About A Potions Master

Chapter 9

By Pigwidgeon37

“Good morning, mother.”

“Good morning, Severus. Did you sleep well?”

“Tolerably, thank you.”

Were they always so formal, Hermione wondered. She had already got that suspicion when Mrs. Snape had told her about privacy at Snape Manor.

“Sit down, my dear. What is it you wanted to discuss with me?”

Hermione's heart was currently thumping the rhythm of Ravel's Bolero. She liked it a lot less than in the concert hall.

“Mother, it seems that we have a problem.”

“We in the sense of ‘you and I’, or in the more general sense of ‘there is’?”

“The latter, I think. As you might already suspect, I am talking of Miss Granger.”

Oh God, I’m a… problem? Just… that? Nothing but a problem?

“Ah, Miss Granger. I see. And why exactly would she be a problem?”

“The conditional is not really appropriate here, mother. She is a problem and, if I may remind you, you told me so yourself yesterday night before dinner.”

“I do not remember calling her a problem, Severus. I merely drew your attention to some of her more obvious shortcomings. Much to your displeasure, if I may say so.”

There was a short pause.

“Indeed. Because I felt that you tried to find faults with her she does not really have.”

Was there a slight quiver of impatience in his voice? Hermione was almost sure. Understandable, she thought. It seemed that his mother was more than a match for him.

“Does that imply that you now have detected faults she does have?”

“Not really. Miss Granger’s… curiosity has angered me for seven years and thus isn't a recent discovery. And ‘curiosity’ is a polite euphemism.”

“Her curiosity? Severus, would I be asking too much if I encouraged you to actually say what you mean, instead of beating round the bush? It is a beautiful morning, and I would like to go for a walk, not to mention get dressed. What did Miss Granger do to become a problem for you?”

Another pause. To judge from the sound of fabric shifting over fabric, Hermione concluded that he was changing his position. Does that topic make him so uneasy that he can't even tell his mother what I asked him? Poor man indeed.

“She… well, intruded upon my… privacy.”

“Your privacy? Does that mean she invaded your rooms? Went through your personal items?”

“Of course not. No, she asked a very personal question, which was very annoying, even though she does not have an accent.”

Despite of all her distress, Hermione had to cover her nose and mouth with her hands, for fear of giggling aloud.

“Ah, I see. You are afraid she might ask more personal questions during her stay in this house, and therefore want her gone?”

“I—”

“Before you answer, Severus, let me remind you that Miss Granger has paid a considerable sum that entitles her to remain under this roof for forty-eight hours. Although I do not believe that this payment constituted a binding magical contract, it would be very awkward indeed to just hand her three hundred galleons and practically throw her out of the house. Not that she would not deserve it, but we have a name and a reputation to keep up.”

Now that was a brilliant move, Hermione thought, regretting that she couldn’t applaud. Well done, Mrs. Snape, just get the discussion off the main topic and engage him in a diversionary skirmish about some absolutely secondary matter.

“Mother, this discussion is not about the family reputation.”

“Would you be so kind, then, as to tell me what it is about?”

This wasn’t a conversation, Hermione told herself, this was a highly useful lesson in strategy. She might do well to memorize it.

“It is, and I thought that was quite clear, about Miss Granger.”

Now he was becoming really impatient. When Mrs. Snape spoke, Hermione could almost visualize the mocking expression on her face.

“Oh. I was under the impression that this particular part of the discussion was closed. I stated my opinion about her, you stated yours. The only item that still remains open for deliberation is your further course of action, or so it seems.”

“My… don’t you think that this is also your decision? After all, it is your fault that she is here.”

“I do not recall having put you up for an auction, Severus. That was your doing, and yours alone. I agreed to help you as best I could, and it is certainly not my fault that I choked on a glass of champagne in an admittedly crucial moment. So please do not try to put the blame on me. She is here, and you have to deal with her. I am a mere bystander.”

“You know, mother, I really would like to know whose side you are on. Yesterday night, you would gladly have dispatched her back home by express owl.”

“This, my dear son, is a mere supposition of yours. As to whose side I am on: on my own, of course. I want to be able to meet my friends without being sneered at because of a gaffe committed by my son.”

“Your friends? Since when do you give a damn—”

“Language, Severus.”

Hermione buried her face in both hands and shook with suppressed laughter. Had she but known five years ago that there was a person in the known universe who actually admonished Snape for using the word ‘damn’, her Potions classes would have been a lot more bearable.

“Kindly let me finish. Since when do you give a damn about what your friends think of you? And if it is true that you are only speaking for yourself, what about your sacred privacy? I thought you would jump at the occasion to get rid of the girl, more so as she offended me!”

