Author's Note 1: First off, I owe you guys an apology. It's been forever since I updated. Real life and complications got in the way. But, this is more an apology for disappearing on you. Many of you (and you guys know who you are) sent encouraging emails and pokes and 'are you okays?'. They were all appreciated. Unfortunately, I have a very, very bad habit of going silent running when I get stressed -- I don't read/answer emails, I stop answering the phone, I ignore people. But, I think the life stressors have been dealt with for now.
Author's Note 2: We have new artist drawings. Yeah!! I hope you guys will go over and support the fine artwork with comments. Don't forget to remove the spaces in the links.
http: // korinacaffeine. deviantart. com/ art/ bone-chill-121756610 (Korinacaffeine did a wonderful job detailing out that first time Hermione felt the 'chill' emanating from Snape.)
and
http:// untangomas. deviantart. com/ art/ Inappropriate-106399863 (Un tango mas has updated her drawing. It was wonderful before, it's kick-ass now).
and
http:// zeldah0ttie. deviantart. com/ art/ Pet-Project-120116410# (Handholding between Snape and Hermione. Guess this was the last bit of comfort before it all went to hell in a handbasket)
And last, but certainly not least, many thanks to Keladry and whitehound for the beta assist and sticking around. I mean really, if you were my beta would you stick around this long just so you can get hit with random chapters out of the blue without hearing from me for months on end?
Oh, yeah, the chapter is also a little on the melodramatic side. (shrug) What can you do?
Chapter 36: Consequences
As was happening all too often of late, the voices and laughter that usually filled the Great Hall during the breakfast hour quieted. It was easy to hear the muffled sobs of Glynnis Colbern over at the Hufflepuff table and the shell-shocked voice of someone in Ravenclaw saying over and over again, "I don't understand."
Then the muttering began, softly at first and picking up volume and speed like a cresting wave. Into that upsurge of noise, Professor Dumbledore stood up. He didn't make any call to attention, but gradually silence spread through the Hall. Hermione saw several of the Aurors stationed along the outer wall shift nervously. She watched Auror Garmin finger his wand before a sharp motion from Auror Dawlish made him drop his hand.
Dumbledore's complexion was ashen, almost the same colour as his long beard. "Dangerous times are upon us," he began. "Dangerous men walk among us." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Believe what you will. Do not believe everything you read or hear." With an unreadable expression on his face, Dumbledore gathered his robes around him and swept out of the hall.
Silence followed in his wake, then the uproar began, voices competing against each other to be heard.
"I don't understand," Ron said. "Why didn't he . . . he didn't really say anything."
Hermione tapped a knuckle against the spread-open paper. "Here. Aberforth Dumbledore's name is on the list."
"But why didn't-" Ron stopped and then lowered his voice and began again. "Why didn't he say anything when he told us about mum and dad and Remus?"
"He might not have known," Ginny said.
Ron's lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as he worked through the implications. "Bugger. Aberforth is a hostage to the Headmaster's good behavior. In fact, I bet a lot of people might have had family taken to ensure good behavior or to provide some kind of leverage."
Harry made a growling noise from where he sat next to Ron. "I really, really want Voldemort dead. Do you think the Headmaster will . . ." Harry trailed off, not wanting to say the actual words he was thinking.
Ron and Hermione studied each other before Ron shook his head. "Can't say for certain. But-" he hesitated, then plowed ahead with his thought, "Dumbledore has put a lot of time and effort into this fight, into defeating You-Know-Who. Probably more than anyone but old Snape. I don't think – even for his brother – that he can back away now."
"The Headmaster's just as ruthless and narrow-focused as Voldemort in his own way," Hermione said, then added hastily as Harry's face went white, "And I'm not saying that's bad. We need someone to be ruthless, it's just something to think about and remember."
Harry nodded after a tense moment. "Hermione, how many names are on that list?"
She did a quick count. "Twenty-two people were taken alive." She took a quick breath and then added, "Four others died when they were apprehended." She didn't say Remus Lupin's name, but knew that the others were thinking it along with her.
"Do you know how many were Order members?"
"Only the ones we saw regularly at the house. The Headmaster is the only one who knows the names of all the members and supporters."
