The Menagerie – Chapter Eight

Hermione carefully trundled up the Owlery steps. In winter the staircase had a nasty habit of freezing over. Any student who wasn't watchful risked a trip to Madam Pomfrey. Even though it was yet early summer, Hermione remained cautious on the narrow steps.

She paused in her climb and took a moment to appreciate the scenery. A cool breeze touched the back of her neck and whipped her ponytail about. She had a good view of the school pitch and could see Rolanda busily working on repairs. A fountain of sparks showered the benches as Rolanda welded some broken bit to another. As the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, assisting with the repair of the pitch was part of her responsibilities, but Hermione was eternally grateful the Flying Instructor had a firm hand on what she was doing. She didn't know the first thing about construction.

Movement caught her eye, and Hermione turned towards the path to Hogsmeade. Professor Grubbly-Plank was slowly wheeling a heavy cart towards the village. Hermione frowned. If she was not mistaken, the cart appeared loaded with barrels of single malt whiskey. Making a mental note to investigate it further, Hermione continued her ascent into the Owlery.

The school owls remained perched and unruffled by her presence in the tower. A lone owl trilled out 'Who cooks for you?' in greeting. Using a gentle voice, Hermione returned the 'Hello.' Her time in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had taught her a lot about establishing relationships of trust with creatures. Slowly, she made a circuit around the drafty room and allowed all eyes to inspect her. It was possible that some of the school owls had been at Hogwarts when she was a student, but that didn't mean they liked her. Hermione had earned a bit of a reputation for sending lengthy correspondence, and she couldn't remember any parchment that had been under three feet.

A rather indifferent barn owl chittered at her as she approached. From her pocket, Hermione withdrew a treat, and the barn owl openly reappraised her. His head bobbed in interest.

"You know," Hermione said conversationally. She glanced at the name placard on his perch. "You really shouldn't have these, Elmo. They're not at all good for you."

Clacking his beak, the owl told her she clearly didn't know what she was talking about.

Gingerly holding out the treat, Hermione continued. "They're full of crickets and fillers. Too many of them will give you digestive troubles." The barn owl gulped down the treat in one bite. High above, other owls moved about, trying to gain her attention and a treat. "What you need, is a nice fat field mouse."

Startled, the owl looked up at her in surprise. The other owls eagerly vocalized their agreement.

"You're a carnivore; you should be treated like a carnivore." Hermione cooed gently. She held out her fingers, and when the barn owl didn't object, she ran them lightly over his head and chin. "I promise, next time I'll bring a real treat."

Her position established, Hermione went about the task of sweeping the floors and replacing straw with surprisingly little fuss. Not a single owl grazed her head with their talons or nibbled at her fingers. With her most important task of the day accomplished, Hermione's mind wandered back to Snape's project.

Truthfully, it had been on her mind the entire day.

The last time she'd taken on a complex and compelling project, it was identifying Doxies as a threatened species. Protecting venomous Biting Fairies from extinction was the toughest sell of her life. Absolutely everyone in the Ministry had a can of Doxycide in their shed. Even her own department carried Doxycide in their field packs. Of course, with Shacklebolt's new Peace Accord, her law was likely repealed, but Hermione didn't want to dwell on her professional failures.

After finishing up in the Owlery, Hermione crept down into the dungeons. Of course, there was no reason for her to sneak around, but something about a secret project in the Potions Laboratory made her extra careful. The Potions Lab was empty. All the equipment from the school year was put away. Familiar benches, scarred with spilled potions and graffiti silently awaited the coming term.

She'd hoped to find him brewing in the classroom. Without fail, as a student she could find him stooped over a potions bench or prowling the hallways. The wizard had no appearance of a social life. Now that she was a staff member, Hermione understood why. Hermione paused at his door, apprehension momentarily holding her back. He hadn't given her a firm commitment about working on the potion, but they were supposed to be working together. At least, she reasoned, she could inquire about a time that worked with both of their schedules.

