beyond Hermione's hopes.
"I've never seen a tent with actual walls on the interior," she said, belatedly recalling that she'd only ever seen one tent in the magical world.
"The previous owner was very liberal in his alterations," Snape said in a curiously subdued voice. "Continue on."
Hermione did so, stepping from the little entryway into a long, narrow hall made of the same dark paneling and lit by torches very reminiscent of those in the Hogwarts dungeons. There were several doors leading off of the hallway. Peeking into the first door at her left, Hermione saw a small parlour, which held two small bookshelves, two chairs, a careworn couch, and two little tables. The three interior walls were in the same dark paneling, as was the floor. There were no windows, but the slanting exterior wall glowed with the light of the sun through the canvas, lending a bright and cozy quality to the room. Hermione backed out and poked her head in the room almost directly across the hall from the parlour, and saw a kitchen. Against the tent wall was a long, narrow table with two chairs, and the other three walls were filled with cabinets and counters. Hermione was mildly surprised to see what looked like a fully-plumbed sink, as well as an antiquated stove.
"This is much more…civilized than I'd imagined," she said appreciatively.
"The ingenuity of wizards knows no bounds," Snape said neutrally. "Especially when they wish to keep their animal comforts about them."
Snape shifted impatiently as Hermione continued to inspect the kitchen, and Hermione obligingly moved on. Continuing down the hall, Hermione came across another door to her left, which revealed a study, its wood walls already lined with books that she recognized from the study at Spinner's End. In fact, aside from the tent wall, it looked almost precisely as if Snape had merely moved his furnishings from the study into this room. Already familiar with it, Hermione turned her attention to the room across the hall from it, which appeared to be a bedroom – since she was allowed to enter it, Hermione could only assume it was to be her own. Although small, it was serviceable, with a standing wardrobe, a small four-poster, and a desk. One of the interior walls held a door, which opened to reveal a bathroom. It was extremely narrow, but ran the length of Hermione's bedroom, with a toilet at one end, a counter with cupboards, a sink, and a mirror in the middle, and a small shower stall with an old standing bathtub at the far end. These rooms, too, were being illuminated by the ambient light available through the canvas exterior, which made the rooms that might otherwise look threadbare quite beautiful. She exited her room to find Snape waiting in the hall.
With a gesture towards the door that stood at the very end of the hall a few feet away and opposite her own room, Snape said, "The other rooms are open to you at all times, but as that door leads to my quarters, you are not to enter."
"Of course," Hermione said agreeably, "but where will we be brewing – surely you can't intend to use the kitchen."
Snape quirked his lips in an expression of disdain, pointing to the door opposite his room.
"Do not be purposely obtuse, Miss Granger. That leads to the lab."
Hermione opened the door, revealing a staircase. Ingenious indeed, she thought with a mixture of surprise and amusement. A tent – with a basement. Shaking her head in exasperated admiration for the magic at work in this humble little tent, Hermione investigated, followed by Snape.
A single torch lit the cramped staircase, and allowed Hermione to see into the lab. It wasn't until she saw the doubly-familiar flagstones – that marked both the Hogwarts and lab and Snape's own – that it hit her. Realizing what it was that had caused her déjà vu upon seeing the tent originally, she spun to face Snape, locking eyes with the Potions Master.
"This tent. It's the same as in Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait!" she said, not even bothering to mask the idea as a question. If her professor truly wanted her to make leaps of logic, then he surely wouldn't begrudge her this one.
Snape – whose face had betrayed only the most fleeting sign of his surprise when she whirled around – raised one eyebrow at the decisiveness of her tone.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?" he said in a somewhat dangerous voice, but Hermione caught a gleam in his eye. She was right.
"I thought this tent looked familiar," she explained more clearly, "and its because I saw it every time I took tea with Professor McGonagall. This tent is sitting in front of the forest outside of the window in Professor Dumbledore's portrait!" she nodded with satisfaction at the correctness she felt.
"It may be," he responded blankly, his eyes once again unreadable.
"But why do you have it?" she pressed.
The professor sighed. It was the same clipped sound of resignation that he used to give before answering a question that he felt was unworthy of his attention. Still, at least he didseem to be willing to give an answer, Hermione supposed.
"It was in my private office," he said, the words careful, precise, and giving nothing away, "on the last night before I became the Headmaster of Hogwarts."
