Chapter 4: High Tea in the Attic

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this. Anything you recognise is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: Thanks for all those nice reviews. You pull me up every time! ^.^

Now follows the continuation and you'll find out what happens to Hermione. I wonder what you think about my solution and am anxiously awaiting reviews! :)

Anyone interested in my Livejournal will find it at http://shalimar1981.livejournal.com/. Comments will be appreciated. :)

As ever thanks to the indomitable Bi for reading over the chapter, her encouragement and lack of surprise over the enthusiastic reviews I receive. Thanks also to SnarkyRoxy, who has to be the fastest beta ever!

And I thank my baby girl just because. :X

This chapter is a dedication to HoneyB and Bi, my best friends, as a birthday present. Sorry, but you'll have to share. ;P

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Chapter 4: High Tea in the Attic

For a long moment, she could only stare at the wide-open door incredulously, then she gave a low and weak chuckle and moved towards it just as she heard a familiar voice call out, "Come in, Miss Granger, or do you want to stand out there all night?"

She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, chanting, "I won't kill my teacher," under her breath then straightened her shoulders, pocketed her wand once more and walked towards the open door.

She passed through it slowly, curious despite herself at what she'd find inside.

When she entered and saw what was in the room, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared dumbly at the scene before her. Whatever she'd imagined, this certainly wasn't it.

As she'd suspected from the outside, the rooms on the right side mirrored exactly the ones on the left-hand side of the hallway, making this a long and narrow room with windows in the roof all along one side. Curiously enough, there was a long, grey mat of perhaps fourteen metres by two, with two metres of room to spare at both ends, lying on the floor, the purpose of which eluded her.

And then there was that comfortable sitting area looking totally out of place in the far corner of the room. It was comprised of a dark red sofa, two accompanying dark red, upholstered chairs and a coffee-table made of teak wood on which tea for two was laid out, complete with scones, jam and clotted cream.

All in all, it looked so cozy it was almost surreal.

Beside the sofa, with his hands folded neatly behind his back, stood Professor Snape; though it had been only once before she had seen him out of his usual intimidating teaching robes like this: at the Yule Ball in her fourth year.

Just like then, he was dressed in a plain black, multi-buttoned waistcoat, a simple white dress shirt – well, probably; it was hard to tell with only a bit of it peeking out at his neck and cuffs – and black trousers.

So, this was his normal attire? She'd been wondering about that. How he had managed to be the only one at the Ball not having to wear dress robes was one of the things she'd dearly like to know.

And now, just like at the Ball, she couldn't help finding him... very appealing in a certain way.

It had infuriated and worried her simultaneously that she had been distracted from her date to the Ball by her Potions Professor, but it had been hardly surprising. As had been the number of crushes that sixth and seventh year girls – and one fourth year girl – from all houses had developed for him after the Ball.

The waistcoat and trousers, which were tailored to his frame, emphasised his lean form and understated strength. Its conservative cut underlined his natural elegance, making him appear very handsome and also much more approachable than he would in his intimidating robes. They usually detracted from any appeal he had very effectively, which was probably one of their purposes. And contrary to popular opinion, she found the colour black suited him just fine and made him look austere and serious, rather than pale and sickly.

She felt the blush rise up in her cheeks again. She didn't understand this at all! The way he looked right now made her forget to care how much he scowled normally. It may be superficial of her, but that's the way it was.

Although, he didn't. Scowl, that was.

That in itself was probably the most unusual thing so far. Professor Snape scowled. It was almost a law of nature. But he didn't now.

All of a sudden she was starting to get a little bit anxious about this 'meeting'.

Actually, he almost looked... relaxed. If that was possible to imagine.

He still didn't smile or anything like that. Thank God, or it would've probably been straight to St. Mungo's for her. No, nothing like that. Relaxed was probably the best word to describe it. The lines around his eyes and mouth, as well as those on his forehead, normally etched deeply into a sneer or a similarly unpleasant expression were less prominent at present. He certainly didn't look like he had a raging headache as he did whenever he taught Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions.

She blushed guiltily at the thoughts running through her head, which weren't exactly the sort of thoughts one should be having about one's teacher – both the complimentary and the faintly insulting ones.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, Miss Granger." He simply motioned for her to take a seat, his expression inscrutable.

She hesitated, still much too stunned to comprehend what he had just said.

Did he just say, 'please'?

Not having even entertained the idea to take his invitation seriously, she was now shocked to discover the truth.

He wasn't trying to be... nice?

When he didn't say anything else but merely beckoned her closer to the sitting area, her legs finally moved her in his general direction.

She sat down at the edge of the soft sofa, her back ramrod-straight and her hands grasping each other tightly in her lap. She had expected him to sit down opposite her in one of the chairs to firmly establish his authority and properly distance himself from her, but to her great surprise Snape sat down at the other end of the sofa instead. Although, lounging was more like it. He seemed completely at ease, which only made her even more uncomfortably aware of how far out of her depth she really was with him.

