Beneath the Surface

Beneath the Surface

Chapter the Eleventhe: New Bonds and Old Barriers

“Honestly, *what* were you two thinking?” Hermione ranted as she paced back and forth iont ont of Harry and Ron, who appeared quite contrite as they sat slumped into two chairs on either side of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. Then she halted between them and threw up her hands in exasperation. “That’s just IT! You WEREN’T thinking at all!”

“Now, come off it, ‘Mione, that’s just a bit too much,” Ron protested with indignity. “We’ve already gotten it badly enough from Snape without *you* laying into us as well!” Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Now don’t start on him again, I’ve heard quite enough. And it’s not as if you didn’t deserve it,” she reprimanded him dryly. “You and Harry would’ve done better to just go straight up to Sna—*Professor* Snape and trip him with those blowing robes of his!”

The humorous mental image caused the two boys to snicker behind their hands, and even Hermione had to allow a shade of a smile at it. After several minutes of bearing their chortling, it became obvious to Hermione that her accidental jest at Snape’s expense would go on for some time unless she put a stop to it herself.

She cleared her throat loudly, resuming an aggressive stance, and the two boys immediately stopped laughing and refocused on her.

“I’m serious,” she said evenly, fixing narrowed eyes on her friends. Each looked rather sheepish, but, as Hermione would come to know after another year or two of friendship with the boys, the indefatigable mischief of Harry and Ron could hardly be deterred by a detention or ten.

“But Hermione,” Harry pressed. “We’ve already explained to you why we had to take the car, and everything that happened after was sort of an...accident.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, nodding eagerly. “Someone closed the portal on us. We had no choice!”

“Oh, honestly!” Hermione sighed in disgust. “You most definitely *did* have a choice! Why, if such a thing had happened to any sensible person, they would have known either to stay where they were until their parents returned or to figure out a way to contact someone who could help them. It’s *that* simple!”

Ron’s mouth fell open and, by the belligerent expression on his face, Harry knew that he was going to argue with Hermione’s admittedly impeccable yet undoubtably unattainable logic. Not wishing to continue this ‘discussion’ further, he placed a firm hand on Ron’s shoulder and faced Hermione with a serious expression.

“You’re right, Hermione,” he said, feigning contrition. “We weren’t thinking, and we should have been more responsible.” He shot Ron a meaningful look, which was understood after a moment’s confused hesitation.

“Yeah,” Ron acceded, smiling lopsidedly at Hermione. “Guess we were a bit thick.”

“I guess so,” Hermione scoffed sardonically, raising her arms to fold them across her chest once again. She happened to notice the red watchband peeking out from the sleeve of her left arm as she did so, and brought that wrist up to her eyes for closer inspection. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she spun on her heel and strode towards the stairway that led to the girls’ dormitory.

“It’s late. Supper’s in an hour. First classes are tomorrow,” she explained concisely to her friends over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get a head start on some studying. See you in the Hall!”

The small door slammed closed behind her and Harry and Ron could hear her sharp footsteps receding rapidly up the steps. The two boys shared a dubious glance, and then resumed recounting and guffawing about their close shave with the Womping Willow just that morning.

~*~

“Headmaster, *please*, at least agree that you’ll *consider* expulsion,” Snape fairly begged, a rare occurrence indeed. Still, Albus Dumbledore remained immoveable.

“Severus, I’m sorry, but I just can’t do something that drastic over a few minor infractions,” he said, his tone soft yet final. Snape gaped at him, his expression contorted into one of pure indignation. He reminded Albus of the malcontent schoolboy he had once been, protesting the mischievous doings of the Marauders, a group of several close-knit Gryffindors which included Harry Potter’s father.

History was cyclical, indeed.

“A FEW MINOR INFRACTIONS?! Have you gone completely *mad*, Albus?” Severus shouted angrily. Dumbledore put up two open hands in an attempt to placate the irate Professor, but it was to no avail. “The idiots could have been KILLED! And though I would personally welcome such a fate with open arms, I doubt that the entire wizarding world would do the same when it comes the time for that prat Potter to fulfill that damnable prophecy!”

