A Song for Severus ~ (Not Update, but Edit)

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 24 ~ Time Passes, Situations Grow

Severus oversaw a few potions classes, allowing Bartholomew to teach while he sat in back of the classroom, scowling. The students were very subdued and seemed afraid to answer Bartholomew’s questions in front of the Potions Master, which in turn made the assistant nervous as Severus observed him. He moped at his forehead with a handkerchief several times and was forced to review several topics that the pupils should have done well with.

When class was dismissed, Severus walked up to him, his eyes glittering.

“The students seem to have a problem absorbing your teachings Mr. Trimmings, and I noticed you did not deduct house points for erroneous answers. How do you expect to motivate the students to study when you don’t punish them for their laxness?” the wizard asked silkily.

”Professor, I think your presence was the reason for the errors, sir,” Bartholomew replied a bit nervously. “They are always a bit flighty when you are present. You…you make them nervous sir.”

Severus arched an eyebrow at him.

“So, Mr. Trimmings, you seek to place the blame for your students’ stupidity on me rather than accept responsibility for your inept teaching methods and inability to reach their small little minds,” the wizard purred.

Bartholomew’s blue eyes went hard for a moment.

“Just because I don’t browbeat them at every opportunity does not mean my teaching abilities are inept, Professor Snape…I can give you a pensieve of plenty of classes where not only do the students give proper responses, but are eager to do so, almost every hand in the class raised. Unlike you sir, I don’t teach through fear. They learn because they are truly interested,” Bartholomew said, shivering slightly at standing up to the dark wizard. “I praise them when they are correct, and correct them when they are in error, but I don’t punish them. I am not trying to be you, Professor Snape. I have my own methods of teaching…and I am good at it.”

Severus’ eyes drifted over Bartholomew. So the assistant did have a backbone.

Bartholomew waited for the Professor to jump all over him for his audacity in addressing him in such a manner, but Severus simply said, “Very well, Mr. Trimmings…we will see how effective your “methods of teaching” are at the end of term finals. I expect every single student to pass and I will be creating the final exam, not you.”

The assistant blanched satisfactorily, and the Professor returned to his seat to observe the rest of his classes. When the last class was dismissed, Severus left with them, not saying another word to Bartholomew, who immediately set about rifling through the overstuffed file cabinet on the right wall behind his desk, looking for old exams the Professor had given over the years, hoping to get some idea what kind of test the wizard might prepare.

Damn. He had some work to do.

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Hermione didn’t show up at supper. Severus sat in his usual spot, forcing Bartholomew to draw up a chair at the end of the table.

The Potions Master ate his meal, a little scowl on his face at Hermione’s absence. It appeared the personal neglect had started already. Severus ordered a ham and cheese sandwich to go, with lettuce, tomatoes, sweet pickles and mustard. It appeared on his plate, wrapped in cellophane with two napkins. The wizard picked it up and placed it in his robes pocket.

Severus strode down the dungeon corridor, frowning, Slytherin students scrambling out of his way as he passed. It was safe to speak to the wizard when he wore a neutral expression, but when he looked like this, it was wise to give him a wide berth.

Severus stopped in front of a niche, then entered it, pressing several bricks which folded back, revealing an entrance that led down to the sub-dungeons where the historical documents were kept. He entered a room off the left filled with boxes of parchment, walked to the back wall and press another series of bricks in a more complicated pattern, and the wall once again folded back, revealing a short hallway that led to Hermione’s lab. There was light shining from under the door.

Severus pushed the lab door opened and scanned the room. Hermione was no where to be seen. He checked the pixie enclosure for her body, but no…she wasn’t in there.

“Oh no,” he thought, looking toward the snake pit door. Severus hurriedly pushed it open to find Hermione holding a cobra behind the head with a gloved hand, her hair piled all over her head, smiling but looking thoroughly exhausted. She had been at it for over eight hours.

“Hermione,” Severus called to her, striding to her side. He studied the witch, who looked at him with victory in her eyes.

“This is the fifteenth cobra I’ve caught and held,” Hermione said, looking at the serpent as it coiled around her arm. “I can catch them now. Will you show me how to milk them?”

Severus shook his head.