Given the circumstances, Severus had been remarkably pleasant the last time she showed up to his quarters unannounced. He could have handed her a potion for her head and pushed her out his door, but he'd allowed her to stay on his squashy couch. But there was no guarantee of such a repeat. Steeling herself against a nasty comment about her appearance, life choices, or competence, Hermione knocked.

Just when she'd given up on him answering his door, she heard muffled footsteps approach. The door opened, and an outstretched hand jerked her in. The door slammed closed.

Before Hermione had an opportunity to gather herself, she was thrust up against the doorframe, with Snape's long length fitted snugly against her body. Her lips parted in bewilderment and he seized the moment to press his soft lips to hers. The smell of peppermint and parchment invaded her senses. Moving her hands up to his shoulders, Hermione prepared to push him off.

She was well versed in women's self-defense and could protect herself if need be. His fingers pleasantly chased up and down her ribcage. In a quick somersault of mental gymnastics, Hermione concluded Snape was a good kisser, and while unexpected, she didn't mind much at all. Truth be told, as his tongue lightly touched hers, she rather enjoyed it.

Instead of pushing him off, Hermione eagerly wrapped her arms about his neck, happily clinging to his lean body. 'Gods,' she thought bemusedly. 'This is an unexpectedly warm welcome.'

He deepened the kiss, tentatively exploring her mouth. And for the first time, Hermione tasted the tang of bitter citrus peels. Dazed and thoroughly snogged, Hermione pulled back, her lips only a breath apart from his.

"Professor," she whispered.

"Severus," he hoarsely corrected.

"Severus," she tried again, although now he'd moved on to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. "What potion have you taken?"

Although not the expert he was, Hermione was still a dab hand at potions. Certain he was under the influence of some brew, Hermione could not in any good conscience continue to kiss him. Even though she wanted to.

Very much so.

Filing that particular bit of information in the back of her brain for later reflection, Hermione reluctantly removed the dazed and besotted professor from her person. Beneath heavily lidded eyes, and long dark eyelashes, his pupils were unnaturally enlarged. Hermione took notice of his flushed cheeks and smitten expression. He reached for her again and she steered him to the brown leather couch where he'd tended to her nights before.

A banged up trunk served as his coffee table. An innocuous looking phial and a girl's blue hair ribbon sat upon it.

"May I?" she asked, reaching for the potion.

Snape looked at her with a befuddled expression.

"This is the potion you took, yes?" she clarified.

Snape offered no help.

It must have been one of his personal brews because the label was written in a Potioneer's shorthand; bottle and expiration dates, batch number, and a variety of abbreviations. The potion smelled pleasantly of orange and evergreen.

"You idiot," Hermione muttered, finally grasping upon the situation.

Snape merely blinked.

Rememory was a delightful little potion that worked simply enough. It put users into a highly-suggestive trance, then an artifact from the past was used to trigger a memory the patient wished to relive. Doctors and therapists prescribed it to patients seeking closure or breakthroughs while they remained under strict supervision. The elixir could also be purchased from less trustworthy apothecaries by people seeking to hide in the past. St. Mungo's was full of addicts who could no longer distinguish reality from memory.

"Is this what you do in your free time?" she asked. The lazy smile he gave her was rather endearing. "I bet you make an adorable drunk too."

She offered him her hand and he readily took it, obediently following her into his bedroom.

"Here you go, Professor," she said, pulling back the bedcovers and giving them a pat. "I'd throw you in a cold shower, but I don't think the school has the water to spare."

"Severus," he absently corrected again.

"Severus," she plied sweetly, while tugging off his boots, "where is the research I need to start working on?"

"Journal's on the shelf." He gestured vaguely at the room. Bookshelves held ponderous tombs, scholarly work, and what appeared to be hundreds of potions journals. She took a step towards the direction of his haphazard gesture.

"Turners are under the bed," he slurred.

Hermione startled, her large mooncalf eyes widening. Beneath the bed? Like a child would hide? Moreover, did he say Turners – as in plural?

