Restraint
Chapter Eight: Sticks and Stones
by AngelQueen

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The rest of the week passed rather smoothly, with a few exceptions. Hermione had been rather relieved to discover that the NEWT class did not contain Lucius Malfoy or Narcissa Black. Apparently, they believed their skills were already sufficient in the area of the Dark Arts. The other classes, even her fourth year Gryffindor-Slytherin group, made it through with few problems. It seemed that the well-known rivalry between the Houses of the Lions and Serpents was kept, for the most part, confined to the Quidditch Pitch. That is, with the obvious exception to her first year Gryffindor-Slytherin class.

By Friday evening, Hermione was exhausted. She politely declined Albus’ offer of hot cocoa before bed and had turned in early. Her dreams were vague, most likely due to her blatant fatigue, she summarized as she lounged about in her bed the next morning.

The nearby time piece informed her that it was currently lunch time in the Great Hall. Still, if her own experiences were anything to go by, Hermione imagined that the tables were rather empty of students. It was a Saturday and in her time, the children often stayed up to ungodly hours on Friday nights, playing games or just celebrating that it was the end of a long, tiresome week. Hermione highly doubted that things were different in this current time.

But she really should get up. It was probably too late to make an appearance in the Great Hall, but she could at least show her face in the staff room and get some grading done, killing two birds with one stone. With a groan, Hermione slowly forced herself to leave the comfort of her large, warm, canopied bed to change into one of her unofficial sets of robes. Reaching in blindly to her wardrobe, she pulled out the green set. After donning her outfit, Hermione grabbed her wand from the stand beside her bed and muttered a few incantations, charming her curls into a simple ponytail, forgoing her more formal bun she wore while teaching. Finally, she gathered up a few quills, an inkwell, and the essays and left her rooms.

Her chambers were on the fourth floor and the staff room was a slight distance away on the ground floor just off the Entrance Hall. As Hermione made her way down the corridor and towards the stairs, she heard several voices shout out indigently off the main corridor. Pausing to look, she sighed when she saw James Potter and Sirius Black both in a tangled heap on the floor, both frantically trying to get back to their feet. A few feet away, Lily Evans and Dorcas Meadowes stood silently, the first looking both pale and angry while the second appeared distinctly satisfied.

Moving towards them, she cut into the din caused by the muttered curses of the two boys still flailing around, trying to separate from one another. “May I ask just what is going on here?”

Four heads swiveled in her direction. James and Sirius began to struggle even harder, Lily grew even more paler-no doubt at the sight of a teacher appearing at the scene of the crime, Hermione thought wryly-and even Dorcas’ unflappable presence seemed to falter.

After a moment, the boys finally managed to get to their feet. And immediately found themselves faced with an impatient teacher. They started to sputter.

“Well, you see, that is-”

Merlin, they sound like Harry and Ron, fumbling for something to tell McGonagall when they’ve been caught doing something, Hermione thought, struggling not to laugh at the hilarity the two were presenting to her.

“It was Peeves, Professor.”

Hermione turned to look at Lily Evans. The girl still looked off-kilter, but she managed to meet Hermione’s eyes firmly. “Dorcas and I heard something going on in here and found James and Sirius like that. We were going to try to help them when you came in.”

“Peeves,” she repeated, feeling skeptical. If it was the old poltergeist, then why were James and Sirius looking at Lily as if she were mad? Even Dorcas was looking at the redhead, a surprised expression on her face.

“Yes, ma’am. It was Peeves.”

Slowly, Hermione nodded. She didn’t doubt that something else was going on, but she had nothing else with which to question them on. Turning to the boys, she asked, “Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, I trust you both are in two completely separate pieces? No lasting harm? Good, now I suggest you all continue on to your own destinations. This may be a weekend, but there should be no loitering about in the hallways.”

All four gave a chorus of affirmations as she turned on her heel and departed. Once she was out of their sight, however, Hermione slid into several nearby shadows and listened.

“Evans-”

“Don’t speak to me, Potter.”

“Come on, Lily, we-”

“I don’t particularly want to hear your voice either, Black. The only reason I said something was I didn’t want to risk losing Gryffindor more points. You both cost us enough for that stupid prank you pulled in Transfiguration yesterday. Kindly leave me alone in the future, boys. I’ve no desire to have anything to do with either of you.”

