Unlikely is an Understatement

"Belladonna!"

Hermione shouted at the wall where her door should have been. What she needed right now was a very hot shower, a cozy couch corner to curl up in, and a good book to curl up with. What she did not need was a malfunctioning door, which would lead to another encounter with the headmaster. Considering the fact that he had given her what had to be his old rooms, she wasn't sure she would be able to look at him without screaming. The dungeons. For a Gryffindor. Honestly. She took her wand out and pointed it at the wall.

"Belladonna!"

Slowly, almost grumpily, the wall rippled and an arch opened in it. Hermione glared at it before swishing imperiously down the opened hall into her rooms. It was rather like having a flat all of her own; a flat with a perpetual draft and cold stone floors. The dungeon was the expected gothic arched doorways and high skylights, and everything bordered by intricate stonework; snakes curled around the half-columns, but she was surprised by the pair of stone lions guarding the fireplace. The furnishings were quite different from their setting though. Comfortable couches and chairs, their threadbare upholstery in a rainbow of faded colors, were scattered around the room. A carpet in similar condition lay before the fireplace. But the crowning piece, at least in Hermione's eyes, were the floor to ceiling wooden bookshelves that covered the wall on each side of the fireplace. She was determined to fill them as quickly as possible.

Through the door into the bedroom, where there was much of the same. Another magnificent fireplace, again with its guardian lions, was against the far wall. Before it was a large bed. Well, a large futon. She raised her eyebrows at that and headed to the door that must lead to the bathroom. No, a walk in closet. Another surprise in the rooms of such a wizard-bred man. Ah, that's the bathroom door. She shut it behind her, staring at the large whole in the floor, which some might call tub, that greeted her. Wizards were not showering people, she remembered belatedly. For a second she longed for her bathroom back home, before remembering the wonders of a Hogwarts bath. Further inspection found towels and other necessities in the chest along the wall - seems Snape had been inclined towards self-sufficiency.

An hour in a hot tub was all she needed to calm her nerves and unravel the tense spots in her neck. She had managed to keep herself occupied with thoughts of her new home, the books she would buy, the upcoming term, while carefully blocking everything Snape related. It would be rather odd to think of Snape while in the bathtub; the connotations of that stray notion made her shudder and grimace. Hermione dragged herself out of the tub regretfully and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel.

It was about this time that she remembered her bags were still in Bill's room.

Panic mode was quickly approaching. Wander around the castle in a towel and search for Bill's room? Not bloody likely as long as Snape and his keen sense of poor timing were anywhere within two miles. Put on dirty clothes - ew! - and search for Bill's room? The pile of clothing in the corner did not look at all appealing to her highly developed sense of hygiene. Ah, minimize embarrassment - and stay in own rooms - by calling Bill on the Floo? Perfect. Hermione wandered into the bedroom, searching for anything that might resemble a Floo reserve. There, on the mantelpiece, the little stone bowl. Perfect.

"Bill Weasley," Hermione called as she threw it into the dead fireplace. Green flames spurted up, and after a moment a head appeared in the fireplace.

Snape's head.

Any shock he may have registered at seeing Hermione in a towel was effectively hidden from his face by the overpowering sneer. Hermione's shock was quite apparent in the fiery red blush covering her cheeks. Thankfully, she had enough presence of mind not to let go of the towel.

"Is there a reason, Miss Granger, why you felt the need to call me in your present state of undress?" Snape asked coldly. If possible, her blush grew.

"I - I was calling for Bill's rooms," she stammered out. The disembodied head rolled its eyes and gave a much put-upon sigh.

"Did not mention just an hour or two earlier to you that your pursuance of these...activities with Mr. Weasley were to be conducted in a professional and, more importantly, decent manner?" he asked huffily.

"Sir, I would rather not involve you in this, but my luggage was left in Bill's rooms, which I had forgotten until after my bath. Now, please would you end this exchange and allow me to try and contact him again," she snapped, exasperated, and ran a hand through her wet, tangled hair, letting the towel slip just a bit.

"I'm afraid that will be impossible Miss Granger, as the fireplace in your bedroom connects solely to the Headmaster's." He closed his eyes wearily, and for the barest of moments she thought she saw something pass over his face - a flicker of...pain? - before he continued. "I will have the house elves collect your bags directly. They will most likely leave them at your door. I suggest you not try to call anyone else currently, or leave the rooms. Furthermore, Miss Granger, I strongly recommend that you never operate this Floo connection again. Not unless it is in the strictest of dire emergencies." This last gruffly and harsh before he abruptly cancelled the connection.

The warmth in the air and bright sunny quality of the day picked Hermione's heart up as soon as she set foot on the grounds. Dressed now in simple jeans and a shirt, the entire morning banished from her mind, Hermione Granger was prepared to make the most of a gorgeous day. She had her folder of class notes, a list of stores to order, and - grudgingly - the folder containing Snape's curriculums. Now, all that was left to find was a nice tree or patch of grass.

