IV

Weeks turned into months as the autumn winds folded into blankets of winter snow; days came and went in a blur of activity. When she wasn’t badgering her N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. students to revise until their brains turned to mush and didn’t have her own nose pressed within a book, Hermione divided her free time amongst the kids, Ron, family and friends. At least one night a week was spent in Neville’s company; thick as thieves they were. Professor Snape surreptitiously observed them with feigned disinterest. Now and again he would make an offhanded comment, though never fully engaging Hermione directly in any particular conversation.

On one such evening, after imbibing a large quantity of spirits to help the two friends unwind from their decidedly disastrous day, Hermione resolved to test the waters and see if the prickly Potions master’s stubborn skin had finally begun to wear thin. No longer could she hold her fascination with him in check.

After assailing him with a number of questions ranging from his Machiavellian nature to portrait lore—in particular how the other portraits’ inhabitants were blissfully ignorant of his existence, most of which he pointedly ignored—Professor Snape’s dam of indifference finally broke.

“Longbottom, will you shut her up! It really gets on my wick when you encourage that harpy to spout any inanity that pops into that overly stimulated brain of hers,” he ground out.

Hermione knew she should be furious that he’d insulted her, but instead she found herself captivated by the fact that her buttoned-up and ever-proper professor had been so blatantly crude. “Sir, do my ears deceive me, or did you just swear?”

Neville roared with laughter at Hermione's child-like observation. “That’s nothing, Hermione. You should hear him when he’s had too much to drink after a visit to the wine bar portrait in the Third Floor Corridor. He has quite a vulgar vernacular, don’t you, Professor?”

“Sod the fuck off, Longbottom.”

Hermione's eyes and smile were mammoth. “You just did it again! I truly had no idea you used such base language, Professor.”

Professor Snape’s eyes formed razor-thin slits, and his voice became the very essence of venom. “Why would you, Granger? You know nothing about me beyond your school-age encounters, and most of what you’ve learned from them wasn’t entirely authentic.”

Hermione paid no mind to his disdainful disposition, her senses thoroughly dulled thanks to the alcohol currently warming her belly. “You’re absolutely correct, Professor, which is why I have been ‘spouting inanities,’ as you so delicately put it, to try and get to know the real you.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything," he announced, his voice dripping with saccharine sweet sarcasm.

Hermione teetered on the edge of her seat as she waited for Professor Snape to finally share his confidences.

"Let me ease your curiosity and put an end to the enigma that is Severus Snape: Death Eater, Potions master and former Headmaster of Hogwarts, once and for all,” he said in a sardonic snit. “I enjoy reading, solitary walks and swearing and am fascinated with the Dark Arts. I keep lists in tatty notebooks of words I think are interesting. In my spare time, I collect spores, moulds and fungi. Why, I even like my meat cooked medium rare. I can wank with either hand, as I am ambidextrous. And when the occasion presents itself and I fancy a fuck, I prefer the woman to be on top!” he finished in a crescendo of spittle and snarls.

Hermione and Neville both were unable to contain themselves and toppled over with laughter at the absurdity of the situation that had just occurred.

Professor Snape’s tone was acid. “Satisfied? Now get stuffed!” he sneered and marched out of his frame to parts unknown.

Neville sobered somewhat when he realized the professor had stormed from his portrait in a murderous rage. “Wicked! You managed to wind him up and learn more about him tonight than I have in fifteen years. Oh, well done, my friend! Bloody well done!”

Hermione emotions were frenzied. This was not the result for which she was aiming. “Merlin, Neville! Now I’ll never get on his good side.”

“Put it out of your head, Hermione. He’ll settle down in a day or two and go right back to pretending you don’t exist.”

“But that’s not what I want!” she whinged.

“It will all shake out soon enough, I promise,” Neville said, hoping to mollify her. “Now, I must unfortunately see you out, as I have classes tomorrow. If I don’t get to bed soon, I’ll have a right foul hangover in the morning, and that will be a bad thing. Tomorrow’s breakfast is an old fashioned fry-up, and I have no intention of missing it.”

Hermione permitted Neville to escort her to her door. With hug and a buss on the cheek, she sent him on his way. After changing into her nightdress, Hermione sluggishly crawled into bed as sleep threatened to overtake her. Before succumbing to a well-deserved rest, she resolved to get to know the real Severus Snape and befriend him, whether he bloody well liked it or not.