A/N: This is not mine. The characters, world, and backbone of this story belong to JKR. Thanks for reading and the kind reviews :]
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hermione woke to a far-too-loud-for-the-hour banging on the door of Ginny's room. She groaned in response and cracked an eye open. It was also much too bright. Merlin, she hated hangovers.
"Make it stop," she croaked at the other girl, only to have a pillow chucked in her general direction. Even her own voice sounded like shrieking.
"'MIONE! GIN! COME ON BREAKFAST IS READY! BLIMEY, HOW AM I AWAKE BEFORE YOU? CAN'T YOU SMELL THE BACON?"
Am I actually in a relationship with this noise?
Hermione rolled (fell) out of her cot in the room and walked over to the door, swinging it open with more ferocity that she thought she could muster in this condition.
"Shut. Up. Ronald." She hissed, glaring up at him. Her hair was frightful, she was in her clothes from the night before and had a bit of spit on her chin.
"Gosh, 'Mione, I hope you look like this every morning when we're married," Ron said sarcastically. She squinted down at herself surveying the damage. She had the composure to at least wipe her chin.
"Hungover, Ron. Need tea. Need potion. Probably need dragon tranquilizers. Until you deliver at least two, I will be exclusively seeing the inside of the loo."
It wasn't until she had closed the door and started to climb back into bed that she realized Ron had mentioned marriage. Circe's tits, her head hurt far too much for her to think about that now.
She sunk back into bed and enjoyed the five blissful minutes of dark and silence until Ron returned with her requests.
***
Having consumed her fair share of the hangover potion and hopping in the shower, Hermione was feeling much better. She entered the kitchen smiling brightly, ready to devour anything put before her. She sat and began cheerily talking with the Weasley clan as she tucked into her eggs and sausage.
Halfway through breakfast, the grumpiest looking eagle owl Hermione had ever seen burst through the kitchen window and landed on the table, holding out its leg to Hermione.
"Oy! Watch it, you bloody beast!" Ron cried as it toppled over his orange juice. It nipped over at his fingers and Hermione tsked.
"Its from Snape," announced Ginny, who was sitting closest to Hermione and had peered over her shoulder as the other girl read.
Ms. Granger –
My trial begins tomorrow. I have been placed under house arrest until my conviction. You and the rest of the Order will be summoned to testify. Be aware that damage to your sparkling Gryffindor reputation may be done if you offer continued support.
– S. S.
"What about, dear? I hope everything is all right," Molly Weasley said, beginning to fret with her napkin. Hermione stood quickly, looking resigned.
"Professor Snape's trial begins tomorrow. I have to go prepare. I would appreciate it very much if you all were in attendance and gave testimony on his behalf. Excuse me."
She took the sausage in her pocket and held out her arm for the owl, which it hopped onto gracefully. Hermione quickly climbed the stairs to Ginny's room, where she found a scrap of parchment and a quill.
"Just a minute," she tsked at the owl, which was beginning to nip at her pockets.
Professor Snape –
The entire Order and I will be at your trial to provide testimony in your defense. I do not give a fizzing whisbee about my 'sparkling Gryffindor reputation,' so please do not insult me as to suggest I would not do the right thing because of such ever again. You are stuck with my support for the duration, do not try to arse you way out of it. I will be by at 4 o'clock to provide you with tea and discuss your forthcoming trial.
–H. G.
P.S. Please warn me if your 'guards' are dementors, so I have adequate time to collect Kingsley's balls to be served on a platter to my cat before our meeting.
Hermione paused only a moment to consider that this note was the least formal thing she had written (or said) to the man in her entire life. She shrugged however, and quickly attached the note to the owl and retrieved the sausage from her pocket as thanks. As soon as it had gone, she turned on her heel with a crack.
***
It was about 3:30 when Hermione had finished collecting all the supporting memories she had of Professor Snape into her pensive and had nearly completely her floo calls.
She threw more powder into the fire, getting back down on her hands and knees. Sticking her head into the green flames she called "Rita Skeeter's office!" and felt her head spin.
"Hello Rita," she intoned sweetly, smiling up at the scowling woman before her.
"To what do I owe this … pleasure, Granger?" The reporter pursed her lips unpleasantly and shifted in her seat.
"Strictly business, I'm afraid. I have a bit of something to ask of you."
"What might that be? If it involves my resignation, I'm afraid the answer will be no."
"Oh no, nothing of the sort. I have a bit of a proposition for you, actually." Skeeter's ears perked up visibly.
"Yes? I'm listening."
"As I'm sure you are well aware, Severus Snape's trial is beginning tomorrow, and I'm sure such an important reporter as yourself will be covering it in detail."
"Absolutely. Is he a romantic war hero? A sinister turncoat? The best spy to have ever lived? The public has a right to know, and I will be providing them with answers."
"Good, well, this is where the proposition comes into play."
"Ah," Rita Skeeter didn't sound quite so excited now.
"I will give you an exclusive interview as to how Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and I lived until the final battle, my account through the battle as I fought by Harry's side, and how I brought Professor Snape back from the brink of death."
Hermione could practically see Skeeter salivating.