Snapes eyes bore into her own, their inky depths capturing her. The last night before..
"Oh," she exclaimed softly, her knees going weak. The night that Harry had disappeared to chase after the locket Horcrux. The night that Snape had killed Dumbledore.
"He seemed to think," Snape said in the same flat tones, though she could almost feel the undercurrent of bitterness in his manner, "that I might have need of it, were I …lucky –" he said it as if luck were a foul word –" enough to survive to the end of the war. That I might need a reliable hide-away, were I afforded the luxury of fleeing."
"He expected no one to believe you," Hermione said softly, a strange burning gathering behind her eyes. "Even with Voldemort gone."
Snape stiffened – almost imperceptibly – at the mention of the evil wizard's name, but made a dismissive noise, gesturing for Hermione to move down into the lab.
Pushing her questions and thoughts aside, Hermione continued down the staircase, which opened into the lab itself. Much like the study, the basement laboratory looked as if its furnishings has been simply transplanted from the lab at Spinner's End. This room was a little smaller, but very familiar, down to the doors that lead to the study and storeroom.
Recalling that Snape had spent the majority of his life inside the castle, she supposed it made sense that Snape would surround himself with elements of it. In a sad way, the thought was strangely touching. Hermione felt a pang of empathy for Snape; from what Lupin had said, she knew that in childhood Snape's life had not been easy – and no matter how much time she'd spent in Hogwarts, no matter how much she loved the castle and its inhabitants, it had never been home in the same way that her parents' house was. She suspected that Hogwarts was Snape's first realhome, and knowing how tormented he had been during his school years, that was a very uncomfortable thought. At any rate, it made some of Snape's harsh demeanor make more sense. Compiled with the reason that he was in possession of this tent, it was nearly heartbreaking.
"This is very well-made," Hermione said admiringly after she inspected the two adjoining rooms.
Snape made no reply, but merely watched her as she walked around the already-familiar space.
"Use the rest of the afternoon as you see fit," he said at length, as he turned back to the staircase. "Tomorrow we will begin in earnest. I expect you to have a comparison of different alterations to the standard Invigorating Draught ready by morning." With this, he vanished up the steps.
Returning to her own room, Hermione pulled her shrunken bags out of her pocket, returning them to normal size and beginning to put them away. As she had no bookshelf, Hermione stored as many books as would fit in one row on her desk, leaving the rest until she could ask Snape about where best to store them. She stored her clothes and other essentials as well, settling in quickly and trying to imprint on her mind that this was not a brief vacation, but rather where she would be living for quite some time. It might be the Muggle in her, but the idea of living in a tent – even one as well-appointed as this one – seemed to be one that she had a hard time wrapping her mind about.
With most of what she'd brought neatly tucked away, Hermione pulled out her camera, taking a picture to eventually send home.
She laid back on her bed, enjoying the soft glow of light from the outside wall. The bed hangings were a very pale, creamy gold, and the sheets were striped in white and cream. With walls and floor in the same dark paneling as the rest of the tent-house and a brown-and-gold rug on the floor, the room had a very warm, earthy feel to it. Hermione felt that it would be easy to get used to this room.
After relaxing in her room for a quarter of an hour, Hermione reluctantly pulled herself off of her bed, changed out of the Muggle clothes that she'd worn for their walk out, and headed into the study, bringing books, parchment, and a quill with her to study up on Invigorating Draughts.
She worked in lazy comfort for almost an hour before Snape came into the room.
"Where are your notebooks?" he asked, and though his tone was amicable enough, his eyes were sharp.
"Oh, in my room," Hermione said, rising as if to retrieve them.
"Did I not say they were to be with you at all times?" Snape demanded, seating himself in the far corner of the room.
"But – they're in my room. A few feet away," Hermione responded.
"All times," Snape repeated, pulling a book, seemingly at random, off the shelf and beginning to read. He did not look up as Hermione meekly left the room, retrieved her notebooks, and returned.
Hoping that this satisfied her teacher, Hermione returned to her studies.
Time stretched on as the light coming from the canvas siding deepened into a ruddy shade and began to fade. Just as Hermione was preparing to do something about the waning light, lights in the wall sconces lit themselves. I love magic, she thought happily, and wondered if she'd ever get over the sense of wonder that even the simplest pieces – or maybe especially the simplest pieces – of magic could instill in her. She rather hoped not.
