Chapter 6: What do you think of me?

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

A/N: Thanks again to all who reviewed! I'm always bouncing in my chair when I get another notification email. ^.^

Here follows the conclusion of this very long day (huh! Five chapters!) and you will finally find out about fencing. Though not all about it, or there would be nothing left for Hermione to learn. :)

My Livejournal is located at http://shalimar1981.livejournal.com/ and I'm always glad for anyone who stops by and leaves a comment! :)

Thanks to my beta, SnarkyRoxy, for whipping this chapter (and the previous one) up into shape, and to my other beta, Dark_Hamadryad.

Thanks also to my little girl, for finding my tiny note-pads so very interesting and for being a year old now! ^.^

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Chapter 6: What do you think of me?

For a long moment, she could only gape at him incredulously.

She'd always speculated that he must be very confident in himself to behave and to dress the way he did. That he simply didn't care about the opinions of others and did so simply because he wanted to. He never seemed to be concerned by the opinions of others, no matter what they said about his sour disposition, mode of dress, personal hygiene or his teaching methods. And that kind of confidence he had was something she had always admired in him – even envied in him.

She had always wanted to be like that, to not have to care what her friends and school-mates or even he thought of her – but she did. That was one of the reasons she had always defended him to Harry and Ron, aside from her strong sense of justice and the fact that she simply didn't believe in insulting her teachers behind their backs only because she didn't agree with them.

What Harry and Ron would probably never understand was that in an argument the guilt never only lies with one party. At least always two people had to be involved in an argument or disagreement and such would never arise if only one of the parties was being disagreeable, even if the other party just let themself be provoked.

So if she got detention or was insulted by Professor Snape, it was never only his fault alone. Something she had done perhaps had drawn attention to her or had maybe provoked him, even if it was just a tiny thing that would never be noticed by anyone else. It was a principle of action and reaction. That didn't mean that reaction was always reasonable or fair. With regards to Professor Snape, it hardly ever was. She might not like it, but she would never insult him publicly. In her mind that was another thing entirely, but well, she insulted even herself and people she loved sometimes in her mind without really meaning it, so what made him any different?

Why would Professor Snape, who possessed so much self-confidence, ask her now what she thought of him?

"Why ever do you want to know that for?" she burst out, completely gobsmacked.

To curb temptation, she pressed her lips firmly together so as not to say what was on her mind right then. She must have made quite a sight like this; she had no other explanation for why he started to chuckle. It had a hoarse sound to it, as if it didn't see the light of day very often, which she supposed was the truth.

She flushed once more and looked away. It was certainly a very nice sound to her ears. She firmly stamped down on that wayward insect in her stomach. This wasn't the time for her school-girl crush from fourth year to resurface! Oh, but she couldn't deny that when he chuckled like that...

"Humour me, Miss Granger. This is not meant as a trap. Tell me, now that you have seen a side of me no student has ever seen; what do you think of me?"

She looked at him sceptically, drawing a deep breath, prepared to give him a piece of her mind while she had the chance, and... hesitated.

Something stopped her. She wasn't quite sure exactly what it was. Was it the intensity in his eyes as he studied her? Or his unconventional request itself perhaps? Or was it the fact that he had asked her in such an unconcerned manner? She had no idea, but something shifted inside her then, and she snapped her mouth shut without uttering a sound.

His softly spoken query achieved in an instant what she had tried all day without success: her frayed nerves calmed down, her jumbled mind focused and the emotional roller-coaster she had been on since she'd fled the kitchen that morning ground to a halt.

She sighed in relief. Finally!

All of a sudden, all her doubts and the anxiety she'd experienced that day about Ron and about this meeting were gone. She felt as if a great cloud had been lifted from her mind, as if a roadblock had been removed in front of her and as if she'd had a double espresso all in one. Never mind the fact that she really didn't care for coffee, but if she did, she supposed it would feel like this. Her mind was clear, sharp and focused.

Her unreasonable and rather emotional contemplations about her teacher's character, which had kept her busy all day, were replaced by the cold hard facts she had gathered as evidence of his character in the past.

In short, the control she'd lost during that argument with Ron, which had eluded her the whole day, was back.

She couldn't help feeling a tad miffed that he had accomplished with one sentence what she had battled for over twelve hours to do. She was also mortified at her behaviour that day, in general and especially towards him. For God's sake, she had snapped at him!

