A/N: This is going to be a SS/HG and HP/DM fic. It is co-written by myself and a friend. We are taking a few liberties, one of them being that HBP never happened as we're both really fond of Dumbledore being alive and Snape continuing to teach at Hogwarts.
Please enjoy and if you have the time leave a review to tell us what you liked and what you didn't.
Standard Disclaimor: We own nothing. Which is just as well, we suppose.
Tearing the Veil
Chapter 1
In Scotland, in the fall, the students of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry were
waking up to the early morning sun shining through the windows. Such resplendence,
which was just the sort of things poets have fits of ecstasy over, was welcomed with
groans of derision or, in the cases of a few bitter older years, swearing and half-hearted
rude hand gestures. Alas, Hogwarts wasn't known for its dawn-inspired wizarding poetry.
Most of the students were trying to block out the sun to the best of their ability. All, that is,
except for one Hermione Granger. The Head Girl was always up early. Her internal alarm
clock was set for 5:30 am. It didn't much bother her and it meant that she, the eternal
bookworm, could get in a few more hours of what she felt was necessary studying. Luckily
at this hour the library was open. Madam Pince , the baleful and ever-watchful librarian,
was also accustomed to keeping early hours.
Occasionally Hermione would also see the dark countenance of Professor Snape
wandering through the restricted section. The first time he had gone out of his way to
frighten her, as far as she could tell, for his own twisted amusement. She had been deep
into reading Positively Powerful Potions Level 7 when he crept up behind her. His voice,
barely above a whisper and laced with silk, wished her a caustic good morning.
She hadn't seen his lips twitch when she had almost fallen out of her chair. By the time
she had turned to face him his face was schooled blank but for the slightest hint of
irritation. He had proceeded to fire off questions concerning her sleeping habits, her
obsessive Gryffindor need to be the very best to validate her existence, and even
managed a jab at her hair which she had forgotten to brush that morning.
"You have read the myth of Perseus, haven't you, Ms. Granger?" he had drawled with a
sneer.
She had. And no, she didn't think she looked as bad as Medusa, even in the morning,
thank you very much.
Lately if Professor Snape saw her in the library in the morning he would ignore her for the
most part. If it was absolutely necessary, such as when they passed one another in the
stacks, he would give her an almost unperceptive nod by way of greeting and then either
go to another row or leave the library entirely. Hermione didn't really mind in either case.
She liked the library when it was absolutely silent. It gave her time to study without being
interrupted.
Hermione took a furtive look around after wishing a good morning to Madam Pince. As
there seemed to be no one around, especially those with billowing black robes, she
decided it was safe enough to settle down at a table and get started re-reading her 7th
year Transfiguration book. Though she had read it from cover to cover over the summer,
twice, she still felt apprehensive about the test Professor McGonnagal was going to give
later that afternoon. Even though Ron, Harry, and even Neville has assured her, repeatedly, that she would do fine. They then went on to ask that, since she was going to
do fine, wouldn't it be awful nice of her to help them with their own studies? She was the
only one who could transform a cup into a gnome with the abilities to speak English. Harry
had come close, once, but his talked with a New York accent that had astounded everyone,
most of all Harry, who had never been to the States.
As for their request, Hermione had rolled her eyes and told them that if they really wanted
to get tutored she would be willing and available in the early mornings in the library. She
had been joking, of course, knowing perfectly well that none of her friends would be
caught dead getting up early for something as asinine to them as homework (not half as
important as Quidditch, mate) and fully intended to make up elaborate timetables which
would label when they were to come to her for help and when they were to work on their
own to achieve maximum results.
Therefore, when a hand fell to lightly rest on her shoulder she almost had a repeat of the
falling-out-of-the-library-chair incident. Catching herself, though not before a small gasp
escaped her, she turned, fully expecting to see the dark eyes of her potions master. In
almost the same moment her brain logically dismissed the idea. He had never touched her
outside of third year when he had held her back by the arms when she had tried to run
after Harry and Professor Lupin when he had, unfortunately for them all, turned into a
werewolf.
