Abagail had kept in near constant contact with the lawyers, hoping to speed things up so they could have custody of Harry before the next term. The lawyers understood the gravity of the situation and planned on using the TriWizard Tournament to their advantage, since Dumbledore let it happen.
There were statements, claiming that it was a binding contract that forced the Boy-Who-Lived to compete. However they looked into the fine print and found some surprising terms in the contract that they were willing to exploit.
The Grangers read it over with the Burmings, also finding small print details that they could expand on to help the young wizard. It would appear that things had not been as they appeared, even in the paper.
The Burmings were surprised with their clients, normally they would do all the legwork and the process would drag on since they had to spread themselves between cases. However the Grangers were very hands on in the process, and it sped things along quite nicely. They were more than willing to help with research and it turned more into a think tank than it ever had in their career. It was very refreshing.
The Burmings enjoyed their jobs, and they enjoyed essentially being political sharks, especially in the wizarding world. For a whole group of people to simply dismiss you for your name or blood, it was quite satisfying to be the one that flipped them on their metaphorical ass. A proverbial punch in the nether regions.
The Grangers were very educated so they didn't need much help understanding certain words. There were a few here and there that they needed brushing up on, which was normal even for them when they were looking through the more archaic laws. It was just as helpful that while they worked alongside the Grangers their feeling about the case in general was much better than when they began.
Soon they would be able to confront the Dursleys about Harry Potter's guardianship.
The petite witch confidently made her way to the potions master's office, knowing that if she looked like she had to be there, not many would think to ask why. Of course there would be a few wondering why a Gryffindor would willingly seek out the professor who was known for his biased opinion, however they would simply assume it was due to her know-it-all nature.
It was 6:59 when she knocked on the door.
"Enter," came the reply.
The witch waited a few seconds before opening the door. It was exactly 7 o'clock when she entered the room. She wasn't in the mood to hear him knit-pick about her being early or late, so she would arrive just on time.
The potions master was seated at his desk as the witch quietly let herself into his office. He was slightly annoyed that he wouldn't be able to berate her for being too early or too late. He had considered waiting a minute before answering, making her late, but decided he would be above such pettiness. That was usually reserved for Potter. These lessons indeed had something to do with Potter, but it was not Potter he was dealing with. Besides, it was his idea that these lessons should take place.
"Miss Granger, right on time," he said instead.
His eyes took in her attire, noticing that she wore her school robes over whatever it was she was wearing under. The wizard was impressed, almost expecting her to appear in only her breathable attire. However he was working with the brain of the golden trio, so it would make sense that she be aware not to attract undue attention.
The young witch did not respond and the wizard did not expect her to.
"We will not be having your lessons in my office, but an unused classroom is attached to it. I have cleaned it out and repurposed it. It's under a notice-me-not charm and a pattern based password, much like the one to Diagon Alley," his voice was deep and soft, much like it was during class.
Like most witches, Hermione found his voice to be his most appealing trait. It was deep, smooth, it had an almost hypnotic quality to it. If it were not for his sour attitude Hermione was sure the professor would get unwanted advances every year, like clockwork. What she was unaware of was that the professor did get unwanted advances from students like clockwork. As soon as a witch (and some wizards) became of age, they propositioned the wizard if they could tolerate his personality.
Usually it was a Slytherin, but the odd Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff cropped up. He always turned them down, disgusted that they would even think he would be swayed by sex. He was almost tempted his first year of teaching, but quickly diminished the temptation once the witch thought it would be the perfect exchange for better grades. It was a pathetic attempt, in his opinion, to think that they could obtain good grades by being a good lay. If they wanted better grades, they could open a book.
Surprisingly it wasn't against school rules to be in a relationship or to have relations with a student. It was mostly because when the school first opened some of the staff members had spouses much younger than themselves, and were often their students. It was normal for a staff member to have a wife or a betrothed as young as a fourth year. While it was sometimes frowned upon, it was not against school rules. That and it wasn't uncommon for a staff member to take a student lover from time to time, considering how rarely the staff left the castle. After a time they only had relations with witches or wizards who were of age.
The last one to take a lover was Septima. She was a fair and strict professor, and extremely professional in the classroom. However she did occasionally take a seventh year for a lover every other year or so. Usually it was an effeminate wizard, but her last known student lover was Nymphadora Tonks. There was a betting pool to see if she would have Draco Malfoy during his seventh year.
The professor stood up and walked to a wall that was casually ignored, courtesy of the notice-me-not charm, and tapped the stones in a particular pattern. The witch couldn't see as the tall professor blocked her view with his back.
Then, just like in Diagon Alley, the stones started to move, and left a doorway in their wake.
"Come along, Miss Granger," he said walking through the door.
Hermione walked briskly, following that dark professor through the door before it sealed itself up again.
She was surprised when she saw the 'repurposed' classroom, as Professor Snape had called it. There were clear lines on the stone floor, a full length mirror that covered one of the walls, and some practicing dummies. She wasn't sure if they were for sparring or target practice. It was more like a personal gym room the more she looked at it.
