The Sun is Often Out

Chapter 3

Autumn was in full swing at Hogwarts, and the trees in the extensive grounds were a riot of colour. The Scottish air didn't yet have its chilly bite, but Hermione still hugged her cloak tighter around herself as she trekked to Hogsmeade one Saturday morning. She was meeting Harry and Ginny in the Three Broomsticks, and she would be seeing them for the first time in two months. Hermione had missed them greatly.

'Hermione!' greeted Ginny excitedly, with a hug.

'Hey, Hermione,' smiled Harry.

Hermione gave him a quick squeeze, before they all sat around a table replete with three Butterbeers.

'You look wonderful, Hermione; those house-elves have really been looking after you.'

Hermione immediately blanched. Was Harry trying to say she'd gained weight?

Ginny laughed. 'What Harry is trying to say, Hermione, is that you look well, but as he's a bloke he doesn't seem to realise it doesn't always come down to food!'

'What?' exclaimed Harry. 'Food at Hogwarts always made me feel good!'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I am rather enjoying myself, I admit… plus I'm, ah, going do my N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year.'

'I should have known the thought of exams would put that smile on your face!' Harry laughed.

'Ha, ha,' said Hermione sarcastically, but she smiled nonetheless. 'How's life in the Auror training programme treating you both?'

'It's all right,' commented Ginny, 'but I can't wait till we become fully-fledged Aurors next year.'

Harry nodded in agreement.

'And Ron?' prompted Hermione.

'He's OK—doing well in training, but... Look, Hermione, I know Christmas is some weeks away yet, but we were wondering if you'd be able to drop by Grimmauld Place for a bit? Everyone will be there, and I think it would do Ron good to see you in a relaxed setting, so to speak. I think he's unsure where he stands with you, you know, friendship-wise.' Ginny looked at Hermione with a hopeful expression.

'Of course I can,' agreed Hermione. 'I'd love to! It shouldn't be a problem for me to leave the castle—I have no responsibility as a Head of House or anything. I'll ask Professor Snape. I miss Ron, too; it will be good to see him.'

She received two very pleased smiles in return.

'I nearly forgot to ask,' began Ginny. 'What's Snape like now, Hermione? Not a git, I hope?'

'He's fine—keeps himself to himself, for the most part; though the children are still terrified of him, of course. He was the one who suggested I sit my N.E.W.T.s. Funny thing, though, I was talking to him in his office, a week or two back, and guess whose owl turned up?' Hermione looked squarely at Harry. 'I had no idea you were in contact with him.'

Harry looked a bit sheepish. 'I didn't want anyone to know, because you know how funny Snape can be about privacy, although, Ginny knows, of course. You see, I bumped into him at the Ministry a while back; we talked for a bit, or rather, I talked and he scowled. I plucked up the courage to ask him about my mother. I told him how I regretted never talking to Sirius or Remus about her—for some reason I was always more interested in my father. He got arsey with me and, in a manner of speaking, told me to get lost. A few weeks later, though, he wrote to me saying he'd consider answering any questions I might have about her, when she was a child.'

'Oh,' said Hermione quietly. 'That was good of him.'

'Yes,' nodded Harry. 'He doesn't get very personal or anything; believe me, his letters could not be more detached, but I don't expect him to—just knowing anything, really, is good enough for me. I've never mentioned it to you, or anyone else, in case he found out and threw a wobbly about it.'

'I understand, Harry….' Suddenly Hermione was reminded of something. 'Say, you've never mentioned anything about me in your letters, have you? Like, I was looking for a job, perhaps?'

Harry looked confused. 'Well, I might've dropped it in somewhere, as I occasionally write a few lines about stuff that's going on, but I always assumed he ignored those bits.'

'Why do you ask, Hermione?' enquired Ginny.

'Apparently, it was his idea to hire me when he found out I was unemployed, but I don't know how he found that out.'

'So, I indirectly got you your dream job?' asked Harry, with a laugh.

'Looks like it!' Hermione raised her glass to Harry with a wide smile. 'I suppose I owe you one.'

