Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.

Escoger is king of the idea-bouncing, author-prodding, patience-bearing, canon-mistake-catching worlds. He rules many other dominions and principalities as well. I bow to him.

The Dool Tree

by Anachronistic Anglophile

Chapter 16

After Snape left the dusty classroom, Hermione proceeded immediately to bed that evening, her limbs heavy and her stomach tossing with nausea. Part of it was Lily's victory in their little bet over Potions. In fact, Hermione acknowledged that that was most of it-but in reality it was more the self-loathing thoughts that accrued after the fact.

Amid the mental turmoil, she was thoroughly curious why Snape acted the way he did. Why did he talk to her? Why did he take them somewhere private? Why did he leave so suddenly? She had no answers for herself, and it only made her depressive condition worse to contemplate them.

Weeks rolled by like the careful tolling of church bells for a funeral. Hermione found it harder and harder to rise every morning, to put in the effort for her classes, to bother with talking to anyone. But her life was also one full of contradiction: she was both hungry and unable to eat, both acknowledgeably selfish and hating herself for it, both desiring to succeed as she had once but knowing she was utterly incapable of doing so.

And so she became more and more despondent, more and more reclusive, and more and more unhappy.

She did try in her classes; she might get a sudden burst of energy and spend hours doing research, poring over old texts to her heart's delight; but when it came down to writing the essay afterward, all she could do was curl up in her bed, hug a pillow to herself, and fitfully sleep.

The cause of all this? She puzzled over it a bit, but definitively laid the blame on her own failure to win over Lily in the O.W.L.s. And it wasn't so much that she hadn't, per se...it was because she couldn't understand how in the world Lily could get such a high grade. In her experience, such was nigh impossible! Hermione had studied her arse off for those tests. There was just... no possible way that Lily could have done better than her, with how little that girl studied! Hermione had been in the library almost sixteen hours a day on average at the time that Lily should have been studying like heck. And Lily was certainly not in there with her for sixteen hours at a stretch. Not even once.

So it boggled Hermione's mind.

Another thing that bothered her, though only slightly, and only in retrospect, was the fact that Snape had considered her distress rather pitiful. He called the pursuit of the best marks "silly", she remembered. How could that be? He becomes a teacher! Teachers should, by virtue of their profession, take marks very seriously.

This did perplex her as well, if only because it made her wonder whether or not Snape actually would become a professor. Or has my presence here changed everything?

The latter thought was too scary to contemplate, however, so she forgot it with the efficiency of someone who has trained the mind to eradicate unnecessary and disturbing thoughts.

Sometimes she tried to resolve her issues by going to talk to Severus again in the library, but inevitably every time she had both gumption to talk about them and access to him, Lily either walked onto the scene or was conveniently nearby. So she avoided him, and his supposed 'best friend'.

Hmph, it seems that now as soon as I'm watching her, she's taking great pains to do her studies...

She did admit to herself that Lily had spent at least some time in the library studying for O.W.L.s, moreover with Severus, and she even more begrudgingly admitted that perhaps in her vilification she was exaggerating Lily's feat. But she didn't know by how much she was exaggerating, and anyhow, she didn't care much.

Actually, she cared very little for anything by the end of September, and October arrived without event or consequence.

Everyone around her was getting excited for Halloween, but Hermione was habitually aloof. Her inclination was to hide from the world almost as soon as she set foot outside of her dormitory, even more so with the impending holiday, and she responded to the feeling by sitting in the back of the class, never leaving the privacy of her four-poster except for class, and never (gasp!) raising her hand in class.

To keep people from talking to her at the breakfast, lunch, and dinner tables, she ate lots, and quickly. To keep people from bothering her on the way to class, she kept her nose in a book, practicing her skills at walking without watching where she was going. To keep people from annoying her while the curtains on her bed were drawn, she pretended she wasn't there. It was a melancholy life, but she told herself she enjoyed it.

She didn't think the first person to disturb her funk would be James Potter.

"'Lo there," he said one Monday morning, slipping into the seat immediately next to her and dishing a platter of eggs onto his plate. "I don't think I've talked to you this year, Aussie. How are you?"

