Chapter 29
"Could you zip me up?"
She turned her back to Severus, pointing.
He rose from his armchair, pausing only to replace a book on the table next to him.
"Aren't you supposed to be dressed for Hogwarts?" he said, dragging the zip of her georgette blouse to the nape of her neck.
His hand lingered on her back, a shadow of touch, and she almost shivered.
It was late afternoon and she was packed and ready to leave.
With him.
Him.
"Not if I don't attend dinner, I don't."
He turned her around, holding onto her elbows lightly; a small frown nestled on his forehead.
"And why would that be? Don't tell me you're so depressed that you wish to starve yourself to death."
She looked away from his intense, penetrating gaze and bit her lip.
"No."
The room was small.
He had given her the master bedroom.
"Let's try again, shall we?" He lifted her chin, tilting it sideways, and locked eyes with her. "What is it?"
Slowly but emphatically, she removed his hand away from her chin and shrugged.
"It's—nothing, really." She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, biting her lip. "I should go—I still have socks to pack. They're very important you know, especially during winters and I always feel extra cold for some reason…" she trailed off, realising how stupid she sounded.
He raised an innocent eyebrow, his thin lips curling into an unknown expression as he let her go.
She stopped at the door, glancing back at him.
"Are we going to Apparate?"
He nodded, squinting at her with a weird expression on his face.
"Are you planning on—have you apprised Potter of your condition? What about your other friends and peers?"
A dark shadow fell on her heart.
"No, I mean—Harry doesn't know," she grazed the threshold with her toe, "and I'm not sure what I want to do henceforth."
"Well, we are leaving in half an hour—you need to decide what you are going to do."
She averted her eyes and shook her head.
"I don't know—it sounds stupid but I am just—I really don't know."
He sighed softly and reached for her hands. They were warm and large and felt coarse to touch whereas hers were really small in comparison, and soft—he took them together and dragged them into his lap.
"I'll ask again, and not for the last time: what is it that's bothering you?"
She tilted her head, basking in the warmth of human touch, and closed her eyes.
"There's nothing really," she brushed aside the teeming fears, the nagging worries, and the crumbling shreds of sanity that teetered on the edge. "I'm fine."
He gave her a tight-lipped smile, squeezing her hands.
"Well—" she began but a loud tap on the window interrupted her. Severus excused himself and went to open the latch, letting a huge tawny owl fly inside and land on his bed. It hooted softly and Hermione watched as Severus pried loose the letter from its legs and opened it quickly.
The bird hooted reproachfully, perhaps expecting some treat in return, but Severus simply waved him off.
"Minerva has asked for a meeting with you this evening after dinner," he informed her, frowning as he finished the letter and crushed the parchment between his three fingers.
"What—why?"
"She's been desirous of speaking to you for weeks now, but I did not deem it necessary, especially when your health was in a fragile state—"
Hermione averted her eyes.
"So I shall have to meet her afterwards?"
"Yes." He must have noted the discomfort in her face, for he added quickly, "If you'd like, I could accompany you."
She nodded in affirmation, all thoughts of packing socks quite far away from her mind by then.
"It's only proper that I do so—she's always cared for me like a parent would, within proper boundaries, and I don't want to disappoint her," she said absently, scowling at the floor.
Something dark crossed Severus's face but she missed it and when she looked back at him a few seconds later, it was gone—replaced by a blank expression.
"You should go and get ready," he said, turning away from her. "Don't forget the socks."
There were rumours.
Gossip.
Hysteria.
And a general air of suspicion pervading the castle.
She had skipped dinner—she had had no desire to bear the strain of curious eyes and mouths curled in disapproval. She hadn't even met Harry—or the Weasleys—she had deposited her luggage in her dormitory and fled to the library straightaway.
And here she was, searching—searching for a cure, searching for a ray of hope—anything, really—
A Theory of Magical Transformations—no, that won't do it.
She ran her fingers over the thin and thick volumes gracing the top shelf.
Opron's Constructions—no; Chimera of Magical Powers—absolutely not; Shadowhunters—what?
She sighed in frustration.
"Looking for something in particular?"
She turned and glanced at the boy who had interrupted her.
"I thought you were dead."
Malfoy smirked, leaning on a thin stick to support his weight. His leg seemed not to have healed.
"Apparently not," he commented, moving up the aisle towards her. "Why are you hiding in the library, of all the places you could have chosen—don't you think that this is rather predictable?"
