The First Year: The Tutor

The First Year: The Tutor

The War Tribunal had to be joking. Could my life possibly become any more bizarre?

I didn't really expect to survive the war, and the fact that I woke up in St. Mungo's two weeks after the final battle was a rather rude surprise. If it hadn't been for what the Muggles refer to as a Near-Death Experience, I would have been downright irate to discover that I was still alive. In a life bereft of happy moments, that encounter with Albus and Lily was like a precious jewel that I would treasure forever.

Even the fact that I went straight from St. Mungos' to a holding cell at the Ministry couldn't dampen that nugget of happiness. My trial before the War Tribunal didn't begin until the end of November, and during those five months I had ample time to think about what Lily had said to me: Be happy, old friend. How? Finding happiness was something that happened to other people, and I didn't have the first clue how to go about it. Of course, if I ended up in Azkaban, happiness might amount to nothing more than finding that they had initiated a well-stocked prison library. I fully expected that Lily's words, while well-intended, would be for naught.

I wasn't terribly surprised when Potter petitioned the Tribunal for my acquittal. I'd given the boy my memories because I was under the distinct impression that I was dying, for Merlin's sake. How was I to know that he would use them to argue for my freedom? What shocked me, however, was the discovery that Harry Potter's word had suddenly become gold, and had it been within the British wizarding world's power, they would have presented the boy with a crown and scepter. It took next to no convincing for the Tribunal to exonerate me of war crimes, although they were rather more divided over my role in the 'assisted suicide' of Albus Dumbledore. For that reason, they felt that I needed to make some sort of restitution.

That was when they hit upon the idea of community service. Each year for the next five years, I would be required to spend two hundred hours working for the betterment of wizarding society. For someone who has never cared one whit about wizarding society, the sentence struck me as ridiculous, unfair, and absolutely the cruelest thing they could have done to me. Two hundred hours a year in Azkaban sounded far more pleasant, as far as I was concerned.

I returned to my home in Spinner's End, wondering what in the world community service would entail. By that time December was half over and the Christmas season was in full swing. I was rather stunned to find that I had received hundreds of Christmas cards from people I didn't know. Most carried the same line of sentiment, something along the order of 'You were a mean bastard to me in school, but I'm glad you helped win the war'. I also was the recipient of a ham from the Derbyshire Witches' Defence League, five invitations to share Christmas dinner with people I didn't know, and a proposal of marriage from a spinster in Cornwall. In the midst of sorting through all this tripe, Minerva McGonagall showed up.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she said pleasantly.

The woman was wearing the smug look of someone who is pulling strings that I haven't tripped over yet. I scowled at her.

"What do you want, Minerva?"

"May I come in?"

Wordlessly, I gestured her into the parlor. Taking a seat, Minerva announced her intentions without preamble. "The Ministry has assigned you to me for the coming year."

"Excuse me?" What in the world was she talking about?

"I'm in charge of your community service projects for the coming year."

"You're what?"

"The Tribunal ordered you to perform two hundred hours of –"

"– community service, yes, I know. Why exactly have I been assigned to you?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps they didn't know where to put you."

I snorted. Most likely they didn't have anybody who wanted to deal with me and pawned me off on Minerva instead.

"I've been asked to provide your projects for the coming new year. And as there is something that's come up rather suddenly, I would like you to take it on."

I was instantly suspicious. "Please don't tell me that you want me back at Hogwarts to teach."

"Would that be so bad?"

"I would sooner move to the tropics and collect coconuts."

Minerva's only response to my poor excuse for humor was a wry look of displeasure, indicating that I was capable of better wit than that. It was immediately replaced by an expression of sincere concern. "I would like you to spend your two hundred hours as a private tutor."

"A tutor!" I gasped in a strangled voice. If there was anything worse than teaching an entire classroom of dunderheads, it was being afflicted with the worst of the worst. "Are you mad?"

"No," she said flatly, "but quite frankly, I think you will not mind this assignment too much. I could have done much worse for you."

"What is it?" I crossed my arms, aware that I probably resembled a sulking child.

"I would like you to tutor Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger?" I blurted, astonished. "Why in the world does Hermione Granger need a tutor? The girl's memorized virtually all the texts in the Hogwarts library, and she doesn't miss an opportunity to display it."

