About A Potions Master

Chapter 19

By Pigwidgeon37

“Mr. Potter! We finally meet—what a pleasure.”

Harry gave Mrs. Snape his best boyish grin—the one that had earned him Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award, which he pretended to detest but was secretly proud of—and bent to kiss her hand. Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “Mrs.  Snape. The pleasure is all mine.”

The two women greeted each other with a peck on the cheek.

“So, how’s Ron?” Ginny asked with a grin that was a little too big and too vicious for an expression of sisterly love and concern.

Mrs. Snape shrugged elegantly. “Not too bad, I suppose.”

Harry, who despite all the planning and all of Ginny’s enthusiastic comments about the aristocratic old witch was still very aware that this was, after all, Snape’s mother, creased his forehead. “What do you mean by ‘not to bad’? You didn’t… do anything to him, did you?”

“Mr. Potter,” she said, shaking her head, and Harry could hear the words ‘our new celebrity’ drift through his mind, “I hope you do not believe me capable of hurting your friend physically?”

“Er…” he said, “N-no, not really, I mean…”

“Harry!” Ginny interrupted him, clearly exasperated, “Mrs. Snape meant to talk to him, not torture him or anything like that.”

Mrs. Snape inclined her head and smiled. “Of course. Torture, however, is not limited to tearing a person’s vital organs out of their bodies with an incandescent hook.” Ginny’s eyes grew large, and Harry drew an audible breath.  “I daresay that Mr. Weasley had quite a rough time, in spite of having remained physically unharmed.”

“Holy sh—” Harry muttered and was promptly elbowed in the ribs by his wife, just in time before he could pronounce the four-letter-word. “Merlin’s…uh, beard,” he said therefore, clearly more used to the colourful swearwords of his Muggle childhood than to the tamer wizarding versions, “I should have known. Snape has to have got it from somebody.”

“And what… happened?” Ginny asked cautiously.

“What about some tea?” Mrs. Snape inquired, “He is asleep now in any case, and you must be hungry after all that cooking for other people.”

Both Potters nodded—they were indeed very hungry—and followed her into the library, where an opulent afternoon tea was already waiting for them in front of the fireplace. Harry, whose predilection for sumptuous afternoon teas stemmed from having regularly been excluded from its joys at the Dursleys’, was back to grinning, and Ginny, who had been busy all afternoon, sank into one of the comfortable chairs with an audible sigh.

“Your brother,” Mrs. Snape continued after the first sip of tea, “had a lot to tell me.”

Harry swallowed and stared a her. “Mrs. Snape,” he said, “Ron and ‘tell’ don’t belong into the same phrase. He isn’t into serious talking, which, if you ask me, is exactly his problem.”

“Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Snape. “Then again, I remembered a very interesting conversation with one of my brothers-in-law, who is American, Muggle-born, and a psychotherapist. When he and my sister Electra were staying here some years ago, I had a few very interesting conversations with him. He told me a lot about the so-called confrontational approach that seems to work well with essentially stable individuals, who refuse to acknowledge certain realities. Mr. Weasley struck me as exceptionally stable, so I tried and, I daresay, succeeded.”

“Thumbscrews, eh?” Harry said.

“That would be the appropriate simile, indeed. You let him get away too easily,” she said to both Potters, “But maybe that was also due to the fact that you are so young. Mr. Weasley may have many shortcomings, but he has deeply rooted respect for his elders, and so maybe it was easier for me than for any of you.”

“Well,” Harry said with a lopsided grin, “If your mother was Molly Weasley, you’d have deeply rooted respect for your elders, too.”

Ginny shot up in her chair. “Mum!” she exclaimed, “We have to tell mum where he is or she’ll be worried sick!”

Mrs. Snape raised her hand in a calming gesture. “No need to panic, Mrs. Potter.  I already took the liberty of informing Mrs. Weasley as to the whereabouts of her son. A most impressive, sympathetic lady, I must say. We understood each other perfectly.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Harry muttered.

**°°**°°**

On stormy autumn days, Severus often climbed up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, to watch the dramatic race of clouds over sky, with its rapid change of light, from a secluded spot. The swift succession of sunlight and dark somehow appealed to him. To see it on Hermione’s face was a trifle disconcerting. Mostly because she finally settled for cloudy, with a tendency towards apocalyptic thunderstorms. He caught her wrist just in time.

