ANTI-LITIGATION CHARM: All recognisable characters and places related to
the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner
Brothers and Scholastic Publishing. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction.
No infringement is intended.
RATED: PG13
NOTES: O hear ye, hear ye -- Order of the Phoenix spoilers ahead! This was written back in July for the WIKTT 2 to 6 Challenge but I'm just now putting it up here, so it may be familiar to some. One-shot fic, no extension or sequels. Not HG/SS, but does contain an encounter between the two. I've no real inkling as to where this came from, but it sprang to mind almost fully formed shortly after I read the challenge. (I also overshot the length requirement by about a thousand words, but I did try to keep it as short as possible, I really did. Honest. *g*) Not an especially happy story; I tried to find the happy, but ...
The Persistence of Memory
+++
The mind is a city like London,
Smoky and populous: it is a capital
Like Rome, ruined and eternal,
Marked by the monuments which no one
Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains
Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheatres, palaces,
Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken or soiled.
The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins
Of every haunted, hunted generation's celebration.
-- Delmore Schwartz, from "The Mind is an Ancient and Famous Capital"
+++
A scream rent the silent night air, startling the young lady in the Head Girl's room awake. Eyes rapidly scanning the room, she searched for the source of the banshee howl. Seeing nothing moving within the room, she gently nudged her companion. Screams in the night were not unusual at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-what with the large population of ghosts and other fantastical beings, but something about this one made her tremble with fear. The one sharing her bed was still sound asleep. He made a sound very much like a sigh and shifted position, but other than that showed no signs of stirring.
"Wake up!" Hermione Granger said, poking more firmly.
His eyes finally opened, and he opened his mouth as if to speak.
But didn't and she was more than just a bit annoyed at his failure to react; her companion was clearly awake, smirking at her as blue-black eyes met hazel-brown. "Well?"
"Well what?" he parried.
"Did you not hear the scream?"
He shrugged. "What of it? It's probably just an ignorant Mudblood stumbling across something better left alone -- "
The sound of her hand striking his flesh echoed in the large room, bouncing off the stone walls with a ferocity only exceeded by the fear slowly creeping into her mind. Angry though she was, and legitimately so, she was not stupid ... but striking her current companion was rather stupid of her.
Tom Riddle's face was impassive as he regarded the young woman before him. "That was foolish, Hermione," he said softly as he reached out and captured her wrist with a swiftness she still had trouble comprehending. "You have been startled by something, however, so I will forgive you your ... presumption."
She shuddered as he pressed his lips to palm of the hand that had struck him, twisting out of his grip and searching for the robes that she had abandoned earlier in the evening. Hermione didn't need to see him to know that his gaze followed her as she looked for her robes and shoes, and she knew his smirk had widened when she was finally reduced to summoning them with an exasperated Accio. It was almost intolerable at times, the way he treated her. And yet ...
And yet what, the fiercely Gryffindor side of her mind asked. How does his more polite and mannerly conduct outweigh this abuse?
He appreciated her as no one else did, she acknowledged. And that by itself was very, very seductive to the girl who could count friends on one hand and lovers or companions only once ... and that one relationship was fragile already. It had been fragile since inception, really, the two dancing around the issue and each other since the previous summer. That she knew the price for Riddle's attentions would be steep scared her beyond imagining; still, she was powerless to resist. And he didn't abuse her at all, not really.
No, he simply keeps you on as tight a lead as he can, her mind retorted.
Hermione shook her head ever so slightly as she pulled the upper half of her hair back and secured it with a clasp just below her crown. It was just no use thinking about this right now. She turned to leave and caught a glimpse of him as she hurried through the door -- arms pillowing his head as he stretched lazily across her bed, the flickering light from the candles rippling across the wide expanse of exposed flesh. Desire shot through her and left her aching for him once more but she forced herself out of the suite, and once the door had shut and retaken the appearance of stone she leaned against it and inhaled as deeply as possible. Had she herself not ruled out the possibility of love potions or spells, she might have suspected him of employing them in order to produce the very reactions she was manifesting. As it was, she was just grateful that most of the school had not yet noticed how deeply ensnared she had become.
