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“Harry James Potter, are you out of your mind? Professor Snape has put his life on the line for you I don’t know how many times and you pay him back by sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
Hermione was absolutely livid. She had stayed up reading in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for Harry to return from his Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape. In her heart of hearts, she knew that placing him with Professor Snape to learn was not a good decision, but she trusted the judgment of the Headmaster. If Professor Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn from the Potions Master, there must have been a logical reason for it.
Harry had barreled through the portrait hole, and she knew that something was seriously wrong. He had come and grabbed her away from her place near the hearth, and dragged her to a corner away from prying eyes and ears to explain what he had done and what he had seen in the Pensieve. Harry looked genuinely shaken and a bit bruised up.
“But Snape,” Harry protested, but Hermione cut him off.
“But Professor Snape, nothing. It was wrong and you know it.”
Harry looked down. “I couldn’t help it, I was curious! And I’m not sorry. I got to see my parents, Sirius, and Remus. I understand Snape a bit better now. We know how that feels. We have been in the center of a group and taunted, Hermione. My father and his friends weren’t who I thought they were. They were awful and bullies, like Malfoy and his gang.”
Hermione wrapped her arms around her best friend. “While I am pleased that you have learned something new about yourself, I am not happy about the way you came upon the knowledge. It was a dreadful thing to do. I know you don’t want to apologize, and that is your right, but will you at least try? If anything, apologize for snooping.”
“He threw me out, physically,” Harry murmured into her hair. “I’ve never seen him so angry, except maybe the time when he realized Sirius had escaped.”
She pulled back and looked at him, brushed his untidy hair away from his green eyes shining with unshed tears. “Harry, how would you feel if someone discovered your deepest secrets? Imagine that Malfoy suddenly found something you wanted to keep to yourself, something so deeply embarrassing that you still carry the trauma. Imagine if Malfoy knew all about your horrid cousin Dudley? Your dad and his friends assaulted another student and suffered zero repercussions. Imagine how that must have felt for Professor Snape?” Hermione asked, trying to get Harry to see the error of his action.
“You may not act like your father, but from what you said about the memory, you are his spitting image. It’s no wonder that Professor Snape has the reaction to you that he does after being bullied by someone with your face for seven long years just because.”
“I want to be sympathetic like you, but I can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to be, Harry. I’m just asking you to think, be logical, and try to understand things from his point of view.”
Harry nodded. “I’m going to go to bed. I’ve got a headache.”
“Alright, Harry. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nodded again. “Goodnight.”
Hermione watched Harry walk across the common room to the stairs that led to the boy’s dorm. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she had expected. Maybe a blowup, which was the usual that year. Surely not him sulking off to bed.
It definitely could have been much worse.
She needed a plan. If she couldn’t get Harry to see more from Professor Snape’s eyes, maybe she could sway Professor Snape to see things from Harry’s eyes. It was highly doubtful, and would take a lot more effort than one simple conversation, but when Hermione Granger decided to start a project, she would see it through. It would take some planning, and who better to tackle such an operation than her?
Professor Snape sat at his desk with his face very near the paper he was grading, much like what Harry said he saw in the Pensieve. Hermione had always wondered if it was possible that Professor Snape was farsighted and no one had caught it.
“I do not know why you are here, Miss Granger, but you are not wanted. Please leave.”
“These are your office hours, are they not?” she asked.
“Your grades are as close to perfect as they can get, I do not see you needing assistance during office hours.”
“I would like to inquire about extra credit, then. If they are close to perfect then they are not perfect, and I need to rectify that.” In all actuality, they were perfect, only a few points behind Draco Malfoy.
He looked up from his grading. “When have I ever assigned extra credit to a student, Miss Granger?” His face said everything his words did not - he was simply over it and wanted her out of his hair, which was not going to happen.
“Ok then,” she said. “I am here to speak with you as a Head of House about the behavior of High Inquisitor Umbridge.”
“Miss Granger,” he sighed, “you know full well that there is nothing that I can do, especially now that she is the new Headmistress. You will have to write to the Board of Governors if you have a grievance. Goodnight, Miss Granger.” His tone was one of finality, but she was not finished. The mission had not even truly begun.
Hermione whipped her hand out of her robe pocket to show Professor Snape. “You’re just going to allow this to happen, then?” The words “I do not know better than the teacher” were barely healed and trying to scar. Some places had not scabbed over completely.
It was enough to get Professor Snape’s attention. He waved his hand to close his office door and stood, then beckoned her to come closer. “Let me see your hand.”
Obediently, Hermione allowed him to grasp her hand and examine it, gasping in pain when he prodded slightly at the words with his free hand. “She uses a blood quill, sir. Is that even legal?”
“Wait here, have a seat, and touch nothing.” He dropped her hand and disappeared into a little door in the back of the office, into what Hermione assumed was his private store room. He returned with a few vials and a bowl. “It appears that you have better sense than your friend, Potter,” he muttered as he began to mix the contents of the vials in the bowl.
