Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.

Thanks as always to dear, dear Escoger.

The Dool Tree

by Anachronistic Anglophile

Chapter 14

Soon enough, the other students returned to Hogwarts with smiles on most of their faces, despite the inevitable groans of the older years. The summer had made their brains nice and empty, just as Dumbledore liked, and the students came back with redoubled enthusiasm and pledges to study even harder that year.

Hermione felt jaded as she regarded a stolid fourth-year Hufflepuff claim that she'd try for straight Os this year, "never get another E". It's harder than you think, sweetheart, Hermione thought to herself. She wasn't in this melancholy vein out of anxiety; while she was about to confront Lily Evans (and maybe even Severus Snape) with her stellar O.W.L. score, she wasn't worried about having won the wager. Indeed, she didn't quite know why she might be disturbed at all. She should have been totally exultant. The idea that she had been indubitably victorious over Lily did fill her with a kind of jubilation, but it was tempered by some other mood.

Maybe I've just become attuned to the loneliness that the summer afforded, she thought, and then she realized that probably that was the problem. I do remember being overwhelmed this time last year by all the people. She refused to think about Harry and Ron, because she didn't want to think about the fact that she'd never see them again, if Littles was correct.

Fortunately, she'd brought a book, so she buried her nose in it while the students milled around her. She did keep an eye out for Snape, Lily, and the Marauders nonetheless.

There's Professor Lupin, she noticed, and James, Sirius, and Peter behind him. She decided there and then that she'd make more of an effort to be her other former professor's friend. While he was indubitably a Marauder, she still recalled him with fondness, and was keen to 'resume' their friendship.

She then spotted Snape, and she closed her book over her thumb and raised it to wave at him, but she was dismayed to see that he was busy talking with his Slytherin friends. At the sight of them, Hermione for once found herself agreeing with Lily Evans: Snape would certainly be better off without them as friends. She was not one to discriminate generally by appearence, and in fact she consciously attempted to avoid such unfair generalization, but it was fairly obvious that these boys were of the Wrong Sort.

After a while, Hermione felt conspicuous waiting outside the Great Hall, hopping from foot to foot nervously. Having chickened out in approaching Snape, she was hopeful that maybe she could talk to Dorcas or someone else she knew for a bit before going in for dinner. Then again, she figured that she probably had already missed most of the Gryffindor sixth years, because she was not seeing any.

Then Lily came onto the scene. A surge of jealousy seized Hermione as she regarded the girl she'd marked as her rival: Lily had developed into an even more womanly form over the warm months. While there was not much that Hermione could pinpoint as being different about the other girl, there was a certain plumpness about the chest that Lily's previously girlish figure had not sported, there was a certain sashay in her step, and there was a certain luxuriance in her hair.

We have such similar lifestyles, Hermione mourned, comparing her squishy pear-shaped figure negatively to Lily's toned body. Why do we look so different?

Opening her book again, she watched as Lily made a beeline for Snape, approaching him from behind with a poke that caused him to leap in the air and reach for his wand before he realized that it was only the redheaded Gryffindor. The rest of his friends glowered at them both while Snape just looked embarrassed, his face flushing as he looked from his disapproving Slytherin comrades to Lily.

Her hand gripped her exam results tightly--she wanted to have proof when she confronted Lily Evans, perhaps repaying her for her humiliating of her so-called friend.

However, as she was walking toward the redhead, she was interrupted by a mop of stringy blond hair on twiggy limbs. Jenny was tanner than ever, and she smiled brightly at Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione, how've you been over the summer?

Jenny smelled sweet and smoky, of cannabis, and Hermione sighed. She was disappointed to see Snape and Lily pass her by as they went into the Great Hall, splitting up before they each reached their tables. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't be polite to the eccentric Jenny, so she nodded with forced interest.

"Quite all right, it was rather busy," she stated ambiguously.

