Chapter Text
Severus leaned back against his bench, examining the setup before him. Pepperup Potion kept long enough that he only had to brew it once for the whole year. He usually opted to do so shortly after classes started in the fall: students often fell prey to sniffles while adjusting to the colder clime of northern Scotland after their long, warm summers, and he was less busy with grading in the autumn than during the spring flu season.
The problem was one of preparation: brewing the amount of Pepperup required to fortify the school against ailments took hours of chopping, grinding, and juicing before he could put a single stirring rod in a cauldron. He’d gotten lucky with a spate of detentions the past few days, but he’d had to redo half the dunderheads’ work when his spells revealed contamination. The likelihood that the contamination originated with his supplier (who would be hearing from him…personally) was the only thing that saved Hufflepuff’s hourglass from cracking under the sudden vacuum of house points.
Once, the exact culprit would hardly have mattered. He grimaced ruefully. The horrors of the past year had certainly taken the fight out of him.
Despite his arguments, he’d been dragged back to the school as soon as he’d been cleared before the Wizengamot…as headmaster, no less. Never mind that Minerva was much better suited to the position than he was. Never mind that his reign could only ever be a gruesome reminder to students, staff, and parents alike of what had happened the year before. Never mind that he had come up with three different candidates who could have filled Minerva’s role when she stepped up as headmistress.
No, it had been decided: he would remain as headmaster for at least the next school year.
Slughorn - the lazy old fool - had grown some semblance of a spine now that the Dark Lord was no longer breathing down their necks. He’d ‘subtly’ reminded them all that his contract didn’t actually require him to brew for the school and that replacing him on short notice would be more trouble than it was worth, both of which were true. Thus, Severus had to drag his still-convalescing, aching arse down to his old brewing lab to spend several hours stirring cauldrons.
He enjoyed stirring cauldrons, for the most part, but Pepperup was…boring. Boring was a sight better than anything he’d done during his first year as headmaster, but still, he craved a challenge.
The only challenge he was likely to encounter that evening was to his focus, unfortunately.
At least he’d gotten lucky on his way down to the dungeons. Some dunderheaded student had let a snake roam the halls - particularly poor taste, he thought - and he was debating whether to simply use the creature for Potions ingredients or wait until he’d found whoever had unleashed it on the school.
In the end, practicality won out over the thrill of terrorising students, and he selected a knife.
It was a fine specimen of snake, he had to admit to himself. He’d always been fond of the creatures; remained fond of them, in fact, even after he’d nearly been decapitated by one. He couldn’t identify the species but it appeared healthy…if in need of a few good meals.
No sense wasting his mice, he reminded himself. If anything, being a bit underweight would make it easier to fit the remains into one of his specimen jars.
The creature kept watching him with a dedication most animals lacked. It had an odd nose, curved up on the end to an almost perfect point. The dark brown spots that decorated its body turned into long stripes at its head, giving it a pensive, almost sad appearance.
He refused to feel pity for it. A spell had confirmed that it was safe to use; it was going to contribute its fangs to his Pepperup potions, then its body would be preserved for future identification and use. Its life would not be in vain.
And still, his hand paused on the knife.
Hermione curled tighter around herself. Everything was wrong - she’d been warned about this, hadn’t she? - and she didn’t know what to do about it. She wanted to hide so badly but there was nowhere to go. She’d done everything her instincts told her to: she’d flattened out, she’d played dead (twice!), she’d tried to strike and escape. Nothing had prevented her capture.
She felt like she was in danger, but how much of that was the animal trying to take over and how much was her human mind?
She’d been so foolish.
“Severus?”
He placed the knife down - with care, it was devilishly sharp - and made his way to the door. He hated being interrupted while he was brewing.
Minerva’s pinched, worried face pricked at his long-dead conscience. She, of all people, would not have come knocking without good cause. Taking a deep breath, he answered in what he hoped was a moderated tone, “Yes, Minerva? What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen Miss Granger?”
“Have I…Minerva, I’m down here brewing. I assure you, having someone hover over my cauldrons asking questions would be more of a hindrance than a help.”
“Yes…yes, of course. If you do see anything…unusual, please do let me know?”
He nodded, frowning at the odd phrasing. Anything…unusual? Surely she should have simply asked if he’d seen a-
Realisation stopped him cold and he whirled away, not bothering to see Minerva out.
The unidentified snake fell out of the jar in an ungainly fashion and immediately tried to slither away. Before it could get very far he flicked his wand at it, hoping beyond hope that he was wrong -
The snake bulged, lengthened, and quickly resolved into one wide-eyed, flailing Hermione Granger, flattening his once-neat piles of jewelweed.
He cursed under his breath.
Of course.
Minerva mothered over the girl, which thankfully distracted her from asking what the bloody hell a student had been doing in a jar on his brewing station. This was a relief, because Severus had no desire to be berated over the matter…but he also very much wanted to know the answer to that question.
