Footnotes
by Jennifer-Oksana (jenniferoksana@yahoo.com)
website: http://www.imjustsayin.net/jennyo
rating: PG-13
spoilers: post-Goblet of Fire.
summary: Hermione in the kitchens.
Hermione had taken to hiding in the kitchens, claiming that she was
doing it to educate and liberate the house-elves. No matter that the
house-elves had never seemed the least bit interested in liberation;
Harry and Ron believed her little story and Hermione had some peace.
Except from the house-elves.
"Would Hermione like another mug of hot cider?" one of the house-elves
asked. Ever since Hermione had left off nagging about liberation, the
house-elves had taken to her and a few of them had actually warmed to
another idea--a house-elf information network to spy on You-Know-Who's
supporters and pass along information discreetly. Dobby in particular
had thought it a good idea and had actually been doing most of the
recruiting for her, which was fine by Hermione.
"Yes, please," she said, turning back to her books. It was getting
late, really, and the words were starting to blur into each other. She
would have to go to bed soon.
The doors to the kitchen banged open, distracting Hermione from
thoughts of bedtime, and she was suddenly wide-awake when she realized
that Professor Snape was standing there, scowling at the elves with his
characteristic sourness. He looked particularly greasy and rumpled and
Hermione realized he hadn't been around for at least the past few days
except at lessons.
"Would Professor Snape like--his usual?" another house-elf asked,
looking over at Hermione nervously. Snape looked over and if anything,
his scowl deepened.
"Miss Granger, what are you doing in here?" he asked, waving aside the
elf curtly. "Shouldn't you be in Gryffindor, reading or plotting
trouble with Potter or some such nonsense?"
Hermione scowled back at Snape. If he wanted, he could ruin her entire
kitchen escape by going to Dumbledore--or even worse, Professor
McGonagall. She forced herself to stop scowling and be polite.
"I'm studying in here," she said primly. "It's quieter here than in the
Gryffindor common room and the house-elves let me alone."
This of course was only a partial truth, and to Hermione's dismay,
Snape seemed to know it.
"Why would you want to be left alone, Granger? It seems to me that
you're quite comfortable in the spotlight--or perhaps there's another
young witch with your *distinctive* hairstyle running about with Viktor
Krum."
Hermione blushed and then got angrier. It wasn't any of his business
and he was just saying that to be cruel and despicable anyway.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" she protested. "You ought to leave me
alone. I've got a lot to work to do for Potions--and you said yourself
that if we didn't carefully notice the subtleties of--"
"Granger, I know what I've said in my own class," Snape said in his
quietest, most dangerous voice. Hermione immediately shut up and began
putting her books away violently. Snape looked amused.
"What are you doing, girl?" he said in a near-drawl.
"I'm going back to Gryffindor House like I ought," Hermione said,
unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. "Please tell Nori that
I'm sorry I couldn't drink her cider."
She stood up and was promptly pulled back into her seat.
"Oh, sit down, Miss Granger," Snape said. "I'm not going to tell your
little secret. I could give a damn where you do your studying. I just
find it interesting that you're not at Potter's right hand, as usual."
Hermione was about to tell Snape where he could put his interest,
teacher or not, but then she noticed something strange--something like
understanding--flicker across his face. She would have said something,
but the house-elf bearing Snape's usual and Hermione's cider appeared
and both took the steaming mugs quietly.
"Why do you care where I am?" she asked cautiously after taking her
first drink of cider. "Not that it isn't a matter of public record
these days, but it's sort of funny that you care."
Snape laughed and to Hermione's surprise, he sounded almost sympathetic
in a bitter, Snape-like sort of way.
"I see you've been paying attention to your own press."
Hermione sighed ruefully.
"I can't avoid it," she said. "Every tabloid in the wizarding world has
been hovering about my parents' house ever since I came home from
Hogwart's. Do you know they call me the luckiest girl in wizarding
Europe? The girl who makes both Viktor Krum and Harry Potter weak in
the knees. I've practically gone mad trying to ignore them."
Snape smiled, which was strange enough to make Hermione choke in mid-
drink, spraying cider on her books. She then realized she was actually
telling secrets to Professor Snape, someone she was quite aware
disliked her and her friends cordially and was possibly evil. The
strangeness of it was not lost on Hermione.
"Very interesting. Of course, that doesn't explain what's worrying all
your teachers," he said with a wicked and slightly amused look. "But
you don't care about that, do you? You're simply seeking a little
solitude, studying for your OWL's like a conscientious young lady ought
to--"
"Why are they worried?" Hermione said anxiously and suspiciously. "And
why are *you* telling me?"