"Busy? Huh," the other girl said, smiling. "I'd say I had a busy summer, too."

"Mine wasn't that sort of busy," Hermione mumbled, her eyes wandering towards the Gryffindor table. Lily had one spot empty next to her, and Hermione intended to take it.

"I worked at a soup kitchen and my uncle's store," Jenny said, sounding amused. "What sort of busy did you mean?"

"Erm, nothing, talk to you later," Hermione almost squeaked, turning away.

"The guy I did from Amsterdam sounded exactly like you just did when we did it," exclaimed Jenny unabashedly, making Hermione even redder as she walked away to the Gryffindor table.

"...No, we didn't get together over the summer, we're just friends, all right?" Lily was saying grumpily to Deborah, who was clinging all over her like a fly in a sticky spot of spilled butterbeer. "So bugger off."

"Don't use that sort of language with me, Lily Evans," Deborah said with motherly condescension, though Hermione couldn't quite tell if she was being serious or if she was joking. Hermione was inclined to think that the girl was serious.

"Hi, Lily," Hermione interrupted, taking careful note of the fact that she'd entered a conversation wherein a he was mentioned, "I got a one-o-five on my Potions O.W.L." She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at this, as she had worked at least twice as hard in that subject as in her other ones, so getting a grade of that level had been quite the ego-boost for her.

"Congratulations," Lily said, looking neither surprised nor unhappy. In fact, she had an air of delicate resignation that Hermione couldn't interpret. "That's an excellent score. Do you intend to go into potions-making? Perhaps get your mastership?"

"Well...perhaps," Hermione said, though honestly she hadn't given much thought as to what she would do with her stellar grade except beat Lily. She had good enough grades universally to be a competitor for an aurorship (albeit barely in the case of DADA), but there was never anything in which she'd spent a lot of time developing any specific talent. Until now, it seemed.

"So why'd you work your arse off for the grade?"

Hermione frowned, not wanting to admit that the whole reason she had tried so hard (beyond her usual zealousness for grades) had been to beat Lily. Finally, she said, forcing a rather grand tone into her voice to mask her uneasiness, "Because even though I don't know what I specifically want to pursue as my future career. I wish to keep as many of my options open, if you understand what I mean."

"Oh, of course," Lily replied, taking a quick bite of the roast turkey before continuing, "that makes perfect sense. So potions isn't something that you've set...well, set your heart and soul upon?"

"No, not really," Hermione replied, feeling a distinctly odd feeling inside her as Lily continued acting in perfect nonchalance, "in fact, I think I prefer Charms."

"Charms is fun," Lily agreed, her voice warming up as she gushed, "After Potions, it's one of my best subjects, and probably my second-favorite! What grade did you get in that?"

"One-hundred and four," Hermione admitted, having to fight a roll of the eyes. She hadn't felt as glorious about getting that grade, though, because Charms was easy. Potions wasn't.

"That's...wow, that's incredible!" Lily answered, her eyes widening. "So if you think about it, my getting a one-eleven in Potions isn't a far cry off. I only got a one-hundred and two in Charms."

"Why, thank you... Wait." Hermione's eyes widened, and she faltered as her throat seemed to tighten. "You got a one-eleven in Potions? One-hundred and eleven!"

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

If Hermione were a weaker girl, someone like Lavender Brown or maybe Deborah Smith, she would have fainted away right then and there. As it was, however, she just got up, ignoring the demonstrations from Lily, who kept insisting that 'it wasn't a competition' and 'you don't even like Potions that much' and 'it's just a number, after all, based on talent and chance'.

At which point, Hermione had snapped, "Not just talent and chance, Evans. Hard work factors into it much more than you might suppose."

"That's a given," Lily replied, but her voice had faded away as Hermione stomped out of the Great Hall.

