For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 41: The Contingency
Hermione dropped the newspaper, twisting to look at the Head Table. For the first time, she realised the Headmaster was absent. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were in whispered conference, but the younger students were oblivious to the tension which had been caused by the delivery of the morning paper. Hermione tried to force herself to think, but it was as if her mind didn't want to cooperate with her.
Rising from her seat, she shoved the Daily Prophet into her book bag and left the Great Hall. Shifting her eyes nervously from side to side, she verified that she was the only person in the entrance hall and hurried to the stairs down to the dungeons. It seemed impossible to her that her professor was gone, that he wouldn't—couldn't!—come back to her. He had been seen. He was an outlaw now; his affiliation with the Death Eaters was public knowledge. Had the Headmaster known this would happen when he asked Professor Snape to spy for the Order of the Phoenix? Had he planned for it? If he had made contingency plans, what were they?
Most importantly, how could Hermione get in contact with her professor?
With all these thoughts whirling about in her mind like clothes in a Muggle tumble dryer, she crept along the passageway to her professor's office. If she could just get inside, she could reclaim her journal. If they each had their journals, they could still communicate, no matter how far apart they were. And after all, she was nearly a full day behind on recording her meals and revision schedule, and her professor would be terribly cross with her for it …
'Miss Granger!'
Hermione was jerked back to the present by the sound of her name and found herself looking up into the sharp blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
'What are you doing wandering about in the dungeons?' the Headmaster asked sternly.
Hermione pulled the newspaper from her bag. 'Headmaster,' she said, 'this can't possibly be right …'
The old man did not glance at the picture of his Potions master, but kept his eyes on the Head Girl. 'You may take it from me that the news report is quite correct,' he said dryly. His stern look softened slightly, and he spoke again, lowering his voice confidentially. 'You mustn't be alarmed about your friends, Miss Granger—I have been in contact with Harry, and they are quite safe, at the moment.'
Hermione grasped the sleeve of the Headmaster's purple robes. 'But what about Professor Snape?' she said anxiously.
The crease between Dumbledore's eyes deepened, and it seemed as if his blue eyes pierced her. Remembering what her professor had said about the Headmaster's abilities as a Legilimens, Hermione averted her gaze from him.
'Professor Snape is where he must be, doing the job he has volunteered to do,' the old man said firmly. 'Magical Law Enforcement has already been in touch with me to request access to Professor Snape's quarters, for investigative purposes, but I find that the rooms have sealed themselves against intrusion.'
Hermione darted a quick look at Dumbledore's face, alerted by the bland quality of his tone. 'Do you mean to say that you are unable to dispel the enchantments on Professor Snape's rooms?' she asked suspiciously.
The Headmaster's lips curled in a tiny smile. 'Oh, I'm sure I will manage to provide access for the Aurors … eventually.' The old man's expression sobered again, and he took Hermione's arm, beginning to lead her away from Professor Snape's office. 'I am sorry to say, my dear, that you had best go up to your dormitory and pack your trunk.'
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. 'But why?' she gasped. Things were happening too quickly—changing entirely too fast!—she couldn't think rapidly enough to keep pace with the speed at which her world was altering.
Professor Dumbledore made a gesture for Hermione to continue down the corridor, and she complied on slightly unsteady legs.
'The students will not be returning on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow, as previously planned,' he said gravely. 'Instead, we will be contacting the parents of those students who have remained at school for the holiday, to alert them that Hogwarts School will be closing.'
Hermione looked up at his lined face, touched by the sadness in his voice.
'At present,' he said, 'it is unsafe for the students to remain here. Lord Voldemort has made it clear—and my inside sources confirm that it is true—that the Death Eaters mean to take over the school.'
They arrived at the staircase up to the entrance hall, and the Headmaster gestured for Hermione to go before him, giving her a humourless smile as he did so. 'Of course,' he added, 'the teachers and I will do everything in our power to prevent that from happening—and there is quite a bit within our power, if I do say so myself.'
He escorted Hermione to the marble staircase leading up to the first floor and beyond, and he took her hand between his. 'Please be prepared to depart first thing in the morning,' he said. 'If I don't have another opportunity to do so, allow me to wish you farewell, as well as a Happy New Year, Miss Granger.'
Hermione thanked him and began to climb up to her dormitory, trying desperately to think of a way to halt—or at least to slow down—the runaway train which had become her life.
