A/N: JK Rowling probably had nothing to do with Alan Rickman being cast as Professor Snape, but if she did, I prostrate myself at her feet. He is here for those of you who like a little scenery with their meat and two veg. Go and watch Truly, Madly, Deeply. Take tissues. Oh, and the forecast here is erm, wet.
Cedric paused in the epic task of preparing for the new term and poked his head over the banister to eavesdrop on the conversation below.
"I can assure you that Cedric will be perfectly safe within the perimeters of Hogwarts, Amos," came an unmistakeable drawl.
"And on the way there?" retorted his Fathers strident tones.
"I shall be escorting the students," there was a pause as if the next word pained the speaker to say it, "personally." The visitor had a strange habit of drawing his 's's into a sibilance that raised the hairs on Cedrics arms. He risked treading a stair closer to be sure of his identification.
"Ah, here he is now," a twitch in the skin over Professor Snapes cheekbone gave as close to a welcome smile as Cedric had ever seen, although to the unknowing, it had all the hallmarks of a tic.
"Professor?" greeted Cedric
The reply came in a form that suggested that the discussion was closed. "I'm sure your Father will explain. Was there anything else..?" The tic was back.
"I wonder if I might trouble you for a favour," started Cedric. "I'll see him out," he stated brightly to his Father, waiting until the bluff, muttering figure had retreated to the confines of his study before he continued.
"I realise that the study carrels are allocated by the Steering Committee, but I found that the position and size of mine particularly beneficial for my 'advanced' studies last year."
Snape said nothing, but his nostrils flared as if scenting for truth, or a lie. Eventually Cedric gleaned the suggestion of a nod from his silent companion.
"I would very much like the Committee to consider my suggestion for the person with whom I might be sharing this year."
The schools prospectus proudly boasted a strong link between the year groups, fostered by the House system and the informal interactions of students within both sporting and study pursuits. All of this was true. What became more obvious as he progressed up the school, also fostered by this system and the preponderance of male-female sharing of study carrels across student years, was that the unofficial pursuit of Eugenics was also true.
"These things are…possible," came the ambivalent reply, "for a suitable student."
Cedric adopted his most deferent air. "I know its customary to pair a Sixth Year with a Fifth Year, but I was wondering Professor, what you thought of my taking a student two years or more below me under my wing?"
The skin around Snapes eyes tightened imperceptibly and a lascivious glint shone for a mere second, or it could have just been a reflection of the light in the hallway.
Cedrics voice dropped to a whisper. "How did you find the Exploding Ink potion? The spider got through undetected by the Ministry?"
Snapes gaze looked right through Cedric and drilled into the back of his head. The corners of his mouth flexed downwards by a hairsbreadth. Cedric resisted the urge to squirm, opting instead for his most studious expression. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off.
"Name?" asked the Professor coldly dispassionate.
0.0
Cedric methodically stacked the immaculately folded piles of clothing into his school trunk. Beside him a quill quivered over the next item in a list of required accessories and ticked it with a flourish as the physical counterpart was added to the growing contents of uniform, sports and muftie clothing, unders and overs. Sixth year students also had a book trunk, chock full of their own tomes to annotate that would form the kernel of their own adult library, and for the first time, an ingredients cabinet that they were to have fashioned themselves over the Summer. The monied or idle amongst them would have them made to order and knock them about a bit with a hammer to give them that sought after run-in look, a bit like taking a razor blade to a perfectly good pair of jeans.
Cedric had taken the trouble to construct his own and used as his inspiration, an antique Chinese medicine chest he has seen in one of the villages many nooks and knackery shops. The dove tailed joints on the corners were virtually invisible and the finish flawless. He had enjoyed bending the different materials to his will, shaping something precious and useful to him from something stubborn and inanimate.
He had picked up the bodkin at the same time, seduced by the snug fit of the worn, but beautifully turned wooden handle in the palm of his hand, and how sharply pointy the pointy end was.
The cabinets five rows of five drawers apiece were not full depth and by a sleight of engineering, the lid hinged backwards and up so that the remaining contents expanded outwards and arranged themselves in easy to reach tiers of small, stoppered glass bottles. The labels were in a clear, if encrypted script and were perfect except for the somewhat incongruous corner cartouches that belied their original purpose for home-made preserves.
