Chapter 4: Mendacia
"Darling, how could you not let us know?"
A very flustered Hermione was sat at the kitchen table looking back and forth between her parents as if watching a tennis match. After spending the bulk of the afternoon packing, cleaning up, and baking scones to placate her parents upon receipt of the mysterious letter, she realized the last of those items was rather a fruitless endeavor. Especially since she'd left out the blueberries. And burnt them slightly.
"I'm sorry," she repeated for the third time, crumbling her scone between her fingers. "I just didn't know whether I'd be allowed in, and I didn't want to needlessly worry you if it…well, if it turned out not to work."
In addition to obsessing over the contents of the letter, she'd had to wait until her mother's screech had pierced the innermost nerves of her ears and grated on them like a six year old trying to play the violin to actually discover them. Then she'd had to make up a story with no advance preparation about why she hadn't told her parents about the special exclusive Summer potions intensive she'd applied for. And then she'd had to apologize for throwing a wrench into all of the holiday plans the Grangers had been arranging.
"It's excellent news," Richard said, "Of course it is. We only thought we'd be spending more time with you, sweetheart."
"Your aunt Rebecca is going to be livid," Helen said, brandishing the letter in the air. "Maybe she can change her flights still. When did you say this workshop ends?"
"Er…" Hermione said as her mother scanned the details of the letter again. She crossed her fingers, hoping that the answer would be in there somewhere. As Helen Granger looked up again from the letter and a drop of sweat trickled down Hermione's back, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," she squeaked and made a dash for the hall.
Never in her life had she been more relieved than when she threw open the door and found Professor Snape on the step.
"Thank God," she breathed. And in an instant, she accused, "You're late!"
Snape scowled down at her and brushed his already immaculate robes–not jeans, she noticed–clean.
"I most certainly am not late, Miss Granger. Tempus," he cast, and a clock materialized between them reading 7:58. "See?"
"Sorry, sir," she said quickly. "That isn't what I meant. What I meant is–" She cast a harried glance back toward the kitchen. "Oh, they're so angry. And I have no idea what to say, thanks to you–" She turned her attention back to the man in black. "Not telling me what was in the letter at all. I tried to rehearse, I tried to think of anything it could say and what excuses I could make, but never in a million years did I think–Sir, are you laughing at me?" she whisper yelled.
Snape grinned, and Hermione had the distinct impression of facing off against a shark. If she weren't so irritated, she might have had the sense to feel fear.
"The price of cheek, Miss Granger," he said, and then his face was smooth once more. "However, our time is limited, so let's proceed."
Bewildered, Hermione turned around and led him to the kitchen. Helen's and Richard's heads were bent toward each other and they spoke in quick, whispered conversation which abruptly cut off upon their entrance.
"Mum, Dad, this is–"
"Professor Snape," Richard said at once. Helen looked around at her husband in faint surprise. "I recognize you. From Hermione's letters," he added quickly. "Her description was, well, perfect, really. And you–of course. You're a Master, aren't you? So you're leading the potions workshop."
Hermione felt her eyebrows rise toward her hairline and had the feeling she knew what it was like for Harry and Ron to watch her have an epiphany. She shuddered, then stepped forward.
"Mum and Dad, Professor Snape. Sir, my parents," she said, gesturing back and forth between the parties.
"Drs Granger," Snape said. "You have a lovely home."
Hermione stared at him. Was he…making small talk?
"I wondered if we might sit and speak together somewhere more comfortable."
"I–" Helen said, but Richard lay a hand on her arm. "Oh, alright. The living room is this way."
Hermione blinked. Two minutes in her house and Snape was already manipulating her parents. She shook herself, then followed. Her parents were seated on the couch when she entered the room, and Severus stood at the same armchair he'd occupied earlier that day with his wand raised. She opened her mouth to protest, but then he spoke.
"Do you mind?" And he gestured to the corner where the tea set sat. A flick of his wand and the tea set floated toward them, steaming tea already pouring into cups. Hermione sat down hard on the opposite chair.