"Damn."
"So what now?" Ron asked.
Grabbing hold of Harry's hand, Ginny stood up. "We do what we talked about. My parents and brothers aren't You-Know-Who supporters." With a toss of her head that raised her chin high, Ginny led Harry over to the Hufflepuff table.
Harry settled down next to Glynnis Colbern while Ginny sat down across from the distraught girl. Any surprise at two Gryffindors sitting down at the Hufflepuff table was overshadowed by the talk of the Voldemort supporters and the Ministry's response. Watching Harry and Ginny talk to Colbern, Hermione kept her ears open to the conversations around her. True to Professor Snape's predictions, the talk she could hear ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other. A lot of suspicion undercut the voices around her, as well as a lot of fear.
From the height advantage that the teacher's dais gave, Severus watched the ripples of shock move through the students collected in the Great Hall. It was almost like watching multiple pebbles being dropped into a clear pool. The first stone drops plop as the Prophet and its insinuations of support for Voldemort move across the room. Plop. The second ripple flowing out quickly on the heels of the first as students looked at their neighbors and classmates, wondering Are you one? Plop.The third, a larger stone, its waves of reaction generating mini ripples as Dumbledore's words and subsequent abrupt departure were matched up with Aberforth's name being found in the Ministry's list.
He tried to watch the ripples, tried to see which students responded to the news with horror and anger and which ones cast guilty eyes at their classmates. Albus would be interested in his report on how the students reacted. He tried, tried to do what needed to be done but his concentration and control was grayed and he found that time and again his gaze was drawn back to the Gryffindor table.
To her.
Each time his eyes found her, he felt the rising anger course through him, shading his vision into blacks and reds. Plop. He struggled and fought to calm his own roiling emotions beneath the still surface of his control but like the students that he gazed down upon, the ripples moved through him, uncontrolled and unchecked.
Plop.
How dare she! She thought to make a fool of him?
Plop.
She would rue the day she'd crossed his path.
Plop.
Teeth grinding, he swallowed the deep-noted howl of rage that wanted to burst forth from his throat. Reaching for his cup, he wrapped his fingers around the cool metal, squeezing until his knuckles turned white with the force exerted. I will not be ruled. The very contradictory nature of the thought brought him a measure of control. He was always ruled – ruled by Dumbledore, ruled by the Dark Lord, ruled by the very out-of-control emotions that he sought so desperately to control. Usually controlled. He'd had moments over the years where he'd slipped. When the tenuous control, frayed by years of Dark Magic use, broke and he lost sight of everything except his own desires and wants. That cur Sirius Black had had the ability to bring him to this state. The Potters, old and young, could as well.
He'd not been expecting Hermione Granger to wield such control over him.
His gaze swept the room again, automatically noting the Aurors' positions, before coming once again to rest on the Gryffindor table.
He'd awakened that morning in a tangle of sheets, something that hadn't happened in a very long while. There had been a time when waking in sweat-soaked, twisted sheets had almost been the norm for him. But as he couldn't remember any nightmare and felt perfectly rested, he'd shrugged off the occurrence and gone about his morning routine. It was only when he'd thought to straighten the bed linens that he'd found the sigil.
His eyes found her slender form. She and her friends hovered over the opened Prophet, their heads bent together in shared companionship.
Severus' first thought on finding the sigil had been a sort of confusion, disbelief warring with a sort of bemusement at the idea of a grown man with what were obviously sleeping sheets for a baby. On seeing the lioness, his second thought had been of Albus and Minerva. It wasn't until he'd spread his palm across the stitched pattern and felt the magic signature embedded in with the threads that he'd realised just how wrong he was. Bemusement had fled to be replaced by a sense of betrayal he'd not felt since Lily Potter. The rage had come swiftly on the heels of that betrayal, its depth and breath surprising even him. Infuriated, he'd reached for the sheets, snatching them from the bed and feeling a surge of satisfaction as the silky fabric had ripped.
But that had only been the beginning. He'd seen it then. All the little things that had followed, small steps to gain his notice, gain his confidence, worm her way close to him. She'd taken his lessons well, he'd give her that. Subverting his house-elf had been a brilliant tactic and worthy of any Slytherin.