She might have stood there for hours but a second scream jerked her from her reverie and propelled her in its direction, her thoughts turning instead to the broader issue. Who had cast the spell of Persistent Memory was still unknown, but its effects were noticed almost immediately as the wraiths had began to detach from the walls, windows, books, hidden nooks and others parts of Hogwarts and its grounds. They were similar to ghosts in that they were incorporeal, but rather than being hazy grey apparitions they were colourful and very nearly solid. These memories, a tiny piece of the souls of people frozen at a particular moment in time, also had the ability to interact with mortals in almost every way imaginable. And because they were confined to Hogwarts, they tended to gravitate toward their older selves or, in a few cases, their children and grandchildren. While fascinating, if somewhat distracting, it might have been rectified if not for a quartet of third-year Ravenclaws who had attempted to brew a Solidifying Solution on the sly.
What went wrong was debatable. What was known, however, was that after the initial explosion the solution had transformed into a gaseous mixture and spread throughout the castle. Oddly enough, it only affected the memory wraiths, turning them to flesh and blood and completely derailing any and all attempts to reverse the initial spell that had formed them in the beginning. They were, after all, now fully conscious living beings with a right to life ... even if there was another one of them already. Harry was ecstatic; not only had he regained Sirius (albeit the seventeen year old version) but Lily Evans as well. The Weasleys had been by turns overjoyed and distraught to discover that they had another Fred and George ... who had welcomed themselves via Exploding Gigglers, a rather unique variation on Howlers. Letters exchanged between Molly and Ginny had resulted in the knowledge that both sets of twins had of late been seen with devious grins plastered across their faces, and that all four had promptly disappeared shortly after learning of each other -- one pair muttering about Switching Sweets and the other about Mushmouth Mallows. (Hermione was personally thrilled to discover that neither she, Harry or Ron had an Otherself, though all had agreed it was a miracle that Harry didn't given everything that had happened.)
As for Snape -- he had been heard raging for days afterwards, thoroughly incensed at the third-years' arrogance for trying to brew a potion that was not covered until well into the OWL year. Hermione had found herself agreeing with him but always managed to bite her lip and count to ten before commenting on the situation, remembering all too well her own second- year excursion into Polyjuice brewing. Rumour had it that Dumbledore was heading a committee to determine what to do about the sudden re-additions to the Wizarding world.
Along with his ninety and eleven year old selves.
She grinned as she thought about that. Albus Dumbledore was one thing -- but three of him? All that twinkling was enough to make even the sanest person go a bit off the beam ... and apparently the lemon sherbets really were an old habit ... Her expression faltered a bit as she thought about the rest of the situation. Given that no one wanted to see the effects spread -- if indeed they even would -- the Ministry and Dumbledore had agreed to close off the school until they understood what had happened and had come to an arrangement. No one was allowed entry, not even the Minister of Magic.
And no one could leave.
Which was why the school was still full of students in the middle of July; Hermione shuddered as she thought about all the Howlers she'd seen the Headmaster receive since that fateful April morning. Her own parents had been confused but understanding, agreeing with her that she was likely safer from Voldemort at Hogwarts than she would have been at home.
Safer from Voldemort, yes.
But not from Tom Riddle, who had shocked a great many people recently. Only a handful knew who he had become and the two eldest Dumbledores agreed that it was better if the truth did not become public knowledge -- no need to cause a panic, as they'd explained to a livid Harry and distraught Ginny. And given that too many current students had seen or talked to him since the spell began, imprisoning Tom and/or Obliviating said students was out of the question. It was a security risk, of course, but so far he had shown no signs of interest in Ginny Weasley, dark magic or of wishing to meet his Otherself. Nor was he spending much time with the Slytherins; after a cursory sort of examination he'd turned his attention to the Ravenclaws before finally gravitating toward Hermione. And although House Slytherin had quickly pointed out her obvious shortcoming --
"She's a Mudblood!" Pansy screeched, earning a glare from Madam Pince.