Rapid footsteps came closer and Hermione stilled herself, watching a glassy-eyed Lily Evans storm past her.

“You’re both idiots, Potter, Black. You’ll probably regret making her mad one-day.”

Dorcas Meadowes followed close behind her friend. Hermione waited until both James and Sirius continued on their way in the opposite direction before taking her leave of the area as well, continuing on her original journey to the staff room, though now her thoughts were filled with what little she had heard.

Harry had told her, Ron, and Ginny long ago that his parents had not gotten on very well during their school years. From what he had seen in Severus’ Pensieve, Harry rather thought that the rancor between his mother and father was surpassed only by James’ apparent hatred for Severus. No one, as far as Hermione knew, had ever been able to tell Harry the reason behind James and Lily’s early discord. Remus had certainly admitted his own ignorance on the matter.

And the only people who could tell him are all dead.

The thought reverberated through her mind and Hermione immediately quashed it, forcing herself not to dwell on what she could do nothing about. Hurrying down the stairs, she soon came to the staff room. Upon entering, without being challenged by the stone gargoyles that guarded the entrance, she took a glance about.

She was in a long, paneled room whose main features were the long table, the group of mismatched chairs, and the large, worn wardrobe in the far corner. Hermione also saw that she was not alone. Congregating at the far end of the table sat Minerva, Filius Flitwick, Selma Rakes, Linda Wilder, and Cian Morel, the Ancient Runes Professor.

“Ah,” Linda fairly chirped upon noticing Hermione’s approaching presence, “Well, if it isn’t the slug-a-bed. How nice to finally see you!”

Hermione smiled and ducked her head, blushing slightly at the mention of her rather lazy lie-in.

“Oh, let her be, Linda,” Filius squeaked from his chair, which was stacked high with cushions so that he could peer over the table top. “As I recall, you were hardly any better after your first week. We didn’t see you until dinner.”

“I was on the floo all day,” she protested, a good-natured smirk on her face, “Trying to calm my former employer down!”

Chuckles resounded throughout the room and Hermione finally took the empty seat next to Minerva, who nodded her own more reserved greeting.

“The first few weeks are usually the hardest,” the Head of Gryffindor said off-handedly. “It takes a while to adjust yourself to the schedule, but you should eventually find yourself able to greet the students on Saturday mornings at breakfast.”

“That’s rather good to know,” Hermione replied. “My mother would be horrified to see me being so lazy. The Gragners have always been early risers.” She began at that point to spread out the various essays in front of her. As she opened the inkwell, she asked curiously, “Does the Headmaster ever join you in here on the weekends?”

It was, rather to Hermione’s surprise, Selma Rakes who answered. The auburn-haired, severe-looking Divination Professor had spoken little in the times Hermione had been in her presence. She wore none of the ridiculous trappings Professor Trelawney had adorned herself with, instead appearing mostly like any of the other professors. The only difference was the small green earring that was noticeably connected to her left ear while her right remained without a matching ornament.

“Headmaster Dippet did on occasion, but he usually preferred his own office. Many of the students liked to visit with him on the weekends, especially the seventh year students. As for Albus, he often prefers to walk the halls this early in the term, catching up with the older students and becoming acquainted with the new ones.”

Cian Morel, a rather cantankerous older gentleman, snorted. “Really, Selma! Don’t leave out half the story! It wouldn’t do to have our new colleague to be left out of the loop!” Everyone paused to look at him, Hermione in curiosity even as she noted the rest of the group sigh and roll their eyes.

Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, Cian said gleefully, smirking at Minerva, “We all know that Albus avoids the staff room on Saturdays because if he doesn’t, our dear Minerva will complain that he’s behind on his paperwork or that he neglected to attend some such meeting or some other nonsense. Better for him to go meet the latest bunch of brats than to listen to the mother hen cluck, and I can’t say I disagree with him either! She’s been hounding him for years!”

Hermione stared at the Ancient Runes Professor. Dear God, she thought, is this man related to Severus? Or is there just one snarky, pain-in-the-arse professor in every generation?

