Never Finished Fic: Snape/Hermione
Jul. 18th, 2007 07:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rsadelleI'm about to escape from this inane staff meeting Albus insisted I attend when the man himself speaks. "Before you all leave, there is one more thing we have to discuss." I mentally curse the man. "Miss Granger." Well, that's a surprise. "Minerva, I believe you have some concerns."
"Yes." The old woman looks down her nose at the parchment in front of her. "The girl is not yet beyond our ability to teach her, but she is far beyond the ability of her classmates." She looks around the table at each one of us. "We must nurture her ability."
"The girl will go to Oxford, of course." I usually try to stay out of this sort of discussion, but in this case, the facts are plain. "All we--" I make sure to put a sneer in my voice on the plural "--have to do is ensure her survival through this year."
Minerva's lips thin. She's displeased. "Or she may marry Mr. Weasley."
The very idea turns my stomach. If she marries him, she'll be pregnant before the announcement hits the Daily Prophet and a mother of four before the time she could graduate Oxford. "What a waste that would be."
I can tell from the way she nearly smiles at me that Minerva agrees. "Nonetheless," she says, "the chance is there. We must take this opportunity to teach her to the best of our abilities." For once, Minerva and I are in complete agreement. Saying so is worth it for the look on Poppy's face.
***
"Miss Granger." I'm impressed when the girl doesn't jump. "What are you doing?"
"Brewing a potion," she says absently.
"Yes," I tell her dryly. "I do recognize the basic process. Why are you doing it in my Potions classroom at an hour at which all good Gryffindors should be tucked into their common room?"
Her lips thin disapprovingly. "All anyone there can talk about is Nestra."
It takes a moment before I connect the name with a person. A seventh-year Ravenclaw. And then I truly understand what she means. The girl whose rumored actions caused such an uproar in my classroom this morning.
She shakes it off. "This is better for making potions anyway."
"Yes," I agree. "But off limits without permission," I remind her.
"Rules don't apply to Gryffindors, right? That's what everyone thinks anyway." She dares a quick look at me from under her eyelashes. "That's what you think."
It would be easy to take points from her for that, but I don't. "And what do you think, Miss Granger?"
She's surprised, but she hides it well, especially when her cauldron nearly boils over, and only her quick snatch keeps her potion from being ruined.
"I think this is more important." She flicks her wand to lower the heat and puts the cauldron back on.
Secretly I'm delighted that one of my students is taking such an interest, but it wouldn't do to let her know that. "And just why is that?"
"Because," she says a trifle impatiently. "Because. There's not enough *time*."
Her vehemence startles me.
"Time for what?"
"For anything. I have to know *now*. Mum and Dad want me to study a Muggle subject at University. Everyone else thinks I'll work with Harry. Ron expects me to marry him. They'll never let me do what I want."
"I was under the impression that you and Mr. Weasley were quite in love."
"We are," she says matter-of-factly, "but I can't marry him." Her timekeeper beeps, and she takes the cauldron off the fire to cool. "This summer," she says and stops. "My parents are getting divorced." It's not what she meant to say, but it will do.
"Other people's parents divorce," I remind her.
"But not here," the girl says, and I'm absurdly proud of the bitter twist of her lips. "No one gets divorced here. No one gets pregnant when they don't want to. And no one ever has an abortion." She jerks a small beaker out of the collection of things on the table and dips it into her potion. She unfolds a small piece of parchment and draws out a few strands of hair. She dips one end of the strands into the beaker.
"What are you brewing?"
She removes the strands from her potion and I can see that they've changed color to a deep purple.
"Hair dye."
It's so ridiculous that it takes a moment for me to comprehend what she's saying. "You could do that with a simple coloring charm."
The girl looks up at me. "Where's the fun in that?" There's a hint of a smile in the question, but she turns down to attend to her potion before I can catch more than a glimpse of it. She tips the liquid into a flask with impressive skill and corks it with something of a flourish. There's definitely a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth now.
She cleans up with the same combination of skill and dramatic flair. She watches me uneasily for a moment when she's done. I watch her back until she starts to fidget.
"Good night, Miss Granger." I nod at the clock. "You'll have to hurry to make it back to your tower before curfew."
