The Lady of Shalott

by Ibex's Lyre

Chapter Six: The Mirror Cracked

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

She was there, waiting for him when he got back. Sitting in the most comfortable chair before the fire--his most preferred chair, no less, watching him with a hooded gaze and a carefully guarded mind. The stink of October night still permeating his robes, and she was challenging him without saying anything. Daring him to make the first move, say the first word. He was exhausted, she wasn't in possession of all her mental faculties, and both were wary of the other. Both were determined not to make the misstep. Fire crackled and cackled a mocking laugh--oh, the folly of intellect! The folly of the sentient, always afraid to let others see a potential weakness. And oh, how ironic, too! Both bound closer than any vows of love, both entwined deeper in each others emotions and mind than any others ever had, and still... still they refused to bend their pride just a little, allow the other to reach out and feel... empathetic.

Empathy.

Irony.

Deception.

Subterfuge.

Insanity of sanity; order in chaos.

So, when they could have reached out to each other and understood, been at peace with themselves, they chose for closed coldness instead.

"Miss Granger," Snape finally said, eyeing her with as much calculated scorn as he had given any student. His eyes pierced through hers like arrows, trying to wound her enough to make her back down.

Indeed, it did sting, and she winced ever so slightly. Hermione inhaled deeply and continued to pet Crookshanks, who was currently residing on her lap. The open door leading to his room betrayed the clumps of fir that covered Snape's blankets and told of where she had gotten the cat from. She had gone into his private room again--but then, as much as the two tried to deny it, nothing was exactly private between them, anymore. "Professor Snape," she returned, just as coldly. But her lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, and he saw the way her eyes glimmered with tears threatening to take control of her facade. And then, he understood what she was trying to hide, her reasons for staying up well past when she normally did. She was worried about him.

The absurdity of anyone being worried about him of all people caught him momentarily off guard. Surprised, and very few things surprised this man of icy emotions and contempt, his eyes widened. But only for an instant before his customary glare engraved itself upon his face. Of course she was worried about me--without me, she has no hope of ever thinking rationally again, he told himself firmly. Still, the image of her kneeling down on the ground, her body pressed up against his and his arms around her, the feeling of someone so utterly dependant upon him, so needy, and so willing trust that he would take care of her was burned into his mind. Images that he did not want, no matter what Dumbledore hinted! This was Hermione Granger! Gryffindor's number one irritating, obnoxious know-it-all! The insane student to whom he was irreparably bonded to! For the Gods' sakes, he was supposed to be taking care of her, not fantasizing about how attractive she had become!

As it was, Hermione was trying to force his mental tendrils out of her mind and still keep herself sane. Their minds were too entangled for her to shove him out completely, filling her with an onslaught of confusing emotions that she simply did not want to deal with--her perception of reality suffering despite her best efforts. And all she wanted to do was scream, to be far away from this.

Tired of the stalemate and tired of existence, Snape opted to ignore Hermione and simply lock himself in his room and take a freezing shower--before her mind could overcome his own and lock him in her nightly illusions--or his own body became visibly treacherous. However, before he could close the door, she got out of the chair and slipped herself in front of the door. When he tried to go around, she blocked his efforts. Clearly, he would have to deal with her before she would allow him into his room. "Miss Granger," he said finally, mustering up as much contempt as he could, "kindly remove yourself from my door."

"You were gone, with him," she hissed. When he opened his mouth to respond, she countered him immediately. "Oh, don't try to deny it. I felt everything!"

"Apparently not, Miss Granger," he hissed at her and took a predatory step towards her comparatively slight body in an attempt to scare her off. "You have no idea."

"Spying," she continued, "pretending to cower at the hem of his robe, licking his boots even as he kicks you! Voldemort's little minion, brave little pseudo-Death Eater! You refused to tell me and instead left me to wonder where you were and why, why my mind was crumbling apart because of somebody else's emotions, and where that pain, more intense than a thousand burning knives, poured into my very soul!"

His eyes flew wide and he drew himself to his full length, as if height could heal the wounds she had just inflicted on his dignity. "I did nothing of the sort you foolish woman!" came the low growl. "If. I. Ever. Tried. To go back to the Dark Lord, he would kill me instantly. No questions, not even a few taunts. Dead. Do you understand? I am a wanted man."

