Two for Joy

Chapter 2: Two for Joy

An excited murmur began in the crowd gathered around Neville, quickly gaining momentum as word of Snape's awakening spread throughout the Entrance Hall. Hermione was assaulted by too many feelings to examine at once and could only stand by, dumb-struck. She watched the shock on McGonagall's face as Neville casually told her, "He's asked to see you, Headmistress."

Hermione had to give credit to Minerva McGonagall. Other than uttering an obviously unplanned and startled cry which sounded something like, "Glrrb!" she had recovered her composure quite quickly, although she did keep her hand pressed over her heart as she started barking orders at those milling around. Hermione could feel her own heart pounding so hard and fast it was a wonder it didn't echo in the corridor. She sincerely hoped that McGonagall's heart wasn't doing the same: she speculated that the Headmistress had to be in her eighties, at least.

"Students will return to their House tables immediately!" McGonagall shouted with authority. "Staff will return to the Great Hall at once!"

There was an instant commotion of movement as everyone made their way back to the Great Hall and resumed their places, carrying the sound of excited whispering with them.

Later, both the staff and students would marvel at the brevity of the speech the Headmistress had given. Several people exclaimed that it must have been the shortest start-of-term speech in history, although Hermione nervously pointed out that if they'd read Hogwarts: A History, they'd surely remember that the speech given by Dilys Derwent in 1759 was much shorter, consisting of only two words: 'Welcome' and 'Eat'.

McGonagall departed for St. Mungo's immediately after her speech, relinquishing responsibilities to Flitwick, as Deputy Headmaster. Hermione presided over the Sorting, though everyone was quite distracted, and in the end, there appeared to be an inordinately large number of first-years Sorted into Slytherin.

After the Sorting, they all took their places for the Feast, and the conversation in the Great Hall was loud and boisterous. Snape was, after all, a hero to most of these children, and the news of his awakening was cause for much excitement.

Half of the students in the Great Hall hadn't even been born when the Battle of Hogwarts was fought, and Hermione strongly doubted that the rest could possibly remember it. She found it peculiar to realize that to this roomful of excited faces, Snape was nothing more than a name in a history book, or, perhaps, someone their parents mentioned at odd times, like on the anniversary of the Battle.

Snape had always been flesh and blood to Hermione. There had been those occasions when he'd treated her with outright cruelty, and she'd grown up loathing him for his hostility towards Harry. By the time she learned more about his motivations and was old enough to examine his actions in a less biased manner, he was gone.

Only, he isn't, she reminded herself anxiously. He was in London right now, being visited by the Headmistress. The thought of facing him again after all these years was causing a ball of nerves, fear and dread to form in the pit of her stomach. Hermione realized that it had been much easier to handle the idea of Snape when he had been in a hospital bed, miles away.

Hermione was well aware that as the Feast dragged on, her anxiety was intensifying. She couldn't seem to stop herself from spouting inane facts about the history of the start-of-term Feast to anyone who would listen, and she was quite miffed when very few would. She felt edgy and highly-strung by the time she finally had the chance to interrogate Neville in the corridor outside of the Great Hall.

"What happened? What did he say? Can he move? Does he remember anything?" She fired questions at Neville in rapid succession, tapping her foot impatiently.

Neville was still enjoying the effects of Hermione's excellent Calming Draught and appeared unfazed by her storm of queries. He told her simply, "Well, if you'll give me a chance to answer, I'll tell you."

"I'm sorry, Neville," she apologized instantly. "It's just so... you know... so..." Hermione held her palms up as she searched for the right word, but for once, her vocabulary failed her.

"I know," Neville agreed with an understanding nod.

"Okay, so tell me what happened," Hermione pleaded. "I want to hear everything."

"Well, it started out like any other visit. I went in with my newspaper and sat down. I told him I was sorry about not coming around yesterday and explained that today was start-of-term and I couldn't stay long because I didn't want to miss the Sorting. Oh...and then I told him how you'd been chosen to bring the first-years in!" Neville paused, seeming to concentrate on what happened next.

"Yes?" Hermione prompted breathlessly, her attention riveted.

"I opened up the paper and read a couple of stories... nothing really special... new security measures at Gringott's... Harry and the Wasps winning their match yesterday... you know, the usual stuff."

"Then what?" Hermione asked, desperate for him to get on with it. She was dangerously close to grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, and she made a mental note to never again give a Calming Draught to Neville.

