Three for a Girl

Chapter 3: Three for a Girl

Hermione stood outside the towering stone gargoyle leading to the headmistress' office.

"Quidditch Cup," she said, dismayed when her voice came out with a distinct squeak. She quickly tried to compose herself as the revolving spiral staircase carried her higher. Tapping softly on the outer door, she was admitted entrance and tried to appear calm as she stood before McGonagall's massive desk.

"Hermione, thank you for coming so quickly," the headmistress intoned rather formally. "Have a seat while I finish, please." McGonagall had been pacing behind her desk and resumed as soon as Hermione sat down.

Hermione noted there was a great deal of activity going on in the office for two o'clock in the morning. Two lengths of parchment lay on the desk with elaborate quills busily racing across them as McGonagall dictated simultaneous letters from her thoughts. She paused in her pacing every now and then to quietly consult with a portrait, and the quills stopped with her, suspended in mid-air and trembling with impatience.

As if sensing the letters were almost complete, two large grey owls swooped into the room from an open window high in the tower. A small barn owl was attempting to leave at the same time, and they narrowly avoided a disastrous mid-air collision. Meanwhile, several of the portraits had decided to forego the pretence of sleep: they murmured softly to each other, pausing occasionally to stare at Hermione.

Hermione looked up at the wall and couldn't help squirming in her chair as the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black glared down at her balefully. The former headmaster had never forgiven her for removing his portrait from number twelve, Grimmauld Place...hauling him around so unceremoniously during the search for Horcruxes. Hermione had attempted to apologise to Phineas on several occasions, but he would disappear in a huff before she could utter more than three words.

With a faint "tsk," Phineas dramatically turned his back on Hermione and stalked out of his frame. Hermione sighed ruefully and turned her attention to Dumbledore's portrait instead. His bright blue eyes met hers instantly, and she was surprised to note that he was positively beaming down at her. She smiled in return and watched in wonder as he gleefully bounced inside his frame, his pointed wizard's hat squashing against the top of the portrait with each motion.

Finishing the letters at last, McGonagall entrusted them to the owls and sat down tiredly in the elaborate chair behind her desk. "What a night!" she exclaimed.

Hermione was pleased to observe that her tone was much less formal now.

McGonagall peered at Hermione and said, "I apologise for the late hour; the Ministry insisted on meeting with Severus before I was allowed entrance. I had to wait outside for quite some time before Severus was able to clear them."

Hermione forced her lips to remain still as McGonagall mumbled some choice curses about bungling bureaucracy. She thought the headmistress looked equally irritated and exhausted and didn't dare risk a smirk. "I brewed some fresh Invigoration Draught on Thursday," Hermione offered. "Shall I summon some for you?"

McGonagall waved her hand dismissively. "No, but thank you. It causes me to hiccup." Instead, she flicked her wand over her desk, and two steaming cups of tea appeared. One delicate china cup floated through the air and stopped before Hermione, hovering over her lap.

Hermione accepted the tea and waited anxiously to hear what news McGonagall had brought from St Mungo's. But the headmistress was frustratingly silent as she pondered her own cup of tea; she appeared to be carefully collecting her thoughts. Hermione tried to mask her impatience by taking a sip from her cup. The hot drink scalded her tongue, and she quickly set it aside before she could do any more damage.

"Severus has indeed returned to us," began the headmistress without preamble.

The portraits in the office became still...all except Dumbledore's...as each occupant seemed to be straining forward to catch McGonagall's words. Dumbledore merely raised his hands in front of his face and clapped them together excitedly in quiet applause.

"What does he remember?" Hermione asked.

"Everything."

"The Battle? His attack?"

"Yes."

Hermione swallowed hard. "The time he spent in the Shrieking Shack?" she asked quietly. She noticed that Dumbledore's mood had suddenly grown serious.

"Yes."

Waves of guilt washed over Hermione as she said gravely, "I see."

"I certainly hope," began the reassuring voice of Dumbledore from the wall, "that you are not blaming yourself for the time Severus spent in the Shrieking Shack." He pierced Hermione with a stern gaze, and she found herself unable to meet his eyes after a moment.

"You are no more to blame than anyone else present that day, my dear," he told her gently. "We all believed Severus to be gone."

Hermione nodded but couldn't bring herself to speak, knowing she was more culpable than the headmaster believed. After all, she had been in the tunnel beneath the Shrieking Shack when Voldemort had ordered his horrible snake to kill Snape. And she had been the one standing behind Harry, witnessing Snape's last words before he'd fallen back upon the floor, apparently lifeless.