She gathers the last of her things into her bag. "Good night, Professor Snape."
I wait until she's at the door. "Miss Granger." She stops and reluctantly turns to face me. I know she's waiting for me to take points from Gryffindor. "Next time you feel the need to experiment with Potions outside class time, ask first."
Her eyes go wide and startled. "Yes, sir." She hesitates for a moment until she's sure I'm not going to say anything more and then she hurries out the door.
***
The girl does ask after that. She comes to my lab and does incredible things. She brews potions that should be far beyond her ability. She brews potions she designs herself. Some of them succeed. Some do not. She has not yet done any irreparable damage to my classroom.
I find her brooding over a cauldron one evening in late March when she hasn't asked permission.
"I thought," I say to her, "we had agreed that you would ask before using my potions lab outside of your usual class time."
She flicks a glance at me. "I'm sorry," she says. There's something rough and uneasy about her voice. "I wasn't sure I'd be ready to do this tonight."
I raise one eyebrow. "And what are you doing?"
"I don't know if it will work," she says. "I don't want to jinx it."
She's stubborn, and I know her well enough by now to doubt I'll get any more out of her. I remind myself that she has not caused any irrevocable damage.
"If it doesn't work," she says, "it won't do anything strange. It just won't work."
I sit across the table from her. "Very well, Miss Granger. I trust your research is adequate." I watch her stir and add ingredients for a while. Eventually she uses up the carefully measured components she's laid out on the table, and there's nothing more for her to do but stir and control the heat.
"I had an abortion," she tells me. She glances up at me almost too quickly to be noticed. I've learned to mask my feelings well. The girl will get no moral pronouncements on the subject from me.
"We had no reports of underage magic from your quarter," I say.
Her mouth twists into something ironic. "I did it the Muggle way."
Knowing what I do of Muggle ideas of medicine, I can only imagine the horror that must entail.
"It was so stupid," she says, and I have to strain my ears to hear her over the quiet bubbling of her potion. "I went to a party, just to make my mum stop fussing at me. I didn't even really want to go. I met this guy. He was nice, and he wanted me. Ron wouldn't even touch me."
She says it so forlornly I have to squash the urge to comfort her.
"I let him take me somewhere private."
It never ceases to amaze me that teenagers think their sex lives will be so fascinating to others. I remind myself that we're meant to be helping the girl.
"I got pregnant." She stops to lower the heat on the cauldron. "It was so stupid," she says again. "I want kids someday," she says as if I'd said something to the contrary. "But not now, and not because I did something stupid."
She falls silent and brings her cauldron off the fire to cool. I watch her in silence while she checks over her notes. She smoothes them out when she gets to the end and puts them away. She tests the cauldron with the back of her hand, only putting it up against the metal when she determines it's not so hot it will burn her. She pours out her concoction, carefully dividing it into six vials.
"I didn't tell him."
I'm not sure if she means Mr. Weasley or the young man whose child she so briefly carried.
She checks to be sure the fire is completely cool before taking her cauldron to the sink.
"If I hadn't done it," she says over the sound of the running water, "I'd be giving birth tonight."
That startling pronouncement seems to require a response, but I can't think of anything that would be appropriate.
She dries the cauldron and puts it away. She carefully wraps the vials in a length of cloth and tucks them into her bag.
"Thank you," she says, "for letting me use the classroom." She turns to leave.
"Miss Granger." I wait for her to turn back to me. "I will not betray your confidence."
"I know." I can tell that if she were in a different mood, she would be smiling. "Good night, Professor Snape."
"Good night, Miss Granger." I spend a little time after she leaves putting my classroom in order, but I don't realize the full implications of what she's done until the next morning.
***
The students notice her first. Then the staff. She's dyed her hair again. This time it's black, and she's done her eyebrows to match. But that's not all that catches the whole school's attention. There are swirls and runes running down her arms and over her hands. The designs come up to circle her neck and trace the lines of her face. I can see the pattern on her skin between the tops of her stockings and the bottom of her skirt.
A quick glance shows that the rest of the staff is as surprised as I am.
"Merlin's tree," Minerva says. She glances at Albus. "She's done it, hasn't she?"
Albus beams at us. "She has."
