Disguised Affections
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
27
Views:
25,533
Reviews:
144
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
27
Views:
25,533
Reviews:
144
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Three
A/N: Okay, so here's today's update. After this chapter, we have some moving and some shaking. Interpret that as you will. ;)
Thanks to everybody who reviewed last chapter. It's really appreciated. It keeps me happily typing away.
For legality's sake, I need to remind you all that despite the amazing physical similarities between us, JK Rowling and I are NOT the same person. She is the lucky female that owns Harry Potter in its entirety. She just lets me come play with her toys now and again. I do not make a penny on this work of fanfiction.
“And how are you settling in?” the headmaster asked Constantine.
“Just admirably,” the boy said sarcastically, sitting poker straight in the massive puce wingback chair in the headmaster’s office.
Dumbledore reached up ran his hand down his beard meditatively. “Ah, good. Good. I am happy to hear that, my boy.” Con rolled his eyes. “And how are you getting along with your housemates?”
“Peachy,” he replied through gritted teeth. “It’s a love fest every time I enter the common room.”
The headmaster eyed him with twinkling blue eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed. It was wonderful seeing you display such school spirit at the last Quidditch match. You seem to be getting along with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger, however.”
The boy shrugged. “Potter is a decent enough sort. He’s no fool, even though he doesn’t put the effort into his schoolwork that I think he should. Weasley is a thug, but I don’t wish him dead at this particular moment in time.” Con narrowed his eyes. “That might change, of course.”
“And Ms. Granger?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, it’s just that you were so busy enumerating all of the wonderful things you loved about Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and I’m afraid I missed what you said about Ms. Granger.”
Con flushed a bit and looked away from the knowing eyes of Albus Dumbledore. The Granger chit was… tolerable. Constantine had noticed her quite a bit more, lately. He’d look up from his book and she’d be seated nearby with her legs curled under her, a fat, dusty tome taking up her entire lap. When he’d go to the library, she’d already be there with papers spread around her, quills sticking out at all angles from her hair. In the evenings, she liked to take a cup of weak tea and stare into the fireplace in the common room.
Hermione never spoke to him.
She just smiled and nodded and turned back to her work. And that was all he needed. If she’d tried to engage him in conversation, he would have snarled and rebuffed her. He would have suspected her of having ulterior motives in offering her friendship. But instead, she just sat there – a steady presence that soothed his ruffled feathers.
Hermione was the most whole of all of them. Harry and Con were both ragged emotional wounds from the war (although Harry hid it a great deal better than Con did). Ron tempered his grief and nighttime terrors by throwing himself into Quidditch and morally suspect women like Lavendar Brown. But Hermione…
Hermione was peaceful. Her emotions were clear waters. You could see the scarring and pockmarks at the bottom of the pool, but it was just a part of her landscape – the consequences of others’ actions in which she claimed no part.
He’d seen the flash of old soul in her face, just as he’d recognized it in Potter’s, and it made him adjust his mental barriers. Hermione and Potter, and to a lesser extent Weasley were the lone inhabitants of the sphere he dubbed “tolerable” and perhaps, on one of his more charitable days “like-minded.” The rest of Hogwarts was firmly placed in the category of “useless flesh receptacles of magic.”
But Hermione was the only one with whom he enjoyed spending any amount of time.
The headmaster cleared his throat, and Con struggled for an answer. “I find… I find that I cannot hate her.”
The white, fuzzy caterpillars that were Dumbledore’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “High praise, indeed.”
The black-haired boy flushed, realizing that the headmaster understood far too much for his peace of mind. He shrugged one of his shoulders slightly.
“Indeed, I am quite pleased to hear it. I have a proposition for you, my boy. Professor Slughorn came to me this morning. He is working on completing some independent Potions research for Professor Snape while he is on sabbatical, and he finds that he is having difficulty meeting all of his duties.” Constantine’s eyes sparked in interest and he leaned forward. “You and Ms. Granger have the highest marks in class, and I daresay would have no trouble picking up a bit of extra Potions work. Am I correct in my assessment?”
Con’s heart felt light. He found Slughorn’s class to be soul-crushingly dull. Hermione had been correct in her assessment that first night she’d escorted him to the Gryffindor tower. The potions they were studying were elementary and failed to intellectually challenge him. But the idea of helping the professor with a research project ignited a new level of interest in him. It might actually make up for the professor’s anesthetized ramblings during class. Well, probably not.
“Professor Dumbledore, I’d be happy to help Professor Slughorn complete his project.”
“Excellent. I had a feeling you might.”
“…and so this will be your private lab for the rest of the year. You’ll have full access to the Potions storeroom, of course. Trust me, you’ll need it!” Slughorn barked a laugh. “Just make sure you keep an accurate inventory of the ingredients you use.”