Marking work had, oddly enough, been an aspect of teaching Hermione had looked forward to, and indeed, at the beginning she had enjoyed reading essays—offering constructive criticism, or words of encouragement and praise. As the work began to pile up, however, the novelty soon wore off, and the words repetitive and monotonous sprang to mind.

There was the odd student or two, in each class, whose work was always a pleasure to read, but often she felt frustration when it became clear that some pupils were not heeding her advice. She was also becoming rather concerned at the essay writing skills of some students, and for the first time she wondered why Hogwarts didn't offer any English lessons; surely it was important that pupils could express themselves properly?

Her musings were cut short by a knock on her door. Minerva appeared around it looking harassed. 'Not interrupting anything, am I?'

'No, just marking; why, is anything the matter?'

Hermione put down her quill and shoved her papers to one side.

Minerva entered the room fully and paced in front of the desk, clearly agitated. 'That bloody infuriating man! Oh, he knows how to press my buttons!'

Hermione smiled in bemusement. 'No idea what you're talking about, Minerva.'

The older woman flopped down into the chair opposite Hermione's desk. 'Severus! He's in one of his moods, again. All I asked was a simple question and he bit my head off! Then, of course, it escalated when I told him not to speak to me like one of his students. In the end, he actually pulled rank on me! Well, he can have this round, but next time he can watch out!'

'I don't wish to pry, Minerva, but what do you mean by "one of his moods"?' Hermione was thinking back to a few weeks ago, when she had accidentally stumbled upon him in the staff room, late at night. 'It's just… well; I have been wondering how, at times, he seems awfully despondent. I was walking through the cloisters, the other day, and he was there looking out into the courtyard. Yet, I don't think he heard me approach at all; indeed, I had greeted him twice before he noticed me. To use a Muggle expression, it was like the lights were on, but nobody was home.' Hermione decided not to mention the other incident.

Minerva gave a long sigh, and Hermione noticed the anger seemed to evaporate with it. She took off her glasses and began cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief.

'Ah, my dear, I'm afraid a complicated man like Severus has much to be unhappy about. I know he's troubled, still, by… events in the past, and sometimes it results in periods of melancholy, or black moods, whatever you want to call it. I've tried drawing him out, but it's like talking to a brick wall—he prefers to suffer in silence. What can I do? It doesn't affect the way he runs the school.' Minerva replaced her spectacles and looked at Hermione contemplatively. 'I think I should warn you, Hermione; do not try and approach Severus about this—he will not appreciate the interference one bit.'

'Yes… yes, of course,' agreed Hermione, but truth be told, she felt slightly uncomfortable. Was it right to just ignore the situation and leave him to it? It discomfited Hermione, but then, Minerva did have a point. They could hardly force him to talk about what was troubling him.

'I wouldn't worry about it too much, Hermione,' said the older witch kindly, standing up to leave. 'Severus likes to deal with things in his own way—it's just the way he is.

It's the way he's had to be, added Hermione silently.

'I have to go as I have detentions to supervise. I will see you later, I expect.'

As the door closed, Hermione pulled another essay towards her, her mind only half on the job. If ever she saw the headmaster like that again, she wasn't sure she would be able to leave him alone. Maybe she could just keep an eye on him, surreptitiously.

However, making good on her resolution proved more difficult in practice. Sometimes, several days would pass during which Hermione would only catch a glimpse of him, usually in the Great Hall, and she could hardly crane her neck down the table to look at him all the time—it would be bound to raise suspicions.

About two weeks after her conversation with Minerva, Hermione got her chance for a more comprehensive observation of the Headmaster. She received a note off him one morning, informing her that he would be brewing potions all evening, and that she would be welcome to use the opportunity to work on her own potions. Hermione had both anticipated this note and, in some small way, dreaded it, too. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front of him.

Luckily, her weekends in the Potions classroom were going well, and Horace had yet to find fault with any of her mixtures.

Still, throughout the day Hermione found it hard not to fret. Was she supposed to bring her own ingredients? Should she go down to the store cupboard, in the dungeons, and get them? Where were they even going to brew?

It was a relief to finally get it over with and find herself standing outside Snape's office at six o'clock, complete with her Potions kit and textbook.

'Come in.'

Hermione did as bidden and entered the office. 'Good evening, sir.'