"I had just turned the page and was about to fold over the paper, when I looked over at him, and his eyes were open." Neville shuddered visibly at the recollection. His features glazed over and he spoke very slowly: he seemed to be reliving the incident in his mind. "I don't know how long they'd been open... He was just lying in bed, staring at me," he mused aloud.

Shaking himself, Neville continued, "I couldn't look away. And then he made a kind of croaking sound, and I realized he was trying to speak." Neville's brows grew together in a small frown, and he looked away unseeingly.

"What was he trying to say?" Hermione asked him in amazement, her tone hushed.

Neville returned his attention to Hermione and stared into her eyes intently. Fear and wonder warred for supremacy in his wild expression.

"He said, 'That's quite enough, Longbottom'!" replied Neville, delivering the phrase with the same eerie cadence so unique to his former tormentor.

Hermione gasped. It was such a Snape thing to say!

"Hermione, I swear I almost fell out of the chair!" Neville recalled.

"So, he knew who you were?" Hermione gaped, open-mouthed.

Neville nodded.

Years ago, when everyone had still held hope that he'd regain consciousness, there had been much speculation regarding the status of Snape's mental state. Many had suspected that his mind would be lost forever, an effect of the venom poisoning his system for such an extended time. Others had proposed that he would wake up with no memories of who he was or what had transpired. The Healers had eventually stopped theorizing when so many years had passed and the possibility of him waking up at all had become hopeless.

But Hermione thought this sounded more promising than anyone had dared to hypothesize.

"Then he told me to get McGonagall," Neville said. "I left right away...seeing him awake was a bit scary after all this time. I just sent the Healers in and then ran back here. You know the rest," he finished with a trace of embarrassment.

Hermione recalled the image of Neville crashing into the suit of armour and hoped for his sake that he hadn't had a similar incident at St. Mungo's. She could well imagine that Neville couldn't have extricated himself from Snape's presence fast enough.

"I wonder what he'll do now?" Neville pondered aloud.

"Mmm," Hermione muttered. The future of Snape's career was actually the last thing on her mind.

"I guess we'll learn soon enough," Neville concluded. He seemed to be looking at Hermione rather speculatively. Now that she thought about it, several members of the staff seemed to be casting curious glances her way.

Hermione bade a hasty goodnight to Neville and then hurried to catch up with Draco, who was speaking to a large group of Slytherin students. Hermione listened as Draco personally welcomed the students, noting the many faces watching him in admiration. Draco had been named Head of House for Slytherin when Horace Slughorn had retired, and Hermione had to admit that he did an excellent job of keeping his House in line.

"A proud night for Slytherin," she commented wryly as he finished speaking to the students and turned to her.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he asked with a delighted smile. "Largest group of first-years in history, AND our esteemed leader returns from oblivion!"

"Yes, well... I rather think the second part had quite a lot to do with the first," Hermione pointed out imperiously.

"Oh, come now...there were several little swots sorted into Gryffindor for you. No need to be jealous."

Hermione tried to hide her smile. "I'll stop being jealous if you'll stop being smug."

Draco grinned at that. "I wouldn't hold your breath, pet."

Laughing, the pair made their way down the corridor and paused by one of the rather hideous gargoyles guarding the entrance to the staffroom.

"So, why do you suppose Severus asked to see McGonagall first?" Draco asked.

Hermione considered for a moment, wondering how much Draco knew about Snape's actions the night Nagini had nearly killed him. "I don't know. Maybe he realizes that she's the most senior remaining member from the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione offered. "It would be logical to speak to her first."

Hermione knew that Snape possessed one of the most logical minds of any wizard: she'd had firsthand experience with this at an early age when she had solved his puzzle guarding the Philosopher's Stone for Harry. And she had no doubt that only the coolest logic could have prevailed during the many years when Snape had acted as a spy for the Order. His powers of reason were truly astounding, and Hermione found herself hoping they had not dulled during his time at St. Mungo's.

Hermione turned to see Professor Vector approaching them; she was staring intently at Hermione and seemed about to speak. But at the last moment, she veered away from them, mumbling the words, "Docere, Cognoscere," to the gargoyles before disappearing into the staffroom.

"That was odd," remarked Hermione.

Draco regarded Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "I believe everyone is wondering what our former Potions professor will have to say about our current Potions professor."

Hermione was surprised. "Surely they don't think Snape asked to see McGonagall for that!" she objected.

"Dunno," Draco said with a shrug. "You weren't exactly one of Severus' favourite students. I imagine he'll be very... outspoken... about your role here."