"But you do not deny that you--"

"There are more ways to spying than pretending you are a minion, Granger. And if you ever tell a single soul..." he allowed the threat to taper off as soon as he felt her give up. Defeated, she stood aside and let him brusquely brush past her. How much had been reality and how much of the pain had she imagined? Hermione was only vaguely aware of the door that slammed shut behind her, even as she leaned against it for its strong support. For a long time, all she did was stare at the fire and allow her thoughts to run whatever course they may. As if to deliver one last insult, Snape made no attempts to control her mind. He was right, she knew. There were other ways to spy. Invisibility was always a boon, but still, Voldemort had known that somebody had been there. He had smelt the hatred, sensed the intent to cause only harm--much more than the petty malice his other Death Eaters held. No, true, intense loathing, desire to kill, to destroy and cool calculation that rivaled even Voldemort's own. Ah, but Lucius... Lucius was the sly one--the one you really had to watch out for.

The young woman with no name looked down at the satiny blue dress she wore and turned around. There, beyond the portal she saw him... lying on a bed of earth blanketed with green, soft grass. Slender, silvery birches grew up around creating four post-like corners and covering everything with a canopy of leaves. Irresistible... Raven haired man in the moonlight, eyes closed and peacefully oblivious of everything around him. She knew him even through the October scent that clung onto his skin and tried to cloak his own scent. With the greatest of care lest he be awoken from that peace, she stepped beyond the portal and glided towards him. Pale skin, thin lips, brows ever so slightly furrowed as if in deep contemplation, he lay still. A gentle move, and then she was straddling his chest, and peering down into his face as if... as if to prove to herself that he was, indeed, real and not just some figment of her imagination. He did not disappear like she feared he would. Instead, he inhaled deeply and sighed, shifting slightly underneath her. So, she curled her hands through his dark hair, bent down, and kissed him softly on the lips.

He, who had been the first to treat her like she was human.

And he responded quite willingly.

As her hair brushed across his face and mixed with his, she gave him a deep, yet soft kiss, sighing quietly as his body reacted to hers. She went to pull her mouth away, but a large hand slid up her back and pressed her head back down against his, hungrily searching for her mouth. Happily, she complied and allowed the rest of her body to slide down his, so that she was laying completely on top of him. This was... perfect... Heaven. Bliss... She didn't care that the world around her felt too surreal, nothing in the world could make her want to move--not even the girl on the other side of the mirror.

He had his face buried against her neck now, and his hands tracing their way up and down her sides. He kissed his way down her neck and then across her collar bone, holding his lips against her pulse and leaving feathery nips where the her skin was most sensitive. Breath quick and shallow, she nuzzled against him and they settled into a simple embrace. Yes, this was indeed so nice...

After Snape had gone through his ritual the following morning, and opened the door, it was to find Hermione sleeping with her head against the doorframe. There was a slight smile across her face, which he glared at sourly for several minutes before he decided to pick her up and drop her unceremoniously into the shower--clothes and all. Worry about him, would she? He would show the impertinent little madwoman that Severus Snape could take care of himself--and her. Hermione woke up with a start as soon as the freezing cold water began to splash all over her, and glared up at him. Oh, but her foul mood was worth the look on her face! In fact, after such a... pleasant... dream, Snape even allowed himself the luxury of smirking down at her.

He did not notice the blue satin shawl tangled up in his sheets.

***

Hermione was watching him closely as they walked through the dungeons in the direction of breakfast and the Great Hall. Snape ignored her as best as he could--it was far too early for questions--yet she persisted. She was excited about something, he could sense, and determined to wait him out. Well, she'll be waiting for a long time, he groused mentally, only slightly surprised when a faint smile crossed her lips. Really, he was going to have to do something about that damnable bond before the two became one entity!

"Professor?" she asked finally, much too excited to contain it within herself.

"Granger, I believe we had a mutual agreement where you voluntarily hold your tongue--and your mind--at least until I have had the chance to get some caffeine into my system? And since injections leave ever so nasty scars," he sneered here, and she could feel his anger invade her mind, "you will have to wait until long after breakfast."

Undaunted and undeterred, Hermione allowed the silence to grow between them. Oh yes, it was a Tuesday, after all, and there would be plenty of time to discuss a real Seventh Year project at five, tomorrow.