"Sir," Hermione said, watching as a spoon of sugar dumped itself into her father's mug. "The trace. Won't the Ministry be alerted about magic being used in this house? Won't it get, well, traced back to me?"
"That, for the next hour, won't be of any concern," Snape replied.
Hermione's brow wrinkled. "But–"
"Now," Snape said, turning to her parents. "I understand this opportunity has come as a shock to you both."
"We had no idea–"
"Hermione didn't–"
"Naturally," Snape said, and he swallowed thickly as if trying to force something large and uncomfortable back down. "Miss Granger won't have wanted to worry you over any uncertainty about her…making the cut, shall we say. Opportunities like this workshop only come around about once in a decade. The chances are, as I'm sure she thought, small that any one person might be selected."
"Once in a decade?" Richard repeated faintly, lowering his cup to its saucer and turning his gaze onto Hermione, who–no matter how fake the workshop was–blushed as he beamed.
"That's right," Snape continued, in a firm tone while a tea cup floated over to Hermione and jabbed her in the shoulder several times before she snatched it out of the air. "It really is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Now, I understand her absence will mean a derailment of your holiday plans."
"Oh," Helen said, setting her cup on the table. "I'm sure we can figure something out, right sweetheart? I only wish you would have told us sooner. You must be one of the only students out of–"
"Hundreds," Snape supplied. "And the recognition such a workshop affords can only be put to excellent use when Miss Granger is applying for jobs after Hogwarts, whether she seeks further studies in applied or theoretical potions, medicine…"
"But why was Hermione chosen?" Helen asked suddenly. "Not that you don't deserve it, Hermione, dear." She added, looking at her daughter. "But she's only entering fifth year. Don't these kinds of things usually go to older students?"
Hermione settled into her seat to watch how Severus would answer this one, a self-satisfied smile gracing her lips. Snape's eyes darted to hers, and his pleasant expression froze into place as, no doubt, his brain whirred.
"It's a multi-year workshop," he said, before tearing his eyes away and back to her parents. "Typically such offers are made to rising fifth or sixth year students, as the three year program terminates before seventh year or just after graduation."
Smooth. She took a sip of her tea and swallowed it with a grimace. Black.
"While the workshop does take up the majority of the Summer, Miss Granger may be able to return for a couple of days at a time," Snape continued. "I'm afraid long family trips won't be possible, but you may still see your daughter before term begins in September."
Hermione shook her head minutely and stared at him in awe.
"Well, it wasn't the Summer we were hoping for," Richard said. "But it sounds like an excellent opportunity for our girl. You do want to go, don't you, Hermione?"
"I–" she said. "Yes, yes of course. And I'm sorry, really, for not telling you before today. I just found out about it today." Snape turned to stare at her. "I mean," she said hastily. "Just found out that I…that I got in."
And so, minutes later found Hermione rushing up the stairs to grab her trunk.
"C'mon, Crooks," she said, heaving the armful of orange fluff into her arms. "Time to go."
Crookshanks let out a disgruntled meow, but allowed himself to be heaved into his carrier and brought downstairs with the rest of her things. Snape was standing at the foot of the stairs and rolled his eyes as she stopped on the second from the last step so that she could look him in the eye.
"Are you a witch or not?" he asked, jerking his head at her heavy burdens.
"I'm not breaking the law for a trunk of all things," she whispered.
Snape flicked his wand. Crookshanks's carrier became feather light, and her trunk shrunk down until she could pick it up and stow it in her pocket.
"Thanks," she muttered, descending the last couple steps.
Snape nodded stiffly.
"Write to us, darling," Helen said, pulling her daughter into a hug.
"Yes," Richard echoed. "Tell us everything about the program. We really are so proud of you, Hermione."
Hermione flushed with pleasure and some embarrassment that all of this was happening in front of Professor Snape.
"Thanks, mum, dad."
A few more hugs and Hermione pulled herself away, partly not to test Snape's composure–she thought she could see the pleasantries start to crack on his face–and partly to prevent herself from crying as a new sudden fear struck her.
She and Snape stepped out into the mild evening. Snape stopped at the edge of the walk and peered at her face.
"Miss Granger?"
