Transfiguration of the Heart

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Chapter 4- Misunderstood

Hermione dropped heavily onto her bed, letting her tired body mold to the soft feather mattress as she let all the air out of her lungs. Facing and defeating Voldemort had not ever been as hard as this teaching thing was. Never had she felt so taxed in her short life. Never had she been so nervous to face such a large group at regular intervals through the day, or be responsible for keeping their rapt attention the entire lecture.

She was solely responsible for their foundations in Transfigurations. If she omitted something by accident in her lessons, it could be disastrous. Preparing for class had done nothing. It was entirely different to stand up in front of them and command their attention, and even harder to listen to the grumbles of complaint when she assigned homework on the first day of the term. She had almost decided to tell everyone that the essay was optional, but she held firm. What would have happened if McGonagall had done that when Hermione was a student?

Well, Hermione would have still done the, but the others in her class most definitely would not have completed it and would not have learned a thing. Harry and Ron would have gotten the parchment out, made a few ink splotches, and then would have quickly decided that Quidditch practice was much more worth their time than any old essay in Transfigurations. She smiled softly at the memory, turning to look at the bedside stand, and the framed moving picture there.

It was taken in the summer between their fourth and fifth years, while at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. They were all laughing and fighting with some Doxies that had flown out a curtain. Not many fun times could be had at Sirius’ house, especially since it was Order headquarters, but more so because of the state of things in the magical world. It was rare to have a picture of them after that where they were all smiling and happy to battle insignificant little Doxies, rather than other, much darker things.

A flash of a memory passed through her head as she thought of Sirius. In particular, the memory of the time Snape and Sirius had each other at wand point at Grimmauld, ready to hex and curse each other. The situation dissolved rather quickly when they realized that they had acquired an audience. Sirius had appeared fine afterward, but Hermione had noticed that the tension stayed in Snape’s shoulders. It was the first indication any one had had as to what relationship had been like when they were boys at Hogwarts, though Harry refused believe that his father and godfather could act in such a way to Snape.

Later that year, he looked in Snape’s pensieve, and everything became clear. Hermione had lost a good deal of respect for Sirius when Harry told her and Ron what he had seen.

It was the first time Hermione felt sorry for Snape, and her feelings only bloomed from there. She knew what it was like to be a bit of an outcast. It was true she had eventually made friends with Harry and Ron, but that still did not mean she was widely accepted. Being an insufferable know-it-all meant that not many people wanted to be a friend unless there was help with school work involved. However, she could empathize with him. Of course, this was all after the story had been retold to her from Harry’s skewed vision of Snape’s original prospective. She had not seen it for herself, but ever since then, she had had a little more respect for the Potions Master of Hogwarts.

And she understood even more when she put everything he was dealing with in prospective. She knew how hard it was to face Voldemort when working for the good, but to be Snape and working both sides of the fence, having to kill Dumbledore on the headmaster’s request. Put simply, she could not possibly imagine what he had gone through, fighting with himself constantly about the right course of action. She could not begin to try to dissect his psyche to better understand him, and she wouldn’t dare too. All she knew was that perhaps he earned the right to act the way he did so often. He had suffered so much. He deserved his secrets.

“Why the hell am I thinking of Snape?” she muttered to herself, turning onto her side and closing her eyes for a few moments. She knew the answer to her question well enough. He had been on her mind ever since lunch. The elation that had come over her upon hearing Snape’s praises second-hand from Minerva was incomparable to anything else she had ever experienced. Learning that she had received mostly all O’s on her O.W.L.s or finding out she was going to be Head Girl were nothing. She had worked so hard all of her time here at Hogwarts for his approval, and she had thought she might never get that approval she so desperately needed, even now that she was teaching. But people never ceased to surprise her.

There was a knock at the only entrance into her personal chambers, and she let out a low grumble. “Who is it?”

“Viktor,” came the accented voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She loved Viktor, but he really could be thick headed when he wanted to be, especially when an answer he received was not to his liking. Last night had only reminded her quickly of that particular shortfall. Being the sports star that he was, there was little that he could not have, and women repeatedly fell at his feet. When a woman like herself resisted him, he only pressed harder. She had hoped he thought better of her, though. She had hoped he would realize she would not give into his advances.

She ran a hand through her hair haphazardly before pulling the door back. He really was handsome though. If anything, he would look fine for a little while, going around with her. Hermione cringed at herself. Never before had she been so shallow, but she rationalized that she was allowed to be shallow at some point in her life. She was only nineteen after all, she had a bit of time before she had to think of a serious relationship. Still, she did not want Viktor to get the wrong idea. She needed to find someone that could at least carry on an intelligent conversation beyond Quidditch.