Merlin's tree indeed. And we're supposed to teach this child. "We ought to send her to Oxford now."
"She would do well," Minerva agrees.
The children, of course, don't realize the significance of what she's done. For them the significance is in the change in her physical appearance. They don't understand the power behind it.
The children settle down to their breakfast with only occasional glances at Miss Granger. The other professors discuss her in low tones. Minerva gives me an inquiring glance. I refuse to answer her unasked question.
I have the dubious pleasure of teaching the girl's first class of the day. A morning of double potions with seventh-year Gryffindors and Slytherins is not my idea of an enjoyable time, but Albus has decided that having the children in my classroom first thing in the morning will make them more inclined to pay attention and less inclined to make trouble. I'm not yet convinced of the truth of his statement, but it is true that Longbottom has set a record this term for his lowest number of ruined cauldrons. Then again, it is possible that the boy has simply learned to catch his mistakes before they cause that much damage.
"Today," I tell my combined seventh years almost before they have a chance to quiet down, "you will be preparing a deflating draught. I can only hope you will do it properly as I have second years making swelling solutions this afternoon.
"Yes, Miss Granger," I say as the girl's hand shoots up, "I am well aware that you cannot prepare this sort of potion in your," I nearly say "condition," but I catch myself and say, "current state," instead. "I have another project for you." I glower down at her whole half of the classroom. "Come up here."
Longbottom looks panicked as she leaves his side. Malfoy, who must think I can't hear him, mutters, "Tattooed freak," at her.
"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," I say before any of the students can cause any lasting damage, "for underestimating an extremely powerful witch. And another five for your abysmal ignorance of your own family's history."
The shock on his face is more than enough to make up for taking ten points from my own house. The curiosity follows the shock before Mr. Malfoy is able to get himself under control again. I smile nastily at him.
"If you idiots can manage to brew a potion while I talk," I be sure to glower at the whole roomful of them, "I'd be happy," a sneer, "to enlighten you."
I stop to sweep a hand at the ingredients on my front table. "Miss Granger, what will you be preparing?"
The Rest of the Plot
Sometime after this, Hermione asks Snape, "Would you be the father of my child?" And then laughs at the expression on his face and assures him, "Not now. When I'm ready." And he says, "I would be honored to father your child, Miss Granger." And eventually they have a child, and then they fall in love and have a family.
"Yes." The old woman looks down her nose at the parchment in front of her. "The girl is not yet beyond our ability to teach her, but she is far beyond the ability of her classmates." She looks around the table at each one of us. "We must nurture her ability."
"The girl will go to Oxford, of course." I usually try to stay out of this sort of discussion, but in this case, the facts are plain. "All we--" I make sure to put a sneer in my voice on the plural "--have to do is ensure her survival through this year."
Minerva's lips thin. She's displeased. "Or she may marry Mr. Weasley."
The very idea turns my stomach. If she marries him, she'll be pregnant before the announcement hits the Daily Prophet and a mother of four before the time she could graduate Oxford. "What a waste that would be."
I can tell from the way she nearly smiles at me that Minerva agrees. "Nonetheless," she says, "the chance is there. We must take this opportunity to teach her to the best of our abilities." For once, Minerva and I are in complete agreement. Saying so is worth it for the look on Poppy's face.
***
"Miss Granger." I'm impressed when the girl doesn't jump. "What are you doing?"
"Brewing a potion," she says absently.
"Yes," I tell her dryly. "I do recognize the basic process. Why are you doing it in my Potions classroom at an hour at which all good Gryffindors should be tucked into their common room?"
Her lips thin disapprovingly. "All anyone there can talk about is Nestra."
It takes a moment before I connect the name with a person. A seventh-year Ravenclaw. And then I truly understand what she means. The girl whose rumored actions caused such an uproar in my classroom this morning.
She shakes it off. "This is better for making potions anyway."
"Yes," I agree. "But off limits without permission," I remind her.
"Rules don't apply to Gryffindors, right? That's what everyone thinks anyway." She dares a quick look at me from under her eyelashes. "That's what you think."
It would be easy to take points from her for that, but I don't. "And what do you think, Miss Granger?"
She's surprised, but she hides it well, especially when her cauldron nearly boils over, and only her quick snatch keeps her potion from being ruined.
