Duck Duck Goose

Duck Duck Goose

Author’s Note:



5 points to your House (and you need to tell me which House you’re in) for each correctly identified RICKMANISM. This could be any part of the story which can include titles. Rickmanism means that it is something that Alan Rickman said in one of his films, and if we’re feeling particularly wicked, an interview. I’m doing this in another story as well and while 1 person guessed the right line, they guessed the source from something Rickman has never been in. So . . . if you want to play . . . in your review leave the quote, the source, and if it’s not an interview, who Rickman was portraying as well. Points as well if you can give me the . . . correct version of book titles and/or author names (i.e. if we’ve taken someone from another field and played around with their name).



You’ll see the words Nefer Senef in this chapter. It’s roughly translated Old Egyptian without reference to grammar, please do not hassle us over that, for Beautiful Blood.



Love, MysticSlave







Chapter Ten: Parsley, Sage, Rosmerta and Time



Back at Hogwarts, Hermione was enjoying one of the most peaceful holidays she had had in a long time. No parents to bug her, no dunderhead students blowing things up or generally making a mess of her classroom. She had quickly learned why Severus was always so frustrated in class and why he was more often than not such a git; she had found great stress relief in taking out her aggravations on the students and her unknowing classmates. Except for her one casting of Petrificus Totalus on Neville in their first year, she had always gone out of her way to treat the poor boy kindly, no matter how foolish he sometimes was. But as he expected nothing but cruelty from Severus, she could take out her long held annoyance over his complete ineptitude in Potions without him being the wiser.



She wondered idly how Severus was getting along with her parents and if he had enjoyed, here she snickered, going caroling. She hoped he would at least pretend to sing, perhaps at least vocalize the notes, if he did not know the words and that he would not inadvertently substitute Merlin in for the many references in Muggle songs to Jesus Christ. That would startle even her parents and her neighbors were completely unaware; they simply believed that Hermione was off at a selective preparatory school for most of the year and never questioned it.



Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at Severus’ offer to purchase her gifts with his own money as his gift to her. After he was off on the Hogwarts Express – ‘bet that was a fun trip’ – she set off to Hogsmeade to purchase gifts for this unexpected friend. Severus’ rooms were quite comfortable to stay in, much nicer than her Head Girl room, and made even better by the plethora of books the man owned. His personal collection easily rivaled the school’s library selection of books on Potions and DADA. She imagined that a couple nice and preferably hard-to-find books would make quite the splendid gift and perhaps help to smooth over any trouble from his holiday in the Muggle world when he returned to the castle with the other students.



She strolled through Hogsmeade, enjoying her time away from the Castle and Albus’ meddling ways; but careful to keep her face carefully schooled in Severus’ usual stoic mask.



A good thing too, for she ran into Harry in the main street of town, evidently doing his Christmas shopping a bit late; no doubt having waited until prying eyes left the vicinity. Hermione slid into the shadows of a cross street and watched Harry until he slipped inside Madam Malkin’s. She supposed she’d find out later from Severus why Harry was buying robes in the middle of the year; she couldn’t recall him having had any accidents that would have made his set unrepairable even through the means of magic.



The coast now clear, she strode quickly down the street and into the back room of Flourish and Blotts. The room reserved for the hard-to-find or not-quite-bad-enough to be sold in Knockturn Alley. She delighted in her search through the section displaying ancient but still vibrantly coloured books on a wide variety of topics and had to smile at a number of the titles and author names. Finally selecting two, she moved back into the front of the store to pay and then made her way back to Hogwarts. She couldn’t wait to see what Severus thought of them.



Albus was determined to have Hermione interact as much as possible with the other professors, so she fell into the pattern of eating breakfast and lunch in her chambers and joining the professors and the students that had stayed for the evening meal.



The night before Christmas brought a fierce storm to the area, with gale-force winds and heavy snow. Hermione was sitting comfortably in front of her fire, reading Severus’ latest copy of PotionsToday. She had just started an article titled Highly Toxic Potion Fumes to Avoid by Carson O. Gin when a frantic tapping started at her door. She sighed and waved her wand at the door to lower the wards and open the door. The bedraggled owl she was allowed to keep over the holidays since she did not own a post owl flew into the room and landed heavily on the rug in front of the fire, wings nearly frozen solid, shivering and dripping wet from snow.



She cast a warming charm on the owl which hooted gratefully at her. When the owl could move again, it hopped over to her and stuck out its leg. Hermione deftly removed the letter, and conjured both food and water for the owl, not sure it would make it as far as the owlery in its current state. Settling back down in her chair, she took a sip of her Firewhiskey. She had found the bottle in one of the many cupboards in his chambers and sheepishly realized she was on her third glass. Hermione thought perhaps she should visit Rosmerta before break ended so that she could restock Severus’ stores. He need never know. She took another sip and flicked open the letter that Severus had sent her.