Now she was in the library, sitting at the seat she still privately viewed as her seat. Staring into space, Hermione tried to understand what had happened. It just seemed impossible. How did she do it? wondered Hermione to herself, her face numb and eyes wide. I studied harder than I have ever studied before; I spent hours each day memorizing the textbook. How did she manage to beat me...and so badly at that?

Hermione's mind seemed as slow as molassas right about then, but even in her stupor she knew perfectly well that the grade that Lily Evans had received shouldn't have been possible.

One-eleven? Hermione hadn't imagined that the graders could give anything higher than a one hundred and five, because that was the highest grade she'd ever heard of on the O.W.L.s. The study manuals themselves hadn't mentioned anything that high, with one hundred and five being listed as something so challenging that it was rare to see more than one or two of them across all subjects.

How did she do it? Hermione asked herself, feeling so incredibly low that her eyes were beginning to sting with tears and her scalp was itching. Weary and exhausted by her pent-up emotions, she lay her head down on the table to clear her mind. The cool, grainy wood felt nice on her hot forehead, and she contemplated the smells of aged varnish and cleaning polish residue. How did she bloody do it? I've gone over everything I did, again and again, and it was all exactly right! I didn't make a single, bloody mistake, so how did she get SIX points more than me!

Hermione was no fool after all, and the only time she had ever seen a grade that high was in Muggle Studies in that exhausting third year of hers, where she had gotten a one-hundred and twelve...but even then, she had been operating under the massive advantage of being a Muggleborn. It had been almost like being a world-renowned Arithmancer and going back to do sums again. And Lily came within a point of matching that score... That's...just not right...

"Might I ask why you're dirtying our clean table with that unruly mane of yours?" came a sarcastic voice from Hermione's side, causing her to jump. Apparently, at some point during her depressing musings, Snape had come into the library, sitting down beside her.

"Hi," Hermione said, swallowing back the tears that she felt were imminent, "How'd you do on your O.W.L.s?" She tried for nonchalance, hoping that a normal conversation focused on someone else would help her forget her worries...or at least distract him from bothering her about them.

In response, Snape's face tensed, his dark, cold eyes fastening on Hermione. For a moment, he said nothing, looking for something in her face that only he could find, then he muttered, "Decently. And yourself?"

"Not as...not as good as I'd hoped," she managed, though her eyes continued to sting and her throat was tight. "How did you do on...Defense Against the Dark Arts?" She bit her lip as she said this, hoping she might distract Snape from her for long enough to get herself under control.

Snape seemed to know that something was up, however. He spoke briskly, annoyance creeping into his voice, "What's got your knickers in a twist? I saw you and Lily discussing something over dinner; does this have to do with that?"

This made Hermione come perilously close to spilling her guts; as it was, she swallowed forcefully and said, in a voice that was irregularly high-pitched, "No...no, not at all."

Which, of course, confirmed to Severus that it did.

"I suppose you're going to tell me about it?" he groaned in annoyance, shutting the book that he'd been reading. "Go on, then."

As she looked blankly at him, not sure if he really knew what he was saying--not sure if she could deal with the implication of what he was saying--he cajoled further, "Out with it, girl. If you don't, I'll go back to my book and you can snivel in the bathroom all alone later."

The idea that this was Snape asking her to confide in him was so ludicrous that Hermione began to laugh--and, against her will, to cry.

"Whaa-aa-aat...utter..." she said, valiantly trying to hide her tears, but she caved, folding her arms on the table and burying her head in them. "...Rot."

This didn't seem to be what Snape expected. He was taken quite aback, and his eyes were as wide as a piece of parchment. "Not...rot." he said feebly, in a confused tone of voice.

"Yes, it is rot. It is!" she quibbled, feeling snot drip down her face and onto the table, but she was so out of sorts that she didn't care. "Rot, rot, rot. All my life is rot."

"Not rot," Snape countered, terse but seeming to get over his initial paralysis. "Rot is..." He tried to demonstrate some inexplicable meaning with a wide, sweeping gesture, but to no avail. Hermione knew he was just saying things, probably wanting to shut her up. She was proved right when his facade broke. "...Granger, just bloody stop crying! I'm a dashed sharp shoulder to cry on."

