A Murder of Crows
Chapter 10: Nine for a Kiss
Other than the addition of new books, very little had changed in the Hogwarts library with the passage of time. The same scarred tables were arranged in the same exact places they'd stood when Hermione had been a student. She sat in what might well have been the same squeaky chair she'd occupied twenty years earlier and waited for Bertram Aubrey to join her. On this particular Saturday, Bertram had asked to meet in the library so that Hermione could point out some of the books that had helped three teenagers mastermind the defeat of one of the most feared wizards of all time. Hermione had arrived early and picked several volumes off the shelf, stacking them on the table before her.
Although she enjoyed Bertram's pleasant manner, she wasn't looking forward to meeting him today. Still, she supposed it was better than spending time around Snape. The memory of their encounter in the alcove several days ago still weighed heavily on her mind, and although they treated each other with solicitous distance, their relationship was definitely strained.
Hermione had quickly decided to forego her plan of limiting the time she spent in Snape's company. After no more than one night, she missed her comfortable, overstuffed chair by the fireplace and returned to her former routine of reading or marking papers there in the evening. Besides, changing her pattern felt cowardly, and she was determined to carry on with her chin held high. Their time together wasn't as companionable or comfortable as it had once been, but Hermione was certain that with time and reason things would improve.
For his part, Snape made no changes in his behaviour other than to spend more time studying Hermione. He often seemed to be examining her as if she were a puzzle whose solution eluded him. At times he appeared wary, no doubt waiting for her to unleash whatever retribution she had concocted. In truth, Hermione had secretly amused herself by formulating and then systematically rejecting several scenarios of revenge. It soon became apparent such plans were superfluous: her current mode of behaving with dignified insouciance seemed to disconcert him more than any attack might have. Over the past few days in particular, Hermione had caught him watching her intently, although she had no idea as to what he hoped to ascertain from his silent analysis.
"Hermione, sorry I'm late!" Bertram said as he approached her table. "I had an owl from my folks and wanted to get a reply off quickly."
"Of course," she told him with a smile. Hermione remembered Bertram mentioning that his family relocated to America when he was ten years old; he had learnt magic from a well-hidden school in Massachusetts, but had said he'd always wanted to return to the UK. He had obviously been delighted by the teaching offer from Hogwarts and seemed to relish every facet of the European wizarding world. Bertram might have been British by birth, but he sounded and acted American which some found charming and others annoying. His insistence on slipping British colloquialisms into his speech was his only habit that alarmed Hermione, simply because she found it rather jarring to hear the familiar phrases spoken with a Boston accent.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," Bertram told her earnestly.
In actuality, Hermione had been so lost in her thoughts of Snape that she hadn't even realised Bertram was late. "Not at all. I love the library here; I think I could live in this room," she said with a laugh. "In fact, it felt like I did live in this room when I was a student!"
Bertram chuckled good-naturedly, his laughter quickly fading into a warm smile. "Pretty empty today," he pointed out, glancing around the room.
"Yes, well… There are only a few weeks until Christmas. I expect the students are getting ready for the holiday, and I know several members of the staff were heading into Hogsmeade to finish their shopping," Hermione informed him.
Bertram looked immediately concerned. "Oh, dear… I hope I'm not keeping you from anything."
"No, of course not," she assured him, patting his arm to allay his worry. "My parents are abroad for the holidays; I'll be staying here in the castle, so I have very little shopping to do."
He smiled and seemed greatly relieved. "As long as you're sure," he said, and Hermione nodded at him. "Shall we begin, then?"
They spent the next hour poring over an assortment of texts and discussing the ways the trio had prepared to leave school that last year before embarking on the Horcrux search. Then Bertram pulled out the complicated timeline he had created, and the next two hours were spent categorising various dates and events until finally Hermione found herself relating some of the details from their capture by the Snatchers and the horrific time spent at Malfoy Manor.
To say it was unpleasant was an understatement, but still, Hermione was surprised to find tears rolling down her checks as she spoke about Dobby and how the little house-elf had given his life in the process of saving theirs. So many emotions and feelings had ebbed with the passing years, but the sacrifice of the brave little creature was difficult to communicate without sentiment.
Bertram removed a soft white handkerchief from his pocket and came around the table, taking the chair directly next to Hermione. She took the cloth and wiped her face dry, slightly uncomfortable with her reaction. There was a faint scent of oranges and liquorice on Bertram's handkerchief, and the combination made Hermione inexplicably queasy.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry," he told her, taking her free hand in both of his and rubbing the back of it soothingly. "We should have stopped sooner."
"No, Bertram, it's quite all right," she reassured him. She seemed to be doing an awful lot of crying lately, and she was a bit embarrassed by her sudden emotions. "I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep, and I think it's beginning to take a toll on me," she tried to explain.