Who is Sage?!?!



Hermione’s body convulsed for a moment as she simultaneously inhaled and spit out her mouthful of fine Ogden’s Firewhiskey.



“Shit!”



‘I forgot all about Sage Siyamak. I hope he doesn’t think I left out details about him on purpose. . . . I hope he doesn’t realize Sage looks like he’s probably related to the Snape family; may well be for all I know. . . . Wonder if he thinks I was hiding him because they look so much a like and now he’ll think I have a crush on him and . . . Merlin, there is simply no end to the mess that may result in this. Especially if Mum forces ‘me’ out on a date as she is wont to do. Poor Severus. Gawd, I hope Sage doesn’t choose our regular spot.’



She rubbed her forehead in seeming agony. The owl was watching her with wide, round eyes.



“There is no good way out of this,” she informed the owl.



He blinked at her, and then shivered.



“Don’t worry, I won’t send you back out until the weather clears up, which will be tomorrow at the earliest, so you can get a good night sleep before heading back with whatever letter I end up writing to explain this mess. Not that any explanation will suit, I imagine.”

The owl blinked again, then tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep, quite relieved that the professor wasn’t going to send him back out in the blizzard that had hit so suddenly, when his usually gentle holiday-mistress had nearly forced him out the window in her haste to have an apparently upsetting letter delivered.



Hermione spelled herself clean, set her glass aside, and moved over to her desk where she took out a fresh piece of parchment, her favourite quill, and set down to write Severus a reply.



Dear S.



I send my sincere apologies for not informing you about Professor Siyamak. In light of my other times of forgetfulness, I would not blame you if you think I did this on purpose, but I assure it was not done intentionally.



He is only home on the holidays, which is part of how I deduced that he was a Professor. He is in his middle-twenties, I believe around 26 years. He teaches at Nefer Senef, similar in mind to Durmstrang, but less dark and certainly not as well known.



No one else in my neighborhood knows where I go to school, simply believing that I attend a private preparatory school. Sage said that he was able to sense me because of my magic and as such struck up conversation with me.



I hope Mum didn’t force you out on a date with him. I suspect from this poor owl’s journey through the ongoing tempest that she probably did. Again, I send my sincerest apologies.



He’s not a bad sort, at least not as far as I am aware, but then I have been able to talk my way out of most of his invitations, only joining him for tea on a handful of occasions.



I do not know what he is a professor of, but my instincts lead me to believe he works either with Potions or DADA, but I may be wrong. Professor Trelawney told me I had the instinct of a brick wall, but then we must consider the source.



You are of age for performing magic outside of school as of September 19th. I try not to do too much around my parents; they understand, but it still makes them a bit nervous.



Do not believe Sage’s outrageous flirting for anything but what it is; flirting. He is insistent but has never achieved whatever his goal may be. If you are standoffish, you will not raise any suspicion in his mind.



He is handsome and charming, but I am not involved with him.



This time at Hogwarts has been rather dull; I have restocked Madam Pomfrey’s medicinal draughts for the New Year. Minerva has been a bit droopy, and spent much of her time with Crookshanks in her animagus form. At first I feared that he would let something slip; even as half-kneazle, he is very smart, but he seems to sense that it would not be in my best interest – and he is quite aware that I am living in your body – to reveal such information to anyone.



Be prepared for a repeat of the Potions lesson that triggered our current situation and be ready to help with the Polyjuice Potion. He’s pretty skillful with this particular potion, but I wouldn’t let him simply work on his own.



I look forward to your return.



H.





She closed and sealed the letter, charming it so that only Severus or herself could open and read it.





-----

----

---

--

-



Severus awoke the next morning to find that the storm had died down considerably. A few gusts came through, swirling the dusty snow about the land, but the sun was out, giving light, if false warmth, to the neighborhood. He wondered idly if the owl had made it to Hogwarts or not and if Hermione would send a reply back in time. Severus stretched and peered out the window, searching in vain through the owl-free sky. Sighing, he traipsed down the hall for his morning shower, before dressing and heading downstairs to join the Grangers for Christmas morning.



“Happy Christmas, Sweetie!” called Mr. Granger, a joyous ring in his voice. Severus smiled at them, finding it hard while in their daughter’s body to resist their infectious warmth, but all the while trying to forcibly deny that he was feeling happy on Christmas.





Hermione’s parents plied him with hot chocolate with plump marshmallows, eggs, bacon, scones, kippers, toast with marmalade, fried tomatoes.



It was far more than he was accustomed to eating for Christmas breakfast, or, if he was honest, for any meal, but he did not wish to neither be rude nor raise suspicion, though he never would have fathomed the girl could eat so much, and dutifully set to work.