"A know-it-all bitch," Malfoy pointed out more quietly. "Pretty enough to tumble, mind you ... if you can get to her ... "
Tom simply lifted an eyebrow at the assorted students and let one side of his mouth lift in a half-smile. "I know."
Pansy and Millicent both looked stupefied. "B-b-but why?"
"Why her?" Malfoy questioned.
Dark eyes met silvery grey. "Because she reminds me of ... me."
-- it didn't matter. Nothing anyone said had any impact on Tom Riddle's determination when it applied to Hermione Granger.
And eventually she had succumbed to him, as much out of genuine desire as out of feelings of ostracism from her peers. It had been an unusually hot night in late May when she had climbed to the top of the North Tower (vacant because Firenze insisted on continuing lessons in the new room and Trelawney had reluctantly agreed) in search of a breeze. She could have used a charm to generate a bit of wind, but on top of the heat she'd taken her last NEWT that day and desperately wanted a place to relax and enjoy the silence. Only he'd been there too, and suddenly everything -- all the needling barbs and wit and the repressed need she had been fighting for her other would-be lover for nearly a year -- coupled with the sultry, dark heat had driven her into his arms. Not once, not twice, but multiple times ... and nearly every night thereafter.
In fact --
"Ouch!"
Hermione backed up a few paces and raised her wand. "Lumos."
She was close to the Potions classroom when something nearly knocked her over upon impact. The dark shape that had barrelled into her was actually two shapes -- Neville and Padma, the couple no one had expected to ever exist much less last. They looked a bit sheepish at being caught and gave her matching looks of endearing innocence. "H-Hermione," Neville acknowledged. "Nice night ... bit hot, though -- "
The former Head Girl just shook her head. "Were the two of you the source of the screams I heard?"
Padma winced. "You heard them?"
"Indeed, Miss Patil, I imagine anyone currently awake was privy to your orgasmic vocalisations," a silky voice emerged from the shadows, followed by its host. Snape stared at the lovers with amused disapproval. "Had the Headmaster not stipulated that the former Upper Sixth was no longer to be held accountable for House points, I assure you that both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor numbers would be significantly lower just now. So I suppose that, given the current situation, this must be a blessing for your former Housemates Miss Patil."
Hermione winced. The Ravenclaws had managed, through the mistakes of four of their younger members, to replace Gryffindor as Snape's most despised students. Whether or not this would last long enough to benefit the younger Gryffindors was debatable though, she thought as she watched the couple scamper off to bed ... most likely his given the wards set on the girls' dormitories.
"Miss Granger."
"Professor."
He inclined his head. "Did they wake you?"
She started. Snape, solicitous? "No," she said after a moment. "I was awake."
He was silent and his face impassive but as he crossed his arms she noticed what the others had not -- his standard black robes were fuller and longer and a flatter hue than usual. She flicked her wrist and murmured an incantation Professor Flitwick had taught her in the days following her recovery from the wounds she'd gained at the Department of Mysteries, a handy little charm that rendered anything said by the caster and her conversant/s as little more than background noise to any who might be listening. Harry, after watching her cast it on Ron and Neville, had likened it to television static. "You were Called?"
"Ten points, Miss Granger," he jeered softly.
"A meeting?"
"No."
Hermione inhaled sharply; a Dark Revel then. "I thought no one was allowed to leave the castle or grounds."
Snape inclined his head in affirmation. "What you did not know, however, was that the ban is to be lifted in three days. Voldemort's spies in the Ministry reported as much and he wished to have a gathering before tonight's ... festivities."
"Was it anyone -- "
"No," he cut her off. "Tomorrow's Muggle papers will carry stories about the brutal deaths of several homeless and transients, but nothing more."
A part of her relaxed immediately while another part railed at the injustice, but she knew voicing those thoughts here and now was pointless. She had lifted her wand to dismantle the charm when Snape caught her wrist, eliciting a yelp as his fingers closed around the same spot Tom's had earlier. He looked at her sharply, then pushed the sleeve of her robe back and raised his own wand for more light. Her mouth opened but he glared at her and her jaw snapped shut, realisation crossing her face.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of your current liaison, as are the Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore," he whispered. "It's a foolish, dangerous and potentially lethal game you've begun ... but after what I witnessed in May I suppose it's simply that your hormones have finally made themselves known."
