CHAPTER 4
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 4 ~ Making a Date
Harry sat on the porch staring out at the water, the incoming breeze rifling his dark hair as he sat belted in the wooden rocking chair. Dobby did this so Harry wouldn’t wander down to the beach while he and the other elves took care of house business inside, not that Harry ever tried to leave his seat on his own. He had to be led.
The wizard’s green eyes took in his surroundings almost blankly as he sat expressionless, with no reason to either laugh or cry. He just was. Everything in the world went on around him…he was like the calm at the center of existence’s storm.
Suddenly the wizard stretched out, his arms and legs spasming then locking, and his consciousness was drawn away from him, flying across the water at an impossible speed, passing over continents and islands until he came to a place full of people with cupped hands, begging, thousands of people, homeless, poverty-stricken, then he was in cool jungles, flying through the bush, to a vine-covered stone ruin, then in blackness, hissing all around him, flying into dark hoods and seeing images of people screaming and banging on invisible walls, trapped in some dark place, crying for release, floating in blackness, and Harry jumping from dark robed figure to figure seeing more screaming people trapped within them. There was one thin-lipped woman who looked familiar. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Harry!” she cried through her invisible prison with a familiar Scottish accent banging on the air and watching him pass. “Harry get Albus! Get Albus!”
But Harry didn’t know who she was as he flew past, bouncing from creature to creature, then stopping, and being dragged along with them in the middle of the night, through the jungle, to a small village built of odds and ends, and there were people sleeping outside, brown-skinned and covered in thin blankets…a woman, a man and a child. He was aware of such hunger and the people, he could see what made them human…a glow, a tasty glow…then the child sat up and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering and complaining. Harry could see her breath. Then her parents roused and sat up as well, looking about then staring up at Harry and screaming, their mouths becoming large holes he fell into…and he too was screaming as he felt them or what was the life of them rush by him, the little girl screaming and banging on an invisible wall and becoming smaller, and smaller, immersed in blackness. Then the world lightened and lightened until Harry was back on the porch looking over the water. He still hadn’t moved.
But he was crying.
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Hermione returned home to her flat after work to find a beautiful snowy owl wearing a collar with the Malfoy crest patiently waiting for her…its beautiful wide eyes whirling as she approached and stepping from side to side.
“Hello Winston,” she said to the owl who flew to her shoulder and preened her hair as Hermione let herself in. She had a small, two bedroom flat. She could afford something larger but she was quite thrifty and saving as many galleons as possible toward the day she could afford to set herself up for private research. She had been saving for years, but was still a long way off from her goal.
Winston flew from Hermione’s shoulder to the table in the middle of her living room which was stacked with books and parchments. He perched on the top of a pile and watched as Hermione shrugged off her robes and kicked off her shoes. Then she walked into the kitchen and retrieved a piece of sliced ham, which she gave to the bird.
Winston wolfed it down gratefully then stuck out his leg. Hermione removed Draco’s letter, her belly tight with apprehension. Had he been successful? Had he failed? She opened the parchment, her amber eyes shifting from left to right as she read his message.
Dear Hermione,
You’re in. Send an owl to Professor Snape asking for an appointment and he will give you one. I must warn you however, my godfather is very displeased with your life choices and used the terms “idiot witch” and “wastrel” to describe you. It appears he does not approve of you working in the private sector and believed you should have taken on a patron so you would have been free to pursue private research and advance the fields of Spells Making and Potions. He considers you a failure and is not happy about meeting with you. I would have been remiss if I let you walk into the Serpent’s den without knowing the bite that was waiting for you. Surprisingly enough, my godfather went as far to say that he would have become your patron if you had asked him. Maybe you can use this information to acquire what you need of him…but then again…you are a Gryffindor and sadly lacking in cunning, so I won’t hold out much hope.
Here Hermione scowled. Draco thought all Gryffindors were goody two shoes. That really wasn’t the case. She’d done some pretty Slytherinish acts in her time when necessary without the slightest bit of guilt about it. The wizard didn’t know just how desperate or determined she was to gain access to those books. She finished reading the missive.
If you manage the impossible and get access to his books, be sure to find out the safety measures required to actually use them. Some are quite dangerous, and I don’t trust my godfather to give you the proper warnings on his own. You will have to ask him. He would most likely love to see you get bitten, sucked into or swallowed down by a tome. You can’t be sure he will bother to rescue you if this happens. He is a snarky bastard and would probably consider it your just desserts for choosing to work as you do.
Good luck, Hermione. You are certainly going to need it.
Sincerely,
Lord Draco Malfoy
Hermione read over the letter several times. Were the books really that dangerous? She was glad Draco had told her this. Most likely she would have just read the spine, grabbed a book and opened it. In fact, the way he described the books reminded her of Hagrid’s “Monster Book of Monsters” he had assigned when he first became a teacher years ago. It was a very vicious tome that had to have its spine tenderly stroked if you wanted to read it while retaining all your fingers.
Despite the warning Draco gave her about the Professor’s feelings about her, Hermione felt enthusiastic just because she managed to get an audience with the wizard. Even the Minister of Magic had been snubbed by the Potions Master on several occasions, including his own awards ceremony. Hermione looked at Winston.
