Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Hermione and Snape stumble toward a modus vivendi.

Chapter 9: The Potions Slave

Hermione hoped that today she would have a chance to speak to Lily in Runes, but found that her friend was being squired around her classes with provoking gallantry.

N.E.W.T. Runes was a fairly small class. Hermione and Dean Thomas were the only Gryffindors in it, but as Dean had never been close friends with Hermione, he generally sat with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, with whom he shared interests in sports and art. Hermione took her favoured seat, in the middle of the first row, and as always, there were seats vacant on either side. Sitting there allowed her to focus on the professor, and ignore the distraction of other students.

She heard the Slytherins come in as a group. Runes was a popular class in their House. Old families tended to own very old heirloom artifacts, and often hoped to collect more. Thus Runes were particularly useful for them and over the years had developed a certain cachet as a class for the elite. Hermione had hoped to sit with Lily, but the new Slytherin did not arrive alone. Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott swept into the room more loudly than usual, each vying for Lily's attention. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were slightly behind, and the edge in Pansy's voice indicated that she was not entirely pleased that the boys were showing off for Lily's benefit. Malfoy claimed the third row, as was his custom, and Lily once more was between Malfoy and Zabini.

Hermione eavesdropped on the Slytherin's conversation before class, which was mostly about schedules and which Professors were impossible. Draco, it seemed, was put out that Lily's next class was History of Magic, which he was not taking. Whilst he was off in the Astronomy Tower with Nott and Pansy, Zabini would have Lily to himself.

"Not exactly all to himself," Lily objected, tapping her quill emphatically. Hermione buried her face in her parchment to hide her smile. "He'll have to share me with Professor Binns."

"Binns!" replied Malfoy, dismissively, as if the Professor mattered no more than --a ghost.

"And," said Lily, "with Millicent and Daphne."

"Hmph." Hermione heard Draco grunt, unimpressed.

Hermione was disappointed herself, since Care of Magical Creatures was her next class. That still left Transfiguration and Potions in the afternoon. She began to plot how to manage a word alone with Lily. They had double Potions this afternoon, and there would surely be a moment then----

Potions! I have to spend the entire evening with Professor Snape! Hermione groaned inwardly.

-------

Hermione wondered if the scheduling were deliberate. Then she scolded herself. Of course it's deliberate. Dumbledore will give Harry the best possible opportunities to meet Lily!

Hermione, Ron, and Harry all took N.E.W.T. Transfiguration together. There were two sections of the classes, and the Slytherins and Ravenclaws were in the other. Hermione's first warning was Ron's low growl of "Bloody hell! Who let her in here?"

Lily had come in alone. She looked around the room carefully, as if unsure what to do, but Hermione knew she was looking for her. Hermione threw her a glance, and Lily put her books on the seat next to her.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Yes!" snarled Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione hushed him. "No, it's perfectly fine. Let me show you where we are in the book."

The two girls looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, waiting for their chance. Hermione casually took out a piece of parchment, and wrote on it:

Meet me tomorrow morning at 9 in the place where it all happened. It's outside the library, and the door is the Hufflepuff horror there. Password is "Reading Room."

She slipped the parchment into her Transfiguration book, and laid both before Lily, pretending to show her the lesson. Lily glanced at the note and said, "Yes, I see. Thank you very much." Hermione saw her secret smile, and smiled herself. What a lot they would have to talk about!

Professor McGonagall glanced briefly at Lily in a somewhat perplexed way. She never called on Lily, or took notice of her otherwise. It was not until some time into the lesson that Hermione realised that the Transfiguration professor was not calling on her either. She still raised her hand, but her teacher seemed not to see her.

Disappointed and uneasy, she gathered her things together after class and tried to chat with Lily on their way to potions. Ron made it impossible, shouldering Lily aside and hovered protectively between her and Hermione. Harry was silent and thoughtful, and maneuvered around them all to walk near Ron but next to Lily, and to murmur some sort of polite greeting to her.

Lily looked up at him, pleased, and began talking about the lesson in a friendly way. Ron had sped up, to avoid her; so Harry and Lily dropped behind, talking, when Ron noticed that Harry was not beside him.

