Wars of our Fathers
A fan fiction by labrt2004
Chapter Five
Written for debjunk in the Autumn 2011 SS/HG Exchange
Disclaimer: None of it is mine.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my betas, la_syren and snarkyroxy, for your tremendous help. And thank you,debjunk, for the great prompt. And thank you mods, for another wonderful exchange! This story is shamelessly AU. I've basically just taken whatever bits of canon are convenient and tossed out whatever bits aren't. :) Hope you enjoy it.
Dejunk's prompt: Severus Snape's heart has been sealed against women ever since the fiasco with Lily. He finds himself paired with Hermione Granger in some sort of working atmosphere and is not pleased. Things warm up to amiable at some point and during a discussion Severus comments icily that women are heartless users and are not to be trusted. Our resident know-it-all sets out to prove him wrong, and eventually succeeds.
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Hermione stood in the side entrance to the Great Hall, the one that led to the staff table. She smoothed a hand over her robe sleeve for the hundredth time as she looked out upon the four rows of Houses. The scores of gleaming place settings and the festive House banners caused her heart to skip a beat. She was here, finally, for better or worse.
It was foolish to pretend she didn't want to be here. At the conclusion of a sleepless night, she had risen, admitting to herself that in spite of her instincts to refuse Snape, she'd agreed to his offer anyway. She was still trying to work out why. Certainly, a stubborn part of her seemed to insist that she deserved something better than the Ministry, even given the impossibility of her succeeding here. But she also remembered the heady aftereffects of the Fealty Spell. Perhaps she was powerless to stop herself because of her fascination with Snape, she thought, faint heat creeping up her cheeks. The thought was disturbing enough that she shook off her reverie and moved quickly through the doorway.
Forcing herself to put one foot before the other, she made her way to the empty spot beside Harry, flashing her friend a strained smile as she sat. Thankfully, Snape, in the headmaster's chair, was many people removed from her.
"Well, look who it is! Couldn't have given me some warning that you were coming?" Harry greeted her good-naturedly.
"Believe me, this was not part of the plan." She yawned, blinking through adrenalin-steeped exhaustion. "I spent all of last week trying to figure out how to get out of this. Almost did, too. Then Snape shows up, and the next thing I know, I'm bound to the castle."
"What did he do, hex you, or something? Not that this is a bad thing at all, I think you're way overdue for a new job."
She rolled her eyes. "No, he didn't. But I admit that I was stupid enough to let him talk me into it, even though this is still a really bad idea."
"Why? You'll be great! Remember when you helped me with the D.A.? You were an excellent teacher then. You were the one who came up with the D.A; teaching is part of your nature."
"Teaching is a lot more stressful than being a mere Ministry tool," she said flippantly.
"Hermione!" Harry said, chiding.
Hermione shrugged, tiring of the topic already. That was the closest she could bring herself to telling him outright. She was sure he'd find out soon enough, anyway.
Her attention wandered to the Slytherin table, where a rowdy group of older students, two boys and a girl, were parading down the aisle, laughing and elbowing each other chummily.
"Don't worry about those idiots. That's Middleton and his sidekicks. More money than brains, preening, self-absorbed twits, but generally harmless," Harry explained helpfully.
She watched them strut to join their classmates, the girl imperiously waiting for a younger housemate to struggle out of his seat and clear a space for her. She tried to gauge the terror she felt at the prospect of confronting such a group in a classroom setting, then decided it probably wasn't a smart move to dwell on that here, in front of Snape, Harry, and the entire student body.
"Malfoy?" she asked to distract herself, curiously searching the rest of the Slytherin table.
"Second year. Shockingly, not heading any little group of his own. And even more shocking, he's a good kid. Does his homework, cheats only once in a while," Harry quipped. She nodded, spotting the blond-haired boy about five people down from the bossy female.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Hermione noticed Harry giving her an appraising look. "Snape told me you didn't want to do this, but he somehow got you to agree to it anyway. What was that all about?"
It was easier to just be annoyed by her friend's prying curiosity than to face his concern, so she said the first thing that occurred to her. "Do you and Snape frequently discuss me?" she snapped.
"No," said Harry levelly. "But frankly, maybe you should discuss it with him. He's your boss now. Or did you forget that part when you signed up?" he teased.
Merlin, how could she forget? The feel of Snape's hands holding hers was still ingrained in her mind like the crisp taste of chocolate after a Dementor attack.