***

Herbology was after Potions and right before Hermione had Runes. Professor Sprout had reminded them last Thursday to wear their warmest clothes, as the class would be held outside in the October cold rain and early sleet, but she had seemed very excited about something. So in the ten minutes before her class started, the students all ran up to their dorms and got on their heavy winter robes, and then ran back outside to meet in front of the greenhouses. By the time everyone had run both ways, one way through a heated castle in very hot robes, they were all on the verge of heat stroke. Which was not funny since their ears felt ready to fall off from magical cold.

Professor Sprout smiled cheerfully at them and waited for the last stray Hufflepuff to join the crowd. Having Herbology after Potions was something Neville always looked forward to--he was very good at Herbology. "Today," she began with a voice too upbeat for the weather, "we are going to learn how to sing to the trees. Trees really do enjoy a good song every now and then, and it is the best way to make a tree really grow, other than growth charms of course."

She ignored the wave of groans spreading down the ranks and led them out behind the greenhouse. The mere idea of opening oneself up to sure embarrassment by singing in front of an entire class was not a very pleasant one. In fact, the only thing that brought any dim joy into their lives was the fact that they didn't have to do it in front of Slytherin. Cackling gleefully, (which was an odd sight since the witch was wearing pink ear-muffs and had sort of a motherly air to her) Professor Sprout looked like she was enjoying everything. "Ah, yes, never paused to wonder how the Christmas trees got so big for the holidays, did you? Well now it's your turn! And you have from now until the beginning of the holiday break to finish this project. Yes, Mister Finch-Fletcher, it will take that long. After all, you have to find out what your tree likes to listen to, and give it rests… Growing is hard work! Now hop to!"

Hermione was almost sure that her tree was a Norwegian spruce, but she didn't want to say anything lest she (and the thought was absurd) offend her little seedling. Somewhere in the farthest depths of her mind, she was sure Snape was laughing hysterically at her predicament--or at least, snorting with scornful mirth, anyway, since she didn't think him capable of laughter. Still, an assignment was an assignment, and Hermione was never one to back down... Even when it promised to be one of the least enjoyable assignments of her entire Hogwarts career... Honestly, she had never thought herself a very good singer. She didn't even know where to begin!

Ron had decided to try the shotgun approach and was in the middle of singing (rather loudly and rather obnoxiously) "You'll take the high road… And I'll take the low road… And I'll get to Scotland befooooore yeeee!"

"Ron!" shouted Harry when he couldn't take the pain any more.

"Yes, Harry?" The tree was shaking, and Ron was taking it as a good sign. Hermione was sure that it was terrified.

"Are you sure that's even the correct lyrics?"

"Who cares? I'm getting results!"

"Yeah, but you're killing the rest of us."

Next to her, Neville had gone into some little ditty about a Muggle who thought he was a witch and so became a cross-dresser. It was rather funny, actually, and Hermione could have sworn that his tree had been smaller when he had started. No inspiration came to her.

Seamus was singing something about mash, corn, barley and running from the excise man. It figured he would sing about something related to alcohol, but his tree looked mad. Very mad. In fact, the little seedling got so mad that its sap boiled and the tree exploded, spraying bits of needles and sticky tree gore over a group of Hufflepuffs. Professor Sprout looked up and tsked at him. "Now look what you have done Mister Finnigan! None of the other trees want to be near you--you've got them quite terrified. Partner up with somebody else and don't sing again."

She resumed her odd conversation with the little tree she was at. "Come on and stop being a baby! You need to grow tall so that come snowfall your branches will be thick and make a nice refuge for the forest creatures. I know you like being little, but you have to grow up some time! No, I don't care what you think about me--that was not nice!"

Hermione frowned. "Professor Sprout?"

"Yes dear?" She was scowling, but realized who she was scowling at and masked her face into a smile. "I'm sorry--he's just being a little frustrating."

"Oh... What kind of a tree is that?"

As if the tree had just made a very mean remark, Professor Sprout glared at it and tapped it with her wand. "Oh, he's just a very rude hemlock from Canada. I knew I should have gotten one from Japan! They're much more polite and make so much better ornamental trees. I think this one was germinated too close to New York--he's picked up some very bad manners." She turned her attention back to the hemlock, and put a very motherly glare at the seedling. "Now you little piece of kindling, if you do not behave and start growing, I will transfigure you into a weed and then you'll never get to live in the Forbidden Forest!"

Apparently this threat worked, for the tree began to grow at the start of Professor Sprout's next song.