Now, there were only questions: Why him? Why now? And what had she to gain?
He thought that maybe he knew the answer to all of them. Potter. It was always, always, about Potter and Hermione Granger would do whatever it took to save Potter. If she'd had Severus convinced . . . if she'd asked . . . what would he have done if she'd asked or even pleaded for Potter's life?
He felt laughter, cold and unforgiving rise up, but he uttered not a sound. The girl had done it all for nothing. She could have asked no more from him than Dumbledore did . . . than Lily's memory did. He'd imagined the scene in a thousand times in a thousand different variations. It wouldn't matter who asked him. He knew how it would end. Potter would challenge the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord would respond. Potter would do something foolish and Severus would throw himself between Potter and an untimely but certain death in order to win the boy more time.
She'd done it for nothing. He smiled then, sharp and cold-edged. Maybe I'll tell her.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the Minister of Magic across the table. He loathed these meetings but they were a necessary evil in controlling the Ministry. Not enough of his own people were in place yet for a complete take-over. Not using his resources wisely and his own impatience for success had been part of his downfall the last time. He would not be making that same mistake again. Flicking his eyes around the table, he brought his attention back to the Minister.
"As was discussed in our last Ministry meeting, steps have been taken to increase the security of the wizarding world in this trying time." Dollart inclined his head graciously in the Minister of Magic's direction. "Based on recommendations put forward by our own Minister of Magic, Aurors have gone out and detained individuals that may have ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Based on those detentions, we have opened up Azkaban to a larger population. The steps taken have been distressing," Dollart said, acknowledging those department heads who had voiced opposition to the initial plan, "but I believe that we will see positive results come from our measures."
"What's this I hear about new people?" asked Marigold Shrinker, the head of the Agriculture Department, in a nasally whine.
Dollart gave her a practiced smile as he plotted the old biddy's demise in his head. "Yes, we did add additional personnel to the Ministry roles."
Steepling his fingers before him, Dollart concentrated, deepening the Imperius' hold. "Several of my staff have carefully handpicked additional people with impeccable backgrounds to be installed at Azkaban to ensure that all detainees are taken care of properly."
Thicknesse blinked, a vague frown pulling his brows down. "Wouldn't it be best to have more Aurors there?"
"After further discussions, it was felt that the Aurors would be better used handling real emergencies and not doing guard duty. One or two Auror supervisors should be enough. The other men and women I've recommended should be more than adequate."
The Minister's frown deepened as he struggled against the foreign hold on his will. "We should start the official inquiries immediately. I'm sure many are just mistakes."
An amused Dollart let him struggle for a moment before tightening his control. "Excellent idea, Minister. We do want to let everyone know that we are on top of the situation."
Thicknesse blinked rapidly and then smiled at the assembled Ministers. "Well, I think that does it, unless anyone else has anything they need to add." None of the Department Head who had reported earlier had anything to add. As the meeting broke up, Dollart stood. "If there is nothing else, I'll get back to my other duties?"
Thicknesse waved him away. "Yes, yes, of course."
Dollart turned to his aide, standing discreetly against the back wall. "Mr. Rowle. If you would be so kind, I have a few additional items I need to discuss with you."
"Of course, sir. I'll follow you to your office."
Both men were silent as they walked through the corridors of the Ministry. On reaching Dollart's office and the safety of its privacy spells, Voldemort turned to Rowle. "Everything is in place and ready?"
"Yes, sir. Our people are there and the staging is almost complete."
"Good, then it is almost time. Round up the additional people on the list. Then execute the plan."
Rowle bowed his head. "It will be done, my Lord."
Miranda Vector headed out of the Great Hall with her head down and purpose in her stride. Students scattered before her but she was too focused on her own thoughts to really notice. Breakfast had been a certified disaster. Between the shock of the news in the Daily Prophet and the suspicions amongst the students that had swept the Hall moments later, to Albus walking out – to say that Miranda could feel bad things coming was an understatement.
Aberforth had been a shock. She and Dumbledore had gone over the implications of the Ministry's move to detain members of the Order. She'd been up late last night modifying the final equations to take into account everything Albus knew from his sources still remaining in key Ministry positions. Dumbledore's brother had not been part of that reworking.