“Not tonight. You’ve done enough,” he said, “Put the snake back, return to your rooms and eat something.”

”I want to practice a bit more, Severus,” Hermione argued as she wrapped the snake and carefully lowered it back into the pit, releasing it. Most of the snakes were hiding now, having been subjected to Hermione catching and releasing them.

“The cobras appear tired, witch…and so do you. Come along,” Severus said, catching her by her arm and pulling her from the room. Hermione dragged her feet but it didn’t help as Severus slung her through the door and followed, shutting the door to the snake pit and warding it with his signature.

“I will remove my ward in the morning,” he said to her imperiously.

The pixies were all lining the window of their enclosure and jeering at Hermione obviously remembering how they had done her in earlier that day. Hermione scowled at the tiny blue creatures. It wasn’t going to be as hard experimenting on them as she thought.

Hermione pulled out her wand and shook it at the pixies threateningly and they all flitted back, frightened looks on their tiny faces. They knew what a wand was thanks to Severus. The pixies disappeared into the foliage, peering out at Hermione with dark looks. She drew the blind down.

“More misplaced aggression,” Severus observed, “threatening pixies.”

He made a tsking sound.

“Shut up, Severus,” Hermione snarled. She was tired, hungry and exasperated. She didn’t need Severus’ barbs to add to her frustration.

Severus scowled at her, but held back a biting retort.

“Out,” he said imperiously, opening the lab door, a no nonsense expression on his face now.

Hermione stormed past him and up the hallway. Severus turned down the torches in the lab and followed her through the wall, into the document area and up the stairs. Presently they emerged, Hermione walking quickly to her rooms and slamming the door in the wizard’s face. He rapped on it.

“I have your sandwich. Ham, cheese, pickles, the works,” he said against the door, taking it out of his robes pocket. The door opened a crack and Hermione’s hand shot out, grabbing the sandwich and quickly withdrawing, slamming the door shut again.

Severus looked at the door for several moments, shrugged, then headed for his own rooms. He knew it would be this way. Well, tomorrow he would show her how to milk the cobras. That ought to make her happy with him again…

For about five minutes.

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Hermione began her study of the completed elixir, painstakingly deconstructing the elements and ingredient and studying their interactions, consulting with Severus from time to time and making painstaking notes.

She also learned to draw venom from the snakes, learning quite quickly how to agitate them enough to bite the venom jar voluntarily. If only the thestrals were more cooperative when it came time to inject them with small amounts of the poison. The thestrals seemed to know Hermione was up to no good the moment she entered the stable. Hagrid had tethered three of them, which he rarely did. They lowered their heads and snorted at Hermione, their apparently sightless eyes focused on her and the hypodermic she held in her gloved hand.

The animals each tried to rear when she entered the enclosure, but they were held tight. The screeching cries were horrible as she injected each flank. The injection itself wasn’t that painful, but the animals weren’t used to Hermione. Only Hagrid really came in contact with them. Hagrid suggested Hermione come to the stable once or twice a week and hand feed strips of bloody meat to the creatures so they would trust her, and she did so, finding it much easier to extract their blood when the time came to create the anti-venom.

Now that she had it, it was time for the work with the pixies.

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”Eloise, have you…er…showered lately?” Linda Dodge, her married sister asked tentatively.

“Yes. I shower every day. Why? Do I smell?” Eloise asked her, sniffing her armpits. She smelled fine as far as she was concerned.

“Just a little. Maybe you need to wear more deodorant,” Linda said, her nose crinkling slightly. “Also you need to pluck your eyebrows. You almost have a uni-brow.”

Eloise wanted to tell her sister she’d been plucking and shaving every single day, but her hair would just grow back extremely fast. But Linda was a faultfinder anyway, having a house, a husband and two children. She was a stay at home mom and felt superior to Eloise who lived alone in a rented flat selling candy for a meager living.

“You’re never going to find a man if you don’t keep on top of things, Eloise,” Linda chided.

Eloise scratched her back. She’d been feeling really itchy and irritable lately.

“I don’t need a man,” Eloise said a bit sharply, “I’m fine the way I am.”

”You do need a man. Look what Charles has done for me. I don’t want for anything,” Linda said.

