Becoming
Chapter Five
by snarkypants
The students, second years and older, were in their places and it was time for the professors and staff to proceed to the head of the Great Hall. They did so swiftly and silently while the students stood at their tables.
She saw Blithe first; she grinned hugely at her mother. Hermione winked and smiled with the corner of her mouth. One down.
Then she spotted Fabian and something inside of her relaxed. They're both here, they're both fine. Fabian looked cross and tired, but he nodded at her and smiled wryly. She wrinkled her nose, wiggling it, and he appeared to chuckle silently before he looked away.
She had taken especial care when dressing tonight, choosing her brown robes so neither of her children could accuse her of House (and therefore, child) favouritism for the start-of-year feast.
Fabian was a Ravenclaw and proud of it, while his cousin-and-best-friend Jim-James and his sister Blithe were both equally proud Gryffindors. They (more or less) declared détente during school holidays although Hermione had long suspected that the start of a new school year was difficult for her son.
She took her place on the dais and after the teachers sat down Minerva stood to welcome the returning students. She recognised the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl (to enthusiastic applause from the Hufflepuff table, as both came from their House) and then a hush fell over the Great Hall as Professor Snape led the terrified-looking first years to their Sorting.
A few first years were the children of friends; Dean Thomas' daughter Sylvie was now a Gryffindor and Susan Bones-Somethingorother's son Julian was a surprise Slytherin.
Then it was time for announcements. The Forbidden Forest was still forbidden. Professor Binns' classroom had finally been de-swamped and History of Magic classes would take place as per usual (groans). Anyone found in possession of a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes product on school grounds would face expulsion. "That goes for you, too, Mr Weasley," Minerva said, giving a hard look at Fred's only child, a seventh year named Wulfric whose customary expression was one of angelic innocence. Hermione knew her nephew well enough to see through that and she imagined that Minerva did as well.
"Finally, before we enjoy our meals, you will remember that Professor Vector retired at the end of the last term so there is a new professor among us. Please welcome our new Arithmancy teacher, Professor Hermione Weasley. Professor Weasley is a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, for her actions during the Voldemort war. She has extensive knowledge and training in the Arithmantic arts and you will benefit a great deal from her instruction." Hermione stood and the students dutifully applauded.
"As there are no more Weasleys in the announcements we may now enjoy our meal," Minerva said and waved her wand at the tables. The first years gasped in awe as a splendid feast blossomed from the once-barren surfaces.
After the feast, Hermione had a few moments to see her children before they went to their Houses.
Blithe hugged her eagerly, bouncing and quivering like a Golden Retriever puppy. "Oh, Mum, I've so much to tell you! I'm trying out for Quidditch this year and Ivy Hodgepile told me on the train that— ," she broke off and looked around suspiciously before standing on tiptoe and whispering loudly in Hermione's ear. "That Alex Fraser fancies me!"
"Really?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised. "Which one is he?"
Blithe shot her a withering look. "I'm not going to just point him out to you, Mum. That would be obvious."
"Very well. I'll just ask Fabian to point him out to me…"
Blithe's jaw dropped in horror. "You wouldn't!"
"No, I wouldn't; what year is he in? Which house?"
"He's a fourth year; in Gryffindor, of course."
"You can be friends with someone who isn't a Gryffindor, Blithe; you can even be related to one," Hermione said, with a significant look.
"Fabe's a freak of nature, Mum. You should have seen him on the train. Touchy as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I thought he was going to smack Michael Davies."
"He and Michael never have got on well."
"It's just because Michael and Jim-James are friends during the school year and Fabian's jealous," Blithe said, rolling her eyes.
"That's enough, Blithe. It's hard on him with you and Jim-James in a different House."
Blithe shrugged, unconvinced. "Well. I've got to get to my room; those hosebeasts will get all the best spots if I don't hurry." She sprang up and planted a sloppy kiss on her mother's cheek. "'Night, Mum!" she sang, and fairly bounced her way out of the Hall.
Hermione walked over to where Fabian was standing with his hands in his pockets.
"What's she so happy about?" he asked glumly.
"Someone told her a boy likes her and, no, I won't tell you who."
He made a face. "Who'd like that?"
"I heard you almost had a fight today on the train."
"Blithe is such a liar, Mum."
"Is Michael Davies still giving you trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle," he said stiffly.
"Please be careful, love."
"I am. He's just an arsewipe."
"Fabian…"
"Sorry, Mum."
She sighed. "Tomorrow I can show you where my apartment is, in case you need someone to talk to; it's charmed to let you or Blithe in at any time you need me."
"I'm—fine—Mum," he said in an exasperated tone.
