About A Potions Master

Chapter 8

By Pigwidgeon37

Severus had just emerged from another hot bath-a short one this time, because if he had tried to sort out his inner turmoil with the help of hot water, he might have dissolved before coming anywhere near a conclusion-and gone to his living room in order to refill his stomach while still in his dressing gown-one of his guilty holiday pleasures. Hand poised over the bell to ring for Piggy, he suddenly froze in mid-movement at the sound of female voices coming from the corridor. His forehead creased in bewilderment. Those were certainly not the tones he would have expected-his mother's dangerously cutting and Granger's subdued or exasperated-no, they were positively. lilting. Strange, he thought and went to the door, hesitated a moment and then put his ear against the wood.

".did you manage to keep it a secret from him?" Granger.

"Oh, that was easy," his mother answered. "When he was still a child, Hadrian and I made it very clear that our rooms were not to be entered without previous notice. Neither did we ever intrude upon his privacy, not even when he was a small boy, unless he wanted us to. So he grew up with a deeply rooted respect for personal space, and would never."

The voices grew indistinguishable. His head still resting against the door, Severus wondered just how many discoveries he had made within merely ten seconds. First unexpected revelation: his mother was by no means hostile towards Hermione Granger. His ear, pressed against a carved flower, began to hurt, and so he slowly peeled himself off the door. He wanted some tea, but, to say the truth, he also wanted to know. Know what had been kept secret from him in his mother's rooms. On the other hand, his legs were feeling very wobbly, and so he decided that whatever there was in Cassandra Snape's boudoir was probably going to remain there for some more time. He could investigate it later. Secret number two could wait, more so as number one was very intriguing in its own right. He returned to the table by the window and rang for Piggy.

"Master Severus," she squeaked, the very moment she materialized at his feet, "Is you well again? I thinks you still is in the laboratory and-"

"No need to worry, I am all right. But you might want to let Nefertiti out, I forgot to do so when I left. Just make sure that stupid creature, whatever his name is going to be, does not get in."

"Miss Hermione says to Mistress Cassandra he oughts to be called-" She interrupted herself by clamping her spindly-fingered hand over her mouth, eyes wide with terror.

"Really," he said, crouching down to better look at her. It was difficult to keep the quiver-whether it was amusement or anger, he didn't really know yet-from his voice. "What did Miss Granger advise my mother to call him?"

The hand remained firmly in place, and Piggy shook her head so vigorously that her ears flapped.

He sighed. "Piggy, I already discovered that my mother's display of enmity was nothing but an act. Not a bad one, I have to admit. Just promise me you won't tell her that I know. And now spill the beans: what did Miss Granger say?"

The hand hesitantly left the elf's mouth. "You is not going to punish me, Master Severus?"

He rolled his eyes. "Piggy, have you ever been punished in this house?" She shook her head. "No. Exactly. Now tell me about Miss Granger's idea and then be off to bring my tea. Come to think of it, you might add two slices of buttered toast, as I am starving. A little honey might not go amiss, either."

Piggy gave him a toothy grin. "She says you mights call him Neville," she whispered and disappeared with a crack.

Trying in vain to withstand the chuckle that rose irresistibly in his throat, he came up from his crouching position. Neville, indeed. Well, he had always given Granger credit for possessing more sense of humour than she chose to show the world. Sharp-witted as she was. The tea tray appeared on the table, and he sat down to have a second breakfast. Back to his mother and Hermione, then. So she did like the girl. He felt unaccountably gratified. And she had obviously learned from past errors. A smile crept over his face. How many girls from pureblood families had been carefully vivisectioned in the dining room of Snape Manor, under the disapproving gaze of Cassandra Snape? Quite a lot of them. Though he hadn't done it to spite her; had any of them really caught his fancy, he would have courted her in any case. So she liked Granger. What a convincing little act she had put up, though.

He poured himself another cup of tea and let some honey trickle over a slice of buttered toast. He bit off a piece and relished the perfect balance between the tastes of hot white bread, butter and flowery sweetness. When he swallowed, another smile tugged at his face, and it soon became a grin that wasn't entirely free of malice. Mrs. Snape had manoeuvred herself into a bit of a scrap, hadn't she? Because Hermione had certainly informed her about this morning's gaffe. Which meant that she couldn't very well continue the jealous-mama-act, for fear of playing right into his hands. Now that promised to become quite interesting. She would have to walk a very fine line indeed, and he certainly wasn't going to help her. Mrs. Slytherin should try on her own to back out of that impasse she had gotten herself into.