The knowledge that he knew about Tom's obsessive possessiveness warred with what he was telling her. "Y-y-you ... you WATCHED us!?"
"Yes," he said bluntly, black eyes boring into hers. "Given the rumours that were already circling at the time, we felt it best to keep watch over you. I watched to ensure that he had not planned to use sex as a way to fuel a dark ritual, Miss Granger, and to step in if he became too aggressive. I did not watch out of some misplaced need for pleasure ... if anything, what I witnessed cured me of any desires I might have held."
Hermione flushed a deep scarlet. "Why didn't anyone say anything, then?"
"With Riddle watching for that very thing?"
It made sense, she thought miserably. "And now?"
"It's an acceptable risk," he replied dropping her wrist. "Does he speak of Voldemort? Of joining him, perhaps?"
"No," she said thoughtfully. "If anything he seems ... scornful, I think, whenever Voldemort is discussed. It's as if he wants to disassociate himself from -- "
"But what does he think of the rest?"
Hermione was silent.
"I see," Snape said, correctly interpreting her silence. "You do know what this means, do you not Miss Granger?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
Snape's gaze didn't soften but it did take on an almost piteous quality. "I doubt that you do," he murmured.
"Oh, I think I do," she responded, her throat feeling tight as she repressed tears. "Tom scorns Voldemort for what he has allowed himself to become, he makes little secret of that. And Voldemort is afraid Tom Riddle, of whom little is known, will try to take over the Death Eaters -- and that he will succeed. And he will succeed, not only because he'll not make the same mistakes but because no one knows that Voldemort once was Tom Riddle.
"But even if that does come out ... why, look, this Riddle is campaigning against Voldemort so the memory of him must have been from before he turned dark," she bit out bitterly.
"A very accurate summation," Snape said quietly. "What will you do?"
Hermione raised her eyes to his and ended the spell before she turned and climbed the stairs out of the dungeon, her vaunted Gryffindor courage failing. Once at the top she faltered for a moment and then looked back over her shoulder; she bit her lip before addressing the dark shadow at the foot of the stairs. "I'll do ... what I have to do."
And then she forced herself to retrace her earlier steps while she replayed the conversation in her head, locking bits and pieces of it away so that Tom couldn't coax it out of her later. Her mind wandered after that, her body on autopilot, so when she stopped and looked up she was surprised to see not the hidden door to the Head Girl's chamber but the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was startled, but murmured the password and allowed her subconscious to determine her direction.
A few moments later she found herself standing next to a four-poster bed draped in burgundy, its curtains closed to allow its resident privacy. Hermione wasn't sure how long she stood staring, her lower lip between her teeth, but a little while later a sleepy redhead poked a head out of the curtains and blinked. "What are you doing in here?"
Hermione blinked. "I'm not really sure I know. I just let myself walk ... and here's where I ended up ... "
The redhead raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Why aren't you with him?"
"Because," she whispered fiercely, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "I'm here, where I've always wanted to be even when you weren't sure -- "
But her words were cut off as the redhead caught her wrist and saw, as Snape had, the bruise blooming in the shape of fingers. "I'm scared," she choked out as the long repressed tears began to fall. "I'm so scared, Ginny, terrified ... he gets to me so damn easily a-and n-no one q-qu- questions it ... I-I need you b-but you st-st-stayed away ... "
Ginny reached out and pulled her estranged girlfriend into the bed before closing the curtains, thankful now more than ever for the silencing charm she'd put on them years ago. The younger witch held Hermione as she cried, as she poured out her heart and the whole sordid story ... and then it was her turn to shake and be held as memories of her first year came flooding back with an intensity that frightened them both. They clung to one another, desperate to revive a connection that had faltered a few months earlier for other, foolish reasons. Hours later, as false dawn cast its faint light across the sky, the two tormented witches lay spooned together as they listened to the silence that surrounded them and deliberately ignored the smooth, dulcet tones that called to them from near and far. It was only then, wrapped up in the soft afterglow of reunion, that they were able to relax, and as they did so sleep overtook the two in the bed.