“How vas your first day, Professor Granger?” he questioned, a slow smile forming on his lips.

“Tiring,” she said quietly and smiled. “Yours?”

“Good,” he nodded. “The Quidditch pitch here is very good.”

She nodded, her stomach grumbling as though in conversation. Viktor laughed at her, “That answers my question.”

“What’s that?”

“Whether you are hungry or not,” he said. “Vould like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

Hermione sighed, meeting his eyes, “Let’s stay here tonight. I’m meeting Snape this evening to borrow some ingredients from his stores.”

Viktor raised a curious brow, “Vot are you brewing?”

“A Peace Draught,” she said and stepped out of her room, shutting the door and warding it.

“If you need relaxation, all you have to do is ask. I am very good at relaxation,” he said, the innuendo dripping from his words.

Hermione chuckled lowly, “Oh really? What did you have in mind, Viktor?”

He looked around them as they walked along the corridor toward the Great Hall, and his eyes paused on her for a moment, an enthusiastic glint lighting in the dark brown of his eyes. “I vould say, but I think there are too many young, prying ears.”

“You are awfully confident Viktor,” she said.

“Am I not varing you down?” he said, the left corner of his lips twitching up into a sly smile. She wondered idly just how many witches that smile had lured into his bed, because it was most potent, and she had often felt light headed after being on the receiving end of such a look from him. At least she had not yet given into him. If he really wanted her, he would have to work for it.

She grinned, “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than this Viktor.”

“Then I shall make it my mission,” he said, “Herm-own-ninny.”

A swish of cool air passed by them and Hermione looked up in time to see Snape striding quickly away and into the Great Hall. “Lovely. He’s in one of his moods tonight.”

Viktor chuckled, “He is only misunderstood. Most of his… kind… are.”

Hermione gave him a snort of indignation and shook her head, “If you want me to believe for one minute that a family like the Malfoys were only ‘misunderstood’, you’re going to have to provide much better evidence.”

She had been to those Wizengamot hearings, where Lucius Malfoy was in danger of being sent Azkaban for the rest of his life. He, at the very last minute to save himself, had given the Ministry some very pertinent information on Voldemort’s whereabouts and the workings of the upper echelon Death Eaters. That information had secured him the leniency he needed. He got off without so much a black mark on his record. He vowed that he worked under the Imperius curse… that he had never really hated Muggle-borns. He had even gone so far as to say that it was all a ploy; Voldemort had threatened him about something or another if he did not join.

To be completely honest, she had lost interest in that trial when Lucius started to blow hot air. The only trial she had ever really been interested in was Snape’s, and it was not because his transgression involved killing Dumbledore. She had been worried for him. She had been worried for Severus Snape. To this day, she could not possibly begin to comprehend why.

“True, but Snape is different,” he said. “You know that vell from your time in the Order, Hermione.”

She nodded.

“And funny you should mention the Malfoys,” he said.

“Why is that?” she asked. “Are they at it again?”

He shook his head, “No, but I am to stand up for Draco at his wedding.”

“His wedding?!” she spit out. “Somebody is actually marrying that ferret boy?”

“That ferret boy is a friend, Hermione,” he said.

“What about Crabbe or Goyle? Surely he’s closer with them…”

Viktor let out a painful little chuckle, “I am not immune to people aligning themselves with me because of who I am. The Malfoys are looking to present a humble front now that the war is over, and this is their first large soiree. I was a member of the Order, and including my honorary recognitions, pureblooded family and my place in the Quidditch world, I was the logical choice.”

Unfortunately for Lucius, most of the wizarding community believed he was apologetic for his acts of atrocities nearly as much as they believed Dementors were fluffy little kittens. Even if the Ministry turned a blind eye to it because he was a wealthy benefactor, he had still been shunned from many social circles. Hermione supposed a large wedding with famous people would bring good press to the family.

“I just thought he would want a closer friend,” she said. “That’s what weddings are for, sharing the union with close relatives and friends.”

“If they only invited close friends and relatives, no one vould make it. Most are in Azkaban, and the others vould not come because they are on the run from aurors.” He said.

Hermione nodded, “I suppose you’re right in that.”

“But I am a friend of Draco’s even if the friendship vos first based on my position in the world,” he said.

“I am surprised that he even speaks to you, knowing your allegiance with me,” she replied.

Viktor smiled, “Draco has changed… but that brings me to my question.”

“What question?”

He sighed, “I will need an exceptionally beautiful voman to accompany me as my date this weekend.”

Hermione blushed. “I am sure any veela would be happy to go with you.”