"Plus, I won't go running to my good friend Kingsley Shaklebolt to tell him about your unregistered animagus form. IF and only if you cover the trial in an unbiased manner toward Professor Snape and you do not divulge every aspect of his personal life to the public; especially his relationship with Lily Evans.
"Do we have a deal, Skeeter?"
The blonde paused for a moment, sucking on her teeth.
"Yes, we have a deal."
"Make an oath to me."
"I swear on my wand, I will not be biased against Snape in my reportings of the trial, nor will I discuss his personal life and relationship with Lily Evans."
"Wonderful. So good to talk to you, Rita. I'll see you at the trial. Floo me afterward and we'll discuss my interview," Hermione beamed at the other witch once more before removing her head from the fireplace.
***
Severus Snape was not having a good day.
He had been woken rather abruptly to two aurors pounding at his door informing him of his temporary incarceration. Also, that his court date was at 8 o'clock the following morning. His house was removed from exiting floos (however, people could floo in) and an anti-apparation bracelet was attached to his leg.
"You fiddle with this and we'll be forced to take your wand, Mr. Snape."
Then he ran out of tea and the plants he had been growing with replacement leaves had been neglected for some time while he was being the second most hated man in the wizarding world. It wasn't as if he would have trusted Pettigrew with them anyway.
So, no freedom, no transportation, no tea. Definitely not a good day at all.
***
Snape stared down at the letter he had received from Miss Granger for a very long time. Something had changed about their relationship without his immediate notice or consent. He was unsettled.
It wasn't as if he altogether hated the girl. She was intelligent, had gone back in time to save his life, loyal, powerful, and nearly tolerable if she held her tongue. All in all, he had to admit she had grown into a satisfactory young woman. But, sometime during that growth she had stopped fearing him (actually, that had probably stopped when she hit puberty, but he allowed himself this small self-deception) and what's worse, she stopped trying to impress him. Actually, what he had hated about her most was her insecure need to impress everyone and anyone; annoying, but easy target practice. Somewhere between when he had seen her at sixteen and when she came thundering into his life at eighteen, she had lost that insecurity and stopped giving a rat's ass what he – or anyone, it seemed – thought of her. He was most assured the letter was from Hermione Granger, there was no one else in the world capable of proclaiming loyalty and berating at exactly the same time (save perhaps Minerva McGonagall; hell, that was probably who she learned it from). But when did she decide she could she use the word "arse" and discuss the minister of magic's balls on a platter to Severus Snape? Loathe as he was to admit it, he was once again impressed with the girl. Bloody Gryffindors.
And, he realized with a start, she had invited herself over to his home. Merlin's fucking balls.
***
At precisely 4 o'clock on the nose, three sharp knocks sounded on his door. Snape glowered at it, giving it his sourest of expressions and threw back the remaining fingers of his whiskey.
"Enter," he barked, moving his eyes to eye his now empty glass, willing it to fill on its own accord.
"Good afternoon, Professor!" Hermione called out, opening the door while balancing a tall stack of parchment in her spare arm. She crossed the room as if she had been there a hundred times (this further soured Snape's mood, presumptuous chit) and pushed his booted feet off the table he had propped them on, putting her papers in their stead. Snape turned his shinning beady eyes at her, hawk-like expression much worsened with the ferocious glower.
"Miss Granger," he drawled in his most dangerous, silkiest tones, "is it your habit to walk about other people's homes as if they are your own? Especially when barging in uninvited?"
Granger blinked at him three times then shrugged. "You are going on trial tomorrow morning, Professor. I needed to come over so we could begin to plan, and as you are unable to leave your home, I decided to come to you. If this was an inconvenient time for you, sir, you should have owled me to reschedule."
Severus stood up, taking a menacing step toward her. She didn't so much as blink. "Must I remind you that I am no longer your professor? Your uncouth owl this morning suggests you know as much. However, I wouldn't expect decorum from a Gryffindor Princess such as yourself."
She rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes!
"And I'm no longer your student. And no longer in the house of Gryffindor, and I do believe I was never from any sort of royal bloodline. You can call me Hermione. I'm making tea, you've had a bad day." She exited the small living room and into the kitchen quickly. He heard her running the tap and quickly followed her in.
"You're damn right I've had a bad day! Get out of my house, woman! Out!"
Hermione turned around, holding a large brass teapot full of water, giving him a level look.
"Snape, shut up. I am making tea for the both of us. Go sit down. If you pour yourself more whiskey or start shouting at me again, I am going to throw this pot straight at your head. Preferably full of boiling water. Am I clear?"
Snape glowered. He could just hex her and be done with it, be rid of her forever. But then he most definitely would go to Azkaban. Killing first the world's most beloved headmaster, then the most beloved student? He'd be fucked worse than a hippogriff down a chimney. And said student was eyeing him suspiciously with a rather heavy teapot. It seemed his sense of self-preservation was still intact.
"Yes, Granger." He shuffled back into the living room and her the sounds of cubards and silver, then eventually the tell-tale whistle of the teapot. A few minutes later Hermione walked out with two levitated cups of steaming tea, already prepared to their respective tastes, and a plate full of tea biscuits in her hand.
"Drink up, we've got some long days ahead of us."