END
RATED: PG13
NOTES: O hear ye, hear ye -- Order of the Phoenix spoilers ahead! This was written back in July for the WIKTT 2 to 6 Challenge but I'm just now putting it up here, so it may be familiar to some. One-shot fic, no extension or sequels. Not HG/SS, but does contain an encounter between the two. I've no real inkling as to where this came from, but it sprang to mind almost fully formed shortly after I read the challenge. (I also overshot the length requirement by about a thousand words, but I did try to keep it as short as possible, I really did. Honest. *g*) Not an especially happy story; I tried to find the happy, but ...
The Persistence of Memory
+++
The mind is a city like London,
Smoky and populous: it is a capital
Like Rome, ruined and eternal,
Marked by the monuments which no one
Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains
Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheatres, palaces,
Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken or soiled.
The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins
Of every haunted, hunted generation's celebration.
-- Delmore Schwartz, from "The Mind is an Ancient and Famous Capital"
+++
A scream rent the silent night air, startling the young lady in the Head Girl's room awake. Eyes rapidly scanning the room, she searched for the source of the banshee howl. Seeing nothing moving within the room, she gently nudged her companion. Screams in the night were not unusual at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-what with the large population of ghosts and other fantastical beings, but something about this one made her tremble with fear. The one sharing her bed was still sound asleep. He made a sound very much like a sigh and shifted position, but other than that showed no signs of stirring.
"Wake up!" Hermione Granger said, poking more firmly.
His eyes finally opened, and he opened his mouth as if to speak.
But didn't and she was more than just a bit annoyed at his failure to react; her companion was clearly awake, smirking at her as blue-black eyes met hazel-brown. "Well?"
"Well what?" he parried.
"Did you not hear the scream?"
He shrugged. "What of it? It's probably just an ignorant Mudblood stumbling across something better left alone -- "
The sound of her hand striking his flesh echoed in the large room, bouncing off the stone walls with a ferocity only exceeded by the fear slowly creeping into her mind. Angry though she was, and legitimately so, she was not stupid ... but striking her current companion was rather stupid of her.
Tom Riddle's face was impassive as he regarded the young woman before him. "That was foolish, Hermione," he said softly as he reached out and captured her wrist with a swiftness she still had trouble comprehending. "You have been startled by something, however, so I will forgive you your ... presumption."
She shuddered as he pressed his lips to palm of the hand that had struck him, twisting out of his grip and searching for the robes that she had abandoned earlier in the evening. Hermione didn't need to see him to know that his gaze followed her as she looked for her robes and shoes, and she knew his smirk had widened when she was finally reduced to summoning them with an exasperated Accio. It was almost intolerable at times, the way he treated her. And yet ...
And yet what, the fiercely Gryffindor side of her mind asked. How does his more polite and mannerly conduct outweigh this abuse?
He appreciated her as no one else did, she acknowledged. And that by itself was very, very seductive to the girl who could count friends on one hand and lovers or companions only once ... and that one relationship was fragile already. It had been fragile since inception, really, the two dancing around the issue and each other since the previous summer. That she knew the price for Riddle's attentions would be steep scared her beyond imagining; still, she was powerless to resist. And he didn't abuse her at all, not really.
No, he simply keeps you on as tight a lead as he can, her mind retorted.
Hermione shook her head ever so slightly as she pulled the upper half of her hair back and secured it with a clasp just below her crown. It was just no use thinking about this right now. She turned to leave and caught a glimpse of him as she hurried through the door -- arms pillowing his head as he stretched lazily across her bed, the flickering light from the candles rippling across the wide expanse of exposed flesh. Desire shot through her and left her aching for him once more but she forced herself out of the suite, and once the door had shut and retaken the appearance of stone she leaned against it and inhaled as deeply as possible. Had she herself not ruled out the possibility of love potions or spells, she might have suspected him of employing them in order to produce the very reactions she was manifesting. As it was, she was just grateful that most of the school had not yet noticed how deeply ensnared she had become.