"I think this is more important." She flicks her wand to lower the heat and puts the cauldron back on.
Secretly I'm delighted that one of my students is taking such an interest, but it wouldn't do to let her know that. "And just why is that?"
"Because," she says a trifle impatiently. "Because. There's not enough *time*."
Her vehemence startles me.
"Time for what?"
"For anything. I have to know *now*. Mum and Dad want me to study a Muggle subject at University. Everyone else thinks I'll work with Harry. Ron expects me to marry him. They'll never let me do what I want."
"I was under the impression that you and Mr. Weasley were quite in love."
"We are," she says matter-of-factly, "but I can't marry him." Her timekeeper beeps, and she takes the cauldron off the fire to cool. "This summer," she says and stops. "My parents are getting divorced." It's not what she meant to say, but it will do.
"Other people's parents divorce," I remind her.
"But not here," the girl says, and I'm absurdly proud of the bitter twist of her lips. "No one gets divorced here. No one gets pregnant when they don't want to. And no one ever has an abortion." She jerks a small beaker out of the collection of things on the table and dips it into her potion. She unfolds a small piece of parchment and draws out a few strands of hair. She dips one end of the strands into the beaker.
"What are you brewing?"
She removes the strands from her potion and I can see that they've changed color to a deep purple.
"Hair dye."
It's so ridiculous that it takes a moment for me to comprehend what she's saying. "You could do that with a simple coloring charm."
The girl looks up at me. "Where's the fun in that?" There's a hint of a smile in the question, but she turns down to attend to her potion before I can catch more than a glimpse of it. She tips the liquid into a flask with impressive skill and corks it with something of a flourish. There's definitely a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth now.
She cleans up with the same combination of skill and dramatic flair. She watches me uneasily for a moment when she's done. I watch her back until she starts to fidget.
"Good night, Miss Granger." I nod at the clock. "You'll have to hurry to make it back to your tower before curfew."
She gathers the last of her things into her bag. "Good night, Professor Snape."
I wait until she's at the door. "Miss Granger." She stops and reluctantly turns to face me. I know she's waiting for me to take points from Gryffindor. "Next time you feel the need to experiment with Potions outside class time, ask first."
Her eyes go wide and startled. "Yes, sir." She hesitates for a moment until she's sure I'm not going to say anything more and then she hurries out the door.
***
The girl does ask after that. She comes to my lab and does incredible things. She brews potions that should be far beyond her ability. She brews potions she designs herself. Some of them succeed. Some do not. She has not yet done any irreparable damage to my classroom.
I find her brooding over a cauldron one evening in late March when she hasn't asked permission.
"I thought," I say to her, "we had agreed that you would ask before using my potions lab outside of your usual class time."
She flicks a glance at me. "I'm sorry," she says. There's something rough and uneasy about her voice. "I wasn't sure I'd be ready to do this tonight."
I raise one eyebrow. "And what are you doing?"
"I don't know if it will work," she says. "I don't want to jinx it."
She's stubborn, and I know her well enough by now to doubt I'll get any more out of her. I remind myself that she has not caused any irrevocable damage.
"If it doesn't work," she says, "it won't do anything strange. It just won't work."
I sit across the table from her. "Very well, Miss Granger. I trust your research is adequate." I watch her stir and add ingredients for a while. Eventually she uses up the carefully measured components she's laid out on the table, and there's nothing more for her to do but stir and control the heat.
"I had an abortion," she tells me. She glances up at me almost too quickly to be noticed. I've learned to mask my feelings well. The girl will get no moral pronouncements on the subject from me.
"We had no reports of underage magic from your quarter," I say.
Her mouth twists into something ironic. "I did it the Muggle way."
Knowing what I do of Muggle ideas of medicine, I can only imagine the horror that must entail.
"It was so stupid," she says, and I have to strain my ears to hear her over the quiet bubbling of her potion. "I went to a party, just to make my mum stop fussing at me. I didn't even really want to go. I met this guy. He was nice, and he wanted me. Ron wouldn't even touch me."
She says it so forlornly I have to squash the urge to comfort her.
"I let him take me somewhere private."
It never ceases to amaze me that teenagers think their sex lives will be so fascinating to others. I remind myself that we're meant to be helping the girl.