She shrugged, scanning the books. "I'm not hiding."
"Yes, you are."
"Malfoy, I have work to do—why don't you just move along and make my life easy?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and leaned against the desk, tapping his foot.
"I know what you're looking for and you won't find it here."
Her hand froze in its place, where she had made a move to reach for a book with an interesting title, and she found herself look back at him once again.
"I see that your interest is piqued."
She clicked her tongue in annoyance, shaking her head.
"What do you want Malfoy—quit playing riddles and just come out with it, will you?"
He frowned, looking out of the window for a few seconds before his attention returned to her.
"This might take some time—maybe we could talk somewhere else, a place of your choosing."
She considered.
"I don't know a good place."
"Meet me right here before breakfast tomorrow, then, and we could pick seats where we won't be overheard."
She supposed there was no harm in it.
"Okay."
He had asked her to wait by the gargoyle that led to the Headmistress's office. She had been waiting there for a few minutes when she heard the purposeful tap of his boots on the floor and saw him emerging from the doorway that led straight to the dungeons.
She smiled a fleeting smile and saw him nod in her direction.
"Is the Headmistress in?" he asked the stone gargoyle which inclined its head just a fraction of an inch and Hermione was surprised. She had never known the gargoyle could do that. Or did that. Whichever.
Severus uttered the password to the door with practiced ease and led her inside.
The room was different now, or very much the same. It was, in fact, the same as it had been in Dumbledore's time and yet, McGonagall's presence made it different.
Severus coughed when he saw Minerva bent over something on her desk, her back facing them. She turned around and nodded at them both before indicating that they sit.
"I've been expecting to speak with you, Hermione," she said, going around her desk to sit in her chair. "And I see that Severus thought it fit to accompany you."
Something flashed in her eyes, a sort of anger or perhaps disapproval, but Hermione couldn't place it.
"If you don't mind me interrupting, Professor, I asked him to accompany me here," she explained.
Severus said nothing but stared at the older woman with acrimony in his gaze that even Hermione couldn't miss.
Had something happened?
"Why would you do that, Hermione?" Minerva asked softly, sighing. "I meant to speak to you alone."
Hermione had no answer.
She did it because she felt—safe?
When she didn't say anything out aloud, Minerva gave Severus a meaningful look.
"Severus, if you don't mind—"
"But I do," Severus glared at her. "Whatever you have to say to her can be said with me here."
Minerva's lips pressed into a thin, colourless line.
"Very well." She conjured a gobletful of water and took a sip. "Hermione, Severus told me about what happened the night Hogwarts was attacked. The Ministry was kept in the dark, and with good reason, about the true nature of the siege."
She paused, scrutinising Hermione's face for a second before continuing.
"Severus took you away from Hogwarts, despite my protests, and I was left in the dark as to how you were involved in the entire affair. We spoke awhile, I talked to Potter as well, and I have pieced together what I could but the picture is still hazy."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip.
It wasn't one of herbraver stories, quite the contrary actually, and she hesitated at first but she knew she'd have to do it anyway. With growing shame and guilt, she recounted the events as they happened, omitting many things perhaps, but she stuck to a clear outline and for all her dread and embarrassment, it only took five minutes.
Five minutes.
When she was done, however, she saw Minerva's eyes flashing in anger and—disappointment?
"You silly, idiotic girl," Minerva whispered, her eyes round and her knuckles white from tightening her fists too hard. "I never expected this from you—this is—"
She might have said more if Severus hadn't cut her midway.
"Mind your tongue, Minerva." Severus leaned forwards, his face impassive but his eyes glittering. "Don't utter words that you may not be able to retract."
Minerva's lips parted, perhaps to deliver a scathing outburst but Hermione was quicker.
"If I may, Professor McGonagall, I am truly sorry for what happened," she said in a level voice, trying to keep her nerves together. "My actions were heedless, as was my response to a lot of situations—I never—" she broke off, not quite sure of what to say.
"An apology won't make anything disappear, will it? Did you even consider the danger you were leading yourself and this entire school into? And the aftermath—I only suspected, not knowing for sure but now that you have confirmed it…"
There was so much reproach, such anger, and an immense amount of disbelief in her eyes that Hermione almost cringed, feeling tears brim her averted eyes.
"Why didn't you inform someone, a teacher, Severus, your friends—anyone? Why did you even consider it a good idea to take off with a student of dubious character and motives, and aid him in his nefarious plans—how could you be so foolish!"