The logical conclusion was that Miss Granger was a bloody unregistered Animagus. Minerva must have known, and also must not have told him. He expected her to disregard any attempt at controlling what she taught to her little pests, given their history, but when her little pests were turning themselves into readily-available Potions ingredients it might have been wise to warn him about it.
He cleared his throat. “Minerva, what is going on?”
Minerva sniffed - sniffed! - and took a moment to compose herself. “Miss Granger has been studying to be an Animagus. The process should not have been complete quite yet…”
Both of them looked at Miss Granger, who was an interesting mix of white and red, like she couldn’t decide whether to be terrified or embarrassed. She didn’t look like the girl who’d dared to argue with him over the summer that she was of age, returning student or not, and could help with his duties as he recovered.
(He’d declined, of course. And a good thing he had, too: the girl was clearly irresponsible, war heroine or no.)
“I’m sorry,” Miss Granger said. “There was a brief lightning storm this evening, and…and I got excited. I checked my potion and it looked perfect, and something…I just knew it would work. I recited the incantation and drank the potion, and…well.”
“And you nearly became Potions ingredients yourself,” Severus growled.
Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Granger, what were you thinking? You could have been killed in the transformation - you could have been permanently mutated, half-transformed into your Animagus form! To say nothing of what could have happened when you went wandering the halls! I am disappointed - very disappointed - in your serious lack of judgement.”
“...Yes, Professor,” the girl replied, not meeting their eyes. “I…don’t really know what I was thinking. I got carried away. It’s no excuse.”
“And what if Professor Snape had put you into our Pepperup, hmm? Do you really want that on our consciences, all because of your foolishness?”
“No, Professor. Professor Snape, I’m so sorry.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Not only that, but you owe me…at least two hours of chopping to make up for what you’ve ruined.”
Miss Granger looked down, finally realising where she was, and went fully pale. “Oh - yes, of course…”
Minerva helped the girl back onto her feet with a flick of her wand and a hearty sniff. “Well, Severus, I daresay you have priority on Miss Granger’s time. As a returning eighth-year student she isn’t bound by curfew; do with her what you will. Miss Granger, you are to help Professor Snape with whatever he asks you to do, even if it’s scrubbing cauldrons. Come see me after class tomorrow and we’ll discuss this further.”
With a nod to the both of them, Minerva sailed out of the room.
Severus looked over the chaotic mess of his lab. At least he hadn’t started brewing, and he hadn’t been handling anything dangerous.
“I believe you are familiar with Pepperup?”
“...Yes, Professor.”
“I need these twenty cauldrons ready to brew. You know my methods: all ingredients in place and ready to add in the correct order. I shall retrieve additional jewelweed…and actual snake fangs.” He couldn’t stop the sneer.
The girl nodded meekly and began to chop.
To her credit, Miss Granger was quiet and quick. Unlike the Hufflepuffs she didn’t whinge about her punishment, and she did a far more consistent job than he’d expected.
Her hands shook a bit - which Severus decided, in a fit of generosity, to forgive her for - but she chopped the jewelweed evenly enough to pass muster. He, of course, could plainly see her inexperience, but it would only require a few extra stirs to account for the difference and he wasn’t about to chop the whole lot again himself.
He was going to send her up to bed when she was done, but it was still early yet. “Tell me, have you ever managed more than one cauldron while brewing?”
“Not…exactly.”
“Explain.”
She shuffled her feet. “I always kept an eye on the boys and Neville, to try to keep them from messing up too badly, but it’s not the same as doing all the work myself.”
He huffed. Gryffindors. A Slytherin would never have admitted to what was essentially cheating, not to a professor and not in her last year of school.
Then again, a Slytherin would likely have left Longbottom to blow himself up. Severus found that he…regarded Longbottom with a bit more grace, since the boy had had the wisdom to kill that ruddy snake and then leave the school. Yes, it was probably for the best that Longbottom was more than a sad smear on the dungeon walls.
“No time like the present to learn. In the drawer to your left, you will find a selection of glass stirring rods. Place one in each cauldron and fill them. Now, girl; I’m not going to babysit you here all night!”
That lit a fire under her, and she hustled off to do as he’d asked.
Pepperup was easy enough to brew in large batches. Five cauldrons at a time, the pair of them started - she adding ingredients, he charming the rods to stir to his satisfaction - then moved on to the next group while the first simmered. By the time they had finished all twenty cauldrons, the first set was ready to finish and bottle.
Severus took care of the finishing spells and quality checking, assigning Granger the unenviable task of labelling all the little bottles. Once he was done with his portion, he checked his pocketwatch. It was barely curfew. The process had taken half the time it normally did.
“...Miss Granger.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you are still interested in…assisting me, I could put in a good word with Minerva.”
Miss Granger turned to stare at him, wide-eyed. “You would do that for me, sir?”
“It’s a punishment,” he reminded her, “for your utter foolishness this evening. It won’t be easy or pleasant work, and you may very well wish you had taken whatever other punishment your Head of House has in mind.”
“I’ll do it.” No question, no clarification, and something that might actually be mistaken for a smile on her face.
Reckless, reckless Gryffindor.
“...An Animagus?”