“Is it not a trifle… preposterous that you should ask me to defend you against a twenty-year-old girl? I certainly am not going to be the one who breaks the news to her. Although I might take great pleasure in witnessing you tell her that she has to leave. It is going to be a little… awkward, isn’t it?”

Wasn’t that a bit too risky? What if she had hurt him so deeply that he’d just stomp into her rooms—where she wasn’t, but that seemed to be a minor problem right now—and tell her to leave his house immediately? Her heart resumed the Bolero; obviously the obnoxious organ had taken a liking to French Romanticism. Over the tah-tatatatah-tatatatah-tah-tah she could hear that he had risen from his chair and was pacing the room.

“You know that I cannot do this, don’t you, mother?”

“I am not sure I am following you…”

“You understood me very well. You know that I’m incapable of thrusting a pouch of galleons into a woman’s hands and order her to leave my house.”

“To claim that I know would be a little exaggerated, my dear boy. But I certainly hope that you would think twice before offending a woman.”

The pacing had stopped. There was a long pause, and when he spoke again there was less exasperation in his voice than Hermione would have reasonably expected. On the contrary, he sounded… wicked.

“Very well, mother. In that case, Miss Granger will stay. I am certainly able to control my words and actions. May I express my hope that you will make the same effort?”

“I am, as you very well know, the epitome of self-control. There is absolutely no need to instruct me about correct behaviour, Severus. Do you think I might go and have a bath now, or are there other matters to discuss?”

Again, there was a strange purr in his voice when he answered, and Hermione wasn’t sure she liked it. A purring Snape was a dangerous Snape—a lesson she had learned only too well.

“Of course, mother, do not let me detain you any further. I am truly glad we have come to an agreement. Enjoy your bath and your walk.”

A few moments later, she heard the door close.

**°°**°°**

Severus closed the door behind him and leaned against its frame, shaking with silent laughter. There was nothing like verbal fencing with his mother, especially when he knew he had the upper hand. How he had made her squirm! Although he had to admit that she had parried his attacks very well.

Composing himself, he pushed off the doorjamb and slowly walked down the corridor. What to do next? The bantering intermezzo had been fun, but only served to keep up his façade, so as to enable him to pursue his very own plans. The most reasonable next step was to search for Hermione—after all, she had paid for tutoring, and tutoring she must get. Although the situation was going to be a little awkward… She would certainly think she had to apologize… Well, that bridge would have to be crossed when he got there.

Quickening his pace, he strode towards her door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again, a little louder this time.

“Miss Granger?” Silence. Perhaps she had gone back to bed? “Miss Granger?” Nothing.

He tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He peered inside the room—it was empty. She hadn’t left, had she? No, obviously she hadn’t, for her bag, open and unpacked, was still sitting next to the dresser, and a few personal items strewn across the salon. He saw that the door leading to her bedchamber stood open. The quiet was most unnatural, he thought after two minutes of intense listening. If she were asleep, he would hear her breathe or stir. Suddenly, panic flooded him. The stupid girl couldn’t possibly have done anything inconsiderate? He rushed towards her bedroom door, heedless of polite manners, but when he entered, she wasn’t there. The bathroom door was wide open, but revealed only empty darkness. Where on earth was that obnoxious brat?

When he heard a female voice from the salon, he whirled round.

“Hermione! Sleepyhead, where are you? Still in bed? Does that mean you’re not a virgin anymore?”

With a few quick strides, he was out of the bedroom and in front of the fireplace, where he was treated to an impressive succession of nonplussed bewilderment, panic, lewd curiosity and re-found dignity on Mrs. Potter’s face.

“Virginia Potter. What a surprise. What, if I may inquire, is your motive for inquiring after Miss Granger’s virginity at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning?”

“Professor Snape… I wasn’t…” Then the trademark Weasley stubbornness apparently reclaimed its rightful place; Ginny lifted her chin and stared defiantly at her former Professor. “I don’t think that the question would even arise if you weren’t in her rooms at eight-thirty in the morning, Saturday or not. What are you doing there?”

“I was looking for Miss Granger, who, may I assure you, is still a virgin unless my esteemed colleague Sirius Black has found a way to enter the house, which I highly doubt. But let us discuss your initial question, Mrs. Potter. Whence your doubts concerning the integrity of said virginity?”

“That’s none of your business!” Ginny snapped.

“Mrs. Potter, I am not above Apparating to your house for more in-depth questioning.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Why would you want to know?”