She bit her lip and looked at the ground.
"You do want to go, don't you?"
She looked up at him, and swore she could see the question swirling in his eyes. He didn't just make up a letter, perpetuate the lie therein in front of her parents, and do so with perfectly respectable manners while he channeled Albus Dumbledore only to have her change her mind, did he? He scowled down at her.
"No. I mean, yes," she said. "Yes, I want to go. I'm just…" She looked back at the house. "They are…safe, aren't they? Even if I'm not around?"
The scowl on his face smoothed out ever so slightly.
"They're probably safer with you not around," he answered bluntly.
Hermione swallowed thickly.
Snape sighed.
"Miss Granger. Your parents are not on the Dark Lord's radar. He's a bit too preoccupied with gathering legitimate followers at the moment to be sending them off to attack your parents."
She nodded, but looked, unseeing, past his left shoulder.
"If it makes you…feel…any better," he said slowly. "There are wards around your parents' house. If…anything happens, we'll know. Can we go now?"
Some of his impatience bled through with this last word and Hermione refocused.
"Yes, sir," she replied. "Thank you."
"For what?" Snape asked. But he seized her arm and twisted in place before she could say anything.
Hermione had the dizzying sensation of being squeezed into much too cramped a space, and then she was out and gasping for breath a moment later, the scent of the lilacs that surrounded her house no longer filling her nostrils. She looked around. They were standing in a street that wasn't her own across from a row of brick houses.
"What–"
"You've just apparated. Congratulations," Snape said shortly. He pressed something into her hand. "Here, read this and memorize it. Quickly."
Hermione's eyes lowered to the scrap of parchment in her hand.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at 12 Grimmauld Place.
"The–"
"Memorized?" Snape asked.
"I–yes–oh!"
The parchment ripped itself from her fingers and burst into flames. Just as quickly, the flames turned the parchment into ash and the ash floated to the ground.
"What was–"
"Look," Snape interrupted, grabbing her shoulder and turning her.
Hermione looked up and felt her mouth fall open. A home, one which hadn't been there before, had squeezed itself into existence before her. The number twelve at the door winked at her metallically in the dim light of the streetlamps.
"Let's go," Snape said, and, one hand still on her shoulder while the other held his wand out at his side, he pulled her toward the house.
They made it onto the doorstep with no incident, and he swept them both into the house without knocking.
"Stay quiet," he whispered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Mutely, she nodded, and felt rather than saw him stow his wand back into his robes. His other hand, however, still stayed firmly on her shoulder, as he guided her toward a staircase. They picked their way up the stairs and Hermione had to cover her mouth as she gasped. Halfway up the stairs, she noticed what was posted on the wall: slightly shrunken heads of dead house elves.
"What–? Who–? Why–?"
"Not here," Snape ground out, and pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs.
On the next landing, he led her down the hallway, muttering, until he reached the third door. "This should be it."
He knocked gently, pressing his ear to the door, then turned the knob. The door opened to reveal a bedroom outfitted with two twin beds, matching desks, and a wardrobe at the far end of the room. The bed furthest from the door had the rumpled appearance of having already been slept in. Snape pulled her into the room and shut the door behind them.
"Sir, where–?" Hermione began.
"We are at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," he said. "Which is currently housed in secret in the home of Sirius Black."
Hermione watched his lip curl, and she couldn't repress her curiosity. "It's Secret Kept? Of course. That's what the parchment was. But who is the Secret Keeper, sir? Surely it isn't–"
"Of course not. Do you imagine that mangy mutt would trust me, evil Slytherin git, with information so valuable?" Snape ground out. "Use the superior intellect I'm told by my colleagues that you possess and discover the conclusion. In the meantime, I am late, no thanks to your incessant questions. Turn out your pockets."
"My–?"
"Pockets, yes," Snape said impatiently.
With a start, Hermione retrieved her trunk and set it on the floor just in time as Snape muttered, "Finite." and it sprang back to normal size before her eyes.
"I'm sure Miss Weasley is around here somewhere to fill you in on the rest," he said.
And the next moment, he disappeared out the door.