Chapter 4 - It Isn't Right

Chapter 4 - It Isn't Right

Hermione stabbed a piece of Shepherd's Pie and shoved it into her mouth. The Great Hall was bustling with students enjoying their dinner, talking, laughing and clinking their cutlery eagerly with each bite. Hermione, however, was in no mood to join in. She examined her half-empty plate sullenly. If it was at all possible, she felt even worse today than she had last night in Dumbledore's office.

Not because she regretted her rather unorthodox method of handling the Potions professor. No, she felt no remorse whatsoever about that particular part. But the quick, exhilarating feeling of throwing caution to the wind and giving in to her frustration about being belittled had vanished as soon as Dumbledore's disappointed blue eyes had drilled into hers.

And now she was back to a confused state of on the one hand longing to rebel against every single rule Hogwarts had ever adopted and on the other hand quietly blending in with the rest of the student body, being invisible and harmless for the remaining weeks.

So far she had done neither, and she was growing restless of her maudlin state.

It had been obvious to Harry and Ron that something had gone awry the night before when she never turned up for dinner. They had tried their best since then to coax her into giving them details, but she had merely snubbed them off, telling them it was none of their business. And although Harry hadn't said, "I told you so", in so many words, she could tell he was itching to.

She pushed her plate away, dabbed her mouth with a napkin and was about to excuse herself when the doors opened and the mail arrived. Twenty-odd owls swooped in and landed haphazardly around the Hall. All of a sudden a Howler erupted at the far end of the Gryffindor table, immediately attracting everyone's attention.

Hermione could just make out Matilda Tomlin, a second-year girl, blushing feverishly, desperately trying to make the Howler stop wailing about her failing Herbology.

"IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SPENDING EVERY WAKING MINUTE ON THE QUIDDITCH PITCH, YOU WOULDN'T BE IN THIS SITUATION, YOUNG LADY!" A high-pitched female voice, most likely Matilda's mother, echoed through the Hall.

"That's one of our new Beaters," Ron said and nudged Hermione in the side. "And she's brilliant too! Somebody should tell her mum to lay off her."

Satisfied with a job well done, the Howler stuck its tongue out as a final nail in the coffin and began the task of shredding itself, sprinkling the pieces over Matilda Tomlin's head, much to the amusement of her classmates. The laughter elevated to new heights as a flustered Pomona Sprout was seen sprinting down the middle aisle, heading for the now slightly disheveled girl. Sprout came to a sudden halt behind Matilda and awkwardly tried to console her but ended up making it worse as a couple of Slytherins, caught up in the moment, started chanting:

When you pout, hug a Sprout! When in doubt, hug a Sprout!

Hermione tore herself away from the ruckus, debating whether or not she should intervene in some way, when from nowhere, a black sleek-looking bird gracefully landed in front of her. Not recognizing the messenger, she carefully unrolled the scroll tied to its leg and started to read, her eyes growing wide with disbelief as she got to the end.

Miss Granger,

Professor S. Snape

A flash of anger surged through her as she read the last sentence. She jerked her head up towards the Head Table, spotting the Potions professor at the end, hiding behind a curtain of greasy black hair, scowling at his food.

That infernal man! How dare he? she thought and slammed her fist down so hard her goblet of pumpkin juice toppled over, causing the liquid to slosh into Ron's lap.

"Oi!" He rose clumsily and began wiping his pants frantically with a napkin.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Evanesco," Hermione said and started cleaning up the mess. "Honestly, Ron, why you would use a napkin when there are at least five simple spells..."

"Not now, Hermione," he said, annoyed. "Who was that from anyway?"

"Oh, alright," she huffed. "It was from Professor Snape. Dumbledore obviously told him to apologize for behaving like a complete arse..."

"Keep it down!" Harry said nervously, his eyes darting to the Head Table.

"Only this is not an apology, it's another bloody insult!" Hermione said fiercely, waving the parchment in front of them.

"Miss Granger!" Pomona Sprout's voice suddenly rang out above their heads. "Mind your language! Last time I checked you were Head Girl, so do try to act accordingly." She glowered viciously at Hermione and stomped off for the Head Table, leaving Harry and Ron with their mouths hanging wide open and Hermione fuming from her ears to her toes.

"If one more person pesters me about my Head Girl duties..." Hermione hissed.

"Hermione, you need calm down! If you keep this up, you'll be in real trouble," Harry hissed back, cutting her off.

It's a little bit too late for that, Hermione thought darkly. An awkward silence settled between the three Gryffindors until finally Ron cleared his throat.

"Um, Harry, we need to get going or we'll be late for practice, only a couple of 'em left before the big game."

This year's big Quidditch finale was taking place in two weeks between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and both Houses had been cramming in last minute practices every day for the last month. While Hermione spent most of her free time at the library, Harry and Ron had basically been sleeping at the pitch, discussing tactics and trying out new moves.

"Yeah, I know, let me just ... " He took a last gulp of his pumpkin juice and rose. "There, let's go."