Harry mistook her sudden flush as distress. "It gets easier," he reassured her. "Working with Snape. I've put up with him for years. Ginny invites him to dinner, you know."
"Yes, I'm frequently the lucky listener of your griping," she said dryly, determinedly repressing a bizarre sense of jealousy. She thought it was slightly unsettling that Harry had been practically socializing with Snape for close to a decade while she had managed to completely avoid him. It made her feel even more disconnected with the wizarding world and more the dysfunctional hermit she was. She imagined inviting Professor Snape to dine with her and Ron, then snorted.
At Harry's questioning look, she gestured that it was nothing important. "Just thinking it's a good thing I haven't run into Snape all these years. Can you imagine him having dinner with Ron and me when we were married?"
"Weasley, I see your table manners are exactly as I remember," he whispered in a snooty imitation.
She laughed, melancholy easing. Hogwarts, with its torch-lit walls and enchanted ceiling, felt familiar and comfortable. Perhaps it won't be so bad, she thought, and there might be some outcome to this whole mess that didn't involve utter humiliation.
Across the Great Hall at the main entrance, the first years were beginning to file in for the Sorting Ceremony. A stirring of nostalgia lightened her mood even more. "They just keep getting smaller and smaller, don't they?"
Harry nodded, eyes scanning the crowd. Hermione followed the direction of his gaze. "Oh, that's right, Harry," she said, remembering, "Albus is starting this year!"
"He is. You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope he really does get put in Slytherin just so he can torment old Snape for me."
"Are you sure it wouldn't be the other way around?" Hermione asked, alarmed. Albus had the look all first years had—glazed eyes, petrified expression, mouth slightly agape. "He doesn't look like he'd last a minute in Slytherin."
"Oh, you just wait and see," he replied indulgently. "All that cuteness is just for show." They both watched as Neville stood with the Sorting Hat, holding it over each first year's head as they climbed clumsily onto the stool.
When it was Albus' turn, the boy waved shyly to Harry first, then schooled his features into one of deep seriousness and sat. After a beat, the hat shouted, "Slytherin!" Albus' eyes popped open in surprise. From the Gryffindor table, James threw his father a look of dismay, as if he'd been the one to arrange this outcome.
Harry clapped enthusiastically for a few moments before he leaned his elbow on the table and peered around Hermione toward Snape. For the first time that night, Hermione chanced a glance in the headmaster's direction, as well.
Snape appeared unimpressed, responding to Harry's meaningful smile with only a mocking lift of an eyebrow. Then unexpectedly, Snape's eyes shifted over to her. He seemed drawn and tense, making Hermione wonder if the Opening Feast would soon go the way of the Yule Ball on the list of things Snape banned. Their gazes held for a split second, then swiftly, Snape stood, and the Great Hall abruptly fell silent.
"Good evening. You have all spent your holidays wisely and are prepared to return to your studies, I trust."
It was certainly not the same as Dumbledore, in either style or substance, Hermione thought wistfully, listening to the clipped precision of Snape's syllables. But to her surprise, she found that it didn't matter. Standing where Dumbledore had stood for so many years, Snape seemed to have inherited the old man's unmistakable authority and had no trouble commanding the rapt attention of the audience.
"We have in our midst an addition to the staff. Professor Hermione Granger will be teaching Potions."
Automatically, she rose to her feet, gripping the table edge tightly. A sea of faces turned to her, and Hermione felt like an exposed sapling in the wind, her stomach jumping a few inches into her throat.
"It's Hermione Granger!"
"Professor Potter's best friend! She helped him with You-Know-Who!"
As the whispers traveled like wildfire up and down the Great Hall, and she nodded uncomfortably at the deafening applause, Hermione's only thought was that they ought to be able to call Voldemort by his name. She pressed her lips tightly together and managed to sit.
She didn't realize how rigid she was until Harry nudged her. "Relax, for Merlin's sake, they're only children."
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Hermione listened to her own magically recorded voice reverberating throughout the Potions classroom. The voice was explaining the uses of Swelling Solution to a room full of restless Slytherin and Gryffindor second years, her last class of the week. She walked about the aisle, inspecting the notes the students were taking.
