Chapter Five — First Engagements

"Hermione?"

Neville stared in shock. The person standing in front of him had certainly sounded like Hermione. He'd heard "Oh, Neville," in that tone of voice too many times over the years to mistake it for anyone else but Hermione, but it was a transformed Hermione that stood in front of him now. She looked like Snape! Or, she looked like Snape, if Snape had been born a petite, bushy-headed girl.

In a kind of daze, Neville slowly ran his eyes over her hair, down to her feet and then back up to her head again. She was dressed head-to-toe in black; she was even wearing thick-heeled boots that gave her form added height. She'd gone so far as to charm her hair black. She'd not changed the length or the corkscrew curls that gave it its bushy nature, but there was no mistake that she was impersonating the dreaded Potions master. Even knowing it was just Hermione playing dress-up, Neville still swallowed hard as he met the glamoured black eyes of the girl standing in front of him. Hermione as Snape . . . it was decidedly creepy.

"Hermione, what is all this?" Neville waved a hand to emphasize Hermione's new attire.

Hermione glanced down at herself and then spun around in a tight circle. She did her best imitation Snape scowl and then ruined it by breaking out in a huge grin as the robes swirled about her and then fell in graceful waves around her boots. "You know," she said, "there is something fun and empowering about these robes. I can see why he favors them."

"You've gone absolutely barmy," Neville choked out, his expression caught somewhere between horror and a sick kind of fascination as he continued to stare at the transformed Hermione.

Hermione laughed aloud at that. "Not barmy, Neville, it's just part of the plan."

She pulled around one of the desk stools and seated herself across from him, settling her robes around her in inky pools. "Professor Snape intimidates you. We are going to try to retrain your responses to him so that when you feel him standing behind you in class, it will be no different than me standing behind you in here. It won't be easy, Neville. It will take some work on your part. If you don't want to work at this, tell me now."

Neville thought about his greenhouse dreams and chances of actually passing Potions this year before he nodded his head, a grim expression on face. "I'm in, Hermione. If you think this will work and you can help me, then I'll do whatever you want. I want to pass Potions. I HAVE to pass Potions."

"Okay, then here is what we are going to do.Professor Snape does his lectures on Thursdays, gives out his essay assignment, then we hand in homework and brew on Tuesdays with readings given for the next Thursday's lecture. That's his pattern and he rarely deviates from it. You and I will meet here on Wednesdays to go over readings and walk through what potion we're going to brew on Tuesday. Then on Monday we'll pre-brew the potion we'll brew in class."

Neville looked a little skeptical. "How's that going to help me? Destroying a potion in here first won't make a difference."

"It's going to help, because we are going to work out the reasons of WHY you mess up a potion first, so that you don't make that mistake when you get in class. We, Neville, are going to re-invent the way you brew. I've noticed that when you lay out your equipment, it's not in any kind of order. Plus, you sometimes have ingredients on your desk that you don't need. That's what happened with the Rejuvenation Potion we did last month. Professor Snape was standing behind you. You got flustered and picked up the first thing within reach, which was sea salt. Sea salt shouldn't have even been out on your worktable."

"And you think this will work?" Neville could help the doubt that was still coloring his voice.

Hermione got to her feet and then settled into classic Snape stance; feet braced and arms crossed across her chest as she looked down a haughty nose at Neville. "I know it will."

An hour later, Neville decided that if Professor Snape didn't kill him in Potions class, Hermione would in pseudo-Potions class. She'd started with throwing rapid-fire questions at him from their reading for the next day's lecture; questions she felt Professor Snape might ask the class. She'd corrected, expanded and refined his answers until Neville felt his brain would explode from the information. And all the while, she'd paced, swooped, and stalked around the classroom as if she really was Professor Snape, snarling out rude comments when he got something wrong and adding and deducting imaginary House points. At least, he hoped they were imaginary. You could never be too sure about things in the Room of Requirement. For all practical purposes, this was the Potions classroom and Hermione was Professor Snape. The Room of Requirement just might decide that he really required points to be added and deducted. He'd earned a generous, by Professor Snape standards, total of eight points for Gryffindor that evening, while losing a respectable 55 points. Although, he had broken down into laughter when she'd taken off 10 points for breathing, something even Professor Snape hadn't tried yet. It had felt good to laugh though. He didn't think he'd ever laughed at having points removed before. It was a rather novel experience.

