Soulsavers

Hermione

Hermione could have predicted she would be welcomed into the Slug Club; in her original tenure at Hogwarts she had earned all Os, after all, and now that she deftly hadn’t confirmed or denied a relation to Granger, the famous potioneer, she knew she could expect the elegant little invitation to appear. She welcomed it – it would be a good chance to get closer to Severus (and she did always find those little dinners very nice).

That morning in the Great Hall, having recovered somewhat from the initial shock and from the pressure to perform, she turned her attention to other details. Slughorn was somewhat thinner, and had a fuller head of hair, but - like Dumbledore - he was mostly as she remembered. His voice boomed, he moved about the space confidently and more lightly than one might have expected given his size (quite unlike teenage Severus). He winked at her as she looked up from her lap where the envelope landed, and she didn’t notice that no owl had dropped anything on Severus’s lap.

The invitation said the first gathering would take place “tonight at dinnertime”. Hermione used her free period to tame her hair and try on some dress robes – nothing too flashy, this wasn’t a wedding, only the Slug Club. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself, but she knew she couldn’t fade into the background among the very few students invited to the club, and as an entirely new face, she would be scrutinized. All in all, this gathering was one of those rare occasions when grooming didn’t feel like a waste of time better spent at the library.

She settled on an elegant set of robes in a woolen dark gray that complimented her rosy complexion (Molly had complimented her on it, a thick coat of flattery on her envy), high heel shoes – as high as she could manage – and a necklace Ron had given her.

Slughorn decorated his office with autumnal colours and elements. She had been early – five minutes (and twenty years) early, and had a chance to contribute to the décor as well, as the birds she conjured fluttered about the room. Horace clasped his hands in delighted approval.

A boy entered the room right on time, one year her junior, wearing Ravenclaw colours and possibly trying to hide his prefect badge. He seemed taken aback at the look of Hermione, but it was nothing to how she felt when she saw him, his fair hair and inquisitive eyes twinkling beneath arched eyebrows. “Ms. Granger, I’m delighted to introduce you to Mr. Crouch the Second; if you’ve kept up with the news on this side of the pond you’ll know the name! The boy’s father is certain to be named Minister before long!”

She knew the name, alright, and the birds she had conjured vanished into a thin puff of smoke. This did not look like the man who successfully had – would – impersonate a battle-worn auror to gain Harry’s trust and help him “win” the Tri-Wizard Tournament. This did not look like a member of the party that stood trial for one of the most abominable crimes of the First War.

She shook her head. Of course he didn't look like him - all these things hadn't happened yet. It wasn't that he looked like someone who hadn't - he looked like someone who would never.

“Please, Professor, I can’t ask for special treatment just because of my father.”

“Of course, of course,” Horace said, and he sounded like he was winking even though he wasn’t. “And this lovely young lady is Hermione Granger, who made the wise choice to come here from Australia to complete her education.”

Hermione automatically reached her hand forward, and Barty Crouch Jr. kissed it with a perfect gentleman’s touch. Fortunately, newcomers to the scene interrupted the exchange, for Hermione was speechless. There were fewer than a dozen students there, yet the only names she recognized were Barty’s (who snuck a look at her whenever manners allowed) and Lily’s. No Potter, Black, or Lupin – and no Snape. Lily seemed much fonder of Slughorn than Harry ever was, bordering on sycophantic. Hermione went through the motions of civility and said as little as she could get away with, knowing that she couldn’t be caught in a lie if she didn’t speak. This is Lily? This is Barty? Where is Snape? Nothing made sense, and she couldn’t understand how this present could have led to the future she had lived through. As the watched the would-be mother exchange pleasantries with Barty Jr., memories that hadn’t happened yet overwhelmed her. He will hand your son over to Voldemort on a silver platter.

“Oh, you should be proud!” Lily exclaimed to Barty, who glanced in Hermione’s direction. “I wish I knew so many important people, I’m sure they have so many fascinating stories!”

Hermione was too distracted to pay much attention to the conversation, although it didn’t escape her attention that Slughorn boasted connections to wizards he had never bragged about when she knew him, in the Second War - names she had associated with the Dark.

Horace frowned at her lack of involvement, the queasy expression she assumed whenever she heard one of those names. She could do no better – in fact, it took a lot from her not to protest aloud. When she heard Horace tell someone a promising career lay ahead of his former student, Dolly Umbridge, and that he would be happy to arrange a meeting between them, Hermione feigned an illness and ran outside. Did it count as feigning an illness, if she was truly ill?

She realized, halfway there, that instinct had carried her to the Gryffindor tower. Turning on her heels, she felt her eyes well up. She’d been told the worst thing she could do was to be seen by herself, but it would be years before there would be any risk of that, and she didn’t feel she had years in her to wait before she could tell herself to stay when she belongs.

Umbridge, Umbridge, the woman who founded the Muggle-Born Registration Committee in the framework of that promising career… Hermione had forgotten that going back would mean living through it again instead of relishing in “Dolly’s” imprisonment.

Somewhere not far from the Slytherin tower, Hermione cracked. "Fuck! Fuck fucking Slughorn, and fuck fucking Umbridge!”

“I quite agree about Slughorn, but who’s Umbridge?” a familiar voice said, and Hermione yelped.

"And where were you, Snape?”

He became defensive immediately. “Was I supposed to be anywhere?”

“Too good for the Slub Club now, are you? Too clever, even for that?”

He sucked his teeth. “They taught you tact and fine manners in Australia, I see. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not in that bloody club.”