"She's having a difficult go of it right now, Severus. She was determined to return to Hogwarts for her N.E.W.T. year, you know."

I had heard. Why was beyond me; after the events of the past year, surely Granger didn't need to prove herself by toiling after a silly piece of paper to confirm her worth.

"Readjusting after the war has been difficult for all the children," Minerva continued. "It's not at all unusual for a student to burst into tears in the middle of a class, and I can't go a week without being awakened because someone's suffered horrible dreams in the dormitory. Now that the thrill of victory is fading, we're all feeling the aftereffects quite acutely."

How odd, I thought: I had been under the stress of the war and my role as spy for the past three years, and no one had been particularly concerned about me. Well, Dumbledore had made the odd remark about my difficult task, but I knew it was usually prompted by how my work affected the Order and its progress.

"Granger, Minerva. Why does she need a tutor?"

McGonagall, who was looking worried at the thought of all those distressed students, snapped back to the present.

"As usual, she is determined to prove herself in each and every subject. This year, however, there are personal matters which have complicated her life. You know she had Obliviated her parents and sent them to Australia to sit out the war? Well, she brought them home straightway and removed the spell, but there have been a few problems. Her father is well, I believe, but Mrs. Granger still has difficulty with her memory and has been unable to return to work yet. The staff at St. Mungo's has been working with her, but they've made only minimal progress. Needless to say, Hermione feels quite responsible for this."

"I should imagine," I snorted. "There's a reason that Obliviators go through an extensive training program before they're allowed to play with people's memories."

"Then there is Mr.Weasley," McGonagall continued. "Ronald, that is. He is suffering mightily after losing his brother Fred. He has chosen to forego a career as an Auror and is helping George Weasley at the joke shop."

"A noble gesture," I said. "Don't say that I'm to tutor Mr. Weasley as well."

"Of course not. But as he and Miss Granger have quite an attachment going, it's one more source of stress for her."

I scowled, waiting for Minerva to get to the point.

"But it was the mock testing three days ago which proved to be the last straw for Miss Granger. You may recall that some of the Board of Governors have long wanted to offer mock N.E.W.T.s to help prepare the students for the actual tests."

"I recall."

"We sent the sixth years and below home for the Christmas holiday a day early so that the seventh years might take the mock test. To make a long story short..."

I groaned inwardly. Why hadn't she done that twenty rambling sentences ago?

"...Miss Granger completely blanked out. She couldn't come up with a single answer, besides which she was not feeling well and coming down with the flu, and –"

"The girl actually failed a test?" I interrupted. The devious Slytherin side of me wanted to cheer.

"It was more than failing a test, Severus. It was more a complete emotional collapse."

I tapped a finger restlessly against the arm of the settee. "I suppose you want me to begin tutoring her when she returns from Christmas break?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Hermione has chosen not to return, although she is still determined to sit exams this coming summer. I believe that all she needs is a guiding hand along with some independent study."

So the little Gryffindor know-it-all had finally cracked.

"What subjects would I be teaching? You surely don't expect me to coach her in Divination, do you?"

"Good heavens, no, she dropped Divination years ago. Potions and Defence, of course. Pomona's willing to work with her on Herbology, but I'm certain that you can adequately assist her with the other subjects. As I recall, you did rather well on your own N.E.W.T.s."

There was still a flaw in her logic, and I was so busy looking for it that I nearly missed the flattery. I said, "How, exactly, am I to tutor Miss Granger in Potions if she does not return to Hogwarts? One needs a laboratory to teach Potions."

McGonagall glared at me. "One needs a cauldron and a fire, which can be set up anywhere. I'll make sure that you get whatever ingredients you need."

"Do you really think that Miss Granger's parents want a cauldron bubbling on their dining room table?" I asked dryly.

"You and Hermione may select a location which is agreeable to both of you." She had the look again, the smug expression which implied that I had no say in the matter. I sighed deeply. Winning a fight with Minerva McGonagall was hard enough on a level playing field. With the force of the Tribunal behind her, it was a lost cause.

***

I shifted the textbooks from one arm to the other before ringing the doorbell of the handsome Georgian townhouse. It was two days after Christmas, and a wreath graced the front door. The pine needles quivered as someone unlocked the door and opened it.

Hermione Granger looked much different from the confident girl who had last graced my classroom. She was more pale than usual, although that could be due to her recent bout with the flu. She also seemed to have lost quite a bit of weight. Her eyes, however, held a sadness that had never been present before.

