About A Potions Master

Chapter 5

By Pigwidgeon37

During the hour preceding the dinner, the three people currently occupying Snape Manor were pursuing very different pastimes. 

*°*

Severus Snape, having dosed the new elf with an antidote he had hurriedly thrown together, returned to his rooms located in the first floor of the building. Heading there, he passed the door of the suite he knew his mother had put at Miss Granger’s disposal and felt a strange sensation bubble up in his stomach. It was definitely not hunger, although he hadn’t eaten anything since a very Spartan lunch. To his surprise, he noticed that it wasn't irritation, either. With a weary sigh, he closed the door of his own quarters behind him. He had an hour left until dinner. Enough time for a bath, he thought. Serious thinking was in order, and he knew that a steaming hot tub did wonders for him when he needed to reflect.

He had left his work-robes downstairs in the basement laboratory, and thus had to shed only his shirt and trousers while the tub was filling with water to which he had added, after careful deliberation, a bit of lavender and pine extract. It would calm him and clear his sinuses—they had been offended by the toxic fumes he had inhaled earlier, if only for a short moment. Stripped down to his skin, he paused momentarily before stepping into the tub, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Why would any woman… No, Severus. First think of what you really want. Time enough to find out what she desires when you see her. You have got a whole weekend. Time enough indeed. Or too much time, depending on the result of the careful introspection he planned to undertake now.

Relishing the heat of the water, he slowly lowered himself into the tub. For some time, he simply reclined and let the warmth seep through his body. It was a pleasure he had only recently started allowing himself. Depriving himself of warmth had been part of the meticulous punishment he had inflicted upon himself for so many years. Well, those were things long gone now. Almost of a different lifetime. Staring up at the ceiling, he began to examine how exactly he was feeling about Miss Granger.

*°*

Hermione had unpacked her belongings and was now carefully examining her surroundings. She had expected a bedroom but gotten a suite. Complete with living room, bedchamber, bath and wardrobe. The dominant colour was a light, icy blue that repeated itself in the curtains, the carpet, bed hangings and upholstery of the chairs. The curtains bore a pattern of intertwined lilies and olive branches, classical and sober in spite of the flowery motive. The same pattern recurred in the drapery of the four-poster and on the quilted bedspread. The impression of sober classicism was enhanced by the wood that had been used: all the furniture was of ebony with silver handles and fittings. Venturing into the bath, Hermione was pleased to see that it had the same colouring, only the blue was a little more intense, so as to give the room a warmer atmosphere.

Having finished her inspection, she turned her mind to more important business: dressing for dinner. Mrs. Snape had told her that, when taking their meals en famille, neither she nor Severus were too fond of  wearing robes, and that their guest was of course free to choose what suited her better. Already thrown off-balance by everything she had experienced since her arrival—not to mention the hours of tension she had endured before—Hermione was now completely disconcerted. She decided that it would be best to call Ginny via the Floo and ask her advice.

“So soon?” Ginny said with a grin. “What's ailing you?”

Hermione told her what had happened so far and exposed the dressing problem.

After having recovered from the surprise, Ginny remained silent for a while, forehead creased in deep thought. “No robes,” she said finally. “At least not tonight. Put on one of the dresses we bought, preferably the mauve one. It should look fabulous in the candlelight. And that nice light grey bra-and-knickers-set underneath. The light grey ballerinas, I’d say. They are flat, which is better when you’re nervous, which you doubtlessly are. Oh, and the hair up, by all means. We want him to have a nice view of your neck and shoulders, don’t we?”

Hermione gazed at her friend, chewing her lower lip. “Doesn't the dress show a bit too much?”

“It shows, but in a very chaste way. Oh, and please put on some lip gloss. The dark pink one. It will look stunning together with the dress.”

With a deep sigh, Hermione nodded. “Okay, Ginny. I’ll follow your advice. Keep your fingers crossed.”

*°*

Cassandra Snape was deeply engrossed in conversation with her late husband, who had been impatiently awaiting her return.

“Finally!” he said. “I thought you would never come back.”

Smiling at him, she said, “I really have to replace the portrait of great-uncle Antonius, so you can venture down into the salon whenever you want. What about the Turner? Would you like that?”

“No,” he said, “It makes my view all hazy. I’d suggest the Waldmüller, where the weather is nice and sunny, and I can just sit in the shade.”

“The Waldmüller it is, then. But I suppose that, rather than to discuss the merits of painters, you would like to hear about our guest.” Hadrian Snape smiled and nodded. “She is charming, as I already told you. Not a beauty. But pretty and, above all, very bright. A Gryffindor.” Her late husband rolled his eyes. “No, no, she is Gryffindor in a good way. Unable to tell a lie if her life depended on it. I daresay she is very insecure and doesn’t have much experience with men, if any. And, most importantly, she seems to be quite taken with our son.”

“And he feigns annoyance with her. Not bad for a start.”

“Indeed,” his wife agreed. “But I assure you that it won’t be easy. I have learned from past mistakes, though, and will not repeat the error of showing my sympathies for her. That would be the best way to scare him off her. So I decided to change my strategy: I am going to be most unpleasant towards her. That should be sufficient to wake his slumbering instincts of chivalry.”

**°°**°°**

Hermione hated herself when she was like this: like the centipede that tried to consciously determine which leg it should move first. It made her feel every bit as paralysed at the essentially disgusting, but pitiable vermin. Right now, she was trying to decide when exactly she should go down to dinner. She almost gave in to the temptation of calling Ginny yet again, but then solemnly forbade herself to do so. Ginny would have thought her as mad as a hatter, and with good reason. She had to sort it out by herself.