“Please, listen before you hex me,” he said, gently prying her fingers from her wand.

“Give back my wand!”

“All in good time, Hermione. First cool down a little, then you will get it back.”

“Then at least release my hand!”

“Of course,” he said, and committed the mistake of attempting to kiss it before restoring it to its rightful owner. The hand shot up and hit his nose.  “Hermione,” he said, getting up from his perch on the armrest, “it is already crooked. I know you have a certain foible for nose-punching, but please do not let it become a bad habit.”

“If you think,” she said, voice low but ominous, “that you can get yourself out of this by playing Mr. Charming, you are very, very mistaken.”

“My intention is not to get myself out of anything, rather the other way round.” Oh, no, please, Gods, please, don’t let her catch the double entendre, it wasn’t intentional, I swear!

The Gods gave a malicious little cackle and poked Hermione’s ribs. She flushed scarlet. “You actually have the gall to make lewd jokes in this situation? After humiliating me in a way I’d never have thought you capable of?”

The invective had definitely lost some of its shine, now that it was directed at him personally. “Hermione, please listen. This plan was not my brainchild. It has got my mother’s handwriting all over it. Or do you think I would have asked Mrs. Virginia Potter to give me some of her brother’s hair? Do you think I would have polyjuiced myself into Ron Weasley? Do you think I would have excogitated such a harebrained scheme?”

“Of course you would if you loved me! If you really had feelings for me, you would have gone to any length in order to get me back!”

He stood open-mouthed. This stunning example of female logic left him totally, utterly and completely speechless. “But… but you just said—”

“Never mind what I just said and take your sorry arse out of here!” she snapped.  “Oh, er, sorry, it’s the…uh, Veritaserum. And that,” she continued, picking up the thread of ire again, “was the worst bit! To use Veritaserum without consent is highly unethical. You could have asked me anything, you cunning, sneaky, nosy villain, and I would have had to tell you the truth!”

“I didn’t, though,” he said, trying to score at least one point.

“But you read my diary! You had absolutely no right—”

“They forced me to read it!” he retorted, losing his patience. “Sirius Black, that flea-ridden mongrel, put a full body bind on me, and then my mother and Dumbledore practically forced the thing into my hands. I had to read it, believe me!”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s some flaw in your story, Mr. Innocent Victim. If you read the diary, why didn’t you come here as yourself?”

Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Why was the woman so perspicacious? “I… well…”

Hermione rose from her seat and approached him, prowling and catlike. “Are you lost for lies?” she purred, “Is the great Severus Snape, master of disguises and intrigues, lost for a subterfuge to use with an innocent little Gryffindor?”

“No, I am not lying,” he said, taking a step back. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“I didn’t believe you had written it,” he blurted out, “Therefore they force-fed me the potion, because it was the only way to make me believe in your feelings for me. That and the Veritaserum. That’s it, I confessed. Are you happy now?  Does it feel good? You can tell me, you know? I have already been humiliated beyond measure today, one embarrassment more or less really doesn’t count.”

She was standing quite close now, looking up at him pensively. “You really didn’t want to do this, did you?” she asked.

“I already told you I was forced,” he answered stiffly, “And that, as you may have imagined, does not go down well with me at all.”

Hermione nodded, her face not angry anymore but sad. “Very well, Severus. I am truly sorry that you had to endure all this. It was certainly not my idea, and I’m as surprised and mortified as you are.” She locked eyes with him and swallowed. “I think that we told each other whatever there was to tell. You are free to go, I won’t hold you back.”

“You won’t?” he asked, shocked by this sudden change of temper.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe in forcing people.”

“I said they forced me to come here, Hermione. There is no need for forcing me to stay here.”

She flushed again. “If there is anything I can stomach even less than forcing people, it’s being pitied. I don’t need your pity, nor anybody else’s. It’s worse than any thing you did to me before.”

Severus groaned inwardly. Why did things always have to go so wrong? Why all those misunderstandings? Why couldn’t they simply… oh, bugger. Probably because it wasn’t simple. She was complex, and he was… well, difficult. Whatever he said would go down the wrong way. “There is not by any chance any of the cocktail left?” he asked.