"Professor Snape," she said, managing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Please, come in."

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

She led me into a sunny, well-appointed parlor. Motioning me towards a sofa, Hermione took a straight chair sitting at a right angle to me.

"As you know," I said, "I wish to discuss your coursework and my expectations in preparation for beginning your tutorial after the first of the year."

"Yes, sir."

Granger was eyeing me with an odd intensity.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Her cheeks had reddened – an improvement from the pallor, I thought.

"I – no. It's just that the last time I saw you, you were dying. You look quite well."

Oh, yes. That. "Thank you," I murmured.

"I'm glad that you didn't die, Professor," Hermione said earnestly.

"I haven't quite reached that conclusion myself, yet."

"I've never seen you wearing Muggle clothing before, either."

I glanced down at the Muggle trousers and jumper. "I was not certain how many Muggles would be about in your neighborhood this morning. And quite honestly, my wound still does not take kindly to constricting collars."

Her eyes shifted to my neck where the great snake had bitten me, and she nodded.

"I have a few questions, Miss Granger. Firstly, why did you feel the need to return to Hogwarts?"

The girl looked puzzled that I should even ask. "I wanted to finish what I'd started, sir. I know everyone said that I could probably take my N.E.W.T.s without bothering to crack a book, but I didn't want to shortchange myself."

"And after all you went through in the past year, did you honestly believe that you could pick up where you had left off? That you could go back to Quidditch and Hogsmeade weekends and pranks in the common room, and everything would be as it was before?"

"I thought I could," Hermione said soberly. "I knew that things had changed. I just didn't realize how much I had changed."

"I believe the word you are looking for is 'matured'." I paused, watching her. For all her past loquaciousness, the girl was downright subdued. "What happened, Miss Granger?"

"What happened... what?" she asked, confused.

"What happened to cause you to leave?"

She stared at me, troubled; I suspected that she was trying to determine whether she could trust me. And why should she? She wouldn't have shared confidences with the Greasy Git before.

"I think everything's been coming to a head ever since the start of term," Granger said, her shoulders sagging. "Every time I walked into the Great Hall, I could see the bodies stretched out there, the way they were that day... If not that, then I was constantly expecting to see people I know, and then I would remember that they're dead. And I think some of the teachers deliberately avoided talking about the war just to get us to keep our minds on our studies. And the dormitories were horrible; because of the repairs, there were eight of us jammed into the Seventh Year dorm, and there was hardly any privacy, and most nights someone would start crying. And I've been so worried about my parents... Anyway, it's been a nightmare, and I couldn't concentrate and I – I suppose that when test day came I hit the wall."

"Hit the wall?" I echoed.

"It's a Muggle term. It means that you can't go any farther. I started crying and I couldn't stop, and I had to leave the examination room..." Granger swallowed, looking miserable. "Professor McGonagall was very kind about it."

It was a situation which, I was certain, Hermione Granger had never faced in her life. "It must have been very difficult, especially for a war hero like yourself."

Anger flared plainly on her face, and she looked ready to tell me off for what she believed to be my offhanded dismissal of her woes.

"Do not misunderstand me," I continued calmly. "You are a war hero who has been through unspeakable experiences. I suspect that when you fled the test, you were worried less about what other people thought of you than what you thought of yourself."

She stared at me frankly, openly, her eyes welling up with tears. Wonderful. We hadn't officially begun our tutorial yet and Granger was on the verge of a crying spell. At once I reached for the Defence textbook and held it up.

"This is the book you were using this year?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your opinion of it?"

Diverted, Hermione cocked her head to one side. "My opinion, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," I repeated. "Your opinion."

"Um... Well, it's... ah..."

"I would suspect that you find it completely inadequate compared to what you have experienced in the past year."

"Yes!" The answer came out in a rush. "It's a load of tosh, frankly!"

"Which is why we will not be using it." I shoved it to the far side of the coffee table. "You may use it as a reference if necessary, but I doubt that you will be needing it much. As for the other texts..." I motioned to the remaining books, "...we will use them extensively. Your Defence assignment for our first meeting is to write an essay about all of the defensive spells you and your companions used last year, along with the reasons for them."

Her jaw dropped. "All of them?"

"All of them. Now then, let us discuss Potions."