If everyone else had believed Snape was dead, it was only because she had told them as much. The guilt from her mistaken assumption could not be easily forgotten, and she doubted anyone else could ever fully comprehend that.

Hermione turned back to the headmistress and asked, "What do the Healers have to say about his outlook for the future?"

"His prognosis is excellent. He was already sitting up in bed by the time I'd left."

"Wow." It sounded ridiculous, but it was the only thing Hermione could think to say.

"Indeed," agreed McGonagall. "The Healers are all terrified of him, of course. He demanded a Strengthening Draught and then ordered them away."

Hermione's lips quirked as she pondered his actions, deciding they were precisely what she imagined typical Snape behaviour to be. "So, then, he is very much... himself?" she asked, trying not to sound as if that was an unpleasant thing to be.

McGonagall allowed a quick smile to grace her stern features. "Yes, it would appear that Severus is still very much... himself.

"Furthermore," continued the headmistress, "it seems that he's spent the last fourteen years with some level of awareness. He actually had quite a lot to say about young Longbottom visiting him each week."

Hermione could well imagine. Poor Neville, she thought. "I see. No doubt he was grateful for the company," she said. The obvious sarcasm in her voice earned her a chuckle from Dumbledore's portrait.

"Yes, well..." McGonagall trailed off. "At least he has some idea of what's been going on in the world for the past fourteen years, although I daresay the Daily Prophet is hardly the best source for reliable information."

McGonagall fixed Hermione with an intent gaze and then added, "Naturally, it will take some time for Severus to appreciate how much the people he knew have changed."

Hermione was beginning to grow uncomfortable under the headmistress' scrutiny and started to get up from her chair. "Well, thank you for letting me know..." she began.

"He wants to come back to Hogwarts," McGonagall said suddenly.

Hermione sat back down with a thud and a softly uttered, "Oh."

Resting her elbows on the top of her desk, McGonagall leaned forward in her chair and watched Hermione speculatively.

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Hogwarts is his home," Dumbledore said simply.

Hermione experienced a sense of déjà vu at his words: she had been thinking the exact same thing about herself just hours earlier. She had always been a bit of an outcast and had never truly fit in anywhere, other than Hogwarts. Perhaps Snape felt the same way.

McGonagall added to Dumbledore's explanation. "Severus informed me he has no desire to live in the spotlight. He'd prefer to return to Hogwarts and teach."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked hopefully. "Everyone always said Snape badly wanted to teach that..." she offered, but then grew quiet, realising that it was not Bertram Aubrey, Junior, the current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, sitting in the headmistress' office: it was she.

"Professor Granger, you know better than to believe the idle gossip from your schooldays," Dumbledore chided her quietly. "Severus' heart has always belonged to the subtle art of Potions, just as yours has."

Hermione turned away from Dumbledore's portrait feeling confused. The notion that she and Severus Snape shared a similar passion for anything was disturbing. But not nearly as confounding as McGonagall's announcement that Snape wanted to return to Hogwarts and resume his position as Potions professor. And where did that leave her...was she meant to just pack up and leave? She stared down blindly at her hands lying clutched in her lap and felt the unmistakable prickle of tears stinging her eyes.

Everything had been going so well during her brief time at Hogwarts. She supposed she should have known it was all too good to be true. Bitterness shot into her, but was quickly replaced by overwhelming remorse as her mind battled with her heart. She desperately wanted to stay at Hogwarts, but how could she possibly suggest that she was more deserving of this job than Snape?

He'd spent so many years faithful to Dumbledore and the Order, enduring their loathing and distrust even while he was secretly helping Harry and feeding misinformation to Voldemort. His reward had been fourteen years of lying in a hospital bed, apparently awake, but unable to move or speak. And no matter what Dumbledore said, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she might have been able to prevent that.

With a heavy heart, Hermione raised her chin and met McGonagall's hawk-like eyes. Willing her voice not to tremble, she said, "I understand what's required, Minerva. I will of course step aside so Snape may resume his role as Potions professor here."

Hermione watched as McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a meaningful glance, Dumbledore smiling, and McGonagall frowning.

"There's no need to be so hasty, Hermione," McGonagall told her sternly. "I did not send for you to solicit your resignation!"