This was exactly what the Beast of Ire had been waiting for. A pretext for a good, healthy fight. Both hands balled into fists, Hermione yelled, “That is all you can think of ? A drink? You…” Deciding that words were not enough anymore, she simply screamed and launched herself against him, punching, hitting blindly, crying again, hoping she would reduce him to a bloody pulp, a kind of giant raw hamburger she could then throw into a dustbin.

Severus defended himself as best he could, ducking the blows she aimed at his face, taking the others with as much equanimity as possible. Finally, he had enough and simply caught her, holding her arms squeezed close to her sides. She tried to wriggle free and he tightened his grip, praying she wouldn’t kick his shins. She continued wriggling furiously. Oh, that feels good. Just as I thought she’d feel in my arms… firm, and soft, and wonderful… that scent… oh, no! Down boy! Down! I know she’s creating friction, I’m just asking you to cooperate, just this once…

Suddenly, Hermione stilled, blushed and cleared her throat. “I…er think you got…a…a problem, Severus,” she said finally.

“It is commonly called an erection, and most men of my age don’t exactly view it as a problem,” he remarked dryly.

“I didn’t hit you…there, did I?” she asked, sounding very concerned.

“No, thank Merlin you didn’t. I am exceedingly grateful. And just so you know, I asked for the cocktail because I hoped I might get a bit of Veritaserum. So you might believe me that I am not staying out of pity.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s…sweet. But I guess I believe you anyway. You can release me now, I promise I won’t… it, uh, just came over me, and…”

“N-no,” he said, “I think I have a better idea. At least if I am right in assuming that this is a truce. Is it?”

She peered up at him. “I guess you could call it that, yes. Why?”

“Because I need guarantees. A truce is a kind of treaty. Treaties have to be signed in some way or other. Anything that comes to mind?”

“Mmmh,” she said, eyes already a-glint with mischief, “I remember that some time ago we did conclude a deal in a rather satisfactory way… maybe that’s also valid for treaties…”

“Oh, Merlin,” was all he said before bending down to kiss her.

Eventually, they moved to the couch. Eventually, they tumbled onto the couch in a rather tangled heap.

“Oh,” Hermione said when they made a brief oxygen-break, “And I was convinced you had an inbuilt mechanism that stopped your hands from going below my collarbone.”

“Deactivated,” he muttered and grabbed her again.

After a very long time, they both sat up and looked at each other. Severus was the first to speak. “Maybe we should make ourselves a little more… er, presentable and free Mr. and Mrs. Potter from their prison?”

Hermione’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I completely forgot Harry and Ginny! Of course…” She disentangled herself from him and got up. “Oh!” she said again, looking herself down, “My clothes are a bit crumpled. Give me my wand, please?”

While she applied straightening charms, Severus transfigured Ron’s clothes back into his own. Then, he took her hand. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” she asked.

“Of course I’m embarrassed. But I’ll be damned if I let Potter see it.”

She giggled, and they strode towards the kitchen and knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Severus knocked again, a little more forcefully this time. “Potter,” he growled, “come out! Both of you!”

There was no reaction. They looked at each other, nonplussed, then Severus tried the handle. The door opened—the kitchen was empty. He lit the room with a flick of his wand and glanced round. “Look,” he said, “there seems to be a message for us.” He snatched the piece of parchment that had been waiting for them, propped up against a bottle of wine, and read, “Dear lovebirds, we thought it was better to leave you alone. Mrs. Snape kindly offered her hospitality for the weekend, so the house is yours until Sunday evening. We will be back around 8 p.m. and would be eternally grateful to find you both dressed. Dinner is in the oven, starters are already on the dining room table, the wine bottle is in front of you. Have a wonderful time. Harry & Ginny.”

At the word ‘dinner’, Hermione’s stomach declared unmistakeably that it was interested. “Great!” she said, “I could eat a Hippogriff. You don’t have a problem, do you, if we eat before…”

“Before what?” he asked, sneaking his arms around her and grinning down at her sardonically.

“Well,” she said, avoiding his look, “before we… you know…”

“Before we—and I may quote your diary—jump into one of those wonderfully large beds and make love until we don’t know who and where we are anymore? Would that be the general idea?”

“Yes,” she said, “That would be the general idea.”