However, Minerva did not appear to take offense to the older man’s words. Smiling at him in a way that was just a little too feral to be sweet, she replied, “Albus just needs a little poking and prodding to remain on track sometimes, Cian. No need to react like a jealous fifth year.”

Hermione bit her lip and dipped her quill into the inkwell, fighting back a sputtering gale of laughter as the two continued to bicker. As she settled in to commence with reading the essays, a small, warm feeling tentatively settled over her.


Name: Peter Pettigrew
Class: Defense Against the Dark Arts
Topic: Dark Arts

The Dark Arts are magical spells that are dangerous and can harm other people. They are often used by Dark Wizards and Witches in their plans to take over the world or meet whatever goal they have set for themselves-often enough, the extermination of Muggles.


By the time Hermione finished that very first essay, she had gained a very thorough understanding of why Severus maintained that nearly all the students of Hogwarts were complete and utter dunderheads. For a long time in her earlier years, she had believed it to be that he just lacked any true patience for children. She knew from personal experience that Severus had little use for them. It wasn’t until later, after their relationship had… taken hold, she supposed would be the right word for it, that Hermione began to understand his git-complex when it came to the students.

He was a brilliant man, Severus. That was one reason why she loved him, one of many. His skill with potions and magic was considerable, but Hermione knew that his talents did not end there. When he would speak of a particular project he would like to work on one-day, he would sometimes go into such detail that Hermione would feel like an ignorant, clueless child. And perhaps that was just the problem. The children he taught were ignorant, and though he tried in the best way he knew how to correct that, only a few had ever truly responded and followed in his desire for knowledge.

As she continued to mark Peter’s essay, pointing out his mistakes and making various suggestions, Hermione silently marveled at Severus’ patience. If what he read in his essays were anything like this, it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his mind and throttled someone.

The essays slowly improved after that, though not much at first. I went through several of them, such as the ones belonging to the Lestrange boys and Bellatrix Black and found them to be patronizing and almost purposely idiotic. Hermione found the essay written by Lily Evans quite an interesting read, seeing that the young lady had put quite a bit of thought into it and actually managed to sound a little like Hermione herself did at that age. There were several others like that, such as Carlotta Trace’s essay.

She had not purposely left his essay at the bottom of the pile, Hermione knew that. It had just ended up there. It was the last one, and after nearly three hours of reading and marking, she was ready to throw her hands up in defeat and declare the first years a lost cause. But she was down to the wire, so Hermione gamely kept going.


Name: Severus Snape
Class: Defense Against the Dark Arts
Topic: The Definition of the Dark Arts

Life is based on notions of everything either being black or white. One or the other. Good or evil. Light or Dark. But in a realistic world, life is hardly that easily explained. A perfect example of this is the matter of what the majority of the Wizarding World defines as the ‘Dark Arts.’

Most wizards base their own definition of the Dark Arts based on the effects of the most obvious examples of dark magic, the Unforgivable Curses: Avada Kedavra, the Imperius, and the Cruciatus. And while these spells are easily defined as part of the Dark Arts, they do not make up the entirety of this broad category. There are lesser known aspects of magic that also fit the common definition of the Dark Arts, necromancy, for example.

All of these spells make up what the common wizard would see as the Dark Arts. But, again, life is not so easily defined, and thus the Dark Arts are not easily explained either. For example, no one would say that Transfiguration is a part of the Dark Arts. And yet, it can be used to create many things used for harming others and any other such mischief.


Severus’ essay continued along that tangent, providing various examples and describing how they could be used in a manner that coincided with the Dark Arts. When she came to the end, Hermione stared at the parchment, feeling rather numb.