Merlin's balls, I really hate this.
Slipping in to her workroom, Miranda threw up a "Don't Bother Me" shield and then reactivated her matrix. "That's not right," she muttered, before shutting down the matrix and materializing the equation-filled blackboards. Losing herself in the convoluted intricacies of Arithmancy, she began running through each of the equations. A long time later, Miranda stared in disbelief and something that was almost outrage. "You can't do that," she muttered for the fourth time. The matrix and the laws of Arithmancy ignored her outrage and continued doing exactly what they'd been doing for the last hour or so.
As she'd done the previous four times, Miranda waved her wand and vanished the visual representation of her Arithmancy equations. Another more complicated wave materialized each individual blackboard that contained a matrix equation. Once again she went through each one looking for discrepancies or accidental erasures . . . something . . . anything to explain what she was seeing. For the fifth time, she found nothing. Closing her eyes, even while knowing the futility of that gesture, she waved her wand in the pattern that manifested the matrix. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. "Well, shite."
Before her the matrix blinked like one of the Muggle devices that lined the streets in London. One moment the Matrix was as it had been just yesterday evening, a few seconds later it shifted to show You-Know-Who winning and the wizarding world going up in multi-coloured flames. It made no sense.
The matrix had been stable last night. Granted, the loss of so many Order members had shifted the over-all patterns and the probabilities, but both she and Albus had been both surprised and gratified when those probabilities had only shifted by small amounts, not anywhere near the amount they'd both feared. She'd even mentioned Severus' odd conclusion that in the end, most of the Order would not play a decisive role one way or another.
And now this.
"I'm missing something," she grumbled in annoyance. Between the flashing and the colours and the sheer mass of calculations for individuals and groups, it was hard to see anything anymore beyond a jumbled mass of colour. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Something happened." But nothing had been reported in The Prophet that she hadn't accounted for; she even had Severus' information from meeting with You-Know-Who incorporated.
That thought brought her up short. "Severus? Surely not," she argued with herself. Pulling his equation sets out of the jumble of blackboards, she studied the numbers again. "Can't be. He's probably been the most stable equation since I first started working on the numbers seven years ago. Nothing ever seems to-" She stopped and stared at her matrix, her eyes searching. With something almost like dread, she waited until once again the probability shift occurred and then frozen the image. Flicking her wand, she started removing equations until only Severus' remained, the probability line representing him, hanging alone in the middle of her workspace.
Where the hell is the rogue line?
"Hermione!" Hearing her name yelled, Hermione turned searching the mass of students filling the doors of the Great Hall. Spotting Lavender, she headed over to the other girl. "Lavender," she greeted her roommate.
"I had to go back up to the room right before breakfast and get a book I left behind."
Hermione, hoping Lavender would hurry up, nodded, not understanding exactly what any of this had to do with her.
Lavender gave Hermione a look she couldn't interpret and then said, "I just thought you should know that there were a bunch of weird noises coming from behind your bed curtains."
Unease flooded Hermione. "Weird?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "What kind of weird?"
Lavender gave her a half shrug in return. "Crying and loud snuffling sounds."
Vague unease shot up to worry. Only one individual would be in her bed at this hour. Rink. Reaching out she gave Lavender's arm a squeeze. "Thanks Lavender." She was already headed in the direction of Gryffindor before Lavender got out her reply.
Once past the crush of students, Hermione took off in a fast walk. Heading toward the staircase, she was grateful when one of the lower sets of stairs swung around in her direction as she reached the bottom step. She knew Severus would probably have been called last night and that, coupled with the black look he'd sent her at breakfast, had her fears working overtime. Somewhere on the second floor the walk became more of a trot. By the time she was headed up the girls' dormitory stairs anxiety had Hermione running. Dropping her book bag as she came through the bedroom door, Hermione skidded to a stop, her breath coming out in harsh pants. Over the sound of her gasps for air she could very clearly hear through the drawn bed curtains the soft sound of Rink's keen of abject misery.