It was their third night brewing together. Minerva had allowed the girl to serve her sentence with him…though, she’d warned, the extra lessons were likely to be more of a reward than a punishment.
Granger had certainly proven that true.
She enjoyed brewing alongside him, and her help allowed him freedom to branch out into some of the brews he actually enjoyed. Poppy likely didn’t need a batch of Ageing Potion or his improved antidote to Veritaserum, but she may as well be prepared for anything…
Granger lit up at his question. “Oh, yes. Professor McGonagall agreed to help me with it, as a practical Transfiguration project. It was a fascinating process, with elements of ritual magic and Potions as well as Transfiguration…”
“An impressive feat for one so young, let alone on your first try.” The Animagus process involved holding a mandrake leaf in the mouth for a full month - full moon to full moon - then brewing a potion with it. Then, while waiting for a lightning storm (which could be some time), one had to recite the Animagus incantation at sunrise and sunset every day. If all went well, drinking the potion during the lightning storm would unlock the ability.
It was a test of skill, patience, dedication, and raw magical power: all of which, Severus had to admit, Granger possessed. She had, after all, brewed Polyjuice in her second year. He shuddered to imagine what she could have gotten up to if she’d found the Animagus process instead.
“Are you alright, Professor?”
“Yes. You may begin on the Calming Draught. Mind the peppermint oil.”
“Of course.”
Granger may not have been a particularly inspired brewer, but she was a meticulous one. He doubted she would deviate from his recipe…which, under the circumstances, was for the best.
“A snake?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“Hmm? Oh, as my Animagus form? Yes; I…I suppose so. The funny thing is that it’s not even a native snake; Professor McGonagall thinks I’m a Western Hognose, which would come from somewhere in America.”
“And you have no family from that part of the world?”
“Not that I know of; but then, there’s all that bunk in the papers about how Muggle-borns really get their magic from squibs, so how would I know?”
There was a bitterness in her tone that made him pause. Oh yes, he could well understand why the news - entirely true, as far as he could tell, though he was no genealogist - wouldn’t go over well. She’d grown up believing that her magic was an aberration, something that spontaneously manifested in her. To find that she was likely related to some of the very families that had tried to eliminate her?
“I understand that it may not be what you want to hear, coming from someone of my…background,” he said, carefully, “but I would advise you not to dwell on it. Whether your magic does indeed come from a squib or not does not affect your own abilities or potential.”
The sounds of Granger’s chopping stopped, and he could feel her staring at him. He kept his entire focus on the cauldron in front of him and did his best to pretend that he had always spoken to her thus, like she was one of his Slytherins who needed encouragement.
“Thank you, sir,” Granger finally said, and her chopping picked up a moment later. “And I really have no idea what to make of it all. It’s not what I would have expected to turn into.”
“Hmm? What would you have expected?”
“An otter, I suppose, like my Patronus.”
It was Severus’ turn to pause. Granger had shared that information so easily, like she didn’t hate him at all. He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I would recommend caution when sharing something so personal.”
She smiled at her cutting board. “I think you have better blackmail material on me, sir,” she said. “If you wanted to use something to hurt me, this would be pretty far down on the list.”
Turning the thought over in his head, he supposed it was true. That didn’t justify adding to the pile of - in her words - blackmail material, but he could see how it would be less of a concern, all her other infractions considered.
“Speaking of which, do I have detention this Saturday?”
“Not at the moment. Why? Planning something dramatic before you sit your exams?”
“Er…no, hopefully not. Professor McGonagall was going to take me to the Ministry to register my Animagus form, but of course, I'm to make sure my detentions have priority.”
“A registered Animagus? In Gryffindor House? Astonishing. I imagine you’ll be the first since Minerva herself.”
She made a funny sound, almost like suppressed laughter. “As you say, sir.”
“I suppose I can spare you on Saturday for such a…noble cause. I won’t have accusations that I kept a law-abiding citizen from doing her duty.”
“…Thank you…? Is there a reason why I wouldn’t?”
“You were exposed to some…unsavoury elements as a child. It gladdens the heart to see you choosing not to follow such imprudent influences.” And besides, they were no longer at war, he reminded himself. It was no longer common for Death Eaters to comb through the Animagus Registry for dissenters. She would be, if not safe, then in no more danger than she already was.
“Of course, sir.”
Severus wasn’t sure why her safety mattered to him. She wasn’t Potter; she would be gone from his school in a matter of months.
And yet…
She had visited him several times as he lay in hospital, recovering and unable to send her away. She had brought little things to make his life comfortable - books, newspapers, a Cadbury’s Fuse bar - and had spoken to him like he was just another Order member injured in the war, instead of one of the people responsible for it.
He’d thought he knew what she wanted, when she asked to help him during the school year. Of course a young woman like herself, who had suffered to greatly at his hands, wouldn’t show him kindness for no reason.
After several brewing sessions, after letting her assist with his work and converse on various topics and wriggle under his skin to the point where he realised he would actually miss her company, he wasn’t so sure what she wanted after all.