Transfiguration of the Heart

Sorry about the wait everyone! I went a on a weekend holiday with my friends to Palm Springs and Long Beach, and am only just returning. Thank you all SO much for the comments you are leaving me. They are wonderful.


Chapter 10- Playing Favorites

“Home again, home again, jiggidy-jig,” Hermione muttered absently, falling into her bed, inside her comfortable, cozy three-roomed dwelling just down the hall from the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

That was certainly a weekend she never, ever wished to experience again for as long as she lived. If the stress had not worn her down enough, then the new task she had appointed herself of dissecting Snape’s mind had finished her off completely. Surprisingly, the Malfoys had been fine, as were they other guests. Surprisingly, Viktor was taking a slow approach to trying to bed her. And not surprisingly, Snape was the regular, nasty, domineering, antisocial Git she had known ever since her first Potions class at Hogwarts.

Actually it would have been a rather pleasant weekend if Snape had not been there, or if she just stayed out of everyone else’s business. But… it was her nature to be nosy.

She had tried to break a chink into his armor, but it had not worked. He had only rebuffed her with snippy questions to throw her off-guard and called attention to her rather obvious display of more-than-respectful intrigue and friendliness she so suddenly felt for him. At least he had danced with her. That was a start, anyway. But now she felt like she was back to square one, with her courageousness to face Snape nearly vanished, being replaced by her own shy embarrassment after what had last happened between them at the wedding reception.

Hermione could not believe she had let him get to her so easily… but at the moment he had gotten her hackles up and made her forget the placidity she had adopted whenever she was around him. Her anger had made her more susceptible to low-aimed remarks meant to mess with her mind.

But really, was he trying to mess with her mind? Was the comment he made about her tone of voice so lowly-aimed? No, it was not. Unfortunately he made a rather astute observation as to what she had been feeling in that moment while describing her fondness for Professor Snape. Not that she should have expected any less from him. He had been a spy and double agent for so long that reading between the lines had become second nature, and almost completely natural for him. Besides that, he was a damned intelligent man.

Why hadn’t he just used his Legilimency skills on her to find out what was really going on in her head? Surely that would have taken care of her, to invade her, theoretically rape her, so that she did not keep coming back and annoying him like it seemed she did. After all, she would have been powerless to stop such an invasion. No one had ever taught her Occlumency. No one had ever had the time.

Hermione rose from the large bed, and moved inattentively, divesting herself of the dirty clothes of that day. She dropped her bra down on the ground, hearing an upset ‘meow’ in return. Crookshanks struggled out of the padded cloth covering him, and mewing again at her before hopping on the bed and burying himself under her discarded shirt. “You are so strange sometimes.”

The half-Kneazle flicked his bottlebrush tail in recognition and yawned before closing his eyes.

She smiled to herself and shook her head. He definitely was not the most pleasing thing to look at, neither did he have the greatest of tempers especially around people or things he did not trust. He was wise, though. No one had wanted him back when she found him circling his cage like a crazed lion, ready to strike out at the next thing that went by. But the instant their eyes met, she knew she had to have him. There was an affinity there, between them, and when he reached his paw out of the cage to bat at her hand playfully, she was lost to him forever.

And strangely, it reminded her of Snape. Uncannily like Snape. No one really wanted to know him or care for him. He was certainly not handsome, nor was his temper and nastiness things to brag about either. But the instant she had met him her first year, and through subsequent years, she had come to realize that there was certainly an affinity between them as well. He was uncommonly intelligent, and she often wondered if she was the only one of the Gryffindors that had truly appreciated his barbed comments, even if they were directed at her or Harry, Ron or Neville at the time. However, where Crooks had taken to her instantly, Snape was only beginning to warm up to her. Was he even warming up?

Yes, he was. At least he talked to her now, and called her Hermione.

Shaking her head again, that she let out a low groan. Why did every single one of her thoughts turn to him? Ever since she had come back to Hogwarts, her thoughts would always drift to him—whether she was angry with him, or not? This just would not do.

She sighed, “Crooks, I think I’m becoming delusional.”

He raised one eyelid, giving her an uninterested look before shutting it again, his purring becoming much louder.

“Fine friend you are,” she frowned. “See if you get any catnip for Christmas this year.”

With that, she turned and headed for her lavatory and jumped into a long, hot shower. The sharp spray of water stung at the back of her neck and shoulders slightly, and she closed her eyes. It had always been such a stress relief to get into a nice hot shower after a long day for her, the demands of teachers and friends disappearing with the dirt and grime on her skin. And she had also learned that is she bathed in the evening, rather than in the morning, it gave her bushy, curly hair time to settle down overnight.