Constantine and Hermione looked at each other in dismay while the professor nattered on, oblivious to his students’ keen disappointment.
“So, I guess that’s it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with this. It’s going to take up a good bit of your free time, I’m afraid. Here’s the list of potions that Madame Pomfrey will need by next month. She’ll send a new list once you two have finished this batch.”
Con took the list from the professor’s hand and scanned it, his heart sinking further as he read each item.
Burn paste (10)
Blood-replenishing potion (5)
Skele-grow (5)
Bruise paste (15)
Headache potion (50)
Calming draft (50)
Deflating draft (10)
Fever Reducer (50)
Invigoration draft (10)
Stamina draft (10)
…It continued on from there. With the possible exception of the Blood-Replenishing Potion, all of these were basic medicinal drafts that a fourth year could brew. And the sheer quantities that were required meant that he’d be spending a lot of time in the lab.
…with Granger, a small, bloody-minded voice said in the back of his head. He squashed it ruthlessly, but not before his eyes darted to Hermione. She was sucking on her lower lip in vexation, and he felt his stomach tighten when it popped free, moist and pink.
Slughorn took his leave, and the two Gryffindors found themselves alone in the lab.
“I think Dumbledore did this on purpose,” she said quietly to Constantine.
“Of course he did. The bastard should have been in Slytherin.,” he griped. “It looks like we are going to be working some long hours.” Con ran his hand down his face. “I was really looking forward to the opportunity to do some real research.”
The two stood in morose silence, and not even the fact that they had their own, private lab was enough to temper their disappointment. Hermione sank onto a stool, absently chewing a nail.
“That’s a bad habit for a brewer to get into. You never know what nasty ingredient you’ll have stuck under your nails.” His voice was gruffer than it needed to be, but his eighteen-year-old male brain was fascinated by the way she was nibbling on her fingers. For the sake of his sanity, and for the sake of their working relationship, he hoped desperately that she would stop.
“True,” she sighed, not looking at him. Hermione sat up slowly, and sucked in her breath. Her eyes darted over to Con.
“What?” he said.
“Con…”
“Hermione,” he mocked her.
“Slughorn suggested that we work in shifts, right?”
He nodded, although his stomach was suddenly tied in knots. Was she not interested in working with him? Suddenly the appeal of this potions project (which was already low to begin with) dropped to zero. He turned cold black eyes on her, and she looked momentarily puzzled by his change in demeanor.
“Well, if we do that, the lab will never be free. One of us will always be brewing here, and we couldn’t do any of our own research. But what if we double up? We can get the potions done in half the time, and use the other half of the time to do our own, independent research!” As she spoke, she grew excited. Her face flushed, and her eyes glittered with hope.
“Hermione, that’s… that’s a wonderful idea. That is the best idea I have heard in a very long time. You are a brilliant, little witch!” he exclaimed, suddenly caught up in her enthusiasm. “We’ll start with the potions that take the longest to brew, and then once we get those up and running, we’ll divide the list in two. We’ll be ready to start our own research in two weeks at the latest.”
“This might actually be a good thing, Con. Our own research!”
“What shall we study?” he asked, chewing on his lip. He tucked a piece of his long hair behind his ear and studied the witch sitting next to him. Her face was absolutely ablaze with enthusiasm. Her golden brown curls bounced around her face, and Constantine was faced with the sudden, inexplicable desire to grab a lock of her hair and pull it straight to see how long it was and whether it would bounce back when released.
“I’ve got several ideas, actually – one of which is a potential treatment for dementia, or maybe even Alzheimer’s based on a variant of the Wit-Sharpening Potion. I thought we could adapt the potion by adding St. John’s Wort and Ginkgo Biloba when we are simmering the armadillo bile, and…” Hermione paused a moment when she saw Con staring at her oddly. “Whatever is it?”
Constantine shook himself out of his reverie. He’d been staring at the girl like an idiot, and probably had an appallingly fatuous expression plastered on his face. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a fuzzy, warm, very un-Constantine-like feeling, and examining it, the boy was surprised to discover that he was… fond of Hermione Granger.
Hesitating, he reached out a hand to touch a lock of her hair.
“In the spirit of inquiry…” His voice was gruff as he slid his fingers down the curl delicately. Straightened, the curl extended to her mid-back. He swallowed, his throat strangely tight. When he relaxed his grip, the curl bounced back immediately and wrapped over his hand like a caress. “Fascinating,” he whispered, blushing. He extricated his hand from her hair.
Hermione’s lips were parted slightly, and she watched him with wide, curious eyes.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Hermione. There is clearly a reason why you are top of our class.” Con smiled and leaned forward. “But I am going to try and give you a run for your money this year.”
She accepted his proffered hand and only shivered slightly when his thumb ran gently over her knuckles.
A/N: Please leave a review. Like it, hate it, love it. Drop me a note.
Thanks to everybody who reviewed last chapter. It's really appreciated. It keeps me happily typing away.
For legality's sake, I need to remind you all that despite the amazing physical similarities between us, JK Rowling and I are NOT the same person. She is the lucky female that owns Harry Potter in its entirety. She just lets me come play with her toys now and again. I do not make a penny on this work of fanfiction.
“And how are you settling in?” the headmaster asked Constantine.
“Just admirably,” the boy said sarcastically, sitting poker straight in the massive puce wingback chair in the headmaster’s office.
Dumbledore reached up ran his hand down his beard meditatively. “Ah, good. Good. I am happy to hear that, my boy.” Con rolled his eyes. “And how are you getting along with your housemates?”
“Peachy,” he replied through gritted teeth. “It’s a love fest every time I enter the common room.”
The headmaster eyed him with twinkling blue eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed. It was wonderful seeing you display such school spirit at the last Quidditch match. You seem to be getting along with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger, however.”
The boy shrugged. “Potter is a decent enough sort. He’s no fool, even though he doesn’t put the effort into his schoolwork that I think he should. Weasley is a thug, but I don’t wish him dead at this particular moment in time.” Con narrowed his eyes. “That might change, of course.”
“And Ms. Granger?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, it’s just that you were so busy enumerating all of the wonderful things you loved about Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and I’m afraid I missed what you said about Ms. Granger.”
Con flushed a bit and looked away from the knowing eyes of Albus Dumbledore. The Granger chit was… tolerable. Constantine had noticed her quite a bit more, lately. He’d look up from his book and she’d be seated nearby with her legs curled under her, a fat, dusty tome taking up her entire lap. When he’d go to the library, she’d already be there with papers spread around her, quills sticking out at all angles from her hair. In the evenings, she liked to take a cup of weak tea and stare into the fireplace in the common room.
Hermione never spoke to him.
She just smiled and nodded and turned back to her work. And that was all he needed. If she’d tried to engage him in conversation, he would have snarled and rebuffed her. He would have suspected her of having ulterior motives in offering her friendship. But instead, she just sat there – a steady presence that soothed his ruffled feathers.
Hermione was the most whole of all of them. Harry and Con were both ragged emotional wounds from the war (although Harry hid it a great deal better than Con did). Ron tempered his grief and nighttime terrors by throwing himself into Quidditch and morally suspect women like Lavendar Brown. But Hermione…
Hermione was peaceful. Her emotions were clear waters. You could see the scarring and pockmarks at the bottom of the pool, but it was just a part of her landscape – the consequences of others’ actions in which she claimed no part.
He’d seen the flash of old soul in her face, just as he’d recognized it in Potter’s, and it made him adjust his mental barriers. Hermione and Potter, and to a lesser extent Weasley were the lone inhabitants of the sphere he dubbed “tolerable” and perhaps, on one of his more charitable days “like-minded.” The rest of Hogwarts was firmly placed in the category of “useless flesh receptacles of magic.”
But Hermione was the only one with whom he enjoyed spending any amount of time.
The headmaster cleared his throat, and Con struggled for an answer. “I find… I find that I cannot hate her.”
The white, fuzzy caterpillars that were Dumbledore’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “High praise, indeed.”
The black-haired boy flushed, realizing that the headmaster understood far too much for his peace of mind. He shrugged one of his shoulders slightly.
“Indeed, I am quite pleased to hear it. I have a proposition for you, my boy. Professor Slughorn came to me this morning. He is working on completing some independent Potions research for Professor Snape while he is on sabbatical, and he finds that he is having difficulty meeting all of his duties.” Constantine’s eyes sparked in interest and he leaned forward. “You and Ms. Granger have the highest marks in class, and I daresay would have no trouble picking up a bit of extra Potions work. Am I correct in my assessment?”
Con’s heart felt light. He found Slughorn’s class to be soul-crushingly dull. Hermione had been correct in her assessment that first night she’d escorted him to the Gryffindor tower. The potions they were studying were elementary and failed to intellectually challenge him. But the idea of helping the professor with a research project ignited a new level of interest in him. It might actually make up for the professor’s anesthetized ramblings during class. Well, probably not.
“Professor Dumbledore, I’d be happy to help Professor Slughorn complete his project.”
“Excellent. I had a feeling you might.”
“…and so this will be your private lab for the rest of the year. You’ll have full access to the Potions storeroom, of course. Trust me, you’ll need it!” Slughorn barked a laugh. “Just make sure you keep an accurate inventory of the ingredients you use.”
Constantine and Hermione looked at each other in dismay while the professor nattered on, oblivious to his students’ keen disappointment.
“So, I guess that’s it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with this. It’s going to take up a good bit of your free time, I’m afraid. Here’s the list of potions that Madame Pomfrey will need by next month. She’ll send a new list once you two have finished this batch.”
Con took the list from the professor’s hand and scanned it, his heart sinking further as he read each item.
Burn paste (10)
Blood-replenishing potion (5)
Skele-grow (5)
Bruise paste (15)
Headache potion (50)
Calming draft (50)
Deflating draft (10)
Fever Reducer (50)
Invigoration draft (10)
Stamina draft (10)
…It continued on from there. With the possible exception of the Blood-Replenishing Potion, all of these were basic medicinal drafts that a fourth year could brew. And the sheer quantities that were required meant that he’d be spending a lot of time in the lab.
…with Granger, a small, bloody-minded voice said in the back of his head. He squashed it ruthlessly, but not before his eyes darted to Hermione. She was sucking on her lower lip in vexation, and he felt his stomach tighten when it popped free, moist and pink.
Slughorn took his leave, and the two Gryffindors found themselves alone in the lab.
“I think Dumbledore did this on purpose,” she said quietly to Constantine.
“Of course he did. The bastard should have been in Slytherin.,” he griped. “It looks like we are going to be working some long hours.” Con ran his hand down his face. “I was really looking forward to the opportunity to do some real research.”
The two stood in morose silence, and not even the fact that they had their own, private lab was enough to temper their disappointment. Hermione sank onto a stool, absently chewing a nail.
“That’s a bad habit for a brewer to get into. You never know what nasty ingredient you’ll have stuck under your nails.” His voice was gruffer than it needed to be, but his eighteen-year-old male brain was fascinated by the way she was nibbling on her fingers. For the sake of his sanity, and for the sake of their working relationship, he hoped desperately that she would stop.
“True,” she sighed, not looking at him. Hermione sat up slowly, and sucked in her breath. Her eyes darted over to Con.
“What?” he said.
“Con…”
“Hermione,” he mocked her.
“Slughorn suggested that we work in shifts, right?”
He nodded, although his stomach was suddenly tied in knots. Was she not interested in working with him? Suddenly the appeal of this potions project (which was already low to begin with) dropped to zero. He turned cold black eyes on her, and she looked momentarily puzzled by his change in demeanor.
“Well, if we do that, the lab will never be free. One of us will always be brewing here, and we couldn’t do any of our own research. But what if we double up? We can get the potions done in half the time, and use the other half of the time to do our own, independent research!” As she spoke, she grew excited. Her face flushed, and her eyes glittered with hope.
“Hermione, that’s… that’s a wonderful idea. That is the best idea I have heard in a very long time. You are a brilliant, little witch!” he exclaimed, suddenly caught up in her enthusiasm. “We’ll start with the potions that take the longest to brew, and then once we get those up and running, we’ll divide the list in two. We’ll be ready to start our own research in two weeks at the latest.”
“This might actually be a good thing, Con. Our own research!”
“What shall we study?” he asked, chewing on his lip. He tucked a piece of his long hair behind his ear and studied the witch sitting next to him. Her face was absolutely ablaze with enthusiasm. Her golden brown curls bounced around her face, and Constantine was faced with the sudden, inexplicable desire to grab a lock of her hair and pull it straight to see how long it was and whether it would bounce back when released.
“I’ve got several ideas, actually – one of which is a potential treatment for dementia, or maybe even Alzheimer’s based on a variant of the Wit-Sharpening Potion. I thought we could adapt the potion by adding St. John’s Wort and Ginkgo Biloba when we are simmering the armadillo bile, and…” Hermione paused a moment when she saw Con staring at her oddly. “Whatever is it?”
Constantine shook himself out of his reverie. He’d been staring at the girl like an idiot, and probably had an appallingly fatuous expression plastered on his face. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a fuzzy, warm, very un-Constantine-like feeling, and examining it, the boy was surprised to discover that he was… fond of Hermione Granger.
Hesitating, he reached out a hand to touch a lock of her hair.
“In the spirit of inquiry…” His voice was gruff as he slid his fingers down the curl delicately. Straightened, the curl extended to her mid-back. He swallowed, his throat strangely tight. When he relaxed his grip, the curl bounced back immediately and wrapped over his hand like a caress. “Fascinating,” he whispered, blushing. He extricated his hand from her hair.
Hermione’s lips were parted slightly, and she watched him with wide, curious eyes.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Hermione. There is clearly a reason why you are top of our class.” Con smiled and leaned forward. “But I am going to try and give you a run for your money this year.”
She accepted his proffered hand and only shivered slightly when his thumb ran gently over her knuckles.
A/N: Please leave a review. Like it, hate it, love it. Drop me a note.