'Professor,' acknowledged the dark man behind the desk. He got up and moved around to where she stood expectantly.

Hermione felt an odd little jolt in her stomach at the sight of him and it discomfited her.

'Follow me,' he commanded, and Hermione's curiosity flared up when Snape began climbing the winding stairs to the gallery above. She quickly followed and came to an area lined with several bookcases, and three closed doors. Snape had his wand out and was murmuring unintelligibly outside the nearest door. Hermione took the opportunity to glance at as many books as possible, which wasn't many as Snape soon had the door opened and was indicating for to enter.

Hermione was disappointed—she was sure she had just seen an extremely old looking copy of Hogwarts: A History.

She was now in a room that reminded her very much of the Potions classroom, except it was round and a lot brighter. Numerous shelves were filled with ingredients, empty vials, and Snape's staple—jars of pickled creatures.

'You may use that bench there.' Snape pointed to a bench at the back of the room. 'I need these three for myself.'

Hermione duly placed her cauldron and the rest of her equipment on the table.

'Take the ingredients you need off the shelves,' stated Snape distractedly, as he rummaged through some papers that covered a small desk in the corner.

Ah, well, that solved her dilemma.

'Thank you, Professor; by the way, I really don't mind reimbursing you for the ingredients. I mean, I'm not a student here anymore.' Hermione had thought about bringing this up before; she'd felt a bit guilty using the student supplies.

'Indeed,' answered Snape smoothly, 'which is why I've deducted a select amount from your wages.'

Hermione blinked. Thanks for telling me, she thought sarcastically. She was about to say as much, when it struck her that this might be him joking again. How embarrassing would it be if he weren't, though?

In the end he must have noticed her indecision, for he spoke once more. 'Never fear, Professor; I'm sure the school budget can stretch to a few extra potion ingredients.'

Hermione gave a weak smile in agreement, before turning with frustration to the shelves behind her. Merlin, he must think her a simpleton at times!

Gathering all the required ingredients, she set them down to begin preparation.

'I expect you to ask if you find yourself unsure of anything, Professor Granger. I do not want to have my own potions compromised in the event that you have an accident. Is that clear?'

'Of course,' replied Hermione and she flicked her gaze towards him as she crushed her beetles to a fine powder. He was shrugging off his robe and pulling on a black coat that was clearly less cumbersome than the heavy robe. He hefted a large cauldron onto each table, and Hermione found she was easily distracted by the way he moved efficiently among the three of them.

At times, she couldn't help but feel that there was something... indefinable about him. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was only when he made to turn in her direction that she hurriedly focused herself on her chopping board, and her powder, which to describe as fine would have been an understatement. Hermione suddenly felt a wave of unease. There was no way she was messing this up in front of him.

Keeping her eyes fixed on her cauldron, Hermione worked steadily at adding the ingredients and stirring her potion. The room was silent, apart from the sound of cauldrons bubbling and the occasional noise of knives and pestles.

Soon, her potion was halfway to completion and needed ten minutes to simmer before beginning the next stage. Determined to keep her mind on the job, Hermione began to scan the next part of the recipe, making sure there was no room for error. She was not going to look at the other occupant in the room, despite the irrepressible urge to.

Five minutes passed agonisingly slowly for Hermione. She'd re-read the whole recipe, twice, plus her accompanying notes. Well, maybe she could just have a peek, purely out of professional interest, of course. There was no harm in that, surely? Why should she feel a bit funny when she looked at him anyway? It was only Professor Snape, for Merlin's sake! Hermione looked up towards the front of the room.

Oh dear Merlin, he was making his way over to her.

'How is it coming along?' he asked as he peered into her cauldron with narrowed eyes.

Hermione suddenly found her mouth to be inexplicably dry.

'Ah… all right, I think,' she finally managed, blushing at how uncomfortable she sounded. Her eyes were attracted to his hand resting on the table-top for a moment.

'Good,' he murmured quietly, before gliding back to his own cauldrons.

Hermione collapsed heavily on her stool and stared helplessly at his back. The heat from her cauldron sustained her blush and she felt hot and clammy. She swiped a hand savagely across her forehead, wondering if she looked as frazzled as she felt. Hermione would bet her last galleon that her hair did.