She didn't know exactly what she'd expected...

No, that was a lie.

She'd expected to meet Professor Snape, Potions master and Head of Slytherin House, who terrorised Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors with relish, gave students from his own House preferential treatment and who never ever had a kind word for anyone.

That Professor Snape was apparently not on duty today.

"Tea?"

After simply staring at him for a moment, she recalled her manners.

"Yes, thank you, sir." she replied, more than a bit bewildered at his courteous tone.

He poured both of them a cup and, after enquiring, added sugar and lemon to hers, and some sugar to his.

Another surprise.

She would've pegged him as the 'I-take-my-tea-black' kind of person.

He handed her the cup of tea and motioned for her to take one of the scones.

"You've had no lunch and no dinner to speak of, so I expect that plate to be empty when we leave." Still that infuriatingly courteous tone, as if she had stopped by for a social visit!

And how the devil does he know I had no lunch?!

Spy secrets, she supposed.

Shrugging inwardly, she took one of the scones, forsaking jam and clotted cream for now. She didn't trust herself to be poised and elegant with a knife and something runny and sticky before she knew what exactly this meeting was about.

She took a sip of her tea and then a bite of her scone, barely keeping from moaning in ecstasy. She really, really liked scones, and these were particularly heavenly.

He seemed to have noticed, nevertheless.

"They're my favourite as well. Minerva simply makes the best," he remarked conversationally. That fact alone made her blink. Then she registered what he'd said.

Professor McGonagall bakes scones in her free-time?

Today was full of surprises. And she had a dour feeling she hadn't seen the end of them yet.

"I trust this tea is more to your liking?" he inquired, as unfazed as ever, and yet she could swear he was amused.

"It is, sir, thank you. Infinitely better than those ghastly tea bags, not to mention that this is obviously a Darjeeling and not that pitiful excuse for tea we had the other night. Unfortunately, it doesn't possess its soothing qualities or we wouldn't have had to suffer that abominable brew." She launched into the familiar tirade, relieved she would have a reprieve before having to talk about her behaviour in the library – or worse, why she'd lost it in the first place.

He began to cough violently, covering his mouth with his hand. When he'd recovered somewhat, he quickly took a gulp of his tea.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes, yes, quite," he merely replied and took another gulp of his tea.

"From your... altercation with Mr Weasley, I gather you are no longer underage?" he managed to mention casually, one or two coughs slipping out and effectively changed the subject.

So much for a reprieve.

Though, she certainly hadn't expected that to be the first thing he'd say when they dispensed with the small talk.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what got into me. I..." she panicked as her confidence and righteous anger from earlier went right out of the – closed – window in the face of actually having to talk with Professor Snape about her misconduct and what else he quite possibly would get out of her – although she didn't want to – and began to ramble like an imbecile.

"Miss Granger, did I give the impression earlier that I invited you here to reprimand you?" he interrupted her quietly.

"Er... no, sir," she answered hesitantly, when her panic subsided a little.

"Would you simply answer my question then?" he continued calmly.

What was this about?

"I am of age, Professor. I'm going to be eighteen two weeks before the start of term, on August 18th."

"Have you tried practising? Spells? Charms? Hexes?... Potions?" he inquired innocently.

How someone with a disposition like his could pull that off, she had no idea, but it sure seemed like it.

The first years, who had the firm belief he snatched naughty children in their sleep and fed them to Hagrid's remaining Blast-Ended Skrewt, certainly wouldn't believe her.

That the last Skrewt had died near the end of previous year - thankfully - and that they didn't like human flesh to begin with was obviously of little importance, as was the fact that no children had ever gone missing at Hogwarts. Well, aside from that Montague, but since he was a Slytherin and an unpleasant one at that, it made the same difference to her.

"Yes, but without much success," she answered cautiously, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Meaning, of course, that you had no one to practise with and no one was willing to correct your mistakes," he interpreted bluntly.

She hesitated, her eyes riveted to the tea cup she held in her hand, her emotions battling between helpless frustration and anger. Although she had voiced her frustration quite plainly in the library and had not wasted her breath making anything seem nicer than it was, it was her problem.

As he himself had pointed out very tactfully, all of them had more important things to do than deal with an overzealous student who couldn't wait out the holidays.

And it would certainly not help if she were to hex her teacher. Even if she were to give in to his provocation, she seriously doubted that she could draw faster than him. She was really not angry enough to find out.

He apparently sensed her reluctance, though he latched on the less incriminating one of her thoughts, to her immense relief.

"I overheard you, remember? And no one is more honest than at the height of their temper. Teachers are supposed to teach. That is their first duty. A duty your teachers failed to fulfil. I'm not here to blame anyone who doesn't deserve it. Rather, I want to rectify a lapse of judgment of mine."