Her change of mind also affected her physically, although she wasn't aware of it. Her posture straightened and her tense muscles relaxed virtually simultaneously, letting her finally rest against the backrest of the sofa comfortably.

She could tell the transformation of her state of mind was noticeable, for he gave her a short nod of approval.

Only then did she realise the implications of this action and its connection to his question.

The bastard had manipulated her.

How did he do that? How had he known? How could he have known what would focus her when she didn't even know exactly what it had been? Was she that predictable? Or did he really know her that well?

No, it couldn't be that. Perhaps he was simply very good at reading people? How else could he have...

No! He didn't dare! If he's so much as taken a peek at my thoughts, I'll hex him six ways till Sunday!... Or try to at least.

Trying to decide between indignation and fury, she glared at him, but he didn't seem particularly perturbed by her reaction.

Well, in that case, she wanted to see if she couldn't wipe that satisfied expression off his face.

"Shall I commence or did your query achieve its purpose?" she asked a bit tartly and raised a brow, imitating him unconsciously in her anger.

"No. Answer my question," he replied calmly but expectantly, an index finger resting against his bottom lip as he contemplated her.

That threw her. She hadn't expected him to take her up on her offer, but rather simply admit he'd achieved his purpose. If he'd only wanted to shake her from her emotional roller-coaster ride, why would he insist she still answer him?

Did he really want to know?

"All right. Well, er, you're Hogwarts' Potions master and have been so for the past fifteen years, although you are rumoured to have always been after the Defense Against the Dark Arts position..."

"Miss Granger, I know very well what I am. I want to know your opinion of me. If that is too tasking an assignment for..."

"...though why you should want to be a teacher and moreover to remain one for so long a time with your abominable teaching methods, I don't know..." she wondered aloud, curious if he really wanted to know the truth or not.

When she looked up and saw that he was about to interrupt her again, she pressed on, consequences be damned.

Give him a taste of his own medicine!

"...or I should say, I wouldn't if I wasn't aware of your activities both for the Order and... You-Know-Who. I suppose you took that position initially for the advantage it would give you to spy on Professor Dumbledore for You-Know-Who. And after you changed sides – for whatever reason – it gave Professor Dumbledore an opportunity to keep an eye on you and for you to establish your cover."

"'My cover'. How very dramatic. And what, pray tell, is my cover?" he mocked her quietly.

"The persona you display every day at school, sir. Whenever there are people present who cannot be trusted, you sneer and insult and take off points. It's a very good disguise. Your cruel and sinister behaviour keeps you apart from other people, effectively shielding you against any advances of a positive nature.

"Your reputation precedes you until even first-years quiver with trepidation when only your name is mentioned and before they have ever met you. You hide every emotion other than the negative ones you possess until people think you have no positive feelings at all. It makes you available to former Death Eaters like Malfoy, keeping up the image of the perfect Slytherin and Ex-Death Eater who unwillingly reformed. It's almost perfect."

He was silent and studied her with a calculating and strangely enough appreciating glint in his eyes. He didn't let her wonder for long whether she had passed his test. He chuckled wryly.

"Very good, Miss Granger. So you know. Although I probably shouldn't be surprised that you've realised more than you've let on. An intelligent decision from which your friends could learn. The question now is: did you speak in the heat of the moment when you insulted me and denied all you apparently know, or did you purposely pretend to be of the opposite opinion to throw the likes of Potter?"

She hesitated, debating what he wanted to hear, as it would undoubtedly influence the outcome of her visit to the attic.

"A bit of both," she finally admitted, giving him the truth, and awaited the verdict.

"It seems you truly see more than you let on. Playing down your intelligence may be necessary in the company of your friends, but not with me. From now on, I want you to tell me exactly what you think. Only in the privacy of our lessons, however. With that out of the way, you will answer one more question... you said 'almost perfect'?"

She flushed once more.

"Well, I would never have thought to question your cover's veracity like the others were it not for slight discrepancies between the person you pretend to be and the person you really are."

Instead of the explosion she had expected, or at least a sarcastic insult, came the simple but intensely voiced question, "What discrepancies?"

Slightly taken aback that he was indeed asking her for an analysis of his character – or at least the character she thought she had known until the beginning of the holidays – it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Are you interested in details and chronological order, or shall I list only the most convincing arguments?"

"The short version, if you please. I do have to get back tonight," he replied sarcastically and she stifled the urge to chuckle at that.

