I wanted to write a story that showed that just because something is done with a good heart, doesn´t mean that it is good. Love is the beginning and the end of this story, but it is motivated by, and moved along by, that which is inevitably evil. What we love is who we are. Some of us are not very deep, and some of us are drowning in ourselves.
Anyone can fall. Perfection is subjective. If you associate with evil, you become evil.
I would like to thank once more my lovely beta-reader. She is amazing.
The motivational music for this story was Rammstein.
Enjoy.
---
The Gesture
Chapter 1: Granger Loves Knowledge
She took in a deep breath and shook aside her fear. He was only a man, just as any other man, with two eyes and two hands and one heart. Why he troubled her, or any other student for that matter, was really a puzzlement; was it the crooked nose, a sign of previous abuse, or the greasy hair, a sign of self-neglect, or perhaps that soothingly sharp tongue, the sign of the snake? Why should he be feared above the other professors?
She swallowed the wallop of spit that had collected inside her throat. He was to be feared because he wanted to be feared; because he made it clear that he had no real desire to be messed with.
But she was in need of improvement, and he was the only person who would understand that need.
He walked quickly through the hallway, so she knew if this was her moment to ask, she had to be equally quick about it. She rushed in front of him, stopping him in his tracks, his eyes glaring down at her from their sunken depths. His seemed so much taller than she remembered as he towered over her.
"Ahem, sir," she said, "I was wondering..."
"Yes," he said in his characteristicly distant manner.
"Sir, I, I, um..."
He rolled his eyes as if to say "another pathetic student." It made her straighten her back and remember her cause.
"I was wondering if you could tutor me, sir," she said finally.
She dared herself to look up into his eyes, to see his expression, and saw just what she thought she would: exactly the same expression he had worn before she asked, as though he had not heard her. She sighed a little to herself. Maybe it wasn't the best idea after all.
"I would think a know-it-all would be fully capable of finding the answers on her own," he said.
"I can. I do," she said. "But I don't want to be good, I want to be the best. I don't want anything in the way of getting where I want in life."
He waved his hand in front of her to quiet her down, a look of detest upon his face.
"I have no interest in tutoring you, or anyone else for that matter," he said as he pushed past her.
She watched him walk away with a feeling of disappointment, though not an entirely unexpected feeling at that. She checked her watch. It was the weekend, so there were no classes, but it was likely that her friends were stuck in the Library until noon. They were often sent there as a mild disipline for failing exams, of which they did often.
She headed in that direction, wondering if there was any other professor worthy of asking for help. But as she entered the Library, half filled with students, both studious and goofing around, she had not come up with a better option.
"Hermione!" squeeled a shrill voice, followed by hushing from around the room.
Ron and Harry giggled in the far corner, their hands over their mouths and books closed. She wasn't entirely certain why she liked either of them, really, but now that the damage was done, that the friendships were made, she supposed she ought to keep to them.
She started to walk to them, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. It made her jump. She turned around so fast, she almost lost her footing.
It was Snape.
"You scared me," she said.
"I've changed my mind," he said, ignoring her fright.
She held her breath.
"I am not guarenteeing anything at any time. When I say we're done, we're done."
"Yes sir."
"My current engagement has been cancelled, so we will start now," he said, turning on his heels and walking out of the Study Hall in a bit of a rush.
She looked back at Harry and Ron, who had stopped their giggling to gawk; it had seemed that the entire room was gawking at her then, though perhaps they all did. She straightened up, head held high, and followed Snape out.
She had to hurry to catch up with him, but just as she had, he stopped and turned to her there in the middle of the empty hallway.
"Was Potter angry that you left with me?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I think he was," she said. "Ron as well."
He seemed pleased by her answer. It concerned her.
She was not daft, or dim, and could tell that this was going to be more than she had bargained for. She sought knowledge, but he sought something further: to reel in the bait for jealousy.
It absolutely reeked of trouble.
---
Draco was easily bored. He preferred to wander the hallways alone during the weekends, apart from his bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. Mostly, he just liked to eavesdrop, and the big oafs never could do it right.
It was fascinating what type of crud he could find out about Hogwarts when he bothered to listen.
He walked slowly through the hallways as the light outside grew dark. He held his hand out to touch every in and out of the walls as he passed by them. At every open door, he stopped to listen; indeed, at every closed door, he stopped to listen. And whilst he walked, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his hand against the wall, if the unruliness of the hallway allowed.
He wandered in and out of all the familiar passages of the dungeons, but found nothing of interest.
He sighed and headed back to his common room. He would try again tomorrow night.
---
She sat down in the only chair open to her. Snape sat in the one behind his desk. His face was stern and unmoving, unkind; it was not uncommon for him, but still somehow a fright to see.
She pulled from her book bag a list that she had prepared earlier on, with questions she had scribbled on it in haste. Snape rolled his eyes slightly at the sight of it. He was not amused.
She inquired first of the Swelling Solution. He spoke rather monotone, no real interest in his voice or face; just rattled out an answer as though he was in front of the class, giving a lecture.
She tried to keep up, her feather pen and little bottle of ink unable to keep the pace. Snape did not backtrack, or restate anything, so what she wrote was all she got.
When he stopped talking, he sat staring at the wall behind her, not waiting for another question, but rather waiting for her to leave. She did not play along. She checked her list and asked the next question written there. It continued like that for the next few questions: his puppet-like answers, and her desperate attempt to write it all down.
But before she could get to her seventh question, which was not by far the last, he stopped staring at the wall and looked at her for the first time since being in the office.
"It's late," he said. "I've had enough."
Hermione packed her bag and stood, but did not leave.
"I wasn't done with my questions," she said.
"Bugger off."
"When can we do this again?" she asked.
"Are your friends waiting up for you?" he asked suddenly.
"I suppose they are, yes."
He sat a moment, pondering something, then looked back up at her.
"Sit back down then," he said.
"Sir?"
"We still have questions to get to, don't we?"
"Yes, sir," she said, pulling her supplies from her bag once more, elated.
And she stayed, scribbling as fast as she could, while trying to keep it legible, until the hour passed curfew. She stayed until Snape could no longer handle her presence, and kicked her out.