Hermione, though. he certainly was anything but a mama's boy, but the idea of his mother being in total opposition to a possible relationship had impeded him more than he had thought. Now that this obstacle was out of the way, his perspective on the whole matter was less oblique. The mists had cleared once more, allowing him to tackle the very core of the problem. She had deeply hurt him this morning, there was no way he could deny it. On the other hand, she hadn't done so on purpose. Probably, he conceded, mentally replaying the scene, she had simply been thinking aloud. The look of speechless horror on her face after having uttered the fateful question indicated as much. If he stripped the whole unpleasant incident of all its emotional layers, one simple fact remained: she was interested in him-not in the Potions Master whose tutoring she was entitled to for a weekend, not in the pureblood wizard loaded with money-and wanted to know more about him as a person, to understand him. And that, he had to admit, even though laced with the typically Gryffindor-ish lack of finesse, was not a bad thing in itself. Maybe he needed direct confrontation. An assumption that seemed all the more plausible given the lack of success of the more refined approach people had hitherto taken. Neither his mother nor Dumbledore, nor anybody else for that matter, had ever had the courage-both would of course have labelled it tactlessness-to ask him a blunt, simple question: why, in the name of Merlin, did you turn to Voldemort when you had everything you could possibly desire?

Maybe this was better for him than he had ever thought possible. True, she had provoked a fit of rage the likes of which he hadn't experienced for a very long time. She had moved something. Moved him. Made him think and realize things, unpleasant but necessary. All things considered, she might be good for him.

**°°**°°**

".So he grew up with a deeply rooted respect for personal space, and would never enter my rooms without explicit permission. He had just begun his studies at the university when the portrait was made, and when he returned home for the holidays it was already finished. So he doesn't even know of its existence."

Hermione pondered this carefully. "Don't you think it might do him good if he could talk to his father? Hear from his own lips that he has been forgiven?"

"The problem, my dear," said Cassandra Snape, opening the door that led to her suite of rooms, "is that the Hadrian Snape in the portrait is the one he was at the time it was painted. Of course he knows that he died, and he has been told about the circumstances that led to his death, but this Hadrian Snape never lived the last moments of his life. To have his forgiveness would mean nothing to Severus. In 1976, when Hadrian was portrayed, he had not even yet turned to the Dark Side."

"I think I understand," Hermione said slowly. "You mean that forgiveness based on ignorance might hurt even more than the guilt he has to live with."

"Exactly, my dear. Knowing Severus so well, I think that this is exactly what would happen. All this notwithstanding, Hadrian would like to meet you."

Suddenly very self-conscious, Hermione said, "Shouldn't I maybe tidy myself up a bit before being introduced to him?"

Mrs. Snape eyed her critically. "No, I daresay you look fine. Well, come to think of it. maybe your hair. may I?"

Hermione nodded and watched, fascinated, as the other witch drew her wand and pronounced some quick hair-dressing spells. She felt her scalp prickle slightly as her hair straightened out a little, rose from her neck and shoulders and twisted itself into what she discovered to be a loose bun, almost on the top of her head, when she looked into the mirror. With some loose tendrils uncoiling around her ears and the nape of her neck, the hairstyle looked less elegant, but certainly a lot more sensual than the one she and Ginny had produced for the auction.

"Very appropriate to wear when en negligee," Mrs. Snape remarked, "As it provokes the irresistible desire to undo it."

Hermione blushed slightly. "I'll certainly keep that in mind."

Mrs. Snape had already preceded her to the bedroom door, which she now opened, to let Hermione go past her. "Hadrian," she called softly, "are you here?-Sometimes he visits other paintings, you know," she told Hermione by way of an explanation.

Hermione had already opened her mouth to answer, and open it remained. Although she didn't speak, because she was completely thrilled by the deep, silky baritone voice that said, "Yes, my dear, I am here. Did you by any chance bring your guest?"

"Oh!" was all Hermione could say. And then, "They have identical voices!"

"Yes, they do," Mrs. Snape agreed. "In terms of looks, he comes more after me, but the voice is undoubtedly his father's. Come, let me introduce you."

Feeling a tidal wave of insecurity wash over her, Hermione let herself be dragged rather than guided towards the corner where the portrait was hanging. It was a painting of almost photographic exactitude, and it represented a man in his late sixties, as far as she could guess, his hair still black, a little grey at the temples. The facial feature that immediately caught her eye was the pronounced cleft in his chin. Just how did he manage to shave there? She thought, and almost giggled. It was a very handsome face, rather rectangular, with strong black brows, light grey eyes, and a very prominent nose; not aquiline like Severus's though-this was clearly a trait he had inherited from his mother. The portrait smiled down at her, evidently liking what he saw.