"Ron!" she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. "What are you doing here? Honestly, you
almost scared me to death."
Ron blushed. Hermione had noticed that he was doing that more and more often.
Whenever he did, his cheeks and the tip of his nose would almost match his hair. "Sorry,"
he grinned sheepishly. He did look contrite enough, so Hermione gave him a smile to show
that no, she wasn't too mad.
Ron continued on while sitting down across from her, holding up his Transfiguration book
like a shield. "You told us you were going to tutor us in the mornings, right?"
"I didn't think anyone was going to take me up on the offer," Hermione said while leaning
back in her chair. Ron yawned without bothering to cover his mouth.
"Oy, nor did I, to tell you the truth. I don't want my mum to kill me, though. Last time on
the transfiguration test I scored, well, lower than she would have wanted."
"That's what that Howler was about," Hermione recalled the red, sputtering envelope that
had sailed in front of a horrified looking Ron a few weeks beforehand. Knowing perfectly
well what it was and enjoying her eardrums enough not to subject them to such a tumult,
she had excused herself from the Great Hall and proceeded to miss the excitement that
was watching one's peer getting yelled at by their mother.
"Worst one I ever had," said Ron with wide, respectful eyes. "Mum should go into
business, writing Howlers for other parents."
"It could be a lucrative career," mused Hermione. "It's gotten you to study. Who knows
what it will do to the even slightly motivated students," she giggled at his narrowed eyes.
"Bugger off," he rolled his eyes. "No, wait, don't. I need to copy your notes first. And no
saying no. After that insult you owe me that much." Apparently Hermione agreed because
she handed over her parchment with her neat, purple- ink notes without any protest.
They worked in silence for some time. Hermione lifted her wand and was painstakingly
going over the swish-flick-swish technique that would be needed to turn a couch into a
hippogriff. She was so intent that she didn't hear what Ron had said and asked him to
repeat it.
"I said, haven't you noticed that Harry has been acting odd recently?" Ron said quietly,
giving a quick glance around to make sure nobody was listening in.
"He's still grieving about Siri.. erm, Snuffles," replied Hermione, dropping her book and
looking pained. She too was still a bit shocked at his death. It was then that this war really
struck at home for the entire golden trio. Sure, Cedric's death fourth year had been
terrible, but they all hadn't been there to witness it.
"Yeah, I know. I get that. But he hasn't cried. Not even at night. He just looks angry all
the time. Any little thing sets him off. Yesterday we were playing chess," he lowered his
voice so that Hermione had to lean in to hear him "and I beat him. Not by much, mind you.
He got so upset he knocked the board over and stormed off."
Hermione sighed. "There's not much to do. We've offered to talk to him. I think Professor
Dumbledore tried to talk to him as well, though you know how well that went. Harry is
wary of him now. But it's hard Ron. He doesn't want to open up to us. He loses everything
he cares about and he has so much pressure on him."
"Exactly," said Ron, brightening. Hermione instantly looked suspicious. "I have the most
brilliant idea on how to cheer him up."
"This better not involve sneaking off to Hogsmeade for a few shots of firewhiskey like
your last brilliant idea," muttered Hermione.
"Actually..."
"Ron!"
"C'mon Hermione," he looked at her with a grave expression. "I think it's just what he
needs. Remember what a good time we all had last year? And with the invisibility cloak we're sure to not get caught."
"No." Hermione crossed her arms in a gesture of brisk finality. Ron sighed.
"Fine, but when he explodes in your face next I am going to hex you so that you have the
words 'I told you so' dancing across your head for the rest of the year."
Harry James Potter sat staring up at the ceiling of his large four poster. He had been
laying for a good half an hour, staring at the ceiling and managing to keep his mind utterly
blank. No words or images existed, just the hazy blankness that occurs when there is far
too much information. The fact that Professor Snape would have been proud (not that he
would have shown it) if Harry could have managed this in his fifth year was not lost on the
boy. But Harry didn't think about that, no, nothing relating to his fifth year at Hogwarts.
