Obiter Dictum

7

The first few hours of her official training began with Hermione poring over standard books. They revised brewing theory and safety measures, boring and tedious work. Identifying all the exits of the house and the man's personal evacuation plan should things go awry. It was a necessity that could not be avoided, no matter how uninteresting.

She sat in the study hidden behind the wall of books for hours, only standing to pull another book off the shelf or to stretch her legs. Her hand was cramping from all the annotation and she thought she might go cross-eyed from how small some of the texts were printed.

It was during this that she learnt she was permitted free reign to browse the library and use the small office. A luxury few were permitted. Daphne was most certainly not allowed in there. Neither were the children. Not that they were tall enough to reach the locking mechanism just yet.

Eager to get to actual brewing and the heavier, older, more complex tomes, the witch practically flew through her manuals. 

Where the Potions' Master was during this time, she had no idea. She knew he was around, she could feel his presence in the house, though what he was up to was beyond her concern. Around noon, he came into the study and stood just behind her chair, leaning over her slightly to peek at her notes.

With a start, she sat up, not having heard him come into the room. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. You surprised me."

His lips quirked upward at her reaction for a brief moment, light dancing in his eyes before it disappeared altogether. "I did not wish to disturb you. You appeared entirely engrossed. Show me your work."

She handed over her notebook hesitantly, suddenly second-guessing the hours she had spent noting corrections and hypotheses. Hermione, who was certain in all her academic endeavours, was unsure. Upon that realisation, she immediately knew she didn't like the feeling. He seemed to sense that straight away and held out his hand expectantly, plucking the notes from her hand as soon as it was within his grasp. Pulling on his glasses with one hand, his nose quickly buried within her pages as he went over her quick scrawl and turned to lean against the desk. Over the course of a few minutes, her heart began to race as doubt flew through her mind. Every snarky comment and unimpressed retort he has ever thrown her way rubbing through her at a mile a minute. He said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, though she could only logically assume it was a few minutes.

They were the longest minutes of her life.

Snapping shut the copybook, he tossed it idly onto the desk and peered down at her down his nose, his frameless rectangle glasses perched low and his arms crossed against his chest. And for the very first time in her life, the witch wondered how old he was. Of course, she knew he was the same age Harry's parents had been. But the man had appeared to age at least 10 years in the span of five minutes. He smirked, eyeing her carefully. "You think too much." He stated bluntly. Not at all the response she had been expecting. She knew full well she thought too much. Wasn't that important, though?

She swallowed thickly. "I don't understand."

The man shook his head, removing his glasses and sliding them into his coat pocket. "You wouldn't, would you?" It wasn't condescending the way some people would have interpreted. It was a genuine question. "Brewing is about feeling the work. Yes, there is analysis and following a written recipe, though there is an element of intuition involved. You can't apply that to your work if you think so much. There is too much noise in your head. The opposite is true as well. Some people do not have enough going on."

This resulted in the reaction he had hoped for, the young woman before him laughed, no doubt knowing who he meant. There was a reason Harry and Ron would not have made it into sixth year potions had Slughorn not taken over. Ron especially.

Snape had exceedingly high standards. Everyone knew that. What they didn't know is that he strived for excellence because he was hard-wired too. He wanted to bring out the very best, academically. He had been brutal in his ways. With some, a little more than he needed to be, perhaps. Though, she could understand now, why he was so demanding. Potions was a very dangerous subject to learn if one was not careful. Explosive ingredients and poisons. Anything and everything could kill you if you let your attention slip for even a moment.

Hermione sighed. "So I think too much. What do you suggest?"

He stood straight and offered her his hand to help her stand after having been seated for so long. "Lunch. I'm starved. Can't possibly imagine how you're feeling."

Which was a lie. He could easily figure out how she was feeling if he wanted to. Though, she suspected he had not meant it so literally. Lunch sounded fantastic, actually. Her brain was so full of measurements and theory, a break was very much welcome.

They sat at the dining table, free of all distraction. The children had already eaten and headed out for their walk with the Aupair. The tension was malleable and more than a little awkward, though there was a comforting sort of silence. Hermione couldn't stand idle small talk, really, and she didn't think he would mind if they both stayed quiet.

The house elf had prepared for them a potato leek soup, which so happened to be another of the witch's favourites and couldn't help but wonder if it was simply because she was so plainly ordinary and predictable.

True to nature, the man seemed to pick the question right out of her head. "I wanted you to feel at ease here. The meals are to create a sense of familiarity while you transition into life at Foxhole."

She smiled. "I appreciate it. I suppose it will take some time to get used to you poking around in my head like that."

The tops of his cheeks reddened ever so slightly as he apologised and explained to her that something about the house made it so much easier to pick through one's thoughts. As though the emotions and sentiments were begging to be heard. He chalked it up to more of his late wife's magical artistry. And perhaps he was right. Who were they to pretend to understand the complexities of magic? There was still so much that their world didn't know about their own power. It was an undeveloped science, constantly shifting, changing, and adapting to the way they functioned.

Something told the apprentice that the late Mrs Snape knew far, far more than simple spells and small charms. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. She had been loved dearly by her family. Her husband clearly devoted to her and their children.

Despite the nightmare, he had lived for so long. Beneath the thumbs of two insanely gifted and power-hungry wizards.

The more the girl learnt about Dumbledore, the less she liked him. What sort of man did even half the things he did? The end did not at all justify the means, in her eyes. Though, again, her opinion did not matter after all was said and done.

It had happened. They had won the war.

The silence was broken once more by the man of the house, a rueful smile dancing on the edge of his mouth. "Your thinking is so loud. I meant it when I said you think too much."

Insensed, she couldn't help but pout. "Well, so do you!"

He let out an almost imperceptible chuckle. "This is true. Though I am a Potions' Master. The most qualified and advanced in my field. You are not."

This only seemed to ruffle her feathers more, which the man seemed incapable of not doing. Daphne was too sensitive, her feelings too easily hurt. She had no backbone and was too easy to bully. Hermione, however. Hermione had nerve and she would not sit by while he taunted her. He had not had the chance to engage in that sort of conversation since his teaching days.

He decided to lay off for the time being, though only to begin his next lesson. "I think this afternoon we'll practice something else. You will most likely detest it, but it will do you good."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "If you suggest I meditate to clear my mind, I swear-"

"You swear you'll do what?" He countered. "You are in my home, Miss Granger. You will do as instructed or I shall find another apprentice, is that clear?" His tone was no longer jovial and conversational, the teacher was back and his tone was serious. Slow and quiet, but demanding and icy.

She knew better than to argue.