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MetroVampire & Rhosymedre

Part 19 - Objects In The Mirror Can Be Larger Than They Appear

It was turning out, Hermione reflected, to be considerably less difficult to be Snape than she might have at first thought. She closed the book that she was reading - another selection from his seemingly endless library - and gazed into the fire. When you got down to it, she concluded, there was little more involved than getting the syllabus right, showing up to meetings on time and having a near-limitless capacity for drinking the Headmaster's tea. That and being grumpy and bad-tempered at every available opportunity.

No one disturbed her of an evening with new and exciting ways to involve her in breaking school rules. No one arrived on her doorstep in tears or fury, expecting her to have the answer to their current relationship crisis. No one looked pitifully at her, wailing "but Hermione, I tried that and it still didn't work". All in all, the life of Snape seemed to have some significant advantages over her own. It came with an extensive library, good clothes, an Apparating licence and freedom to come and go as you pleased

She deliberately glossed over the small issue of He-Who-Need-Not-Be-Thought-About-At-The-Moment-If-You-Don't-Mind.

She was not even missing Harry and Ron as much as she had expected to. The change of perspective had brought it home to her that she was always very much on the periphery of the trio; the one who made the schemes work or who chimed in as the Voice of Caution. Not only that, although she was grateful that the situation hadn't been discovered, she almost wished that Harry and Ron had made some kind of comment. Either Snape was doing a picture perfect impression of her, or the boys didn't pay her enough attention to be able to detect any changes. She suspected it was the latter, and it made her feel irrationally put out.

You would think that your best friends would have some idea....

Now that she was in the position of having to control groups of wilful teenagers in possession of assorted volatile substances, she was beginning to understand just how annoying their casual attitude to rules and procedures could be; what seemed amusingly daring from the point of view of the student became downright dangerous from the point of view of the teacher. She made a slightly guilty mental note to be a little less forward in class once she got her own body back.

Of course, she still thought that Snape went too far in the other direction in his treatment of the boys. But she didn't feel nearly as badly about taking house points from them as she sometimes felt that she should have done.

In fact her life had taken on a rather pleasing routine. Evenings with Snape were becoming positively enjoyable; not that he was exactly communicative, content to get on with the Potions answer to accident reconstruction, leaving her to her own devices unless he wanted something specific. Which left her free to watch him surreptitiously from behind her book.

There was no doubt that it was still a little odd to see herself moving among the cauldrons, working deftly and almost off-handedly with the ingredients, comfortable and confident. She was certain that she had never been that fluid when her own mind was in control. The more she observed, the more she thought that she could detect mannerisms and movements that stemmed from his mind rather than her body. He definitely did use it differently to her, she concluded, deciding not to question too closely the fact that she found the juxtaposition rather compelling.

That evening he had seemed to be splitting his attention between testing the interaction of dried nettle leaves and powdered stag beetle carapace, and a batch of something else. Snape was, of course, more than capable of running two, and indeed more, experiments at once, but she had caught some fumes from the smaller cauldron and they had been... well... perfumed. She hadn't enquired directly, not wanting to disturb him, or deprive herself of the opportunity to watch herself at work, but the tantalising smell lingered in her mind.

Well, it was technically her domain. There was no reason why she shouldn't go and have a look at what he was up to.

She put her book to one side and negoiated the complicated set of wards - she supposed he had reason enough to be paranoid - which allowed her entry into the work area. The beetle/nettle experiment had been cleared away; another dead end, she assumed. He would have told her quickly enough if he had found any way of getting them both out of this situation before March. However, the other cauldron had a creamy substance in it. It was definitely the source of the fragrance. It didn't look hot or posionous. Experimentally, she poked a finger into it. It came away coated in a thick white liquid. She smeared it over her fingers and sniffed. It smelt floral.

Floral and Snape were not two words that got used the in same sentence very often.

It smelt like some kind of cosmetic.

Cosmetic.

Memories of a conversation two months ago came back to her.

One in which he had told her that she should be able to make lotions and the such-like for herself. One in which she had told him to go ahead as long as no one noticed. She looked again at the cauldron. Well, there was making cosmetics and there was making cosmetics. There was enough here to last her for years. It looked like he was preparing to supply the whole of Gryffindor House, if not Hogwarts. She shook her head. If his own bathroom was anything to go by, he had little or no experience of anything more than basic hygiene. Perhaps, he was overcompensating. She made a mental note to have a word with him about it.

She was about to finish up and go back to her rooms, when there was a knock on the door.

