“beyond wandpoint” 047 by gingerbred
Mar. 21st, 2019 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 10j Monday - The Breather”
Severus, Hermione, the Baron, Crooks
in absentia Newton Kurz, Neville
Originally Published: 2018-01-04 on AO3
Chapter: 047
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Severus returns to chambers more than a little weary after his afternoon classes. He still feels the effects of the weekend all too distinctly, down to his very bones even. He's far too young for that.
Thinking of young...
Miss Granger's irritation in what must have been DADA hadn't helped. It was noticeably worse than Ancient Runes, and he's trying to decide if the additional Slytherins' or her... friends' attendance had made that class worse, or if it was simply down to Taylor's... tuition. He's torn between whether he'd rather it were due to the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk and his Ginger Menace sidekick or Taylor. But Severus' preferences make no difference to the facts of the matter, and doubtless he'll find out soon enough.
Fleetingly it occurs to him to wonder if she had found his own DADA tutelage less... irritating. And immediately following, that he should be grateful he won't have the displeasure of experiencing that particular humiliation via the bond as she no longer partakes in his classes. Small mercies.
It still annoys him, greatly, to hear his Potions students mourn Slughorn's returning to his retirement. It's particularly vexing coming from the members of last year's Ravenclaw - Hufflepuff O.W.L.s class that improbably survived the explosion Horace had somehow permitted, and almost equally improbably progressed to Severus' sixth year N.E.W.T.s class.
Smith is still sporting 'go-faster' stripes along one side of his head from that minor catastrophe, not that it has accelerated his thought processes any. His hair is as unlikely to grow back as are Horace's eyebrows.
As Severus progresses into his... their lounge, he's unsurprised by this point to discover the half-Kneazle in his chair, although it's unclear if said lack of surprise stems from his generally pessimistic outlook or an impressive ability to adapt to new situations. Probably a bit of both. It would seem he now has a Ginger Menace of his own. He's rather hoping their relationship never advances to the stage where the feline could be considered his sidekick.
Severus has manifestly never been owned by any sort of cat before.
He doesn't even bother removing the creature from his seat, simply Banishing the loose fur out from underneath him directly to Crabbe's bed. That still proves satisfying. He's not sure he'll tire of it, in fact, picturing Crabbe's adverse reaction so very clearly in his mind. Yes, quite satisfactory. And he's also satisfied to see he was able to Depulso the fur without making the tatty moggie more than blink. That takes a bit of skill. He's glad of the reassurance given how poorly he was doing Friday. He rather imagines he'll need all his strength again later.
With some resentment, he crosses to what used to be his reading nook and takes a seat at his... desk, his now decidedly... smaller desk, his much smaller desk, bugger, and begins to gather his work for the evening, what he'll have of it, allowing his afternoon to pass in review as he does.
One melted cauldron in his Ravenclaw - Hufflepuff fourth year class, which was virtually impossible at those temperatures. That's inaccurate, it was impossible. Except clearly it wasn't as it had happened. He really has no idea how Kurz manages it, and with that degree of consistency, too. It beggars belief, but the boy may actually be worse than Longbottom. And now Severus finds himself wondering if that wasn't simply down to a bushy-haired witch whispering in Longbottom's ear at every possible chance. Left to his own devices, that boy may well have impossibly melted cauldrons, too, at every available chance. They'll never know.
Other than the Kurz conundrum, there were three narrowly averted explosions in his sixth year N.E.W.T.s double class, one minor one, and no hospitalisations. On balance, a better than average day.
He hates his job.
He has an imposing stack of parchments to grade, the obvious disadvantage to surviving the weekend's trials. Perhaps he'd be better off viewing it as the disadvantage of having been comatose and in no condition to grade things instead, but his mood doesn't permit the more positive phrasing.
That mood isn't greatly improved as the bond alerts him to Miss Granger's approach.
Having no desire to spend more time in her company than their circumstances dictate, he prepares to beat a retreat to his office. The parchments in hand, he opens a side drawer to remove a bit of medicinal chocolate, prophylactically goes without saying, and discovers a leaky biro. Given that Banishing the cat hairs to Crabbe's bed had been one of the few pleasures of what is sure to become a thoroughly dismal day, he removes the pen and Transfigures it into a small ball of yarn, which he tosses to the creature in his chair as he repairs to his office through the connecting door off their dining area.
He can just feel the shift of his wards alerting him to her arrival as the door to his office closes behind him. Strangely, unexpectedly, it isn't an... unpleasant sensation.
As the wards ripple against her skin, Hermione relaxes. She hadn't realised she'd been so tense until she does. She may have even sighed. Possibly her eyelids fluttered a little. She'll need to get that under control before she embarrasses herself. It has somehow escaped her notice that a certain Potions Master was only too aware of her response.
Still a little shy in the Baron's company, she nevertheless turns to thank him for escorting her home. It's much easier to give him a warm smile standing within the wards as she now is.