When she had finally released him from their tutorial session, Neville was exhausted and sweaty. He was also nurturing a small hope for the next day's lesson. For the first time in his days at Hogwarts, Neville was feeling fairly confident on his ability to handle, if not Professor Snape, at least Professor Snape's class.

Even knowing that the Room of Requirement would just disappear, Neville cleaned and straightened up his work area under Hermione's watchful eye. Neville felt a surge of satisfaction as she nodded in approval as everything was packed up properly.

"Neville?"

"Yes, Professor Granger-Snape?"

"Oh, stop it," she groused good-naturedly.

"Well, you know, Hermione, if the black robes fit." Neville had rather enjoyed teasing Hermione with her new name of 'Professor Granger-Snape.' She gave the funniest twitches every time he said it.

"All teasing aside, there is something else I want you to do, Neville. It's going to seem kind of silly, but I think it will help you overcome some of your fear."

"What is it?"

"Muggles refer to it as humanizing your fear. You give your fear a name or a face. You talk to it, relate to it as if it was real. It allows you to confront the thing — in this case, Professor Snape — in a way that puts you in control. You understand?"

Neville tilted his head to one side and watched Hermione. She seemed rather nervous about whatever it was she wanted him to do. It fact, this was the first time Neville had seen her nervous all evening. "Hermione, I don't care if it is silly. If it will get me an Outstanding in Potions, I'll do it."

"I promise, I think it will help." Flashing him an encouraging smile, Hermione walked over to an object sitting on the Professor's desk. Bringing it back across the room, she handled Neville a black-clad bundle about six inches long.

Carefully Neville pulled back the black cloth wrapping the object until it lay exposed in his hand. "Hermione, this is . . ."

"Yeah, it is," she agreed.

Well, that explained her nervousness and why she thought he'd think it silly. "You know," he said, "I was only kidding earlier when I called you barmy. But, this you really are nuts."

Hermione gave him a half-hearted shrug. "You don't have to, Neville, but it's a proven method for learning to confront your fears."

Neville looked uncertainly up at Hermione and then back down to the . . . thing. "What am I suppose to do with it?"

"Carry it with you. Talk to it. Confront it. Sleep with it."

Neville's eyes widened at that one. "Sleep with it?"

Hermione gave a huff of amusement at Neville's expression. "Okay, maybe not sleep with it."

"Hermione, do you have any idea what the other guys will do to me if they find me with this, or, Merlin forbid, if someone from Slytherin found me with this? I would never live it down. Forget passing Potions, I'll never be able to leave my room again. Are you sure this will help?"

Hermione could hear the doubt and underlying fear in his voice so she injected as much confidence as she could into her own. "Neville, I know it's a lot to ask, but I really do think it can help. Besides, you are a Gryffindor, and we aren't afraid of things that might not even happen."

Neville wrinkled his nose in mock-disgust. "Oh yeah, don't think I don't know that trick. Anytime anyone wants to get a Gryffindor to do something, they just appeal to their sense of bravery." Neville sighed. He knew he'd do it. He'd do about anything to get through Potions, even this. "Just promise me that if anyone finds out that you'll sneak food up to my room so I don't starve to death in my disgrace."

Putting on an appropriately solemn expression, she raised her hand over her heart. "I promise, Neville."