'A lapse of judgement'? Did Professor Snape, Potions master and bane of Harry's existence, just admit to making a mistake?! He's not going to punish me; he's going to kill me! After this, he can't let me live! she thought a bit giddily.

Hysterics were obviously still a possibility if she wasn't careful in containing them.

"Which would be?" she gave in to her curiosity, latching onto the last part of his sentence.

"I knew you'd ask," he responded with a slight smirk. "You seem to be unable to pass the time with frivolous pursuits like your friends. Your studying has also failed you. Every alternative you've tried was either forbidden or failed to achieve the desired result. Your talents and physical resources aren't used even remotely the way they should be. In short, you are restless, frustrated."

"Yes, sir," she replied, having no idea how recounting her miserable existence was going to get them anywhere.

Maybe she had been right in distrusting her instincts. The way this was going, he was probably going to gloat about her situation and add some insults about know-it-all students for good measure while he had her at his mercy.

Hmph.

"Which is why you brewed the rest of the healing potions although you were forbidden to do so."

So, he definitely knew. Well, good for him.

"I was forbidden to use your lab, sir, and I didn't," she answered defiantly, waiting for her teacher to explode.

She had never spoken to any one of her teachers with such a lack of respect, least of all him. Maybe the past few weeks were finally getting to her. Maybe this was a new Hermione in the making. Harry and Ron would be delighted, to be sure. They always grumbled about her sticking to the rules when they wanted nothing more than to break each and every one of them.

Instead of exploding and showering her with his usual vitriol, however, he smiled. Really. Not a smirk or a quirk of his thin lips, but a full, pleased smile.

Now she knew it; she was as good as dead. Had anyone ever seen him smile before?

From one moment to the next, he was a completely different person. The smile transformed his whole face. With the lines around his eyes and mouth used for something so completely different – not to mention pleasant – than his usual sneer, he looked much younger than his years and almost, well, carefree. And handsome; very, very handsome.

Sadly enough it lasted only a moment, his face once more wearing the carefully blank expression he had whenever he didn't scowl.

Wow, was her only coherent thought on the matter. As she was flooded with warmth from head to toes, she swallowed compulsively, her mouth dry. St. Mungo's was far from her mind.

"I know you didn't. Which makes the results even more of a surprise. Such circumvention of something forbidden was worthy of a Slytherin."

She jerked awake from her daydream and gaped at him incredulously. Then a smile formed on her lips.

Was that a compliment? From him?! This was just getting weirder by the moment!

First an apology, then a real smile and now a compliment!

She should savour it while it lasted. This was as close to any recognition of her talents as she would probably ever get from him.

"Potions shouldn't be brewed anywhere but in a lab. Not in a dusty attic room, nor in an unused Girls' bathroom, Miss Granger," he lectured her, very much enjoying himself.

She flushed uncomfortably, happy feelings along with her smile vanishing in a flash. So much for making it last.

"Well, you have to make do with what you've got. And I was careful," she huffed at him.

"Of course."

He seemed quite amused now, obviously remembering the way that particular piece of potion brewing had turned out. If he knew she had brewed Polyjuice in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, undoubtedly he knew about her coughing up hairballs for three weeks afterwards as well. She remembered all those reversive potions she'd had to swallow during those unbearably long two months.

Not to forget the fact that he must have wondered at some point how she had procured the Boomslang skin and the Bicorn horn.

Damn the man! she thought and glared at him hotly.

"Miss Granger, however much I might like to muse over one of the school's Prefect's past misdemeanours, I want to get back to your current, unfortunate situation. I, too, am your teacher. I had my part in hindering your efforts. You wanted to help, made a single mistake, and instead of giving you another chance and supervising you, I shut down another avenue for you to let off steam, no matter how good the end result. And I want to rectify that. In short, I want to help you."

Why ever would he? Is he sick? Did someone hit him over the head? What?!

"How?" she couldn't help saying, knowing very well she might regret it. She was hooked now.

What would he offer?

"What do you know about fencing?"

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A/N: Doh! Fencing?! What is Snape on about?

Floored you, didn't I? I doubt anyone expected that.

I will explain what that has to do with Hermione and why Snape suggests this Muggle sport of all things. How Snape knows about fencing in the first place will be more thoroughly explained a few chapters down the road. Anyone care to speculate?

Regarding Hermione's age, I know that her birthday is September 19th, but I figured she didn't gain a whole year using the Time-Turner making her birthday now August 18th – the day in the middle of the birthdays of my two best friends (see dedication). :)

I think you can tell that as soon as I got the hang of chapters three and four, I was having a lot of fun at the expense of poor Hermione and the others. I hope you like both of them nevertheless, as they were especially hard to write and bear with me a little. I needed to laugh very badly.

Another quote, this time from the book "Bridget Jones's Dairy".

On another note, the line "'I-take-my-tea-black' kind of person..." was inspired by LOTM's great fic "Protector". If you're finished here, go read it now. It's brilliant!

*Hugs LOTM*

Up next: Finally some explanations...