Hello pals! I'm officially out of furlough and back at work, but with some careful time management I should still be able to stick to my upload schedule so DON'T DESPAIR :)
We're nearing the end of book five, let me know what you all think. As per, any reviews/follows/favorites are absolutely wonderful and make my heart sing!
Stay safe, and I'll see you next week :)
It was still pitch black when Hermione was woken abruptly by a small set of hands shaking her shoulders. Her brain dimly registered that she must only have had a couple hours sleep at most. Blinking the haze out of her eyes, she was met by a larger fearful pair staring back at her. Stifling a yelp, she bolted upright causing the nervous house elf to tumble from the bed.
"Sherbet is very sorry Miss! Sherbet didn't mean to frighten!" The wide-eyed elf was dancing from leg to leg, wringing her hands to stop herself from administering some form of punishment. Hermione reached down to grab the elf's hands, trying to calm her.
"It's.. it's fine, really! No harm done! I'm just not used to house elves waking me, especially in the middle of the night.." She ran a hand through her hair and yawned, trying to hide that fact that she was less than happy about being woken up from a rare nightmare-free sleep.
"Ahh! Sherbet forgets herself! Sherbet is to be taking Miss to the Headmaster!" The elf reached up to take Hermione's hand, who barely had enough time to shout that she was still in her pajamas before Sherbet made contact and Hermione suddenly had the feeling of being twisted in on herself. When she opened her eyes she found herself in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore sat at his desk with a furious looking Snape pacing in front of him. They were in mid conversation when she arrived, their voices lowering as she did.
"Any amount they can extract, it doesn't need to be large. One drop would theoretically be enough to create a working antidote." Snape's eyes never left the elderly wizard as he paced, and Dumbledore nodded before conjuring his patronus and relaying the message. As the silvery phoenix soared away through the wall, Dumbledore looked for the first time to Hermione, who realised with a flush of embarrassment that she was standing in the elegant office barefoot, in only her sleep shorts and a t-shirt.
"Miss Granger, please take a seat." Dumbledore's voice was lacking the cheery quality she had come to expect, and his eyes didn't twinkle as usual. She slowly pulled out the chair available for her and glanced towards Professor Snape, who had ceased pacing and was now leaning against the back wall, scowl still firmly planted on his face. He caught her eye and frowned harder, before staring off into the fire.
"What's going on, Headmaster?" Something had clearly happened tonight. Was Harry okay? Was Ron? Only months prior she had sworn to do what she could to protect them down the line, had she already failed before she was let out of the gate? Maybe this was an intervention, to be told she had let down the Order before she'd even joined.
"I'm afraid there's been an incident, Miss Granger." Her eyes widened. She was right.
"Who? Harry? Ron?" Dumbledore shook his head.
"Arthur Weasley, Miss Granger. He was attacked this evening while on patrol at the Ministry. It seems he was found just in time, he is currently being treated at St. Mungos." Snape let out an annoyed grunt.
"Until they send us the damn venom he'll still be circling the drain. Then one can only hope we have enough time to brew an antidote."
"We? Wait, venom? What happened to him?" Hermione's mind was racing, a mixture of panic and fogginess resided in her still sleep-addled brain. She looked between the two wizards fervently, trying to put the information into place.
"Arthur was attacked by the snake Nagini, Miss Granger. He is lucky to still be breathing. Both Mr Weasley and Mr Potter have left to be with the family."
"Say that in an hour, old man. For goodness sake, where are those St Mungos idiots?!" Snape had started pacing again, clearly impatient at his inability to begin working.
"Can I.. can I go to them? I want to make sure he's okay." Dumbledore shook his head sadly.
"I'm afraid not. The family have requested visitors be kept to a minimum until Arthur is, as Professor Snape so eloquently put, no longer circling the drain.." Hurt flashed through Hermione's eyes.
"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait? Twiddle my thumbs until we hear news?"
