A Matter of Honor
by Amy McWilliams (McAmy)

Book 1: The Honors Project

Chapter 8: Work Continues

The first two months of the school year had flown by, and Hermione was amazed to think that Halloween was just around the corner. She had a busy schedule, but somehow this term didn't feel as frantic as the last.

First, the school had been rather quiet, and her duties as Head Girl had been minimal. She met with Professor McGonagall and Ralph Innes every Tuesday afternoon, and once a month Professor Dumbledore joined them for a few minutes at the end of their meeting.

Second, she had to admit that part of the reason last spring had seemed so…pressured, so busy, was that Professor Vector was excitable and--Hermione didn't want to admit it--loud. Working with her had been great fun, but an outsider would have been amazed to see that a subject based in mathematics would have involved so much pacing, animated conversation, and flustered activity. Hermione herself was a quiet worker, but couldn't avoid--and really, she didn't mind it--being caught up in Vector's whirlwind of thoughts and blackboard scrawls. She actually enjoyed it very much. But the pace and the emotions had added to her feeling of time moving too quickly, of not getting enough done--and indeed, Vector got off track quite easily, because she enjoyed spinning out tangents with Hermione and generally catching up on everything else in the girl's life.

Working with Snape was very different. While he would occasionally ask her perfunctory questions about her classes or some school news, in keeping with her position as Head Girl, more often than not he would greet her (sometimes they met in her workroom, sometimes in his office, depending on the task for the day), and then turn immediately to work, picking up from where they left off the last time, anticipating her questions (but letting her ask them, she noted, appreciatively), or suggesting a new direction that was, also more often than not, exactly what she had been thinking.

When they discussed her reading, she had at first felt like she was in class, being quizzed on a homework assignment. That had changed, almost without her noticing, and while she was still required to answer questions from time to time, Snape generally let her talk about what she wanted, prompting her to expand on her thoughts or explain herself more clearly when she moved too quickly or shied away from pushing through a difficult argument. They would discuss what she had read, with him adding ideas from his own reading and suggesting things for her to look at. He had loaned her several articles, more than one of which he had translated himself (he didn't trust the translation spells to provide for the nuances of the languages), and never once mocked her for not knowing German or French.

But it was in the workroom--or in the classroom, when her work demanded more space than her small area could offer--where working with Snape proved to be the most different from Vector's dizzying Arithmantical calculations. Hermione had always thought that his measured movements (he almost seemed to glide across the floor, at times, and even when he moved quickly, there was an…elegance, she had thought with a start…about him) were part of his attitude towards students. Just as his low, smooth voice was designed to put them off their guard, so that the cold, hard tones of his criticisms, thrown sharply at any student who did not live up to his ridiculously high expectations, would hurt even worse for the contrast--just so, his easy, graceful movements kept you guessing, never knowing when he'd show up just over your shoulder to deduct points for any small error. He was, she had thought, like his house symbol: a grand serpent, hissing softly and uncoiling slowly in a corner, but quick to strike the moment your back was turned.

Now that they had been working on practical trials for several weeks, she thought differently. Or rather, she hadn't discounted her theory about his approach towards students, but she had realized that his controlled movements--the wave of his hand, the smooth stride--were a product of his practiced method at the cauldron. Or, if he naturally moved with such feline grace (she thought of Crookshanks tearing around the room in an early morning frenzy when the word came to her mind, but thought to give cats in general the benefit of the doubt), his work with Potions had reinforced it to the point where he moved in no other way…even when rushed or agitated (in other words, any time Harry was around), he moved…deliberately.

They had added a third session to their weekly schedule at the beginning of October. Now, in addition to their Monday and Thursday sessions between the last class period and dinner, they met for two hours on Wednesday evenings after the meal. Hermione had asked if he would be willing to add an hour, since she found herself interrupting his work more often than she would like. He had offered two. So while Mondays and Thursdays remained concerned with progress reports, questions about methods, and discussions about the readings, they had tacitly reserved Wednesday evenings for the actual work of potion making. Sometimes he worked with her, always allowing her to direct their progress; other nights he would work on something of his own, never minding when she asked a question or needed him to come to her side and help with something.