She might have stood there for hours but a second scream jerked her from her reverie and propelled her in its direction, her thoughts turning instead to the broader issue. Who had cast the spell of Persistent Memory was still unknown, but its effects were noticed almost immediately as the wraiths had began to detach from the walls, windows, books, hidden nooks and others parts of Hogwarts and its grounds. They were similar to ghosts in that they were incorporeal, but rather than being hazy grey apparitions they were colourful and very nearly solid. These memories, a tiny piece of the souls of people frozen at a particular moment in time, also had the ability to interact with mortals in almost every way imaginable. And because they were confined to Hogwarts, they tended to gravitate toward their older selves or, in a few cases, their children and grandchildren. While fascinating, if somewhat distracting, it might have been rectified if not for a quartet of third-year Ravenclaws who had attempted to brew a Solidifying Solution on the sly.
What went wrong was debatable. What was known, however, was that after the initial explosion the solution had transformed into a gaseous mixture and spread throughout the castle. Oddly enough, it only affected the memory wraiths, turning them to flesh and blood and completely derailing any and all attempts to reverse the initial spell that had formed them in the beginning. They were, after all, now fully conscious living beings with a right to life ... even if there was another one of them already. Harry was ecstatic; not only had he regained Sirius (albeit the seventeen year old version) but Lily Evans as well. The Weasleys had been by turns overjoyed and distraught to discover that they had another Fred and George ... who had welcomed themselves via Exploding Gigglers, a rather unique variation on Howlers. Letters exchanged between Molly and Ginny had resulted in the knowledge that both sets of twins had of late been seen with devious grins plastered across their faces, and that all four had promptly disappeared shortly after learning of each other -- one pair muttering about Switching Sweets and the other about Mushmouth Mallows. (Hermione was personally thrilled to discover that neither she, Harry or Ron had an Otherself, though all had agreed it was a miracle that Harry didn't given everything that had happened.)
As for Snape -- he had been heard raging for days afterwards, thoroughly incensed at the third-years' arrogance for trying to brew a potion that was not covered until well into the OWL year. Hermione had found herself agreeing with him but always managed to bite her lip and count to ten before commenting on the situation, remembering all too well her own second- year excursion into Polyjuice brewing. Rumour had it that Dumbledore was heading a committee to determine what to do about the sudden re-additions to the Wizarding world.
Along with his ninety and eleven year old selves.
She grinned as she thought about that. Albus Dumbledore was one thing -- but three of him? All that twinkling was enough to make even the sanest person go a bit off the beam ... and apparently the lemon sherbets really were an old habit ... Her expression faltered a bit as she thought about the rest of the situation. Given that no one wanted to see the effects spread -- if indeed they even would -- the Ministry and Dumbledore had agreed to close off the school until they understood what had happened and had come to an arrangement. No one was allowed entry, not even the Minister of Magic.
And no one could leave.
Which was why the school was still full of students in the middle of July; Hermione shuddered as she thought about all the Howlers she'd seen the Headmaster receive since that fateful April morning. Her own parents had been confused but understanding, agreeing with her that she was likely safer from Voldemort at Hogwarts than she would have been at home.
Safer from Voldemort, yes.
But not from Tom Riddle, who had shocked a great many people recently. Only a handful knew who he had become and the two eldest Dumbledores agreed that it was better if the truth did not become public knowledge -- no need to cause a panic, as they'd explained to a livid Harry and distraught Ginny. And given that too many current students had seen or talked to him since the spell began, imprisoning Tom and/or Obliviating said students was out of the question. It was a security risk, of course, but so far he had shown no signs of interest in Ginny Weasley, dark magic or of wishing to meet his Otherself. Nor was he spending much time with the Slytherins; after a cursory sort of examination he'd turned his attention to the Ravenclaws before finally gravitating toward Hermione. And although House Slytherin had quickly pointed out her obvious shortcoming --
"She's a Mudblood!" Pansy screeched, earning a glare from Madam Pince.
"A know-it-all bitch," Malfoy pointed out more quietly. "Pretty enough to tumble, mind you ... if you can get to her ... "
Tom simply lifted an eyebrow at the assorted students and let one side of his mouth lift in a half-smile. "I know."