She was not quite sure how long she had been in the shower, but it had been quite awhile because her fingers were pruned, when she heard an incessant pounding on the bathroom door. Shutting the water off, she glanced around the room, and found that it was silent. Was she just imagining things? Reaching for the towel resting on the toilet beside the shower, she wrapped it around herself. There was the pounding again.

Followed by a, “Granger, your assistance is needed in the Headmistress’ office when you are decent!”

That particular gravely voice, the low growl ever present, was easy enough to place. But she froze. Had she not put up her wards? And what could possibly be so important that she had to leave her rooms on a Sunday evening and her true leisure time? If this was to see to a student’s offence, the student would pay dearly for it.

“Thank you!” she said, hearing his heavy footsteps leaving her bedroom and then out the door. Hermione stepped out cautiously, looking around the room. Crooks was sitting up, but he had obviously not made an attempt to harm Snape. And then, with sheer horror, she realized that Snape had most likely seen her knickers crumbled into a tiny ball near the bathroom door, and then her bra where Crookshanks had left it. How long had he been pounding on the door before she noticed him? How long had he been in her rooms?

Her mind reeled as she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper, sliding her feet into a pair of shoes before grabbing her wand and leaving quickly through the front door. She locked and warded it simply, heading in the direction of McGonagall’s office. On her way, she said a small drying charm for her hair, not caring that it would be a huge ball of frizz. There had been times where she had surely looked more hideous than this.

A certain incident with rapidly growing front teeth came to mind. The thought added a whole knew anger to annoyance, remembered just who had been the professor dealing with that situation and just what he had said to her then.

“I don’t see any difference.”

She knew she had hated for some reason, and it was for instances like those that she hated him the most. How could he act so aloof sometimes? Granted, he could not show any sympathy for the Mudblood, with Draco, Crabbe and Goyle all there. Word would have gotten back to Voldemort. But still… saying things like that were extremely detrimental to a girl with already fragile nerves.

At least she had come out of that ordeal with regularly-sized teeth that her parents had originally not let her fix using magic.

“Scottish Shortbread,” Hermione uttered at the gargoyle standing entrance to the staircase up the McGonagall’s office. Instead of candies being the source of Dumbledore’s passwords, Minerva tended to favor baked goods instead. Or, for a little variety, chose other Scottish-related words and phrases that were impossible for the normal person to say correctly.

The gargoyle jumped out of the way, and let her ascend the staircase to the Headmistress’ office. Hermione rapped lightly on the wooden door and waited to be beckoned inside by the shrill voice of her superior. She stepped inside and looked around the room. She had not yet had the chance to come back to this office after returning to Hogwarts, but now that she was in it, it gave her an odd sense of security to find that not much had changed. The magical instruments still littered the room, and past paintings of Headmasters and Headmistresses hung on the walls. However, there was a new addition, surrounded by a flashy gilded frame that showcased the characteristics of its inhabitant.

She smiled past Minerva and at the painting. Dumbledore looked back at her with twinkling blue eyes through half-moon spectacles. “Miss Granger! How good it is to see you!”

“And you, Professor,” she smiled again and turned to look at the other, live, people in the room. McGonagall sat behind the desk, glaring at the sixth-year Dennis Creevey. Snape stood behind the second leather seat in the room, where one of his younger students, a Daniel Rutgers, sat. Daniel Rutgers, however, was suffering from a rather obvious hex that had shrunk his nose so small that he had to breathe through his mouth and looked particularly scared to be in the room.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her, waiting to see what she would do. Hermione looked at Dennis and sighed. “What happened, Mr. Creevey?”

“I was doing my duties, Herm-,” he paused suddenly and looked at her with wide eyes. Some of the Gryffindor students in the upper years were having some trouble in getting used to addressing her as Professor Granger, rather than the Hermione they had spent time with having fun in the common room, or in DA meetings. “Sorry, Professor Granger.”

“It’s alright, Dennis. Continue,” she looked at him and then at the shiny Prefects’ badge.

He gathered his courage. “I was patrolling the corridors, when I came across Rutgers in the halls with his mates. It was past curfew. I took ten points and sent them to their dorms. T-then he called me Mudblood and started taunting me.”

The rest of the story was apparent, and she looked back at Rutgers and let out a long sigh. She had thought she would be prepared for disciplining her house members, but now faced with the problem, she was a little wary to do so, especially under such a circumstance as someone calling Dennis a mudblood. She knew what it felt like to be taunted for not having a witch or wizard as a parent.