He neither said where he needed to go nor how he knew her list would be a long one if she were to recount all the details. Strangely enough, that simple confidence in her abilities was the best compliment she'd received to date.

"The revelations after Quirrell tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone laid the groundwork for making me doubt the general assumption that you are a truly dark wizard. You tried to protect Harry all through that year and your riddle protecting the Stone was literally foolproof. It made me doubt appearances in general from then on. Your proficiency at dueling revealed in my second year was another factor. Even if you seemed to be simply enjoying yourself putting that fool Lockhart in his place, you taught us all to defend ouselves in the process. Third year was very interesting in that regard. You had reasons to despise Remus Lupin from both a personal and a professional perspective, and yet you didn't treat him that horridly in the end; you brewed Wolfsbane for him perfectly."

"I let it slip that he was a werewolf, Miss Granger," he interrupted her for the first time, his tone and expression inscrutable.

"If I may be so bold, I don't think that was truly only your doing."

"What are you implying?"

"The whole affair of Black's sighting, his capture and escape couldn't simply be hushed up. The Minister was there and knew, er, all about it," she continued with another blush she couldn't suppress that clearly broadcast that she knew the Minister of Magic knew far from everything about Sirius' escape.

"It would have come out anyway. I think Professor Dumbledore ordered you to tell one of the Slytherin students, so that Professor Lupin would have a chance to resign. That way, the situation was controlled and diverted attention from the questions the Minister might have thought to ask otherwise about the other events of that night."

She looked up from her study of her hands at him, but his face was devoid of expression.

"Continue," he merely said.

"The essay on werewolves you set was an obvious ploy to make someone – me – realise what Professor Lupin's absences meant. I assume it was to make one of Harry's friends aware of the threat, since you were already suspicious of Professor Lupin. And although we... attacked you in the Shrieking Shack, you tried to protect us from the transformed Professor Lupin."

She hesitated there before continuing, waiting if he wanted to comment on that as well. But he didn't.

"Fourth year. You were suspicious of Professor Moody very early on, and not because he was the Ex-Auror assigned to your case, as everyone thought. The rosebushes," she commented, blushing again and continued resolutely, "You tried to avoid Karkaroff. You showed Fudge your Dark Mark the night of the third task and went to You-Know-Who, although he had to assume you had changed sides. Last year. Most prominent were the Occlumency lessons with Harry, which you gave despite loathing him. I can only assume that something must have happened – most probably that Harry invaded your privacy in some way – for you to stop them."

"Do you mean to tell me that Potter didn't tell his friends why I stopped the lessons?" he enquired in that dangerously low voice.

"He said that you thought he was ready. But considering what happened at the... at the Department of Mysteries..." she trailed off and knew she was correct when she saw his incensed expression.

Hopefully he didn't notice when I faltered like that. Stupid, stupid!

"'Ready', indeed," he muttered furiously, then motioned for her to continue.

"Well, then there is your behaviour towards me here at Grimmauld Place since the start of the holidays. Although I assume that you are nice to me now to catch me off guard, to make whatever your purpose easier."

"Very good, Miss Granger. I'm glad not even emotional turmoil can curb your busy mind. That will be all on that subject," he replied and effectively closed the topic without giving her any inkling whether her assumptions of his character were even remotely correct. Infuriating man!

"What is it that you want from me?" she finally asked, so very weary of this game.

"I want the truth about why you lost your prized control over such a mundane and everyday occurrence as an argument with Weasley; what really triggered your breakdown? But I can see that I won't be getting that answer today. And although I don't believe you're being entirely truthful about your reasons for losing control over your emotions like that, I will leave it be for now.

"I let you talk about your argument with Weasley to determine said reasons. To come back to the purpose of this interview, the control you have over your impulsive nature and your rather volatile emotions in times of stress is fragile at best. This state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue. You might end up seriously injuring either yourself or people you care about."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked in confusion, her voice trembling slightly.

"It cannot have escaped your notice that you completely wrecked the library this morning."

"What?! I didn't!"

"You did, I can assure you. I repaired the damage before you recovered sufficiently to notice apparently."

"Dear God!" Deeply upset, she ran a trembling hand over her now ashen face.

"And that is precisely the reason why such behaviour cannot repeat itself. You are a very powerful witch. Much more powerful than you realise. When your emotions run out of control like that, your magic does the same – with catastrophic results. You might remember this phenomenon from before you got your Hogwarts letter."