Pansy and Millicent both looked stupefied. "B-b-but why?"
"Why her?" Malfoy questioned.
Dark eyes met silvery grey. "Because she reminds me of ... me."
-- it didn't matter. Nothing anyone said had any impact on Tom Riddle's determination when it applied to Hermione Granger.
And eventually she had succumbed to him, as much out of genuine desire as out of feelings of ostracism from her peers. It had been an unusually hot night in late May when she had climbed to the top of the North Tower (vacant because Firenze insisted on continuing lessons in the new room and Trelawney had reluctantly agreed) in search of a breeze. She could have used a charm to generate a bit of wind, but on top of the heat she'd taken her last NEWT that day and desperately wanted a place to relax and enjoy the silence. Only he'd been there too, and suddenly everything -- all the needling barbs and wit and the repressed need she had been fighting for her other would-be lover for nearly a year -- coupled with the sultry, dark heat had driven her into his arms. Not once, not twice, but multiple times ... and nearly every night thereafter.
In fact --
"Ouch!"
Hermione backed up a few paces and raised her wand. "Lumos."
She was close to the Potions classroom when something nearly knocked her over upon impact. The dark shape that had barrelled into her was actually two shapes -- Neville and Padma, the couple no one had expected to ever exist much less last. They looked a bit sheepish at being caught and gave her matching looks of endearing innocence. "H-Hermione," Neville acknowledged. "Nice night ... bit hot, though -- "
The former Head Girl just shook her head. "Were the two of you the source of the screams I heard?"
Padma winced. "You heard them?"
"Indeed, Miss Patil, I imagine anyone currently awake was privy to your orgasmic vocalisations," a silky voice emerged from the shadows, followed by its host. Snape stared at the lovers with amused disapproval. "Had the Headmaster not stipulated that the former Upper Sixth was no longer to be held accountable for House points, I assure you that both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor numbers would be significantly lower just now. So I suppose that, given the current situation, this must be a blessing for your former Housemates Miss Patil."
Hermione winced. The Ravenclaws had managed, through the mistakes of four of their younger members, to replace Gryffindor as Snape's most despised students. Whether or not this would last long enough to benefit the younger Gryffindors was debatable though, she thought as she watched the couple scamper off to bed ... most likely his given the wards set on the girls' dormitories.
"Miss Granger."
"Professor."
He inclined his head. "Did they wake you?"
She started. Snape, solicitous? "No," she said after a moment. "I was awake."
He was silent and his face impassive but as he crossed his arms she noticed what the others had not -- his standard black robes were fuller and longer and a flatter hue than usual. She flicked her wrist and murmured an incantation Professor Flitwick had taught her in the days following her recovery from the wounds she'd gained at the Department of Mysteries, a handy little charm that rendered anything said by the caster and her conversant/s as little more than background noise to any who might be listening. Harry, after watching her cast it on Ron and Neville, had likened it to television static. "You were Called?"
"Ten points, Miss Granger," he jeered softly.
"A meeting?"
"No."
Hermione inhaled sharply; a Dark Revel then. "I thought no one was allowed to leave the castle or grounds."
Snape inclined his head in affirmation. "What you did not know, however, was that the ban is to be lifted in three days. Voldemort's spies in the Ministry reported as much and he wished to have a gathering before tonight's ... festivities."
"Was it anyone -- "
"No," he cut her off. "Tomorrow's Muggle papers will carry stories about the brutal deaths of several homeless and transients, but nothing more."
A part of her relaxed immediately while another part railed at the injustice, but she knew voicing those thoughts here and now was pointless. She had lifted her wand to dismantle the charm when Snape caught her wrist, eliciting a yelp as his fingers closed around the same spot Tom's had earlier. He looked at her sharply, then pushed the sleeve of her robe back and raised his own wand for more light. Her mouth opened but he glared at her and her jaw snapped shut, realisation crossing her face.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of your current liaison, as are the Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore," he whispered. "It's a foolish, dangerous and potentially lethal game you've begun ... but after what I witnessed in May I suppose it's simply that your hormones have finally made themselves known."