As a serious Quidditch player he also had a modified ice-hockey bag, large enough to hide bodies in, open at the bottom of his bed. He exploited the Muggle world when it suited him and it pleased him to think that he walked astride both Muggle and Magical worlds well enough to fit in anywhere. He tossed in shin guards, rib protectors, a new box and a tested a second one for manly odours before adding that too, as a spare.
The quill flicked impatiently to a new page and marked off these items also, breaking into a flurry when a dozen balled up sports socks juggled themselves in the air and fell neatly packing out the corners, closely followed by House-coloured gaiters. As Captain, he added the team scorebook with its badger skin cover neatly embossed with the House symbol and claw clasp; rolls of attendance logs and the thing with no name that looked like a shoehorn which allowed a player to replace the rubber grippy bit on a broomstick. New ones these days came with a free swear jar. His version had a series of unusual notches down one side.
He paced the length of his bed and back, the Yearbook taunted him from his pillow. Someone else was walking the two worlds as he was and a nagging worry suggested that she might be more able in this task than him. She looked better put together in Muggle clothing than he did for starters, even when he tried his hardest. She might also be useful as a source of such information in the long term.
Tidbits about Hermione came with tea and cake from Professors Sprouts study, crumbs mopped up by fingertip and tasted for potential. Professor McGonagalls visits provided both filling and icing to a morsel almost too good to consume. Hermione might prove to be both formidable ally and adversary.
"What do you do for fun?" he asked himself. It did not appear to be golf. Memories her grunting had kept him 'up' all night.
Cedric glanced longingly at the en-suite and the quill flicked pages to the back of the pad and started to draw a diagonal line across four vertical ones. When he made no further move, pages rose indecisive and fluttered loudly until they again exposed his original list.
Long fingers drummed on his thighs and he wondered if he had given his interest away to his Father when they had returned home alone, after the World Cup debacle. He shied away from reliving the horror and not a little embarrassment at most of the Ministry cowering away from the hooded intruders. The incident had made a complete mockery of the match security, especially embarrassing given the international attendees. He shook his head to clear the images of smoke and flames from his mind, trying to concentrate instead on their heated debate about the safety of certain individuals, when all hell had broken loose.
It wouldn't do for his Father to foster an opinion any other than that Cedric would dutifully follow his Fathers wishes. Nor would it do, to draw attention to an individual such as the party he was becoming more interested in. Muggle born anything, magical or otherwise was quite the dirty word for some of his Fathers closest colleagues, for all that their public voices might say. In addition, the Ministry occasionally had some very strange ideas about what posed a threat and its reactions were more often than not, quite extraordinary.
His strained alliance with Professor Snape had come about in fits and starts, united by a common goal of exposing organised indolence. It seemed that the Ministry monitored Floo traffic, regularly intercepted owls, but were at a loss coping with Message Spiders dipped in Exploding Ink. If anyone had asked him why he had chosen this path to pursue, the best answer would have been 'because he could.'
Eventually he had sent his own owl to the Weasleys enquiring, in the most general terms he could come up with, about how they had fared. He had received a reply less than an hour later in Mollys handwriting confirming that all members and visitors were accounted for and unharmed. She ended with her best wishes for his year ahead and that she would love to catch up with his Mother at Kings Cross for coffee, (gossip), news (gossip) and which team she fancied for the next Quidditch world series, (a lengthy discussion on the size of players thighs) when the students had all been despatched.
He grazed his fingertip down the spine of the Yearbook and it flicked open, languidly turning page after page until his thumb on the bottom edge stopped the motion. The Yearbooks were handed out in the first year and 'lived' throughout a students attendance at Hogwarts. Pages past told of students who for one reason or another had left the school, and inbetween, dividing the years was the posterity shot of the group of students who survived each gruelling term alongside him.
He had added an extra column to the schools ranking tables to mark up how his colleagues faired in the Forbidden Forest games. They would no doubt, make more interesting reading when everyone had graduated and he could add what jobs people ended up in. This years picture pages reassembled the students rejoining him and it was one of these pages that was causing him some concern. His palm smoothed over a page.
The quill on his unfinished list teared a small inkblot, laid itself down and tried to sooth its ruffled feather.