Saying nothing, Hermione placed a third generous dollop of bangers on her plate.

"Oh, there's no need to be rude, Aussie," the boy said in a jovial tone. "We're not that unalike, you and I. And I mean, we did get off on a bad foot, but dash it, it's not as though that was the best possible first impression that either of us could give, right? I mean, me picking on Snivelly...you tumbling out of that old tree and showing your...unmentionables..."

For a moment, Hermione silently gauged the eyes of her kippers-on-rye, somewhat shocked. Did I flash everybody? Hermione wondered, perturbed, staring at the fish on her toast, which seemed to stare back with protruding eyeballs.

Then she broke her focus from her food, turning her head away from Potter as though to look at the head table.

"I thought you claimed to be a gentleman," she said haughtily, trying to hide the tears that began to sting her eyes, but she choked on her words because she hadn't said a word to anybody for three days straight and her throat was tight.

"A what?" asked James Potter innocently, seeming honestly surprised. "You thought I was a what? A horny toad? Come now, be a sport Miss..." He paused, elegantly gesturing for her to supply him with a name.

"Bugger," Hermione muttered, looking down at her breakfast, which she was keenly aware was getting cold. She didn't want to be bothered. All she wanted to do was toddle back to bed, cuddle Palsy in her arms, and descend to slumber.

"Miss Bugger!" exclaimed Potter delightedly, in a giddy way that eerily resembled Gilderoy Lockheart. "Splendid to meet you. My name is James Potter, if you didn't know, son of Sir Henry James Potter of Doveshire."

All she could snappily retort was: "I know." Breathing deeply and closing her eyes, she tried to imagine that she was back at home again, and that the soft, strong timbre of Potter's voice was Ron's-though the blooming arrogance that Potter expressed didn't seem to fit, given that his pompousness was more akin to the attribute of a Malfoy...though the thought of a person being a mix of Lockheart and Malfoy and Ron all at the same time...While some people might not understand someone like Potter, she was absolutely confident that she could...He wasn't so difficult, really-just the spoiled son of a wealthy pureblood who had a voice like her lost beloved..

"...well? Would you agree, my dear Miss Bugger?" inquired the boy in a polite and teasing way, smiling and ruffling his (Harry's!) silken black locks in a way that Hermione couldn't see her old friend doing.

"I...I don't think...that I know," she replied, evading the question with some embarrassment. It had been a while since she had been so spacey in a conversation. But then again, how long had it been since she'd had a real conversation?

Potter chuckled like Ronald at that. Hermione was reminded at once of a Hoover salesman, and wondered how Ron might have looked in uniform selling clunky Muggle cleaning apparati.

"Don't be dodgy, mate," Potter stated, and Hermione's fingers drifted to grasp the second scone on her plate. "Wouldn't want to be like Snivellus, eh, leaping into shadows like the coward he is, hiding behind flowerpots and suits of armor and whatnot and crying for his mummy. He thinks he's so bloody smart-"

"-He is, for your information," Hermione said before she could stop herself. Why do people in this world seem to think that Snape's an idiot? He's clearly brilliant.

"I beg your pardon?" Potter squinted at her like a giant troll looking at a mouse, but the muscles in his face seemed to indicate that he was holding back a smirk. "Snivellus is what?"

"Bloody brilliant," Hermione stated, then shoved the rest of her scone in her mouth so that Potter could think about the idea for a minute.

"Well, I must say that I disagree," Potter said carelessly, swigging his morning pumpkin juice in a cavalier fashion. "I'd reconsider that suggestion, Miss Granger. But no matter."

Before she could come up with some sort of comment, Potter laid down his utensils, cast her a silent wink, and sauntered away.

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

Sometime that week, Hermione received a note on some plain stationary requesting that she come to tea with Dumbledore, so after her classes she freshened up a bit. She was a bit anxious that someone had taken notice of her consciously-antisocial behavior, and out of desperation to prevent other people from forcing her to take a more active role in school life, she knew that she needed to pretend to be perfectly happy when called to close inspection.

