Face the Music

Chapter 6 ~ Face the Music

Breakfast turned out to be more or less as usual--or what passed for usual with Snape as a houseguest--though the professor maintained an even stonier silence, being annoyed at both mother and daughter for startling him into thinking and saying things he never meant to. He had never been at his best in the mornings.

Hermione herself was much quieter, mindful of her own faux pas and hesitant of baiting the hollow-eyed professor. For though most of their interactions had become more like fencing matches in the past few years, she was still well aware of--and occasionally subject to--his ability to verbally flay anyone he came in contact with. Still, her mother's words had made an impression on her and that same little voice that had encouraged her to invite Snape for the holidays wanted her to do more. (It was annoying that it sounded almost exactly like Dumbledore.) Not that there was much she could do, of course, but perhaps she could teaze him out a bit, give him a little holiday amusement, if not cheer.

But perhaps lunch would be a better time to ask.

Snape retreated to his room and basically barricaded himself in. Imogene, after a few worried glances at her older sister, left with their parents, who were going to drop her off at a friend's house for the day. Hermione looked around the empty house, extremely conscious of the out-of-sight guest, and sighed. The kitchen seemed like the best place for now; she had to clear up the remains of breakfast. Determinedly humming Christmas carols, Hermione began to pick up the empty dishes.

Some hours later, she found herself staring mindlessly at the book she had chosen and shut it with a snap. Dawdling at this point served no useful purpose she could see, except to make her even more nervous about the idea than she already was. "Well," she told herself, "the most he can do is bite my head off. And he's been doing that for years. And nothing ventured, nothing gained." It was a stupid platitude, but it fit the circumstances, at least.

She marched out of the room and to Snape's door, knocking sturdily. When there was no reply, she looked at the impassive panel of wood dubiously. He could at least reply with an annoyed "go away" if he didn't want company. Was he asleep? Was he dead? "He'll probably kill me for this..." she muttered and cautiously pushed the door open. Poking her head through the door, she smiled in relief and some amusement. Neither drunk, dead, or naked (that idea alone made her shudder). Merely listening to her radio with headphones on. She wondered what he could have found to listen to, especially with such an intent expression on his face. She couldn't tell whether or not he was enjoying it, but he was certainly interested. "Professor Snape?" she queried loudly, opening the door further.

He started slightly, then looked full at her and grimaced. Pulling off the headphones, he inquired, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I--" She was not going to be flustered. "I didn't know you were so interested in Muggle music, professor," she finished evenly.

"I am not," he answered, his voice just as bland as hers. "But as your sister took it upon herself to grant me access to your personal collection, I decided I might as well take her up on her offer."

For the first time, Hermione noticed the open CD case with no small alarm. In truth, 'oh, shit' might be a better description of her reaction. It was not relieved when she identified the missing CD. "I see you found the 'Pressure Valve' CD," she said faintly.

"Indeed." As yet, he said nothing about what he had found on it.

She supposed she shouldn't be so disconcerted about it; it was simply a side of her that she had never intended him (or anyone else, for that matter) to be aware of. 'Pressure Valve' was a CD a friend of hers from primary school had made for her a year or two back, which was entirely of '80s and early '90s metal. It made for a good frustration reliever (hence the title) and could give her something to think about on occasion. "What song were you listening to?" she asked, killing time until her brain could once more begin to function.

"I have no idea." Damn him for being such a blank wall. "I believe it was the sixth song on this disc."

Hermione knew the songs as well as she knew the lists of potions ingredients. "'Unforgiven'," she said instantly, "by Metallica."

He shrugged in a display of complete indifference. "It has proven to be an interesting collection thus far, Miss Granger, if not exactly complimentary to my opinion of your taste in music. I had no idea you could be this self-destructive."

"Unlike yourself?" she shot back, before brain could connect to vocal chords. "I may be a young, silly girl to you, Professor, but I have just as many emotions as you do. I can get just as angry, just as bitter, just as desperate. Just as frustrated with life. Hell, I may not have as much material as you do for nightmares, but I have them, too. But God forbid anyone actually has sympathetic qualities, don't you think, Professor?"

He was surprised at her vehemence and, truth be told, so was she. "Quite a remarkable reaction to a simple comment," he commented blandly.

She sighed, partly in embarrassment and partly in annoyance. "Sorry," she said shortly. "But do you know how damned difficult it is to deal with someone who still sees me as nothing more than a thoughtless, pain-in-the-neck ten-year-old? And before you can say anything to that, Professor, I have changed in the past several years and yes, I do realize that I really know very little about life and everything else. My point is that you are treating me like I am the same person I was nearly eight years ago. I'm not and I don't appreciate it."

He merely watched her in silence, a single eyebrow raised. A variety of violent alternatives raced through her brain, all of which were impossible, if only for the reason that she would hardly be allowed to graduate if she inflicted severe bodily harm on one of her professors.

"Anyway," she continued, "I came to ask you if you would like to go shopping with me. Muggle shops, not magical ones; I need to find things for my family."

He glared at her in consternation. "And why, in the name of the Seven Great Wizards, should I wish to do something so monumentally insane?" he demanded. "I can't imagine why you should ask me to in the first place. Don't you have some Muggle friends who are as brainless as your wizarding ones who would actually like to engage in this annual rash of commercialism with you?"

His venom stung--all the more so as she was trying to open herself up. But she would be damned if she let him see how much he could hurt her; he'd done it too often in the past and she wasn't about to let him enjoy his petty jabs. "I thought it might amuse you," she answered coolly. "In the observation and criticizing of the custom, if not the practice. At the very least, I thought you might like an opportunity to get out of this room. I like it, but I never thought it would hold any particular interest for you."

Snape was forced to admit that she had a point. It wasn't that he couldn't leave the house himself, of course--he could very well apparate to wherever he chose, if he wished--but he had nowhere to go. For even in Diagon Alley, he would be pestered with queries about his holidays and he could not endure the reactions he would receive. Pity, derision... outright mirth if he told the truth. Any of them would be intolerable. And while he could be comfortably occupied in his own dungeons, the possibilities here were limited. Still, Muggle shopping did not promise much in the way of amusements, either.

"I thought we might drop by the British Museum if we finished early," Hermione added in a carefully casual tone. "And I shouldn't take long myself. I know exactly what I want and where to get it." It was the best she could do. She didn't know if historical artifacts would interest Snape, but it was all she could think of. At the very least, he could hide in the Reading Room for a while instead of in her room.

It wasn't a marvellous opportunity by any means, but it would provide a manner of entertainment, as well as the chance to take a look at some of the alchemical texts the Museum housed. Besides, if he knew the Granger girl whatsoever, she would continue to pester him with similar offers until he broke down and acceded. And life had taught him that there was much to be said with getting unpleasantries over with. He could be as acerbic as possible during this outing and thereby assure that another one would not be planned at any time in the next hundred years.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he acquiesced with an annoyed sigh. "If I must."

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Notes:

Many apologies for the delay; RL attacked me with a vengeance and I'm just getting back up to speed. I'll spare you the gory details.

I use the archaic spelling of "teaze". I've taken the liberty of inflicting a little bit of my taste of music on Hermione, since we're about the same age in linear time. Besides, it seems Snape-appropriate, if not exactly his taste.