"The active ingredient in Swelling Solution is puffer-fish eyes," her disembodied tones lectured. "However, as with all potions used to alter size, it needs boomslang skin as its base. For this reason, boomslang skin is also found in another, more well-known potion that alters size, in addition to many other things, in a drinker: Polyjuice Potion."
She caught sight of Samuel Turpin, one of the Gryffindors, furtively shoving a piece of parchment beneath the bench to his lab partner and best friend, Eric Chilcott. Quickly, she pointed her wand and the note exploded into shreds. The startled students turned chagrined faces to her. Hermione threw them a withering look, inviting them to challenge her. "Ten points," she hissed against the backdrop of her own recording. "Each." Then she made a slicing motion at her neck with her wand to dispel any still-remaining ambiguity. Grumbling, Chilcott and Turpin slumped back over their textbook.
Hermione sighed and returned to her inspection, feeling like a ridiculous version of Umbridge as she sailed her way through the classroom. The pre-recorded lectures were certainly not ideal, but they served their purpose. She knew her strange teaching style was now the fodder of many an idle lunchtime conversation, and probably not just among the students, either. But she really didn't care what anybody had to say. After all, this first week on the job could have gone far worse. She'd recorded her first lessons out of sheer desperation the night of the Opening Feast and was as astonished as anyone else to discover how well her solution had worked.
As she crossed the aisle, she saw Scorpius Malfoy grounding his puffer-fish eyes with the wrong end of the pestle. "Turn that around, Mr. Malfoy," she corrected.
"I—I read somewhere that stirring with the top end of a pestle could make an ingredient more potent," Malfoy said.
Hermione cocked her head, mildly impressed. "That is certainly true, Mr. Malfoy. But how large a size, really, do you want for your rose petal to swell? You'll have time for potion experimentation later in the semester."
Suddenly, she noticed the faint greenish tinge of his fingernails. The tell-tale sign of frequent exposure to valerian oil. Hermione frowned to herself as she turned away from Malfoy. She had noticed odd amounts of valerian occasionally disappearing from her stores, but she never thought much about it. It was a common ingredient, used in a slew of Healing potions, none of which were truly dangerous. Of the few valerian compounds that weredangerous, like Draught of Living Death, she couldn't think of anyone who would want to brew them at Hogwarts. She shrugged. If Malfoy was stealing valerian, it was probably to make some moisturizing ointment for his female friends.
At the end of the class period, she was Scourgify-ing the surface of the lab benches when she saw Snape appear in her classroom doorway. Hermione's pulse picked up a few beats. He looked worn, but with an obstinate gleam in his eyes. "Would you mind sharing your expertise in Ancient Runes, Granger?"
"Expertise?" she quirked her lips. "A bit of an overstatement, but sure."
"Come with me to my office, then."
Hermione rolled her eyes at how he still carried himself like a stiff flagpole, calling her to his office as if she were a first year.
"First week ended well?" he inquired disinterestedly as they walked down the corridor.
"Well enough," she said.
"Your modern methods of teaching are creating quite the stir," he commented.
"Just an experiment. It helps me keep a better eye on the students. They have a tendency to blow each other up if not watched closely," she hedged.
When they reached his office, he directed her to the old, worn tome lying open on his desk, the ink faded and smeared. She peered at it. "These are Ministry of Magic meeting minutes. It just says, '6 June 352 A.D. let it be noted that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall be chartered on this day.' Wow, interesting. We're that old?"
Snape sighed, clearly frustrated.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"Not much more than usual. I was hoping to find a loop hole in the school charter that would allow me to dispense with the requirement of submitting a budget every ten years to the Ministry. It is a waste of my time."
"I guess this is not the answer?"
He sneered. "No, since some fool saw fit to note one thousand years ago that this is a Ministry-chartered institution."
He closed the book and handed it to her. "If you wish for a bit of light reading," he deadpanned.
Hermione's brows rose to her hairline. "Sure, I'll see what I can do," she said, accepting it.
She noticed him watching her closely. "Do you find this job an improvement over your last one?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered frankly. It was, in fact, a huge improvement, she thought. Even with the hassle of the magical recordings.
Severus found his gaze lingering on her, his attention once again wandering. She was striking, if not classically beautiful. Brown curls that refused to be contained, a becoming mouth, and a spit-fire personality. It was also not the first time he noticed the slightly shadowed eyes, which hinted at deeper troubles.
"Good," he finally replied after a beat. "Thank you, Professor."
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