Chapter 8 - The Return

Instructing the Professor

Chapter 8 – The Return

The students slowly sauntered into the dungeons when they realised their truculent Potions Mistress was not at her usual perch by her desk. Not quite believing their luck, most of them struck up conversations with their immediate neighbours and exchanged the latest gossips in harsh whispers. Lucius had, of course, been unable to resist the temptation to trip Peter Pettigrew; and much to the amusement of the class, the fallen diminutive Gryffindor merely rubbed his scarlet face as he remained splayed on the ground. The laughter, however, soon died when Sirius confronted the haughty blonde. Severus and James were unable to restrain their friends from the would-be scuffle, and realising this, Remus helped Peter to his feet and sought to mediate in the dispute. Hearing Sirius's demands that Lucius apologise to Peter, Remus was proud that his rakishly impulsive friend had decided to exercise caution. Though he was pleased with Severus and James's good sense this once, he was struck by Peter's unusual silence and his refusal to accuse Lucius of any wrongdoing.

Unable to separate Lucius and Sirius effectively, Remus contemplated stunning them. Prudence, however, dictated that such an action should only be a last resort. Just then, as Lucius flicked his hair back, Severus leapt forward and seized the back of his robes; Lucius struggled and snarled at both the Gryffindors and his friend. James and Remus did likewise with Sirius and thus managed to pull the two young men apart. The dungeon doors propitiously swung open with a reverberating thump as the two wizards stood flailing under the pressure of their friends' restraints. Hermione appeared in her usual grey dress and robes. Her chocolate eyes narrowed maliciously and swept across the room to the two sets of wrestling boys. "Fighting are we, Malfoy, Black, Potter, Lupin, Snape?" she said in her cold sneering French drawl. "Twenty points each from Gryffinfor and Slytherin. Release the fighting cocks, Snape and Potter, or it will be detention with me."

At that injunction, Severus met her glinting eyes and reluctantly released his friend. Detention with Professor Grenarm! Oh la la! That woman certainly gave an impression of power even though she was thoroughly impartial. It was then that Severus knew what he wanted to do. He ultimately wanted to teach the dark arts; it was a feasible option, the Defence Against the Dark Arts position was open every year. He wanted to be exactly like his Potions Mistress. There was nothing better than having a sense of power and superiority over others, and teaching the dark arts to impressionable young minds would allow him to achieve just that. He realised that as an educator, he could also ensnare their minds, bewitch their senses and corrupt their souls. He curled his lips into a cruel smirk – oh yes, it would be delicious indeed. His reverie was broken when Hermione closed the dungeon doors with an echoing bang that effectively silenced everyone.

"You may realise," said she in her low sneering drawl, "That we will continue the liberati tempus solution today." She gestured to the student shelves in a dim corner of the dungeon. "You will find your concoctions as you left them last session. If correctly made, they should have matured well over the weekend – Instructions." She paused to wave her wand. "On the board."

The students stared blankly at her, a few trembled in fear and uncertainty.

She clapped her hands twice sharply, startling several students. "Have I petrified you? Get into your pairs and collect your cauldrons from the shelves! Monsieur Snape, help me with mine if you do not mind."

Severus bowed his assent. That was it, he decided – he would teach. He would command fear and respect from lesser beings than he as Professor Grenarm did. He would return to Hogwarts and he would see her again – and who knows? His Potions Mistress had been right; a low hiss is sometimes more effective than a shout. Apparently, image was the key to striking fear – he would remember that. Bah! That could be easily done! He was a Snape after all. He gently stirred the cauldron as she cut up the ingredients and explained the procedure. She did everything with such precision whether it was grinding, cutting or mixing. She handed him the ingredients and instructed him as to the process, drawing the class's attention to how it ought to be properly done.

"As you can see, the solution should be turquoise at this juncture. Merci, Monsieur Snape," she coldly said with a curt nod. "You may return to your seat after you extinguish the flame. And you dunderheads remember, add the two drops of unicorn horn and salamander blood mixture after you take the cauldron off the fire," she announced quietly with great irritation.

She cast a withering look in Sirius and James's direction as soon as Severus sat down. "Try to remember that, Black and Potter!"

Following that thinly veiled warning, the class proceeded to work in near silence. Half an hour into their progress, Hermione looked up from her book and called, "Your solution should simmer for three minutes. If you did it correctly, a pale blue vapour should rise."