Momentarily abandoning the search for his journal, Hermione got on her hands and knees to have a look at what lay under Severus Snape's bed. He kept an odd assortment of chests and locked boxes beneath there, which was unsurprising. Potion Masters were notorious hoarders of bits and bobs to be mashed up, powdered, or liquefied.

Hermione pulled the closest chest to her. It pulsated beneath her fingers and she knew she had found the right one. The latch sprang easily beneath her fingers indicating the world's most infamous spy was losing his edge. Or, his wards were down and she wasn't supposed to be there. Hermione knew which scenario was more likely. Prying back the lid, Hermione gasped at the wide assortment of Time Turners tucked into the velvet-lined shelf.

"How?" she marveled.

It was obvious now how he'd survived the battle. Once upon a time, she'd been so certain she watched him die in front of her. Days later, when he and Draco turned up in the Infirmary to help Poppy with the wounded, Hermione had felt blindsided.

Her fingertips ghosting across the timepieces, she felt an answering tickle of recognition from them. She could tell the chest had another compartment and she eased back the shelf. If dozens of Time Turners was a shock, Hermione was completely unprepared for what lay beneath.

Three large glass bottles held granules of pure sand. They shimmered unnaturally, in a way that completely defied explanation. As far as she was aware, there was no precedence for this. Nobody had Time Turners anymore, and all the materials to make new ones had been destroyed. Except, she was looking right at it.

Naturally, there were competing theories about where the material came from, and Hermione was well-versed in the mythology. Every Hogwarts student had heard, 'When the first witch cast the first spell, it was so beautiful, she cried. Her crystal tears became the Sands of Time.' It was classic bedtime story fodder.

Arithimancers held that it was star dust from the earliest moments of our origins. They speculated that time repeated itself in a never-ending loop. Travelers could move back through time because it had neither beginning nor ending. Muggles called it eternal return. Hermione felt their similar ideas about Muggle physics and wizarding philosophy lent credence to the theory.

Wherever the dust came from, it was unlike anything else.

Oblivious to the many dark and piercing eyes resting on her, Hermione snapped up the chest and tucked it under her arm. While Snape detoxed, she had some reading to catch up on.

Severus turned in bed, conscious that his professional robes, now hopelessly wrinkled, were twisted up around his waist. In a foolish move, which felt like a hammer cracking the back of his skull, he sat up too quickly.

There was something else. Someone else.

Ye gads, had he snogged the new girl?

Severus groaned piteously. He rather suspected he had. No doubt she'd bolted, not that he blamed her. Your old Potions professor shoving his tongue down your throat had to be exceedingly traumatizing. If his old Potions professor had assaulted him like that... Severus shuddered. He just rather hoped they could keep the indiscretion between themselves. If Minerva got word of it, she'd use his bits as a kitty toy.

He should have realized Hermione would turn up at his door. Gryffindors ruined everything.

The summer hols were the only time he had to himself. Every winter, without fail, some poor Slytherin had some excuse for not going home. But over the summer, only faculty were allowed to stay over, which made it nearly perfect. If he spent three weeks with his head down over a cauldron and taking meals in his rooms, nobody blinked. If he wanted to play his music loud and get drunk, not a damn soul questioned it. And if he wanted to keep alive the small moments of his past which were worth remembering, no one could stop him. Except apparently Hermione Granger.

He had to find her quickly and apologize. There had to be some way to make amends. Sincere apologies weren't exactly his forte, but in this case, she deserved one.

The memory of their kiss resurfaced in his mind. She'd snogged him back, hadn't she? No, that part might have been fantasy. He remembered pulling her close to him, the press of her breasts against his chest. She felt small and delicate in his arms, and so indescribably soft. They way she'd dug her nails around his shoulders, gods she'd wanted him.

Had she?

