Chapter Text
Professor Severus Snape couldn’t have anticipated the chaos of the day ahead. Indeed, he’d challenge anyone--Sybil Trelawney be damned--to foresee the literal fireworks and shite show that was to come.
Waking at his normal half-past five, Severus stretched before throwing off the bedcovers. Just as an Ukranian Ironbelly was compelled to breathe fire, Severus always woke at dawn. After decades of poor sleep, taxed by constant insomnia and stress, his body didn’t allow for lie-ins however much he wished for them. He had grown to accept this part about himself over the past seven years following the end of the War. It was just too difficult after four decades of abuse, be it kin, peer, or workplace, to convince his body that things were safer--better--now and he could risk sleeping in.
During his morning routine, his body went on autopilot and his mind cleared: showering for exactly eleven minutes, shaving with a sharp straight razor, and finally dressing in freshly pressed black wool trousers with a crisp white long-sleeved shirt. After making himself presentable, Severus enjoyed his first cup of self-brewed black coffee in his sitting room while he riffled through correspondence. He had found the private--silent--first dose of caffeine necessary to better prepare for the theatrics of Hogwarts’ youths. Unknowingly to Severus, no matter how much stimulant he’d consume this morning it wouldn’t be enough.
At exactly a quarter to seven Severus tucked in his shirt, buttoned on his dark wool frock coat, and then shrugged on his outer robe. He rolled the tightness out of his shoulders. After slipping his letters in a pocket, Severus hid his wand in a sleeve. Regarding his reflection in the purposefully silent mirror, Severus adjusted the buttons at his neckline one final time. He deftly flicked his inky hair over his shoulders, and smoothed some errant folds on his robe. Severus passed his daily inspection. Methodically neat, and put-together, he looked every bit the part of a respectable Potions Master. On his way out, Severus adjusted his cuffs until both coat and shirt aligned perfectly and pinned them in place. Old habits die hard; this daily discipline had given him an inch of control during the worst of his past, when he had very little autonomy to speak of.
The Bloody Baron stopped him on his way up the stairwell to the main floor to warn him that he had overheard a group of plotting third-year snakelets in the toilets. Apparently, they were planning a spot of revenge over an inconsequential matter with some Gryffindors. While the choice to hold court in a toilet was idiotic and conspicuous, it didn’t seem to be serious enough to follow-up on before breakfast--no bloodletting or petrifying had been spoken of--so Severus thanked his informant and proceeded to the Great Hall.
I’ll have to deal with that sticky wicket soon or risk falling behind on the House Cup, Severus thought. I’d really like to win that bet against Minerva that we can capture it two years in a row.
He was pleased to find that he was the first to arrive for the day, even entering prior to Burchard--a prefect, allergic to tomatoes--who seemed curiously hellbent on memorizing the entire Library’s collection on Divination as of late. The silence of the empty room was meditative, and the only thing that echoed in the space as he approached the High Table were his footsteps. Indeed, Severus had found that his mood was infinitely improved if he didn’t arrive to the Great Hall when it was already at full capacity with the volume cranked up to eleven. On those rare mornings when he was tardy, he would fleetingly desire to cast a Mimblewimble on the entire jabbering lot. If nothing else, the fantasy of shutting up the masses was incredibly emotionally satisfying.
A cup of steaming coffee, and two pieces of toast with a side of butter materialized in front of him as Severus took his seat. As the rich, dark liquid passed his lips he felt himself relax, and his shoulders dropped away from his neck. The blend is superb today. If tea could be said to taste better when prepared without magic, the opposite could be said about coffee. Severus was half-convinced it was the way the Elves crushed the beans. When he was asked to return shortly after the War he had attempted to make a footnote in his contract that he would be privy to the method. Unfortunately, the Elf Matron had turned out to be quite a ruthless negotiator and Severus had to drop the matter lest he be cut off from his main source of hydration entirely.