"Inside the perimeters on the floor are permanent cushioning charms, in the event that you fall, it won't hurt too badly," he sneered at the witch.
"Professor, do you use these rooms often?" she asked curiously, stepping in the perimeter.
"Not that it is any of your business, Miss Granger, but I do use these rooms at least once a week. I find working out to be quite therapeutic," the wizard answered.
He rationalized it by thinking he was doing himself a favor. Should he not answer her annoying invasive question, it might buzz about her mind the whole session causing an irritating and completely avoidable distraction. He did come to work out in these rooms at least once a week, but often tried for three times. It helped relieve his frustrations, to be able to take them out physically in a healthy manner was merely a bonus.
In the beginning he had tried drinking and later sex, but both were unhealthy.
Drinking for him was a terribly vicious cycle. It reminded him of his father, who was a mean and angry drunk, so it disgusted him as he often compared himself to his father when he drank. He didn't like it, even though he did like to drink, which made him hate himself more. To help forget this problem, he would drink more, it didn't always work. Originally he drank just for the sake of drinking, to get as wasted as possible. If it weren't for sober up potions, work would be completely unbearable; not to mention incredibly dangerous. Later on in life though he came to appreciate drinking socially, with his friends. He noticed that he had a different personality when he drank with people he liked.
Sex was a hazard in his opinion, considering he refused to bed students and refused to look for a bed partner. He was sure that no one would be better than Lily in his heart and it wasn't fair of him to use another witch as a substitute. He refused to enter a relationship that would go nowhere, it was a waste of time and effort. He had considered bedding drunk witches as one night stands, but disliked how it was essentially taking advantage of the witch. The wizard would rather occasionally pay a call girl for her services as they both knew where they stood at the end of the night. They were nothing to each other and they would go their separate ways after.
The risk there however was that he had to be sure they were completely sexually disease free. The higher end escorts who checked themselves were more galleons and often expected to be treated to dinner or such. He would pay for sex, but he would not pay for a date. So when they arrived he had to check the girls himself to be totally sure. The first and last time he had a sexually transmitted disease he had firecrabs, of which did not go well with him. He thanked Merlin that it was just firecrabs. He was able to brew the potion himself and no one knew about his… infliction. What gave anything away that something was wrong was his temper, it was quicker and more vile than usual; even his Slytherins avoided him that week.
In response to his answer though, the witch merely hummed to herself.
"Now Miss Granger, do you have any experience with physical fighting?" he asked, assuming her answer would be 'no'.
"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully.
The potions master was not impressed. She answered in the same tone she did while in the classroom.
"I'm not referring to hair pulling, Miss Granger. Nor that debacle that was your second year with Miss Bulstrode. I'm talking about a fight, with fists or even kicking," he sneered at the young witch.
"I know what you were talking about, Professor Snape. Yes I have experience with physical fighting. I have been in fights before, Professor," Hermione answered as politely as possible, although her stance did shift as she put more weight on her right leg causing her hips to tilt a bit.
"Then what do you do when someone does this", where the wizard then aimed a quick careful punch to her face. He was going to stop before his fist even touched her. However he was completely taken by surprise when the petite witch blocked his punch by redirecting it with her forearm and headbutt him hard in the nose.
The witch backed off in a defensive, obviously street styled, stance before it clicked in her head what she just did. She covered her face with both of her hands while her hazel eyes widened comically.
"Oh my sweet Merlin," she breathed into her hands, obviously shocked by her reaction. 'I just headbutt Professor Snape in the face.'
"I am so sorry, Professor Snape!" she said, inching carefully toward him, "Are you okay? Are you bleeding?"
The wizard in question was hunched over holding his nose that was indisputably in pain, his eyes wide in shock. Whatever he was expecting, it sure as hell wasn't being headbutt in the fucking face. He looked up at the witch incredulously.
The curly haired witch bit her lip self-consciously, obviously concerned with whatever course of action he was going to take for attacking a professor. If they weren't lessons on physical fighting he would have taken 100 points from Gryffindor and given her a week's worth of detention. He wasn't a stranger to pain, and he was obviously fit, but his nose was sensitive and it at this point in time it fucking smart.
He stood up, still holding his nose before he tentatively moved his hands away from it. Then touched above his lips to see if there was any blood. He was shocked to see his fingertips covered with blood. He looked over at the witch again with his eyebrows furrowed, the witch in question had paled at seeing she had drawn blood.
"Congratulations at drawing first blood, Miss Granger. Do see to it that there are no more further attacks on my nose. I understand that it is on the large side, however I would greatly appreciate it if you left my nose out of our skirmishes," he said as smoothly as he could.
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, still chewing on her bottom lip, looking at him with doe eyes.
Severus cast a silent healing charm on his nose, using the mirror for guidance. It had been years since his nose had last been injured, he just hoped it wouldn't become a frequent occurrence. The witch had a surprisingly hard head, he would have expected all that hair to cushion such a blow, apparently not.