"That's enough, Minerva!" Severus stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on her desk. "There will be no more discussion on this."
Hermione sat open mouthed, gaping at the two professors.
"And why would that be so, Severus? Just because you say so? Do not forget that she is under my care while at this school and I am entitled to question her conduct and judgement as I see fit." She stood up, glaring at Severus. "Don't forget that you too have failed the task that Dumbledore entrusted to you because of her heedless actions."
Severus's mouth curled in distaste, his black eyes growing darker and more ferocious each second.
"I do not forget anything, Minerva, but please enlighten me as to what you hope to accomplish by this—show? Have you called Hermione up here to insult her or gain a clearer insight into events? Does your blaming do anyone in this room any good and should you be wasting your breath on events that have already occurred?"
Minerva shut her mouth but continued glaring at Severus and Hermione realised that she should intervene, if only because she felt genuinely guilty for being the cause of this little tiff.
And more. Always more guilt.
"Professor McGonagall, please," she said in a small voice. "I made a— big mistake. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I thought I was saving a friend—I didn't know. I didn't know better or if I did, I ignored it and I am truly sorry for that."
The Headmistress stared at the young girl in the chair next to Severus and looked away, sighing as she spoke.
"What's done is done, Hermione. Pardon me, I should have chosen my words with more consideration."
"You have every right to being angry, professor—I—" She would have continued but was cut off by Severus.
"The question is not of who is to blame but what is to be done after."
Both Minerva and Hermione looked at Severus in confusion.
"We failed to protect the vault and the power contained within. I don't have even the slightest inkling of what spell Stern may have used but I have seen and treated Hermione's wounds and they are deadly." Severus tapped the desk with his long fingers, as if playing a tune. "Whatever happened to Stern, it cannot be good, but we have no proof of his acquiring the Dark Lord's power or his intent to use it against us—this world."
Hermione's hand tingled, as if in response, and she was once again reminded of how helpless she was and how her life hung by a thin thread.
"What do you mean, Severus?"
"Simply that we let things be—you are the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix, yes, but that does not mandate you to see conspiracies and connivances everywhere. You've worn yourself thin over these past few weeks, you certainly had cause enough for it when Hogwarts was in danger but now—now things have changed. You need to rest."
Minerva seemed at a loss for words, scowling as she sat in her chair.
"The Minister—he's still worried; there have been attacks, some more violent than others and he's anxious—"
"Then let him be anxious, Minerva." Severus watched as the older woman blinked. "Let him work at his job. We are, however, not responsible for the fate of this world, at least not beyond the boundaries of our duty. And as far as Hermione is concerned, she was misled—there is nothing more to it and anyone who suggests otherwise will have to bear the consequences."
Hermione didn't know whether to feel flattered at his defence of her or to feel embarrassed that he was defending her even when she was in the wrong. She had acted rashly, recklessly—and she had apologised for the same. It wasn't like she hadn't paid for her mistake—perhaps more than her actions warranted, perhaps less, but she had paid and she wanted desperately to survive the fallout.
Where could Thomas be? What was he planning? Was he alive? Was he changed irrevocably, judging by what she had seen in the vault, and would he really try to use the power for his nefarious plans, if he had any? But he had sounded sincere, almost apologetic—could he?
So lost was she in her ruminations that she didn't realise her interview was over. When Severus put his hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him in surprise.
"It's time to go," he said, offering her his arm once more. She took it gladly, eager to leave the room and be alone once more.
"Have good night, Hermione. Severus."
"Good night to you too, Professor," she said, while Severus just nodded his acknowledgement. Once outside, he turned to her and lifted her chin slightly, his obsidian eyes softer than she had thought possible.
"Don't look so distraught, Hermione—Minerva's bark is just that, a bark and nothing more."
"It isn't displeasure that's got me down," she said, struggling to find the right words to describe her situation. "It's just… everything. Everything I've done since the beginning of this year has been a mistake, I've befriended and trusted the wrong person, I've put others in danger and broken so many rules—it's not right, it's not me and yet, at this very moment, I am still drawn to repeating the same things over and over again and I cannot for the life of me fathom why—I feel so tangled, inside, and weary—"
Severus looked at her impassively for a few seconds before answering, "You should rest, for now. It will do you good."
She shifted in her bed, trying to drown the noises. Her hand was tingling—it was the poison, pricking her fingers relentlessly.
She could hear her dorm mates snoring lightly.
But she found it hard to fall asleep, worried and desperate as she was to find a cure to her condition.
She sighed once more and sat up in her bed.
No sleep for me tonight, she thought.
She put on her slippers, her dressing gown and left the dormitory quietly. As she had suspected, the common room was thankfully empty, except for one black-haired, bespectacled boy snoring in an armchair, a magazine lying open atop him.
Where was Ron?
She considered waking him up but thought better of it and exited the Gryffindor tower, her feet automatically carrying her away towards some unknown destination—she knew not, in her mind, what it was to be but that wasn't her preoccupation at all. She needed to silence the voices in her head—a recent affliction, long in making perhaps, but one that stalked her everywhere she went.
Her feet carried her to the Astronomy Tower and she sat beside a pillar, gazing idly at the grounds below them. Soft breeze played on her skin, an erratic tune that she couldn't hear but it had its own rhythm.
The long stretch of trees across the grounds was half in shadows, despite the moonlight and there was no one around.
No one.
And that was a blessing, for now she could rest. Yes, she could rest here. She leaned against the pillar and closed her eyes.
"Wake up, Hermione."
The human pressure on her shoulder roused her from sleep. She opened her eyes in confusion and shut them quickly, the strong sun rays hitting her face directly.
It was daybreak and birds were chirping.
Severus stood in front of her, offering a hand. It was ridiculous that he did so every time, so very—archaic in some sense, a misplaced chivalry. She took it nevertheless and yawned behind her hand, rubbing her eyes.
"Life shatters many illusions, doesn't it?" he said, not letting go of her hand just yet and she found herself agreeing.
Neither of them moved to leave.
"In more ways than one." She fastened the dressing gown around herself tightly. "I couldn't sleep last night and came here—I must have drifted to sleep."
Though he had not asked her why he found her slumbering in such an unusual place, he still nodded at her explanation.
"Why do you think that is?"
His face looked so pale in the morning sunlight, contrasting against the black of his robes, that she paused before answering.
"I'm not sure—but perhaps I have outgrown being a schoolgirl? No, that's not true—I outgrew that a long time ago, even before the Battle but perhaps now I feel, more keenly and with pressing discontent, that I truly do not belong. It isn't some fanciful notion—just a plain, hard fact."
"Perhaps so," he said, his brows drawn together in deep thought. "Come with me, Hermione."
She hesitated, looking down at herself. "I need to get dressed before—"
"I'll have someone bring your clothes to my quarters, if you like."
She nodded and followed him, the soft material of her gown snapping around her ankles.
The trip to his quarters didn't take long and everything inside was just the same as she remembered. He motioned for her to sit and took his place beside her.
He looked serious and forlorn—his inky eyes were flanked by a twitching vein in the temple, his lips pursed—she realised that he wanted to discuss something with her, something serious.
"Is everything okay—Severus?" she asked, half dreading his answer, half anticipating some kind of assurance. And she knew that she'd believe him. No matter what he said. She'd believe him. "I don't fully understand but Professor McGonagall mentioned something about failing to secure the vault yesterday, is that what's bothering you?"
"Yes and no." His tone was soft, perhaps sweet too if she dared believe it, but it was also laced with sadness. "Have you ever had the opportunity to make an unbreakable vow, Hermione?"
"No," she answered curiously, watching his usually guarded face with an unknown fear, something foreboding and quite beyond her comprehension.
He acknowledged her answer with a cursory look, taking in her features absently.
"An unbreakable vow is like a—noose, so to speak. You always feel its shadow crawl around your throat, tightening, gagging at most inopportune moments, wearing you down until you fulfil your pledge. Quite a sore weight to carry around."
"I'd think so, though I did not know that the compulsion was quite so—insistent."
He snorted, shaking his head in small measures.
"Persistent and relentless, Hermione. And that is one of the reasons why wizards do not make use o it lightly, unless the circumstances are dire and the need very great." He snapped his fingers and two goblets appeared in front of him. "Juice? Breakfast won't be ready for some time and I can see that you're hungry."
Her stomach rumbled unabashedly at his words and she nodded.
He was rubbing the surface of the coffee table idly, lost in thought, while she sipped from the metal goblet.