"If that were the case Miss Granger we wouldn't be having this discussion at 3 in the morning." Snape grumbled, clearly as disgruntled as she was to have been woken up so early. Before she could question his - she felt - highly inappropriate sarcasm, given the situation, the fireplace next to Dumbledore's desk erupting into green flame. A short medi-wizard, graying with large rounded spectacles, stepped through into the office. He held a small vial, only partially filled. He looked worn out, as if he had been working for days.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, this was all we could extract, given the position of the bite. I hope it will do. Please, as soon as you have the antidote come straight through. Healer Alderman will be waiting for you." He left the vial on the desk and hurried back through the floo without further discussion. Immediately, Snape snatched it up. Swirling the liquid around the vial, he furrowed his brow and began muttering about colour and consistency, words Hermione couldn't make out.
"Well Severus, I believe time is of the essence more than ever." Dumbledore rose from his desk, beckoning towards the door.
"Indeed. Miss Granger, come." Hermione spun around in her chair, her eyes widening and her mouth open in confusion.
"Sir?" Snape audibly growled and stood by the open door. His eyes still held anger but had now been joined by the clear look of impatience.
"This will be a complex antivenom, one that will need to be adapted at several points, but more importantly one that cannot under any circumstance be allowed to fail. I hold a man's life in my hands and as my would-be apprentice I require you in the lab. Now come." Although his expression was as clear as day, his words held no hint of exasperation, nor of annoyance. They were said matter-of-factly, as simple as the sky was blue. They also held no room for argument. As Snape stormed out of the office, Hermione practically tripped over herself to catch up, the earlier altercation already banished from her thoughts.
They reached the dungeons in record time, Hermione having to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. She wished more than ever that she had at least been given time to slip on shoes, the wooden and stone floors carrying no heat. They bolted past the potions classroom and Snape's office, and Hermione wondered vaguely where their destination actually was. She couldn't remember straying this far into the Slytherin realm. Soon, they happened upon a door not dissimilar to those of the classrooms, although this one seemed much older and weathered. Snape flicked his wand and Hermione could feel the wards peeling off, the magic shivering as it disappeared. Opening the door, Snape rushed it, leaving it open for Hermione to follow in after, although as she did he shut it and re-warded it in an instant. Looking around, she immediately recognized the room. She had been here once before, in her second year. There hadn't been wards then. This was Professor Snape's personal lab. There were cauldrons of all sizes set up around the room, and shelves upon shelves filled with vials, all labelled in the same spiky handwriting. She could make out the entrance to the store cupboard, the same one she had stolen from all those years ago. A blush threatened to rise up her neck but she willed herself to stop thinking about it, worried the potions master would catch on. She needn't have bothered.
"I would give you the tour but I believe you are already acquainted with this particular part of the castle." His voice dripped with sarcasm, and a small sneer crossed his mouth. Hermione blushed furiously, keeping her head low. She only murmured an awkward confirmation in response. Of course he knew that she had stolen from him in her second year, as soon as he'd seen her covered in fur in the hospital wing that day it was obvious what had happened. Any potioneer worth their salt would have recognized the potion that those particular missing ingredients called for.
Snape set about preparing the brewing station with a controlled determination, each movement calculated and precise. Hermione felt incredibly out of place. She was freezing cold and felt far too undressed to be anywhere other than her bed. If she had just been able to grab any form of clothing.. An idea came to her and she cleared her throat.
"Sir, apologies but could I perhaps borrow your cloak?" She tried to hide the obvious embarrassment she was feeling, but if she was being honest she would happily have let the ground swallow her up. Snape half-turned to her, clearly irritated, until he finally noticed what she was wearing. Merlin, could she not have picked up anything more appropriate to wear? He needed both of their full attention on this potion, a man's life was on the line for crying out loud! Shrugging off his outer cloak, he handed it to her trying his hardest to avoid her gaze, and turned back to the bench.