Severus pulled out his correspondence from the day before and began to write out a few replies so they could go out with the morning mail. Pleasingly, in contrast to a decade ago, his letters were of nothing pressing; an apothecary inquiry, a dry reply to Lucius about Draco’s career ambitions, an altogether different and more supportive note to his godson, and a settling of his tab from the Three Broomsticks.
Draco may do better away from the Manor for a while, Severus thought as he finished his letter to the younger man. He wrote a quick postscript that he had an Alchemical contact on the continent if his godson wished to be connected. Merlin knew that Lucius could be a bit pompously overbearing at the best of times. Separating the Malfoy men may ease relations until Lucius could pull his head from his arse.
Something unusual near the back of the Hall caught Severus’ attention. He turned his head and observed how the colors from the stained glass flickered across the grey stone floor. Is that a rare streak of February sunshine peeking through the east windows? Yes, I do believe it is. Above him, the charmed ceiling had the promise of a hint of blue sky, despite the cold, wet weather that was more familiar to this particular spoke on the Wheel between Winter and Spring. Severus allowed himself a contented sigh. Things were good. Slowly, the room’s population rose as students and professors rambled to their seats. As he signed the bill to Rosmerta with a flourish Severus felt someone settle next to him at the High Table.
Looking absolutely drained, Professor Granger muttered with a frown, “Good morning, Severus.” Immediately, a plate of two decadent chocolate waffles topped with whipped cream, and a small pitcher of syrup popped into existence in front of her. “Oh, put your eyebrow down,” she scolded him as she observed his reaction.
“Indulging this morning, are we?” Severus asked as he folded his letter and placed it with the others in front of his place setting. Is she hormonal or merely trying to pre-emptively up her chocolate intake ahead of the mid-February hedonism? If it’s the former, I dare not ask more. I like my bollocks attached to my body.
“I had the first half of the overnight patrols last night, if you must know.”
“Ah.” That explains it. The only other duty that was more undesirable than night rounds was manually mucking out the blast-ended skrewt pen when Hagrid fell ill or was otherwise indisposed. Severus watched with morbid fascination as she poured syrup over her plate. At first, Granger was paying careful attention to fill each pocket of her waffles equally. Then with a sigh she dumped the rest of the pitcher’s contents over the entire stack.
“It was awful,” Hermione continued, stabbing her first bite with enough force that the fork scratched against the plate. “Seven students out of bed! Three of them were in that alcove behind Julio Furtado’s tapestry.” Before Severus could process that completely she barrelled onward, “I swear it’s the weather. The students are so cooped up that they’re actually willing to do anything to escape the monotony. Even if that means scandalizing a seventeenth-century weaving of a man with his prized braguette.”
Remembering the proud stance of the Portuguese wizard in the tapestry in question, Severus replied sarcastically, “Minerva thought the wall hanging would horrify the wee bairns. That’s why it’s hanging so far off the beaten path on the fifth floor.”
“On the contrary,” Granger said with a sniff. “It only seemed to inspire them last night.” Almost like an afterthought she muttered, “Pomona really has her hands full this year with her sixth years.”
In an effort to steer the discussion away from the sexual exploits of the rutting badgers, and recalling the earlier glimmer of actual sun, he said, “It looks like the weather is taking an unusual, pleasant turn. Perhaps today will grant us a reprieve from the idiocy of our charges.”
She hummed in reply as she slipped the fork into her mouth. The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they finished their breakfast. Severus began to reflect on his friendship with the woman at his side. Hermione had been the Arithmancy Professor for the last five years. When Vector wished to return for good to her family’s villa in Italy, her successor was clear; there was no one more qualified. Former War Heroine and Cursebreaker, Granger outshone all other candidates. Indeed, her professorship has been an overall success; there have been more students enrolled in NEWT level Arithmancy courses than when Severus first joined the staff.