The warmth of that smile, in turn, has him... unclenching. Slightly. In as much as ghosts can, naturally.
The witch is... odd.
The Baron bloody well knows (ha!) he was... useful. But the witch doesn't. She has no idea what he'd done for her, or if he'd done anything at all. He could have led her on a snipe hunt for all she knows.
And yet she... thanked him. Genuinely, it would seem. Despite not knowing with certainty if he'd actually helped her or not. Not that he would lead her astray, but still... She seems inclined to think... well of him. Interesting. He'll need to give this some thought.
With a hoarse, "Good afternoon, Madam," and a characteristically sombre bow, he bids her adieu and floats thoughtfully off down the corridor.
The Firsties he encounters around the corner find his pensive expression particularly terrifying, as their shrieks would attest.
A smile still very much in place, Hermione enters... their chambers, looking about for the Professor, but he's nowhere to be seen, which she finds a little disappointing. She had half expected him to be there before her, given the proximity of his classroom. She's fairly certain he doesn't have office hours right now...
Unable to think of a compelling reason to disturb him, or even a vaguely adequate excuse, she opts against returning to the hallway to stop by his classroom or office.
On consideration, she's not that eager to be out there anyway.
She thinks about it and decides the wards make her feel... safer, more comfortable. And without the company of the Baron, and isn't that a strange thought, she suspects she'd feel far less comfortable outside of chambers now that classes are over for the day. Well, with the exception of Astronomy, of course. Not that it was germane to her objection, but then that's hardly a reason to forgo pedantry.
As she enters their lounge, she's surprised to find Crooks once again making himself at home in the Professor's chair, and she has a few choice words for her familiar. Quite a few, in fact.
He's unmoved. Literally. The impudent half-Kneazle has made himself quite comfy there with a ball of yarn he's managed to dredge up from... somewhere and has no intention of moving. In a flash of panic she worries he's stolen the yarn from the Professor before discarding the notion as patently ridiculous. And then her thoughts flit, most involuntarily, to Neville's third year Boggart, and a vision of the Professor in Augusta Longbottom's clothes... knitting comes to mind. Presumably winter hats and scarves for the house elves just to make the absurdity complete.
Her lack of sleep may be showing.
No. Wait. The knitting could have been in the Gryffindor House colours. That would indeed have been more absurd.
She finally goes to Crooks and tugs him from the seat, only to discover he's shed on it. Not much, she thinks with some relief, Crooks can't have sat there long, but still... She's just glad the Professor isn't there to see it.
She doesn't know a spell for Vanishing his fur, which had rather been the point of the books Professor Snape had taken from the Library earlier. The issue with the fine hairs, of course, was that one needed to Vanish the lot of them. Individually. Which clearly wasn't going to be crowned with much success. She needs a way to Vanish them in the aggregate.
She doesn't dare use a Scourgify on his chair; she'd mar the leather. Banishing them to the bin would be easier, but fails to occur to her. She's just decided a damp flannel from her bath might do the trick and moves towards her room. As she does, she spots the small stack of books on the end table next to her chair and smiles.
It would seem the Professor had anticipated this problem.
With a "Come here, Crooks," she folds herself into the chair for a spot of research.
Glancing at her hand as she reaches for the first book, she notices the impression the phial in her pocket had left is still visible on her palm. It hasn't been too long since DADA, but still. She decides Crooks should make reparations for his abominable behaviour and she Summons his ball of yarn. Before his eyes she Transfigures it, a touch smugly, into a small silver chain with a little hook onto which she carefully threads the phial's little stopper.
She hangs the necklace about her neck with a pleased smile and a gentle fingering of the glass. She'll undoubtably still spend a lot of time holding it, and putting it on a chain shouldn't be any help with the marks doing so leaves on her hand, but it will probably be easier all around if it isn't in her pocket as she does.
Chidingly she tells Crooks, "That's what you get for sitting in the Professor's chair." He still feels he had the right of it, and manages to look quite disgruntled at this turn of events.
It doesn't take long before Hermione folds, it never does, not one to take a firm stand against her pet. Or her friends, really, but that's another matter. "Your toys are in your carrier. Go on, go get something." She sighs dramatically, and acts a little put upon, but Crooks isn't fooled.
Hermione Summons some grapes from the fruit bowl, mindful of her promise to Luna to eat better, casts an Impervius on the books so they'll remain unaffected by her snack, it wouldn't do at all to get them sticky, and settles in for a read.
The half-Kneazle doesn't keep her waiting long before returning with a bit of fur and feather cat toy which he deposits, most demonstratively, at her feet. He stares at her expectantly, unrelentingly, his tail twitching until she eventually gets a clue and with a soft laugh Transfigures the toy into a ball of yarn very much like the one he had before. Only then does he leap into her lap and snuggle in for company.
Not, on closer inspection, that he's much impressed by her topic of study.