It was all rather unnerving; she had felt this oddly around him before, but this time there was no way she could be drunk. Neither could she blame it on cauldron fumes—the potion wasn't noxious.

Hermione stood, somewhat dazedly, and blindly reached for her chopped daisy roots—there was that feeling of unease again.

The rest of the evening passed in a hazy blur. Once her potion was complete, Snape decreed it to be "generally adequate" and Hermione could not summon any disappointment at his lacklustre praise, for she was too eager to get out of the room.

Once free, she immediately found the nearest exit to the grounds, and stood outside in the cold night air for several moments. Finally, rational thought was descending upon her mind once more.

It was frustrating. It was also unexpected, and indeed, on paper it appeared rather bad. Worse, she barely knew the man. Still, there was nothing wrong with a bit of admiration, and it wasn't as if she was in love with him. Clearly, she just… liked to look at him.

Perhaps, in some way it was inevitable, anyway, as he was the only man in the castle who wasn't a student, dead, the wrong side of seventy or… Hagrid.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath of cold air with relief and nodded to herself. Yes, it was nothing to worry about—it would soon pass.

Indeed, over the following weeks, Hermione really was convinced it was nothing to concern herself about. In fact, at times, she wondered if maybe she was mistaking a need to impress him for attraction. Except, there would be moments where he passed her in the corridor, and Hermione would then find herself checking her reflection in a nearby window—to check her hair wasn't messy or that her robes were straight.

It was those instances when she had to wonder what the hell she was playing at—her appearance had never been more than a trifle to her before. She wondered how she could be so tragic.

Still, there was some good to come of her predicament. She was now prepared for the odd feeling that would overcome her when he was in her vicinity, and therefore, was more equipped to deal with it. So much so, that at times, she felt she could ignore it completely, and for the most part, be entirely relaxed in his presence.

In realising her little fancy, and by admitting it to herself, Hermione felt confident that soon enough it would dissipate—completely.

Hermione knocked twice more on the oak door to Horace Slughorn's office. Where on earth had he gone? She had a steaming beaker full of Skele-gro that she'd just brewed, and needed him to pass judgment on it. Personally, Hermione didn't think he would find fault with it, but still, she'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

She sighed, returning to the classroom, where she bottled her potion into two flasks. Tidying away her things, she reasoned that Horace must have had an incident to deal with in Slytherin House. She thought she might give the staff room a quick once-over, though, just in case he was in there.

Placing one of the flasks on Horace's desk, along with a quick note for him, Hermione made her way out of the dungeons, with the other flask in hand.

The staff room was completely empty. Hermione shrugged to herself; he could check the phial of potion on his desk and let her know later on. She would take the other bottle back to her rooms, where she kept a little collection of the potions she had made, under the maxim of 'they might come in handy one day.'

Hermione opened the door to her office, and immediately jumped in surprise at the figure sitting in the chair opposite her desk. The flask in her hand dropped to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces, while the potion splattered across the tiles. Hermione stared dumbly at it, and fervently wished that, at that precise moment, she would also smash into smithereens.

Snape was also looking at the mess at her feet, and when his gaze met hers, she could see he was clenching his jaw slightly. He wanted to laugh, did he? It was his fault; must he always startle her?

Hermione Banished the mess with her wand—thank Merlin she'd had the foresight to bottle it twice!

She sat down behind her desk. 'Professor Snape, I thought we weren't meeting until seven? It's only…' Hermione looked at her watch; it was a quarter to—oh wait, it had been a quarter to seven the last time she looked—about ten minutes ago.

'Ten past, Professor,' finished Snape for her, rather languidly.

Ah, well within his rights to invade her office then. 'I apologise, sir; my watch has, ah, stopped, it seems.'

Hermione couldn't believe she'd kept him waiting, and over something so important as well! They were meeting to discuss her thoughts on the changes needed for the Muggle Studies syllabus. She'd been preparing for this discussion for ages and it had already got off to a bad start!

Snape waved his hand in an impatient gesture. 'Let us begin.'

Hermione swallowed her nerves; if she wanted to impress him then this was her moment.