She sat at her desk, parchment and quill before her, trying to make sense of what she had learned and what choices were before her. She stared at one side of her page, upon which the words Burrow attack were underlined and followed by (1) Other injuries?, (2) Condition of Mrs Weasley?, (3) Condition of the Burrow? On the other side of the thin black line she had drawn down the centre of her parchment she had written Professor Snape and underlined it; below she had written (1) Injuries?, (2) Communication?, (3) Possessions in his rooms? (a) journal, (b) collar.
She was staring at the list, chewing on her lip, when there was a knock at her door. 'Come in,' she called and was unsurprised when her Head of House entered.
Professor McGonagall looked harried, her tight black bun suffering from fly-away hairs, and her lined face was drawn and grey. She looked swiftly about Hermione's room with her beady dark eyes and sniffed. 'You haven't begun to pack your trunk?' she said.
Hermione moved a book to cover her scribbled parchment and rose to approach her teacher. 'No, not yet,' she agreed.
Professor McGonagall consulted her list. 'I attempted to contact your parents but was not successful,' she said.
Hermione nodded. 'They're on holiday in Switzerland. They'll be back in a week or so.'
McGonagall frowned. 'We must make provision for your safe delivery to a relative, Miss Granger,' she said distractedly.
Hermione had been thinking about this; it might be her way to shake free of her constraints and try to find the boys … or her professor. 'I am of age,' she reminded McGonagall. 'I can go to the Order headquarters and wait for my parents to return to England.'
The old lady's lips thinned. 'No, you may not,' she said sharply. 'There will be no one in residence at headquarters to supervise a student. I would suggest you go to the Burrow, but the Weasleys are sitting with Molly in shifts. It would be a bad time to impose.' She looked harassed.
'Please don't worry about me, ma'am,' Hermione said earnestly. 'I'll go to my parents' home and stay there. I'll be fine.'
McGonagall looked doubtful. 'But how will you travel?' she said. 'Your parents are not hooked up to the Floo Network.'
'I'll go on the Knight Bus,' Hermione said soothingly. 'I'll be fine,' she added again.
McGonagall studied her silently for a time, and Hermione held her breath, wanting very much to get her way about this. If only she had freedom of movement …
Her Head of House seemed to come to decision, for she scratched something on her list. 'Very well, Miss Granger,' she said. 'Please be ready to depart directly after breakfast.'
'I will,' she promised, feeling a grim pleasure at her victory.
Hermione trailed down to dinner that evening with her closely-written list and her Self-Inking Quill. She had thought about the dilemma until her head ached, and she still wasn't sure what she should do. She had always thought that she and Ron would be with Harry, helping him with his task, until the very end—but now she was separated from her friends—and the separation, she realised, was more than one of distance.
She scooped bangers and mash onto her plate and took a long drink of pumpkin juice. Her involvement with Severus Snape had changed everything in her life; there was no denying it. And oddly enough, she didn't mind. She still felt strongly about fighting for the Light against Voldemort, and she desperately wanted Harry to be successful in his quest to defeat the Dark wizard—but she had begun to view the entire struggle from another point of view: She had begun to see things from the perspective of Dumbledore's spy, her own beloved professor. She could clearly see the work he was doing, remaining at the heart of the Death Eaters and supplying the Order with information about Voldemort's plans—and in a visceral way, she felt a strong self interest in having Professor Snape come out of the conflict in one piece. She would be devastated if something terrible happened to Harry or Ron, it was true, but Severus Snape was the man she loved, and her loyalty now was to him.
A rueful smile touched her lips, and Hermione popped a sprout into her mouth. Ron had always said she needed to get her priorities sorted—and it had taken her most of the day, but she felt she had finally reached a decision. Her destiny was now divided from that of her two best friends and irrevocably linked to that of her Dominant and her Master, Severus Snape.
She would proceed with her planning from that very important—and sobering—detail.
She closed the lid on her trunk and took another look around her dormitory. Everything was packed, except for some rather personal and essential items. She had thought of a way that might allow her to retrieve those things, though.
'Wretch!' she called, and with a pop!, the miserable-looking house-elf appeared.
'How can Wretch serve Miss?' he asked, bowing very low.
'Wretch,' she said, 'I know you look after Professor Snape …'
'No, Miss,' the house-elf interrupted politely but firmly. 'Severus Snape is no longer being a professor at Hogwarts. Wretch is no longer looking after Severus Snape.'
Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'I have some belongings in the rooms used by Prof—by Severus Snape,' she said. 'Can you get them for me or take me there to get them?'