"I know, sweetheart; I just wish I could make all this easier for you."
"Well, you can't," he said, shrugging. "I've got to go." He put one arm around her shoulder and squeezed briefly before heading toward the door.
Well. Her children were launched for the year and without any help from her. She felt both sad and relieved at this.
"He'll do fine, Hermione," Professor Flitwick said from behind her. "After the first week or two he settles in quite nicely." He smiled reassuringly. "I'll keep an eye on him and if he's having any unusual difficulty I'll send him your way."
"Thank you, Filius," she said, still watching her son's retreating back as he went down the corridor.
Her first day of classes started well enough. The fourth years knew something of Arithmancy and her review of subject fundamentals was met mostly with nods rather than blank looks.
As luck would have it, Alex Fraser, the alleged daughter-fancier, was in the class and she would be able to observe him at work, although she planned to reserve judgment for several weeks.
The seventh years, on the other hand… they were difficult. Her chalk was charmed to write mildly naughty nicknames for body parts when she copied equations onto the board. When rune representing 'time' came out as 'bum,' she stopped writing and turned around to face the class.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked coldly, looking directly at her nephew Wulfric. His expression was bland as butter.
"I'm sorry Professor… I don't—," he said, before he was cut off.
"Mr Weasley, I sincerely hope that you don't know." She raised her wand and cast Finite Incantatem on the chalk.
She erased 'bum,' and began to write the equation. The rune for 'time' came out as an even naughtier word. The students sniggered behind her back.
"Right. Who is responsible for this?" The students kept their eyes on their books. "No one willing to come forward? Very well, then. Fifty points from Gryffindor." The Gryffindors groaned. "Fifty points from Slytherin." The Slytherins hissed in outrage. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw." The Ravenclaws muttered. "Fifty points from Hufflepuff." The Hufflepuffs shook their heads despairingly.
"Uh, Professor?" one of the Slytherin students said. "It was Weasley who did it, ma'am." A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs nodded agreement.
"Liar!" Wulfric cried in outrage.
"As if Wulfie'd do that to his own aunt," one of the Gryffindor girls said; she sat dangerously close to Wulfric, and Hermione surmised she was his girlfriend.
"Yeah," Wulfric said, his expression beatific.
"Thank you for telling me, Mr—"
"Snelling, ma'am," he said.
"Thank you, Mr Snelling. Twenty-five points to Slytherin. And another twenty-five points from Gryffindor."
The Slytherins looked pleased, but not completely; they were still down twenty-five points on their first day. The Gryffindors were furious. The Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs merely looked mutinous.
"If someone had told me this at the start of class, only one House would have lost points. There's no honour in keeping a stupid secret." She looked sternly at the class; they didn't meet her gaze. "This is your one and only warning. If I have further outbursts from this class, you will lose your Hogsmeade privileges for the term, in addition to gaining weekend detentions with Mr Filch. Have I made myself clear?"
The students grumbled.
"Have I made myself clear?" she barked like a Muggle military drill sergeant. The students jumped, and replied, "Yes, ma'am," in sulky voices.
"As you are all so competent in Arithmancy that you can indulge in practical jokes, you can do your assignment without benefit of the lecture. Books out; read pages fifteen through thirty-five, and complete the exercises on pages thirty-six through forty-five. Due first thing Friday."
A groan went up from the class; it was quickly stifled when Hermione raised eyebrows at them. Within moments the class was silently reading and taking notes.
Word got round the school quickly. She might look nice, but Weasley was almost as horrid as Snape.
By Friday, she had taught all of her classes at least once, save the third years that would come on Monday. They were all sullen and uncommunicative, but they weren't causing trouble.
Wulfric had tried to wheedle points out of her the day after his prank cost Gryffindor seventy-five points. He met her in her office, calling her 'Auntie Hermione' and oozing obsequiousness.
"Mr Weasley, your 'Auntie Hermione' is at the Burrow; would you care to join her for a few weeks? During the school term I am Professor Weasley. Remember that." She dismissed him briskly and went back to marking the fourth years' papers.
On Friday it happened. She knew it would, sooner or later, although she would have preferred later.
She deducted points from one of her children.
It was Blithe, predictably enough. Urged on by Ivy Hodgepile she cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on Serena Nguyen, Ivy's rival for the affections of Brian Cheswick, a Hufflepuff fifth year. Hermione saw Blithe cast the hex; she took twenty-five points and cancelled Blithe's first Hogsmeade visit in October.
"But Muuuuum," Blithe whined.
"Would you like a detention on top of everything else?" Hermione asked.