Too painful. Too many failures lumped together in a year, each one having a single thing
in common: Harry had had a hand in their creation.
He rubbed his scar mostly out of habit. It hadn't hurt him for a bit. If Voldemort was up to
something he was doing it with grand emotional stability, surprisingly really for a psychotic
megalomaniac.
Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed and helped himself up. He made a quick
trip to the loo and made his daily preparations. It was all mechanical to him. Open water,
stand under water, wash here there and here, dry off and put on the school robes. He
didn't even bother with his hair. His father hadn't been able to do anything about it. Sirius
had said so. Sirius had...
He shuddered for a moment.
Harry walked out into the common room just in time to see Ron and Hermione walk in
with books under both their arms. They called out a greeting to him in a tone that he had
mentally labeled their "safe" voices. Safe in that it was so carefully neutral so as not to
upset him that it irrationally made him want to scream at them.
"Where were you two?" he asked instead. He could play the neutral game, too.
"At the library, studying," said Hermione, setting her books down on one of the tables.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron.
"Oy! I can study when I have to," said the redhead with a slight blush.
"Sure," said Harry, nobody's fool.
"Are you prepared for the transfiguration exam, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"I guess," he mumbled. Hermione narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
"I'm too knackered to stand around anymore. Let's get some breakfast," said Ron while
rubbing his stomach. The others agreed and soon they were walking down to the Great
Hall. Ron and Harry were mildly talking about Quidditch as Hermione trailed behind, giving
each of the portraits a friendly greeting as she passed.
"If I had more time I'd like to research the full sentiency of the paintings," said Hermione.
Harry and Ron exchanged looks.
"Well, if you didn't spend all your waking hours studying," began Ron with a roll of his
eyes. "You could pass your NEWTS today!"
"But I wouldn't do well on them," said Hermione with an air of impatience. "Well, I
wouldn't do as well as I want to."
Harry scratched his head. "I thought the paintings were as intelligent as the people who
they were painted after. They seem to be that way in Dumbledore's office." He
remembered Phineas Nigellus well.
"Perhaps it's just my muggle upbringing," began Hermione as she tapped her lower lip
with her index finger. "But it's odd to me that magic can capture a person's essence and
have it preserved indefinitely on a canvas. It's like some sort of vampirism. Ron, what do
you think?"
"What? Me? Well... I don't know. I haven't really looked into it. It's just one of those things
that is. Like exploding snap or," he snapped his fingers impatiently. " Harry, help me out
here."
"Owls with built in GPS?"
"Yeah, " nodded Ron before his face fell. "What's GPS?"
"I'll explain it to you later, mate."
"Boys!" said Hermione, throwing her hands up. The said males grinned at one another.
Since fourth year, after they had gotten back together from that unpleasant fight, one of
their favorite new pastimes had been to see how much they could rile up Hermione without
actually causing her to boil over. Being the only girl in the trio it was inevitable that the
boys wouldn't completely grow out of the adolescent stage where picking on girls was a
favored pastime; she, unfortunately, was their favorite prey. So they indulged from time to time. Almost every day. They even admitted that they didn't really like talking about
Quidditch that much; they only did it to get the obscene pleasure of watching Hermione roll
her eyes and walk away to put her face in a book.
They walked on in companionable silence. Hermione was starting to believe that Ron was
just over reacting this morning. After all, Harry was still grieving. For the most part he was
perfectly all right. He just needed some time alone.
"Well well well, if it isn't scarface, the mudblood and the weasel. To what do I owe this
pleasure?"
Hermione cringed upon hearing the sarcastic drawl of their school nemesis, Draco Malfoy.
It was bad enough that he was Head Boy, probably a Death Eater (there was ample
evidence defending their suspicion), and an enormous git, but he also managed to have
the worst timing possible. Him and his two idiot goons who were currently flanking him on
either side.