Albus had finally reached his limit on how far he could tolerate Snape’s temper. He would allow no one to mock such a serious destiny, nor to slander his students. He drew himself up and raised his chin, the power of his anger radiating from his ancient form. Severus, who was considerably taller than the old man, bowed his head and seemed to physically shrink beneath his ire. When the Headmaster spoke, his voice was clear and resonant.

“Severus Snape, I have had quite enough of your childish prejudices against those innocent children.” Snape’s eyes blazed with a deep-seated flame, but he bit his tongue and remained still. “Now, I have made my decision in regards to Misters Potter and Weasley, and as Headmaster of this school, my judgement shall not be questioned.”

Then Dumbledore’s wise old eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as he smiled tenderly at Snape, seeing the deeply troubled boy he had watched grow so very painfully into the honorable man who now stood before him. Severus sensed the gentle scrutiny, and raised his face to meet his Headmaster’s kindly eyes.

“Severus, my boy,” Albus said in a low, fatherly tone, which Severus always did his best not to shudder at. He had never been accustomed to such sincere warmth and care directed towards him. “You know I mean you no offense. I do understand that you say such things out of concern for the children’s welfare; I believe that you feel Harry would be more safe if he was removed from the wizarding world. ”

Snape snorted cynically, knowing that such was only part of the reason for his... overzealous behavior. His animosity towards the little dunderheads stemmed largely from dislike, pure and simple. It would be much easier on him if Potter were expunged from his world; the troublemaker was proving far too difficult to protect already, and he wasn’t even a teenager yet. Dumbledore continued on.

“And I truly respect and admire you for your genuine dedication to the students’ safety. But,” he said in a slightly reprimanding tone, regarding Snape shrewdly from over his half-moon spectacles, “young Harry’s destiny, and that of any other person, is beyond your right to manipulate, no matter how pure your intentions are in doing so. You simply must try harder to refrain from such insensitive cruelty towards the children. Can you agree to that, my boy?”

Snape’s lip was twisted in irritation, but there was a boyish penitence in his eyes which matched his somber tone as he said, “Yes, Headmaster, I’ll try.”

“Good lad. Now, I’m sure you’ve many things to do in preparation for tomorrow’s classes, so I won\'t keep you from them,” Dumbledore said, taking his seat behind his elaborate desk and pushing his spectacles higher up on his large nose. \"Good night, Severus.\"

Snape nodded absently, quickly scanning the list of things he had to accomplish by the morrow in his efficimindmind. He bid the Headmaster a short adieu before leaving his office to return to his own chambers in the dungeons and the many tasks that awaited him therein, never noticing the sly smile that graced elder wizard’s lips after their conversation had ended.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to his destination that he registered the feeling of nostalgia for his years as a student at this school which his talk with Dumbledore had—most likely purposefully, the wily old man—inspired in him. He’d actually given his word to the manipulative bastard that he would make an honest attempt at curbing his acerbic insults when it came to Potter and his accomplices, and once Severus Snape gave his word, he would do all in his power to keep it.

“Good lad’, indeed!’ Severus fumed. ‘DAMN ALBUS!’

~*~

As she sat in her favorite secluded corner of the Common Room one temperate evening a month into her Second Year, Hermione found herself quite unable to concentrate on her schoolwork. Her thoughts were flitting and shifting with far more dexterity and swiftness than she was used to, and their torrential quality was making her feel rather light-headed. The words on the pages of her textbooks blurred and swam erratically before her eyes, and no matter how many times she might reread one passage she found that her mind could not—or would not—retain it.

Quite peculiar, indeed.

Pinching her nose between her eyebrows tightly in an effort to quell her growing headache, Hermione reached out a hand and slammed the heavy tome before her closed. The muffled thudding sound it caused had several of the other students who occupied the room shooting her curious looks, which had always been unsettling to her, innocent as they often were.