Time had truly worked its magic for the two Order of Merlin recipients; there was little that would add animosity in their relationship now beyond Pre-War house prejudices. As this was Hermione’s first year as Gryffindor’s Head of House, Severus had tested those waters more purposefully as of late. Minerva proved to be a loyalist to the very end of her tenure as Head; he needed to know where Hermione stood in her convictions to better craft his arguments at any meetings where he’d have to defend his Slytherins. The first time he took more than ten House Points from one of her students this year she didn’t later demand an explanation from him. When she came across Severus ranting at Walsh--second-year, loves toffee--who had pushed Jenkins--first-year, often homesick--in a corridor, Granger didn’t try to gaslight him and switch the narrative painting her student as the victim. How easy it would have been for her to come to her cubs’ defense at the cost of all others, feeling like she had something to prove. Yet, Hermione had not questioned any of the point deductions or detentions given out by anyone.
After being on the receiving end of the nasty literal fanged bite of reality, a period of self-introspection followed and Severus realized that he didn’t want to follow the antiquated way of thinking regarding house divisions and bigotry any longer. It bred nothing but ignorance. At best, the world was grey. Placing children together for socialization within a found family was all fine and good. However, people couldn’t--nor shouldn’t--be exclusively cloven to the tidy stereotypical bullshite expelled by the Sorting Hat. While it had seemed that Hermione agreed with him through her actions, time would tell if she really didn’t play favorites or respect old party lines.
His musings were interrupted when the hatch on the ceiling opened with a loud creak. Through the opening, the morning’s Owl Post began to flutter into the Hall. If Severus were more observant of the student body rather than being distracted by his thoughts about the woman beside him he might have noticed the calm before the storm. Indeed, he might have observed how four students from Slytherin had strategically placed themselves along the edges of the room. In retrospect, one couldn’t blame the Hufflepuffs; as they were fellow dungeon dwellers the two houses could be surprisingly chummy at times. But perhaps, in this one instance, the badgers should have been a tad more suspicious of the two interlopers at either end of their table.
Unfortunately, as with everyone, Severus was completely blindsided when his third-years released several Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs into the air, impeccably timed to the entrance of the avian post carriers. The resulting boom of several Whiz-bangs colliding was closely followed by the parliament of owls dropping their letters and packages en masse and fleeing back into the hatch to get out of the line of fire.
In her haste to mitigate the disaster, the Headmistress attempted to vanish the fireworks immediately before they did any more damage. Regrettably, Minerva had forgotten that these specific pyrotechnics were charmed to multiply when hit with Evanesco. She swore and the fireworks obliged by mockingly spelling out TALLYWASHER over the Ravenclaw table. Severus tried to keep a running tally of the many infractions his students had just earned and how many House Points were now at a loss, but he found himself distracted. And how could he not be? The gold sparklers danced across the room and hit the flying, flaming pink pigs, which then caused stars to shoot off into the corners of the Great Hall.
Severus slowly rose from his seat. Putting aside the obvious fallout of this mess--floo calls home, detentions, probations, and the very great chance that this stunt had cost them the House Cup this year--it really was a spectacular show. In a pinch of nostalgia, the pyrotechnics reminded him of the joyous Bonfire Night celebrations when he was a child. They had been chaotically massive displays, at least until the mills had closed; there wasn’t much joy for many in Cokeworth after that. If there was any justice in the world, the chance for merriment--for proper fireworks--would only increase for these children in front of him, students who had grown up in the shadow of the War. Severus found comfort in that hopeful feeling; that his and so many others’ sacrifices had been worthwhile. His gaze softened as it followed the jets of light crossing the Hall, exploding into new variations when they collided. Yellow daisy chains broke off to become bubbles, pink hearts curved under white hopping rabbits. The student body, however, was either mesmerized or terrorized at the anarchy reigning around them.