"Hermione, are you coming down to watch?" Ron asked, already knowing the answer.

"Ehrm, no, probably not. I have some homework to do ... "

"Alright. See you later, then," he said over his shoulder as he and Harry made their way out the Hall.

She watched their retreating backs thoughtfully for a second and then suddenly made up her mind, rummaging through her back pack for a spare bit of parchment. Scribbling quickly, she folded up the paper and called for the unfamiliar bird who had perched on a window sill close by. She fastened it to the bored-looking bird's leg and felt a little smirk form on her lips.

The bird looked at her with disgust as she tried to offer him an owl treat, flapped his wings irritably and took off for the Head Table. She watched as it landed next to the Potions professor.

With long, lanky fingers Snape unfastened the scroll of paper and read the answer. Angrily he snatched his head in her direction, and they locked eyes. She just smiled smugly and gave him a small shrug, satisfied with his reaction.

Later that night found Hermione nestled down in one of the leather armchairs in front of a crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room. It really wasn't necessary to use the grates since the heatwave from Hades seemed to have invaded the Scottish highlands, but Hermione didn't mind.

She stroked Crookshanks distractedly, frowning at the parchment in front of her. She was trying to compose a letter for Christopher, her boyfriend for the last eight months, but found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He had been writing her a letter a week for as long as they had been together, and they were always very heartfelt, telling her how much he missed her and how he longed for her.

She liked him, that much she knew. She just couldn't make up her mind about whether she liked him enough. So she had put the decision on hold for some time, but summer was rapidly coming closer, and she was running out of excuses as to why she didn't want to make any holiday plans with him.

Her mind wandered to the Potions professor and the strained relationship that had formed between them. Well, only a couple of weeks left, and then you'll leave that mess behind. But gaining another ... She sighed irritably and gazed out the window.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the girl standing next to her.

"Miss Granger?" asked a mud-covered Matilda Tomlin, clutching her broomstick nervously.

Hermione smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile and put down her quill and blank parchment.

"Yes, Matilda? Do you want to talk about what happened at dinner?" Hermione said sympathetically, "I'm so sorry..."

"Um, no." Matilda blushed at the public humiliation from earlier and shifted her feet. "I just got back from Quidditch practice and well ... Professor Snape wants to talk to you."

"What!" Hermione yelped in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"He's outside the portrait hole, and he told me to get you," Matilda said, growing concerned at the Head Girl's unexpected reaction, and pointed towards the door.

Hermione darted from the armchair, quill and parchment flying everywhere, almost tripping over Crookshanks and narrowly avoiding a collision with the floor. "Thank you, Matilda," she said, flustered, as she tried to remove a strand of hair from her mouth. "I'll just go check, shall I?"

The now definitely frightened second year only nodded in response and all but ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

Hermione tentatively walked out the portrait hole and peered around. She found Snape leaning against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

"Professor?" Hermione said as she started walking towards him.

Snape immediately retreated from the wall and resumed his usual looming stance.

"I apologize if I am inconveniencing you at this late hour, Miss Granger," he drawled insincerely.

She stopped a healthy two meters in front of him and frowned. There was no one else in the corridor, so if he wanted to hex her, this would be the perfect opportunity.

You're being silly, Hermione, she thought to herself. Remember that you're more than capable of handling anything life decides to throw in your way.

Not if it's a well-aimed Killing Curse from a scorned ex-Death Eater, another small voice whispered. She shook her head, freeing herself from those ridiculous thoughts.

"It's really not a problem. What can I do for you?"

Snape sighed.

"I am here to discuss your ... response to my letter. Or lack thereof." He handed her the parchment containing the single two letters. She glanced at the answer and stifled a snort.

"No."

"I don't think there's anything to discuss. I gave you an offer, you declined. You thought it was a standing invitation, and I corrected this misperception," she said briskly.

"You are forgetting, Miss Granger, that I, unlike yourself, have made an effort to apologize for the lack of character I showed earlier."

"You can hardly call that travesty an apology."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"I can assure you that this "travesty" as you call it is more than anyone has received from me in a good thirty years."

"Well, be that as it may, I'm quite certain Professor Dumbledore put you up to this." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

Snape looked at her intently, as if weighing pros and cons in his head, and then finally, it seemed, gave in with another sigh.

"If you must know, the Headmaster threatened to terminate my employment if I failed to find a way to make you re-offer," he said, lips curling.

"Did he really?" Hermione said, feeling quite touched at this odd but still rather sweet gesture.

"Yes. He's got a ... flair for the dramatic, as you might have noticed," Snape said with the tiniest smirk on his lips.

"Maybe it's not such a bad idea," she said, daringly giving him a cheeky grin.

"Miss Granger," Snape said warningly.

"Oh, fine." Hermione spread out her arms. "Since you asked so nicely." She paused for dramatic effect and continued in what could only be described as a teasing tone of voice. "I don't know if you've heard this, Professor, but my parents own a restaurant in Muggle London and I was wondering ... "

It Isn't Right – the Platters