Thankfully Hermione and Draco didn't have to share a common room like Head Girls and
Boys had to in years previous. When she had asked Professor McGonnagal about this
(having read in Hogwarts: A History that it was a common procedure until the 60's) the
aged professor had given her a sharp look.
"Let's just say that there was too much playing of horizontal limbo during the years of
love, Ms. Granger."
Hermione had blushed a deep red. She had always wanted to be talked to by her
professors as an equal. She just hadn't been expecting it then, not with Professor
McGonnagal and certainly not expecting her to be so candid. Mildly unnerving, though it
wasn't because she limited such activities to adolescents, no, but Professor McGonagall
was her instructor and, well…older.
Needless to say, she had thus been granted a reprieve from awkward moments of sharing
a common room and common bathroom with the pale-faced self proclaimed sex-god of
Slytherin. How he had managed to become the Head Boy in the first place had confused
her. There were many theories on the matter. Most of them were from Ron and thus
outrageous or involved the entire Malfoy clan either buying or sleeping their way into it.
Regardless of the fact that Lucius Malfoy happened to be rotting away in Azkaban with only
those drab Dementors for moonlight kisses, Ron was still adamant that something under
the table was conspiring. Dumbledore had told Hermione in private that it was to help
Inter-House Unity. She passed that information along to her best friends. They hadn't
believed her. She hadn't expected them to.
"Shut up, Ferret," said Ron, already turning red.
"Or what?" Draco's grey eyes sized up the second youngest Weasley. Apparently not finding anything of interest, he moved onto Harry. Harry, with his narrowed eyes and
clenched hands.
"Looking a little tense there, Potter. Maybe you should try some relaxing exercises. I hear
mediation and a massage go a long way. Maybe you can even get the mudblood to do it
for free," he smiled in satisfaction as Crabbe and Goyle barked idiotic laughter.
"You're a real git," said Hermione, putting a calming hand on Ron's shoulder. He looked
like steam was about to come out of his ears.
"A git? Is that the best you can come up with? Such astounding wit from the golden trio,
the magnificent heroes of the wizarding world. Is that what you're going to say when you
go up against the Dark Lord, Potter?" Draco glared at Harry who was looking daggers back
at him.
Draco moved forward and Harry matched his steps. The others were soon forgotten, as
the two boys looked each other up and down. Harry fiddled with his wand, considering
pulling it out.
"Are you going to tell him that he was a real git for killing mommy and daddy, boy-hero?
Think he'll give you the chance to sob and whine before he crucio's you into oblivion?
Maybe he can tell you who you best sound like when screaming: your mommy or your
daddy," Draco was whispering now so that his words only reached Harry's ears.
"Shut up, Malfoy. One more word and I swear I'll-"
"-you'll what? Take out that big wand of yours and hex me? Think I'm scared of a half-
bloods magic show? I've seen them bigger and much more astounding, Potter," his grey
eyes shined, daring him to be the first one to cast. The smirk double dared him.
"I wouldn't waste a perfectly good hex on you, Ferret," Harry's grin was disturbing.
Sadistic, twisted. Fifth year with that thing inside his head all over again. "After all," his
voice dropped to a smug whisper "I wouldn't want so share a cell with your father. How is
he? Does he like Azkaban? I hear they have a great summer program. The Dementors put
on a play. Kiss Me Kate, maybe?"
Draco's smirk faltered for a second. His fists trembled.
"I heard they all begged, Potter."
"What?"
"You heard me. They all begged. For mercy. Ridiculous. Your mudblood mother and your
blood traitor father. I heard even that your godfather begged. How pathetic is that
anyway? Death by drapery-"
Draco was cut off when Harry, apparently taking a page out of Hermione's book, drove his
clenched fist smack into the pale features of the Head Boy.
What erupted was pandemonium. Draco and Harry both fell to the floor in a flurry of
punches and kicks. Each one seemed to be intent on causing the other damage, regardless
of how uncivilized and immature the acts were. At one point they had even degenerated
into pulling one another's hair. The four sidekicks were either too shocked or too unwilling
to get involved.
