The Beast of Hogwarts

By Hayseed

Once upon a time, there was a school.   Hogwarts was, of course, not just an ordinary school.  It was devoted to educating its diligent pupils in the arts of wizardry and was filled from top to bottom with delights and dangers alike.

Although the school itself was a wondrous thing to behold, it was, I am sorry to say, populated by rather less extraordinary individuals.  Young students still sometimes wept in their beds in the wee hours of the morning for the comforting touch of an absent parent; jaded professors took their anxiety out on their students more often than they should.  The magic of the school was powerful, to be sure, but not powerful enough to overcome the concerns of the mundane.

And so it was that Hermione Granger came to be walking along the brightest edges of the Forbidden Forest.  Fed up with listening to her roommates’ petty squabbles, her friends’ absentminded chatter, she fled to the embrace of solitude.   It was pleasant, this little corner of the Forest; she knew it was where Hagrid came to find the unicorn foals he sometimes discussed in his Care of Magical Creatures classes.

Her stride was slow and erratic, with no particular destination in mind, pausing now and again to examine some eye-catching stone or flower more closely.  Time slipped through Hermione’s fingers like so much sand, falling, falling away from her.

The sun was setting and night was approaching long before she realized it was due.  Taking in her surroundings, Hermione saw that she’d wandered far wider than she’d intended and was in an unfamiliar part of the Forest.

But Hermione was one of those resourceful sorts of girls--she immediately began casting about to retrace her steps.   Surely she was not so soft-footed; there were bound to be markers.

After a few minutes, however, she had to concede that if there were, she did not have the skills to read them.   Hermione was well on her way to being truly lost in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.  This thought was enough to send her into a blind panic and Hermione found herself doing the most unintelligent thing imaginable--actually running deeper into the rapidly darkening Forest.

But as soon as she realized what she was about, Hermione slowed and stopped, mentally berating herself for a fool.   “How will I ever manage to find my way out?” she asked herself very quietly.  There were, after all, dangerous creatures in the wood that she didn’t want to bother.

One can imagine her terror and shock, then, as a disembodied voice actually answered her question.  “I can help you, miss,” it said.  The voice seemed to be male in origin, with an accent that Hermione could not immediately place.

The accent was not her main concern, in any case.   “Who are you?” she asked fearfully.   “What do you want?”

Laughing softly, the voice’s reply was bemused.   “Do not be afraid, child.   I mean you no harm.”

“Why do you hide your face, then?”   Her hackles might be lowering of their own accord, but Hermione kept her guard firmly raised.  All sorts of Dark creatures, after all, can display a pleasing countenance if they so choose.

“You still do not trust me, then,” the voice said thoughtfully.  “Wise girl--there are evils lurking in our times that would confound even the worst of nightmares.  But peace, child, for I am not among them.”  And with that, the owner of the voice stepped into Hermione’s little clearing; she took an involuntary step back at the movement but promptly felt foolish for her fear.

An old man gazed down at her, smiling gently.   He was simply clad--trousers and an unadorned shirt--and his feet were bare.  His hawkish features betrayed a pride incongruous to his previous gentle words and his white hair hung well past his shoulders.   She would not have necessarily pronounced him ‘old’--his face was unbearded and relatively unlined--but for the cast of his eyes, which bespoke a sad old man, asked to live a life he found far too long.

“Do ... do you live here, sir?” she found herself asking.

He was pensive.  “That is one way to consider it and perhaps the best one for you.   Yes.”

Suddenly, her wariness returned.   “I shouldn’t trust you,” she said, taking another step away from him.  “You could very easily be disguised.”

The old man raised his arms in the air.   “I am free from both potion and glamour--I am only what you see before you, more or less.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed.  She shouldn’t believe him, but she was beginning to, if against her will.  “You know the way back to the castle?” she asked suspiciously.

“I do,” he replied with a nod.

“And you will show me?”

“I will.”  Another short nod.  “But in return, I ask a single favor.”

“What do you require of me, then?”   Hermione was skeptical--she was beginning to suspect she was at the mercy of an insane old man hiding in the Forest.   Reaching into her pocket, she curled her fingers comfortingly around her wand.

The man smiled again.  “You must bring me the Beast of Hogwarts.”