"Hadrian, may I introduce Miss Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, this is Hadrian Snape, my late husband."

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione said, feeling incredibly stupid because she had automatically reached out to shake his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied. "Forgive me for being tactless, but you look a little. worried. Is this due only to my intimidating presence, or did something happen to disturb you?"

"I. well, your presence isn't intimidating in the least," she replied, smiling at him. "But you are right, I am a little upset. I'm afraid I did a rather stupid thing earlier this morning, although Mrs. Snape keeps reassuring me that everything might still turn out in my favour."

"A stupid thing? From what I heard about you, Miss Granger, you should hardly be able of doing anything stupid. My wife told me that you are quite the genius."

Blushing again, this time with pleasure, Hermione raised her hands, palms turned towards the painting. "Please, Mr. Snape, don't flatter me. I'm just an ordinary, hard-working witch. And even if I were a genius, I still wouldn't be above committing a gaffe."

"She asked Severus why he had turned to the Dark Side," Mrs. Snape announced nonchalantly, drawing her wand to summon two chairs. "I think we might sit down, as this is going to be a rather lengthy conversation."

To Hermione's great surprise, Mr. Snape did not seem to disapprove. "Well," he said, looking down at the two now-seated women, "I suppose he needed that, sooner or later. Though I admit that it must have come as a shock to him. Compliments for your courage, Miss Granger."

"It.er, wasn't as much courage as thoughtlessness," Hermione said, fidgeting with a loose strand of hair. "We were sitting outside on the stairs, drinking tea and watching the sunrise, and I just wondered. I mean," she said, looking up at the portrait, "the calmer the surface, the more shocking it is when it suddenly cracks and emits a stream of lava. And I think that, the less obvious his reasons, the more dramatic they might have been. Only I didn't quite formulate it that way."

Mrs. Snape gave her a sharp look and was ready to respond, but her husband was quicker. "You know, Cassandra," he said, "I think that Miss Granger has a point there. After all, it is a well-known fact that bystanders see more clearly than those directly involved. However, I am inclined to agree with my wife: there might come more good than you can imagine from this gaffe. And now tell me about your work, I heard that you have written a most interesting thesis."

Cassadra Snape sighed and rolled her eyes. Trust Hadrian to jump at the occasion when a pretty scholar is there, ready to have her brain picked by him.

Piggy popped into sight. "Mistress Cassandra, Master Severus asks if you has time for him. He needs to discuss something with you."

"Very well," she said, rising from her chair and tugging the rich folds of her dressing gown into position, "tell him to be here in five minutes."

The elf nodded and disappeared.

"I. oh, God, I can't meet him now," Hermione exclaimed, feeling the panic rise inside her, "But if I leave now, I might run across him in the corridor.. this is embarrassing!"

"My dear," Mrs. Snape said with an ironic little smile, "this is not a comedy written by Feydeau. No need for you to hide in the cupboard. You may stay in here-rest assured that Severus will not enter. Or, if that is your wish, you can simply Apparate into your rooms. Although I think that it might be quite interesting for you to overhear our conversation. Not to mention that it would spare me the trouble of repeating it to you word by word."

"Wouldn't that be a little. inappropriate?" Hermione asked cautiously, not sure how her Gryffindor scruples might be received.

"Bah," said Mrs. Snape, "Who cares whether it is appropriate? It is highly useful and equally informative."

"You wouldn't. despise me if I chose to eavesdrop, would you?"

"Firstly, my dear child, this is authorized eavesdropping, and therefore perfectly acceptable. Secondly, I will not think any less of you if you accept. Just move this chair close to the door, which I will leave slightly ajar. To listen with your ear against a closed door only gives you headaches. Hadrian, I suppose you will take your usual place in the Watteau? Although I have to say that I do not approve of the company of all those half-naked women."

Hadrian Snape shook his head in a manner which clearly demonstrated that this was not the first time the topic had been brought up, and disappeared from the painting. With a reassuring clap on Hermione's shoulder, Mrs. Snape exited the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, no more than maybe an inch. Hermione, whose wand was peacefully resting on her night stand, carried her chair towards the door, positioning it so that it touched the wooden surface; not only was she thus going to be hidden from view, her weight would also prevent the door from opening any further.

She had just barely sat down, heart thumping wildly, trying to breathe noiselessly, when she heard Severus's voice, sounding calmer than she would have expected, "Good morning, mother."

She sincerely doubted that.