"This admission would have resulted in my immediate death, only a few weeks ago, and I haven't spoken of it to anyone except Minerva, that too with reservations for I take no joy in discussing matters such as these." She looked up at his face, half hidden in shadows, half lit up by sunrays. She put down her goblet and waited for him to continue, which he did. "I made a vow to Dumbledore that if, no when we won the war—against the Dark Lord, we'd make sure his corpse would be duly sealed, not for preservation, but so that his powers would remain contained, not transferred, and that we would speak of it to no one—ever, until the day we passed."
Hermione felt the tell-tale signs of shivering run down her spine, her hands covered in sweat and her brow just little wrinkled.
"And due to events that we failed to manage, halt, stop, say what you will—" She noted how he pointedly looked away from her, his shoulders a little slumped. "The seal is broken. The power or the preservation thereof, which plagued me to no end, always keeping me one edge, vigilant, like a thousand serpents crawling right beneath my skin—it's insistence that would have followed me to the end of my days—gone." Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat as he locked eyes with her directly. There was no accusation in his eyes, merely fact. "And though I have not shared all with Minerva, I am sure that she has drawn the same conclusion—we were bound by the same fate, in part, of course. But I have allayed her fears, for a while, and I must hope for them to hold until I know more."
She couldn't look away from him.
She couldn't, not even if she tried.
"I don't understand," she whispered quietly, uncertainty and shame coiling around her neck in equal measures. "I—"
He held up a hand to silence her, shaking his head.
"The only thing you need to know for know is that it escaped the confines of the Dark Lord's corpse—and since the Castle still stands and we weren't blown to smithereens, that power found another vessel, a human one—but it is merely a theory, no more than that, and yet…" He touched his arm lightly, and Hermione wondered why until it hit her that that was where he had been marked. Voldemort's stamp. "It has faded beyond recognition—in a very little time and though it causes me immense joy, I also dread what it means. But there are many things I dread, and it is folly to see vipers where only shadows may linger, yes?"
She nodded, all at once intrigued and alert.
"What do you dread in this case, if I might ask?" she said carefully, trying her best to focus but it was a hard task. Whenever the nerves in her afflicted hand tingled, it was always a clear signal that a headache would follow soon.
His lips twitched, in half smile, and his eyes travelled to the slightly discoloured fingers of her hand.
"The curse that you contracted, while—it was the same that Dumbledore stumbled upon and the potion I had previously administered to him merely bought him time." He slowly turned her hand over, scanning her fingers. "But with you—the same potion reversed the ill-effects—it shouldn't be happening but it is and the lack of knowledge in this case too worries me."
"Perhaps it was a lesser form of the curse, perhaps—"
"If anything, it was more potent, Hermione—exceedingly so." His eyes seem to take in every feature on her face, one by one, and finally he turned away. "What worries me, and do not mistake my worry for vexation for I am extremely glad that you survived—no; what worries me is the lack of knowledge."
Hermione moved her fingers, one by one, wondering if the curse would simply return and strike her dead.
"Why do you tell me all this, especially now?"
He faced her again, an eyebrow arching in incredulity and amusement flashed in his eyes.
"Why do you think? Because I have an interest in preserving your life, because I'd rather not see you dead and also because I'd rather not have any more secrets between us or misunderstandings." He stroked her cheek gently, softly, and her eyes fluttered to a close, memorising, feeling the intimacy. "And as to the latter part of your question, what better time than present? I would have spoken sooner but it never quite seemed right."
Her fingers tingled once more as she leaned in, breathing the strange smell of parchment and freshly mown grass that he seemed to carry around his person.
Leave a little review, thanks. It makes my day and makes writing another chapter that much easier. :)
Stupid note from a disgruntled girl (me), unrelated to the fic.
So here we are, after a long time, another chapter. Sorry guys, but I suppose my dreams of late have been equally feverish, tempered here and there with real life. I finished another book today, fantasy genre being my favourite, and I am sick and tired of seeing beloved characters drop dead for no reason at all, or for very little reason after surviving gruesome odds. Give me a reasonable death, I'll take it, I'll come to terms with it too but we simply have too many books around with too many people dying and for no good reason other than shock value. I know life's random and death as well but isn't there room for hope and joy? Shouldn't we have at least some books chronicling events and stories where heroes survive, however grey and stained, and a little redemption with a long life wont be amiss either.
But then again, I suppose the spirit of most books today mimics the spirit of our times.
I have ranted enough and long and I'll shut up now and probably switch to children's books for good.