At the sounds of hacking coughs, she glided to the originators of the sounds still clutching her book. She looked down her nose at the perpetrators. "Ah," she exclaimed with a smirk on her face as she watched the cauldron prodigiously spit thick grey smoke into the air. Potter, Black, your dexterity has done you yet another service! Do you understand the words 'slow revolutions'?" She looked pointedly at their messy worktable. "Clearly, youthful vigour isn't everything," she sneered in her drawl.

"No marks again, then, gentlemen." She was about to empty the cauldron with a wave of her wand when she stopped with a malicious smirk. "Perhaps you can remedy this?"

The Slytherins sniggered at James's discomfiture. Only Sirius stared defiantly at her. "Of course, I can," declared Sirius stoutly as he poured the dried fluxweed into his solution. Severus instinctively divined the intentions of his archrival and sprang forward from his seat with a loud "NO". He had wanted to grab her out of harm's way. One step shy from her, he heard the loud boom of an explosion and her belated command of "evanesco".

When the smoke had cleared, all the students gasped in horror as they realised that the open book and its gently fluttering on the floor was all that was left of their Potions Mistress. Severus ruefully picked up the copy of The Paradox of Socrates, which she had been clasping, and found his poem sandwiched between its pages. He glanced at the visibly shaken Sirius Black and pointed his wand at the culprit.

Before the events were aggravated, Headmaster Dumbledore descended to the dungeons and without waiting to have his request of admittance answered, he let himself in the classroom. All the students could see that he wore a look of grave concern.

"Oh dear," he murmured, taking in the scene and looking absolutely distraught. "Is everyone all right?" he enquired in a faltering voice as he scanned the room for his Potions Mistress. He firmly took Severus by the arm and tearing him away from Sirius, demanded an explanation. The information was revealed with alacrity and Dumbledore nodded and frowned at the appropriate intervals. Severus heard him murmur, "I hope she's safe where she belongs."

"Detention with me, Mr Black, beginning tomorrow!" announced Dumbledore clearly. He withdrew his wand. "And as for the rest of you – Obliviate."

"NO!" cried Severus in protest.

* * *

Severus awoke with a start, shouting, "NO!" He sat up rigidly and rubbed his temples; he was disturbed by the images that had just bombarded his mind. It was if that Granger woman had – No, it could not be. She's a mere child, how could she have... He quietened his mind and ran his fingers through his lank greasy hair, which was damp with perspiration. He scowled in spite of himself. She had been his teacher! Ludicrous! How could she have saved him from a rogue Bludger? McGonagall and Madame Hooch had done so; the latter was refereeing the match. Yet the images were so vivid. He shook his head and curled his lips at his own hallucinations. He tried listening to the sounds of the night but found that he could only hear his heart beating.

"Lumos," he muttered, lighting his bedroom. His mind was satisfied that he was still in his chambers and was most assuredly not in his seventh year at Hogwarts. He looked at his nightstand and found that his favourite books were neatly stacked there. He clenched his fists and felt the warm satin of his black bed sheets. "Good," Severus mumbled, closing his eyes, "It was only a dream; a bloody fitful dream!"

He opened his eyes and frowned with consternation. It had seemed real enough; it did answer several of questions and had successfully filled the blanks of the memories of his seventh year. "Only one way to prove this," he growled, pinching his prominent nose. He walked over to the bookcase in his bedchamber, which housed his rarely used books and carefully scanned its contents. After a short interval, he finally found the volumes he wanted. Picking up the book from the top shelf, he blew the dust off its spine to confirm its title. If he had paled upon reading the title, he turned ashen when he fanned the pages and found an old piece of parchment containing his handwriting lodged there. Replacing the book, he picked up the second book. After furiously flipping to his desired section, he proceeded to read the author's observations on time travelling with trembling hands. "By Merlin!" he exclaimed, sinking into a nearby chair. "The Fates do toy with us mortals! Predestination indeed!"

Hearing a sound in the antechamber, he summoned his wand and hastened to investigate. A petite female figure had evidently fallen over a small side table, knocking over the books there in the process. Issuing a command to light the room, he was unprepared to find a figure clad in grey face flat on the carpet moaning softly.

"Just what do you think you're doing in my private rooms?" she hissed in a low French drawl as she strove to extricate herself from the tangle of her robes, the books and the carpet.