“The Beast of Hogwarts?” she echoed, drawing a blank.

“Yes.  I will show you the path out of the Forest and you will bring the Beast to me.”

“I know of no such thing,” Hermione said derisively.

But the man was serene.  “The Beast is there.  You will find him if you know where to look.  And once you do, I wish to see him with my own eyes.   Will you do this for me?” he asked soberly.

Completely convinced now that she was dealing with a madman, Hermione offered him her best smile.  “I will.  If it is within my power to find the Beast, I will bring him to you.”

“You must seek him out,” the man cautioned.   “He is an elusive creature.”

She nodded but thought it best to remain silent.

The man moved closer, holding out a beckoning hand.   “Come--the castle is close.   There is a path that is easy to follow.”

----------

Morning came and found Hermione tucked safely in her bed.  She sighed and stretched.   “What strange dreams,” she said to herself.

But when confronted with her muddy boots from the day before, Hermione began to suspect that she hadn’t been dreaming.   Her friends confirmed it at breakfast when they inquired as to her whereabouts the previous night.

That meant that she’d actually promised some baffling old man the Beast of Hogwarts.  Never mind that she had no idea where she’d find such a ludicrous thing.

In fact, an entire month passed before she began to consider that her initial impression had been correct--there was no such thing.

Hermione wondered several times whether or not she should simply put it out of her mind and let life go on.   How would the old man know if she deliberately stopped seeking out information on the Beast?

And then she remembered the look in his sad, old eyes as he had made his request and ran to the library to pull out more books on Hogwarts.

Besides--Hermione had read her fairy tales.   No good ever came of a broken bargain and she had no intention of being locked up by some crazy old fellow for not following through on a promise. 

But there was no mention of a mythical Beast in hogwarts, A History.  Nor was there mention of any such creature in any of the biographies she read on the former headmasters or the books she’d dug up on obscure magical beings.   The Beast of Hogwarts simply could not exist.

Her next thought was that perhaps there was another creature of unknown origin lurking in the halls of Hogwarts, rather like the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.  In which case, of course, the Beast of Hogwarts might not be a particularly rare monster--just a fairly elusive menace.  Her research shifted, but she still came up empty-handed.

There were no unexplained deaths or accidents at Hogwarts through the years.  She’d even gone back through all the accounts of the Chamber of Secrets she could find, thinking that perhaps one of the basilisk’s supposed victims belonged to the Beast.

And what’s more, there was no place for a Beast to properly hide.  To be sure, Hogwarts was filled with unexplorable nooks and crannies, but they couldn’t house a creature that was certain to require food and water at least.

Hermione wanted desperately to ask her friend Harry Potter to lend her his school map.  Harry’s map detailed every single hidden passage in the school and she knew it would probably be useful in determining the location of the Beast.   But such a request would require an explanation and she did not want to disclose the nature of her mission.   she had been charged with this quest--not her friends.

The only place she was unsure about after her long weeks of searching was the dungeon area of the school, near her Potions classroom.   She only went down there when absolutely necessary, wanting to avoid both the damp, chilly atmosphere and the ominous presence of Professor Snape.

But Hermione was approaching desperation and the dungeon was the only place she hadn’t searched.  So, wrapped up in her warmest cloak, she set down the stairs, shivering minutely.  The fires were only lit during classes and at any other time, the dungeons were so cold that she didn’t know how Professor Snape stood living there.

It was cold and it was dark.   If the Beast did indeed live down here, she concluded, it would certainly be ill-tempered enough to tear her to shreds if she happened to encounter it.  After a moment’s consideration, Hermione pulled out her wand.

A few more moments passed and she was on the verge of deciding that her search was futile.  Wondering what she would say to the old man when--if--she ever saw him again, she turned around to go back up the stairs.

And found herself on the floor as she crashed into a rather solid, flesh wall.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized quickly to the wall, not raising her eyes.  Eventually, she lifted her gaze to regard an irate Professor Snape.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor, Granger,” he told her with an even deeper scowl than usual.  “What are you doing down here?”

Her heart dropped as she realized who she’d just encountered.  “I’m sorry, Professor,” she repeated.  “I didn’t know--“

“Ten points.  What are you doing down here, Granger?  You don’t have class for two days.”  His arms folded resolutely across his chest as he towered over her.