"Hurry up." He bit out. He really was not in the mood for teenage awkwardness this evening. Wand out, Hermione muttered a soft incantation and the oversized evening cloak morphed into a comfortable sweater-dress, long enough to cover her shorts and with medium length sleeves to avoid any potion contamination. Her feet were still cold but she didn't have time to worry about it. Satisfied with her work, she stowed her wand and placed her hands on her hips.
"Right. What do you need?"
The unlikely brewing pair worked in comfortable but intense silence for nearly an hour. Both knew the magnitude of their work; a single incorrect ingredient or miss-stir could cost Arthur Weasley his life. This was by far the most stressful situation Hermione had found herself in, but instead of succumbing to panic and anxiety, she felt liberated by it. The stakes pushed her determination to the limit, willing her to work to perfection as if it were some higher being. Wiping her brow, she hazarded a glance at Professor Snape, who she thought must be feeling the same.
Snape kept his eyes trained on the cauldron, only looking away to chop an ingredient or cast a tempus charm. The hour had passed in a heartbeat and although the potion was in a good state, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Allowing his mind a brief respite from the thundering stress, Snape considered the idea that Miss Granger appeared to be a competent brewing partner. After the embarrassing mishap with her attire, she had rolled her proverbial sleeves up and set to work. There had been no idle chit chat, no attempt at meaningless conversation, not even a query as to whether she was doing the right thing. Occasionally she would ask for further instructions, but he found he could give her the next three or four steps at a time, and she would complete them with ease. The work of a promising potions mistress, he thought idly. He was also eternally grateful that she hadn't brought up their previous conversation. It seemed as if she were pretending it didn't happen, and although a part of him detested being ignored, he admired her for the mature focus she placed on this particular task. Perhaps he would speak to her after the Christmas break, to.. Apologize. Snape was not one to offer sincere apologies, perhaps instead he would merely thank her for her professional conduct tonight. That would be enough to put the awkwardness of their last lesson behind them.
The two worked diligently, both driven by an unspoken determination and something deeper - the need to excel. It struck Hermione in that moment that they were strangely similar, the dour potions master and herself. Both reserved, quiet, she didn't imagine he had many friends, and they both loved knowledge. The small glances she had managed to steal of him, he had been fixated on brewing to perfection, the only thing worth concentrating on being the cauldron in front of him. She hadn't thought about it before, whenever he had demonstrated potions or techniques in class it had been with a side of frustration - the knowledge that the majority of the class wouldn't pay attention clearly playing on his mind. Here, there was a tenderness to every move he made and it was almost hypnotic. It was the addition of one drop of Nagini's venom that pulled her from her semi-trance. She watched as the murky green liquid was dripped into the brew, and even though only the two of them stood before the cauldron as it started to change colour, she was certain they both hitched their breath ever so slightly. Hermione was practically dead on her feet, using an unused bench to prop herself up, when the quiet, silky voice snapped her from her drowsiness.
"It is complete. Congratulations, Miss Granger."
By the time Hermione stumbled back to her dormitory and collapsed onto her bed, it was nearing early morning. Although she wouldn't know if their combined efforts had been successful for another few days, she was quietly confident. After all, if there was anyone capable of brewing to perfection, it was Professor Snape.
Hermione had never enjoyed a Christmas away from her family more. The familiar loss of muggle traditions still made itself known, but it was dulled by a holiday spent with the Weasleys - recovering Arthur included. Call her superstitious, but Hermione felt like the whole holiday had been a miracle. They had been graced with snow, thick and crisp. Snow angels had been on the agenda every day since her arrival at the Burrow. Molly had seemingly outdone herself this year; the house was every bit the quintessential country home, with tasteful decorations and the recognizable warmth that never failed to fill the Weasley house. The food - as usual - had been top notch. Despite the Weasleys' somewhat limited income, whenever they sat down for a meal it always felt like a banquet. Hermione admired that greatly about Molly, the ability to make ends meet without feeling like less of a witch.