She shoved her chair back and walked to the door which led to the girls’ dorms as quickly as she could while being as quiet and unnoticeable as was possible. She so hated it when people stared at her. But with her arms clenched to her sides, her head bowed and her eyes fixed unwaveringly on her feet, she was unintentionally revealing her discomfiture and so drew more eyes magnetically to her fleeing form.

Still, when the door to the left of the Common Room was pulled shut, so too was the small girl with the bushy hair and strange ways forced from the minds of her audience as t eye eyes returned to their work.

Hermione leaned back against the wooden door and let out a relieved breath. Her heart, which had already been beating more quickly than normal before, was fairly racing with adrenaline. She had never been quite so ruffled by the attention of her peers, nor had she ever felt so alienated, so *apart*, from them.

So alone.

‘I need to see somebody. I need to be with somebody,’ her mind told her without being prompted by her consciousness. ‘I need to talk to someone...’

She raked a hand through her disheveled hair and pushed her body from its recline against the door, continuing up the steps to her dorm as if with purpose. But in truth, she had none.

Before entering the girls’ bedroom, her body made a swift detour into the washroom adjacent from it. Her feet carried her to the last sectioned off sink and mirror in the room which was her own, and upon reaching it she automatically turned to face the looking glass.

The face that gazed back at her was surprisingly calm and dignified, appearing to emanate that scholarly pride that she, by habit, thrust into everyone’s face. Did she always look this haughty? This assured? Was this stuck-up little prig *her*?

“I suppose it is,” she murmured to herself. The sound of her own voice emerging from the emptiness of the room reminded her that she was but one body among hundreds, and that her solitude could be disturbed at any time.

She stepped closer to the sink and stared at her little shelf of toiletries. When her eyes landed on the loathsome, steel-toothed brush, they seemed to narrow of their own accord, as if facing down an old foe. Rolling her eyes, she reached out and grabbed the implement firmly, and, as if she were defying hen fon foolishness, brought it to the top of her head.

Looking up into the mirror, she caught her own gaze and was startled by her face\'s cringing features, the brush clenched in her hand like a weapon. She did not want to fear an inanimate object. She smiled kindly at herself and softly separated a thick strand of hair from her unwieldy mane.

As if she were dealing with a young child, she began to slide the brush down the lock gently, stroking the hair with her free hand in a soft trail after it. Becoming relaxed with these motions, she rested her side against the wall as she continued to patiently untangle her hair, strand by strand. She closed her eyes and smiled at nothing.

“Hermione?”

The wooden brush clattered to the floor, followed by a high-pitched gasp from Hermione. Straightening her robes embarrassedly, she turned to face the source of the tiny, light voice. And then she let out a breath in relief and smiled genially. It was only Ron’s little sister, Ginny Weasley.

“S-sorry if I startled you, Hermione,” the small girl said in a tone just above a whisper; Hermione had to strain to hear her. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll go. Sorry.”

Before the little redhead could do so, however, Hermione put a friendly hand on her shoulder.

“No, no, *I’m* sorry for being such a fraidy-cat. Please stay.” Hermione leaned back against the wall to appear more at ease and to make the girl feel so as well.

The youngest Weasley was a bit young and shy, but she was somebody to talk to, and wasn’t that just what Hermione had needed? She smiled at her again, having to tilt her head downwards slightly to look into her face. Well, that was a good start already. The kid was actually shorter than *her*!

“So how are you liking it here at Hogwarts? Settled in yet, have you?” she asked kindly. Ginny smiled timidly and bowed her head.

“It’s...not bad.” She abruptly raised her face again, concern etched over her features, as she realized how unappreciative she must have sounded. “I—I mean, it’s, er...I’ll get used to it.” She offered Hermione another hopeful little smile. The older girl returned it warmly.

“It’s okay, Ginny,” Hermione assured her. “It was hard on me too at first. When I arrived as a First Year, it took nearly ‘til Christmas for me to adjust to it, but when I did, I found more and more that I loved about life at Hogwarts. You know, during the summer hols, I could hardly wait to get back! Trust me, you’ll see.”