Once he healed his nose he turned around to face the young woman, standing straight as though the small altercation had not happened.
"It would appear you are familiar with a good old fashioned brawl, Miss Granger. Knowing such, why had you allowed Miss Bulstrode to put you in a headlock?" he asked quietly.
Hermione fidgeted under his gaze, "It was supposed to be a duel, not a physical altercation," she answered softly.
"So you decided not to fight back?" he asked her delicately.
"I was caught off guard and was not expecting it… I figured if I hit her back I would get detention," she answered, knowing it was no real excuse.
The potions master merely rolled his eyes at her answer. It was indeed something he would expect from the bookworm; even while being attacked, she had been concerned with obtaining a detention should she strike the other witch. To be fair though he probably would have given her detention at the time…
"I see," he said instead.
"While you are… adequate at brawling, I take it you have not had real training?" he inquired.
"No, sir. Aside from… brawling; what bit I have learned is dirty, in the event of an emergency," she replied.
Severus's eyebrow rose at the answer, "Such as?"
"The usual… kicking or kneeing a man in his nether regions, elbowing a woman in the stomach, kicking kneecaps, punching someone in the throat, teeth, or chin, hitting someone with the heel of my hand to their nose, breaking fingers in case of unwanted advances… things like that," she said, blushing a bit in embarrassment.
She knew that at least two of those could kill someone if she hit them hard enough.
Her professor on the other hand was surprised at the self-defense tips the witch was given should such a need arise. Some of them were typical, but the last few were not.
"What do you mean by 'breaking fingers in case of unwanted advances'? Please clarify," he instructed.
Hermione blushed more, "In the event that someone should want to… um… molest or uh, rape me… I have been instructed to break the attacker's fingers. So that in the event that such an event continue to take place, there would be physical proof that it was unwanted. So I'm not accused of 'asking for it'. Broken fingers clearly mean that the advances were unwanted and I cannot be accused of misleading my attacker. It's a solid defense for such cases."
Severus was fascinated with her answer. He would clearly be discussing this with Poppy at some point in the future. It was solid advice to be given to students. There were few cases of sexual assaults in the wizarding world, considering that a well-placed hex usually got the message across. However for under-aged witches and wizards that option was unavailable, especially in the muggle world. He filed that piece of information away.
The professor hummed in response.
"While we will not be fighting dirty just yet, although we will get there further in our lessons, we will be practicing punches," he asserted, "These dummies," he summoned them with a flick of his wand, "will be for practicing. You will hit them precisely and confidently. Your main target areas will be the sternum and just below the rib cage. Hitting the second area will normally wind your opponent, giving you a free opening. Once you are able to actively hit those two areas securely, we will move on. I would have you work on punching the facial area as well, but I saw Mister Malfoy's eye in your third year and while he would not confirm who it was, it was clear that the hit was clear and concise. In the end, such a direct hit was not a fluke."
He walked over to one of the dummies and struck both areas that he mentioned in a demonstration. Two were straight hits, one was arched, and another was underhanded.
"I have given you a demonstration, you will repeat the motions. Is this understood?"
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"You may remove your outer robes and begin. You will do this for an hour or until I say so, whichever I feel is better for you," he announced, "I will assume you have stretched as instructed."
"Yes, sir," the witch affirmed, as she stripped out of her school robes, her cooler ones she bought in France were underneath. She folded her other robes and placed them neatly in a corner.
Once she was done, she walked back quickly to the dummy and began to strike it as Snape had in his demonstration. She hit hard and fast, the sound of her fists hitting what sounded like flesh sounded in the room. He noticed she bounced every time she pulled one of her arms back from the strike.
Severus stood to the side and watched the young witch as she worked up a decent sweat. He was almost stunned, having expected her to be breathing heavily within the first ten minutes. She wasn't breathing hard, she was obviously pacing herself which showed him that she was used to physical exercise. The curly haired witch wasn't straining her muscles, she was obviously limber. He wasn't sure if she had been stretching for a while or if she simply did it when he instructed. He was slightly distracted with how her hair bounced around her, like a brown curly halo.
At forty minutes he was amazed at her endurance. She hadn't slowed down in the slightest since she began and her breath didn't get any heavier. Perhaps these lessons would be easier than he had originally though. Albeit he noticed her breasts jiggled with every hit, so he wasn't entirely sure about that.
At forty-five minutes the professor moved the second dummy slightly away from her and began to punch it in the same sequence he had demonstrated earlier. Hermione stopped for a moment stunned at the tall dark professor.
"Don't get distracted, Miss Granger. I did not tell you to stop."
"Yes, sir," she replied, returning her attention to the dummy.
She didn't know why, but her heart rate increased when she watched her professor punch the dummy. The hazel eyed witch couldn't help but notice that he moved gracefully. Her face flushed at the thought, and she started to hit the dummy harder.