“Winston, would you mind delivering a message to Hogwarts for me? I don’t have my own owl and would have to go down to the owl post tomorrow morning when I would really like to send this tonight,” she said to the owl, which bobbed his head.
“Oh thank you, Winston. I will get you a bit more ham in a bit,” Hermione smiled at the bird as she pulled out a clean bit of parchment and a muggle pen and cleared a little space on the cluttered table. She sat down and looked thoughtful. Short and sweet was the way to go.
Dear Professor Snape,
Draco has informed me you have graciously granted me an audience. I am most appreciative. Please send me a date and time which is convenient for you as soon as possible. What I wish to discuss with you is of the utmost importance. Thank you for your time.
Hermione Granger, SM, PM
Hermione read the letter over and thought it was polite and still gave an air of importance. She folded it over and magically sealed it with her wand and tied it to Winston’s leg. She then walked back in the kitchen and retrieved another bit of ham out of the cooler and fed it to the owl. Winston smacked his beak in appreciation. He wouldn’t have to hunt tonight.
“This is going to Professor Snape,” Hermione said to Winston, who suddenly blanched.
The owl looked as if it wished it had known who the letter was to be delivered to before he agreed. Unfortunately, these were bird expressions, and as a human, Hermione had no idea the bird was reacting badly to the news. She opened the front door.
“Off you go, Winston…and thank you,” Hermione said.
Winston sighed and shrugged his feathered shoulders. He had agreed to deliver the letter. Most likely the dark wizard would be at supper if he hurried. It was safer to deliver parchments to Potions Master when there were witnesses present. For some reason Winston didn’t believe Severus would be averse to trying roast owl.
He gave Hermione a parting hoot and took off out the front door, flying strongly for Hogwarts, hoping to catch the wizard in the Great Hall.
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Severus was in the Great Hall when Winston arrived at Hogwarts. The owl circled overhead and untied the parchment with his beak, letting it fall neatly into the Potions Master’s mashed potatoes. The owl beat a hasty retreat as the wizard scowled after him, his pale hand reaching for his wand reflexively. But Severus wouldn’t have hexed the bird in front of staff. Particularly Hagrid, who was ridiculously sensitive about such things. Most likely Severus would have to hex him too. But the Potions Master couldn’t care less about the student body witnessing such an act. It would make him more terrifying to them. Ah well, the bloody bird was gone so the whole issue was moot.
Severus scraped off the mashed potatoes and opened the letter. Hell, it was from Miss Granger. The witch hadn’t wasted any time. He read it over.
Hmph. Graciously agreed to grant her an audience? Hell, she had no idea how much he wanted to say no. Appreciative? He bet she was, getting a license to waste his time. Send her a time which was convenient? Convenient? This entire situation was as inconvenient as possible. As far as “utmost importance” went, that was on her. Nothing she could say would be of the slightest interest to him. If not for the basilisk heart, Severus wouldn’t ever allow Hermione in his presence. The little twit even had the nerve to sign her name using her degree initials. Hell, she wasn’t either a Spells Mistress or a Potions Mistress as far as Severus was concerned. She was a low level factory worker on a magical assembly line churning out garbage.
The wizard sighed with aggravation. When he went back to his rooms, he’d send her the blasted appointment. He’d make it as soon as possible too, so he didn’t have to agonize over the approaching meeting for too long.
He finished his meal in an even worse temper than normal, then rose from the table in a billow of robes and stalked out of the Great Hall. The volume of chatter increased dramatically when he left, as if a dampener had been lifted.
And it had.
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Severus returned to his office, sat down behind his desk and took out his schedule. He had a meeting every weekday evening for the next two weeks. Damned parent conferences. He wasn’t allowed to dispatch them quickly with statements such as “Your son is a blooming idiot,” or “Your daughter should look into the “male entertainment” sector. Dumbledore frowned on that greatly. Instead he had to go into detail, careful not to hurt the parents’ feelings…not that the little buggers ever improved. As far as Severus was concerned, these parent/teacher conferences were a waste of time. The students were more likely to improve with a bit of caning. But of course, that couldn’t be allowed.
Severus’ black eyes moved over his schedule and kept drifting to the open weekend hours he had. But that was his time, spent brewing his own elixirs and getting shitfaced on firewhiskey while listening or playing along to the classics. Severus was quite an accomplished violinist, though he never played for any other reason than his own pleasure, and certainly never played for another human being. Not even Voldemort had been aware of his talents.
Severus sighed and penned Hermione in for seven o’clock Saturday evening, just after supper and before his night of music and libation. Hopefully he’d drive her away within twenty minutes or so. Then he took out a piece of parchment and wrote the appointment down with no greeting, or attempt at being pleasant. It simply read:
Miss Granger,
Be in my presence this coming Saturday evening at seven o’clock sharp. If you are late, the appointment will be closed and not rescheduled.
SS
There, that said it all. He’d send the appointment by Raucous, his familiar early tomorrow morning.
Shit.
He couldn’t wait for Saturday to come and go.
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A/N: Well, well…it seems there is more to Harry’s condition than anyone knows. Who was that woman he saw banging on the invisible barrier? Hm. And Hermione has her appointment with Severus. The Potions Master an accomplished violinist? Why not? He has to have some pleasure in his wretched life. Please review.