Flinging back the bed curtains, Hermione felt the ground drop out from beneath her. Rink sat rocking in the middle of her bed, large fat tears rolling down his face, while his ears were folded flat against his head in elfish distress. Puddled around Rink's legs were the sheets she'd made for Snape.
"Rink?" she questioned, although she already knew.
Rink held up the sheets in mute reply between his outstretched hands. Hermione had no problem discerning the large rip that traversed the bottom sheet, as if someone had grabbed one edge and forcibly yanked on the fabric.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as disappointment and sorrow bubbled up in her. Then stuffing her feelings down to be dealt with later, she snapped them open. Climbing up onto the bed, she pulled the bed curtains closed and with a flick of her wand set the silencing spell. Settling herself cross-legged in front of the house-elf, she gently took hold of his hands and disentangled him from the sheets. "Hey, it's okay. Tell me what happened."
Rink let out a great snuffling sound. "Rink doesn't know what happened. Master of Potions called Rink very early. Master was angry. When Rink appeared Master said . . . Master said . . . ."
She squeezed Rink's hands reassuringly. "What did he say, Rink?"
Rink made another of those great shuddering sobs. "Master said that he no longer required Rink's s-services."
Hermione felt her stomach knot. "Oh Rink, I am so sorry. I should never have involved you in all of this." Then a horrible thought hit her. "Rink, did Professor Snape give you clothes?"
Rink violently shook his head no, his ears slapping against his face. "Master should have. Rink wishes M-master had given clothes."
Hermione's eyes widened at that. Not even Dobby had wished for clothes. She squeezed Rink's hands again, gripping them tightly. "He didn't give you clothes. Don't you dare go wishing that he had," she said fiercely. "Do you understand me?"
Rink nodded but Hermione thought he was unconvinced. "What else happened?" she asked, although she had a fairly good idea.
"Master had sheets in his hand. Master dropped them at Rink's feet. Told Rink to give Miss Hermione a message." Rink stopped there and Hermione forced herself to ask the next question. "What did he say?"
"Master said, 'Tell Miss Granger that whatever game she thought she was playing is over. Her services are no longer needed either.'"
Hermione had always known that there was a possibility that Snape would find the sheets. Truthfully, as time had gone on, she'd begun to think that they'd never come to light and hadn't given them much thought beyond the good they were doing. She'd never really contemplated the consequences if they'd been found, either in the very beginning or as time had passed and she'd grown closer to Snape.
Consequences, she mocked herself. How very, very Gryffindor. It was time to deal with those consequences.
Glancing at her watch, Hermione realised that she'd already missed the beginning of History of Magic. Pushing the sheets over to one side of the bed, Hermione forced as much good cheer into her voice as she could. "Come on Rink. I need you to take me to the kitchens. Can you do that?"
Rink nodded, and with her hands still clasped around his, Rink Disapparated them. The two of them reappeared sitting on top of the long trestle table amidst the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts' kitchens.
With a heavy heart, Hermione looked up, unsure of what her reception would be since she was sure Rink's dismissal had set ears to flapping all over Hogwarts. She stepped cautiously down from the table top only to be overwhelmed by a sea of house-elves greeting her. Within moments she found herself seated, a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of still warm biscuits in front of her. Rink had been seated next to her and was being fussed over as well.
"Miss Hermy honours us," said an elf whom Hermione didn't know.
Hermione shook her head. "Not sure how much of an honour it is to know me at the moment."
The unknown elf gave her a look of tolerant amusement. The same look Hermione had received from her parents over the years whenever she'd done something they considered both childishly naive and childishly amusing. Giving a short bow, the elf said, "Neena will fetch Lonny," and disappeared.
Hermione knew the instant Lonny appeared, as the circle of elves around her and Rink split open to admit the Hogwarts Elven Matriarch. Hermione was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Lonny honours me," she said.
Lonny's mouth twitched in that same look of amusement before she conjured the same low stool that Hermione had first seen her use. Seating herself with great dignity, Lonny waved a hand and said, "Out!" Within seconds, only Hermione, Rink and Lonny remained in the kitchens.