The premises were these: one—she wanted to make a good impression. Two—she didn't want to be alone in the dining room with Snape. Three—she didn't want to seem greedy, which was a subcategory of number one. Four—she was compulsively punctual, with a tendency to arrive to early. Two plainly ruled out three and four. If she arrived early, not only would she seem greedy, she also would probably have to stay alone in the same room with either mother or son, and the chance, or rather the risk, that it might be the latter was exactly fifty percent. So she had to be punctual, which reduced this risk a little, but not entirely. Or she had to be slightly late, which was in strong opposition to one and four. At last, she decided to exit her rooms at exactly half past seven, which would make her thirty seconds late. She spent the last ten minutes in agony, feeling her hands go all cold and clammy—exactly the right thing for a handshake—and her stomach contract into an interesting knot. Her skin felt cold and altogether unpleasant.

Had she known that Snape mother and son met in the dining room five minutes before dinner time, she could have spared herself a lot of trouble.

“So,” Severus addressed his mother, who was rearranging the flowers on the table with an intense look of concentration on her face, “what do you have to say about Miss Granger?”

Cassandra Snape looked up and merely shrugged.

“Er… mother, do you think you might go to the trouble of actually expressing your opinion verbally?”

“I am not sure it would be worth the trouble.”

“But… but mother, you seemed quite favourable after the auction.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Did I? Maybe you are right. But then I had not yet spoken to her.”

“What did she say to change your opinion so drastically, if I may inquire?”

Secretly rejoicing at the pronounced edge of annoyance in his voice, Mrs. Snape answered, “Nothing special. Although I wonder whether she would be able to say anything special, even if she tried really hard. She is a bit shallow, I daresay.”

“Shallow? Her—” he caught himself just in time “—her seriousness is probably her most annoying trait. Maybe she was just a little insecure. You can be pretty impressive when you want to, mother.”

She waved a careless hand at him. “Be that as it may. Are you saying that her accent, too, was caused by my being impressive?”

“Come now, mother,” he said, feeling more and more as if he were having one of those realistic but mind-bogglingly absurd dreams, “Miss Granger has no accent, neither locally nor socially coloured. Maybe she isn't quite up to your own Kings’ English—”

“Not that I mind,” his mother interrupted him, “It goes too well with her cheap appearance.”

She had raised her son to respect and protect women, just her own husband had done. This last sting was therefore calculated to make him lose his temper. She knew him well indeed. He was beside her with three quick strides, face tense with anger.

“May I remind you,” he said, his voice a dangerous trickle of honey, “that Miss Granger has an underpaid job at the Ministry and does not come from a rich family. And even if she did, she is too much of an independent spirit to run to her parents for money. Whatever you think of her, I insist that you be civil to her as long as she is in this house.”

“You know me, Severus. I am always civil.”

“Yes, I know you, mother. Which is exactly why I am asking you to control yourself. It will only be two days, that should not put too great a strain on your nerves.”

When Hermione entered the dining room she could feel the tension between mother and son. But Mrs. Snape had been kind to her, hadn’t she? So she gave the older witch a shy smile and said “Good evening,” more to her than to her former professor. Her heart plummeted all the way to the tips of her toes, though, when Cassandra Snape gave her an icy look and returned her greeting with a voice that could have cut diamond.

Fighting the urge to nudge his mother in the ribs and still busy overcoming the pleasant shock Hermione's appearance had caused him, Severus strode towards her and took her hand. “Miss Granger, what a pleasure. Welcome at my house.” An ever-so-slight emphasis on the word ‘my’, hoping that his mother would catch it. “I hope you found your rooms to be satisfactory.”

Feeling more and more as if she were having one of those realistic but mind-bogglingly absurd dreams, Hermione stuttered, “Yes, thank you, Professor… g-good evening, and… and thank you for your kind invitation.” Please floor, she thought, please open and swallow me. I don't mind if I break both legs and land in a slimy, dark dungeon. I just want to disappear, please. The floor did, of course, not react.

Mrs. Snape was shielded from her view by Severus's body, but her next words were clearly audible. “Unless memory fails me, Miss Granger, this was not an invitation. You bought this stay at our house.”

Snape was still holding her hand, and she could feel a slight shiver running through him. “Sit down, Miss Granger, please,” he said with a reassuring smile, “My mother is not feeling too well, she has one of her migraines. The potion I gave her will take effect before long, but the headache always makes her a trifle… irritable.”

He guided Hermione towards the table and pulled out a chair for her, then did the same for his mother. The two women sat opposite each other.

“A glass of champagne, Miss Granger?”

The whole bottle would be more like it, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Yes, please, that would be delightful.”

While he was busying himself with the bottle, Hermione desperately tried to avoid his mother’s eyes. She had never felt so hurt and humiliated in her whole life. In spite of herself, drawn by Merlin-knew-which suicidal impulse, her eyes met those of Mrs. Snape. For the second time in five minutes, she felt as if the world were doing constant loop-the-loops. For instead of mustering her with icy contempt, Cassandra Snape was smiling at her and, when their looks clicked together, she gave her an infinitesimal wink. Then the cold mask went back into place.

Not only was Hermione an exceptionally bright young witch, she was also very down-to-earth. And so, rather than believe in a hallucination, she tried to put two and two together and figure out Mrs. Snape's strange behaviour. It didn’t take her too long. Flooded with relief, she gave a minuscule nod and bravely fought the wild grin that wanted to take possession of her face.