"I got pregnant." She stops to lower the heat on the cauldron. "It was so stupid," she says again. "I want kids someday," she says as if I'd said something to the contrary. "But not now, and not because I did something stupid."
She falls silent and brings her cauldron off the fire to cool. I watch her in silence while she checks over her notes. She smoothes them out when she gets to the end and puts them away. She tests the cauldron with the back of her hand, only putting it up against the metal when she determines it's not so hot it will burn her. She pours out her concoction, carefully dividing it into six vials.
"I didn't tell him."
I'm not sure if she means Mr. Weasley or the young man whose child she so briefly carried.
She checks to be sure the fire is completely cool before taking her cauldron to the sink.
"If I hadn't done it," she says over the sound of the running water, "I'd be giving birth tonight."
That startling pronouncement seems to require a response, but I can't think of anything that would be appropriate.
She dries the cauldron and puts it away. She carefully wraps the vials in a length of cloth and tucks them into her bag.
"Thank you," she says, "for letting me use the classroom." She turns to leave.
"Miss Granger." I wait for her to turn back to me. "I will not betray your confidence."
"I know." I can tell that if she were in a different mood, she would be smiling. "Good night, Professor Snape."
"Good night, Miss Granger." I spend a little time after she leaves putting my classroom in order, but I don't realize the full implications of what she's done until the next morning.
***
The students notice her first. Then the staff. She's dyed her hair again. This time it's black, and she's done her eyebrows to match. But that's not all that catches the whole school's attention. There are swirls and runes running down her arms and over her hands. The designs come up to circle her neck and trace the lines of her face. I can see the pattern on her skin between the tops of her stockings and the bottom of her skirt.
A quick glance shows that the rest of the staff is as surprised as I am.
"Merlin's tree," Minerva says. She glances at Albus. "She's done it, hasn't she?"
Albus beams at us. "She has."
Merlin's tree indeed. And we're supposed to teach this child. "We ought to send her to Oxford now."
"She would do well," Minerva agrees.
The children, of course, don't realize the significance of what she's done. For them the significance is in the change in her physical appearance. They don't understand the power behind it.
The children settle down to their breakfast with only occasional glances at Miss Granger. The other professors discuss her in low tones. Minerva gives me an inquiring glance. I refuse to answer her unasked question.
I have the dubious pleasure of teaching the girl's first class of the day. A morning of double potions with seventh-year Gryffindors and Slytherins is not my idea of an enjoyable time, but Albus has decided that having the children in my classroom first thing in the morning will make them more inclined to pay attention and less inclined to make trouble. I'm not yet convinced of the truth of his statement, but it is true that Longbottom has set a record this term for his lowest number of ruined cauldrons. Then again, it is possible that the boy has simply learned to catch his mistakes before they cause that much damage.
"Today," I tell my combined seventh years almost before they have a chance to quiet down, "you will be preparing a deflating draught. I can only hope you will do it properly as I have second years making swelling solutions this afternoon.
"Yes, Miss Granger," I say as the girl's hand shoots up, "I am well aware that you cannot prepare this sort of potion in your," I nearly say "condition," but I catch myself and say, "current state," instead. "I have another project for you." I glower down at her whole half of the classroom. "Come up here."
Longbottom looks panicked as she leaves his side. Malfoy, who must think I can't hear him, mutters, "Tattooed freak," at her.
"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," I say before any of the students can cause any lasting damage, "for underestimating an extremely powerful witch. And another five for your abysmal ignorance of your own family's history."
The shock on his face is more than enough to make up for taking ten points from my own house. The curiosity follows the shock before Mr. Malfoy is able to get himself under control again. I smile nastily at him.
"If you idiots can manage to brew a potion while I talk," I be sure to glower at the whole roomful of them, "I'd be happy," a sneer, "to enlighten you."
I stop to sweep a hand at the ingredients on my front table. "Miss Granger, what will you be preparing?"
The Rest of the Plot
Sometime after this, Hermione asks Snape, "Would you be the father of my child?" And then laughs at the expression on his face and assures him, "Not now. When I'm ready." And he says, "I would be honored to father your child, Miss Granger." And eventually they have a child, and then they fall in love and have a family.