Illumination

The silent, oppressive darkness in the carriage was broken by the sound of ragged breathing. Hers came in short, hiccuping explosions, and his came in ferocious gusts through his prodigious nose.

She heard the creak of leather as he sat back against his seat, and she slowly pulled her own spine out of the seat she occupied and sat up straight.

"You will explain this insult immediately." His voice was low and threatening. Hermione had read the words "in a deadly voice" in penny-thriller books before. Now she had a rather good idea of what exactly that sounded like. She decided the situation called for bravery, determination, and, perhaps, a bit of honesty.

"To be completely candid, Professor...if indeed that is what you are...I don't actually know what I just called you. I just wanted you to turn the carriage around, and you weren't listening to me."

"I'm of half a mind to do just that. It would serve you right to end your days in ignorance. How does a young lady, such as yourself, the granddaughter of a Baronet, no less, come to have such a foul and wicked mouth?"

"Stephens."

"Stephens?"

"He kept my father's horses before we moved to London."

"Ahhhh. Eavesdropping on the servants, Miss Granger? How coarse you are."

"No, sir! I only eavesdrop on my parents."

"You say that as if that is more acceptable."

"Isn't it mandatory for a child? How else is one to learn their fate, if not from overhearing it?"

"Indeed. You should take care when you listen in on your parents; you risk hearing what they actually think of you."

"I understand, sir."

"Do you?"

"Yes. For instance, I know that both of my parents think I am too plain to ever make a match, and yet they perpetuate the lie that someday I will suddenly transform into a great beauty. My father will even risk insulting his own mother to defend my nonexistent hope of future appeal. I detest lies. Adults lie to children all the time and then act confused when we believe them. They tell me I can be anything I want to be when I am seven and then treat me like a simpleton for actually assuming I could become a doctor when I am eleven. Was I simply to pick up the truth along the way by some form of mental absorption? It is a strange thing to know that the only people in the world who love you see nothing brighter in your future than being a governess someday."

"Believe me, Miss Granger. There are worse things a parent can think of their child. Now, if you didn't pick up your vocabulary from skulking after your servants with your ears wiggling, how exactly did you come to your, shall we say, colorfully ignorant euphemisms?"

"I would think the answer obvious."

"Pretend I'm slow."

"Surely, I must have asked him to teach me?"

"So you must have," he drawled.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Barely, but it will suffice for now."

"Will you turn the carriage around and return me to my family now?"

"No."

The fear that had dissipated during their nearly polite exchange came stabbing back with vigor.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Do with you? I'm going to take you to school, you silly little girl."

"There really is a school?"

"Of course. What other reason would there be for me to confine myself in a carriage with a foul-mouthed little hoyden?"

"But you said..."

The leather creaked again, and she pressed herself back against her seat as she felt him draw near.

"What did I say, Miss Granger? Were you even listening? Or were you too busy rudely interrupting?"

"No, sir. I heard you quite clearly. You admitted to having lied to my parents about the curriculum and then went jabbering on about some other courses of study with obviously fraudulent names."

"Such as?"

"Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against Dark Arts, Astronomy–that one sounds rather exciting–and..."

"And?"

"I admit, I must have misheard you with the last one. I thought for a wild moment that you had said there was a course on the History of..."

"Lumos. "

"...Magic..."

Hermione's words trailed off into silence as the carriage filled with a cold blue light emanating from the tip of Mast–Professor Snape's baton. His eyes stared at her intently, judging her reaction as if it was some sort of test. She struggled as the urge to cry welled up and didn't know if it was because she was frightened, shocked, or relieved. She swallowed with difficulty and took a deep breath before lifting her chin and reaching out to touch the cold light.

He pulled the baton out of reach, muttering, and with a flick, the light leapt to the ceiling of the coach where it spread out and pulsed.

"A Gryffindor, or I'll eat my hat. No wonder I find you so annoying. Mustn't touch what isn't yours, Miss Granger."

"Gryffindor?" she whispered absently whilst staring at the light pulsing on the ceiling. "How did you do that?"

"Then again, perhaps a Ravenclaw. It's magic, Miss Granger. It is the real reason you were selected for our school. You are a witch."

Hermione's head snapped back down to the man sitting across from her smirking with what looked suspiciously like contempt.

"I admit to having a rude temper, Professor Snape, but even you must see that I was fairly pushed to my limit from the fear that I was being carried off as some sort of plot. I see no reason for you to call me insulting names in return. You are the adult in this situation. I am most disappointed in you. I had thought you quite the gentleman up until now."

"I imagine with a slight pause whilst you assumed I was a kidnapper?"

"Obviously."

For the first time she saw a gleam of what might have been an amused expression.

"I did not insult you, girl. I was explaining. I am one of your teachers; it will be a common occurrence. You should also know that I seldom explain things twice, so pay attention."

He began to flick his baton in sharp and increasingly more complex patterns. In the blink of an eye, they were both dry, wrinkle free, and warm. She lifted up her hand and touched the brim of her bonnet and smiled to find it back in its proper shape.

"Magic. Miss Granger. You are a magic user. You were born with an innate talent that separates you from the Muggles–Non-magic users, such as your parents. Females are referred to as witches. Males are called wizards. We hide from the rest of Muggle society, so we don't end up burned at the stake anymore. Your magic was dormant for far longer than is usual. My notes reflect that although your name flickered several times in the book, it did not darken enough to add you to the list until this past spring. That means your magic didn't become an integral part of you until then. Usually, it manifests at a much younger age."

"It did," she whispered.

"Did it, now?"

"I made my dolls dance in my grandmother's garden once. I was six or seven at the time. When I ran to tell my parents what I had done, they were quite angry at me. My grandmother took great pains to let me know how foolish I was and that magic didn't actually exist. I was so ashamed. It never happened again."

She dropped her gaze down to her lap. "I threw all of my fairy books and magical stories in the rubbish fire when we returned to the country after that." A fat tear finally escaped and rolled down her face.

"Magic is a strange thing, Miss Granger. The link between a witch and her magic can be intuitive. It is possible that you understood even then that there was a threat if you were to be discovered, and you made your own magic go dormant until it simply couldn't lay dormant any longer."

"It was another lie. They lied to me again." She scrubbed angrily at her face. "You cannot trust what people tell you. Only what you read in books."

"That is utter nonsense."

"I don't believe you."

His head snapped back and he gaped at her, plainly insulted. "I'm one of your instructors. Why on earth wouldn't you believe me?"

"Because I haven't read it in a book yet."

"You had better rid yourself of that foolishness, you silly little girl. I will have an enormous amount of knowledge to impart to you and little time for idiocy."

"And I will willingly absorb the needed information when it is confirmed by a text."

By the time the coach came to a stop, they were sitting on opposite sides of the carriage with their arms crossed. He was glaring at her openly, and she was only slightly less subtle and minutely deferential in her defiance.

The door whipped open, and Hermione saw a man who beat out both Professor Snape and the coachman in sheer ugliness. He was bald and hunchbacked, with thick lips and snaggled teeth and a large hairy wart on his nose. He was standing in the pouring rain and yet was quite dry.

"Welcome back to the Leaky Cauldron, Professor. I see yeh have another Muggle. Yer colleagues brought their charges here as well, but they've all retired for the evening already. We have yer rooms all made up for yeh. Not the best, mind, but we're full up. Here, Miss, allow me."

The doorman pulled out his own baton and flicked it at her before reaching for her hand. He steadied her as she stepped down from the coach and into the pouring rain. Her tensed body relaxed when she realized that not a single raindrop landed on her. She beamed up at the hunchback, and he smiled warmly.

"Oh, I do love the Muggle firsties. They always make me heart grow warm," the doorman said with a laugh.

She twisted around to her teacher and smiled as he cancelled the light in the coach and followed her onto the street.

"This is marvelous!" she blurted.

"Are you sure? You haven't confirmed that with a text yet," her professor quipped snidely.

Severus Snape entered the Leaky Cauldron with Miss Granger in tow. He stopped and allowed her a chance to take in the atmosphere of the place. Witches and wizards conversed loudly at the bar while still more came and went through the large fireplace. Mugs and platters sailed through the air bearing food and drink to those crowded around the private tables. A careless elbow knocked a glass off a rail, and it fell to the floor with a smash only to leap back up and reassemble itself with a flick of a wand.

The girl's eyes widened and her face was an open book, telling a tale of wonder and enchantment, quickly followed by overexcitement that became subsumed with nervous trepidation. She sank her teeth into her lip and took two small steps closer to him, stopping only when she actually bumped into his arm.

"Tatterwing, could you show us to our rooms? I believe Miss Granger has had quite enough adventure for the night."

The girl gave him a look filled with thankful relief.

"Right this way, Miss Granger. Up the stairs now."

They followed the hunchback up out of the common room and along the gallery rail to their door. Tatterwing opened it and gestured with a bow and a flourish.

They entered into a tiny sitting room, lit with floating candles and a warm fire. There was also a small round table with two chairs perched at it, a desk against one wall, and two other doors along the back wall.

"The miss's room is to the left, her bags and trunk are already there. Yer room is to the right. Yer things are there as well. Would either of yeh like a bit of something from the kitchens? A spot of tea, perhaps? We have some lovely ginger biscuits today. I set some aside for meself, but the little miss looks like her need might be greater."

