Chapters 31-40

Morning After

At breakfast the next day Hermione was decidedly the worse for wear. Bleary-eyed and headachy, she clung to the edge of the table, hard put to prevent her lips from breaking into an ear-splitting yawn.

She knew that Snape had had even less sleep. He had stayed up until dawn—patrolling the Slytherin quarters once an hour after the end of the party.

And quite effectively, too: he’d thrown a Seventh Year boy out of the Sixth Year’s girls’ bedroom (though Hermione had the distinct feeling that Snape was quite impressed with how Ciardha Vaisey had worked his way around the charms that were supposed to keep boys from ever setting foot inside the girls’ dungeons), he’d broken up a magical spin-the-bottle game in the broom-cupboard and escorted a Fifth Year girl who’d decided that she was plenty old enough to handle Ogden’s Firewhisky to Madam Pomfrey in order to have her stomach lining restored.

In spite of all that, Snape looked just the way he always did: pale, bad-tempered, and disgustingly awake.

Minerva had at least a sympathetic smile for her. ‘Slytherin house party?’

Hermione nodded carefully while she looked longingly at the mug in front of her, willing it to fill up with coffee instead of tea.

‘Ahhh…’ Madam Hooch let out a nostalgic sigh. ‘Those were the days. Slytherin parties were already infamous when I started at Hogwarts. Did you have fun?”

Yellow eyes focused on Hermione who didn’t feel at all up to this disconcerting scrutiny.

Did she have fun? Hermione frowned, mentally going over the previous night. She’d danced with her master. She’d danced with Snape! Not once, but twice. She’d also danced with Malfoy. And she’d done the Magicarena with a whole gaggle of Slytherin goslings—Second and Third Years. She’d rolled into her bed at 2 am.

Actually…She put her mug down and beamed at Madam Hooch.

‘You know,’ Hermione said slowly, ‘I really had a lot of fun.’

oooOooo

‘Here,’ Snape rasped. ‘A table spoon ought to suffice. Merlin, don’t look at me like that! I’m not about to poison my own apprentice. It is only a basic Invigoration Draught. How you survived the war if a single late night has you looking so peaky is really quite beyond me.’

He directed one of his most intimidating scowls at her.

‘Trust me, Miss Granger, I did not enjoy last night any more than you did. But my…Slytherin house expects its head of house to uphold certain customs and traditions. And it seemed expedient to exploit the opportunity to bolster your position with my Slytherins. You will need every help you can get if you’re supposed to teach them one day.’ He sniffed. ‘Not that I necessarily think you will get very far no matter how much help I can provide for you.’

When Hermione just stared at him, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling of the dungeon, muttering darkly under his breath.

‘You didn’t honestly expect that I consider silly children’s dances and those pitiful attempts at partying by hormone-controlled teenagers as … what would you call it? Oh, yes,’ his voice softened into a supercilious sneer, ‘‘fun’ would be the term that you and your Gryffindor cronies use for such exceedingly mature examples of entertainment as the one we had to suffer through last night, wouldn’t it? But surely you—as you are no longer a student anymore—have at long last moved beyond such ridiculous notions, haven’t you?’

Snape didn’t wait for a reply, but spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving Hermione to stare after him in horror. The last she saw of him was a swirl of black robes as he strode down the corridor towards his office.

oooOooo

Much later Hermione shuffled wearily into Snape’s private library and slumped down into an armchair. From beyond the door that connected the room with study, she heard the low, strangled sound of her master’s voice.

‘I am not going to do that—that—that is completely—’

‘Preposterous?’ Lois Petrel sounded amused. ‘Was that the word you wanted?’

Hermione allowed herself a faint grin. She’d love to be a spider at the ceiling of that dungeon right now. She could just imagine Professor Snape’s expression when faced with the Muggle-woman’s peculiar mixture of patience and insistence, coupled with a notable lack of apprehension where a certain potions master was concerned.

A harsh hacking sound indicated that Snape was trying to clear his throat. Snape—at a loss for words?

‘No, don’t do that,’ Lois interrupted and launched into an eloquent explanation of how Snape should have a sip of water instead of clearing his throat and overstraining his vocal cords.

‘So what did you want to say earlier, professor?’ Petrel asked at last.

‘Huh?’

A pause.

‘Silly,’ he admitted grudgingly.

‘Really? Surely you can do better than that, sir. What’s so bad about ‘silly’?’

The silence stretched out for a long moment. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, Snape answered:

‘‘Silly’ is dangerous. It leaves you weak and exposed. It provides an opening for your enemies to hurt you and those that you…’ He choked, and Hermione could hear the effort it took him to follow Petrel’s instructions on how to clear his throat. ‘That you care about. It is best to avoid situations which…’

‘Cause you to let down your guard?’ Petrel sighed. ‘Sir, I don’t know anything about you, and next to nothing about your world, about my daughter’s new world. And I’m only a speech therapist, not a psychologist. But…the war is over. You’ve won. The enemy is dead and gone. Maybe it’s time for you to learn how to be silly again? To have a bit of fun now and then?’

‘What good would that do?’ Snape asked, his voice strained and weary.

‘Well,’ Lois continued briskly, ‘as far as this ‘silly’ exercise is concerned that you find so repugnant, it might help you to get back the voice you once had.’