17th of October 2016

7. 17th of October 2016

9.00 am: Sixth year class in Ancient Runes

She looked at the class and couldn't help smiling. The class of sixth-years were working on the assignment she'd just given them, and they seemed enthusiastic about it, too.

"Translating Muggle fairy tales into Ancient Runes. How exceedingly predictable of you. I used to set higher standards even for the pupils I considered indifferent at best and brainless at worst."

Snape.

He must have realised he'd been missing this particular group of students. She had wondered. And now he was here to make them all suffer.

"I'm afraid I don't have time to chat. We could talk after the lesson, maybe?" she asked, trying hard to sound courteous.

The portrait of Severus Snape sneered at her. And ignored her question.

"And why would you choose such inane texts? Is it the ever-fanciful happily-ever-afters that appeal to you, I wonder?" He gave her a malicious look. "On the other hand, one can't help but understand. Being married to Ronald Weasley, having made a good start on the traditional brood of Weasley children—to plague the hapless Wizarding Britain in due course, no doubt—and working full-time as a teacher at Hogwarts on top of all that, even I can understand this rather pathetic attempt at having some love and romance in your life. I can also see how a story like Hansel and Gretel appeals. Two children, put out in the woods by their parents to die ..."

He couldn't have said what she thought he had. Not even him. Her legs felt wobbly and unruly as she took two steps closer to the painting. He had undermined her in every single class she had. Not only had he been rude and mocked the students, now he was having a go at her family.

She'd drawn her wand before she'd even realised what she was doing, and then she heard someone's shrill voice—her voice—shriek Reducto at an earsplitting volume.

She realised her mistake too late. The fact that she had not thrown the hex wordlessly had warned the mean bastard. The second before the spell hit she saw his eyes widen, and he threw himself sideways out of the frame.

The next moment charred pieces of wood from the frame were spread over the classroom, while little pieces of torn canvas, like absurd colourful and charred snowflakes, fell over her and the students.

Hermione looked at the class after surveying what was left of the painting. The room was silent. Most of the students were looking at her with dropped jaws, and a few were covering their mouths with their hands. She stuck out her lower lip and blew a stray piece of canvas out of her face.

"Finish your assignments. There will be no further disturbances."

13.00 pm Headmistress McGonagall's office

"You obliterated the painting, with me still in it! It was pure luck I managed to get out of it in time," Snape said, giving her a haughty look down his nose. His bony, huge nose. "I could have been damaged beyond repair," he added with a sniff.

"And that would have been a problem, why?" she asked. She hated him. Hated, detested and despised him.

Minerva, who had been pacing the office, robe flaring, stopped and gave Hermione a surprised look.

"Hermione, this isn't like you!" Minerva was trying to sound her old self; Hermione could hear that, and she felt ashamed. Minerva looked tired and pale, and she hadn't meant to add to her burdens since managing the school seemed to take so much out of her these days.

"I'm sorry. I lost my temper." She took a couple of deep breaths, feeling her pulse starting to slow down.

Minerva gave Snape's portrait an annoyed look over the rim of her glasses.

"I understand, Hermione, I really do, but you can't do a thing like that, no matter how dire the provocation. He is one of the Headmasters, and a well respected one at that ... surprising as it feels sometimes." Minerva gave Snape another annoyed glance. "I'm sure Severus will apolo—"

Snape ignored her. "I think I might need to bring this to the attention of the Board of Governors."

Something in Hermione snapped at Snape's words. It was a small snap, a snap that was hardly noticeable, but it was enough to set all civility filters she had out of working order.

"You just do that. In fact, please do!" She heard herself shriek the words. "Every effing week for over two years you have been sitting in that bloody frame, making snide remarks, harassing the students and undermining me, and I'll be glad to meet with them!" Minerva sank down in an armchair, looking even paler now, and Hermione again tried to calm down, but didn't manage very well.

She strode up to his painting and poked it with her wand. "You will stop it, or I will come after you with turpentine." And now she could hear that she was roaring at the top of her lungs instead of shrieking. She spun around, yanked the door of Minerva's office open and left, slamming the door shut behind her.

She could hear him laugh even through the door. The bastard.