"Oi! Harry!" he shouted, rather red-faced and irritated. "Don't waste your time on a snake!"

Harry flashed him a dark look, and then smiled oddly. "It's all right, Ron. Remember, I know how to talk to snakes."

Lily was trying to ignore the rude redhead. He seemed to be doing his best to pick a fight, and Lily was not sure why. True, there had always been rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins, but she had always thought the Slytherins the aggressors. Looking back, she acknowledged that the boy was treating her the way Sirius and James had treated Severus. It was very unpleasant. She decided to disregard him for the moment, since Harry was trying so hard to be friendly.

"What do you mean, you know how to talk to snakes?"

Harry blushed, and looked down. "I'm a Parselmouth." It was said casually, but Lily was astounded.

"That's amazing! It's very rare." You didn't get that from me, my boy, she thought. A teacher was passing them in the hall.

"Hello, Professor Lupin," Harry called. Lupin gave them both a bemused look and a tentative smile, as he watched them walk past.

Lily lowered her voice. "I still can't believe it. Remus Lupin is my teacher." Trying to lighten her mood, she asked Harry, "Is he any good?"

Harry smiled, genuinely this time. "He's the best! He taught me how to summon a Patronus my third year! It saved my life."

"What about—" she cast about for a tactful way to ask what she really wanted to know, and failed. Here's for it. "Did you know he was a werewolf then?"

"No, not until the end of the year."

She whispered, "Is it still a secret?"

Harry laughed bitterly, "Not anymore. Snape just happened to drop the news, and got Professor Lupin sacked. But he's back now," he said with fierce satisfaction. "Everyone knows, and the parents who have a problem with it can bloody well keep their little darlings at home!"

"How is Severus in Potions?"

Harry stopped and looked her. Lily noticed that he had winced at her use of Severus' name.

"He's a right bastard. Sorry—but I don't know any other way to describe him. He's treated me like rubbish from the first day—asking me questions that no Muggleraised—except Hermione---could possibly answer. Maybe he'll be all right to you. You're in Slytherin and you've been friendly in the past. I don't know. But as far as I'm concerned, he's foul. He's a rotten teacher, and he's a disgrace to Hogwarts. You'll see for yourself."

They started walking again. Lily took a breath. "I'm sorry you've had such a horrid time. I know he's a champion grudge-holder. I'll see if there's anything I can do."

"I don't want to put you in the middle of it." He was striding along, energized by his dislike, and Lily had to trot to keep up.

"Nonsense. What are friends for?"

-----

In Potions, Lily was once again engrossed by the Slytherins. They jostled around her, in Hermione's opinion, in rather a nastily possessive way. She was relieved when the Potions Master strode into the dungeons and called them to order. He's washed his hair, Hermione noted. She remembered that he had been looking much better groomed for the past few days, as well. There was a new vitality in his step, and he looked curiously pleased with himself. He gaze swept the classroom, and swept back to focus on Lily.

"Miss—Jones," he drawled. Lily, unintimidated, looked back at him with polite attention. "Despite your excellent marks from your former school, there may yet be things you have to learn about potions- making the Hogwarts way. It would be best if you were partnered with an outstanding student. Therefore, there will be some changes."

Hermione's heart beat faster. Snape was not so bad after all! He was going to let Hermione sit with Lily!

Snape continued smoothly, "Mr. Malfoy, I rely on you to make Miss Jones' transition to our class a seamless one." Lily went down to sit by Draco, who had been alone at his desk since the beginning of term. Draco positively preened, and welcomed Lily a little more expansively than was strictly necessary. Pansy, sitting next to Daphne, observed it all with narrowed eyes.

Hermione sighed. She could not have deserted Harry anyway. The two of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the dungeon classroom, the only Gryffindors determined enough to brave this battlefield. The two years they must somehow survive until N.E.W.Ts and freedom stretched out interminably. Harry bore the class stoically, ignoring the jibes, the hostility, and the outrageously low marks he received from Snape.

Grimly, he had explained his position to Hermione their first day back at Hogwarts. "It absolutely doesn't matter what marks he gives me. The only thing that matters is getting a Potions N.E.W.T at the end of seventh year, and he can't control that. All I have to do is sit here and learn the material."

Hermione admired his resolve and said so: but she considered it all an unreasonable test of Harry's maturity, and an additional and unnecessary drain on his spirit and strength. Once again, she failed to understand Dumbledore's motives. It would be so easy to come down hard on Snape—and it would hardly jeopardise his position as a spy. A nasty, niggling thought tickled at the back of her brain. Was torturing Harry a privilege granted Snape? Perhaps Harry had been thrown to him like a bone. Or was defending Harry from Snape not worth the risk of losing Snape's loyalty?

These were ugly notions, and Hermione cleared her mind of them, concentrating instead on creating the perfect Nutrix Solution. An ancient and reliable diet supplement. Can be used as a substitute for mother's milk; can be used to feed the injured; can be used in desperate situations, when ordinary food is unavailable and conjured food inadequate. Wizards exploring unknown territory, such as the Arctic, generally took a supply of Nutrix Solution with them. Apparating was not always an option in unfamiliar landscapes; and they had all learned, back in Binns' third year class, how the party under Aberforth and Delacour had journeyed to the South Pole in 1712, largely sustained by Nutrix Solution. Binns had managed to make it sound like a dreary suburban outing.

Snape prowled amongst them, quietly advising the Slytherins, and either damning the rest with faint praise or openly sneering. He was otherwise uncharacteristically quiet. There were no Neville Longbottoms in N.E.W.T Potions. Neville himself was doing quite well in his own N.E.W.T. classes, aided by his new and far more compatible wand. His work in Charms and Transfigurations had improved; he was a better than good Defense student; and his work in Herbology had him well on track for an apprenticeship in the field. Neville was beginning to grasp the possibilities of life post-Hogwarts: it was not necessary to be good at everything to succeed outside school. He needed only to be good at one thing to have a fine career. For the rest, Charms and Transfiguration were for daily life, and Defense to see that he had a daily life.

Their Nutrix potion was shaping up well: creamy, pearl-white, and smoothly emulsified. She gave Harry a nod. He considered himself a perfect fool at Potions, but he was not. Hermione wondered briefly how many potential Potions Masters had been taught to loathe the subject by their teacher. A shame, really.

Snape had stopped by Lily and Malfoy. "An excellent effort. Ten points to Slytherin." He gave them each a tight-lipped smile.

Morag McDougal, behind Harry and Hermione, whispered to Terry Boot. "He likes that Jones. You can just see it."

"I like her too. She's---owww!"

Snape approached Harry and Hermione, and viewed their work contemptuously. He was on the point of sarcasm, his mouth shaped in the familiar and hated way, when Hermione noticed that Lily had turned in her seat and was looking at them. Snape paused.

"An acceptable effort. Bottle it." Lily was still looking.

Snape said slowly, "One point to Gryffindor."

There was a rush of whispers, like wind through dry grass. Snape turned his back. Hermione took Harry's hand in hers and they slowly lifted their arms over their heads in a silent gesture of triumph. For Hermione, it was the sweetest moment of her Potions career. She knew she would pay for it tonight.

------

At seven o'clock, she was on her way to the dungeons. She had barely noticed dinner, eating automatically whilst Harry told, for the tenth time, the saga of "the point." He had looked over at the Slytherin table, and received a discreet smile in return. Ron was suspicious, and even more so when Hermione told him where she would be spending the evening.

"Bloody hell! Dumbledore wants you to be Snape's assistant? Why didn't you say no?"

"Honestly, Ron! It's a wonderful opportunity. This will look good on my record someday."

Ron caught Harry's eye, and jerked his head toward their mutual friend. "Barking mad. Always has been."

Lavender leaned over the table. "Every Friday, Hermione? What about Halloween?"

Hermione stared blankly. Parvati laughed. "The ball, of course. Or are you going with Snape?" The girls dissolved into giggles, which rippled down the Gryffindor table as the joke was repeated and elaborated on.

Dumbledore had proclaimed a Halloween ball this year for the fourth through seventh years. It was an old tradition, now being revived. Hermione thought it not a bad idea. The Halloween Feast, though splendid, was still, after all, just another wonderful dinner at Hogwarts. The only problem with a ball would be the inevitable scenes of angst over who would escort whom. Perhaps it was Dumbledore's idea of a counterirritant. If the students were miserable over finding partners for a dance, they would have less time to be miserable over the lurking terrors of the wizarding world.

It would be nice to be asked by someone, as long as that someone were not Ron. They had tried their hands at romance last summer, and it had not been pretty. Hermione had heard that "opposites attract." Those opposites must not be quite so opposite as she and Ron. They had done nothing but quarrel. They had no interests in common, and Hermione found that she was not so desperate for a boyfriend as to give up reading and pretend interest in the intricacies of League Quidditch statistics. Wait, that's not true. Our common interest is Harry. Talking with a boyfriend about another boy is not a rational basis for a relationship.

All things being equal, perhaps Halloween in the dungeons might not be as bad as playing the loyal date.

The door of the Potions classroom was closed. For one wild moment, she wondered if she could knock, run away, and tell Dumbledore that she had waited for Professor Snape, but he had not been there. She rather feared not.

She took a deep breath, and rapped on the door. There was no answer, and for a moment she thought she could make her escape. Her bubble burst with the sound of Snape's sonorous "Enter." He was crouched over a silver cauldron, stirring meticulously. The steam of a nearby alembic rose in grey wisps, and Hermione was reminded, not for the first time, of Browning's poem "The Laboratory."

"Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's smithy—
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?
"

Snape took no notice of her, still concentrating on the acrid-smelling mixture in the cauldron. Hermione ran through her knowledge of potions to analyse what it was, but was not sure without closer acquaintance. She walked up to the worktable, and waited.

Snape continued his stirring, an outward spiral of fours. A healing mixture of some kind, then. The smell suggested a bandaging or bonding potion.

"Is it Novum Corium, Professor?" she asked with what she fancied was commendable aplomb.

Snape ignored her, his rhythmic stirring almost hypnotic. Hermione was fascinated by it: and between the smell and the stirring began to feel somewhat dizzy. A skin-like membrane began forming on the top of the mixture. It was a disturbingly raw shade of pink, and Hermione averted her eyes.

"I should have known. You look away at the critical moment."

Hermione's eyes snapped back to the Potions Master. He was still intent on his potion, and his stirring began gradually to slow. "Fetch me the blue jar on the second shelf, and the silver funnel below."

The jar was pristine, open, and ready for the potion. Hermione collected the items and brought to them to her teacher. Snape decanted the vile pink sludge, sealed it tightly and turned his back on Hermione.

"Clean the cauldron, the funnel, the ladle, and the desk."

Please. Hermione appended sourly. Snape was making notes in a tatty green book. His potions diary, Hermione thought excitedly, closer to lust than Ron had ever brought her. I'd give anything to know what's in it!

Hermione began to wash the items gingerly, taking care not to get the potion on her own skin. The potion was sticky, and clung resolutely to the bottom of the cauldron. Hermione longed for one of her mother's scrubbing pads.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Snape was looking at her with disgust and disbelief.

"Cleaning the equipment, sir—"

"Are you a witch or not?"

"Sir?" Oh. "I'm allowed to use magic?"

"The Headmaster, in his wisdom, has decreed that you are to be my assistant. This is therefore not technically a detention. I have better things to do than watch you slopping about like a Muggle. Clean the items at once. I have other work for you."

Within moments she was standing in front of his desk. He gave orders without bothering to look at her. "Make a strong infusion of Platycerium. Chop the root in equal cubes, one eighth of an inch to a side."

Hermione stood before him, steaming. She walked to the storeroom, snatched up the root and went to the worktable. I am not a house-elf. Not even house-elves should be treated like house-elves. "You're welcome," she muttered.

Snape was still writing. "Do I detect a fumbling attempt at sarcasm?" Hermione was mute, not daring to speak her mind.

"I hope not," he continued, "for I have taken you in hand as a favour to the Headmaster, and it would certainly grieve him to know of your ingratitude."

