Hermione Snape and the Divergence Point: Volume #1

Chapter 2: Last Summer

"Hi, Dad," Hermione greeted him as she hung the last of the monkshood from the drying lines.

"Someone's been busy this morning," he noted. "And I see you've addressed the newt eyes too. How are they sorted?"

"Left to right, newest in back and three years or older in the bin for the thestrals," she sighed.

"And so she listens!" Severus teased. "It's a miracle."

"Love you too, Dad," she laughed descending the ladder. "I already sorted the snake skins by breed and age, extracted and stored the toad stones and separated the mistletoe leaves and berries."

Hermione stood opposite him, leaning against the long work table to cross something off her list. Nearly eleven, she stood close to half his height now but was still all hair and eyes. Her easiest identifier was her bushy brown hair nearly reaching her waist, adding to what he considered a doll-like appearance when she bothered to move it out of her large almond-shaped eyes. Despite what his colleagues said, he still saw the four-year-old who used to hang herbs to dry from his shoulders. Though she had since then re-grown her front teeth. Which sadly were long enough to draw attention whenever she opened her mouth. He suspected they would earn her a hard time.

"And all before noon," he said, placing a hand on her head. "Why?"

"Can't I do something nice for my poor overworked father?" She offered.

"Historically?" he raised an eyebrow at her. "You normally wait for me to start. Ah, yes, I remember you saying something to the effect of me 'not having an intuitive system' and that you 'still have no chance of remembering it all unless I drew you a map'."

"Which you never did," she scanned the list. "But I did, so I have it down."

A reference book lay open to illustrate her point. It was very well drawn with extremely detailed calligraphy noting how and why things were situated in the still room. The number of details made him imagine an old textbook or map. The black ink was already dried, meaning she had done it before this morning. Isolation might have been hard on the child, but she had developed a wide range of skills and languages he imagined she wouldn't have if he had sent her away during her early childhood.

Another book caught his eye. A thin and short red volume with the word Carrie written on the cover. He picked it up to flip through it. "What on earth are you reading?"

"Muggle novel that I found while cleaning the library," she said. "It's written kind of like police files to be more immersive. It's about a seventeen-year-old girl who develops telekinesis. I've finished it if you want to read it."

"You've finished a novel you picked up yesterday and did most of the day's work all before noon? And when did you draw this?"

"Last night," she said.

"I know you didn't eat and should I even ask if you slept?" he asked looking up from the book.

"I'm still young," she shrugged. "Was there anything else that we needed to do today?"

"You need to sleep," he gently ushered her away from the table.

"But i-it's eleven, what if I sleep all day?"

"I'll wake you later," he assured her.

"But-"

"But nothing," he said. "You can either go to bed or I can carry you."

"And I'm on my way."

Hermione woke up with a yelp and shudder. Relieved to find herself in her own bed, she tried to banish the images of teachers and students laughing from her mind. Covered in pig's blood and plastered with failing papers all over her body, the entire school pointed and laughed at her. A familiar pretty blonde student muttered to another that she was a "social retard" and the Weasley twins teased her for thinking they could ever be friends. Amidst it all her father stood before her smirking and said: