The Quicker Fixer-Upper
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Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
5,021
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13
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Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
5,021
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter belongs to JKR. Not to me. I'm not making money, trust me.
Facing the Music
This is the end of the chapters that are already written. Aaaand, I promise to start writing longer chapters; after this. -TQW
Chapter Four
Facing the Music
Hermione rushed back to the dungeons. Honestly, Minerva was a sweet witch who obviously had a soft spot for her, but it was damned inconvenient timing. Well, it started out just fine, the problem arose when it became clear that there was no way in hell Hermione would be able to free herself in time to do what she needed to do.
“Professor,” she panted, “Professor, I need to tell you—oh, hi Remus!” Hermione smiled warmly, his presence was so calm and peaceful and warm, she had nearly forgotten… she turned white. She rushed to her cauldron. To her horror, it was empty; the potion was bottled, and Remus was holding a drained bottle.
“Oh, oh,” Hermione moaned, head in her hands, “tell me, please, tell me you didn’t.”
“Miss Granger, you have proven to me in the short time of our association that in spite of an absence of daily lessons and continued association with Potter and Weasley, your mind has not significantly atrophied. Surely you managed to grasp that the potion was intended to be consumed by a human,” Severus snarked. He paused and glared at Lupin, “By a werewolf, anyway.”
Student Hermione would probably have glared at him. Adult, professional Hermione realized that this situation was far, far more complex. It was natural that Professor Snape should have an intense fear, if not a phobia, of werewolves and that this should extend to poor Remus who was unwillingly the beginning of it all. Of course, Remus’ very presence would probably bring up memories that Professor Snape would probably much rather repress.
Both wizards noticed her slightly faraway look.
“Alright, Hermione?” Remus asked, jovially, familiar with her slightly spacey nature.
“Care to explain yourself, Miss Granger?” Snape’s sarcastic, silken words reinstated the panic Hermione had been temporarily distracted from.
“Ohmygodsiscrewedupthepotion!”
“It is an experimental work, Miss Granger, I doubt you could have done it that much harm,” Snape said; he was surprisingly calm about the situation.
“No, you don’t understand,” Hermione moaned, running her fingers through her hair, and grasping and pulling a little, “when Minerva came down and invited me to her office for a chat and some tea, she startled me and I knocked SOMETHING into the potion.” She drew in a quick breath, “How could I have been so careless?!”
“Calm yourself,” Snape instructed. Clearly he did not grasp the extent of the situation.
“Nonono, you don’t understand,” Hermione was practically wailing now, “I don’t know what it was! I might’ve knocked something into the potion that will render it completely useless! And if it helps, we’ll never know what it was!”
Remus, who had been standing idly by for the majority of the conversation, paled, before excusing himself with great expediency. Hermione hardly noticed, but that some of the tension exited the room with him. Meltdowns like this were rather out of character for her these days, though she’d had a good few while preparing for OWLS and NEWTS.
Gods, how embarrassing. Hermione was on the verge of collapsing onto the floor of the laboratory, eyes so full of tears she couldn’t see. It was impossible to think that she might have caused poor, sweet Remus unnecessary and excruciating pain. And Tonks. And Teddy. Surely they would suffer, too, in his absence. There was no way he could stay home during this transformation. And it was all her fault. Dear gods, what if she’d poisoned him?
Severus looked at her with disdain. Overly dramatic Gryffindors. The longer he observed her, the more distressed she became, so he gently prodded her mind, and saw the flashes of what she was feeling. He understood. After all, he had placed more than one friend in mortal danger in the course of his life—and this was something he did not care to dwell on.
Clearing his throat, he decided that something must be done. Kneeling beside her, he somewhat awkwardly turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. He took in her red, watery eyes, her flushed face, trembling lips… Severus felt queasy and forced himself to swallow the bile back down. He could never stomach women crying, he had heard too much of that as a child. Sighing reluctantly, he pulled her into an embrace, guiding her head to his shoulder, turning so that his lips were near her ear that he could attempt to speak reason to her.
“Listen,” he fairly pleaded, “Lupin is familiar with the research process. We’ve been working on this for years. He understands that the risks may be dire, and that there may be no benefits, apart from finding ninety-nine ways not to improve the potion. What you did is not something that’s unheard of, and we might be able to salvage it yet.”
Hermione gave an audible sniff, and asked in a quivery voice, “How?”
“Well, did you knock a bottle into the potion?”
She stilled. “Yes.”
“Did it melt?”
“N-no, I pulled it out and discarded it, like I was planning on doing with the potion as soon as I returned.”
“Well, I imagine any writing or label that was on the bottle has disintegrated.”
“It did; so it’s hopeless, then?” she sighed and looked like she was going to start crying again.
Severus placed a finger lightly over her trembling lips, “I have always put serial numbers into the bottles themselves. I can trace the ingredient with minimal trouble.”
Hermione gave a shuddering sigh and went slack in his arms. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed a brilliant way to comfort her, but now it was just uncomfortable. He disengaged himself stiffly, and went to retrieve the bottle and his records. Putting her mind at ease would be the best thing.
When he saw what she had added, he snorted. Gods, that was priceless. Turtle eyes. Somewhat expensive, and doubtlessly nasty, they were not toxic though their exact interaction with the wolfsbane potion was unknown. He returned to give her the good news and was greatly relieved when she smiled weakly and relocated herself to a stool.
“Perhaps we should take the rest of the day off,” he suggested, anxious to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, “surely you have something you can do or someone you can see.”
Her lips twitched, “Surely,” she echoed hollowly. Silent and still as a ghost, she glided out of his laboratory, closing the door behind her with hardly a sound.
Chapter Four
Facing the Music
Hermione rushed back to the dungeons. Honestly, Minerva was a sweet witch who obviously had a soft spot for her, but it was damned inconvenient timing. Well, it started out just fine, the problem arose when it became clear that there was no way in hell Hermione would be able to free herself in time to do what she needed to do.
“Professor,” she panted, “Professor, I need to tell you—oh, hi Remus!” Hermione smiled warmly, his presence was so calm and peaceful and warm, she had nearly forgotten… she turned white. She rushed to her cauldron. To her horror, it was empty; the potion was bottled, and Remus was holding a drained bottle.
“Oh, oh,” Hermione moaned, head in her hands, “tell me, please, tell me you didn’t.”
“Miss Granger, you have proven to me in the short time of our association that in spite of an absence of daily lessons and continued association with Potter and Weasley, your mind has not significantly atrophied. Surely you managed to grasp that the potion was intended to be consumed by a human,” Severus snarked. He paused and glared at Lupin, “By a werewolf, anyway.”
Student Hermione would probably have glared at him. Adult, professional Hermione realized that this situation was far, far more complex. It was natural that Professor Snape should have an intense fear, if not a phobia, of werewolves and that this should extend to poor Remus who was unwillingly the beginning of it all. Of course, Remus’ very presence would probably bring up memories that Professor Snape would probably much rather repress.
Both wizards noticed her slightly faraway look.
“Alright, Hermione?” Remus asked, jovially, familiar with her slightly spacey nature.
“Care to explain yourself, Miss Granger?” Snape’s sarcastic, silken words reinstated the panic Hermione had been temporarily distracted from.
“Ohmygodsiscrewedupthepotion!”
“It is an experimental work, Miss Granger, I doubt you could have done it that much harm,” Snape said; he was surprisingly calm about the situation.
“No, you don’t understand,” Hermione moaned, running her fingers through her hair, and grasping and pulling a little, “when Minerva came down and invited me to her office for a chat and some tea, she startled me and I knocked SOMETHING into the potion.” She drew in a quick breath, “How could I have been so careless?!”
“Calm yourself,” Snape instructed. Clearly he did not grasp the extent of the situation.
“Nonono, you don’t understand,” Hermione was practically wailing now, “I don’t know what it was! I might’ve knocked something into the potion that will render it completely useless! And if it helps, we’ll never know what it was!”
Remus, who had been standing idly by for the majority of the conversation, paled, before excusing himself with great expediency. Hermione hardly noticed, but that some of the tension exited the room with him. Meltdowns like this were rather out of character for her these days, though she’d had a good few while preparing for OWLS and NEWTS.
Gods, how embarrassing. Hermione was on the verge of collapsing onto the floor of the laboratory, eyes so full of tears she couldn’t see. It was impossible to think that she might have caused poor, sweet Remus unnecessary and excruciating pain. And Tonks. And Teddy. Surely they would suffer, too, in his absence. There was no way he could stay home during this transformation. And it was all her fault. Dear gods, what if she’d poisoned him?
Severus looked at her with disdain. Overly dramatic Gryffindors. The longer he observed her, the more distressed she became, so he gently prodded her mind, and saw the flashes of what she was feeling. He understood. After all, he had placed more than one friend in mortal danger in the course of his life—and this was something he did not care to dwell on.
Clearing his throat, he decided that something must be done. Kneeling beside her, he somewhat awkwardly turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. He took in her red, watery eyes, her flushed face, trembling lips… Severus felt queasy and forced himself to swallow the bile back down. He could never stomach women crying, he had heard too much of that as a child. Sighing reluctantly, he pulled her into an embrace, guiding her head to his shoulder, turning so that his lips were near her ear that he could attempt to speak reason to her.
“Listen,” he fairly pleaded, “Lupin is familiar with the research process. We’ve been working on this for years. He understands that the risks may be dire, and that there may be no benefits, apart from finding ninety-nine ways not to improve the potion. What you did is not something that’s unheard of, and we might be able to salvage it yet.”
Hermione gave an audible sniff, and asked in a quivery voice, “How?”
“Well, did you knock a bottle into the potion?”
She stilled. “Yes.”
“Did it melt?”
“N-no, I pulled it out and discarded it, like I was planning on doing with the potion as soon as I returned.”
“Well, I imagine any writing or label that was on the bottle has disintegrated.”
“It did; so it’s hopeless, then?” she sighed and looked like she was going to start crying again.
Severus placed a finger lightly over her trembling lips, “I have always put serial numbers into the bottles themselves. I can trace the ingredient with minimal trouble.”
Hermione gave a shuddering sigh and went slack in his arms. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed a brilliant way to comfort her, but now it was just uncomfortable. He disengaged himself stiffly, and went to retrieve the bottle and his records. Putting her mind at ease would be the best thing.
When he saw what she had added, he snorted. Gods, that was priceless. Turtle eyes. Somewhat expensive, and doubtlessly nasty, they were not toxic though their exact interaction with the wolfsbane potion was unknown. He returned to give her the good news and was greatly relieved when she smiled weakly and relocated herself to a stool.
“Perhaps we should take the rest of the day off,” he suggested, anxious to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, “surely you have something you can do or someone you can see.”
Her lips twitched, “Surely,” she echoed hollowly. Silent and still as a ghost, she glided out of his laboratory, closing the door behind her with hardly a sound.