Severus quickly regained his composure at the familiar lilt. "Stop thrashing, insufferable creature!" he snapped in a cold sneer before casting a spell to restore everything to order. He smirked at her suspiciously narrowing eyes and bowed. "At your service," he purred, offering to help her up, pausing momentarily as he pushed aside thoughts of hexing her. "Why have you intruded in my chambers? How have you entered my sanctuary without breaking my wards, Professor Granger?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. "What did you call me?" she gasped, sounding very much herself.

"Silly insufferable woman!" he snarled in a low tone, stepping forward. "Do not try my patience!"

Expecting his colleague to back away, he was taken aback when she flung her arms around him in a tight embrace and kissed him several times on the cheeks. He could only clamp his arms firmly to his side and scowl. "Will you cease molesting me, Professor Granger?"

"Severus! I'm back! I'm back!" she muttered joyfully, squeezing him tightly.

Deciding that he would make the best of the awkward situation, he tentatively raised his hands to stiffly stroke her back.

She kissed his cheeks again fervently. "I'm so afraid this is a dream. Pinch me and tell me I'm back!"

"And bruise you so that you can complain to Dumbledore and McGonagall?" he sneered, curling his lips contemptuously and gently pushing her away.

"How long have I been gone?" she asked eagerly, grasping his hand with warmth.

"Do you wish to cut off my circulation?" he snapped as he sat next to her on the carpet. "Nineteen days," he answered coolly. "We should inform the Headmaster of your fortuitous return."

"Only over a fortnight! I've missed our tea sessions so dearly. I feel as if I've been gone for ages," she squealed excitedly and embracing him again. He noted disconcertedly that it was not an unwelcome sensation.

"My dear Professor Grenarm," he said quietly, breaking free from her grasp and dusting some imaginary lint off his grey nightshirt. "I think I know it all."

She gasped in embarrassment and disbelief as he rose to the fireplace. "Headmaster's quarters!" he commanded after throwing in the floo powder.

"Do you mind, my boy?" yawned Dumbledore's head in the fire. "It's three in the morn!"

"Professor Granger has returned safely," Severus said simply in a low purr.

"Jolly good!" replied the Headmaster, his eyes suddenly twinkling, "I will be down shortly."

"How long have you known?" she enquired softly as she took his hand.

He snatched it away. "The moment you fell over the table," he coldly explained, his eyes glittering as he traced his lips. "Everything makes sense now."

"What does?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and crept closer to her. "Stupid woman! Do you know how I've suffered with these half-recalled memories?" he spat accusingly.

"Oh, it's all about you now," she said crossly, folding her arms. "You haven't grown up at all, Severus!"

"And you are the yardstick for maturity and sensibility?" he growled in a dangerously low tone as he shook her by her shoulders.

"Well, I'm sorry! The pretence was necessary! I had to discourage the seventeen year old."

"Was it so unbearable, so abhorrent?" he spat, shaking her again. "When I've unknowingly spent half my life waiting for you..." He paled when he realised he had uttered what was foremost on his mind. He released his grip on her shoulders with a cruel haunted smirk. He sought to leave but was stayed by her hand on his.

"Do you know why I discouraged the seventeen year old?" she asked gently, lacing her fingers with his.

"What does it matter!" he hissed violently, unsuccessfully attempting to tug his hand from hers.

"I'll tell you anyway – he lacked the self-reflective abilities of the forty-one year old. He was not my disagreeable forty-one year old visionary thinker."

Severus, though stunned by this, affected a nonchalant air. The pregnant silence was only broken when Dumbledore let himself into the chambers.

"Glad to see you being so amiable," he chuckled at the sight of both their sullen faces.

Hermione smiled weakly. "Did you ever finish Copernicus's time travel incantation?"

"Alas, no! I had to cast a memory charm though, ghastly business. Severus has told you about it, hasn't he?" He looked meaningfully at his Potions Master. Severus curled his lips and mumbled something unintelligible. "Yes," muttered Dumbledore as he nodded sagely. "Only Minerva and I kept this to ourselves for the past twenty years. Certain things, it seems, are meant to be. Surely, her initials were enough of a hint, my boy?"

Hermione looked askance at Severus when he scowled.

"Do not patronise me, Headmaster," snapped Severus irritably. "I know it's an anagram, a very poor one."

"Give me more credit than that!" she fumed, slapping his arm. "I needed to account for my initials on the handkerchief."