Christmas day rolled around, and with it came a flurry of excitement. Arthur was, for the time being, still confined to a wheelchair while his body recovered from the attack but was still in high spirits. He had found great amusement in the muggle-style wheelchair provided by St. Mungos, and took whatever opportunity he could find to try and balance on the back wheels, much to the dismay of Molly. Of course, the twins found this hilarious and had taken to charming the chair to spin whenever Arthur attempted his trick. Now, with Christmas morning in full swing and the whole family crammed into the living room to open presents, Hermione felt more at home among the disorder and chaos of the Weasley family than she had in years. The usual presents were there - the classic Weasley jumper in reds and golds, a plethora of Hogsmeade chocolates, a selection of books on herbology and healing (Harry explained that it might further help decide on her career path), and new quills and inks charmed specifically to her writing style. She had even received owls from her parents, gifts filled with home comforts that left her feeling more than a little homesick. Still, with the overbearing cheer of a Weasley Christmas surrounding her at every turn, it was easy to lose herself in the feeling of joy.
The day was spent enjoying the company of each other, talking excitedly about the rest of the year, what they thought sixth year would be like, even what they planned to do after their school years were over. At one point Ginny managed to convince Ron and Harry to brave the snow and play some quidditch, an offer that Hermione easily turned down - quidditch was boring enough without the heavy winter weather. It had left her with the time to start reading some of her new books, and she settled happily into one of the sofas, her legs curled up and her hand poised to turn each page. She was fifty pages in when she heard the familiar sound of wheels against wood. Looking up, Arthur Weasley watched her from the doorway, a warm smile on his face.
"You know, a little birdie told me something fascinating when I was in St. Mungos." Hermione arched an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly, Mr Weasley wasn't usually this cryptic. "They told me a certain brilliant Gryffindor happened to be instrumental in my recovery." His eyes twinkled and he broke into a grin. "Thank you, Hermione."
Hermione's eyes widened as he spoke, she had sort of wanted to keep that information to herself. She hadn't even told Harry and Ron, although to be fair they hadn't asked. She was quiet for a moment, before a smile spread across her own face. "You're more than welcome, Mr Weasley, but I think the brunt of your gratitude should really go to Professor Snape. I was little more than a helping hand." She looked out towards the garden, seeing the occasional broom whistling past.
"He must think highly of you." As if pulled from her thoughts, she turned back to look at the Weasley patriarch, and a frown formed across her forehead.
"He needed all the help he could get. I was just.. On hand." Arthur chuckled softly to himself.
"In all the years I've known Severus, the boy has never once asked for help. He would sooner attempt to brew every potion under the sun, simultaneously and by himself, before reaching out for another set of hands. If he asked you to assist him - no matter how small the contribution was - then believe me, whatever you've done you've earned his respect." Hermione had the grace to blush at that, slightly uncomfortable at the idea that the playing field between her and her potions professor had started to level. "Besides, it gave me an excuse to reap praise on my favourite bookworm." He opened his arms wide, inviting Hermione in for a crushing fatherly hug. Hermione hugged back just as fiercely, thankful for the praise and for the revelation.
"I've been thinking about something."
The three friends sat together in Ron's room, the boys sprawled on the floor and Hermione propped up against the head of Ron's bed. Hermione had been deeply engrossed in one of their fifth year text books, and had barely said anything in the last hour while the boys had been battling it out in a game of wizards chess. Harry barely looked up, his head very clearly in the game.
"Hrmm?"
"That night.. Dumbledore told me that your dad had been attacked Ron, but I don't get how we knew.. I mean, it was the middle of the night." Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Ron paled slightly, but neither looked up from their game. Both actions did not go unnoticed by Hermione. "What?"
Harry sighed, rolled his shoulders. He looked at Ron, then up to meet Hermione.
"I told Dumbledore." Hermione's eyes widened.
"You told-"
"I… I saw it. Dreamt it. I'm not sure. I woke up and I just.. Knew." Harry hung his head, a tinge of shame highlighting his cheeks. "I knew it was the snake because I was the snake. I felt everything it felt, could tell you the feeling of its' skin against the floor, the way its' teeth-"
"Yeah alright mate, I think she gets it." Ron was still white, his hands slightly clenched. Hermione could see that reliving the near-death of his father was still a difficult subject.