Bertram continued to stroke her hand, his worried expression distinctly out of place as his features were almost always creased by a grin. Hermione took a deep breath and blinked repeatedly, finally mustering a small smile for him.
"That's better," he told her, looking relieved. Then he quickly leant towards her and pressed his lips to hers before Hermione could even piece together in her mind what he was about to do.
She sat completely still, in shock. If it had been a quick, friendly peck on the lips it might have been one thing, but he continued to move his lips against hers until she backed away with a frown, having to place her hand against his chest to gently push him from her. She turned her head and caught a fleeting glimpse of movement, although the library still appeared to be empty. Either she was imagining things, or they had just scared the life out of some unsuspecting student.
Turning back to Bertram, she eyed him with disbelief.
"I shouldn't have done that," he apologised quietly.
"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed.
"I just… had to know."
"Had to know what, precisely?"
"If you felt anything for me. If you'd kiss me back."
"There are better ways to find out," she told him, still battling shock over the unexpected gesture. "You shouldn't just launch yourself at someone. Especially at such a moment."
"I should have asked first," he said complacently.
"Yes, that would have been nice. Or perhaps some indication that you…"
"But you must have guessed I was attracted to you," he interrupted. "We've been getting along so well on these little dates. And I thought… here in the library… you might be more receptive," he wheedled.
"These haven't been dates!" Hermione contradicted him and rose abruptly. "I've been helping you research your book."
He looked at her with a guilty expression and Hermione had a sudden, sinking feeling. "Tell me there is a book, Bertram."
"Well… there could be," he offered, looking back and forth between Hermione and the stacks of notes on the table. "I mean, I have an awful lot of information, and I could probably put something together…"
"No, no, no," Hermione said slowly, shaking her head in the negative as she closed her eyes. She rubbed her throbbing temples as her anger and blood pressure built. Opening her eyes once more, she looked at Bertram and said, "You cannot be serious!"
"I thought this was a good way for us to get to know each other better," he said, reaching for her hand again.
Hermione jerked her fingers away from him, stunned. She was shaking with anger now, thinking of all the horrible memories he'd dredged up, all the sleepless nights she'd had, and all because he wanted to go out with her? He had set up this whole little scene, in the library, apparently thinking she'd feel more amorous here. Hermione was having a difficult time following whatever logic had led him to embark on this plan, and what he had intended to happen next. Was he really just waiting for her to break down crying, so he could rush in with his stupid handkerchief and save the day? The sick little bastard…
Hermione glared down at Bertram. "This was twisted and offensive and wrong. You should consider yourself very lucky that I don't hex you into next month."
Looking up at her with wide eyes, Bertram said, "You're so beautiful when you're angry."
Having had quite her fill of ridiculous men, Hermione threw the handkerchief she'd been holding in his face, spun on her heel, and stormed out of the library.
Hermione stomped along the corridor in a fit of rage, noisily making her way back to the dungeons. She was tremendously upset with Bertram for pulling such a stunt, and she was also upset with herself for misjudging him so completely. She really had thought he'd been so kind and caring, so courteous of her feelings. And the whole time he'd been playing her… setting her up like a pawn.
Remembering the feel of his mushy lips against hers, Hermione swiped her hand over her mouth and rubbed angrily, trying to erase any trace of him as she entered the Potions classroom.
The torches were already flaming on the walls, and the sight that met Hermione's eyes made her stop in utter shock. The entire classroom was in disarray: desks were overturned; the blackboard lay shattered in pieces on the floor; cauldrons were flung haphazardly about the room, and a layer of parchment blanketed everything. It looked as if a cyclone had torn through the room, and she stared in disbelief, shocked by the idea that someone would do this to school property. She rarely had any issues with her students, but wondered suddenly if perhaps Snape had antagonised one student too many. Still, the complete chaos seemed like such a violent act—surely the children Snape taught weren't capable of such demolition? Hurrying to the side of the room, she noted with relief that the office and storeroom had miraculously escaped the vandalism.
Hermione quickly Vanished the door to the living quarters, looking for Snape. If he'd been present when the incident had occurred, certainly he would have heard the destruction taking place. She found him in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the breakfast table with both palms down. His back was towards her, but as she approached, she could tell he was breathing very hard and very raggedly.
The thought instantly struck her that he was injured, and she felt her lower extremities turn leaden. She imagined him coming across the vandal in mid-act and duelling with the culprit. But before she could hurry across the soft carpet to reach him, he straightened quite suddenly and swiped a bottle of what appeared to be Firewhisky from the table, raising it to his lips and taking several long swallows.
Hermione stopped short, relief over the fact that he wasn't hurt short-lived.