By the end of October, Wednesday evening was Hermione's favorite time of the week. Working in silence--though the lack of conversation never made her feel awkward--and not immediately accountable for any reading, she had the freedom to try out her ideas and the security of knowing that someone was there to help. She worked on her experiments other times during the week--usually after Potions class on Wednesdays, and always on Friday afternoons, when she had the last class period free. If she needed him--to answer a question, to supply one of the more powerful or rare elements--he was always nearby, but it wasn't the same as their time on Wednesday evenings.

It's not like they were friends, she told herself, lying awake one Wednesday night after their session had run late--as it usually did, with him allowing her to stay as long as she wanted, and staying himself until she headed back to the dormitory just in time for curfew. And it's not exactly like they were colleagues, since she was still accountable to him for her reading, and for the formal report that she would write at the end of the year to detail her work. But it wasn't exactly like being his student, either. It was something in between. And she liked it.

"I might even," she thought to herself as she fell asleep, too tired to be surprised, "like him."

For his part, Severus Snape had realized sometime in late September that he liked it too. When Miss Granger was working, she was quiet--and not raising her hand, he thought with a smirk. He had been pleased when she had asked him for some extra time devoted to her project, and though she had asked for another hour, he had offered two. He had no upper-level classes on Thursday, and so his class preparations were light, and he could manage any grading he had either during the day or on another evening. When, on the second of their added Wednesdays, he realized that they were never going to work for only two hours, he said nothing, but found that he didn't mind at all.

He, too, enjoyed the quiet Wednesday evenings, whether they were working over the same cauldron or across the room from each other on their individual undertakings. He was impressed with her progress, and, while he answered her every inquiry, noted with pride that her questions were almost always for confirmation's sake, rather than for information that she didn't have, or a connection she hadn't yet made. She worked with confidence, but knew when to ask for assistance. She had tried a combination on the third Wednesday that he hadn't thought of--though he didn't admit that to her. He sometimes watched her work when she didn't realize he was looking. She moved slowly, as any good potion-maker should, and didn't panic, even when something reacted in an unexpected way. Not that the unexpected happens often, he smiled to himself; she was predictably two steps ahead of any experiment, and a miscalculation from her was rare. Potion development was trial and error--educated trial and error, but a little bit of guesswork with one's talent, all the same. Her command of her subject matter, however, was more than he had expected, and nothing unpredictable in her trials was ever a result of a mistake on her part.

He hadn't let on that he enjoyed their meetings at all, though he could see by her relaxed demeanor that she must know he didn't despise her or resent the time he spent on her project. But what he found himself looking forward to most were the shorter meetings before dinner. She had a quick mind and a ready wit--the latter he had never realized before, since she had always been in her "classroom mode." As she talked about her reading and experiments, however, she forgot that she was talking to "vile Professor Snape" (he doubted that she had ever called him that, since she probably never spoke ill about her teachers, but he wasn't deaf, and knew every name the students had for him), and just talked. When he asked her questions, he could tell when she mentally braced herself for a quiz, as if she were still a second year who knew what to expect from his classes. But by the end of October, that response was gone, and though he guided the discussion somewhat, he primarily let her think out loud, making connections--flying without the safety net of the library books he knew she read by the score. It was a pleasure to watch her mind at work.

Not that he would ever admit it to anybody else.

One Tuesday in early November, Hermione hurried around the corner and into the staff room. Professor McGonagall and Ralph Innes were already seated at the fire, chatting amicably.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, breathless, "I was trying to finish up something downstairs."

"It's barely gone five o'clock," said McGonagall. "Not to worry. How is your work coming?"

"Great," smiled Hermione, still excited over her progress, and she noticed Ralph duck his head and smile in response out of the corner of her eye.

"Splendid!" replied McGonagall. "Ralph was just telling me about his project as well. I am pleased to hear that both of you are doing such fine work. And, I hope, are enjoying yourselves at the same time?"

She looked at Hermione, who nodded.

