AN: Hi. I'm aware that I have been gone for over two years. I have nothing to say about that except that in that time I've acquired a job and a master's degree, so I haven't been idle, I simply haven't been writing. Something recently reminded me of this account, though, and this fic in particular, and I think I'd like to try writing it again. So here we are. I don't know if anyone is still reading and to be honest, it doesn't matter a whole lot to me; I write for myself first and foremost. But if you are here and enjoying it, thank you. I appreciate it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I also do not agree with any of the author's transphobic views and extend my sincerest apologies to everyone who has been hurt by them. Trans people are simply human like anyone else and should be afforded the same respect and kindness.
Chapter 6
Her day improves after Potions. She loves Transfiguration class, and she decides she adores Professor McGonagall. The woman is tough, but not unpleasant the way Professor Snape is. She's clearly, wildly smart, and she doesn't seem to favour or discriminate against any students. Hermione receives praise for being the first to turn her match into an approximation of a sewing needle—it's silver and sharp and pointy, but has no hole at the top for thread to go through—and she practically melts inside at the strict woman's praise. She decides on the spot that Professor McGonagall is her idol and that one day she will be just as brilliant as the witch.
She manages to put her head of house out of mind until dinner. As seven o'clock approaches, she gets more and more nervous. Thanks to small mercies, the rest of her year is too busy chatting about their first day of classes to ridicule her, so she sits silently and pushes mashed potatoes around her plate. It's not a detention, she doesn't think, just the meeting Professor Snape said he would have with all the first years. She wonders how and when the others received their meeting time and if it made them feel like they were in trouble, too.
At 6:45, she sees the professor rise from his place at the head table and sweep from the room. Her nerves increase. She isn't afraid of the professor, exactly, but she worries that he will be just like her classmates: spiteful towards her based on her blood status. After his vehement rebuke over her use of the word "mudblood" that morning, she thinks it is less likely, but perhaps he simply considers it crass. After his eloquent speech about the art of potions, she is certain he can find many more sophisticated words to put her down for her heritage. When they are alone in his office, who knows what the man will do or say?
She goes down to the dungeons ten minutes later and then spends another few simply standing outside Professor Snape's door forcing herself to take deep breaths. At exactly 7:00, she knocks, startling herself with how the sound echoes through the empty dungeon corridor.
"Enter," comes the muffled response.
Screw your courage to the sticking place, she tells herself sternly, and opens the door.
"Granger," Professor Snape greets her. His expression is absolutely neutral and unreadable. She wonders how he does it. "Have a seat."
She sits down in the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of his desk, and he pins her with his penetrating gaze. He says nothing for so long that she finally blurts, "Am I in trouble, sir?"
Something stirs in his eyes. "No," he answers slowly, "I simply wish to discuss how you are fitting in and found your first day of classes. This is merely a … friendly chat." He says the last two words as though they're diseased.
She bites her lower lip, gaze down, unsure what to say. She wishes he would ask a direct question; questions are easy. Conversation is hard. She feels the intensity of his attention and it makes her want to wriggle out of her skin, like shimmying out of clothes that are too tight.
"I enjoy all my classes so far, sir," she says finally.
"And your housemates?"
She glances up. Should she lie? If she tells him that they are cruel to her, will he tell her that it is her own fault? Or will he tell her that cruelty is character-building and to get over it? Will he laugh at her? (Metaphorically, of course. She doesn't think Professor Snape has ever laughed a day in his life.)
She settles on the truth. "They call me a- that word, but they also just ignore me a lot," she says. "It's nothing I can't handle."
"Is there any physical bullying?" Professor Snape asks, still with that unreadable expression.
"No. Not now, anyway."
"You are to let me know if such activities do occur and who exactly the culprits are."
This is a pleasant surprise to her. The shock must show on her face, because he raises an eyebrow.
"Slytherins look after their own," he says.
"Thank you."
He doesn't acknowledge her thanks, ploughing on with a scowl: "Speaking of which, it would be in your best interest to stop being such an insufferable know-it-all."
She blinks. To her horror, tears prick her eyes. She's been called a know-it-all and a teacher's pet and a suck-up all primary school, so she's used to it from her peers; but from an adult it hurts her a bit. She's always tried to be the best, to learn everything, to know everything, and teachers have always praised her for her academic enthusiasm. She has the utmost respect for teachers, and she wants their approval. Even the approval of teachers like Professor Snape.
His expression doesn't falter in the face of her upset. "I already told you, you should not show all your cards at once," he says. "You do not have to and should not flaunt your intelligence. There will be those who will underestimate you because of your blood, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. You can use that to your advantage. But only if you don't advertise your desperation to prove yourself. Desperation can be used against you."
The tears recede as she processes his words. He is, she realizes, essentially giving her Mudblood 101 Survival Tips.
"You made a fool of yourself in my class today, Miss Granger," he says bluntly. "I expect subtle cunning and ambition from my Slytherins, not the literal, blatant waving of hands you showed. I know you are smart, so act like it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
She's torn between feeling embarrassed at the chastisement and being delighted by the compliment, backhanded though it was. Professor Snape called her smart! Although he has proved to be a short-tempered, unfair jerk, he is obviously skilled and intelligent, and she suspects compliments from him are few and far between for anyone not named Draco Malfoy.
"Now, are there any issues you would like to discuss with me?" The scowl is gone and the neutral expression is back. She takes this to mean he is satisfied.
"No, sir. Not at the moment."
He nods. "Very well then. Come to me if anything arises. If you have any trouble navigating the castle in your first few weeks, ask one of the Prefects to give you a tour."
"Yes, sir," she says again.
"Good. Now get out. I have things to do."
She leaves and goes back to her dorm to get a start on her Transfiguration homework. As she walks, she ponders the mystery that is Severus Snape, more confused than ever by his alternately cruel and almost caring words. She suspects she will be figuring out this man for a long time.