"Someone trashed our classroom," she told him, watching as he spun around so fast his robes wrapped around him in a spiral before returning to centre. His eyes looked wild as he focused on her, and he still seemed to be trying to catch his breath. He offered no reply, just stood there staring, absorbed.
"Did you hear me?" she asked. "Someone trashed the classroom. The office and storeroom are fine, though, thank goodness. Did you hear anything?"
"I… I was looking for something," he told her in a measured tone.
Hermione looked at him in puzzlement, his response not making any sense to her. Then his eyes flicked to where the classroom lay wrecked on the other side of the wall, and she gaped at him in dawning comprehension.
"You did that?" she asked incredulously.
"I was looking for something," he repeated through clenched teeth.
Hermione glanced down at the bottle in his hands. "Was it a bottle of whisky?" she asked.
He ignored her question and her sarcasm.
"I was about to clean it up." Looking annoyed, he set the bottle down hard on the table, seemingly oblivious to the little drops that popped up out of the vessel and splashed onto the table. He strode past her into the office and then into the classroom.
Hermione ran after him, still reeling. "Is this a hobby of yours? Trash the classroom and then clean it up while I'm away?"
Snape ignored her questions again and raised his wand, sweeping it around the perimeter of the room while he silently cast his spells. There was a great cacophony of noise when all at once the room seemed to right itself: the blackboard pieces flew together and sealed themselves onto the wall; desks and chairs were turned upright; pieces of parchment danced in a jerky flight around the room like dozens of albino bats, and cauldrons clanked noisily as they returned to their proper shelves.
Hermione stood watching in awe for a moment, marvelling at the fantastic magical strength required to cast such powerful, simultaneous spells. Then Snape marched past her and returned to the kitchen. Hermione trailed after him once more, determined to finish their conversation.
"Satisfied?" he asked before picking up the bottle and drinking deeply again.
"No," she said angrily.
"What are you doing back so soon, anyway?"
"What do you mean, 'so soon'? I've been gone for hours."
"Yes," he said, curling his lip as if he smelled something unpleasant. "No doubt you've been very busy." He looked down at her lips, which she knew were swollen and puffy from her frantic scrubbing at them earlier.
"Well, we can't all amuse ourselves with temper tantrums."
"Tell me, Miss Granger," he purred suddenly, coming to stand so close to her that she could smell the strong burn of whisky on his breath as he spoke. "Are you just working your way through the castle, now?"
Hermione bristled at his demeaning use of her schoolgirl title. She noted that at least half the bottle of whisky was gone, so it was hardly any wonder that he wasn't making sense. "What are you on about?" she asked irritably.
"Let's review, shall we?" he asked patronisingly. "I had you in the dungeons, then Draco in the Tower, and now Bertram in the Library. Just find someone to fuck you on the third floor—that shouldn't prove too difficult. Perhaps dear Neville…"
He was cut off mid-sentence as Hermione raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. His words had cut deeply, and she'd responded automatically; she hadn't even been aware of hitting him until she stood facing him with her palm stinging and her whole body quivering with anger. She watched the perfect red handprint bloom on the pale skin of his cheek, and still she was unable to find words to capture how utterly ugly his accusation had been.
The minutes stretched with neither moving, each just staring at the other in wide-eyed shock. Unable to stand the sight of him any longer, Hermione turned away in disgust.
"Wait," he pleaded. He reached his hand out to her arm, frowning when she flinched at his touch. "Please."
Over the coming months, Hermione would often find her thoughts drifting back to this single moment in time. How much would have changed if he hadn't asked her to wait? Or if she had simply ignored him and walked away?
But Hermione didn't walk away: she turned back and asked tersely, "What?" She watched impatiently as he seemed to struggle with his reply. His brow furrowed and his lips were pursed, and he held himself quite stiffly.
"I'm sorry," he said at last, and though he spoke quite softly, she thought she heard more feeling in his voice than if he'd shouted.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and drew an unsteady breath. "That's not good enough," she said quietly.
"I realise that," he acknowledged. Then, looking at her carefully, he added, "It was never my intention to hurt you."
Hermione stared at him silently, inexplicably thinking of the evening he'd walked her back from the Three Broomsticks. He had seemed so offended when she'd told him she believed in his capacity for goodness, and judging by his recent actions, he was doing a damn fine job of proving her wrong. But why? Had he been so hurt by Lily's rejection that he was somehow compelled to test her, to push her away, to hurt her until she, too, rejected him as Lily had?
"I'm sorry," he repeated again when Hermione remained silent. "That was an unconscionable thing to say. I know that you and Draco… that nothing happened. And it's none of my business what you and Aubrey are doing…"
"I'm not doing anything with Bertram!" she said shrilly.
"I saw you kissing him," he said, taking a step towards her. His jaw clenched, and he seemed to wrestle between apologising and accusing.