The knowledge that he knew about Tom's obsessive possessiveness warred with what he was telling her. "Y-y-you ... you WATCHED us!?"
"Yes," he said bluntly, black eyes boring into hers. "Given the rumours that were already circling at the time, we felt it best to keep watch over you. I watched to ensure that he had not planned to use sex as a way to fuel a dark ritual, Miss Granger, and to step in if he became too aggressive. I did not watch out of some misplaced need for pleasure ... if anything, what I witnessed cured me of any desires I might have held."
Hermione flushed a deep scarlet. "Why didn't anyone say anything, then?"
"With Riddle watching for that very thing?"
It made sense, she thought miserably. "And now?"
"It's an acceptable risk," he replied dropping her wrist. "Does he speak of Voldemort? Of joining him, perhaps?"
"No," she said thoughtfully. "If anything he seems ... scornful, I think, whenever Voldemort is discussed. It's as if he wants to disassociate himself from -- "
"But what does he think of the rest?"
Hermione was silent.
"I see," Snape said, correctly interpreting her silence. "You do know what this means, do you not Miss Granger?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
Snape's gaze didn't soften but it did take on an almost piteous quality. "I doubt that you do," he murmured.
"Oh, I think I do," she responded, her throat feeling tight as she repressed tears. "Tom scorns Voldemort for what he has allowed himself to become, he makes little secret of that. And Voldemort is afraid Tom Riddle, of whom little is known, will try to take over the Death Eaters -- and that he will succeed. And he will succeed, not only because he'll not make the same mistakes but because no one knows that Voldemort once was Tom Riddle.
"But even if that does come out ... why, look, this Riddle is campaigning against Voldemort so the memory of him must have been from before he turned dark," she bit out bitterly.
"A very accurate summation," Snape said quietly. "What will you do?"
Hermione raised her eyes to his and ended the spell before she turned and climbed the stairs out of the dungeon, her vaunted Gryffindor courage failing. Once at the top she faltered for a moment and then looked back over her shoulder; she bit her lip before addressing the dark shadow at the foot of the stairs. "I'll do ... what I have to do."
And then she forced herself to retrace her earlier steps while she replayed the conversation in her head, locking bits and pieces of it away so that Tom couldn't coax it out of her later. Her mind wandered after that, her body on autopilot, so when she stopped and looked up she was surprised to see not the hidden door to the Head Girl's chamber but the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was startled, but murmured the password and allowed her subconscious to determine her direction.
A few moments later she found herself standing next to a four-poster bed draped in burgundy, its curtains closed to allow its resident privacy. Hermione wasn't sure how long she stood staring, her lower lip between her teeth, but a little while later a sleepy redhead poked a head out of the curtains and blinked. "What are you doing in here?"
Hermione blinked. "I'm not really sure I know. I just let myself walk ... and here's where I ended up ... "
The redhead raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Why aren't you with him?"
"Because," she whispered fiercely, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "I'm here, where I've always wanted to be even when you weren't sure -- "
But her words were cut off as the redhead caught her wrist and saw, as Snape had, the bruise blooming in the shape of fingers. "I'm scared," she choked out as the long repressed tears began to fall. "I'm so scared, Ginny, terrified ... he gets to me so damn easily a-and n-no one q-qu- questions it ... I-I need you b-but you st-st-stayed away ... "
Ginny reached out and pulled her estranged girlfriend into the bed before closing the curtains, thankful now more than ever for the silencing charm she'd put on them years ago. The younger witch held Hermione as she cried, as she poured out her heart and the whole sordid story ... and then it was her turn to shake and be held as memories of her first year came flooding back with an intensity that frightened them both. They clung to one another, desperate to revive a connection that had faltered a few months earlier for other, foolish reasons. Hours later, as false dawn cast its faint light across the sky, the two tormented witches lay spooned together as they listened to the silence that surrounded them and deliberately ignored the smooth, dulcet tones that called to them from near and far. It was only then, wrapped up in the soft afterglow of reunion, that they were able to relax, and as they did so sleep overtook the two in the bed.
END