"But, Minerva," Hermione argued, "you cannot possibly keep me in this post if Snape desires it. We owe him so much; surely you can't refuse him!"

"I do not need to be told what I can and cannot do as regards the staff at this school, Professor Granger!" McGonagall rose from her chair indignantly and cast a reproachful glance at Dumbledore's portrait, whose smile had turned into silent giggles.

"But..."

"And I am quite aware of the debt we owe to Severus."

"But you can't..." Hermione tried to protest again, somewhat surprised to hear herself fighting on Snape's behalf.

"Enough!" barked the older woman, obviously weary of arguing. "I swear, Hermione, if you don't stop trying to resign, I'm going to have you dismissed!"

The sheer absurdity of the statement was enough to force Hermione to shut her mouth and turn helplessly to Dumbledore's portrait, silently willing him to assist her. Surely Dumbledore knew more about Snape's true role in the downfall of Voldemort than anyone else. Hermione couldn't understand why he wasn't insisting that McGonagall do whatever was required to fulfil Snape's wishes. But Dumbledore just looked down at Hermione with a mirthful expression, and she had a feeling there was a lot more going on in those bright blue eyes than he was willing to speak about.

McGonagall returned to her chair and drew a steadying breath. "While I appreciate your Gryffindor sensibilities and applaud you for your noble offer to step aside, I'm afraid I have no intention of losing one of my brightest teachers." She had finished the end of her statement in a loud, clipped tone, evidently attempting to drown out any further protest Hermione might offer.

Hermione grew pink at her mentor's praise and mumbled a quiet, "Thank you."

"I am quite certain we can find some type of arrangement that will accommodate both you and Severus," McGonagall informed her. Hermione couldn't really picture Snape acquiescing to this but refrained from mentioning it now.

"That's very generous of you," Hermione told her.

"Not at all. It's the best decision for the school," McGonagall pointed out. "And try to keep in mind that nothing has been cast in stone. I have informed Severus that he will be welcome here whenever he feels up to it. That may be months, or years... or he may change his mind entirely."

"I see," Hermione said, starting to feel a little better about the whole situation.

"The only reason I summoned you tonight was to spare you from hearing this second-hand tomorrow." McGonagall peered over the tops of her square glasses and cast a rather admonishing look at one of the portraits on the wall.

Hermione followed her gaze and recognised the witch in the picture as none other than Dilys Derwent, the very same former headmistress whom Hermione had spoken of during the start-of-term Feast. She seemed to recall a similar portrait of the silver-haired woman at St Mungo's: undoubtedly she could travel back and forth between the two pictures. Judging from the look on McGonagall's face (and Dilys Derwent's sudden departure from her portrait), Hermione surmised that details about McGonagall's meeting with Snape would be common knowledge throughout the castle by tomorrow morning.

"I appreciate that very much," Hermione informed McGonagall. She sensed her presence was no longer required and made a hasty retreat to her living quarters.

Despite the late hour, sleep eluded her for some time, and when she finally did fall asleep, her mind was assaulted by disturbing dreams. In one, she was lying immobile on the floor of the Shrieking Shack while an enormous snake slithered along her side and bit her neck repeatedly. Then the dream changed, in that strange way that dreams do, and instead of the snake, it was Snape. And he was doing a great deal more than just biting her neck, and she was certainly not protesting.

*****

Hermione had been determined to join the staff and students in the Great Hall the next morning, certain that rumours would be flying and bent on squashing as many as possible. Her best intentions quickly diminished, however, when she began repeatedly casting the Quiesco charm at the small porcelain statue of a robin she'd enchanted to wake her up. The poor bird could barely get the first few notes of his song out before Hermione would sleepily point her wand at him and sink back into her pillow. In this way, she granted herself an extra hour of sleep, albeit in ten-minute increments.

When she finally dashed out of bed in a hazy rush, she had scarcely enough time to dress and bolt down a piece of carelessly burnt toast before leaving her quarters. She could already hear the sound of voices coming from the Potions classroom as she hurriedly scooped her books and papers off the desk in her office. Shuffling her load as she moved, she walked smack into the side of her heavy desk, cracking her knee into it with a sickening thud. The loud curse that escaped her lips was hardly the first impression she'd planned to make on her new students.

Twenty little faces turned their terrified eyes upon her as she hobbled up to the front of the Potions classroom and flung her timetables and books upon a table. She was reminded suddenly of her own first lesson in Potions. Snape had come charging into the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him in great black waves and scaring them all senseless.