Feeling just as silly as Hermione had said he would, Neville raised his arm up and lifted the small doll bespelled to look like Professor Snape up to eye level. "Well, Professor Snape," Neville said, addressing the doll in his hand, "it's time to head back to Gryffindor. And whatever you do, please, please make sure you stay out of sight."With the Neville part of the plan begun, Hermione turned her attention back to bullet point number one of S.N.O.R.T.'s agenda — respect. That was going to be a fuzzier topic than Neville's Potions disasters to deal with. She'd decided to start where she started all her projects. As far as Hermione was concerned, the library was the place where all good plans began. She'd learned from her mistakes with the house-elves. With them she'd not researched or understood things from their perspective. Hermione Granger didn't make the same mistakes twice. She had checked out several books on the history of the House of Slytherin, and two books that were promising to be very interesting reads on Pureblood society within the wizarding world. To truly respect someone, you had to understand them and she was going to do her best to understand the man she'd taken on as her pet project. She was going to give herself a crash course in what being Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, really meant.

Having secured her bedtime reading for the next few weeks, she turned to Phase II of the respect campaign. The timing would have to be precise. Hesitation or doubt would cost her dearly. Too quickly and he would be past her before she could do it. Too slowly and she ran the risk of him stopping her with point deductions or detentions, and she'd had her fill of dead bugs.

So here she was — the moment was right, the place was right, the time was right.

Professor Snape stalked down the hallway towards her, parting students before him like some kind of malevolent Moses. The first years even plastered themselves against the walls in fear as he passed. Careful to stay her course, she refused to make a wide berth around him.

She was quick to tell herself that the pounding of her heart and sweaty palms gripping her Arthimancy book was due to nervousness and not fear. Gryffindor indeed, you'd think she was about to walk past Voldemort himself.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One-

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape."

And she was past him, so close that she felt the trailing edge of his teaching robes brush against her left ankle in a caress of black wool. He'd said nothing in return. Not that she'd expected him too, although he had flicked his eyes in her direction in a vague sort of acknowledgement. It wasn't much, but then he hadn't sneered at her either. He'd not even taken House points and if ever there was a teacher who could and would devise a method to take points for issuing a greeting, Professor Snape was it.

Continuing down the hallways, her thoughts continued to follow the man disappearing quickly behind her. Had she said the greeting with enough sincerity? Too sweet? Too enthusiastic? Had she smiled too much or not enough?

So began Hermione's campaign to acknowledge the professor everyone avoided.Harry laughed as Neville danced around them once again. Hermione was happy to hear the sound. Harry had not laughed enough, in her opinion, lately. It pleased her that Neville was happy and through Neville, Harry was happy. Casting an eye at some of Neville's more intricate dance steps, she decided that Neville probably qualified more at the ecstatic end of the scale. Happy was too mundane a description. Neville took that moment to do a hip wiggle that had Hermione choking back laughter. The other students in the hallway were casting them odd looks, but most were ignoring the Gryffindors. Seeing fellow students come out of the corridor leading down to the Potions classroom exhibiting the extremes of emotion wasn't anything new. Granted, those extremes were usually anger or tears but dancing could be accepted too.

"Did you hear him?" Neville asked again.

Ron answered this time for the group. "Yes, Neville, we heard him. We were there."

"Did you see his face as he said the words?"

It was Harry's turn to answer. "Yes, Neville, we saw his face. We were there."

Neville did another half-skip and bounce. "I wish Colin could have gotten a picture of it. I can't wait to tell Gran."

"Mr. Longbottom, is dancing in the halls really necessary?" Professor McGonagall's crisp tones halted Neville mid pirouette, but could not extinguish the grin still plastered on his face.

"Sorry, Professor. It's just that Professor Snape made me happy. It's hard to control."

The Transfiguration teacher did nothing to hide her look of surprise. "Professor Snape made you happy?" she questioned.

"Yes, Ma'am." Neville bounced again on his toes. "We had a lecture today on the Stress Reduction potion and its applications. I answered Professor Snape's questions." Neville giggled, as the excitement washed through him again and then leaned conspiratorially towards McGonagall as if he was about to impart something of vital importance. "Professor Snape gave me five points TO Gryffindor," he whispered, though it was loud enough that everyone could hear him. It was very obvious that Neville Longbottom was drunk on his own happiness. "I got a point for each question I answered correctly. I even answered the one about the circumstances when it's contraindicated." Neville eyes were lit up with glee. "Oh professor, you should have seen the expression on his face when no one else raised their hand to answer that one. Not even Hermione!"