'Well, in my opinion, there are several key areas of study that need to be updated—some more significantly than others. Muggle technology, for example; the current syllabus places large emphasis on the Wireless, well, for one thing, it is rare that you find Muggles that call it that anymore, and besides, advances in information and communications technology has meant that even the way Muggles listen to the radio has changed. Another example is the telephone—take a look at these.'

Hermione, well into her stride, yanked open one of her desk drawers and pulled out a rather large phone. 'This is one of the Muggle mobile phones kept in the store cupboard for students to look at. Not to put a too finer point on it, it's a brick.'

Snape took the phone out of her hand to examine it.

'This,' continued Hermione, 'is a mobile phone I purchased last month, in Muggle London.'

She proffered a rather smaller looking object at him, and he took it. 'You have to flip the screen open.'

Hermione watched as Snape prised open the phone delicately, and she fought not to smile; it looked rather out of place in his hand.

'I see what you mean,' he murmured, placing both phones back onto the desk. 'It should not be a problem to allocate more money to update the items needed.'

Hermione nodded. 'This is all material stuff, of course, and it's the more theoretical aspects that are, perhaps, more important. Generally, Muggle history is dealt with well, particularly important world events, but there is a glaring lack of time spent on Muggle current affairs, at least until Advanced Level. Even if it is only contained to what is going on in Britain, I think that there should be an element of it introduced to the younger years.'

'Indeed, there has always been a tendency within the wizarding world towards parochialism, but there are many who have no inclination to see that changed, including the bureaucrats at the Ministry,' said Snape softly.

Hermione frowned. 'But surely it helps to see both sides of a coin? I mean, when it comes down to it, the wizarding world has always had the advantage because Muggles don't even know it exists! Not to mention the edge that magic itself gives to witches and wizards over Muggles. Surely, then, it is our responsibility to make the effort to understand and co-operate with Muggles, insofar as it is possible? Why can't the Ministry see that?'

Snape raised his eyebrows at her vehemence. 'Sound logic, Professor, but maybe you are underestimating Muggles. They have their own advantages that we magical folk are not entirely unaware of, and it causes some disquiet. Take Muggle medicine for instance. Granted, spells and potions can cure most things within hours, but Muggles have created their own solutions with the tools at their disposal. Look at the drugs Muggles have created with their knowledge of Chemistry and Biology—some of which are just as dangerous as any poison we can concoct in a cauldron. Wizards fly on brooms, Muggles use their knowledge of Physics, and Merlin knows what else, to build aeroplanes. I'm sure you can see where I am going with this—there is a lack of creativity within our world that hinders progress, which becomes glaringly obvious when we seek to become more knowledgeable about Muggles.'

Hermione was deeply interested. 'So, you're saying magic has made us lazy; why then has no one ever brought this problem up before? We can't be the only ones to have noticed?'

Snape rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, and laced his fingers together thoughtfully. 'We would rather ignore the implications of such introspection, or indeed, forsake it altogether. Perhaps it is some hidden inferiority complex that causes most magical people to shy away from admitting we have anything to learn from Muggles, or even anything to fear. However, there are also those who simply don't want to understand or learn about Muggles—they do fear greatly the influence of Muggle culture and prefer to keep it at arm's length as far as possible. Then, of course, you have egomaniacs like the Dark Lord, who would go as far as to subjugate Muggles and Muggle-borns to ensure magical superiority. Witches and wizards often don't want to understand Muggles, because they are afraid of what it might reveal about themselves, and indeed the wizarding world as a whole.'

Hermione decided she liked to hear him expound thus. She smiled gently. 'I had no idea you were so revolutionary, Professor Snape.'

Snape arched an eyebrow and frowned. 'Don't misunderstand me, Professor; there is much I find distasteful about Muggles, and their ways, but I am not as blind to deny they haven't got some things right, particularly in terms of education. Have you not noticed how illiterate some of your younger students are?'

'Of course,' agreed Hermione. 'Some students have significant trouble expressing themselves fluently in their essays, not to mention the atrocious spelling.'

'Precisely; whether they have been educated in a Muggle Primary school, or by their parents, one cannot presuppose that an eleven-year-old knows all there is to know about the English language. Yet, how are they supposed to learn about such skills once they get to Hogwarts, if they have not the natural aptitude or the predisposition towards book learning?'