Viktor rolled his eyes and laughed, “You know I am talking of you, Herm-own-ninny.”

“You’ve been hit one too many times in the head by a bludger, Krum,” she said, scoffing at him. “If you think, for one minute, that I am going to enjoy showing up to that wedding to endure all the nasty looks and insults only because I am a Muggle-born, then you are sorely mistaken.”

He looked at her as though she were an impudent child. “If they say anything or do anything, they vill contend with me, Hermione. You do not spend some time with the Malfoys without procuring some evidence for blackmail. Please come with me. I would much rather spend the weekend with you than any other voman.”

“Weekend?!”

“We vill stay at Malfoy Manor,” he said.

“I heard there were Repelling charms on the grounds for people like me,” she looked at him defiantly. As curious as she was to accompany him to this wedding, and see Malfoy Manor, it was not at all worth the time or effort to go when the Malfoys’ anti-Muggle sentiments were still fresh and not completely gone.

Viktor sighed, “They vill be lifted. There will be some other Muggle-borns and half-bloods there.”

“Who is Draco marrying?” she questioned.

“Pansy Park-,” he began, but he stopped short when he noticed her glare.

Hermione shook her head. “Do you even know that girl did to me while we were in school?”

“No,” he said and sighed, stopping them before they entered the large double doors to the hall. He grabbed her hands and held them in his, close enough to his chest that she could feel heat radiating off his clothes and the slow beat of his heart. “Please go with me, Herm-own-ninny.”

Hermione looked at him for a long time, the debate raging in her head. There was no clear answer for her, as she really did despise the Malfoys, but she was insatiably curious about the manor and as to whether or not they really were repenting their old ways. His eyes were pleading, almost as though he did not want to face the weekend alone with them as well. “If anyone so much as looks at me with disgust, you will spend the rest of your long life making it up to me Viktor.”

“Do you require an Unbreakable Vow?” he questioned.

“No,” she replied. “I think you’re trustworthy enough.”

“And if I am not?” his right brow quirked up in challenge.

Hermione shrugged, “I’ll find the vilest punishment I can.”

He acquiesced to this and chuckled, turning to look into the Great Hall. “Shall we eat?”

Hermione took his offered arm and they continued in for dinner.

--------

She had given others in the room little attention since she sat down, but his hasty retreat caught her interest. Snape disappeared from dinner quite early on into the evening. Hermione watched him go, wondering what could possible require his attention so quickly, unless he had handed out a real detention and needed to get down to the dungeons before said student made their way down to face a punishment for whatever foolish infraction they committed. Usually Snape would draw his meals out as long as he possibly could, so he would not have to face the insolence that were his students. But not tonight. No specific student seemed to be cowering in fear or looked as though they were trying to suck up enough courage to follow the Potions Master. He could not possibly have headed down there so early for her, could he?

Not that she was in any rush to get away…

Viktor kept her occupied through dinner, explaining to her the finer points of the Wronski Feint. Ron and Harry had tried to explain such a thing to her their fourth-year, and she did not understand or care what it was then anymore than she did now. However, his eyes were nice to look at when they were animated and talking about things he loved so much. That and the bobbing of the Adam’s apple in his throat mesmerized her to some extent. Once he was finished with the Feint dissertation, though, he turned to the specifics of Draco’s wedding—an even more tedious subject if there ever was one. They were to leave Friday after their lessons ended. They would go by broom to Hogsmeade so they would not have to carry their luggage, and then apparate to Malfoy Manor from there. And he also assured her that he would owl the Malfoys in the morning to warn them that she would be coming.

And it was supposed to be a formal affair.

That posed a bit of a problem… now that she looked into her wardrobe. Never one to be over ostentatious in the way she dressed or groomed herself, this weekend meant she would need to act the part of a soft-spoken, well-groomed pureblood witch. She had a few skirts and dresses that would do, but nothing particularly for a wedding, except for the mostly modest dress robes she wore when she received the Order of Merlin. As much as she would not want to stand out this weekend, she also had the fleeting thought that maybe showing up in a flashy dress would do her a world of good. At least it would present her as confident, even though she would be a mouse in the snake’s den. Either that, or they would call her a filthy Mudblood for wearing such clothes and promptly blame her for taking the attention away from the bride.

She would pack lightly, using charms and transfigurations to aide her in changing them to whatever suited her at the time.