It was easy to see that Professor McGonagall was fighting with herself to keep from smiling herself at Neville's antics though she cut her eyes over to Hermione as Neville finished. "I see," she said. "Five points from Professor Snape is cause for dancing indeed." Her focus still on Hermione she added, "Especially for a question that even Miss Granger couldn't answer."

Neville, completely oblivious to the undercurrents of the Professor's words, went back to bouncing on his toes. "Yes, Ma'am," he answered. Hermione remained silent, though she did duck her head under the probing stare of her Head of House.

Finally giving into a small chuckle, McGonagall swept her eyes over the others. "I think you three best see that Mr. Longbottom makes it to the Great Hall for lunch." Still chuckling, she moved off further down the corridor.Professor Snape settled into his usual seat at the High Table only to be confronted with a madly grinning Minerva McGonagall, proving once again that the Hogwarts grapevine moved faster than Owl post. He had no doubts as to what put that decidedly annoying expression on her face.

Playing his part for the other teachers at the table, he sneered in disgust. "Not a word, Professor."

Hoping to dissuade the woman from continuing, he turned to his lunch and reached for the plate in front of him. Using his fork, he broke through the crust on his Shepherd's Pie only to swallow hard against the wave of nausea that went through him as the smell of stewed meat and vegetables rose up in a cloud of steam.

Leaning back, he took several quick, shallow breaths hoping Minerva was too occupied to notice the sweat popping up on his forehead or the sudden shaking of the hand holding his fork. Luck, fickle bitch that she was, decided that he was due a small break as Minerva carried on oblivious to his discomfort.

"Now, Severus," she said, her voice a study in sweet innocence, "I've no idea what you are talking about."

Deciding that he'd rather play the Game than try his lunch, he pasted a superiorly smug expression on his face. "You, like most of your House, are a horrible liar."

He noticed with some small sense of accomplishment that the other teachers were eavesdropping on their conversation. At the table with him now, he knew only Minerva, Hagrid and Albus as Order members. He'd long suspected Vector and Flitwick as members, but like the Dark Lord with the Death Eaters, only Albus knew the name and faces of all the Order Members. It was an exercise in potential damage control rather than trust, in case any of them were ever compromised, or, in his own case, if the suspicions of the rest of the Order were confirmed and he really was the traitor in their midst. To remain ignorant of the names of most of the Order was his concession to their fears. He was careful to not acknowledge the small stab of regret that always hit him as he wondered what the last years might have been like if he'd been free to acknowledge these people who sat around him as both friends and colleagues.

Spearing a potato with his fork to give the appearance of eating, Severus gave the performance they all expected of him. "Before you choke on your own amusement, yes, I gave Longbottom five points in class today. I'm sure that it is probably a sign of some coming apocalypse. The boy knew every answer, even the one not found in the reading. It was unnatural and against the very order of the universe. I'd have thought Miss Granger was feeding him answers, but I was watching the girl the whole time." He snorted in disgust. "It was obvious that the boy had been coached in his responses. However, if some selfless Gryffindor martyr and I have no doubts it was a Gryffindor — wishes to take on the dunderheads for me, they are more than welcome to them."

Finishing with a heartfelt, "Good riddance to the lot," he stood, the very picture of an aggravated Potions master. Gathering his robes around him, he gave a slight bow to Albus. "If you will excuse me, Headmaster." Without waiting for a response, he turned and stepped down from the raised dais that held the High Table to head back to the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Minerva's rising laughter and the sounds of the other teachers settling into friendly joking.