“Two compliments in one night, be still my heart,” she said as she sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of Professor Snape’s desk.
“Watch it, girl,” the professor replied. “I could have set you out on your ear and left your hand to bleed.” He waved his wand over the bowl, and steam arose from it. “Soak your hand in this. It will heal what hasn’t, and hopefully minimize scarring.” He sat back down in his chair and leveled her under his gaze. “Half an hour should be enough.” He returned to his chair and to his grading.
Hermione was not about to be dismissed, especially if she had half an hour to sit with his undivided attention. “Harry’s hand is bad, sir. Professor Umbridge has had him in detention so much that the wounds won’t even begin to heal before he’s ripping them open again. If this continues, his hand will be mangled and never heal properly.”
“Stupid boy,” Professor Snape grumbled. “His mouth will get him killed someday.”
“I knew you cared for him in some way, sir.”
“You brats are my responsibility for as long as you are at this school.”
“We need help, Professor. Professor Umbridge is going to get us killed. The books she has given us teach absolutely nothing, and if we hadn’t taken it upon ourselves to learn, then we would be left out in the cold.” Surely he had to know what was going on right under his nose.
He pulled her hand up from the bowl just enough to see the fading wounds. Whatever he had put into that bowl was healing so much better than she had been able to. “There is nothing that I can do. I am as powerless as you are in this situation. As I already said, write to the Board of Governors with your grievances. They are the only ones who have the power to affect the situation.”
“And we are simply students, yet we created a defense group that accomplished more in a few months than that woman has accomplished so far this year.” With her free hand, Hermione pulled her wand from her robe pocket and cast the Patronus charm; her otter happily swam around the room, head-booping Professor Snape on the nose before it settled on the desk, examining him with curious eyes. “This would not have been possible without Harry.” The otter poofed away. “You should see what we can do now! Even Neville is casting shield charms like he was born doing it. It’s brilliant!”
“Look, Miss Granger,” he said, exasperated, “I’m very aware of the shortcomings of our newest DADA Professor. I assure you, there is nothing I can do, but your complaints have been noted.” Professor Snape looked tired, more tired than she had ever seen them. It seemed as if she was truly noticing for the first time exactly what sort of toll the year was taking, not just on the students, but also the staff. His sallow skin looked even more pallid than it had been in school years previous, the bags and dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced. If it was possible, even his hair seemed more lank. Something told Hermione that he was not caring for himself.
“Something isn’t right, sir. Why would the Ministry not want us to defend ourselves? The material sounds more like they are trying to indoctrinate us rather than teach us.”
“Spot on, Miss Granger.” He pulled her hand from the bowl, and it appeared as if nothing had ever been carved into it. He waved a hand over the bowl, and the used potion disappeared.
Hermione flexed her hand, relishing in the pain free movement. “Is there a way for me to take some of this to Harry? I’m worried about his wounds. I think they are beginning to get infected.”
Professor Snape nodded. “Is there anything else you needed, Miss Granger, other than a therapy session?” He pulled a box from beneath his desk and placed the vials inside. “Equal parts of each, dilute with one and a half parts water. It does not need to be warmed, though it is much more comfortable for the user.”
Her time with Professor Snape was ending, and she had yet to approach the real reason for her visit. She took a deep breath. “I honestly came to talk about Harry.”
“I will not be discussing Potter. I have already gathered that he has told you everything that had occurred during his lessons, and I would be grateful if you keep that information to yourself, unless you wish to spend the rest of the year in detention dissecting animals for ingredients — Without magic or gloves.”
Hermione shuddered at the thought. “Sir, I only want to explain that Harry and I have both been bullied quite relentlessly and so we know how it feels. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, I know Harry wouldn’t either. Harry isn’t like his father, how he actually was, not like everyone else claims him to be. Harry had no right to be snooping through your memories, Professor, and you had every right to be angry with him for it. But, I think you need to know that what he saw changed his whole perspective about his father. Harry isn’t anything like this father, he isn’t a relentless bully, he doesn’t torment people just for existing, and he never would. Based on what he said, he’s far more like his mother, who stood up for people. I’ve told him to apologize, but he says you won’t hear it, Sir.”
“I don’t know what you are trying to accomplish with your speech, Miss Granger, but this is not the place for it, and I have no interest in hearing your defense of Potter or his actions.” Any kind of camaraderie that had developed, however imagined on her part, was quickly squashed with his tone and expression. “You are both my students. I am here to instruct you and guide you, not be your friend.”
“I don’t want to see you in my office again for any reason unrelated to MY class.” He paused, thoughtfully. “I will speak with Professor McGonagall about the blood quills.”
“Please think about what I said, sir. That’s all I ask.” She stood from her chair and started for the door. “Thank you for listening, and for my hand.”
As she trekked back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione hoped she had planted the seeds of change into her professor’s head. It wasn’t much, but it is what she could do. Now to work on straightening out Harry.