“The Half-Blood Prince, not in the –“ Hermione cried out in a shrill tone, her surprise getting in the way of temperance. “Well now I've heard everything!” her legs wobbled beneath her and gave in.

Jelly legs. This night keeps getting better and better. “How do you know about that, Granger? he asked her in a menacing tone much more reminiscent of the man she knew. “Been at my trunk?”

“I… caught a glimpse of your book in class.”

“Liar.” With him towering over her, she felt every bit a student he had caught cheating (she imagined – she’d never cheated). He was not wrong. “Did someone put you up to this? To steal some more of my spells perhaps?”

She heard herself whimper and she did not like the sound. “And what makes you think someone like me belongs in the Slug Club, and why were you looking for me there?”

Hermione decided it would be easier to tell him what he already suspected instead of the truth. By the time she would finish explaining the truth, she suspected he would already be dead. After all, he had only 20 years. “Yes, someone put me up to it.”

“Then you can tell Potter he should spend less time in detention and go through my trunk himself next time. That is, unless he’s too scared to try anything without his henchmen.” With that, he swept off. 

“Snape! Wait!” She cried after him, but by the time she hobbled back up to her feet he had gotten a head start. She caught up with him, panting. “But how - how can you not be in the Slug Club?" Hermione had to ask, still bewildered.

“Why do you care, Granger?”

Hermione wondered what sort of unsavory business Severus got himself into, considering the people who did make the cut. It really wasn’t any of her concern why Snape hadn't, but of all the things that made no sense, this made the least. The Severus she knew had inherited Slughorn’s old job, and must have been at least as impressive as “Dolly” in his day. “Aren’t you really good at Potions?” She asked meekly. You’re floundering, Granger.

“It takes more than being good at Potions to be a successful wizard,” Snape told her bitterly. “If you must know, I got invited last year. I didn’t want to go.”

Hermione remembered how well Harry took being compared to Snape. The reverse comparison, she suspected, wouldn't fair better.

“You should, you know. It’s only harmless fun, really.” If she talked him into it, perhaps another door could open, that he could walk through instead of joining Voldemort. It seemed unlikely to help, but Lily was there, so how bad could it be?

“You don't look like you had any fun, harmless or otherwise." He had a point there, and their conversation halted.

They didn't exchange a word more until they reached the corridor leading to their respective dormitories. He looked at her standing there, appearing to be on the precipice of becoming the man she knew, oddly imposing in the dungeons, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light that came from the lake. “Well, good night, Granger.”

She felt herself blushing and regretted her choice to wear gray. “Good night p… Severus.”

He walked away a little taller, and Hermione a little shorter.

She simply had to be more careful, not let her knowledge of things to come lure her to complacency. Yet all she could think about was him, whispering the passwords to common room (“venerable traditions”) and holding the door open for her. That - and Barty bloody Crouch, looking young and innocent and destined for great things.

She woke up the next day, surprised yet again to be where she was, and realized she would have to find a way to handle the mornings better. There was something to be said, however, for hormones - having found herself implausibly attracted to two future Death Eaters brought her senses into focus like nothing else could.

She checked her timetable - Muggle Studies, Defense… She had to believe Severus had signed up for NEWT-level defense, and so she felt optimistic that her plan would come into clearer focus too.

Severus

They should have been there together, Lily and he, at the Slug Club. He used to try to trace his steps and understand what had led to the rift between him and his best friend. He knew it had started when she’d been sorted into Gryffindor (or when he’d been sorted into Slytherin, if you asked her), but that had only been a minor issue, something they laughed about when the mood was right. They even liked having someone on the inside at the other house, some of the time. They used to love sneaking off when everybody else were watching the Quidditch games, to get away from the stupid house rivalry. Those had been their favourite times.

He thought it might have become irreparable when Lily’d been invited to the precious little Club, but not him. That’s when he got bitter. That’s when he’d first been hit with the realization that his unpopularity might affect his life even outside the castle. His unpopularity, or people’s notions of who he was. Being a Muggleborn, Lily was at a disadvantage, as she had explained to him. “And if he invited me, Sev, maybe you’re just making excuses for yourself.”

Maybe. But maybe the expectations of her had been so low she had surpassed them with ease. Maybe, being a Muggleborn, she sounded exotic and unique, and being associated with her made it easy to further people’s self-image as egalitarian. He had always known Lily was a great witch, it was not that they were wrong. But part of him saw her getting less great as time went by, high on the curve but no longer an outlier.

So he’d not been invited and she had. He thought that would make them even for how he had asked to be put in Slytherin even after she’d been Sorted. But it all went wrong. He did not want to think about his fifth year, his little trip down the tunnel, the countless altercations and the injustices that led to her having to “make excuses” for him, to him losing his faith in her bit by bit.

He did well on his OWLs. Well enough that he had finally been invited. But the last place he wanted to be was there with Lily. It was bad enough to see her in class. That, and rejecting Slughorn, that bloated, miserable has-been - had felt very good. If being invited into that stuck-up soiree could open doors for him, he had to believe that rejecting the invitation would open even better doors. And he wanted nothing to do with the doors Slughorn could open for him, anyway: he had already made connections, he already knew what he was worth, and hell, Granger’d hardly been here a week and she already managed to notice he belonged in the Slug Club by right.

Even if she was oblivious to so many other things. How can one person be so irritating, when she seemed to mean well, and wasn’t even a complete dunderhead? Stupidity always angered Severus, but the stupidity of someone smart enough to know better, that uniquely Granger mix of prescience and shock, made him so angry he found himself detaching from his anger and studying it with interest. She had done nothing to him, and yet, the thought of her made his blood boil sometimes.