When it was eventually broken up by none other than a peeved Argus Filch who took
away twenty points from each house, and assured them that he was immediately going to
the Headmaster with this; he was certain he would be allowed to break out the
thumbscrews for the particular occasion. He gleefully charged off, Mrs. Norris under the
crook of his arm, to the headmasters office.
The remaining teenagers all staggered into the Great Hall. Hermione and Ron both kept to
Harry's side closely. They asked him what Draco had said but he refused to repeat it. He
was sporting a swollen eye that was probably going to bruise. His hair looked even more
disheveled than usual. It also looked, much to Ron's discomfort, that Harry was holding
back tears. The following meal was eaten in silence.
When the three got up to leave Hermione shoved a note into Ron's hand. She raised her
eyebrows at him and then shot a glance at Harry. Ron read the note out of Harry's view.
I think you were right this morning. How does the Hog's Head sound for tonight?
Ron quirked a satisfied smirk, silently cheering himself on in his head for the small victory.
"Lemon drop?"
"No."
Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, ignored his colleague's sour disposition and
popped one of the tangy candies into his mouth. A look of pleasure passed through his
eyes, earning an even deeper scowl from the potions master.
"Argus was here earlier. It appears he wants to reinstate the chains and thumbscrews
again."
"Really, Albus," drawled Severus Snape, "I don't think the board of directors would be
pleased to hear that you have a closet bdsm fanatic roaming the same halls as our gifted
youth."
"We'll just keep that to ourselves, won't we? It seems Argus had to break up yet another
encounter between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter."
"Why am I not surprised?"
Albus sighed. "I suppose you shouldn't be. It's not good, Severus, to have the children
fighting amongst themselves. There's enough horror out there beyond these walls. This
should be a sanctuary for them."
"A sanctuary?" Severus raised a delicate brow. "For whom? The entire system is built on
antagonism and a foolish patriotism for four individuals whom the students never stay
awake long enough in their history classes to actually learn about. Not to mention the
house point system which only solidifies the us versus them mentality."
"This from the man who has taken away more house points from Gryffindor, alone, than
all the others professors combined."
Severus smirked. "I am but a product of a failed system."
"So you are," said Albus quietly. His gaze, without that patented twinkle, was cunning and
remorseful. Severus mentally flinched under such a gaze though his face remained the
mask.
Albus changed the subject. "How is the wolfsbane potion coming along, Severus?"
"The base is finished. It's under a stasis spell currently. At midnight I should be able to
add the wolfsbane. It should be ready in a week's time. I assume Professor Lupin," he
didn't bother covering the annoyance in his voice, drawing out the vowels in his mouth,
"will be able to hold out until then?"
"I'm sure he will manage. He is deeply grateful for all your efforts, Severus."
If it was possible, Snape managed to deepen his scowl. Dumbledore personally believed
that looking like that all the time was probably rather painful. He kept that commentary to
himself, however. He knew that bringing back Remus Lupin as the defense teacher was
just adding to the general angst of Hogwarts. However, after the death of Sirius Black,
Dumbledore felt it necessary to put Harry's loved ones closer to the boy. Remus, who was
also still grieving, was also in need of companionship. The fact that Severus was around at
the school to brew his desperately needed potion for free was an added bonus.
"Of course, Headmaster."
"And your research," changing the subject, though if it was possible, this one was even
more distasteful to the potions master than helping the penniless werewolves of the world, "have you gotten farther along?"
Severus waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I can only do so much with the books
here. Even my own collection doesn't cover much besides some theories that never
panned out. I am meeting our informant tonight. She might have some useful information."
He paused, seemed to be considering his next words.
"I have a theory of my own. Without proper research I won't know if it is worth perusing.
Unfortunately I do not have the time to dedicate to this as I wish to."
"I know I ask much of you, Severus," Albus was cut off when Severus raised a hand,
askance to stop. Albus rarely stopped when asked, however. "I think it might be beneficial
for you to take on an apprentice, Severus. An extra set of hands in the laboratory, a fresh
mind to go over the material."