After breakfast had been cleared away, the family adjourned to the sitting room where a tastefully decorated tree sat, presents spilling out from under all sides of it. Severus was embarrassed to realize he had not yet sent out his gifts; of course, he had not expected to send an emergency owl post to Hermione either. Speaking of which, was she ever going to send the ruddy bird back to him? He was, quite frankly, desperate, although he would never admit it.





It seemed that the Grangers had no set tradition for gift giving, and as most of the gifts were for Hermione, he was instructed to get going; the Grangers smiled indulgently at their daughter as they searched through the pile for their own gifts; ones from Hermione and ones they had for each other.



Severus sat on the floor, surrounded by parcels, trying valiantly to suppress the dumbfounded expression he was sure was on his face as he reached for the large box in front of him.





Inside he found beautiful new dress robes in a rich buttery-golden shade that went well with Hermione’s skin tone and eyes. He raised a questioning look at Mrs. Granger.



“I had Molly’s help,” she admitted sheepishly. “She told me that Madam Malkin offered a number of varieties that we were previously unaware of and I wanted you to have something pretty.”



Severus nodded, “Thank you, Mum, I love them,” Severus said honestly. He sincerely hoped he would not still be trapped in Hermione’s body when it came time to wear the new robes, but even he had to admit they were a lovely colour for the young woman.



Setting the robes aside, he picked up a smaller, heavy package. He parted the fancy paper, tucked the box lid aside and gasped. Molly must have helped quite a bit in Mrs. Granger’s holiday shopping; he was quite sure that books like these were not available in Muggle London.



He stared at the book before carefully opening it, running his fingers over the pristine pages of a first edition copy of The History of Potions Through the Middle Ages.



He realized that Mrs. Granger was vying for his attention and he tore his eyes away from the book.



“I’m glad you like it, dear,” a smile played on Mrs. Granger’s lips.



“It is absolutely fabulous, Mum! I cannot believe you were able to find such a book! Professor Snape will be quite jealous,” and that he knew to be the truth.



His . . . Mother smiled adoringly at him. “Open the rest, dear, Molly said you would quite enjoy them, especially since you said you want to pursue studies to be a Potions Mistress!”



Severus was floored. Hermione wanted to be a Potions Mistress? He wondered if perhaps they could use this time of working things out between their interesting situation to be part of an apprenticeship. He grinned, a sudden cheery foolish grin, and ripped the paper feverishly off of the next package.



Another book! When It’s Not Bubbling, It’s Not For Me: A Personal Account of a Potions Master in the 12th Century, and another! Cauldron, Ladle and Time: Potions and Their Vital Ingredients. Severus was going to have to ask Molly where she shopped . . . and beg Hermione to share with him. Severus was in a book-induced euphoria.



With a delight he had not felt since he was a very young child, before things had soured in his family, he tore through the rest of his gifts. Soon he had a hefty stack of books in front of him:



When a Drop Is Not Enough: The Effect of Asphodel in Potions



Hand Me the Vial: A ‘How To’ Guide on Potions



Stir, Bubble, Pop: What You Always Wanted to Know About the Secret Art of Potions



Fillet of a Fenny Snake & Other Rare Ingredients and Where to Find Them



If It’s Not Bubbling, Don’t Jinx It



A Cauldron and His Friend: Memoirs of a Potions Master



Gold, Silver, and Pewter – Which One is Best? A study on cauldron density revealed



1001 Arabian Potions: The Turks and their Ancient Brews



A Potion a Day Keeps the Master at Bay: 101 Potions to Impress



Morpheus, Morgana, and Merlin. The Forefathers of Potions



Holy Water: The controversy of Muggle Religion in Potions



Burn, Baby, Burn: A Guide to Deadly Potions



Shiver, Belch, and Wheeze. The Most Common Reactions to Modern Potions – Basics for the Medi-Witch



Blood Lust or Blood Letting? Blood Curdling Potions



And finally, what turned out to be a wall hanging with tasteful art, inscribed in the center with:



If it moves its transfiguration

If it doesn\'t work its charms

And if it stinks its potions!









Severus was practically drooling in joy and envy; though he could not show the latter emotion to Hermione’s parents as they would not understand. A huge smile lit his entire face and before he even realized what he was doing, jumped up and hugged both of the Grangers with unforced enthusiasm.



Mr. Granger laughed in delight at his daughter’s blissful state. “I know you want to just sit and pour through your new books, darling, so go ahead and take them upstairs; Mum and I will clean up.”



Severus nodded, feeling a little bashful at his hugging of the Grangers, but was also enjoying being able to experience this sweet human interaction while he was . . . taking a vacation from his own foreboding self.



“Did . . . do you like your gifts?” he asked.



“Yes, dear, very much,” Mrs. Granger assured him. “Go ahead, love, take your stuff upstairs.”