On the ladies page, nine pictures now showed, where once there were eight. On a most basic level, it messed up the symmetry of the two rows of four, adding itself first to the bottom line, then the top, then the top of the page all by itself. Each time he tried to add a pensieve, it smeared like the streak from a dirty eraser.
Eight of the shots were in motion as wizardly pictures were apt to be, the ninth still flickered, but became darker every time he opened the page. Not only did she walk the worlds like him, she was about to join him in his world. The name was graven and steady each time, before it was reabsorbed by the page, only to reappear, that much at least was certain. Hermione Granger.
He snapped the cover shut and tossed the book into the trunk atop a white sock that was big enough for his cock, but not the boys and too small for his hand, let alone his foot. It was a risk taking the book, but he knew enough to be confident of hiding it and there was no doubt it would be useful to consult from time to time. The quill popped up with a new vigour and slopped ink in its haste to wet the nib. Cedric went to the en-suite to fetch his toiletries.
It was not unheard of for students to advance beyond their years, but there was something very wrong about how the Yearbook was coping with the change. He wondered if adding the pensieves had damaged the magical parchment, but was loathe to take them out. Hermiones plain portrait frame sprang to mind. No matter how long he waited, her face on the page had remained indistinct, like the book didn't know which one of many images best captured her. The most peculiar thing was though, however hard he stared at the image, unlike the rest of them, hers did not appear to be moving.
0.0
Kings Cross was rammed with Muggles interspersed with Hogwarts students and their parents, yet still Cedric managed to locate the Weasley group with relative ease. Their overall group size made them an easy spot, the hair colour was a bonus. He murmured to his Mother and held himself still so that she could ruffle his hair with an affection rarely shown, before leaving him to his own devices.
He had barely a minute before his usual acolytes found him, pushing and shoving amongst themselves. Enough time to see that Arthur had surreptitiously whipped out his wand and pointed it at one of the wheels of the baggage trolley when Hermione stopped him. Enough time to see him squat down beside the trolley and Hermione bent over at the waist, presumably to explain why every trolley in the station was designed to have at least one wonky wheel as per the instructions from The Ministry of Crap Design.
Her jeans painted her arse as a perfect heart shape, pale blue on a grey background. His minds eye stripped away the cloth covering and imagined trailing a fingernail barely deforming the downy skin, following the crease to the softly furred bottom of the cleft. He groaned the word 'peach ' to himself, poking a tongue into his cheek to collect the pooling saliva and stuffed a furtive hand in his pants pocket to rearrange a rising problem. Tomas crashed into him just as he spied a black-clad scarecrow like form, also it seemed, admiring the view.
Awkwardly he angled his trolley towards the platform and safely away from temptation. The train would be just pulling in he thought, as he slipped through a gap in the throng. As soon as the train pulled away from the station, he would be able to use the changing rooms for one of their less than salubrious uses. If he was fortunate, someone would keep him company.
0.0
Hermione slung her drawstring bag of robes over her shoulder and made her way up the train towards the changing rooms. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry should have contacted Sirius without her having to prompt him. Also no doubt that Ron waggling a tongue blackened by a liquorice wand lewdly at her, deserved to have his head stuffed between his knees. She put a hand out to either side of the corridor to steady herself against the rocking motion of the train as she approached the changing room doors.
One was shut tight and displayed a red 'engaged' sign in a semi-circular window above the door handle. The other displayed the same sign, but the tongue of the door clasp banged rhythmically against the latch frame with every rattle and roll that the carriage made.
The room was indeed engaged, by Cho Chang and an absorbed attendant offering a stop-motion display of athleticism. Hermione stared open mouthed at Chos' neck stretched way back and her contorted face, upside down in a mirror behind. A fist held her braid, attached to an arm that stretched under her bare shoulder and passed under her bare knee. Her bare behind was balanced on a marble vanity, her other leg circled a well proportioned masculine rear, moving in time with the clickety-click of the wheels on the track.
His hair was freshly cut into a crisp point at the back, above broad flexing shoulder blades pleasantly, but not overly muscled. He was looking down at where his moving hips alternately hid and exposed glistening purpled flesh, but she could see his flushed face, eyes trained on the matter in hand so to speak and brow furrowed in concentration. His lips were moving, counting or repeating latin verbs perhaps, eram, eras, erat. No, not that. Four syllables, she thought, so fascinated with the puzzle he offered that she held the door slightly further ajar.