"Perhaps," Hermione granted. "But it's hardly appropriate for the staff to gossip and speculate about such things."

"Yes, Professor," Draco intoned diligently.

Hermione just pursed her lips in disapproval, and when Draco suggested they join the others in the staffroom for a much-needed nightcap, Hermione declined. She was certain there would be rabid discussion about Snape, and she desperately wanted some time alone to digest Neville's story.

Deep in thought, she headed down the long staircase to the dungeons, her footsteps echoing softly off the damp walls. The temperature dropped rapidly as she descended into the bowels of the castle; all traces of the warm autumn day they'd enjoyed had vanished.

Torches along the walls sprang to life as Hermione made her way across the length of the Potions classroom. The Potions office was located at the side of the classroom, and a blazing fire magically appeared in the small fireplace the moment Hermione entered the room. She removed the new timetables and student lists from a pocket in her robes and stacked them neatly on her desk, organized by day of the week. She needed to sit down and highlight the timetables based on Year and House, but decided her current mental state probably wouldn't afford her the concentration required for that important task.

Leaving her paperwork behind, she crossed the office and pointed her wand at the heavy, wooden door which led to her living quarters. She silently cast the Alohamora charm and walked through the doorway, the door having completely vanished at her incantation. Without turning her head, she flicked her wand over her shoulder and cast Colloportus, and the door instantly reappeared, sturdy and solid. Only select members of the staff were granted the ability to work the door: the castle instantly bestowed the honour to Potions professors and the Headmaster or Headmistress. They, in turn, could grant it to others.

There was a great whoosh as torches and fires throughout the quarters came to life at her presence. Hermione removed her robes as she strode through the cosy sitting area, tossing them rather haphazardly onto the brocade sofa. After toeing off her boots, she plopped herself into an overstuffed armchair in front of the massive marble fireplace. She could instantly feel herself relaxing and was grateful for Horace Slughorn and his hedonistic ways.

When Minerva McGonagall had first shown Hermione the living quarters in the dungeons, she'd been amazed. Horace Slughorn had made enormous changes to the chambers during his time at Hogwarts. He had magically enhanced the size of the quarters using the same powerful spells that wizard tent-crafters used. What should have been two small rooms off the Potions office had been transformed into an entire suite, complete with sitting rooms, a small kitchen and dining area, a library (Hermione's favourite room), three bedrooms, and two bathrooms with tubs the size of small swimming pools.

Minerva had surveyed the rooms sternly and announced, "This is a good deal larger than the Headmistress' quarters."

Hermione had happily offered the rooms to McGonagall, but the Headmistress hadn't seemed keen on the idea of spending so much time in the dungeons, which were quite damp and draughty outside of the living quarters. Hermione had been secretly pleased that her offer had been declined.

The rooms were filled with lovely carpets, and the walls all sported heavy tapestries that greatly helped remove the chill from all that grey dungeon stone. The furniture Slughorn had chosen was a bit too ornate for Hermione's taste, however. Happily, she had amused herself for many evenings during her first year by Transfiguring the various pieces into simpler furnishings more suited to her style, and she still changed them frequently when she tired of the look. Doing so kept her Transfiguration skills sharp, which Hermione deemed an added bonus.

Hermione sighed contentedly and snuggled further into the cushions, drawing her legs up beside her. She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and cupped her chin in her palm where her fingers automatically began a rhythmic drumming against her cheek. She stared intently into the fire for a few moments and felt her eyelids growing heavy despite the frenetic day.

Reminiscing about her first sight of these rooms had brought back a flood of other, less pleasant, memories. It was impossible to think of coming back to Hogwarts without remembering the circumstances that had caused her to flee so recklessly from her life at Arglist Industries.

It had been a rainy night in the middle of summer more than three years ago when Hermione had deliberately destroyed her beloved laboratory. Her movements had been methodical as she'd carefully poured several litres of Dragon Bile into the files containing her notes and findings from a lifetime of research. She had listened with satisfaction to the parchments sizzling in protest as the acidic bile disintegrated them.

Into the middle of the lab she had conjured an enormous cauldron; the solid black iron had looked distinctly out of place against the gleaming rows of stainless steel tables. With a mighty motion from her wand, Hermione had summoned the thousands of specimen-filled vials in the lab and had directed them into the massive cauldron. The vials had shattered, and there had arisen a great hissing and smoking as ingredients that had never been intended to mix had suddenly reacted with each other, causing the iron pot to shake threateningly.