"Out of the question," Severus already had visions of some clumsy oaf, a Hagrid or worse,
Tonks, coming into his neat and orderly laboratory and making an utter beyond repair
mess of everything.
"You can't brew both the wolfsbane potion and this new one. Not with your regular
teaching duties and your summons to his side," Albus looked straight into Severus' eyes,
but, as usual, seeing no reaction, he pressed on. "You're overworked as is."
"I'll manage. I always have before."
"Matters were not as pressing as before. No, Severus, I insist on this."
"And who shall my unwitting assistant be? Longbottom, perhaps? Might as well blow up the
entire school while we're on the subject of asinine ideas," Severus muttered.
"Perhaps not Mr. Longbottom. A student wouldn't be a bad idea, however. You have one
week, Severus, to choose someone. Or I will choose for you."
"Of course, Pater," his sarcastic voice rang true. Albus only smiled in response.
"Now, as to the matter of Mr. Malfoy..."
Hermione sighed. Perhaps this hadn't been the most brilliant of her ideas. No, this was
Ron's idea. Which is why it was failing miserably. Why on earth had she agreed to this,
again? Oh, right. Desperation. Goodness.
Well, to be perfectly fair, it wasn't failing. The trio had managed to get out of the castle perfectly intact and without detection, thank you Invisibility Cloak and Marauders' Map. They had also made their way to Hogsmeade safely and were now sitting in the drab Hogs Head. Hermione was their "designated walker" as she wasn't partaking of any alcoholic beverage. Her duty, therefore, was to sit around watching her two best friends make complete and utter asses of themselves and then leading them back, safely, to their dormitories.
"Remember that time, do you?" Ron was red-faced again, swinging his arm over an
equally red-in-the-face Harry, whose unfocused eyes seemed to be having trouble
differentiating his best friend from the wall.
"What time, eh?" he slurred, then hiccupped.
"The time with that giant spider? Oy! Scary thing that was. But we beat it Harry, you and
me!" he raised a toast and managed to get most of the liquid into his mouth.
"I think we ran like girls, Ron," Harry hiccupped again.
Well, thought Hermione, at least he's smiling. She'd hate it if he was a maudlin drunk.
"Shhh!" Ron put his fingers to his lips and looked straight at Hermione, then dropped his
voice to what he imagined was a whisper. "There's one of 'em right over there."
"That's Hermione, Ron," said Harry, also whispered before breaking off into a giggle.
"Hermione is a girl," said Ron with an air of the scholarly professor.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Glad to see you finally noticed, Ron." She then sighed. A half
an hour longer, and then she was dragging their too-happy-for-reality wizarding butts
home.
Severus Snape was currently lounging on one of the lumpy couches in the upstairs gallery
of the Hogs Head. Being on relatively good terms with the proprietor he was encouraged to
use the rooms for whatever it is he wished. As it was he was using it as the informal
meeting place between himself, spy master of the order, and another spy, a young girl
named Delilah.
"I do hope your name isn't a self fulfilling prophecy," he had said to her when they had
first met.
"Not for you," she had said, shooting him a quirky smile.
Delilah was a spy for the order, though very few people knew of her existence. Part of the
brilliance of Voldemort was that he kept his Inner circle and Outer circle in complete ignorance to the others plans. Severus, far as he could tell, was the only spy in the Inner
circle. He was sure there were some in the Outer circle; Dumbledore had told him some of
their names. Delilah, however, was not a part of the Outer Circle. She wasn't even a Death
Eater. She was playing one of the oldest games of the world. She sold her body for the
information she needed. Far as Severus could tell she got disturbingly good results.
Delilah was a taller woman, though not quite as tall as Severus himself. She had a fine
figure, large lips, hips, and eyes that could turn from that of a doe to that of a temptress
within a mere second. She could hold herself high one moment and be completely beaten
the next, depending on what was desired from her.