It could have been the cessation of the door banging, or the trains loud whistle indicating that they were about to enter a tunnel that made him look up into the mirror. Or Tomas exiting the companion dressing room in his robes and saying her name so that it matched the way Cedric was saying whatever it was that he was mouthing, right before his smooth motion jerked and shuddered to a halt with the accompanying expletive of, "fuck me."
0.0
Hermione approached the boards for Fourth years listing the allocation of study carrels with some impatience. The boys were supposed to meet her here, but were obviously still unpacking, or waylaid by some new invention brought for trial on the willing student body by the Twins. Briefly she wondered what she might have to do to get a study carrel all by herself, the next best thing was to get a sharer who at least was not an idiot like last year.
"Who got King Dong?" asked a Fifth Year.
"He's not listed. No-one got him." Came the doubtful reply.
"I got him," a smug voice belonging to a girl with her black hair braided halfway down her back
"No, you had him," a third joined in.
"Damn, he's good," Cho rolled her head back into her shoulders.
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. Study. Focus. List. Then change of underwear. The wand up her sleeve shifted and she pulled it out for something to do while she waited for her turn at the boards. The topmost vine leaf had pulled away from the main wand wood and appeared to stretch before furling itself flush again, against the rod. Hermione rubbed her thumb over it, sensing the slight stir beneath the pad of her thumb. Olivanders books had warned her that not only were wands living, but Vine wands in particular were visibly sentient.
She wondered what it was exactly that initiated it, but shied away from the thought that the Burrows visit and happenings therein had anything to do with it. She was still down a sock and still pissed, having realised that had a Twin stolen it, it would have been paraded as a trophy like a head on a spike, complete with similar vilification. Moreover she would hate to be indebted to a certain someone for awakening her wand, when she had been unable to do it herself.
"Found him!" An exultant voice called.
"What's he doing there? She's a freaking Fourth year?" replied Cho, annoyed.
"Exploring virgin territories?" Coarse laughter ensued, the comment about Fourth years snapped Hermiones attention back to the current task.
"Forging new alliances more like," came the knowing reply, not unkindly. "I wouldn't mind an another alliance."
"You should at least wait until you can walk straight before you go another round with Mister Ed."
"Don't get all bent out of shape because I got there first."
"Wasn't me that was bent and Honey, you were anything but first. He has form"
"Certainly does…" the comments died off as one by one they turned to leave and registered the audience.
Cho smirked at Hermione. "Congratulations," she said obscurely before sauntering off.
Hermione marched up to the boards and huffed hair out of her eyes, scanning the lists bottom to top for the boys names and then her own. Ron and Harry were sharing together, which in itself was odd, save that Harry seemed to be a bit of a hot potato since his dreams started getting invaded by you-know-who. The name originally paired with hers had been struck through and a new surname and initial had been added in different penmanship.
Hermione blew out a breath. "Nooo," she groaned. "Merlin hates me."
0.0
Cedric roamed the empty hallways of the fifth floor, deep in thought. His dress shoes clicked a steady beat and he interrupted it with a 1-2-3, 2-2-3, smiling at his most recent achievement, wringing praise from the cool lips of the Grey Lady. He needed something to pique Hermiones interest, but had no clue what that something might be outside of turning himself into a library.
The only other faint possibility might be something Quidditch related, but she didn't seem the sort to moon over his trophy cupboard. For once he didn't think the toys he possessed would quite hit the spot either, although he was certain that his own equipment would be more than up to the mark if he ever got that close.
He passed a door he didn't remember being there before, set into a cathedral-like stone archway. Pausing in his stride, he rotated on his heel to try the handle. The cool metal depressed smoothly under his touch. When he crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him, the door and its ornate arch faded seamlessly into the masonry.
0.0
In an uncharacteristic hissy fit, Hermione ripped the hair tie from her plait, shook her tresses free and scrubbed both hands harshly against her scalp. She slammed spare quills and parchment into the sectioned spaces of the carrel to make it her own. Gahhh! If only she could get him out of her head.