Hermione eyed her little sapling doubtfully. Well, so much for thinking that schoolwork would help her keep a hold on reality... Singing to trees. Ha! The next thing she knew, she'd be mumming!

***

By the time Transfigurations came about the next day, Hermione could barely control her excitement. This worried Professor McGonagall--she most certainly did not want another polar bear in the class. And despite the sarcastic assurances Snape gave her, she did not trust Hermione with a wand anymore. But the headmaster had insisted, and who was she to deny the headmaster's wishes? Instead, McGonagall found herself constantly watching Hermione to make sure she transfigured the animals into what they were supposed to be, not what she thought they wanted to be. So, it was with a thin, disapproving mouth she watched Hermione as the number one student in all of Hogwarts completed a very complicated transfiguration--a frog into a salamander. The less related the creature was, for some reason, the harder it was to transfigure it. While it was relatively very simple to transfigure a Great Dane into a Gray Hound, it was harder to transfigure it into a wolf, or a bear, or a hawk, and extremely difficult to transfigure it into something not mammalian. It still amazed her that Hermione had managed to do something as complicated as a mouse into a polar bear on her first attempt--but that did not mean one did not treat a snow leopard any less carefully even if it was rare.

The last thing to grow was the tail, and it was a great relief to both Hermione and McGonagall when a fully functioning salamander turned the desk on fire. Hermione carefully dumped the thing into a glass of water (and dousing her desk to stop the flames). Up shot her hand as she raised it. "Professor McGonagall," she called, "I've finished. May I be excused since the class is almost over anyway? I could get started on my project..."

"Of course, Miss Granger," the Professor responded, quite relieved in a guilty sort of way to be free of the duty of watching Hermione. Let Severus have her--so long as he did nothing to harm her Gryffindor chic--Hermione was a handful, and McGonagall, who had always thought herself a logical, rational person, could no longer understand her prize student. And if the girl--young woman, she corrected herself--was going to do something productive... Well... an idle mind was the devil's workshop, especially when the owner of that mind thought she could talk to mice.

Excused, Hermione ran as fast as she could to the dungeons and Snape's classroom. When she got there, it was just in time to hear him yell at some poor third year Hufflepuff for... being too jubilant around his cauldron? Briefly, she wondered why in the world anyone would be jubilant in his classroom (unless it was a Slytherin), and a smile crossed her lips. Oh, she could feel the anger billowing forth from his mind. In fact, she wondered briefly just why he was so upset, and then, as she couldn't really find any apparent reason floating free in his mind, chalked it up to the stresses of being a teacher. Really, he wouldn't have such horrible days if he'd talk to somebody--

"And I assume you are the one I should talk to, Miss Granger? And fifteen points for gawking!" came the acid call from inside the classroom.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. Sometimes she simply forgot that the bond worked both ways. She peered into the classroom to see him scowling back at her. "I was dismissed early from Transfigurations and--"
"I know. Now sit down and kindly keep your mouth shut and refrain from raising your hand. Professor McGonagall may not have anything to teach her class, but I do."

And I suppose you know why I'm here?

Do I want to know, you insufferable, loathsome brat? And then quiet but intense undercurrent of frustrated thought: Why did I have to be stuck with her...?

Just because you're upset doesn't mean you have to take it out on the rest of us.

The two glared at each other, and now Hermione felt just as miserable as Snape. For many minutes, the only sound was of terrified, harassed Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students trying desperately not to make a noise. Finally, Snape directed his freezing gaze at the class. "Go. All of you. Now!" he snapped. The classroom was cleared of students in less time than it took to throw a hex.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember just why he had become a teacher, and ruing the day he made that fateful decision. In the soft light that seeped from windows (impossible in the dungeons, and yet they existed, thanks to magic) high above, he looked almost... forgivable. For the awful mood he had put her in. But that didn't make her mood any better now, did it?

"Now," he began softly, "What possessed you to barge into my class? And yes," he began, before she could respond with something equally as nasty, "I know you wanted to talk about your damnable project."

"I," she retorted, "did not barge into your class! You were the one who called me in! I was quite content to wait outside--"
"You might as well have! I could hear--feel you right outside my door!" Then, more to himself, "We've got to do something about this before--before we start knowing and feeling things about each other we'd rather not."