"I-I c-c-can't!" wailed Hermioned, causing some of the other patrons of the library to look over in confusion, staring at the blubbering brunette.

Snape's sallow face flushed a mottled red as he realized this, but he said nothing. Perhaps he understood tears better than he'd admit. The idea that he thought her pathetic made her cry even harder. Of course, even if it were the end of the world, Snape would still be telling her to shut her noisy gob. That was ironically a rather comforting thought, as nothing else seemed to have stayed the same since she had arrived in this time; even if it weren't particularly nice, at least it was something normal.

However, a shadowy presence nearby alerted her that Madame Pince was on the prowl, so Hermione began to gather up her books, sobbing intensely. Snape did the same, a scowl on his face as he put his ratty books away.

"Come," he insisted hotly, which surprised Hermione quite a bit. She already had been such a burden to him, why did he want to stay with her? Still, he was offering her a hand as he brusquely snarled, "I haven't all day, so move, you silly chit!"

Although confused by Snape's manner, Hermione took his thin hand in hers, allowing him to lead her out of the library. With her following in numb fascination, Snape strode over to a nearby door and wrenched it open, revealing an empty classroom that Hermione vaguely recalled would be used for Muggle Studies in the future. Transfiguring a pair of dust-covered desks into stiff, wooden chairs, he sat at one and pointed at the other.

Sitting down carefully, the dim light making it almost impossible to see with tears filling her eyes, Hermione waited for him to start berating her. It would almost be a blessing, she thought, that would mean I was that much closer to home.

For some reason, she felt especially insecure about herself, and all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed at home and cry it out. But she had no home anymore, no family, nothing. That was her present...and her future.

Snape asked, albeit in clipped tones, "Alright, what happened between you and Lily at dinner?"

Hermione bit her lip, quailing at the idea of speaking to the man she still thought of as her acerbic Professor about her personal life, but in the end she responded. Timidly, she spoke, her eyes closely examing her trainers as she did so, "You see, I made a bit of a bet with Lily Evans over the summer, saying that I'd beat her in Potions on the O.W.L.s...and I studied like a madwoman, but still couldn't beat her. I mean, how is it even possible to get a score as high as she did? How!"

"That's what this is about? Potions?" Severus' eyebrows knit, confusion written on his face. He was obviously irked, his dark eyes boring into hers in an angry glare. "The way you were carrying on, I thought that this was something important, not silly grades!"

"You wouldn't understand..." whispered Hermione, feeling betrayed at his furious reaction.

"Perhaps, but it's not like there's anything you can do about it, is there?" said Severus with a shrug, glancing longingly at the doorway behind him. However, rather than leave, he spoke reflectively, "Sometimes, there's nothing we can do, no matter how hard we try. If you can't change things, then you'll have to accept them one day...whether you like it or not."

There was a moment's pause, then he suddenly leapt to his feet, saying in a tight voice, revealing wide, scared eyes as he did so, "I need to go, Granger." And putting actions to words, before Hermione could blink he had strode out the door, leaving her in the dust of the old classroom.

Hermione could only stare at the doorway in confusion. What was that about? Why's Snape acting so...odd?

Although she wasn't able to puzzle out what was bothering Snape, a man who somehow managed to be just as much of an oddity at the age of sixteen as that of thirty-five, at least one good thing came of her ponderings: she couldn't focus on her pain and humiliation...

...At least, not for the moment.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Note: Hermione's reacting so strongly because it's her grades. Her validation of self-worth is wound up in them. So that's why she's so stunned. And while I know Hermione's quite competent at potions in canon, I'm taking the interpretation that Snape and Lily are just more naturally talented. Because, it's really just fanon that Hermione was JUST as good at potions as Snape and Lily were.