What Severus noticed, and was captivated by, was her hair. Brown, bushy, it reminded
him of her hair. Delilah had a calm pose, a contrived patience that lulled men into
confidence; Severus knew well enough to be wary, but that calming disposition, so
contrary to the chit's, reminded him more of her. It was the act of comparison, and with a
bit of pride he thought of the brightness that resided in both of their eyes. He realized,
with a bit of annoyance, that by coming to this woman he was transferring his, albeit
wrong, feelings for the chit onto a prostitute. He was using her. He might have felt some
remorse for it, but Delilah admitted that she was using him as well.
"To everyone else it's for the Order," she said, stretching languidly across the bed. "This,
however, is plain fucking. The way it was intended. Eye for an eye and all that."
Eye for an eye, indeed.
Delilah was sitting close to Severus. She was handing him papers about the potion he was
trying to create. Things she had heard in bed from questioning the other Death Eaters.
Things she had found on her own.
"I hope this helps. I can't understand much of it," she shrugged.
"Your specialty wasn't in potions, I take it." A small smile graced his face; not an insult,
but a reminder; how many times did that little girl raise her hand and torment him? A
reminder: not everyone has such an immense interest in this field. The smile grew; then
he remained tight-lipped.
"Charms. Magical and not so," she smiled at him. He was pouring over the papers.
"I'll have to look at these more closely tonight. I will be in contact, of course."
She put her hand on his arm when he made to leave. "A half an hour?"
Severus looked at her, or, more specifically, looked at her hair, thought of the girl.
She isn't going to be mine, he thought without any real bitterness. He had resigned
himself to his fate on the matter almost as quickly as the attraction had become known and accepted.
"Might as well," he said, both to Delilah and to himself.
If Delilah found it odd that he kept his eye closed and one hand locked within her long
hair she didn't comment upon it.
About forty minutes after the fact, Hermione was trying to get her friends up and out of
the Hogs Head. She felt very positive of the effort she had made so far. She had paid the
tab and managed to get Ron out the door. Harry was being a bit of a problem as he
seemed to have grown some sort of maternal affection towards his chair and wasn't letting
it go. Hermione assured Harry that it would be alright, that you have to let chairs be sat on
by someone else so they can really grow and make a good name for themselves, and that
he would have to get over his empty nest syndrome sometime.
When she had finally managed to get both Harry and Ron outside they had hugged like
two war survivors finally making it back safely into one another's arms. The fact that they
started singing an Irish drinking song, loudly, made Hermione want to scream in
frustration. They kept singing this refrain, something about chowder, though certainly by
the end of the trip Hermione could recite the blasted thing. Ron's blubbering sounded
authentically Irish in his current state, and Harry decided to answer Ron's bellowing with
the next verse.
"Who threw overalls in Mrs. Murrrrphy's chowder?"
"Who threw overalls in Mrs. Murphy's chowder?
Nobody spoke, so they shouted all the louder," Harry barely kept the time, but his rosy
cheeks were all true Irish.
"'Tis an Irish trick that's true, and I can lick the mick who threw the overalls in Mrs.
Murphy's chowder."
Giggles, real giggles followed. Keeping a cool head, however, Hermione finally shushed them while trying to quietly usher them back to Hogwarts.
"I do believe it is past curfew," said a silky voice from behind them. Hermione froze. She
knew that voice. After having listened for a good six years to its cutting sibilance she was
not too happy to find it here where discretion was preferred.
Please don't let it be him, she thought. Anyone but him.
She turned around and - how could it be anyone else? - came face to face with her dreaded potions master. Severus Snape was towering over her with an unreadable mix of
emotions on his face. She could tell he was angry but there was also a certain sick glee
about the predicament the three Gryffindors found themselves in.
Hermione just knew he was going to take away a thousand and ten house points. And
probably assign them detention with Filch.
"Sir, please, I can explain," began Hermione hurriedly. She looked up into his black eyes
and faltered. He was watching her with his arms crossed across his chest and one delicate
eyebrow raised. She tried thinking quickly of a lie but none that would seem reasonable
came to mind. The truth probably wouldn't do much good either.