I can alienate people as much as I choose, and accept people as much as I choose, she decided, practicing smiles in the mirror until her cheeks hurt.

Her self-consciousness heightened when she entered Dumbledore's office, neatly attired in a wrinkle-free uniform and a spot of rouge on her cheeks.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said, the bright tone of her voice forced. She'd much prefer to be in bed; the only reason she was awake at all was because she hadn't eaten at all that day, because lately she tended to overeat herself to blotatedness and sleepiness, and in favor of looking as fresh as possible for her interview, she thought it wisest to forgo her meals.

The obvious result was that her stomach, deprived as it was for so many hours, rumbled pensively. She'd prepared for that eventuality as well, by having refreshed the silencing charm on her abdomen early, before class. She wanted to make certain that no one thought there was anything 'wrong' with her.

"Ah! Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted her warmly, ushering her to the chair at his desk. "It's been rather a while since we've had a chat, I do think."

"Rather," she agreed, slipping into her chair as primly as possible.

Which way to cross the legs? she questioned herself. Right over left? Left over right? Which way would Deborah Smith do it?

"How have your classes been for the past two months?" questioned Dumbledore amiably.

"Topping," replied Hermione, trying to be glib. "To my knowledge, I'm doing quite well."

"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore commented, continuing. "And your teachers?"

"Quite knowledgeable, wise, and relevant."

"Hmm, indeed. And what, may I ask, do you think of your fellow students?"

Nothing so far I didn't expect or prepare for, Hermione thought, but this one's harder to pull off.

"Pleasant enough. I get along just fine with the lot of them," she said, hoping that she sounded enthusiastic but also as though the subject had no especial importance to her.

"Do they give you any difficulty concerning your 'foreign' status?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

She smiled in a fashion that might have been interpreted as amused. "Aside from the affectionate nickname of 'Aussie', I'm perfectly all right with my peers on that point, sir. Now," she continued, hoping to divert the Headmaster's attention, "I'm sure you didn't ask me here to just quiz me on how I'm coming along, did you, sir?"

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled in his timeless manner. "Just so, Miss Granger. As much as I would like to devote more time to taking tea with my students, preferably all of them, I find that I do not have the resource to do that. I admit asking you to tea is taking a liberty on my part, given this stack of ridiculous paperwork I ought to be completing." He gestured to an untidy pile on the desk that didn't seem nearly so formidable to Hermione as he seemed to find it.

Her gaze implied the workings of her thoughts, however, and Dumbledore chuckled mirthfully.

"Not everything is as it seems, Miss Granger," he said, and picked up one of the papers from the top of the stack. As he did so, he tapped it with his quill, and the whole thing expanded like an accordion into a neat stack of papers about a foot high.

She laughed at that; the faked cheerfulness was beginning to rub off on her just a little.

"In any case, Miss Granger, I'd just like to hear you describe what happened in your second year with the Chamber of Secrets. Lamentably, I've been thinking about your revelations from last spring very closely, but as a consequence the memory is no longer quite as accurate as it used to be."

Sighing, for the immediate danger of someone finding out her misery had passed, Hermione entered upon a monologue similar to that she'd given before for Dumbledore.

"...and Harry did slay the grotesque thing with the Sword of Gryffindor, though Fawkes had to cry on the terrible wound he got. It healed right up, of course. I don't know how Harry was able to survive so long against the basilisk, but Fawkes brought the Sorting Hat to Harry, so all he had to do was reach in and find it."

"So Harry was unable to control the basilisk despite his knowing parseltongue?" Dumbledore queried intelligently.

"...I believe so," Hermione replied, feeling a bit sad because her thoughts dwelt so much on her home timeline. "But once he stabbed the thing through the roof of its mouth, it couldn't obey anyone anymore."

"And then, as you told me before, he stabbed the diary which had contained the memory of Tom Riddle with a fang from the basilisk?"

Hermione nodded.

"Very good, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, standing up and patting her shoulder in an amiable way that inferred, this tea is over. "You've been of invaluable service to both myself and your school."

"How so?" Hermione asked, though she had an inkling of what he probably intended to do. I think he's going to destroy the basilisk.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find out ere long."

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

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