"The opportunity's presented itself, Granger," Snape said, taking a
drink of his usual, which smelled rather like coffee laced with
something. "They were going to send McGonagall to sound you out, but
I'm here and I'm curious. What are you up to, Granger? You've become
secretive almost to the point of silence. I haven't had to watch your
hand wave about like a bloody flag for almost two weeks now."
"I have a lot on my mind," Hermione said truthfully. "You-Know-Who's
return, trying to avoid publicity, the OWL's--"
"Of course," Snape said, taking another drink. Hermione sighed.
"You don't believe me," she said flatly.
"I do, but I think there's more to it," he said. "You're hungry for
something, Granger. I know because when I was your age, I was the same
way. Of course, at your age, I hadn't settled for being a footnote
yet."
Hermione was genuinely confused about what Snape had just said, and the
misunderstanding was clear on her face.
"Excuse me?" she asked. "A footnote?"
"You've read enough magical histories to know what I'm talking about,"
Snape said. "Most magical history reads like biography--and are about a
single great sorcerer and perhaps his closest male associate or his
mentor. The rest of the people in his life--people who might have had
at least as much responsibility for what really happened as the hero--
are relegated to footnotes and minor histories for creaky scholars of
magical history."
She suddenly understood exactly what Snape meant and it didn't cheer
her up at all.
"You think that we're going to be--footnotes?"
"I already know I'm doomed to perpetual obscurity," he said. "And I've
accepted it for my own reasons. But I'm not so sure about you, Miss
Granger. You're clearly the most talented witch of your generation, and
you're also just as clearly going to be overshadowed by Potter."
She'd never heard anyone put it like that, and she knew that he wasn't
wrong about it, either. The idea actually put a bit of a twinge in her
stomach and the twinge made her feel ill. Was she jealous of Harry? Did
she resent that he got all the fame and she was merely the plucky
female sidekick? No. The whole idea was absurd.
"That's not a bad thing," she said. "He's going to defeat You-Know-Who
and if I can help, that's enough for me. If that means I'll only be a
footnote in magical history, that's plenty of honor for me. I'm not out
for glory."
"Very noble of you," Snape said blandly.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked. "What are you DOING
here, anyway?"
"I needed a cuppa," Snape said. "I've been rather busy lately and the
house-elves are extremely accommodating, as I'm sure you've noticed.
And as I've said before, I'm curious about why you're hiding in the
kitchens. I personally don't think it's because you're a slave to
scholarly devotion, which is the general consensus."
Hermione was suddenly so angry that she forgot that Snape was a
teacher--and for all she knew, a teacher about to take fifty points
from Gryffindor for her audacious behavior. How dare he?
"What do you think, Professor Snape? That I'm plotting to betray Harry?
That I'm studying the Dark Arts in my spare time?"
Snape looked at her, lifting an eyebrow.
"You'd be a far more interesting--and less dangerous--young woman if
you were," he said coolly. "But I hardly think so."
"So what, then?" Hermione said, quite frustrated. "You don't think I'm
plotting, you don't think I'm studying--and this isn't really your
business anyway, as I'm not a Slytherin. What do you mean?"
"It means this," Snape said. "We're involved in a desperate battle
here, Miss Granger, and the Dark Lord doesn't play fair. He's not going
to come at Potter through a frontal assault. He'll look for weaknesses
in his friends--and you're the weakest link."
"I am not!" Hermione said, springing up. "How could you--I'm one of his
best friends!"
"And you're also insufferable, short-tempered, proud, and a Mudblood
outsider who feels rather sensitive about your considerable abilities,"
Snape pointed out with devastating honesty. "Loyalty can turn to
resentment fairly quickly under the right circumstances--ones the other
side can certainly contrive."
Hermione, reminded of Wormtail, could do nothing but nod and remember
just how much she despised Snape. Greasy, rotten, *mean* creature.
"So what does any of that have to do with me studying in the kitchens?"
she said with a certain exasperation. "Maybe I'd just like a little
peace."
"From what?" Snape asked with disarming quiet. "From whom?"
Hermione's eyes were suddenly sore with unshed tears, but she would not
cry in front of Snape. She glared at him instead, feeling indignant and
sullen.
"I know what you're trying to say," she said icily. "But I'm not a
coward and I wouldn't ever do anything--anything like that. I'm not
interested in all that glory and fame and power if it means hurting my
friends. And--and--I think you're horrible, torturing students who are
just trying to get a little quiet away from everyone."
"Of course I'm horrible. It's in the job description that I be utterly
horrible," Snape replied. "But am I completely wrong? Think about what
you did all summer. Think about why you keep hiding in kitchens. Then
tell me that I'm wrong."