"Well?" barked Snape, causing Hermione to jump.
"We were, that is to say, out..."
"Yes, I have yet to lose my eyesight, Ms. Granger. What I am curious to know is why the
three prized Gryffindors are out in Hogsmeade, on a school night, absolutely reeking of
firewhiskey."
Ron, oh with terrible timing as always, piped up. "That's what we've been drinking," he
said quite seriously before turning to Harry. "Oy, the bat of the dungeons is here, Harry.
Think he'll fly away if I shoot light at him?"
"Ron!" Hermione cried, scandalized.
"That's not a bat," Harry said prosaically. "That's Snape." He paused, thinking about it. "I
don't like him," he said after a moment's contemplation before going off into giggles again.
"Witless wonders," muttered Severus before waving a hand over the two boys. He had
cast a silencing charm. Harry and Ron soon realized their predicament when no sounds
escaped their mouths. Harry, quick thinking Harry, started miming himself trapped in a box
like he had seen a professional do once. Ron, confused as to how Harry had gotten into an
invisible box, rushed into his friend in an attempt to free him. Arms and legs later, Ron was
on the ground staring at the night sky like it was the most wonderful thing in the world,
while Harry continued to look at Snape.
Snape gazed onto the countenance of Harry Potter who, balance something of a problem
suddenly, fell forward onto the ground. Seeming to find comfort in the grass and twigs and
dirt of the earth mother, the boy closed his eyes and curled himself into a ball. With a sigh
of pleasure he was asleep. Had he been lucid he might have found it strange that the first
time he had been able to easily fall asleep this year was under the watchful eye of the man
he hated almost as much as he hated Voldemort.
"And here," drawled Snape, looking distastefully down upon the sleeping figure, "is the child on whose shoulders rest the fate of the world. Perhaps we should sell tickets."
"Sir, I know this looks really bad-"
"-looks are often deceiving, Ms. Granger. However, I think that today they are exactly as
they seem. You three, for whatever idiotic reason, decided to sneak off to have a few
drinks, regardless of the extensive danger you could have run into. Not that danger, the
life or death variety, is any sort of a drawback for the golden trio."
"Professor-"
Snape held up a hand and silenced her.
"It will be fifty points from Gryffindor for your nocturnal excursions." Hermione sputtered.
"Each." Now she was outraged. She was probably going to do something stupid, like say
what was on her mind, but one look from her dour professor silenced her. At least they
weren't getting detention.
"I assume you know mobilicorpus, Ms. Granger?" she nodded. "Good, then fetch Mr.
Weasley." He was already levitating Harry off the ground. Then, turning with his quick
strides, he was off towards Hogwarts.
Hermione had to take two steps for every one of his to keep up with him. She didn't dare
ask him to slow down, however.
When they reached the front entrance of Hogwarts Snape entrusted the boys to house
elves and told them to make sure they got some sober up potion into their system when
they woke up. Hermione, taking that as her cue to leave, was discreetly making her way
towards the moving staircases.
"Ms. Granger," she stopped. Oh no, he was going to take more house points.
"It occurs to me that for whatever reason you were named Head Girl. It wouldn't do to
have the regular students punished the same way that a prefect or a head would be. After
all, you should be held up to higher expectations in a position of power."
You're one to talk, thought Hermione bitterly. She could just see the house points going
into the negatives for the next five years. Ye gods, what did that man have against her?
"Detention, Ms. Granger. After dinner tonight. I expect you to be on time. Is that clear?"
He looked at her with that infernal eyebrow raised.
"Yes sir," said Hermione. Damn. She would get detention. Harry and Ron were so dead in
the morning.
Bemoaning her innocent fate, Hermione Granger clamored up the stairs and into her
private room. Try as she might she couldn't resist the slamming of her door.
Note: We were told the Irish drinking song we used is, indeed, real. We may have been lied to.