"No, ma'am," Blithe said, voice dripping with resentment. As soon as Hermione's back was turned she heard her daughter mutter, "Bitch."
Hermione turned around slowly, watching Blithe's expression shift from angry to frightened in mere seconds. "Detention at seven o'clock with Mr Filch, Miss Weasley. Wear old clothing."
Late Friday afternoon, Hermione all but dragged herself to the sentinel that guarded Minerva's office. "Caber toss," she said, and the sentry rotated, revealing a spiral staircase. She climbed and emerged in a small waiting room; the door to Minerva's office was closed and there was no response when she knocked.
"Fine, I'll wait," she said to herself and sat down on of the comfortable-looking sofas in the vestibule. Surely the sofas were new; she didn't remember seeing furniture on the few occasions she had come to Professor Dumbledore's office.
Her hands were cold as usual and she pressed the chilly pads of her thumbs against her closed eyelids. She was tired and shaky and tears had been threatening every time she stopped her work long enough to reflect.
This is much harder than I thought it would be. A (pitiful, self-pitying) tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she swiped furiously at it.
Five minutes later the tears were coming freely and she was hardly even bothering to swab them away. She was slumped in the corner of the sofa, covering her damp, streaky face with one hand.
"Are you unwell?" Snape's voice, seemingly coming from nowhere, made her jump. Her hands flew to wipe tears from her cheeks and jaw.
"No… (sniffle)… Just feeling rather inadequate and sorry for myself." She dried her hands on her robes.
"Ah. Well, don't let me stop you," he said.
She gaped at him and one corner of his mouth twitched. In his arms he carried several rolled parchments, tied and sealed with red wax; Minerva's office door swung open as he approached and he disappeared within.
Did he really tell me to continue feeling inadequate and sorry for myself? A giggle burbled up and out of the great well of misery in her chest.
When Snape returned to the waiting room minutes later he found her giggling helplessly even as fat tears squeezed from between her eyelids and streamed down her face.
"Would you like me to summon Madam Pomfrey? You clearly need some sort of sedation."
She cackled at that, sounding altogether unhinged, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "At the v-very least, you could lend me your h-handkerchief."
"I could," he said smugly. "But I find lessons are best learned when the learner has—"
"Oh, shut up and give me your handkerchief," she snapped, coughing a little as she tried to suppress her giggles.
Eyebrows raised, he extracted a folded square of snowy white linen from inside his robes. "I'm fairly certain it's been laundered within the last few months or so."
"Thank you," she said, taking the spotless cloth from him.
He sat in the sofa opposite her, matching her posture. "I suppose this is the part where I enquire about your mental health and whether you intend to give notice before you leave Hogwarts."
She snorted into the handkerchief.
"Should I take that as 'no,' then? Pity."
"My mental health is as well as it could be," she said. Her voice sounded as if she had a bad head cold. "And I don't intend to leave Hogwarts anytime soon."
"Good. Unless that means you're going to throw yourself from the Astronomy Tower and remain here as a ghost." He shrugged. "In which case, a little notice would be appreciated; paperwork, you know."
She chuckled. "No, I won't subject you to that."
"Excellent."
"I've had the worst week," she said in a flat voice.
"Welcome to my life," he said. "I've actually heard good reports about your teaching."
"You have? From whom?"
"My students. They said you were impossibly strict and completely biased and unfair."
"Those are hardly good reports," she said, folding her arms across her chest.
"They were good," he said. "You're not afraid of the students and you won't stand any racket from them simply because you're related to at least half of them by blood and/or marriage."
"I didn't think it would be so combative."
"If you came in full of cheer and goodwill they would have stomped you flat within two minutes. They wouldn't listen to you and they certainly wouldn't respect you."
"They don't respect me," she said miserably.
"No, they're frightened of you. Which is a bloody good substitute for respect."
She put her face in her hands. "I can't believe I'm taking teaching advice from Severus Snape."
He laughed shortly. "You're not here to be liked, Professor Weasley. You're here to teach. You want to be liked, go work for the WWN as a quiz show presenter."
"You're right," she said, groaning. "I just—"
"You just envisioned swooping in like Mr Chips and Mary Poppins rolled into one and winning their hearts and minds with your brilliance," he said sourly. His tone was much too bitter for him to be speaking solely of Hermione's expectations and she looked up at him curiously. He shrugged. "Let's just say you're not the first new teacher that reality bit in the arse."
She digested this briefly in silence. "So I've got to scare my students from now until I retire from teaching?"
"No," he scoffed. "Just from now until the winter holidays. Then, if you want, you can lighten up on them."
"You never did."
"I never wanted to."
"Oh."
A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Thanks to selened for her assistance and advice.