“You live off Charles. If you were by yourself, you’d be no better off than I am,” Eloise said angrily.

“But I was smart. I found someone to provide for me,” Linda retorted. “I don’t sleep alone in my bed every night, or have to pick up some stray bloke for a shag when I’m randy, risking all kinds of diseases.”

Eloise was tempted to remind Linda what a slut she was before she met Charles and went all ‘proper” in order to land him. But she didn’t.

“I’m fine, Linda,” she said stiffly.

After Linda remarked on all the other things that were wrong with her sister, she left, Eloise glad to see her go. She had been feeling strangely for the past three days. Touchy and bad-tempered, ready to snap at everyone, though she restrained herself. And what was worse…she had the feeling she was being watched from the moment she left her flat in the morning until she returned to it at night. Even in the candy shop she kept looking out the window to see if she saw anyone standing about. She never did.

A couple of times she caught a sharp, pungent odor that was a mixture of blood and some animal scent, but again…she saw nothing she could identify, only the occasional movement from the corner of her eye.

This all had the effect of keeping her on edge. She had been raped before after all, and hated the feeling of being stalked. But since she didn’t see anyone, there was nothing the woman could do.

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Dusk was falling, and Fenrir stood disillusioned across the street from Eloise’s flat, a burlap bag in his large hand. His yellow eyes were focused on the door to the flat. He was going to have to retrieve her soon. The moon was going to rise at ten twenty-four that evening, and the muggle would be experiencing her first transformation. It wouldn’t do for it to occur in muggle London. He had to take her to the wizarding world before she transformed to werewolf form.

He had been following the muggle for the past few days, hard put to keep from being discovered. She was extremely alert, turning to look back constantly as he followed her, the werewolf falling to immobility. She might have seen his shimmer, but there was no way she would have associated it with anything other than some anomaly of the weather or an optical illusion. He could tell that she smelled him on occasion as well, stopping and visibly sniffing the air, catching his scent.

As soon as it was dark enough, Fenrir made his way across the street. He pulled out his wand.

“Alohamora,” he growled, unlocking the door and entering, heading up the stairs. He stopped before her flat, eyeing the door. Then he knocked, stepping to the side.

Eloise, who had been pacing her flat, unable to relax, started at the knock. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She looked out of the peephole but saw no one.

“Who is it?” she called.

There was no response, but she could smell an odor similar to the one she’d been catching from time to time the last three days. She quickly walked to the kitchen, opened the utensil drawer and pulled out a long, sharp knife. If anyone were planning on doing anything to her…it would be costly. Very costly. She walked back to the front door, waiting.

Another knock sounded and she quickly put her eye to the peephole, hoping to see who it was. Again, she saw nothing, but the odor was stronger…more pungent. She let out a little growl, brandishing the knife, still waiting. She quietly unlocked the door.

The knock sounded again, and Eloise threw the door open and ran out into the hallway, knife at the ready as she looked about. She didn’t actually see anyone, but noticed a large shimmer about five feet away. She stared at it, her eyes narrowed.

It moved.

Eloise had no idea what this was, but that didn’t stop her from going at it, striking down, the odor of blood and animal filling her nostrils. She didn’t connect but felt herself grabbed bodily, the knife wrested from her grip. Eloise kicked and bit…someone had her…someone very strong and muscular. It was a man.

She heard only one word, growled in a rasping voice.

“Stupefy!”

Everything went black.

Fenrir disillusioned Eloise and bounded down the stairs, leaving the door to her flat open as he exited into the night. He took several steps, then disapparated. Several youngsters standing on the corner looked in the direction the sound came from.

“What the fuck was that?” one boy said, squinting his eyes as he looked for a car or anything that could have made that noise.

“Probably Fred letting loose,” another youngster said, looking at a rather fat, red-haired boy eating some very greasy chips. He licked his thick, glistening lips, his eyes narrowing. He hadn’t farted.

”Shut up,” he said around a mouthful of food.

Never in their wildest dreams would they have imagined the sound they heard was that of a werewolf escaping with his victim.

Such things only occurred in fairy tales.

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A/N: Long day all. Thanks for reading. ***