Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter 2: Honesty
It was Saturday and the first Hogsmeade visit of the school year, so most of the students were away, and the school and grounds were blessedly quiet. With no classes to teach, Hermione was deep in concentration, pruning some of the more animated plants in Greenhouse Two as a favour to Pomona Sprout. One of the little gits, a particularly evasive innocula tentacula, kept rearranging its foliage to keep its tender shoots away from the secateurs, but Hermione was nothing if not determined.
'What is our charms teacher doing in the greenhouses, I wonder?' The stern voice of the headmaster made her jump and the recalcitrant shrub took advantage her lapse in concentration to rustle irritably at her. He approached her, less intimidating than usual today without his teacher's robes billowing behind him. In fact, he looked almost informal. She tried the word out in her mind and couldn't seem to make it fit with her image of the formidable Severus Snape.
'Professor, do you make a habit of creeping up on everyone, or is it just me?' she attempted to cover her alarm with indignation. She doubted she had managed to pull it off, but a girl has to try.
'You know Pomona has everything counted, don't you?' A smile quirked his mouth, 'Besides, you won't find any lacewing fly in here.' Hermione blushed furiously, knowing he was referring to her illicit brewing of Polyjuice potion in her second year as a student. He knew, and she knew he knew, but as long as he couldn't prove it, she felt safe in continuing to deny liability.
'I have no idea what you're referring to, Professor,' she said stiffly. He smiled, but thankfully let it pass.
'So, what are you up to?' There was definitely mischief in his eyes now, and she felt, not for the first time, that he was laughing at her. 'I don't recall herbology being a particular favourite subject of yours.'
'No, not really, but I do miss having a garden, and Pomona can sometimes do with the help,' she gestured expansively to take in the breadth of the greenhouse, and realised that she was effectively brandishing her secateurs in the headmaster's face. She quickly placed them beside the plant, which visibly relaxed, and clasped her hands behind her back. 'The arrangement works for both of us.
'So, is there something I can help you with, Professor?' she asked, anxious to move the conversation on, 'or do you need to speak to Pomona?'
'I'm just looking for a little honesty, Miss Granger,' he said.
Hermione's mind whirled and she experienced a moment or two of panic. Was he still talking about the Polyjuice potion, or did he not believe why she was here? What did it matter, she wasn't doing anything against the rules? Was she? Oh no, he'd called her Miss Granger, not Professor Granger. That's how he'd referred to her when he was her teacher – and hated her. It must be the Polyjuice potion – deny everything!
'I'm sorry, Headmaster, you're going to have to be more specific,' she was aiming for casual, but knew that the heat in her face was betraying her.
'I thought I was.' Damn the man, he was unreadable. 'Honesty, Miss Granger. About this high,' he gestured with his hands, 'purple flowers, but it's the seed pods I want.'
'I'm sorry?' Hermione gaped at him – he'd completely derailed her thought process. If he had been talking fluent Russian he couldn't have made less sense to her.
'Whatever for?' he asked. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' Now she was sure that he was laughing at her. He rested his hands on the greenhouse bench and leant towards her.
'Honesty, Miss Granger,' his voice was low and had that hypnotic, almost seductive quality that had fascinated her since she'd been old enough to think in such terms. 'Honesty, also known as moonwort? Easily recognised by its silver disc-shaped seed pods. A potent ingredient in various healing potions, particularly for – fem-in-ine,' he slowly sounded out every syllable in the word, and Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, 'conditions'. He crooked his finger at her to draw her nearer, and said – almost whispered – as though he was imparting a great secret. 'Poppy needs some potions prepared to replenish her stores – it's a project for the fourth years.'
He maintained eye contact with her for a long moment, and then began to laugh.
'Oh, Miss Granger,' he chuckled, 'so many things have changed but you are still so earnest.'
Hermione was bemused; one of the things that had clearly changed was the once surly teacher who had tormented her in her school days, into this friendly open man who gently teased her. His laughter was a rich, infectious sound, and soon she was joining in.
'Professor, you're a terrible man,' she laughed. 'Anyway, I don't think I can help – I don't know where there is any.'
'Oh, I don't need help finding it – I know where it is. It's not in the greenhouses – it's in the gardens.'
So, what…' she began.
'I was letting Pomona know, as a courtesy, and to make sure that she didn't already have it allocated to some other use before I helped myself. I wasn't joking when I said Pomona has everything counted. After all, it wouldn't do for potions' ingredients to go missing, would it, and sadly, not all our students are as respectful of the rules as you were.' Yes, he was definitely laughing at her.
'Things must be bad then, Professor' she said, with a completely straight face.
'Nothing a little honesty won't fix.' Oh, and Hermione,' he said, as he straightened to leave.
'Yes?' He reached over and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
'My name is Severus.' He smiled at her again, no mischief this time, only warmth. It was everything Hermione could do not to lean into his touch. He turned and left her wondering what had just happened. Her hand drifted to her temple, where his fingers had softly brushed against her.
'No. No, no, no,' she moaned to the plant, as she realised what she was feeling. 'Hermione Granger, you absolutely cannot have a crush on your employer.'
The unfortunate plant moved again, as though in response. She turned her full attention back to it, determined to exercise control over something today.
'Right, I've had enough of you,' she said, lifting her secateurs again.