Filius lifted his wand to attempt to stall things but Minerva stopped him with a raised hand. She didn’t want a repeat of her earlier mistake. By the pinched look on the Headmistress’ face, it was clear that Slytherin’s hourglass was going to be quite depleted before the first block of the day. Despite the obvious rule-breaking, more than a few teachers seemed to be in awe. The last time these fireworks were deployed in the Castle, the majority of the staff weren’t witnesses to it as the pink-clad autocratic hag Umbridge had locked the Great Hall down for her draconian exams. Professor Sinistra looked on in amazement, hands clasped at her chest. Likewise stunned, Sybill was in a trance, but the bright reflections on her eyeglasses hindered Severus from getting a more accurate read on her reaction. Filch, though, appeared to be absolutely disgusted. Severus was surprised. One would think Argus would be gleeful at the prospect of more detentions but perhaps the caretaker hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
As the combustible reactions finally started to naturally wind down, the prank’s purpose soon became apparent. The reason behind Filch’s offended reaction became more clear. The Gryffindor table, located directly under the main hatch of the owlery, was unfortunately where a hundred frightened owls literally had the shit scared out of them. The table and its occupants were covered in bird droppings. Only a few students had donned hats to stave off the morning chill, and the rest now had white sticky head coverings. The entire house was still as they took in the appearance of their peers. A diminutive first-year gingerly reached up to her hair and recoiled her hand in horror. Their plates of food--once oatmeal, crepes, and fresh fruit--were coated with a glossy patina of shite. A smelly plume of ordure was thick in the air.
Severus turned slowly to Hermione. This act of public hooliganism was unacceptable and Severus was fully expecting her to aggressively come to her cubs’ defense. But to his surprise, her shock didn’t ebb into a Dumbledorian disappointment or righteous anger. Hermione instead broke into a fit of laughter. The explosion of mirth didn’t truly last for more than a few heartbeats and she managed to hide it behind a hand, but Severus witnessed it all the same. In that instant, he found her to be absolutely beautiful.
Hermione’s brief moment of amusement, of finding humor in an act of desecration against her House, caused an odd feeling to unfurl in Severus’ chest. He suddenly felt a fondness for her that had leapt beyond simple friendship. What is happening...
However, the pyrotechnics then truly ceased, and incensed yelling immediately broke out amongst the tables. Severus would have to analyze this newfound feeling at another time; there were more pressing matters to attend to. Hardening his expression, he thought, I need to set this mess to rights.
But his new feelings overtook his sense of responsibility again almost immediately. “A reprieve from idiocy, you said?” Hermione murmured low as she touched his arm commiseratingly. She turned to hurry down the dais to her panicked and filthy charges.
Severus was once again stunned. How easy it would have been for Hermione to stab him with a sharp word about her suspicions regarding Slytherins and their innate desire to always play the villain. There was no better proof of her turning away from past prejudices and house allegiances. She truly was no longer the girl from her youth who demanded immediate justice without knowing the full story. Recalling a conversation from earlier this morning, Severus thought, I need to track the Bloody Baron down, he’ll know what precipitated this action.
He felt Minerva moving behind him, already on the warpath; just because Hermione showed leniency, he couldn’t--wouldn’t--expect it from the Headmistress. Beyond House loyalties, she had an institution to run and Merlin knew she abhorred theatrics such as these. He would too if he was still responsible for the paperwork. As Severus descended the dais behind Minerva he spared a glance over at Hermione.
With the help of the Ravenclaw prefects she was Scourgifing each individual pupil. Hermione had just finished with the small first-year from earlier, the one who had been horrified by her hair. The girl--Morris; Muggleborn, proficient at ballet--pointed aggressively at one of the guilty third-year Slytherins that had been rounded up by Minerva. Hermione gently placed her hand on Morris’ arm and lowered it. With a shake of her head, she cupped her student’s face and whispered something with a smile. Whatever she had said had the desired effect; Morris visibly relaxed. Hermione looked up at that moment, and caught Severus’ gaze as he walked down the length of the room. Her smile didn’t falter in the least. If anything, it finally reached her eyes.
Oh.
Severus suddenly felt lightheaded, and he knew he couldn’t blame it on the residual effects of the flashing or booming Whiz-bangs. He felt anxious and frustrated over his students’ behaviors, true. But there was something else tumbling in his chest; the fondness that had been sparked earlier was now a fully flickering flame. Severus was unable to deny it. The realization was too steady, and only growing exponentially with every interaction.
I fancy Hermione Granger.