Wretch bowed again. 'Wretch is not able to enter the rooms, Miss, not even to clean them.' The house-elf's obvious disapproval spoke of his opinion of this fact. 'Wretch is not able to help.'
And without further ado, the house-elf Disapparated.
'Well, fuck a duck,' Hermione muttered. She wondered if house-elves were able to lie. Was Wretch perhaps protecting her professor? Regardless of his motives, Hermione was left in the same situation. She would have to leave Hogwarts without either her collar or her journal, and the idea made her feel so sad that she wanted to cry.
A flash at her window drew her attention, and she saw a small barn owl fluttering beyond the glass. She had a letter!
Scrambling across the room, she opened the window, allowing the barn owl to come in out of the icy cold of the January night. The owl hopped along the embrasure and offered her its leg, from which she removed a parchment inscribed with her name in an unfamiliar hand. Her heart plummeted; she had so hoped it would be from her professor, or even from Harry and Ron!
Absent-mindedly, she retrieved some owl treats from her desk, tossing them to the bird, and she broke the seal on the letter, beginning to read.
Dear Hermione,
I am writing to you at the behest of a person whose name I shall not mention, but you know who it is—you hoped this letter was from him.
Hermione blinked and gooseflesh pebbled her arms. Someone knew her thoughts a bit too well.
He put this plan in place to provide for you in the case of an emergency. I think you will agree with me that our current situation fits that description.
Good heavens! It was as good as a letter from her professor, wasn't it? She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue reading, slowly.
I am called t; our mutual friend tells me that you have read my book and will recognize my name. That same friend wishes for you to travel to a place where he may be assured of your safety, and where he may also contact you if the opportunity presents itself. He has asked me to conduct you to that place and to introduce you to its inhabitants.
I know that some students will be travelling by Knight Bus tomorrow, and I will be on the Knight Bus as well. We may meet there, and you will have an opportunity to decide if you will permit me to escort you to the safe house per our friend's wishes, or if you will continue on to your own home.
You and I are sisters in a way that few can comprehend, and I am eager to meet you. It is a very fine thing to have a friend with whom one can discuss the things in life that are most important. I sincerely hope that we will be friends in that way.
Please send a reply by Pokey so I will know whether or not to expect you. As for me, I will be the girl in the fur-trimmed cloak.
Until tomorrow,
~~t~~
Hermione set the parchment on the desktop, clasping her hands together as if to stop them from shaking.
He had considered her! He had made plans for her! He had been thinking ahead with her safety in mind. The very notion brought a rush of love so powerful that she doubled over, holding her midriff, missing her Master so acutely that it was a physical pain.
After a moment, she straightened up and scrawled a short note on a piece of parchment. She then approached the barn owl, which sat docilely near the window, watching her with wide eyes.
'So, you're called Pokey?' she asked, tying the letter to the owl's leg. 'Take that to t, all right?'
Pokey the owl hooted once, and Hermione opened the window again, allowing the bird to fly away. Then she stretched out on her bed and wrapped herself in her blanket, wondering if she would sleep. She was going away from Hogwarts, away from everyone she had known and cared about for the last seven years, on the second-hand word of a man she had been involved with for less than six months.
'I don't care,' she told Crookshanks fiercely, burying her face in his coarse ginger fur. 'I love him.'
Crooks did not deign to answer this but purred beneath her cheek until she was lulled to sleep.
The next morning, Hermione dashed up to the back of the queue waiting to board the Knight Bus, Crookshanks' basket clutched in one hand, her trunk floating obediently behind her. She stared curiously at the people ahead of her, but she saw no one matching her idea of what Master Maximus' wife and submissive would look like. She allowed Stan Shunpike to wrestle her trunk on board, nodded a greeting to Ernie Prang, and walked the length of the bus without finding her contact.
With a disgruntled frown, she climbed the twisting steps of the double-decker bus, finding only one other person on the second level. It was someone wearing a rich looking black cloak, and as Hermione drew closer, she saw that the hood pulled over the person's head was trimmed in black fur. She smiled to herself, and her anxiety quieted a bit; at least she had made the connection her professor had wanted her to make.
'Hi, I'm Hermione,' she said, coming around the bench upon which the other woman sat and settling herself on the facing seat.
For a moment, she had the simple impression of fair hair topped by a fur-trimmed hood. Then the other woman looked up and pushed the hood back, and Hermione was staring down into the hated face of Miss Taffy Smith, shop girl and cow.
A/N: Okay, you *have* to tell me what you think of developments ...