"I highly agree, Professor," Hermione returned, very angry now. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't know..." he finally admitted, his face in his hands as he massaged his forehead.

"You don't know?" Her face flushed with emotion, she glared straight at him and forgot every thought of sympathy she had had. "You don't know! You put us in this situation in the first place, and You. Don't. Know!"

"What, would you rather be stuck in a coma, dreaming dreams about dancing?" he snarled and stood up. "Ah, yes," and his cruel smile made her cringe to the very depths of her mind, "Hermione Granger--but you had no name, did you? The nameless dancer! Pet prize of Lucius, singing garish songs and being felt up by men who didn't even exist!--or was that a subconscious desire of yours?" He took a step towards her, and made her take her own step backwards.

"No," she whispered. I don't want to talk about this!

"Ah, but we are going to, Granger, and right now!"

Afraid, Hermione bolted for the door but found it warded. She looked up at him, eyes opened wide and unasked question still forming in her mind--was she dreaming this or-- "No!"

"Yes! All those sweet dreams of yours, hiding behind a wall of stone--who knew that goody-know-it-all-Granger felt that way? Hiding forever, so much for Gryffindor bravery!"

"It's not what's behind the wall!" she screamed, trying to block everything out, trying to be far away--No!

"Then what is?" he snarled savagely, standing directly over her. "Pray tell, what is?"

In her mind, there was a wall. There had always been a wall, since time before time. Ages before ages, eons before eons, before the beginning of the world, she had had a wall. Only she hadn't. Upon that wall, were glyphs. Strange glyphs, odd glyphs, remnants of writing before writing had even been invented--only they didn't matter. Within those glyphs lay a curse. Old curse, odd curse, beyond the mirror behind the broken glass. Fragments of woof and weave upon the twisted loom drifted past in the wind as fissures in stone became cracks and transformed into huge, gaping holes. The mirror shattered in great, brilliant, razor sharp shards that ripped and tore, sliced and cut every salvageable part of Hermione's mind apart, even as the girl on the other side laughed the sound of tinkling glass falling upon a cold, hard floor. The loom was reduced to splinters as the wall collapsed and allowed the mystery inside to escape.

Hermione's last words were, "Ah, Gods! There really was a curse!" before she collapsed. And caught in Hermione's same maelstrom, minds connected as they were, Snape fell victim to her sweet oblivion.

Sometimes, when you care about a person, you do seemingly horrible things to save them--even if they'll never understand.

**********************************************************************

Umm... this chapter really took its own course there, especially towards the end... Rest assured, I know where it will end up, but getting to that point will be a little different than I first believed. I have a fun surprise, but that'll have to wait. In fact, speaking of that surprise, I even know the title of the sequel to this... (after long deliberation, I have decided to indeed do a new story where the last verse of Tennyson's poem leaves off...) I'd tell you the title, but that may give away too much at this stage in the game--especially if any of you picked up that little hint I dropped in the scene with McGonagall... Very obscure hint, granted, but it will be very obvious--especially if you knew the title...

Okay, mumming is defined as:

1. To act or play in a pantomime.

2. To go merrymaking in a mask or disguise especially during a festival.

Especially associated with fertility and spring... Really, it holds no true significance other than the fact I thought it was a cool word.

Bugeater93: Thanks! Wow, that *is* simple! I'll have to remember that.

Tracy: I don't mind so much... We all saw what a fiasco I got into when I stayed up too late... :) And you pose a good question to which I'll only say that whether or not she really can is very important. And those sirens are tricky creatures, aren't they?

Fianne: Okay, one update! (Hope you're not annoyed with me)

Hermione Black: Is 5,600 words enough for you?
Zebee: I don't mind nitpicking if it is constructive and helps me rectify errors. I believe I asked for it, after all... ^ _ ^

Aurinia: Clever, clever! I love that hypothesis! And we will most definitely be finding out just how Harry and Ron and Hermione were lured by the Siren... Or Sirens... beginning with the next chapter. And, just exactly what that question she asked was... But slowly... I would hate to show all my cards too soon in the game...

Tegan: I like warm and fuzzy... Hot and sexy, too, but it's still too early in the relationship for that. Good things take a while to develop, if anybody was wondering. ;) I'm glad you enjoyed that moment *and* Snape's discomfort--that scene was a relief to write, I'll tell you. I tried to keep him as much in character as I could while keeping the relationship from becoming stalemated.