She wanted to stand, she really did, but there was something in Professor Snape’s eyes that kept her firmly seated, the chill of the stones seeping into the backs of her thighs.  “I--“ she began, not knowing what to say.   If she hadn’t even told her closest friends about her little quest, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.

“Ten points, Granger,” he said with disgust in his tone.  “Now, get out of my sight!”

Finally rising off the floor, Hermione dusted herself off and watched Snape’s retreating back.  all in all, I’d prefer the Beast, she thought with a quiet snort.

And stopped dead, eyes firmly fixed on Snape.   That couldn’t be it.

The old man’s words came back to her.   he is an elusive creature.   You must seek him out.

He couldn’t have possibly meant what she was thinking.

But the more Hermione turned it over in her mind, the more sense it made.

Of course there was no Beast of Hogwarts.   The old man had been speaking in riddles. 

The old man wanted to speak with snape!

Sighing, Hermione realized that her next actions would probably result in her immediate, uncontested expulsion from school.   But, a bargain was a bargain, after all.

As quickly as she could, she raised her wand at Snape’s back and cried the words of the Binding Charm.  Within seconds, Snape’s hand was firmly clamped over hers, despite his best efforts to remove it.  She noted that his skin was rough and sweaty.

“Miss Granger!” Snape roared.   “Unhand me immediately!”

Hermione winced.  “I’m very sorry, sir, but you need to come with me now,” she said in the most apologetic tone she could muster.

“Two hundred points from Gryffindor!” he shouted.   “Let me go!”

“I can’t do that, Professor,” she told him.   “Come on.  We’ve got to go to the Forest.”

Snape went very still.  “You’re under a curse,” he breathed.  “That’s the only explanation for it.”

Taking advantage of his surprise, she pulled him a few feet down the hall.  “I’m not cursed, sir.  But you do need to come with me.”

He began resisting again.  “That’s what you would say if you were.”

It was difficult, fighting Snape and trying to take him into the Forbidden Forest at the same time.  Hermione’s shoulder ached and she knew her hand was going to bear some significant bruises the next day.  Fortunately for her, however, he was apparently beginning to realize that she was not going to relent and allowing himself to be pulled along more and more.

By the time they were at the edges of the Forest, Snape was walking more or less normally by her side, a dangerous look on his face.   “If it turns out that you are acting of your own accord, Granger, I will make sure you are tossed out of this school on your ear!” he hissed.

“I am well aware of that likelihood, sir,” she replied complacently.

Hermione did not know how her feet managed it, but she soon noticed that she and Snape were traversing the exact same path she’d taken that strange night all those weeks ago.  Within moments, they would be standing in the clearing in which she’d encountered the mysterious figure.

“Miss Granger,” Snape tried again.   “If I cannot persuade you to release me, perhaps you would not mind enlightening me as to why I am being dragged into the middle of the Forbidden Forest, attached to your hand.”

“You need to speak with someone, I think,” she said evasively.

Again, he paused, bringing them both to a halt.   “You-Know-Who?” he whispered, so quietly that she very nearly missed it.  Hermione was both shocked and saddened to hear a tremor in his voice.

“No,” she replied.  After a moment, she corrected herself.  “Well, probably not.”

Snape sighed.  The sarcasm was back.  “That is singularly unhelpful.”  He resumed their previous pace abruptly and Hermione’s shoulder protested once again at its rough treatment.  “If my end is to be at the hands of a Dark wizard and a Gryffindor wench, I suppose I would prefer not to prolong the wait.”

She found herself once again surprised--the resignation in Snape’s tone was somewhat unexpected.  However, she chose to remain silent, knowing she could offer him no solace.  What comfort she could give had and would certainly continue to be ignored.   And telling him, “a cryptic and quite possibly insane old man asked to see you a few weeks ago, sir,” would probably not be helpful either.

The clearing was upon them before Hermione even realized how close it was.  She pulled her professor to a halt and he looked at her expectantly.  Surprised not to see the customary look of bitterness on his face, Hermione reminded herself not to release the Binding Charm until she saw the old man; Snape would certainly attempt to escape.   His false complacency would not fool her.