She nodded weakly, grasping her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles white.

"After five years of training, this only happens when feelings of the most extreme kind surface: hate, anger, fear." He stopped there and stared at her intensely for a moment, then continued silkily.

"Which of course leads me to believe that your argument with Weasley was not as harmless as you would like me to believe – at least not for you. While it is admirable that you had the presence of mind not to release your emotions in the presence of others, you are a witch and such a display is dangerous, both to yourself and to others.

"You will need to attain a firmer hold on your emotions, find a way to release them gradually so they won't bottle up like this again, and find an outlet to vent the frustration you will accumulate. Which brings us to the reason of why you are here."

"Fencing," she stated, understanding a bit better now but still not yet fully.

"Indeed. Fencing is not merely a sport. It is an art and as such requires the utmost attention to detail, the willingness and discipline to train as often as possible and also an enormous amount of self-control. Requirements you fulfill to the letter."

"But today I..."

"One day is hardly significant when compared to your immaculate record so far, Miss Granger. I am not in the position to give promising students the marks they deserve, and while they are still lower than what you do deserve, I have never given you anything lesser than O's in Potions. Believe me, you fulfill the requirements. I will teach you the..."

"...'exact art and subtle science' that is fencing?" she asked wryly.

"Correct. Meaning the correct stances and moves and the way to beat your opponent so he doesn't know what hit him – literally. Strength, speed, unpredictability, fast reflexes and good strategy make a good fencer. To add cunning will make an exceptional fencer. I will teach you to become that."

"But how will fencing..."

"Patience, Miss Granger. I was just coming to that. To learn the art of defending yourself with the foil will demand a lot of you. To build up strength and endurance, you will start to have a run of ten minutes twice daily. That will also wear you out, which will make you sleep more soundly from now on. My pills may be excellent, but it doesn't do to become dependent on a substance of any kind – neither physically nor emotionally.

"We will train twice during the week, Mondays and Wednesdays, same time as today, and once on the weekend on Saturdays after lunch from now on. That will give you an occupation for mind and body. As you learn to fence, you will come to realize that the self-control that is required will become second nature to you in situations of stress with routine. To be specific: in situations of combat.

"An argument is a battle of wit, of two minds, and thus not much different from a physical fight. In short, you will have what you lack at present: an occupation, something to employ your vast resources of both body and mind, which will hopefully burn up any frustration before it reaches boiling point. And the self-control is self-explanatory, I think. All of it will become second nature for you in time. Any questions?" he asked with a sardonic glint in his eyes.

She shook her head, a bit overwhelmed both by his willingness to impart information on the subject as well as the information itself.

"Excellent," he replied with a satisfied smile.

Obviously, he was glad to have the upper hand in this area since she couldn't prepare in advance and pester him with questions, she thought somewhat uncharitably.

Just as she thought this, he turned around in his seat to a small table behind the sofa she hadn't noticed before and retrieved two items.

Books, she saw to her astonishment as he turned back around to her.

He held them out to her with an expectant expression.

"Research material. I wouldn't want to force Hogwarts' resident know-it-all to be unprepared for something for once in her life," he replied, the old insult lacking its sting for the first time, oddly enough.

She took them with a slightly dazed expression. To her surprise, she noted that they were Muggle books. One was on the history of fencing with emphasis on its origin in dueling, and the other was a practical instruction manual.

"I expect you know what I'm talking about on Wednesday when next we meet, Miss Granger."

"Of course," she answered, strength returning to her voice. The conversation seemed to have come to an end.

"Good. Now that we have that out of the way, eat and drink. Take a new cup. Your tea is bound to be cold by now. And it doesn't bear thinking about to warm up tea that has already been cold," he ordered, conjuring a new cup into his left hand and fixed her a fresh cup of tea. She looked on impassively, all of a sudden feeling as if a train had rolled over her with all that had happened today.

Like that night two weeks ago, they drank the tea and ate the scones in silence, with her eating considerably more than him, since this was technically her first real meal of the day. Breakfast normally constituted nothing more than a glass of orange (or pumpkin) juice and one dry slice of toast for her. She couldn't stomach much more so early in the morning. This time she also made use of the clotted cream – still cold and firm thanks to a Cooling Charm – and strawberry jam, which tasted as if it was freshly made. Heavenly.