Hermione had a sudden recollection of the movement she thought she'd seen in the library earlier. Had he been there?
"So, you witnessed a kiss and your next logical conclusion was that I must be sleeping with him?" she asked with incredulity.
Snape surveyed her cautiously, his brows drawn together and a look of frustration on his face. "My logic seems to completely fail me where you're concerned," he admitted with obvious reluctance.
Hermione was stunned by his statement. Surely very few things had ever caused Snape to question his logic.
"I'm sorry… I didn't quite catch that," she told him, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the side. She knew it was a tad bitchy, and perhaps beneath her, but she also couldn't help thinking he deserved it.
Teeth clenched again, he informed her, "You seem to elicit responses… wherein my reason abandons me and I act without regard to consequence."
"I see," she said. Her periphery vision caught the sight of his hand tightening on the neck of the whisky bottle, but she ignored whatever discomfort he might be feeling and instead thought over the events of the evening. The timing worked out: he must have seen Bertram's clumsy attempt to kiss her, but he'd obviously left before the final outcome. Then he'd returned to the dungeons and wrecked the classroom; he had to have just finished when she'd found him panting at the table.
Hermione shivered slightly at the sheer fury he'd unleashed on the room outside. It was shocking to learn that she had caused such a powerful outburst in the same man who had proved to her just days before what exquisite control he had over his reactions. The thought of so much raw passion was alarming, and yet Hermione noted with surprise that it was also a bit exciting.
"You find this amusing?" he asked with disdain, obviously seeing the small smile that had crept upon her face as she'd considered him.
"I find it curious," she replied. "Tell me… were you upset because it's Bertram or because it's not you?"
"Both!" he said instantly. Then, with a frown, he quickly amended, "Neither!" He closed his eyes and offered her a frustrated sigh, dropping his shoulders as if defeated. "I merely find him untrustworthy."
I wish you'd told me that sooner, she thought to herself, although she doubted she would have listened, even if he had.
Pursing his lips into a grimace, he added, "And I admit the sight of you kissing him was… disturbing."
Is that what you call it? she wondered silently, thinking once more of the havoc he'd wrought upon the classroom. "What you saw was Bertram attempting to kiss me," she told him. "If you had bothered to stick around, you would have also seen me pushing him away and telling him to stuff it."
She noted the dual look of surprise and doubt on Snape's face and thought perhaps she was starting to get better at reading him. There was something else in his eyes, too, but she didn't quite trust herself enough to speculate on what it could be.
Emboldened by her earlier musings and by the notion that she could actually cause Snape's excellent logic to fail him, she walked to where he stood. She registered his cautious expression as she reached for the bottle in his hands, allowing her fingers to brush against his as she took it from him. He remained motionless, regarding her with one raised eyebrow.
"It turns out that Bertram Aubrey is what we in the scientific field like to call 'a wolf in sheep's clothing'," she told him. "Oh, and he's also a complete and utter arsehole." With that, she lifted the bottle to her lips just as he'd done and took a very long swallow, replacing the foul spirits on the breakfast table while her body shuddered.
Enjoying the shock on his face as she turned around, she walked back to him, leaning in while raising herself up on tiptoe to place a very quick, chaste kiss on his cheek where she'd slapped him.
"Goodnight, Severus," she told him with finality before strolling to her bedroom.
Although subtle, she felt a shift had just taken place in their relationship. She could sense its presence as surely as she knew his eyes were on her back, watching her walk away. She couldn't quite place her finger on exactly how it had happened, but as Hermione softly closed her bedroom door, she realised with surprise that she was looking forward to exploring the transformation further.
Changing into thick flannel pyjamas, she snuggled under the heavy, down-filled duvet, tucking it tightly beneath her chin and rubbing her feet together for warmth. Her eyes rested on the fireplace—the only source of light in the room. The leaping flames mesmerised her mind while her thoughts journeyed abroad, bravely scouting this new, undiscovered territory, tromping through fields of possibilities previously off-limits to her imagination. Sleep proved elusive for many hours. Hermione stared into the fire until all that remained of the sturdy logs were piles of glowing embers, crusting into ashes. Her brow was creased in contemplation as she replayed the events of the evening. She was still pondering what other changes the future might hold for her and Snape when sleep finally claimed her, carrying her into a world where nothing made sense, yet everything was perfectly clear.
My betas and Brit-picker are lovely and patient and extremely talented women… Thanks so much Karelia, littlebeloved, and lettybird!! I'll be on vacation until the beginning of October, so if I don't reply to your review quickly, please know that I'm not ignoring you. And to everyone who takes the time to leave a review—thanks ever so much. I love receiving feedback and the diversity of opinions has been truly enlightening!