"Speculos," she huffed as an impression of a mirror coalesced in front of her.
"Great," she muttered as the birdsnest she had created became apparent, "now I have Hagrid hair." She was about to raise her wand to fix the disarray, sucking in a breath to speak the words when they stuck in her throat.
Her own image was now accompanied by the reflection of a slim figure strolling into view. Could the day get any worse? It was bad enough that they timeshared a study carrel and now she looked like this and it was him!
"What are you doing here?" She gritted her teeth to try and keep her tone even, after all, it wouldn't do to piss off Mr Popular. He just smiled and tapped his wristwatch. Horrified she glanced at her own timepiece, she had 5 minutes to get to potions on the other side of the Quad. Snape was going to have a field day.
"You know, you shouldn't practice on yourself without somebody with you." Cedrics quiet voice turned the would-be question into a statement. As if he could feel her hackles rising, he shrugged off his backpack, drawing nearer.
"It could be dangerous," his tone was mollifying and closer, warmer. His eyes held her own in the mirror, the shifting grey of mercury as she snapped her gaze back to her own reflection and the abomination on her head. More importantly away from his face now embarrassingly close to her own, since he bent to closer inspect her magical handiwork.
Again she cursed the heritage that made a blush inevitable. As if sensing her discomfort, he swallowed thickly and drew away.
"I'll wait," he offered, his voice was deeper, now that he was actually touching her. "Or perhaps help?" She fought to keep her eyes open, but couldn't stop her mouth sagging open at the gentle tugging sensation his long fingers created against her scalp. His face was such a study of concentration, she could almost believe that he had never caressed a girl before, the blush high on his cheekbones echoing her own. Except that he had, more importantly she had seen the many ways exactly how he had caressed a girl before...in the flakes of the snowglobe, now buried deep in the recesses of her satchel.
She clenched her jaw shut and bolted upright, cringing equally at the tangle still caught between his fingers and how close the chair back had come to unmanning him. "I have to go," she snapped.
"Of course," he agreed, dropping both his hand and his gaze to the floor. "I have a curiosity I would like to share with you sometime," he rambled as she shoved papers and books roughly into her bag.
"Yes?" she replied in what she hoped was a sufficiently academically interested voice.
"It's quite fascinating..." She turned to face him, slinging the bulging bag over her shoulder and fiddling with her necklace, it was the only way she was going to make it. All she needed to do was just get out of sight and forget the last five minutes. He was blushing furiously, staring at his feet, fisting his gown so that it wrapped in front of him.
"It's a snowglobe I found in the Room of Requirement. Madame Trelawney believes it capable of foretelling."
She flushed hotly from the images threatening to parade yet again behind her eyelids and the dismay that in a moment he would find it missing and know it was her.
"Do you have it? Only I left it here for you..." He rested his wand on top of the carrel and was casting about the desk, sifting papers. She went from mortified to disgusted in three seconds flat.
"You left it for me?" Is that how he wormed his way into the affections of the other girls he had been seen with...and she was sure that each and every one and been more than simply arm candy. From the evidence that her own eyes had offered her on the train, to the conversations over her head at the boards and the hushed gossip and tittering in the common room.
If there is one thing that girls do really well, it's talk. Hermione had always managed to rise above these conversations, not least because she had nothing add and had little interest in the subject matter, well, until his name came up again..and again...and again. She glared balefully at his wand, his wand was supposed to be Mountain Ash with Unicorn tail, it should have been Sycamore with a core of Bluebeard hair.
"I know you don't have time now, but perhaps we could discuss it later..." his voice went from warm and distracted to silence when he caught the look on her face. "What?"
"This?" She hissed, fishing in her bag and striding towards him. As soon as her fingers clamped around the cool sphere she ripped it from her bag. She was so furious her hand was shaking when she thrust it under his perplexed expression.
She was closer than she had intended and he wrapped a cool hand about her exposed wrist to pull the globe away a little, cupping his other hand around the glass to make the tiny shiny flakes more visible.
"Yes, that's it!" He said delightedly. "I knew it was you." His smile threaded through every word, then after a moment with a hint of humour, "are you mad at me?"