It made her jump. It was late and no one - but no one - sought out Professor Snape when they didn't have to.

The visitor turned out to be, of all people, Professor McGonagall. And she looked worried. Very worried.

"Ah, Severus, I thought I might find you here when you weren't in your rooms."

Hermione felt a flutter of apprehension. Given what she had been able to glean of the personal relationship between McGonagall and Snape, she felt that her Head of House was unlikely to be paying unsolicited late evening calls to the dungeons unless there was something very badly wrong. Certainly not to make bland comments about his whereabouts. She sought the appropriate response.

"What do you want, Minerva?"

"You obviously haven't heard then?"

Obviously.

"Heard what?"

She didn't like the way this was going. Her earlier confidence about the ease of being Snape began to wobble.

Minerva McGonagall sighed.

"I thought that you might have done, under the circumstances."

What circumstances?

Hermione didn't need to feign her shortness, although she made worry look like annoyance.

The Head of Gryffindor gathered herself.

"There's been another Death Eater attack."

Oh Gods!

Hermione fought not to visibly panic.

"Who?" she asked curtly, not trusting herself to manage more. Names and faces were flying through her head - her family, the Weasleys; shock making her momentarily forget that McGonagall thought that she was Snape.

"Alice Lacock's family."

She had to struggle with the name; familiar, yet not one that she was expecting to hear.

"Severus?"

She had been silent too long. McGonagall's concerned query didn't so much bring her back to herself as bring her back to the fact that she was supposed to be someone else.

"What happened?" The question was as much to buy herself time as anything.

"The usual sort of thing, I would imagine." The Scotswoman's voice was harsh. "Fortunately, the Ministry appears to have had some advance warning. The Aurors were there moments after the Death Eaters and disrupted it. Amelia Lacock suffered Crucio but survived. She's in St Mungo's at the moment. Brian Lacock was taken by the Death Eaters when they apparated out. The Ministry are searching for him now."

"I see." Again trying to get her mind to work not panic.

"You'll have to tell the girl, of course."

That remark sent Hermione's panic spiralling again.

Me? Why me? There must be someone else. This has to be Dumbledore's job, not mine.

"I would have thought that the Headmaster...."

"Albus was called away urgently to the Ministry earlier this evening. I'm sorry, Severus, and before you ask - no, I won't be involved. It should come from her Head of House. You'll just have to do it." McGonagall sounded very tired, the combative tone almost absent from her voice. "Her grandfather will be here in the morning to take her to St Mungo's to see her mother. Otherwise, it's best if she stays here. I'll let you know if there's any more news."

Hermione watched as the other woman left and tried not to give in to her first impulse to flee to her old rooms and dump this squarely back on to Snape. She couldn't do this; simply couldn't. They would have to stop this ridiculous charade; find some other solution. She was half way to the door, when she realised the significance of something else that McGonagall had said: I thought that you might have heard.

Why didn't he know? Why hadn't he told her?

She stopped and shook her head to try and clear it. This was ridiculous. She was going to get Snape and that was all there was to it. She told herself this repeatedly, striding through the corridors, oblivious to her surroundings until she found herself coming to a standstill part way down a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

The entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

No. This wasn't where I was going. I was going to the Gryffindor Common Room.

And yet....

She remembered Alice Lacock. A third year Slytherin. Unusually quiet. A small, shy girl who had come to Hermione's door one day, wanting to ask the Head Girl about a personal problem. And she had come intermittently ever since, talking in circles, sometimes sitting in embarassed silence, but never once telling Hermione precisely what was wrong.

If she refused to continue with the arrangement, Snape could no longer continue in his role as a spy. If he could no longer continue as a spy then the Ministry would be able to stop less attacks. Which meant that more families like the Lacocks would be put in danger, and Alice Lacock's parents might have died. She didn't want to think about the fact that Brian Lacock might still be dead. And this was irrespective of the personal danger that they would both be in.

Damn!

She muttered the password and entered the Slytherin Common Room.

The long, low room was all but deserted at that time of night, but she was still greeted with a handful of "Good evening, Professor Snape"s. She looked around and spotted Millicent Bulstrode in one corner.

Pansy must still be out somewhere with Draco, she thought with a burst of pure Hermione. Perfect.

"Miss Bulstrode," she said, without moving from the entrance to the Common Room. Millicent visibly jumped.

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"I would be grateful if you would go up to the third year dormitories and get Miss Lacock for me. I need to speak to her as a matter of urgency."