Across the Hall, a pair of observant eyes followed his progress as he made his way from the room; eyes that noted that once again, Professor Snape had eaten nothing of his meal.It was official; subtle was not in her nature. Neither was patient, nor slow. What had seemed, in the beginning, like two simple adjustments to her behavior were providing harder to manage than giving Neville confidence in Potions.

It really was two small, relatively simple things. What she asked of herself shouldn't have been any harder than what she asked of Neville — first, stop raising her hand to every question put forth in Professor Snape's class and second, write no more and no less than the assignment length on her Potions essays.

Easy. Simple. Easy and simple for a Slytherin. Easy and simple for a Hufflepuff. Maybe slightly harder for a Ravenclaw. Near impossible for one over-achieving Gryffindor, Muggle-born witch inclined to prove herself good enough for the wizarding world. In trying to curb her excesses, Hermione began to realize that she had a lot of issues. Her parents had always encouraged Hermione to 'Know Herself.' She was beginning to realize that she didn't know herself as well as she'd always thought.

Class had been hard enough. In the beginning, she'd decided to limit her answers to one question in every three. Before the end of the first class after making her new resolution, the urge to answer was so strong that she'd had to sit on her hands to keep from thrusting them up in the air. Of course, Professor Snape had taken off 10 points for disturbing the class with her inability to sit still. Was it her fault if sitting on her hands was uncomfortable?

Now she was facing her second trial by fire. Squinting down at the ruler in her hand, Hermione measured off the parchment one last time, careful to keep the scream of frustration she could feel bubbling up inside from escaping. No matter how good she knew it would feel, screaming like a banshee would only end up scaring the first years.

Lifting her head slightly, she sent a baleful look at those self-same first years as they sat on the floor in front of the Common Room fireplace playing a game of Exploding Snap. Their laughter was starting to grate on her nerves, their carefree attitudes a personal affront as she wrestled with her homework. How dare they be finished while she continued struggling with the last eight inches?

Muttering darkly under her breath, she refocused on her Potions essay.

"Uhm, Hermione?"

"What?" snapped Hermione, her temper frayed from her ongoing battle with the written word.

Ginny Weasley look an involuntary step back as Hermione raised her head. Seeing Ginny's stricken face, Hermione let out a deep sigh, a chagrined look replacing her scowl. "Sorry, Ginny. I didn't mean to snap at you." She gestured at her parchment with her ruler. "I'm working on my Potions essay. I've got another eight inches to go and it's just not cooperating."

"That explains the grumbles and growls then," Ginny said with a knowing grin. "Have you tried writing bigger? I can usually squeeze out a few extra inches that way. You can pull in the margins too but you have to be careful on that. Snape notices if you pull them in too much. That's how Colin got busted and ended up in detention." Ginny stopped as she noticed the pinched expression on Hermione's face.

"What?" Ginny asked. "Have you already tried those?"

Hermione tilted her head forward until she could rest the bridge of her nose against her fingers. She had no idea how much like Professor Snape she looked, especially in those moments when he was confronted by some bit of student idiocy he could not understand. "I'm not trying to ADD another eight inches. I'm trying to CUT eight inches. It's too long, not too short."

Ginny began laughing. "Hermione, I love you death and I want you to take this in the spirit it's intended. Ron's right you're nuts!"

"Everyone keeps saying that," Hermione muttered softly.

"What?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing.

Upon seeing the distressed look on her friend's face, Ginny relented in her laughter. "Give it here," she offered. "Let me look at it. A fresh pair of eyes couldn't hurt."

Twenty minutes, a lot of black ink, two hair pulls, and one short banshee wail that did indeed scare the first years later, Hermione had a paper exactly 48 inches long. She directed a tired smile at Ginny. "Thanks, Gin. I couldn't have done it without you."

Exchanging a heartfelt goodnight with the other girl, Hermione gathered up her things. She was exhausted and right now all she wanted was to sleep. Tonight there would be no thinking about Neville. No thinking about ways to be polite. No thinking about too long essays or the damnable urge to raise her hand in class. And there would especially be no thinking about Professor Snape.

 

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