"You're wrong," she said coldly, standing up. "Now if you'll excuse me,
it's long past the time I should be in bed."
"Good night, then," he said, draining his drink. "As for your Potions
assignment, remember that when it comes to brewing wildwood leaves,
boiling the water will ruin the potency of the tincture--rather like
green tea."
It was such a strange farewell that it reminded Hermione of all the
troublesome thoughts and feelings that had rushed through her head over
the last ten minutes. She was suddenly too afraid to think and fled,
not even managing to say something angry in response to Snape's
unpleasant suggestions.
Hermione ran through the darkened corridors of the school feeling her
heart thump in her chest. She only slowed down when she could see the
Fat Lady's portrait looming ahead.
"B-b-bloody hell," she said in a gasp. That had been awful, simply
awful--and she should have known better. Snape wasn't trustworthy and
of course he'd want to ruin her day by suggesting that she could do
horrible things. Betray Harry! Why, she'd rather cut off her own wand
arm than ever do anything to hurt Harry.
"What's that?" the Fat Lady said. Hermione caught herself. It wouldn't
be a good idea to completely give away her secrets. The Fat Lady was a
fearful gossip and the last thing Hermione needed was for people to
know she'd been running through the halls in the middle of the night
with Harry-betraying thoughts.
"Nothing," said Hermione. "Um--bee's knees."
The portrait swung open and Hermione scrambled into the Gryffindor
tower. She was still trembling from shock and dismay, but upon seeing
Harry, Ron, and a couple of other fifth-years talking noisily near the
fire, she composed herself.
"Oy, Hermione!" Ron called boisterously. "Where have you been? Trying
to lead a house-elf rebellion, no doubt."
Hermione immediately felt like things were back to normal. She really
needed to stop hiding in the kitchens and stay in the tower like
everyone else. Much less chance that strange, horrible thoughts would
come into her head that way--and much less chance that she'd encounter
Snape, either.
"I was studying for Potions, of course," she said primly, the feeling
coming back to her body. "Much more practical than whatever you're
doing, Ron--"
It would be all right soon. Of course it would be, because Hermione was
proud to be Harry's friend and was glad to be a footnote if it meant
she was doing good. Of course that was the case.
Just as soon as she stopped shaking.
The End
by Jennifer-Oksana (jenniferoksana@yahoo.com)
website: http://www.imjustsayin.net/jennyo
rating: PG-13
spoilers: post-Goblet of Fire.
summary: Hermione in the kitchens.
Hermione had taken to hiding in the kitchens, claiming that she was
doing it to educate and liberate the house-elves. No matter that the
house-elves had never seemed the least bit interested in liberation;
Harry and Ron believed her little story and Hermione had some peace.
Except from the house-elves.
"Would Hermione like another mug of hot cider?" one of the house-elves
asked. Ever since Hermione had left off nagging about liberation, the
house-elves had taken to her and a few of them had actually warmed to
another idea--a house-elf information network to spy on You-Know-Who's
supporters and pass along information discreetly. Dobby in particular
had thought it a good idea and had actually been doing most of the
recruiting for her, which was fine by Hermione.
"Yes, please," she said, turning back to her books. It was getting
late, really, and the words were starting to blur into each other. She
would have to go to bed soon.
The doors to the kitchen banged open, distracting Hermione from
thoughts of bedtime, and she was suddenly wide-awake when she realized
that Professor Snape was standing there, scowling at the elves with his
characteristic sourness. He looked particularly greasy and rumpled and
Hermione realized he hadn't been around for at least the past few days
except at lessons.
"Would Professor Snape like--his usual?" another house-elf asked,
looking over at Hermione nervously. Snape looked over and if anything,
his scowl deepened.
"Miss Granger, what are you doing in here?" he asked, waving aside the
elf curtly. "Shouldn't you be in Gryffindor, reading or plotting
trouble with Potter or some such nonsense?"
Hermione scowled back at Snape. If he wanted, he could ruin her entire
kitchen escape by going to Dumbledore--or even worse, Professor
McGonagall. She forced herself to stop scowling and be polite.
"I'm studying in here," she said primly. "It's quieter here than in the
Gryffindor common room and the house-elves let me alone."
This of course was only a partial truth, and to Hermione's dismay,
Snape seemed to know it.
"Why would you want to be left alone, Granger? It seems to me that
you're quite comfortable in the spotlight--or perhaps there's another
young witch with your *distinctive* hairstyle running about with Viktor
Krum."