***

When the second of January rolled around, I returned to the Granger home. Hermione was looking somewhat better, healthier and not as pale. Her parents were there, and I was duly introduced to them. To my surprise, her father thanked me for my contributions to the war effort. Since the Dark Lord's fall, I was frequently the recipient of thanks, and it always made me feel both foolish and inadequate. This, however, was the first time a Muggle had offered his gratitude, and I suspected that Martin Granger had a decent grasp of what had gone on these past three years. I also had a hunch that he knew his daughter was often in the thick of things and was grateful that she had been on the receiving end of my protection on more than one occasion.

Lynette Granger, evidently the source of her daughter's riotous curls, seemed perfectly normal when she shook my hand. However, she returned three times during the two hour tutorial to ask me my name. Each time this happened, I could see the pain in Hermione's face as she was presented with the ongoing evidence of her mother's memory problems. As a result, the lesson did not go smoothly. Finally, I put down my quill and suggested that we call it a day.

Granger nodded miserably. "I'm sorry, sir."

I began to gather up my things. "I understand that the Healers say it will take a while for your mother's memory to be restored," I said quietly.

"If I'd had any idea that this could happen..." Hermione began, glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen where her mother was preparing lunch.

"You did what you had to do. Believe me when I say that your parents' names were on the Dark Lord's list of potential targets."

Her eyes widened. Granger turned away to stare at the surface of the dining room table as if the answers to life were to be found there.

"Is there anything you can do, sir? Any potion that the Healers haven't thought of? When we were preparing for O.W.L.s, there were a number of brain stimulating products that were making the rounds –"

I was sorely tempted to take the girl by the shoulders and shake her. "Granger, those things are pure garbage and you know it."

She looked so dejected, so unlike the girl who always had all the answers at her fingertips. An earlier Severus Snape would have told her to stop sniveling and grow up. The current Severus Snape actually felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Was I actually changing that much?

"But," I continued resignedly, "I will look into the current research on legitimate brain-strengthening potions."

"Thank you, sir!"

For one frightening moment, I thought Granger would fling her arms around me and hug me. Instead, she managed a watery smile.

"I promise I'll work twice as hard tomorrow," she said firmly.

***

Work twice as hard, she did. I had set up a makeshift 'lab' in the kitchen of Hermione's home, and while she toiled away at making antidotes to Veritaserum, I read her essay on defensive spells performed during the Horcrux hunt.

"It appears," I said at length, "that a great deal of your survival last year hinged on the simple ability to Disapparate."

Hermione looked thoughtful at this. "I suppose it did. Not very heroic, is it?"

"On the contrary," I said. "You've mastered the basic rule of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"What's that?" She stared at me, wide-eyed, and I could read her mind instantly. She was thinking that there was something she'd completely missed during six and a half years of classes.

"That discretion is, indeed, the better part of valor."

She almost sagged in relief, but smiled anyway. "It is, isn't it? All the spells I researched, looking for something which would help us defeat Voldemort, and half the time we ended up running away."

"Not running away," I said, writing a comment on her essay. "Retreating in order to regroup."

"It all depends on your point of view, doesn't it?" Hermione gazed down into the pinkish liquid swirling in the cauldron as she stirred it gently. "It certainly felt like running away."

"You were extremely fortunate to have evaded capture as long as you did."

There was a moment's pause. "I dream about it, sometimes. That I'm in that tent, freezing, trying to think how we can do it, how we can find the next Horcrux..." She looked up at me. "I don't think I ever in my life want to set foot in a tent again."

I smirked at this. I had never in my life ever set foot in a tent and had no intentions of doing so. Camping out was not for me and never had been.

"What are your plans, Miss Granger? You intend to sit N.E.W.T.s, and then what?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I want to do something to help people who don't have much of a voice, I think. House-elves, for instance."

"Then I predict that within ten years, a house-elf will be taking over as Minister for Magic. You are a very determined young woman."

Hermione now stared at me outright. "You've changed," she said wonderingly. "You've been polite and civilized and even complimentary to me. I'm not the only one that changed, am I?"

I sighed. "So it would seem."

***

We met Monday through Friday for the remainder of the winter and through the spring. As I suspected, Hermione Granger had little actual need of a tutor. I merely directed the learning. And when she sat her N.E.W.T.s in June, she went in to the exam room confident and relaxed.