With the desire to fix a much different memory in the minds of these young students, Hermione smiled at them all and said, "Welcome to first–year Potions... um..." she gave her timetable a quick glance and finished, "...Gryffindor and Slytherin!"

They seemed to relax a little at her smile, and she continued, "Today's class is a double lesson, so we should have enough time to jump right in and concoct something a bit fun! Please divide into groups of four while I call your names from the register."

Hermione had planned a simple Handwriting Potion, which, when made correctly, would grant whoever drank it perfect handwriting for one day. Though the ingredient list was long, the method was simple and required only an hour's brewing time. With a little skill and luck, the students could actually be sampling it by the end of class.

Walking amongst the five small groups of students busy at work, Hermione felt herself relaxing for the first time. She stopped to offer advice to one table and then turned to the class and asked, "Who can tell me the difference between black beetle eyes and desiccated beetle eyes?"

A hand flew straight up into the air so fast that a student's eye was nearly poked out, and Hermione was hit with a flashback of her first day at Hogwarts when she'd wanted so desperately to prove herself. She turned to survey the owner of the outstretched hand, unsurprised to find it belonged to the gangly-looking girl who'd been clutching her Hogwarts: A History book the previous night. The young girl had thin, straight hair the colour of straw, which had been cut into a rather too-short fringe along her forehead. Her greyish-blue eyes regarded Hermione eagerly.

"Yes?" Hermione asked the girl. While the correct answer was perfectly recited to her, Hermione peered down at the register and noted a glow around the name "Emilia Woodhouse...Gryffindor", indicating the name and House of the student she was speaking to.

"Very good, Miss Woodhouse," she said when the girl had finished speaking. Hermione smiled at her warmly; the awkward child reminded her painfully of herself at that age. "A point to Gryffindor," she added, and the girl's entire face and neck turned red.

Hermione stood by their table awhile and watched them work. Turning to leave, she accidentally kicked her toe into a heavy bag on the floor, spilling out dozens of books. Emilia Woodhouse looked mortified and dived for the books as two boys at her table sniggered. It appeared as if she'd tried to stuff the entire library into her bag.

Hermione gave the boys a waspish look, and they instantly fell silent. Bending down to help collect the items, she recognised the familiar copies of first-year spell books and magical history tomes. Her hand hovered in mid-air over the last book: it was slim and bound in emerald green leather with the words "Brukowski-Granger Principle" stamped in gold across its cover. Hermione's hand shook slightly as she picked it up and turned it over, seeing a familiar seal and the words "Jagiellonian University" in the bottom corner.

Emilia Woodhouse was watching Hermione expectantly, her hand held out for her book.

"Where did you get this?" Hermione asked her.

"I toured the magical universities of Europe with my parents this summer, after I got my letter from Hogwarts," the young girl explained. Then she added rather sheepishly, "I knew you were a professor here, and I wanted to read everything you'd written."

"That's very... studious of you," Hermione told her as she finally relinquished the book to its owner. She cleared her throat and hoped the students hadn't noticed the fact that she'd been visibly shaken by the sight of a book which she herself had written. Moving quickly to another table, she announced how much time was left on their potions and instructed them to hasten their work.

By the end of the class, only two of the five tables had managed to produce an acceptable Handwriting Potion. Those students who were brave enough were encouraged to take a small sip. Their resulting facial expressions quickly told Hermione whether or not this was their first taste of a potion containing black beetle eyes. The last five minutes of the lesson were taken up by an impressive display of flawless handwriting ability.

The remainder of the day passed in much the same way for Hermione. She taught students from four separate years and was pleased when each class managed to produce at least one properly brewed potion that could be sampled and experienced by the end of the lesson. The students had grumbled a little when she assigned homework on their first day of school, but most had seemed to find their lessons quite enjoyable (especially the fifth–years, who had concocted a surprisingly effective Potion of Joy).

The feeling of accomplishment Hermione usually felt from such a satisfying day escaped her, however. Her mind kept returning to the book the Woodhouse girl had been carrying, and she couldn't help feeling like the sanctuary she had created for herself had somehow been invaded. A strong sense of foreboding settled upon her and refused to relinquish its hold for the next several weeks.

*****

A/N: Grateful acknowledgement goes out to ladyinthecloak and little_beloved for their immense beta skills and to lettybird for Brit-picking. I am so lucky to have these fabulous ladies helping me!