Millicent Bulstrode blinked once, and then disappeared. She was back a few silent minutes later with a sleepy Alice Lacock, who had clearly had just enough time to pull a robe on over her nightdress.

Here goes.

"Thank you. Miss Bulstrode. Miss Lacock, I need to to speak to you privately. Will you accompany me to my office?" The girl's eyes widened in apprehension and something else that Hermione didn't have the spare time or attention to analyse. She meekly followed behind as Hermione led the way along the corridor.

When they finally got to the office, she found she had no idea how to begin; no idea at all how Snape would handle this. She doubted that he would offer the hot chocolate and sympathy of Albus Dumbledore. Then again, she couldn't imagine that even he would say "Death Eaters attacked your family, your mother's injured, your father's missing, I hope your Potions homework won't be late because of this".

The girl was looking at her, face pale, hair tousled from sleep, waiting for her to say something.

Damn it. This simply wasn't fair.

"Miss Lacock," she began, "please take a seat." The girl obediently sat down. "I have some... um... bad news I'm afraid." She swallowed. Bad start. Snape didn't stammer. Alice seemed not to notice, but she did get a little paler. "There was an attack tonight, and I'm sorry to to tell you that your parents were..." what? "... hurt," she settled for. She tried to ignore the tears forming in Alice's eyes. There was no other option than to just get it over with. There was no way to dress it up nicely. "Your mother was injured, and is in St Mungo's. Your father is missing and the Ministry are looking for him." Hermione ploughed on, deliberately not looking at the girl with her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. "Your grandfather will be here tomorrow to take you to St Mungo's. Otherwise, we think it best if you stay here. You will, of course, be told as soon as there is any news about your father."

Alice Lacock was now sobbing audibly. Hermione felt utterly helpless. The only experience she had to fall back on was her own; she had no frame of reference for putting a Snape spin on this. She didn't feel even slightly Snape-ish, but completely like herself. She couldn't just sit impassively and watch this happen. She fished in her robes and brought out a handkerchief. Moving over to the girl's chair, she laid an awkward hand on one shoulder and pressed the large square of white cotton into a shaking hand.

"Um, Miss Lacock... Alice... can I get you anything... a cup of tea, perhaps?" Oh yes, that'll make it all all right.

A small hand clenched on hers where she was trying to hand over the handkerchief and then Alice Lacock buried her face in Hermione's robes. Even as she patted the girl uncertainly, she was fairly convinced that this was something that Snape wouldn't do.

There'll be hell to pay when he finds out about this, she thought miserably, torn in two by the anguish of the girl clutching at her.

She carried on giving as much comfort as she dared, and eventually Alice calmed enough to return to her dormitory. Still feeling responsible, Hermione offered to walk her back to the entrance to the Common Room. She did note that Alice seemed to stay very close to her, but she was still off balance and simply put it down to distress. When they parted at the concealed entrance Alice turned to her suddenly and said:

"Thank you, Professor Snape. For everything." Alice's eyes were wide and still shining with tears, and her face was slightly flushed. There was something in her expression that unnerved Hermione a fraction.

"That's all right," she said, striving to regain the appropriate detachment. "Now, go back to bed and try to get some sleep."

Obediently, Alice disappeared through the wall. It was only after that wall had closed again that Hermione realised that she hadn't retrieved her handkerchief. She let out a deep sigh and ran her hand through her hair, unusually irritated by its customary stickiness.

That's it, she thought viciously, tomorrow he gets shampooed whether he likes it or not.

Her heart and her head were both pounding, for different reasons. She decided that it would be pointless to even attempt to sleep now; she might as well try to walk off some of the tension. It wasn't as if the sight of Professor Snape prowling the corridors would even twitch a suspicious eyebrow.

By the time she got to the Arithmancy corridor she was thoroughly annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that Snape hadn't warned her about this part of his job. Annoyed that he hadn't told her that an attack was imminent. Annoyed and frightened by her sudden fall out of character. Annoyed and frustrated at her helplessness in the face of Alice's distress, choosing to conveniently ignore the fact that the Head Girl would have been just as powerless to change the situation as the Head of Slytherin. She rounded a corner and stopped; some sixth sense, presumably belonging to her current body, telling her that she was not alone. Sure enough, as she waited, a wand and then an arm, and then a body - in fact, three bodies to be precise - emerged from thin air.

How absolutely bloody typical.

"And just what do you three think you're doing here, at this time of night?"