"Ingratitude?"

Snape was down from his desk and looming before her with frightening speed. Hermione tried to back away, but the worktable was behind her.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"I am being punished for making a forbidden potion—"

"You stupid girl. Dumbledore has told you that this is an Azkaban matter, and you hold fast to your Gryffindor self-righteousness."

"I did what was right," she managed, ready to defy him and the Ministry as well. "You would have done the same for Lily."

He stared at her inscrutably. "Ah, but in this case, I am not the guilty party. No. It's one of Dumbledore's pet Gryffindors who has not dabbled, but delved rather deeply into the Dark Arts." He smiled unpleasantly. "A Necromancer! At Hogwarts!" he said, in McGonagall's Scots burr. "You should have seen her horror."

Hermione's eyes burned, and she tried not to cry in front of this pitiless man. She wanted so much to please her teachers that the thought of Professor McGonagall's consternation cut deeply.

"No doubt," he began, and then paused, looking at her with a bitter smile. "No doubt you know of my former allegiances." Hermione found the continued proximity almost unbearable. He considered her a moment, and went on. "In my youth I thought limits were for others. I was full of intellectual arrogance, just as you are. I knew myself better, smarter, quicker, superior to my classmates. Someone found out my weakness—someone very vile. I abased myself before him for what I imagined would be unlimited freedom to explore my ideas. Instead, I bound myself to a madman and will carry his mark until the day I die. You are here to assist me here, true; but also to see the outcome of such arrogance. It is a lesson I am uniquely qualified to teach."

Hermione was horrified. "The Headmaster can't imagine that I would turn Dark," she protested.

Snape smiled, incredulous, "My dear Miss Granger, you already have."

"It's not true! Whatever I did, I did not for myself, but for someone else. Motives matter, no matter what you say. Lily wanted to live again. Lily is good, and her being alive is good. I would never serve Vold—Voldemort. I'd die first."

"I suppose you think you sound very brave," he sneered, looking down his nose. "You don't. You sound like a stupid teen-aged girl who knows nothing of life. You know so little about it that you would throw yours away like so much rubbish. Your ignorance does you no credit. You think yourself heroic, but at this point in your life you simply have nothing to lose.

"There are nine people in the world who have the power to send you to Azkaban for the rest of your life. You think nothing of it now, but I assure you that in years to come you will think of little else. You will wonder which of us is displeased with you, or babbling in delirium, making you an item of delicious gossip, or offering you up as a lover's confidence; and you will breathe a sigh of relief when you hear of any one of our deaths. Yes," he smirked, "even the deaths of Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or the werewolf, or your precious Potter; because each of these deaths brings you just a little closer to safety. You will wonder, as time goes on, when the blow of discovery and disgrace might fall: will it be at your graduation, or on your wedding day; will it be the morning you see your child off on the Hogwarts Express? Might one of the nine, haunted by the terrible secret, leave a letter containing a death-bed confession and a denunciation of you?

"Every time you make a choice you change your destiny. Do you know, I wonder, how your choice to perform Necromancy has affected your future? It has certainly closed some doors for you. You will never be Head Girl now; and you can bid a fond farewell to any hope of an apprenticeship with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, or Sprout. The werewolf I cannot answer for. Perhaps," he whispered, his face close to hers, "he will regard you as a fellow dark creature."

He stepped back, looking her over like something found on the sole of his boot.

"Chop the root, make the infusion, and then get out of here."

Hermione could hardly trust herself with the knife. She stood trembling with rage, and appreciated at last how much Harry hated this man. He was seemingly oblivious to her existence and sat calmly at his desk again, quill scratching quickly in his green leather book.

She sniveled back some tears of self-pity, and set about chopping the roots into mathematically equal cubes.

-----

Notes: Thank you to my kind reviewers:

Integer, like purus, loosely means pure. The Black family motto is toujours pur, or always pure. However I rendered it integer because pure in this context has more to do with strength and incorruptibility than sexual purity.

Next chapter: The Halloween Ball—Old, bitter memories surface and new relationships develop
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