"Harry this is.. This is.. Do you understand how dangerous this is?" Hermione couldn't quite believe what she had heard. He had made a direct link into the mind of Nagini, and was that only the tip of the iceberg? If he had a way into Nagini's mind, was the same also true of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Did it work the other way round? How could Professor Snape have signed off on discontinuing Harry's occlumency lessons if this was happening? But then she thought back to her last potions lesson and the way he had reacted when she'd brought up Harry's lessons. He'd practically rushed her out the door the moment she'd mentioned it. She looked at Harry, hard. "What happened with your lessons?"
Harry visibly deflated. He had wanted to forget all about the pensieve incident, pretend that the fated occlumency lessons had never happened and move on. He'd thought his explanation to Hermione had been enough, Ron had even agreed. The more vague the reasoning, the easier it would be to lie. Besides, it wasn't completely untrue. He thought he didn't need them anymore, and the dreams had stopped. Well, until Mr Weasley was attacked. That was different though, that was real.
Hermione listened, anger rising quicker and quicker, as Harry recounted what had actually happened on his final occlumency lesson. He told her all about the pensieve, the memory, and Snape. She could tell he was ashamed of what he'd done, and it was evident that he struggled to connect everything he had known about his father and godfather with the scene he had witnessed. To invade someone's privacy like that, to violate the trust that Professor Snape had surely placed in him. No wonder he had been so upset! He probably thought Harry had spilled all to her and Ron the second he'd been safe within the confines of Gryffindor Tower. God, she couldn't even imagine that level of embarrassment. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't just hear you spill Professor Snape's most dreaded memories, and instead focus on the fact that you've put yourself in an insanely dangerous position!"
It wasn't Harry who spoke up first, but Ron. "Come on, Mione. Even you have to admit that it's pretty useful. Think of what Harry could learn, stuff that even Snape wouldn't know!"
Hermione heard the words repeat in her mind, her brain replaying what had just happened in agonizing slow motion. The realization dawned on her and it was cold, hurtful.
"You knew.." She looked at Ron, biting the inside of her lip so as not to betray the myriad of emotions running through her nerves. "You told Ron about the memories.. You never thought to tell me you were still having nightmares." She was impressed, her voice had remained neutral despite everything.
"It wasn't like that Hermione." Harry pleaded. "If I had a particularly bad night, it would be Ron that woke me up. He kept the other guys from questioning what was going on. It was only right that I clue him in to what was happening. Besides.. He's my best mate.." This was perhaps not the smartest thing Harry had ever said.
"Oh! Of course! How could I have forgotten the bloody friendship hierarchy! I can't believe you're willingly letting this happen! You could have told me you were struggling with occlumency, I would have helped you! God only knows what You-Know-Who could have discovered in your head by now!" She was so angry, and so hurt. Despite everything the trio had been through since their first year, it was abundantly clear where Hermione stood among them.
"See this is why he didn't tell you Mione, you'd just shout and nag at him, like usual." Ron's flippant remark had been enough, Hermione was done.
"Yes, god forbid I might actually try and give you advice to keep you from being killed! How dare I try and keep you out of danger, what a ridiculous idea! I'd clearly forgotten that the only time my input is of any use is when I'm doing your BLOODY HOMEWORK!" With that, Hermione snatched up the text she'd been reading and stormed out through the door, taking extra care to kick over several of the chess pieces currently in play. Ron and Harry shouted after her, but she ignored it. Making her way through the Burrow, she dumped the textbook onto an unoccupied sofa and stepped outside into the chilly winter air. She didn't think about where she was going, just that she needed to keep moving. Finally, she hit upon the edge of the Weasley wards and stopped, staring out into the evening sky. They were due to return to Hogwarts in the morning, and she had never been happier to get back to the castle. Back to lessons, back to studying, back to brewing.
In the back of her mind, a small wicked voice whispered.
Back to Professor Snape.