Her next invective died in her throat as she caught sight of the scene now playing out in their combined hands. The man holding her wrist in real life was holding the hand of a young woman, her trim waist accentuated by the full skirt she wore and his other hand splayed beneath her ribs.
It was most definitely him, she thought as the couple spun to present a view of his profile and she squirmed inwardly at the rapt expression of the young woman being guided flawlessly in a waltz.
"This..." she heaved in another breath, "this is what you saw?"
"Um yeah, so I've been taking lessons from the Grey Lady, you know for the Gala, until I got my footwork right and she says I'm ready to practice with a real girl."
"I.., you want to practice dancing with me?" She couldn't take her eyes of the miniature scene, he was getting her a glass of punch and smiling at her fanning herself, gesturing to a stone arch that promised stars beyond. Of course, that's what he saw, she fumed at herself.
"You know you're pretty scary when you're mad," he wasn't looking at the globe anymore and his grip on her wrist tightened imperceptibly as he reached for her face, brushing an eyelash from her cheekbone. Her gaze flicked between his face and the globe gone dark, the figures glowing palely under a crescent moon.
"The rest of the time you're just pretty."
"You want crackers with that cheese?" she said, flicking back to his face and raising a brow.
He laughed good naturedly and dropped his hand to her waist, tugging her forward. "You see, you're perfect for me, err this." He stared earnestly into her eyes, "say you will?" She gasped as she brushed up against him, his gaze darkening, drawing her in.
The tip of her tongue pressed briefly between her lips. "What's in it for me?" she croaked out.
"That depends what you want, I thought perhaps my special access to the restricted section in the library might interest you?" His lips ghosted over the wrist holding the globe, when his body froze. His hands dropped away, retrieving a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and she stumbled against him, weightless to mortal without his support as he plucked the globe from her grasp with the cloth.
"Yes, that would be.."
"Maybe it's a dumb idea, I'm sorry I..." He stepped away, resting the small wrapped parcel carefully on the desktop.
"No, really, it's fine." She stepped after him.
"I don't know," he said doubtfully, searching her face for something she couldn't read.
"Cedric, I want to." Crap, now it sounded like she was asking him for a favour, how the hell had it come to this. She reached for her bag again, so much for a hasty exit.
"Um thanks, it really would help." He rammed both hands in his pants front pockets. He sighed heavily, "listen, I'm sorry I've made you really late now, let me walk you to class so I can square it with your tutor."
She rolled her eyes, of course Mr Perfect would be able to get around Snape, she could almost hear the nasally sarcasm in the words, "Thank-you for granting us the pleasure of your company (add snide lip twist, pause) Ms Granger." Her lip curled and she said rather too sharply, "I can manage myself thank-you."
His sheepish smile made her temporarily breathless.
"What?" Her tone could clip topiary
"You hate it don't you?" He reached to touch a finger to her elbow and she barely managed not to flinch away. "That someone isn't scared of you. Guys are always afraid of the smart girl right?"
"Whatever." Great reply Hermione, she thought, incisive comeback, floor him with your intellect. She turned and walked away
"Meet me after Quidditch tomorrow? " He called after her. "We're going to cream you guys."
"In your dreams Hufflehead," she called back over her shoulder, her pulse steadying with every step away from him.
His chuckle mocked her and as she turned the corner she thought he might have said, "in my dreams indeed."
The second time she wound the hourglass pendant, she made it to class with seconds to spare. The topic was one that she would have to find extra time to revisit, in spite of her perfect rendition of Dunderdew, she was barely concentrating. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid fumes coming off the bubotuber juice and swallowed the nervousness she felt about tomorrow. Tonight she would dream about the first time she had wound the hourglass...and him groaning her name.
A/N: Sycamore is considered a weed by most gardeners as it sets seed prolifically. The Ministry of Crap Design is not limited to trolleys, they also make hotel coffee pots. Eram, eras, erat is indeed latin and means I am, You are, He/she is. imperfect (tense), the rest of the catechism is eramus eratis, erant. Mister Ed was a television character and took the form of a talking horse.
This was supposed to be a short chapter, but in conversation after the last one with my muse, Montanna Leigh, she said bigger is better. Right, she is. You can use the Yoda voice, there is no judgement here.
Thank you for reading. FF tells me that many of you are reading where English is not the mother tongue. You amaze me.