Hermione looked at Snape, “What do you suggest for Mr. Creevey, Professor?”

Dennis nearly went into convulsions then, with Hermione conferring with Snape for his punishment. “A week’s detention with Filch, fifty points and for him to be stripped of his status. It is wholly immature to take his aggression out on another, much less younger, student who could not adequately defend himself.”

Hermione nodded and glanced at McGonagall, “Professor McGonagall, do you have anything to add?”

“No,” she shook her head. “His punishment is up to you, I have already spoken to Mr. Creevey about what being a prefect means.”

Hermione looked at Dennis. “You’ll remain a prefect, but serve two weeks of detention instead and lose fifty house points.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said and made to stand up. “May I go Professor?”

She nodded and watched him move as quickly as his short legs could carry him toward the door. Turning back to them, Hermione noticed Snape reach his hand out and clamp it on Rutgers’ shoulder, pushing back into his seat. “A week’s detention for you, Rutgers.”

The student was crestfallen and sighed.

“Now you may go see Madam Pomfrey.” Rutgers made a beeline for the door in the same fashion that Dennis had. “Learn some tolerance for the less fortunate as well!”

The door closed with a loud rattle and Hermione looked at the dark-clad man. “Tolerance, from a Slytherin?”

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at McGonagall. Hermione sighed and did the same, waiting for a comment from their fearless leader. She dismissed them without another word, and only a wave of her hand. Why did she feel like she was the one in trouble and not Dennis? Probably because she had been on the receiving end of McGonagall’s punishments too many times in the past.

Hermione stepped out the door the first and stepped down onto the first step as Snape closed the door behind him. A sudden electricity filled the air that made her queasy enough to shut her eyes for a moment to control herself. What was that all about? Most likely because she was still embarrassed to be in his presence after last night. This was the first time they had seen each other after all.

The stone tower was eerily quiet as they descended the stairs, and it was only when she stopped at the bottom and turned to watching him step down and off the last step that the quiet ended. He pulled his black robes more securely around himself as though he were chilled and crossed his arms to hold them in place. It was a very domineering stance from the man, especially when he was shrouded in black and looked at her with such a dreadfully piercing gaze.

“What is it Miss Granger?”

“Was it really necessary to have that happen in front of McGonagall?” she questioned, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for as long as she could manage before quickly looking away.

“Of course it was not,” he said, sweeping past her a few steps. “But I knew that under pressure you would not let your house member off easily.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. “As though living up to your standards was not pressure enough.”

He stopped suddenly and spun back to look at her. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, Professor,” she said quietly.

He snorted in disbelief, “The way you and your friends operated, I never thought you had much respect for my standards.”

“I had a great respect for your standards and for the power you had,” she said. “But I never felt very respectful when you were being particularly cruel to me or my friends.”

“Hmph,” he grunted. “You deserved everything you ever got, Miss Granger.”

“Did I, now?” she questioned. “Just on the way over here, I remembered a time when someone hexed me to make my teeth grow. I hardly think I deserved what you said to me.”

He met her eyes, the memory obviously going through his mind. His voice took on his smoother, more friendly, tone. “I was under a good deal of stress, Hermione. You should have known that.”

“Would it have hurt you to show a little sympathy, though?” she asked.

“I’m not a sympathetic man, Hermione,” he said.

“Why?”

The question hung in the air between them, each staring the other down, trying to be the victor in this match of wills. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but nothing came out and he snapped his lips together to sneer and frown alternately. Finally, he came up with an answer. “Because no one was ever sympathetic to me growing up.”

“No one? Not ever?” she asked. He was hiding something, she could see that in the way he fidgeted to get out of the present situation. She had never seen him become so bothered before, over any other subject, even the Dark Lord. But now he was bothered. Why?

“I do not wish to speak with you about this, Miss Granger. It is none of your business,” he said, “and besides the point.”

“What is the point?” she looked at him.

“That I can trust in the future that you will make the correct decisions when it comes to the concerns of your students. I have ensured that you will not play favorites, nor will you make sure that everyone is your friend at the end of the day,” he said.

Hermione went over the edge with that, but successfully harnessed her anger from spilling over the side. “Leave it to you to judge me on playing favorites, Snape!”

With that, she turned on her heels and stormed off toward her rooms, completely forgetting about Snape breaking past her wards and into her rooms without her knowledge, or that he had seen her underthings. All she could think about was what a perplexing, contradictory man that Severus Snape really was.