Only sporadically did she glance up at him to find him contemplating his tea in silence. When the plate was empty save for a few last crumbs, Snape put his tea cup and saucer back on the coffee-table and turned to regard her thoughtfully.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked with a hint of concern.

She shook her head, face flushed once again with embarrassment.

"No, I'm not. Thank you. The scones really were delicious. My compliments to Professor McGonagall when next you see her."

"I will," he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile, and continued to study her in silence.

"Was there something else you wanted to discuss, sir?" she asked hesitantly after a while, not wanting to appear as if she wanted this... meeting to be over with, but feeling quite drained of the events of the day.

"I realise this subject has been broached before, but all that we discuss and the lessons themselves have to remain between the two of us. Secrecy of all our dealings is of the utmost importance. Lives could depend on it, Miss Granger. No one is to know we even meet outside of the usual casual meeting in the kitchen before an Order meeting when I come through the Floo. Understood?"

"Of course," she agreed, struck by the sudden seriousness with which he had requested her silence.

He got up from the sofa and held out his hand to her. The gravity of the situation curiously becoming painfully clear with this, in the Muggle world, everyday gesture. Wizards seldomly shook hands. They inclined their heads or bowed. Only wizards fascinated with Muggles like Mr Weasley, Muggle-borns or very seldomly half-bloods living among Muggles did so. Or the shaking of hands was more ritualistic in nature than a gesture of greeting. Hmm...

If she'd had the time and means, she would have researched it, like she did everything else. But she didn't.

She stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, the vague thought flitting through her mind that the situation had evolved quite suddenly from a tea-party-like atmosphere to the point where he was entrusting her with the safety of others.

How had it come to this point? And more importantly: how could anything he talked about with her be so serious that he required her word for it that she wouldn't tell anyone? And why would he trust her that she keep it?

After her slight hesitation, she got up from her seat on the other end of the sofa and bridged the distance between her and her Potions professor with two small steps. She grasped his broad hand with her smaller one and shook it, her gaze never straying from his. He had a firm but not overly tight grip, just like she had always thought a handshake must be like. His hand was surprisingly warm and soft and the skin of her palm where their hands touched tingled. From that simple and innocent touch, a pleasant shiver raced down her spine, which she didn't understand at all.

Why did she have the feeling of having fallen irreversibly down the rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland? In more than one sense?

Oh, no. Mustn't think of Snape as the White Rabbit, spouting any moment now, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" Really mustn't! If I giggle now, he'll kill me for sure – agreement or not!

"Good," he said, released her hand and stepped away from her. He took another few strides till he'd cleared the way for her to pass and motioned for her to lead the way to the door.

Head buzzing slightly and her hand feeling strangely empty, she followed his directions till she stood in front of the door once more.

She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, however, and turned back around to her teacher.

"One more thing, sir. I want to apologise for the lack of respect with which I treated and addressed you, not only today but also... that night. You can't imagine how embarrassed I am over my lack of courtesy and self-control."

"Your apology, though appreciated, is completely unnecessary. Everyone has a limit and we will work on it that such a loss of control doesn't happen again. Incidentally, while I must insist that we maintain our distance as is appropriate for a teacher/student relationship, I believe our situation has changed," he responded in his accustomed drawl, though it was lacking its usual chill.

She nodded again, unsure what exactly she was agreeing to and for once utterly at a loss for words.

"It was refreshing to be treated just like you do... everyone else. An interesting experience."

She nodded once more, feeling more and more like a parrot. Speech, at least, had returned.

"It must be hard to be feared," she observed thoughtfully, daring to comment on something she had wondered for quite a while.

"But it is effective, Miss Granger. Never forget that," he replied briskly and more like the Professor Snape she thought she knew until today. His words were lacking their usual bite, though. She knew better now.

She nodded, solemnly.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he replied, inclining his head at her in an old-fashioned gesture of respect.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, turned back towards the door without a last look at him and left the room. The door vanished immediately upon closing it behind her, making her question unreasonably if the meeting had happened at all or had simply been a figment of her imagination.

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A/N: Well, what do you think? Why is Snape so nice all of a sudden? What will happen during Hermione's first lesson? And what is up with Harry and Ron?

Another quote from "Dogma" again. Great movie, is all I can say.

And of course the famous line of the White Rabbit, taken from "Alice in Wonderland".