"You don't seem very promising now, so no credit," he coldly answered. "Explain, Headmaster, how she was meant to be in my seventh year."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You know the answer, my boy; spatial time is very flexible in the wizarding world if you know how to manipulate it." He yawned loudly and scratched his beard. "I'm not surprised you managed to break the memory charm. Your legilimency and occlumency skills have doubtlessly brought your slumbering sub-consciousness to the fore. Well," he yawned languidly again, "I need not elucidate anything for you. And Hermione, in case you're wondering, it's Sunday. Good night, all!"

Leaving them to their own devices, Dumbledore pottered out of the dungeons and returned to his quarters.

"It's late, I should return to my rooms," Hermione whispered at last. Catching him thoughtfully tracing his lips with a deep frown, she added, "We can talk tomorrow during tea. Will you be all right on your own?"

"I hardly know," replied Severus quietly, barely moving his lips.

"Tell me why you waited then?" she asked, pressing his hand warmly and tucking his lank greasy hair behind his ears.

"I suppose you now make it your purpose to know the minutiae of my riveting life?" he snarled, sizing up the silent woman before him. "Other than your prattling every hour over it, what will I gain from this?"

"Just tell me!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Why did you decide to wait?"

"Foolish woman! I wait for no one!" he spat. Catching her light shake of the head, he added vehemently, "You wish to know? Very well! I became a teacher here because of you! Are you satisfied now?"

Hermione stared at him, white with disbelief.

"Though I did not know it, you were my idol. Your half remembered presence haunted my rooms. You were everywhere and still you did not return. Then you came to Hogwarts as a know-it-all eleven year old. I felt a familiar sensation of compassion and respect emanating from you. I was unconsciously angry with you for using me so callously that I treated you with great injustice," Severus spat violently, his lips curling with distaste at his admission. "How else could I have acted? If I had known! By Merlin, if I had known!"

"Now, you do," she said, kissing his cheek.

He smirked and returned the pressure of her hand. "I've something of yours. Accio Paradox of Socrates." The book immediately flew to his outstretched hand. He handed it to her. "Open it."

Hermione did so and found the poem entitled The Insouciant within its pages. Although the parchment was yellow with age and the black ink had faded somewhat, it was still very well preserved.

"For the professor who sought to inculcate temperance in me," he purred smoothly in a low tone.

She sighed and carefully placed a protective charm the parchment on the poem before placing it on her pocket. Touched by his gesture, she summoned a quill and ink. She proceeded to write on the book's title page:

"For S.S.,

H.G."

Returning the book to him, Hermione crept into the sofa and heard him whisper, "Bonne nuit, mon cher professeur Grenarm. Et fais des beaux rêves."

~Finis~

Footnotes:

"Bonne nuit, mon cher professeur Grenarm. Et fais des beaux rêves" can be understood as "Good night my dear Professor Grenarm and pleasant dreams". It is "mon cher" rather than "ma chère" because 'professeur' is a masculine noun.

Speaking of the infamous 'professeur' reference. I have received many emails as to my "incorrect use of the noun". Let me clarify matters. When I studied French, the prof told us, "There are some nouns that express entitities with gender for which there is only one form, which is used regardless of the actual gender of the entity (example: personne (always f), professeur (always m).)" According to him, only the Québecois use the 'new fangled feminine term of professeure'. Since I belong to the old school of political philosophy, I subscribe to using the noun as always masculine. I shall give you my old prof's explanation of "A couple of years ago a position description posted to the LINGUIST list caused quite a bit of discussion: a Canadian university (Laval or Universite' de Montre'al `a Que'bec) was looking for "professeur ou professeure". The French speakers of France said (to paraphrase weeks of discussion) that this was silly - all the more so because the -e in the feminine was not pronounced - since the word "professeur", although grammatically masculine, could refer to women or men. The Que'becois, on the other hand, insisted that non-sexist language dictated a new, clearly marked feminine form."

Many thanks to my kind reviewers who never deserted me despite the heavy beginning of Instructing the Professor. Your comments &ca were insightful and just. Gratitude should also be extended to my wonderful betas, Pollinatrix and Amor. Pollinatrix never hesitated to question my sometimes idiosyncratic phrases and the mad quasi-literary overtones of this tale. Amor has been a gem; she has kindly checked through my French and debated the finer points of the language with me. Gala also deserves credit for constantly believing in my modest abilities; she encouraged me when I had thoughts of deleting this story when I believed it was not well received.