Hermione had approached with caution. She had held her wand aloft and had directed an entire gallon of Acromantula Venom to be dumped into the mix. For once, she had not stopped to consider the prohibitive cost of the venom: Arglist Industries could certainly afford it. Like the Dragon Bile, the Venom had been the only substance powerful enough to destroy the specimens on both a physical and magical level.

When the cauldron had stopped shaking and smoking, she had Vanished it, along with the gooey remains of her parchments and notes. She'd felt satisfied that the contents of the lab would prove very difficult to trace, and even if someone could have located them, the Bile and Venom should have been sufficient to ensure that everything had been rendered useless.

With a wild prayer that there were no other samples hidden somewhere at Arglist, she had made her way to the Director's office where a streak of blue light had emitted from her wand, sparking a short-lived but powerful fire that had effectively burned any papers within ten meters. The shrieks from the portraits had told her she wouldn't remain alone for long, so she'd Disapparated quickly with no destination in mind, and had found herself running like mad through the warm summer rain outside of the Arglist facility.

Her feet had somehow carried her to Minerva McGonagall's doorstep where she had arrived the next morning in a wild state of disarray. She'd had no sleep for the previous two days and nights, during which time she had been carefully planning and executing her vandalism. That the compulsive rule-follower could have carried out such devastation with such blatant abandon was a mark of how very dreadful the alternative had been to Hermione.

When the door to McGonagall's cottage had opened, Hermione's whole body had begun to shake violently. Even in her frenzied state, she knew she must have appeared bedraggled, paranoid, and not at all like the star pupil McGonagall had once known.

McGonagall had ushered her to a chair, then had forced her to drink some strong tea spiked with a generous amount of Firewhisky. Hermione had revealed small bits of what had been going on at Arglist, though luckily she had still possessed the wherewithal to stop herself before she'd told her old Headmistress too much.

McGonagall had been as perceptive as ever and had cagily mentioned the fact (almost in passing) that Professor Slughorn had tendered his resignation to her that very week. The unspoken invitation had hung before her, beckoning. Hermione hadn't supposed she'd have any trouble finding employment elsewhere: her name had always been well-respected in her field. But something about the idea had appealed to her.

Clutching her tea like a lifeline, Hermione had closed her eyes briefly, allowing the image of Hogwarts Castle to flood her senses. She had expected to feel the sharp pain of loss that she'd always associated with the Final Battle, but it never came. Instead, she'd been overwhelmed by the same exhilarating sensation she'd had upon catching her first glimpse of the magnificent castle across the shimmering black lake. That emotion had been like an instant balm to her ragged soul, and she had unhesitatingly volunteered for the job. McGonagall had smiled tightly and had hired her on the spot.

Returning to Hogwarts had been like coming home, and it had not taken Hermione long to realize that she'd made the right decision. She'd settled in so quickly that at times she could almost convince herself she'd never even left.

Even now, as she leaned her head back against the soft chair and stared at the fire dancing before her, Hermione realized she felt more comfortable here than anywhere else she'd ever been: even her own parents' house. Hogwarts was her home. She simply belonged here.

She must have fallen asleep because she was suddenly being jolted awake by the sound of someone noisily clearing their throat. Hermione turned her stiff neck to survey the room, nearly jumping out of her chair when the face of Minerva McGonagall materialised in the flames of her fireplace. After the war, the Floo network within Hogwarts had been disabled; the fireplaces were now used as a type of intercom system only. And even then, such use was fairly rare.

"Oh, good... you're awake," said the face from the embers without the slightest trace of irony.

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall and noted with surprise that it was quite late: nearly two o'clock in the morning. "Did you just get back?" she asked the Headmistress sleepily.

"Yes," she answered briskly. "I'd like to speak with you if it's not too late."

It was hard to tell with the sound of the logs crackling in the fireplace, but Hermione thought McGonagall sounded either very old or very tired. Or perhaps both.

"Of course! I'll come to your office straightaway."

Despite the warmth of the fireplace, Hermione felt a sudden chill and set off for the Headmistress' Office with a rising sense of trepidation. What could have transpired between McGonagall and Snape at St. Mungo's that was so important it couldn't wait until morning? And perhaps most disturbing of all, how did it involve her?

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A/N: Enormous thanks to the amazing ladyofthecloak and the stunning little_beloved, the best betas a girl could ask for (and unbelievably patient with my comma-challenged grammar!). The fabulous lettybird did the Brit-picking and taught me the term 'swot'... love it! BTW, 'docere, cognoscere' is Latin for 'to teach, to learn'.