Oh what the hell was she thinking? She was willing subjecting herself to this harassment, for the sake of being a good ‘friend’ to Viktor. She had never liked the Malfoy family. Lucius was deplorable. His son was a small carbon copy. And even though they had found some common ground her seventh year, he still was utterly snooty and an unbelievable chit when he wanted to be. Then there was Pansy Parkinson… his fiancé. How did that happen anyway? The most attention Pansy had ever received from Draco was when he was looking to be doted over. When she fawned over him, he would give her the world. The last time she had seen them together, the love had been one sided at best. Why were they dooming themselves to a life of indifference?

Wait, she was talking about Pansy and Draco. They deserved each other. It would be interesting to see who snapped first in that relationship. Their competing vanities would be most humorous pitted against each other. If anything, this weekend would provide her with some memorable moments, even if she was being shunned.

Glancing at her watch, she let out a small squeak. Snape did not appreciate going out of his way to accommodate her need for hellebore syrup, and most definitely would not appreciate being made to wait until she deigned show up. Throwing a thin sweater over the shirt and jeans she had changed into when she came back from dinner, she stuck her wand in her back pocket and grabbed a book from a side table. She hoped that he would not be angry seeing this tome, but she had always thought he might like to have it back. After all, the book, or at least what was written by the previous owner on the inside, was what had eventually helped to destroy Voldemort.

She hurried through the castle, reaching the cold dungeons in record time. It had been a long time since she had come down here, but the instant she smelled the dankness of the wet air around her, she felt suddenly as though she were back rushing to one of his classes. She slowed her pace, stopping at the door that led to the potion’s room, lifting her hand to knock.

She only needed to hit the heavy wood once, because he answered, “Enter.”

Hermione sighed. She just had to be late, didn’t she? The tone of his voice did not bode well. She stepped inside and shut the door softly, finding him hunched over his desk and reading. Through the dim candle light, it was hard to make out his expression, but his attitude was quickly revealed in his next comment.

“You’re late Miss Granger,” he said, not looking up at her.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she replied. Why did everything that came from his mouth make her feel like she was his student again, vulnerable to his punishments and verbal assaults, and not a colleague?

But then he did something of the most unexpected nature. He looked up at her. “Surely it wasn’t Potter or Weasley that kept you?”

She laughed, despite the mention of Harry. Wait, did he do that to make her laugh? He couldn’t possibly…

Realizing that she had let him see her laugh because of something he said, she quickly quieted and cleared her throat. She trained her face to be as impassive as possible, just like his. His dark eyes met hers, and she thought for a moment that he was debating gaining access to her mind, but he turned his eyes away and she did not feel an intrusion, like Harry had once explained it. All she knew was that whenever he stared at her like that, it made her feel a bit uncomfortable and wibbly.

“It turned out Poppy needed more of the potion,” he said, pointing the vials of sky blue Peace Draught on the table beside him. “So I took the liberty of brewing it. You may take a vial.”

“Um… thank you?” she said, really unsure of what to say. He had turned back to his book as she walked to the table and took one of the vials. “You just don’t want me messing around with hellebore, do you?”

He looked up at her again, “Miss Granger, you know as well as I do that there is no other person I would trust more with such a volatile substance as I do with you. Unless you’ve forgotten yourself since I last taught you.”

She shook her head, “I may be a bit out of practice, but not that out of practice.”

Snape nodded and turned back to his book, and she stayed glued to her spot, watching him. What had caused this change in attitudes? She had expected him to really attempt giving her detention for being late. But he was being pleasant, if not a bit jovial. It took her a moment to notice he was gazing up at her again, this time expectantly. “Do you need anything else, Miss Granger?”

“Oh!” she jumped slightly, remembering the book in her hand. Placing it down on his desk in front of him, she sighed. “I thought you might like to have this in your safe keeping.”

He considered it for a moment, before looking to find his imprint. Sure enough, it was his. “Miss Granger, I do not want to think for one moment you were responsible for aiding Potter in his cheating that year.”

“I told him to turn it back in,” she said, having expected such an answer from him. “Some of the things in there… they just…”

“You don’t need to say it, I am well aware what’s inside,” he said darkly, some of his dark hair falling over his face. He brushed it back quickly. “Those spells were products of a lonely, bored boy, nothing more.”

She stayed still for a moment, not sure what to say to him. “It was useful in defeating Voldemort.”

He cringed at the name, even now. “I have no doubt it was.”

“Well, that’s all then. Thank you for the Peace Draught, Professor,” she said, looking at it in her hands. She knew she had said too much, and wanted to get out of the room as soon as she could manage. Hermione turned on her toes and quickly moved for the door, the sound of his deep, uninterested voice making her pause just as she pulled the heavy wood back.

“Thank you,” he said, “Hermione.”

She turned to glance back at him, but he had buried his nose back in his book. Closing the door behind her softly, she made her way through the halls with a large smile on her face.