Severus looked at the pile of books on the floor and pondered. “Mum, do you mind if I use magic to get them upstairs? I’m of age now and the ban on underage wizardry no longer applies.”



The two adults looked at each other and shrugged. “As you wish.”



“Accio Hermione’s wand!”



Severus could perform wandless magic, but he was unsure if Hermione could and did not feel that in front of her parents would be the time to show off that particular skill; especially if she never mastered it; a lot depended on how strong your core was.



Wand in hand, he levitated the stack of books, draped the robes over his arm, and charmed the books to follow him to his room. On his way up the stairs, carefully out of sight of the Grangers, he waved his hand back towards the sitting room, vanishing the mounds of wrapping paper.



A cheery, “thank you sweetie!” sounded after a brief pause.



Severus giggled.









-----

----

---

--

-





Severus slept very well that night, waking at first light, he stretched, nearly purring from the delight of not waking up stiff and sore as he would in his own body. He smiled happily for no reason at all, just happy to be alive . . . until the calendar caught his eye and he realized it was Boxing Day and the owl had yet to return. Had it even made it to Hogwarts?



Severus wasn’t much for prayer, never thanking anyone for his luck – or lack thereof for his lot in life except himself and occasionally the Headmaster when he wasn’t too meddling, but now he prayed to anyone that was listening that Sage would forget.









-----

----

---

--

-





Sage, however, showed up right on time, and Severus, unable to find any decent way out of this unfolding situation, slipped a coat over his outfit and trudged down the stairs to meet his . . . date. Oh, the horror.



When Severus laid eyes on the Tea House, he knew he was in for trouble. While quite innocuous on the outside, he was well aware from his youth that there were a number of magically hidden rooms on the inside. This was a far cry from an innocent date for tea; this was a well hidden wizard house of ill repute. ‘Did the insufferable know-it-all actually enjoy places like this?’ He knew from the revelations about Minerva that there was more too Hermione than showed on the surface, but this seemed a stretch even for her.



Sage, ever the gentleman, however, ushered his date to a well lit booth and waited until he was seated before taking a seat himself. Right next to Severus.



“It is so good to see you again, Hermione,” Sage purred.



‘Is this what I would sound like if I attempted to seduce someone?’ Severus mused curiously.



Severus winced and slid away from Sage ever so slightly, attempting to gain some of his personal space back.



The waiter appeared suddenly, and Sage, without asking, ordered tea for each of them. Luckily, he also took it black, though Severus thought he might actually had some sugar to his to make up for his holiday with dentists.



They sat, a bit stiffly until the tea came; Severus quickly stirred in a spoonful of sugar, and took a sip, relishing in the heat of the dark liquid and the sweetness of the sugar.



“So,” Sage began, “tell me about your schooling, my dear. I have heard rumours that you wish to become a Potions Mistress. If I may, I wish to offer you a position as my apprentice.”



He mistook Severus’ look of horror for one of good surprise and continued in a manner reminiscent of throwing gasoline on a flame, “It is quite the offer, Hermione, dear; very few get to learn from the best!” He smiled, rather arrogantly.



Severus snorted softly to himself.



“Oh, do you believe to have a better option?”



“I am already apprenticed,” Severus retorted, “to a man who has been a Potions Master longer than you have been out of school.”



“And who might this icon be?”



Severus was unsure if it was wise, but he would not let this half-wit sully his reputation. “Professor Severus Snape.”



Whatever reaction he was expecting from Sage, a look of complete shock as the man’s face drained of what little colour it possessed, was not one of them. No scathing remarks about greasy death eaters seemed forthcoming and Severus shifted uneasily. As increasingly annoyed as he was finding himself, he also was developing an intense desire to find out just who Sage was.



Severus watched Sage out of the corner of his eye, finally choosing to ignore the man and returned to sipping his tea.



He had just brought the steaming cup to his lips when he felt something slide up his thigh. He nearly poured the hot liquid into his lap in surprise. Startled, and shaking ever so slightly, he carefully set the mug down into its plate with a soft clink.



He could feel Sage’s hand – he had finally realized what it was – move deftly upward. ‘What in Merlin’s name was this impudent boy thinking?!’



“I would strongly advise you to remove your hand if you wish to keep your appendages attached to your body,” hissed Severus through clenched teeth, his spoon firmly in his grip, knuckles turning white, “or I will remove them; right before I’ll cut your heart out with this spoon!”



The hand was hastily jerked back to its owners lap.



Sage was dumbfounded; Hermione had never given any indication that advances would be met with such . . . fury . . . were he to make them. He could come up with nothing witty and settled for asking, “Why a spoon, Hermione?”



Severus leveled Sage with a glare that, even on Hermione’s face, was a look to be reckoned with. “Because it’s dull you twit! It will hurt more!”