McGonagall seemed pleased. "Now then, I only have a few things to go over with you, beginning with that little excitement with the third years in Hogsmeade last weekend. We've had an owl from the new owner of The Three Broomsticks, and I daresay Albus will have to do some smoothing over to set things right."

Their meeting was indeed a short one, and as they left, Ralph said, "I'm glad to hear things are going well, Hermione. I couldn't believe you'd chosen to work with Snape."

Hermione frowned for a moment; she was used to such sentiments, of course, but had thought for some reason that Ralph would be different.

"He's not bad," she said, honestly, and ignored Ralph's raised eyebrow. "We get on quite well," she added. Then, seeing the look of amazement on his face, she noted, "though I'm sure he's not as much fun to work with as Remus."

Ralph looked surprised again at her use of Lupin's first name, but decided not to question it. "Professor Lupin is great. In fact, that reminds me, I've got to run to the library for a book he mentioned to me. I'll see you later, eh?"

She smiled and replied, "Sure. See you later."

As she headed in the opposite direction, she heard him say, "Hermione?"

She turned back. "Yeah?"

He paused for a moment before asking, "Ravenclaw's playing Gryffindor on Friday. You'll be there?"

"Of course," she answered, a little confused by the question.

"Great," he said, and smiled broadly as he headed for the library.

That Thursday evening, she was in the library doing some reading for Transfiguration, as Professor Snape was grading and she had reached a good stopping point with her trials; she would return to them on Monday, she thought, and take the weekend to look over some books Snape had loaned her. She also had an essay for Charms that she needed to finish, and Harry and Ron had made her promise to come to Hogsmeade. "Where else are you going to buy our Christmas presents?" Ron teased.

Finishing up, she saw that it was only seven thirty, and she thought she'd surprise the boys by getting back to the common room early. As she headed towards Gryffindor Tower, she saw the light on under Remus's office door, and decided to stop in to say hello.

Knocking softly, she realized that there were voices inside, and when Remus opened the door, she began, "I'm sorry; I didn't realize anybody else was here before I knocked…"

Remus stepped aside, motioning her in. "No, it's fine; Ralph and I were just finishing up."

"Oh," said Hermione, waving a greeting to Ralph, "I don't want to interrupt…it's nothing important…"

Ralph stood, picking up his book bag. "No, I was just headed out. I had to stop by and reschedule a meeting because of Quidditch practice," he explained. "See you later, Professor Lupin." He waved good-bye to them both as he left.

"Please, sit," said Lupin, motioning to the chair Ralph had just vacated. "How are things going?"

Hermione started to say, "Just fine," but realized that Lupin wouldn't mind hearing more. She told him everything, all about her work, her ideas, her reading, Snape--and he didn't look amused or surprised when she admitted that she liked working with him. He just listened, asking a question every so often when he wanted her to say more.

"Hermione," he said, when she'd finally run out of things to say, "it sounds wonderful. Your idea is--well, it's impressive, and I'm glad to see that you're making progress--and not just because of your honors project. This could be very important work." She blushed. "I know you were a bit nervous to be working with Professor Snape, as well…" He paused, wondering if he should say anything more, but decided to continue, "so I'm glad to know that both of you are enjoying your project." She looked up at him, surprised. ("Of course he wouldn't let on," Remus thought to himself, "and she wouldn't realize it on her own.") "He hasn't said anything in so many words, of course," Remus added, smiling at her, "but whenever anyone asks him how things are going, he says, 'Miss Granger's work is quite satisfactory.' I think it's the 'quite' that tells me he's enjoying himself, more than anything else."

Hermione was flabbergasted. She had thought that Snape had come to respect her, to not be so annoyed by her, but to enjoy working with her? She didn't have any response. Lupin decided to save her from having to try to formulate one.

"So, Ralph tells me that it's to be a big match on Friday?" He waited for her to focus.

"Yes," she added, still recovering, "Harry's been talking about nothing else." They lapsed into a friendly conversation as Remus went to the fireplace for the hot chocolate.

On to Chapter 9