Ginny grinned up at her, slightly less timid now. She stepped just a bit closer and leaned back against the opposite wall of Hermione’s stall.

“The classes we’re taking are really interesting,” Ginny conceded. “And the professors are all very good and nice. ...Except for Professor Snape, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, her voice empty. Her heart had sunk at Ginny’s last admission. It seemed that she’d never be able to talk to someone who couldn’t at least speak civilly towards the one she had to force herself to think badly of.

Perhaps the shy, quiet was was just like all the other students after all.

“But I don’t take the things he says seriously,” Ginny continued. “He’s a good teacher, and if you stay out of his way a lot can be learned from him.” Hermione’s sullen eyes sparkled as she nodded eagerly at the younger girl’s words.

“Exactly!” she enthused. “I just adore Potions and, despite the Professor’s faults, I don’t think anyone could be a better teacher of it.”

“Yes, I think so too,” Ginny agreed.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say more, but then closed it and tilted her head, as if thinking better of blurting what she had been about to say to Ginny.

After several seconds, in which the younger girl could almost see Hermione’s thoughts being weighed and debated, the Second Year faced the First Year again with a conspiratorial expression. Ginny leaned a bit closer, heartened that the older girl would want to share something personal with her.

“Don’t tell Harry or Ron this,” Hermione whispered, grinning waggishly, “because they’d never understand it, but Professor Snape is my favorite teach at Hogwarts.”

Ginny nodded affirmatively, beaming back at the older girl. She wouldn’t dare tell her, though, that she suspected the girl’s admiration for the skills of their Potions Master was derived from a deeper sentiment. Despite her youth, she knew what it was like to harbor affection for a dark and unseemly person.

“Yes, he’s a favorite of mine, too,” was all Ginny said. Hermione was fairly glowing. Here was her someone to talk to! She’d never had a close girlfriend to whom she could tell all of her secrets. She didn’t know whether Ginny would prove to be such a trusted confidante, but she was more than willing to give her a try. The two girls giggled together, as if to seal their newly created yet unspoken bond.

But Ginny silenced abruptly, an opaque emptiness came over her features, her eyes suddenly somber and lifeless as if a light had flicked out within them. Hermione raised her eyebrows at her in question, her face filled with concern, but Ginny only smiled again.

But the strange look clung to her face, refusing to be laughed away.

“Well, I should be getting back to the dorm,” she said. “Got a lot of work to do for tomorrow.”

Responding to the academic reference, Hermione straightened her posture and nodded. She felt considerably lightened after speaking with Ginny, somehow more courageous as well. A wicked thought crossed her mind: perhaps she’d give her Potions Professor an impromptu visit. Why not? After all, she would liketry try and find out his lesson plans for tomorrow so she could be prepared for class. It was a demanding subject.

“Yeah, I’ve got things to do as well. I’ll see you later, Ginny,” Hermione said, waving her hand somewhat bashfully in a cheerful farewell. Ginny smiled and returned the gesture.

“See you, Hermione.”

After the younger girl had left the washroom, Hermione faced her reflection in the mirror again.

‘Should I go to visit him?’ she pondered. ‘What if he gets angry with me?’

Hermione scoffed at her own thoughts. He was *always* angry with her, she should be used to it by now. And how was she ever going to get closer to him if she continued to be afraid of the man? Such childish behavior was ridiculous, and she knew it.

It was decided. She would go to the dungeons in search of Professor Snape, and try to start up a leisurely conversation with him, try to become more familiar with him personally. Should he rebuke her efforts—which he almost definitely would—she would just keep trying until she eroded the airtight walls of his self-defense.

Once she put her mind to something, she was determined to follow through with it, no matter what hindrances she might encounter in her quest.

Besides, he probably wouldn’t even be in his office anyway.

Thankful that neither Harry nor Ron were in the Common Room when she slipped out of the portrait hole, for they would most definitely question her destination, and Gods knew how adept she was at lying, Hermione made her wary way down to the dungeons, working out in her mind what she would say to her Professor when and if she found him.
L