The eleven-year-old boy spoke with a knowledge and understanding that belied his few years. His words and reasoning in his essay were more mature and thoughtful than some of Hermione’s fellow Aurors. She could recall, during training, how many of them had to struggle with their own prejudices and preconceptions about matters they had thought to be set in stone for them. They had to undo a lifetime of learning in some things. Ron himself had struggled with his deeply-held belief that all Slytherins were scum and Dark Wizards and Witches-in-training. Many times, in fact, and not just during Auror training. Hermione could remember her friend’s state after Daphne’s murder…

She internally shook herself and pulled away from that train of thought, returning to the essay before her. Severus had never told her the entire story of his childhood. Point in fact; she’d practically had to drag out what little he’d told her…


“Both of my parents were Slytherins,” Severus told her, resigned to the fact that she would never let him be until he had satisfied her boundless curiosity. “My father, Sebastian Snape, was quite the… actor, I suppose one could say. He could adapt himself to many situations with more ease than any Malfoy ever could. When in the presence of his professors, he could be as polite and respectful as any Hufflepuff. When he led the Slytherin House Quidditch to win the Cup, he was a gracious winner. When finding a student out after hours, he would give them a stern dressing down before quietly sending them off to bed.” He paused, obviously lost in thought. After a moment, he continued, a sneer growing on his face.

“When he decided he wished to marry my mother, he made himself appear to be everything my grandparents would wish for in a husband for their only daughter. Successful, ambitious, and definitely on the rise. He fooled everyone, including my mother. Her name was Eleanor Trace. She was close to five years his junior and she’d apparently caught his eye when they were still in school together. He waited until she had left Hogwarts before beginning to court her. They were married within two years, and I followed within another year. It wasn’t until after I was born that my father began to reveal just who he was beneath the layers he had created: a man who was ambitious and eager to gather power to him. He wanted people not to just respect him; he wanted them to fear him. He practiced that well, on both myself and my mother. He was frugal with the money he had accumulated, hardly spending it and always investing it in one endeavor or another.

“He also had an undying passion for the Dark Arts, Hermione. He studied them… extensively and he experimented with them often. Especially on my mother. She was hopelessly devoted to him and would deny him nothing, even if it meant excruciating and unending pain for herself. And it caused her to lose more than one of my younger siblings, which is why she did what little she could to shield me from my father’s obsessions. I rather think she was relieved when I left for Hogwarts.”

Hermione stared at him from her position next to him on the sofa. A sick feeling of horror left her shaking slightly and she looked away from him. She truly had no idea of what he had endured in all the years of his life. His father, Voldemort, if he was not suffering under one tyrant, then it was the other who tormented him. She sniffed slightly, silently cursing both of them.

Severus reached out to her at that point, turning her back to face him. “Do not cry for me, Hermione,” he said to her. “I survived and I am here now. I am not worth it.”

She jerked back and stared at him in shock. “Not… not worth it,” she sputtered, blinking rapidly. Hermione paused a moment, getting her emotions under a tight hold. Then, glaring at him fiercely, she threw herself at him, landing and quickly positioning herself in his lap. His hands automatically rested lightly on her waist, his eyebrow raised in surprise.

“You listen to me, Severus Snape,” she growled, bringing her face to within inches of his, “And you listen well. No one deserves what you and your mother went through. No one, no matter what they have done. And no matter what you think of yourself, you are worth everything to me.”

She had no doubt he would have argued the matter with her. But to be frank, Hermione was really in no mood to continue the discussion. Just when he opened his mouth to reply, she brought her lips to meet his, effectively silencing him.

For a moment, Severus hesitated, but then he began to respond, pulling her closer to him and deepening the contact. She moaned softly in pleasure, sliding her hands up his chest to cup his face in her hands.

When they finally broke apart, panting, Hermione moved to rest her head on his shoulder. “You are worth everything, Severus Snape,” she whispered in his ear. “Never let me hear you say otherwise…”


“Hermione? Hermione, dear, are you alright?”

She looked up quickly to see Linda Wilder and Selma Rakes looking at her in concern. Managing a shaky smile, she nodded slightly. “I’m fine. I must still be a little tired.” She glanced at the large grandfather clock, and then stood up, gathering up her things. “I think I’ll take these to my office before dinner.”

Linda nodded, clearly accepting Hermione’s explanation. “Right. I think they’re serving ice cream for dessert tonight, so be sure to show up. Most of the students stick around for that just to see what flavor or combination Albus will choose. It’s always interesting and entertaining, to say the least.”

Hermione smiled, “I will be sure to stay then.” Nodding in farewell to both women, she left the staff room, not noticing the speculative gleam in Selma Rakes’ cool blue eyes.

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Author's Notes: Flashbacks are such wonderful things, aren't they? *wink*