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A Matter of Honor Book 3: Love and Honor Chapter 6: A Falling Out When she woke, she could still feel the warmth of his chest under her cheek, the touch of his hand in her hair. She rolled away from where she lay nestled at his side, smiling, and opened her eyes--to find Crookshanks having his morning bath in the usual spot between her pillow and the edge of the bed. She sat up…looked behind her…it had been a dream. Embarrassed, she hurried to the shower. Breakfast was certainly going to be awkward…
She shouldn't have worried. Just as she took her seat, the mail arrived, a little earlier than usual, and she had letters to distract her. (She most pointedly did not open the one from Greg and Bill, and glanced up at Snape, thankful for once that he still behaved at meals as though they had only just met.) She was surprised to see Mordred land on the table with a note in his beak; he always took Snape's correspondence to his private chambers, though he usually stopped in with the other owls for a bite from his Master's plate in the morning. At the sight of the letter, Snape merely raised an eyebrow and muttered his apologies to Madam Hooch, who had been regaling him with a report on the Slytherin Quidditch team's practice the night before. He rose quickly from the table and, catching the Headmaster's eye, left with Mordred perched on his shoulder and the note in his hand. It seemed that now she had something else to worry about.
It was the end of October, and the students were distracted. That Saturday was the first Quidditch match of the season--Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Sunday was Halloween, which would bring not only the Halloween Feast but also the first day trip to Hogsmeade. She practically had to tap-dance to keep their attention in class. "Wouldn't that be something," she muttered to herself as her last class of the day left the room. She needed to go to the dungeon before dinner to check on a trial she was running, and if it hadn't been for her curiosity about Snape's mail, thoughts of that morning's dream might have made her task difficult. Snape was in a foul mood. She'd gotten used to the fact that, outside their private conversations, he behaved just as he always had. Students still drove him absolutely mad. She'd had to comfort one of her fifth years when they'd come to Arithmancy straight from a particularly trying day in Potions. Today, it seemed, had been an unusually bad day. Snape didn't even look at her as she entered (silently) and crossed to her workroom. After half an hour had passed, she crossed again, headed to the storeroom, and he began, as though she had just arrived, "Miss Granger, I should inform you that I had a conversation with Mr. Prichard today." She stopped and wheeled around to face him. He continued, still attending to his cauldron. "He was yet again doing his Arithmancy homework in my class, and I kept him afterwards. I deducted five points for not paying attention in class, and another five for treating his Arithmancy homework so casually. I told him that I'd heard from you that he had been turning in incomplete assignments. I assure you that it will not happen again." "You did what?!" Hermione demanded, coming to stand on the other side of the worktable. At her tone, Snape glared at her. "I believe I spoke quite clearly, Professor Granger." He waited for her response. Calming herself, Hermione changed her tone. She had learned from him that a lowered voice could be twice as cutting as one raised in anger. "I seem to remember asking you to leave the issue of Mr. Prichard's Arithmancy homework to me, Professor. Or is my recollection faulty?" She glared back. Snape's eyes narrowed for a moment. "As soon as Mr. Prichard brought your assignment into my classroom, his Arithmancy homework was mine to deal with as I saw fit. And if I had done so after his first offense, perhaps I wouldn't have had to waste my class time on him today." He once again returned to his work. Hermione wanted to rage at him, wanted to throw something. He knew how she felt about this, and here he was treating her like…like one of his students to be intimidated into submission. Instead, she said in a flatly sarcastic tone, "Of course, Professor. I recognize now that your methods are clearly superior to my own. I thank you for your gracious help in the matter." She returned to her workroom. When she left for dinner, he was already gone.
Hermione didn't even have the satisfaction of glaring at Snape over dinner. He wasn't there. Gods, she'd thought that she was used to him. But she had specifically asked him not to tell Arthur Prichard that she'd spoken to him about the boy's work. Prichard would be worse than ever. And he'd treated her as though she was being unreasonable. She smirked as she remembered her feelings over breakfast. What a difference a day makes. At the same time, she was worried. The thought of breakfast reminded her of the letter he'd received. Maybe it wasn't only class that had set Snape on edge. Maybe she'd just walked in on… No. Whatever news he had received, whatever his students had blown up in class, she hadn't deserved that.
That night, after grading a stack of homework parchments for the next day's class (Mr. Prichard's had, of course, been incomplete), she sat with Crookshanks and a cup of tea in the green chair, enjoying the fire and her personal sliver of the night sky. About the time she decided to go to bed, there was a fluttering at her window. Lifting Crookshanks and depositing him in the chair as she stood, she recognized Mordred. With a sigh, she went to the window and let the owl in.
She shook her head. "So, Mordred, did he apologize only because he needs something from me?" A soft hoot. "And I guess I'm supposed to be happy that he didn't call me 'Professor Granger'?" She also resented Snape's admonishment not to worry; sometimes she felt like he was getting to know her a little too well, even as she was convinced he didn't know her at all. "I'm not sending a reply, so you can go back to your Master." Mordred ruffled his feathers and sailed out the window. She turned to see Crookshanks eyeing the desk where the bird had perched. "It's ok, ookie. He's a friend," she said, and then scooped up the cat and headed for bed.
A/N: Hermione's endearments for Crookshanks (as well as their behavior, generally) are on loan from my cat, B.
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