"If you would, Tatterwing. That would be most welcome, I'm sure."

"No problem, Professor, no problem at all. In fact, I might could even suggest–"

"That will be quite enough, thank you. Leave us."

"As yeh wish."

Snape pulled out his watch and cast a quick look at it. Shockingly, it wasn't quite as late as he'd thought it was. The evening had only seemed interminable.

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Granger," he said to the girl, as she stood rooted to the floor staring at the floating candles and clutching her reticule like a talisman. She turned to him, a startled expression on her face, and he wondered if she had actually forgotten he was there.

"How do they stay up?" she asked, gesturing at the candles.

"Magic."

The girl had the cheek to roll her eyes at him. "Obviously, but there has to be some force involved, some physical manifestation that cancels out Newton's Law."

"And just what do you know about Newtonian Physics?"

"Only what my father explained to me. I did try to read the book, but I admit most of the words went over my head. My Latin is not of the caliber required to understand the nuance."

Snape felt his eyebrows lift despite his desire not to react. The scales were tipping towards Ravenclaw again. What a strange child. He didn't think he'd ever encountered one quite like her in all his years of teaching.

The tea tray appeared on the table with a pop, and she let out a squeak. She took a determined breath and lifted her chin as she pulled off her gloves and unpinned her bonnet.

Gryffindor. Most definitely.

"Tea, Professor? Milk and sugar, yes?" she asked, as if she were a tiny lady of the manor. The effect was spoiled by her futile tugging at the knot she'd made of the bow under her chin.

"If you would be so kind, Miss Granger. I have some things to fetch for you while you pour."

He headed into his room and quickly found the stack of books, cinched together with a buckled leather strap. He dropped his hat and gloves on the chest, ran his hand through his hair, and looked longingly at his bed. He suspected it would be some time before he was permitted to sink into that inviting pillow.

He headed back into the sitting room.

"Miss Granger, we will be leaving early in the morning to purchase your school supplies. However, earlier today I took the liberty of procuring your textbooks in advance." He set the pile on the table and quickly freed them from the strap. "I think you might start with this one tonight." He handed her a brand-new copy of Hogwarts, A History.

Her eyes widened, and she beamed at him, as if he was the greatest human being she had ever encountered. He blinked, thoroughly flummoxed.

"Thank you, sir. I shall be diligent in my studies."

"Indubitably."

Snape lay stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts raced in circles, pricking at the knot of pain between his eyes. He longed for sleep, and yet he had promised the chit one more hour of candlelight to read. Gods, but she read fast. He'd abandoned her to her own devices to escape the endless questions.

He had to admit, she was a decent distraction.

Now he had nothing left to think about but the fact that the Potter boy would be arriving tomorrow. That fact had been eating at his gut throughout his whole summer. These past eleven years had been nothing more than one long countdown to what he knew was his doom.

His duty was to help protect the boy. Not much different than any of his other charges, but this boy was different. This one should have been his.

What would he be like? Would he look like Lily? Would he be smart and clever and endlessly patient like his mother? Or would he be a bullying dunce like his father? A prematurely dissipated rake, like his godfather? Not that Black ever had any influence over the boy, thank Jove for that. Azkaban was too good for that one. No, young Mister Potter had been left to the care of that blasted Petunia and the chicken-nabob she was reported to have married.

Snape had wanted to care for the boy. He'd wanted to be a guiding force in the boy's life. But his constitution simply rebelled against the fact that the boy belonged to James Potter. He hoped that when he finally set eyes on the child he would see Lily instead. That would make things so much easier. It might even alleviate this feeling of dark destiny. Perhaps, if he were able to make his peace with the child, he would no longer spend so much time wondering why, at the age of only one and thirty, he was convinced his time was running out.

He scowled and pulled his watch out to distract himself from his own maudlin thoughts. He'd been staring at his ceiling for two hours. He hissed like a cat and sprang up off the bed, whipping open his bedroom door.

"Miss Granger..." He turned his head from the table to the desk where he found her frozen in the act of scribbling notes. She looked to have three feet of parchment covered already. Merlin spare him, the girl fancied herself an essayist. He was sure her assignments would be pure hell.

"Miss Granger, please observe common decency and go to bed. We have an early day tomorrow, and some of us actually need to rest."

"Yes, sir. My apologies, sir, I lost track of the..."

"Spare me your lengthy explanations. Please. I abhor them. I will ask you to keep that fact in mind in the very near future, if you will."

With an angry, "Nox, " he put out every candle in the sitting room, leaving her in only the dancing light of the fire.

He shut the bedroom door behind him and stripped off his cravat. By the time he was reaching for his nightshirt, he heard the bed in the next room creaking.

Finally.

He dropped down onto his own bed with the heavy sigh of imminent relief.