A moment of wandering and she had sighted a tree, just by the water's edge with a fine sward of green grass running underneath it. She settled herself, spread out her papers (magically charmed not to blow away) and began working. When Hermione finally noticed the shadow falling over her work, she had lost all concept of time. It was Bill Weasley, standing in front of a lovely afternoon sun, with his own folder of work.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." And she cleared a space of her papers. Bill gratefully took the seat offered and spread out his own mess of notes.

"Class schedules?" he asked, conversationally.

"Yeah. I've got some of them done, but what with the short notice, I'm finding it hard to cover it all. Potions would be a required course," she replied exhaustedly, brushing her hair away absentmindedly. He smiled at the thoughtless gesture. "Snape did leave me his old curriculums, but I really want to prove I can do this on my own," she finished, and tossed the offending paper down with a sigh.

"Well, he did teach it for - how many years? Nearly twenty I'd think. Might be a good idea to take a look at how he laid things out. Just to get a handle on it in the next few weeks." The last he added hastily as she shot him a look that dared him to challenge her competency again. Bill tried to shake it off and smiled disarmingly at her. Change of subject time.

"So, you going to come visit with us for the winter hols? What with me being here, Mum will certainly expect you to stop in at least once."

"Of course I'll visit. Weasley might as well be my last name. You're my surrogate wizarding family," she replied with a warm smile. "Besides, wouldn't want to miss meeting Ron's new girlfriend."

"Oh, Merlin. I imagine she'll be another beast. He has the worst taste in girls," Bill groaned, collapsing back against the tree.

"Maybe, it's time for you to give him some brotherly advice, then."

"Nah, let him muddle through on his own. Be good for the boy." With that last Bill crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. The setting sun touched his hair, setting it ablaze in a fiery halo, and softened his features.

"Don't go getting to comfortable there, it's practically dinner time," Hermione laughed, and began gathering her papers. With everything safely tucked away, Bill leapt up and offered a hand to a smiling Hermione. They walked together to the castle, bathed in the dying rays of sunlight.

It wasn't enough that she had to impose herself so powerfully on him all day, but she let his warnings against socialization with Weasley go unheeded. Snape turned away from his window as the pair entered the castle. Dinner in the Great Hall suddenly was not so appealing to him. Hastily he stepped through his office, back into the lab off his rooms.

The little room was gloomy, filled with the sound of softly burbling liquids and the hiss of the burners. A medium sized cauldron was smoking gently on the table, the vapors pouring over the rim in a waterfall of blue and green. Snape waved his wand at it absently, the flame dropping to little more than the tiniest flash while the torrents of smoke eased off.

Upon taking the headmaster position, he had immediately installed the little laboratory, even before unpacking his things. It provided false comfort, a carefully recreated dungeon that almost let him think he was still just a Potions Master. Today he slumped down on the one old, wooden stool in the room and cradled his head in his hands.

Becoming headmaster had invariably resulted in ten-fold more headaches than normal, and today's looked to be going for the prize. Not only did he have the million and a half nagging petty issues to take care of before term started, but he also had two new rogue Gryffindors on the staff, neither of which he had wanted to hire. Weasley wouldn't be much trouble, and, Snape grudgingly admitted, certainly was qualified as a defense teacher. Granger, though, had absolutely no qualifications as a teacher, and was already proving to be more trying than she was as a student. One hand reached up into the shelf behind him, caressing, counting beakers until he came to the headache relief potion. Snape downed it in go, grimacing at the rancid, acidic taste.

Though the pain had cleared, he had no desire to leave his sanctuary. The desk had already been full of unopened letters, and the owls brought more every minute. Whining parents of every kind had buried him in a blizzard of owls since he'd taken the position. Mountains of inane questions and complaints that he didn't have the time or patience to answer. Sneering, Snape sifted through the newest layer of paper, tossing complaints into the basket, suggestions into the baskets, and Howler's into a far corner of the room that was already black from explosions. A large blue envelope - unstamped, unsealed, and unmarked - was soon revealed. He picked it up carefully, fearing a new kind of Howler.

As soon as he touched it, it began to vibrate. He was swinging his arm around to chuck it into the detonation corner when it stopped abruptly and unfolded itself. The letter it contained fell out onto the carpet. Mystified, he retrieved it, while the envelope folded itself up into what was, for all intents and purposes, a small paper cat. Snape scanned the paper, and stood, lost in thought for a moment, before incinerating the note. His eyes fell to the tiny cat that was prowling around his feet.

"Must you always advertise yourself to the world," he murmured softly, kneeling down to allow the animal to pad onto his palm. "Clever trick, but a colossal waste of energy." And he let the cat walk off onto his mantle piece where it prowled around before settling down.

"I suppose I'll now be obliged to attend dinner tonight