Hermione blushed and then got angrier. It wasn't any of his business
and he was just saying that to be cruel and despicable anyway.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" she protested. "You ought to leave me
alone. I've got a lot to work to do for Potions--and you said yourself
that if we didn't carefully notice the subtleties of--"
"Granger, I know what I've said in my own class," Snape said in his
quietest, most dangerous voice. Hermione immediately shut up and began
putting her books away violently. Snape looked amused.
"What are you doing, girl?" he said in a near-drawl.
"I'm going back to Gryffindor House like I ought," Hermione said,
unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. "Please tell Nori that
I'm sorry I couldn't drink her cider."
She stood up and was promptly pulled back into her seat.
"Oh, sit down, Miss Granger," Snape said. "I'm not going to tell your
little secret. I could give a damn where you do your studying. I just
find it interesting that you're not at Potter's right hand, as usual."
Hermione was about to tell Snape where he could put his interest,
teacher or not, but then she noticed something strange--something like
understanding--flicker across his face. She would have said something,
but the house-elf bearing Snape's usual and Hermione's cider appeared
and both took the steaming mugs quietly.
"Why do you care where I am?" she asked cautiously after taking her
first drink of cider. "Not that it isn't a matter of public record
these days, but it's sort of funny that you care."
Snape laughed and to Hermione's surprise, he sounded almost sympathetic
in a bitter, Snape-like sort of way.
"I see you've been paying attention to your own press."
Hermione sighed ruefully.
"I can't avoid it," she said. "Every tabloid in the wizarding world has
been hovering about my parents' house ever since I came home from
Hogwart's. Do you know they call me the luckiest girl in wizarding
Europe? The girl who makes both Viktor Krum and Harry Potter weak in
the knees. I've practically gone mad trying to ignore them."
Snape smiled, which was strange enough to make Hermione choke in mid-
drink, spraying cider on her books. She then realized she was actually
telling secrets to Professor Snape, someone she was quite aware
disliked her and her friends cordially and was possibly evil. The
strangeness of it was not lost on Hermione.
"Very interesting. Of course, that doesn't explain what's worrying all
your teachers," he said with a wicked and slightly amused look. "But
you don't care about that, do you? You're simply seeking a little
solitude, studying for your OWL's like a conscientious young lady ought
to--"
"Why are they worried?" Hermione said anxiously and suspiciously. "And
why are *you* telling me?"
"The opportunity's presented itself, Granger," Snape said, taking a
drink of his usual, which smelled rather like coffee laced with
something. "They were going to send McGonagall to sound you out, but
I'm here and I'm curious. What are you up to, Granger? You've become
secretive almost to the point of silence. I haven't had to watch your
hand wave about like a bloody flag for almost two weeks now."
"I have a lot on my mind," Hermione said truthfully. "You-Know-Who's
return, trying to avoid publicity, the OWL's--"
"Of course," Snape said, taking another drink. Hermione sighed.
"You don't believe me," she said flatly.
"I do, but I think there's more to it," he said. "You're hungry for
something, Granger. I know because when I was your age, I was the same
way. Of course, at your age, I hadn't settled for being a footnote
yet."
Hermione was genuinely confused about what Snape had just said, and the
misunderstanding was clear on her face.
"Excuse me?" she asked. "A footnote?"
"You've read enough magical histories to know what I'm talking about,"
Snape said. "Most magical history reads like biography--and are about a
single great sorcerer and perhaps his closest male associate or his
mentor. The rest of the people in his life--people who might have had
at least as much responsibility for what really happened as the hero--
are relegated to footnotes and minor histories for creaky scholars of
magical history."
She suddenly understood exactly what Snape meant and it didn't cheer
her up at all.
"You think that we're going to be--footnotes?"
"I already know I'm doomed to perpetual obscurity," he said. "And I've
accepted it for my own reasons. But I'm not so sure about you, Miss
Granger. You're clearly the most talented witch of your generation, and
you're also just as clearly going to be overshadowed by Potter."
She'd never heard anyone put it like that, and she knew that he wasn't
wrong about it, either. The idea actually put a bit of a twinge in her
stomach and the twinge made her feel ill. Was she jealous of Harry? Did
she resent that he got all the fame and she was merely the plucky
female sidekick? No. The whole idea was absurd.
"That's not a bad thing," she said. "He's going to defeat You-Know-Who
and if I can help, that's enough for me. If that means I'll only be a
footnote in magical history, that's plenty of honor for me. I'm not out
for glory."
"Very noble of you," Snape said blandly.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked. "What are you DOING
here, anyway?"
"I needed a cuppa," Snape said. "I've been rather busy lately and the
house-elves are extremely accommodating, as I'm sure you've noticed.
And as I've said before, I'm curious about why you're hiding in the
kitchens. I personally don't think it's because you're a slave to
scholarly devotion, which is the general consensus."
Hermione was suddenly so angry that she forgot that Snape was a
teacher--and for all she knew, a teacher about to take fifty points
from Gryffindor for her audacious behavior. How dare he?
"What do you think, Professor Snape? That I'm plotting to betray Harry?
That I'm studying the Dark Arts in my spare time?"
Snape looked at her, lifting an eyebrow.
"You'd be a far more interesting--and less dangerous--young woman if
you were," he said coolly. "But I hardly think so."
"So what, then?" Hermione said, quite frustrated. "You don't think I'm
plotting, you don't think I'm studying--and this isn't really your
business anyway, as I'm not a Slytherin. What do you mean?"
"It means this," Snape said. "We're involved in a desperate battle
here, Miss Granger, and the Dark Lord doesn't play fair. He's not going
to come at Potter through a frontal assault. He'll look for weaknesses
in his friends--and you're the weakest link."
"I am not!" Hermione said, springing up. "How could you--I'm one of his
best friends!"
"And you're also insufferable, short-tempered, proud, and a Mudblood
outsider who feels rather sensitive about your considerable abilities,"
Snape pointed out with devastating honesty. "Loyalty can turn to
resentment fairly quickly under the right circumstances--ones the other
side can certainly contrive."
Hermione, reminded of Wormtail, could do nothing but nod and remember
just how much she despised Snape. Greasy, rotten, *mean* creature.
"So what does any of that have to do with me studying in the kitchens?"
she said with a certain exasperation. "Maybe I'd just like a little
peace."
"From what?" Snape asked with disarming quiet. "From whom?"
Hermione's eyes were suddenly sore with unshed tears, but she would not
cry in front of Snape. She glared at him instead, feeling indignant and
sullen.
"I know what you're trying to say," she said icily. "But I'm not a
coward and I wouldn't ever do anything--anything like that. I'm not
interested in all that glory and fame and power if it means hurting my
friends. And--and--I think you're horrible, torturing students who are
just trying to get a little quiet away from everyone."
"Of course I'm horrible. It's in the job description that I be utterly
horrible," Snape replied. "But am I completely wrong? Think about what
you did all summer. Think about why you keep hiding in kitchens. Then
tell me that I'm wrong."
"You're wrong," she said coldly, standing up. "Now if you'll excuse me,
it's long past the time I should be in bed."
"Good night, then," he said, draining his drink. "As for your Potions
assignment, remember that when it comes to brewing wildwood leaves,
boiling the water will ruin the potency of the tincture--rather like
green tea."
It was such a strange farewell that it reminded Hermione of all the
troublesome thoughts and feelings that had rushed through her head over
the last ten minutes. She was suddenly too afraid to think and fled,
not even managing to say something angry in response to Snape's
unpleasant suggestions.
Hermione ran through the darkened corridors of the school feeling her
heart thump in her chest. She only slowed down when she could see the
Fat Lady's portrait looming ahead.
"B-b-bloody hell," she said in a gasp. That had been awful, simply
awful--and she should have known better. Snape wasn't trustworthy and
of course he'd want to ruin her day by suggesting that she could do
horrible things. Betray Harry! Why, she'd rather cut off her own wand
arm than ever do anything to hurt Harry.
"What's that?" the Fat Lady said. Hermione caught herself. It wouldn't
be a good idea to completely give away her secrets. The Fat Lady was a
fearful gossip and the last thing Hermione needed was for people to
know she'd been running through the halls in the middle of the night
with Harry-betraying thoughts.
"Nothing," said Hermione. "Um--bee's knees."
The portrait swung open and Hermione scrambled into the Gryffindor
tower. She was still trembling from shock and dismay, but upon seeing
Harry, Ron, and a couple of other fifth-years talking noisily near the
fire, she composed herself.
"Oy, Hermione!" Ron called boisterously. "Where have you been? Trying
to lead a house-elf rebellion, no doubt."
Hermione immediately felt like things were back to normal. She really
needed to stop hiding in the kitchens and stay in the tower like
everyone else. Much less chance that strange, horrible thoughts would
come into her head that way--and much less chance that she'd encounter
Snape, either.
"I was studying for Potions, of course," she said primly, the feeling
coming back to her body. "Much more practical than whatever you're
doing, Ron--"
It would be all right soon. Of course it would be, because Hermione was
proud to be Harry's friend and was glad to be a footnote if it meant
she was doing good. Of course that was the case.
Just as soon as she stopped shaking.
The End