As she continued writing, Snape left the room, and Hermione could soon hear movement in the kitchen, which was followed by the smell of soup and warm bread. She quickly finished her paper, rolling up her parchment and returning books to their proper places before wandering over to the kitchen.
She found Snape already seated and eating, while on the counter next to the stove there was an empty bowl and plate. Gratefully inhaling the savory smell of stew, Hermione filled both and then rummaged through the cupboards and coldbox until she found a cup and water to put in it. She sat down, feeling unaccountably awkward in the silence.
Although she hadn't noticed it earlier, a piece of the canvas wall had been rolled down, revealing an insect screen and a view of the outside world. Hermione gazed out at the Irish dusk as she ate.
"The stew is wonderful," she said appreciatively after long moments of silence.
"Can you cook?" Snape asked by way of response.
"Not extravagantly," Hermione replied, "but I can handle simple things. I'm best with breakfast foods," she added.
Snape nodded, rising and clearing his plate.
"Make yourself useful come morning, then," he said, and he left the room.
"Good night, Professor," Hermione called after him, but she received no response. She realized belatedly that she hadn't asked him where to store her books. Just as she stood to go after him, however, she heard what she assumed was his door shut, so she settled back down to finish her supper.
Later that night, after reading and studying for a while longer after dinner, Hermione sat on her bed, frowning at her notebooks.
"Accio charm bracelet," she said, lifting her wand and being rewarded by the sight of a little silver chain racing toward her from the bathroom. Catching it, she set it down on the bed beside her. It had been a birthday present from her mother last year, but she had never tracked down any charms to go on it, so it remained adorned with a solitary silver cat figure and nothing else. After a few moments of concentration, mumbling, and half-hearted gestures, Hermione straightened herself, lifting her wand authoritatively.
After a string of spells, Hermione sat back, holding her newly decorated charm bracelet and smiling with satisfaction. Evenly spaced around the length of the bracelet were her three notebooks, shrunken, coloured silver, and fixed closed. She unclasped one, which returned it to its normal state, although it had a small clasp at the very top of the spine. Happy that that half of the process worked, she re-attached the book, which left it looking once more like an unremarkable charm.
Feeling quite pleased with herself, Hermione readied for bed, taking a luxurious bath and being grateful that, unlike the Weasley's tent, this tent was equipped with separate bathrooms.
Setting her watch's alarm to wake her up in time to have breakfast ready at a decent hour, Hermione crawled into her new bed, snuggling under the covers against the chill of the night. The sheets smelled of lavender and spices, and it was with great comfort that Hermione drifted off into sleep. She was too tired to think further of the implications of Dumbledore leaving this tent for Snape - essentially admitting that he was damning the man. Her last thought, then, was that she ought to have written to her friends and parents, but she was too far gone to care. Perhaps she'd have time for it come morning, she reasoned, before burrowing deeper into her covers and letting go of consciousness.
And there you have it. To those of you who are disappointed that it's not a little two-sleeper Muggle tent; I'm sorry. I don't think there's any way at all that that would be plausible.
I hope that the explanation of how Snape came to have this tent satisfies people who feel like Snape wouldn't have ordinarily owned this, or certainly not a tent of such luxury. Dumbledore knew that what he was asking Snape to do was risky, and knew that Snape's name might never be cleared, and he gave the man a place to run away to, essentially.
For anyone wondering why the Portkey cost Snape nothing, it's because the entire Department of Transportation shares a salary, and makes most of its revenue through the rental of brooms and the distribution of Floo powder – if they charged for making portkeys, it would likely lead to a lot of people making unauthorized portkeys, which would be hazardous. So the wizard running portkeys gets paid from excess sales of other branches of the department, and portkey travel is regulated. If anyone doesn't care in the slightest why I made portkey travel free, that's fine – but it's the kind of thing that might bother some fanatic like myself if there was no reason for it.
To those of you who loved the history in the last update – there'll be plenty more! To those of you who hated it – there'll be plenty of stuff that *isn't* like that, I promise. 3
So! Until next time, my dears.
I hope you enjoyed reading this installment and are looking forward to things to come. Please leave a review to let me know what you think – I pretty much live for review notifications. ;D
UPDATE: HUUUUGE THANKS to a wonderful anon reviewer for pointing out that I failed to finish a sentence! The furniture in Snape's house was neatly draped in dustcloths, not neatly...