'But, is there anything we can—' began Hermione, but Argus Filch distracted her attention at her door.

'Excuse me, Professors, but, Headmaster you are wanted in your office—you have a Floo-call from the Ministry.'

Hermione could have cheerfully strangled Filch and whoever the arse was from the Ministry. It gratified her to note that Snape looked a bit put out too.

'All right, Argus; I will be with them shortly.'

Filch nodded and closed the door behind him.

'My apologies, but we shall have to continue this conversation at a later date.' Snape unfolded himself from his chair and stared down at Hermione.

'I would like you to write down your ideas, perhaps in the form of a report, including a draft syllabus for potential first and second year Muggle Studies classes. You can have till January, when we will then work on a final proposal that I will give to the governors in March. Is this acceptable to you?'

'Perfectly,' Hermione assented, trying to mask her disappointment at having such an intriguing conversation cut short.

Snape made for the door. 'Good evening then, Professor.'

Hermione, she silently added.

After a time, Hermione got up and rubbed her face tiredly. Ugh, if he kept initiating exceedingly fascinating, intelligent discussions, with his maddeningly cool and sophisticated manner, then there would be no way her fancy would be going anywhere.

She suddenly caught sight of her reflection in her small, framed mirror on the wall, and grimaced.

She had a small, but very noticeable, ink smudge just above her jaw.

Oh. Lovely.

Christmas soon arrived and Hermione had secured permission from Snape to leave the castle for a week or two. She would go to Grimmauld Place for three days, then to her parents for Christmas itself, and finally back to Hogwarts for New Year.

The majority of students had left already, and Hermione herself would leave later in the day. First, she had to make a last trip through the snow into Hogsmeade as she was a bit behind with her Christmas shopping. The end of term had been a busy one and Hermione was not one for shopping at the best of times.

At first, she had been unsure what the etiquette was at Hogwarts in terms of Christmas gifts. Obviously, she would get something for Minerva and her other friends there, but was she supposed to get Snape something? Or did the staff pool together to get him a gift? In the end, she had just asked Minerva and the answer had been yes, if she wanted to. So now it was just the problem of what to get.

After an hour of unproductive meanderings around several shops, Hermione spotted something in Scrivenshafts that she felt would do. She remembered the untidiness of his desk, and reasoned that the ornate quill holder might be welcome. Well, she hoped so, anyway.

Hermione trudged back to Hogwarts and deposited her gifts with the house-elves, ready to be delivered on Christmas morning. Then she checked she had everything she needed in her trunk—her other gifts, some marking, N.E.W.T. revision, and importantly, her work on the Muggle Studies curriculum, which she would put the finishing touches on over the Christmas break. She was hoping to pick her parents' brains about her little project. Satisfied, she shrunk the trunk into her pocket and began the walk to the Apparition point, feeling the excitement bubble at seeing her friends again.

Hermione first put her head around Minerva's door to wish her a merry Christmas, before she was out in the snow once more, heading for the main gates. As she approached them, Hermione realised she could see Snape making his way from Hogsmeade and Hermione was suddenly filled, perhaps unnecessarily, with anticipation; she had hoped to happen upon him before she left.

He slowed down to a stop when he reached her. 'Ah, off on your travels, are you, Professor?' Hermione found his look to be rather appraising.

'Indeed, sir; I hope you have a happy Christmas,' offered Hermione, with a smile.

She observed his face close off for a moment and the black gaze flick up to the brooding castle. Hermione was slightly troubled by his expression, but couldn't quite pinpoint what his look signified.

'Indeed,' he said eventually, before seeming to remember himself and he glanced back at Hermione. 'The same to you, as well.' He inclined his head towards her before he carried on walking towards the castle.

Hermione stood unmoving for several moments, feeling vaguely frustrated by his perpetual formality. Yet, she couldn't deny the sudden bewildering urge to return to the castle and remain there. She shook herself mentally and scoffed at her ridiculousness; really, it knew no bounds at times.

With one last look at the castle, Hermione Apparated.

AN: Thanks for reading : )