“Because,” he said, each word a drop of poisonous honey, “I am the only male being in this house, unless you count an extremely clumsy elf who will probably be named Botty, in memoriam of the unforgettable Mr. Longbottom. Thus I am the only one who might have altered Miss Granger’s current state of innocence. What I want to know is whether the metamorphosis from virgin to non-virgin, operated by yours truly, is an object of dread or desire for you and your dear friend Hermione.”

Ginny bit her lip and scrutinized his face. “Depends…” she said finally. “I certainly won’t embarrass Hermione, so you’ll have to tell me first, Professor. Dread or desire?”

Severus scowled at her. “This is leading us nowhere, Mrs. Potter. Or do you sincerely believe I would confess my interest in Miss Granger, provided I felt any, to you, only to have it announced to the world via the Weasley Wireless Network? You better tell me, and quickly. I advise you not to forget that I am only forty-three and will still be teaching when Hogwarts is flooded by little Potters. And my memory by far surpasses that of an elephant.”

“You seem very interested, Professor,” Ginny said with a smile of irritatingly fake innocence. “But instead of betraying anybody’s secrets, I’d suggest that you reflect on this: why did Hermione bid for you, and why does the question of her virginity nettle you so much? Have a good day, Professor. In case you are tempted to continue the interrogation, you’d have to Apparate to the Burrow, though. My older brothers are there, and I haven’t seen them in so long…”

With that, she was gone, and Severus was left to stare at the empty grate, where the dancing flames seemed to mock him, and to ponder whether he had just lost this round or suffered a most annoying, complete defeat. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he heard the sound of approaching footsteps only when they had almost arrived at the door. It was too late for escape; he had to remain where he was. But he’d be damned if he let himself be discovered by Hermione; surely she would accuse him of sniffing around in her rooms. The curtains were drawn back and went from floor to ceiling. With one quick step, he was behind them.

Hermione, who had had a brief strategic-planning session with the Snape couple, was craving two things right now: A talk with Ginny, to inform her of the latest developments, and a bath. Muttering her astonishment about the open door, she stepped into the salon and glanced at her watch. A quarter to nine… Ginny was an early riser, so it was better to call her now, before taking her bath. Otherwise she might already have gone out—Hermione dimly remembered that she had had the intention of visiting her mother at the Burrow. So she went over to the fireplace and tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.

Behind the curtain, Severus rolled his eyes when he heard her call “Ginny Potter!”

“Yes—oh, it’s you, Hermione. Is he gone?”

“Are you quite all right, Ginny? What are you talking about?”

“Snape. I’m talking about Snape. Is he gone?”

“Ginny. Listen. I am Hermione, and I’m calling you from my very own room at Snape Manor. There is nobody here but myself.”

Severus began to feel slightly claustrophobic, and not only because his prison was very narrow.

“I called you ten minutes ago, and he was there. So don’t tell me what I did or didn’t see. You’d better make sure he’s gone before we continue talking.”

Severus held his breath. He was lucky, though, for Hermione performed but the most cursory search of her suite.

“Nobody here. Although I wonder what… well, I can always ask him later what business he had in here. Now listen, Ginny…”

Wondering whether he couldn’t use his forced stay behind the curtain for a short nap, Severus snuggled into the corner formed by the wall and the lateral part of the fireplace. He closed his eyes and began to imagine what kind of dress she was going to wear… if she really wanted to perfect her knowledge in potions, they could brew something… something that required a lot of heat… pearls of perspiration running down that exquisite, slim neck… He’d give her lots of ingredients to prepare, so she’d have to bend forward… those deliciously round, small breasts…

“…met his father! He is the most charming person you can imagine. You know who Cary Grant is? Yes? Well, he looks a lot like Cary Grant. He’s the one who wrote Potions Versus Charms—A Speculative Theory, of course I knew the name, I just never made the connection. Talking to him was… oh, Ginny, it was wonderful! I wish I could have had some discussions with him before writing my thesis!”

Severus thought he was going to faint right then and there. His father? How had she… Please, Granger, please stop talking! I know you’re a woman, and women need to do long verbal autopsies of everything, but have mercy on me! Put an end to this conversation, go somewhere, anywhere, just out of this room, so I can leave my prison and retire to my rooms! I need to breathe, and I need to think. And if I can’t do so within the next five minutes, I swear I’ll go mad.

Paradoxically, it was Ginny who saved him.

“Hermione, I promised my mother I’d be at The Burrow at nine sharp—sorry, but you know how she reacts when she feels neglected because we’re late. I’ll try and speak to you later, okay?”

“I was finished anyway. Give my love to Molly. And have a nice day.”

“Till later then. And, Hermione, you ought to lock your rooms!”

He heard her footsteps across the room, heard her bedroom door snap shut, and ran.