Severus shook his head. He had no idea. Memory, fantasy and reality blended together in a confusing blur. Very few women had actually ever wanted him. After the war some had sought him out, mostly the groupies and weirdos. Severus paused for a moment. Yes, Granger fit the weirdo definition. Any girl who'd willingly subjected herself to the company of that many ginger-headed Weasleys was a weirdo. Perhaps taking her to a nice restaurant with a good wine list would make for a nice apology?

Attempting to smooth down hopelessly wrinkled robes, Severus formulated a plan to search for Hermione. He surmised she hadn't immediately gone to the Headmistress, or Minerva would have ripped him out of bed and saddled him with supervising Hogsmeade weekends for the rest of his natural life. So, Hermione was somewhere in the castle. He'd try her hut first, and after that, the lonely and desolate high towers that were conducive to having a good cry. If she couldn't be found, he would have to assume she'd run off to South America in terror.

He found her in his sitting room.

Of course.

She was perched on his couch, her frizzy head buried in his potions journal and munching on shortbread cookies. Severus thought about growling at her for getting cookie crumbs in between his pages, but couldn't muster the energy. He was also fairly certain he owed her an apology.

Somewhere in the rules of conduct, in the Professors in Pickle section, there was a bit about not sexually assaulting coworkers. If there wasn't, because Hogwarts could be somewhat archaic like that, there ought to be.

"Miss Granger," he attempted contritely, "I believe I owe you an apology. I know I can't make excuses for my behavior and I won't try to..."

She waved him off negligently. "What's this glyph stand for?" she interrupted.

"Look, I'm trying my best to apologize to you." He rasped the back of his hand across his jaw, feeling the day's stubble. He should return when he could be more presentable to her. He realized he looked like a sight in rumpled robes and disheveled hair. It was not his best apology.

She looked up from his pages with an open expression. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His jaw snapped shut. No, he absolutely did not want to talk about it.

"You were high," Hermione said absently. "There's not much to forgive. What's this glyph stand for?"

"High!" he squawked. "I was not high," he stated in a more dignified tone. "Potions professors do not get high. I'm a fully licensed and credentialed potioneer. I was responsibly testing the efficacy of a brew in the privacy my own home when you invaded it."

She shrugged. It was a maddening little half-shrug that seemed to convey disinterest and 'you were high' at the same time.

"Miss Granger -"

"I'd prefer it if you called me Hermione seeing you've asked me to call you by your given name." She batted her eyelashes dramatically. "Twice."

Seven hells, he'd never live this down.

"Oh, give me that." Irritated, Severus snatched his book from her hands. She'd been through his belongings. He knew as much. Hermione Bleeding Granger couldn't leave well enough alone. Of course she poked and pried. He wondered if he might as well give her the combination to his wall safe and show her where he kept his teddy bear.

"Unforeseen irregularity," he harrumphed, handing her back his journal.

"Unforeseen irregularity?" she mused. "But all of the experiments have this notation! How are you unable to predict what will happen by this point? Well, that means the formula is-"

"- a failure," he finished for her.

"I was going to use the word unstable," she said quickly.

"Which does nothing to diminish the fact that a potion that cannot observably produce the same results each time is a failure, and we both know it."

"How different have the results been?"

Hermione pursed her lips in a way that drew his attention to them. For a fleeting moment he was reminded of the feel of them moving insistently against his. He shook himself free of those disturbing thoughts, flicking them easily away like a beetle's eye across a potions bench. He did not need the woman distracting him.

His life was decidedly less complicated than it had been during the war, but he was still not free from duty. He was responsible for bringing so much damage upon the school. He'd been the Headmaster who fled in battle. The hex stains slowly fading about the castle was a testament to his inability to keep Hogwarts safe. It was his obligation to fix the damage he caused. Hermione Granger was just another complication.

With exceeding amounts of patience, Severus prepared to explain a rather convoluted progress involving the shifting sands of time, the Hogwarts castle, and Theoretical Potionry. Instead he gave up and shrugged.

"It's a different unforeseen event each time." That was as good as an explanation as any.

"Oh?" she challenged with a quirked eyebrow. "Show me."