Her voice rang down the corridor. Three figures froze and then slowly turned towards her. Ron and Harry, of course.... and him.

How bloody dare he go gallivanting around the castle with those two after the night that she had had?

"Well?" she enquired, folding her arms. "I await the explanation with bated breath. For I am sure that nothing less than life threatening peril could have drawn you from your beds in defiance of the curfew. Especially not Miss Granger, our esteemed and respected Head Girl." She shot a poisonous glance in Snape's direction, who, she noted with satisfaction, had the decency to look down, if not actually abashed.

"We were...," began Harry.

"We thought...," added Ron.

They both trailed off.

"And what about you, Miss Granger? Would you like to add a first person plural verb form to the collection?"

Snape looked thunderous but said nothing. So be it. She really wasn't in any kind of a mood to humour him.

"Naturally," she continued, "I have long since ceased to expect any kind of compliance with the rules of this school from you, Mr Potter or you, Mr Weasley, and I can assure you that it is my deepest regret that I cannot bring this latest infraction to the immediate attention of the Headmaster, as he is presently away from the school." Was it her imagination or did Snape's expression flicker a little at that. "I don't want to think about what you are doing here...." At this Ron opened his mouth and she held up a hand before he could say anything; Ron really wouldn't recognise a rhetorical statement if it wore an illuminated sign. "Please, Mr Weasley, spare me." Ron subsided mutinously. "Fifty points apiece from Gryffindor." She ignored the bitten off protest from Ron and the flinch from Harry. "And as for you, Miss Granger," she rounded on Snape. "I would have thought that you, at least, would have had the sense to prevent this little escapade. Given your position within this school, I find it inconceivable that you could have entertained this excursion for the smallest moment. I'm sure," she added for good measure, aware that the fury on Snape's face was giving way to something closer to astonishment, "that were our positions to be reversed, you would be the first to condemn such irresponsible behaviour. I find it to be highly unbecoming of the Head Girl to be seen to be condoning this kind of conduct. Seventy points from Gryffindor."

The boys choked. Even Snape blinked. At that moment Hermione really didn't care. She'd had to tell a student that her father might be dead, her best friends couldn't even see when she wasn't herself and Snape was siding with them.

"Get back to your dormitories," she ended. As they moved away from her, she had a second thought. "Not you, Miss Granger. I have another matter to discuss with you."

She heard a sub-vocal mutter from Ron Weasley that she chose to ignore, and noted that Harry laid a reassuring hand on Snape's arm, squeezing gently. Then they were gone, out of sight around a corner, and she was left facing Snape who had lost a great deal of his earlier submissive demeanour.

"Well?" he said, irritably. "Is there any chance that you intend to explain that little temper tantrum?"

"Do I need to?" she returned waspishly. "You've never bothered to explain yours."

He sighed theatrically.

"I assume that I do have a reason for behaving like a child that has broken its favourite toy?" It wasn't the old Snape, but it was close enough to activate what was left of Hermione's respect for teachers instinct.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she hissed.

"Tell you what?" His puzzlement seemed genuine enough.

"About the attack?"

"Attack?" His voice was suddenly sharp and urgent. "What attack?"

She was about to snap at him, and then wondered if he really hadn't known about it.

"There was a Death Eater attack tonight," she informed him wearily. "The Lacock family."

Briefly, she outlined the sequence of events as she knew them. She only tangentially mentioned comforting Alice in his office. He didn't appear to pick up on it. His face was grim when she finished.

"I didn't know that there was due to be an attack," he said eventually. "Voldemort doesn't tell every one of us everything. He likes to ensure that no one has the full picture." She must have looked sceptical, for he glared at her. "I would have warned you otherwise, girl," he said harshly, although she sensed that the harshness was not particularly directed at her. "I suppose that's why Albus is away," he added to the air. His worry was clearly apparent on his face, even masked by her more pliable features.

She felt a flash of shame at her earlier outburst and her blithe thoughts about how easy it was to be Snape.

"I don't know for certain," she said. "Professor McGonagall only said that he was called to the Ministry."

Snape nodded.

"There's nothing more we can do tonight," he said eventually. Hermione wanted to protest but knew that he was right. Not that she expected to sleep until Dumbledore was back. And possibly not even then.

"Yes," she said absently. "You may as well go back to your dormitory. I'll let you know in the morning if there's any news."

She had turned away from him, heading back towards her rooms, so she missed the sudden quirk of his eyebrow at his rather peremptory dismissal.