Her promises to herself proved useless, however, as the old man suddenly appeared in front of them and she watched Snape’s reaction.

It was inexplicable--he blanched (an act which she had not previously believed his near-translucent skin capable of) and dropped to his knees, yanking on her arm once again as he attempted to cover his face with his hands.  Instinctively, Hermione released the Binding Charm and promptly fell on her face as she overbalanced in the absence of his strong pull.

The old man still did not speak.

If she hadn’t known better, Hermione would have sworn that the shaking shoulders indicated that Snape was actually crying.   “But how ...?” she heard him whisper.

Breaking his silence, the man smiled sadly.   “I am not privy to all secrets,” he chided.  “We are simply players here.  And you, my dear,” the man continued, turning to regard a rather confused Hermione still sitting on the ground, “I thank you for hunting my Beast and bringing him before me.”

She permitted herself a rueful grin as she took the proffered hand and rose to her feet.  “You might have been slightly less cryptic.”

“I am bound by certain restraints,” he replied with a grimace.  “One of which being that I cannot pronounce the Beast’s name.  But you found him well enough in the end and for that I remain ever grateful.”

During this exchange, Snape had apparently attempted to collect himself.  Remaining on his knees and with suspicious wet traces on his cheeks, he stared back and forth between Hermione and the old man.  “If you cannot tell me how, please at least tell me why,” he pleaded, looking up at the man with an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes.

“I have a message for you, my Beast,” the man replied fondly, placing a weathered hand on top of Snape’s head.

Hermione leaned in a little closer, captivated by the scene.

The men’s gazes were locked.   “I forgive you, son,” the man said softly.   “I forgive you for everything that you have done and for everything you must do.  Always remember this.”

Snape closed his eyes as he received this benediction and Hermione swore later that his entire being simply relaxed.

A speck of dust abruptly flew into her eye as she watched and Hermione began blinking fiercely.  When she could see again, the old man was gone and Snape had his head in his hands again.

The moments ticked by silently as she watched her professor recover himself once again.  Slowly, he stood, tucking his hands into robe pockets she hadn’t noticed previously, and spun around to face her.  Hermione’s jaw dropped.

Professor Snape was smiling at her.

Not a smirk or a sly grin either.   A full-blown, happy smile.  She did not know how to react, and her mouth did not seem to be working properly either.

Imagine her surprise, then, as she found herself swept up in his swirling embrace.

When the realization of just exactly who was holding her had sunk in, Hermione thought for a dizzying moment that she would pass out.   Fortunately, however, she had more or less regained control over her faculties once Professor Snape sat her back down on the ground.

They watched each other awkwardly for a beat of silence, Hermione rather dazed and Snape still smiling.  “I--“ she began.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” he interrupted.   “How did you know to bring me here?”

Flustered, Hermione cast about for a concise explanation and found hers somewhat lacking.  To be honest, the fact that Snape had just asked her a civil question had undone the rest of her composure.  “Um ...” she started gracelessly.  “I got lost in the Forest and he showed me the way back to the castle.  In exchange, he asked me to bring him the Beast of Hogwarts.”

With considerable effort, Hermione kept her mouth closed as Snape threw back his head and laughed.  “The Beast of Hogwarts?” he echoed.  “Although I suppose that from a certain perspective, he was correct.”

“He?” she asked blankly.  “Who?  The old man?”

Placing his hands over hers, Snape looked into her eyes fully for the first time.  “Miss Granger, that was my father.”

“Your father?”  She’d never noticed how dark they were before.

He nodded, eyes intently boring into hers.   “My father died many years ago, Miss Granger.”

Her brow furrowed as her mind grappled with this new information.  “A ghost, then,” she tried.

“Not a ghost,” he told her gently.   “You’ve seen ghosts before, Miss Granger,” he chided.

“Well, then, what just happened?” she asked desperately.

His hands tightened around hers.   “I don’t know,” he admitted, eyes sparkling in a practically Dumbledorean fashion.

Again, they regarded each other quietly, Hermione dimly wondering if Snape’s transformation would be permanent.

Dropping his hands, Snape gave her another smile. “It is getting late,” he said.   “Do you know the way back to the castle?”

She found herself returning his smile.

FINIS