Consequences, she thought, as she prepared to accept responsibility for what had happened with Professor Snape and Rink. Taking a deep breath she started at the beginning with the day she'd first come to the elves for help with Professor Snape and continued on through the destruction of the sheets and the Professor's reaction to both her and Rink this morning, even though she was sure that Rink had already filled Lonny in on those particulars. But she wanted to make sure that Lonny knew that Hermione held herself completely responsible, especially if Rink was going to be in any kind of trouble.
Lonny listened with fixed attention until Hermione finished. Then she studied the pair of them until Hermione was fighting the urge to fidget.
"Rink," Lonny said, "whom do you serve?"
Rink's ears, which had slowly risen during the recitation of events, folded back down. "Rink serves no master or mistress except Hogwarts."
Lonny nodded, as if satisfied with his answer. Then she asked, "Whom did Rink serve?"
Rink's ears rose again. "Rink served the Master of Potions and Miss Hermione."
"Me?" Hermione sputtered in surprise, eyes wide. "You can't serve me."
At her outburst, Lonny pinned her in a stare. Hermione grimaced in embarrassment. "Sorry."
Lonny nodded and turned back to Rink. "The Master of Potions has ended Rink's service?"
"Yes."
Lonny cut her eyes over to Hermione and then back to Rink. "Would Rink change Rink's service?"
Rink's answer came immediately and without hesitation. "Rink served Master of Potions. Master of Potions is better now. Rink could not have served as well without the help of Miss Hermione. Rink would not change Rink's service."
Hermione swung around on the bench seat. "But Rink, he let you go."
Before Rink could answer, Lonny thumped the table, pulling Hermione's attention back to her. "Whom does Miss Hermione serve?" the elf demanded.
Hermione jerked, startled by the question, but realised immediately what Lonny was doing. "I don't serve anyone," she said with a sad smile.
"Whom did Miss Hermione serve?" Lonny asked next, just as she'd done with Rink.
"I served Professor Snape."
"The Master of Potions has ended Miss Hermione's service."
Like Rink, Hermione answered with a simple, "Yes."
"Would Miss Hermione change Miss Hermione's service?"
Hermione sighed softly. "No, I wouldn't change what I've done. Professor Snape needed someone . . . still needs someone. I'm happy to have done what I could. I just wish . . ." she trailed off and then shook her head. "Never mind," she said softly.
Lonny eyed her for a long moment before nodding her head as if in confirmation of something. Then she turned to Rink. "Rink's next service will be to the House of Slytherin."
Rink nodded, and Hermione read his relief in the cant and fold of his ears. She figured that it probably had to do with the fact that at least he'd be able to stay near Professor Snape.
Lonny then turned to Hermione and she was curious to know what 'assignment' the Hogwarts Matriarch would give her. "Miss will never serve again."
"What?" Hermione snapped out and then almost immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, murmuring "sorry" through her fingers.
Lonny gave her another of those looks. "Miss has done all Miss can with service. Now is time for Miss to take a new role. Master of Potions needs other than one who serves," Lonny said.
Hermione frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."
"Miss Hermione will find Miss Hermione's answer. Rink will serve Slytherin and Hogwarts elves will serve the Master of Potions in place of Rink and Miss Hermione."
"But-" Hermione tried again and then stopped as Lonny's ears swept down in disapproval. Lonny's word as the Hogwarts Matriarch was law and Lonny had spoken. "Yes, ma'am," Hermione said with a disgruntled sigh. "I'm off service duty."
Lonny laughed. "Miss will find Miss's way. Shifting her attention to Rink, Lonny gave him a nod. "Rink will return Miss now."
Hermione felt Rink's hand close about her arm and then found herself back on her bed. A moment later Rink was gone to his new duties and Hermione was alone. Climbing out of the bed, she looked around, unsure of exactly what she should do at this point. She'd missed, for the first time since entering Hogwarts, a good portion of the day's classes for no good reason. If she left now and hurried, she could get to Potions but she really didn't want to go. She couldn't seem to make herself care one way or another about Slughorn or her grade. Some part of her realised that she was in shock and could catalogue the signs and symptoms. The rest of her simply didn't care. So much had changed in twenty-four hours – the Weasleys, the wizarding world, Severus, and Rink. She really didn't know what she should feel first.
Wandering aimlessly around her room, she picked up random objects before putting them back down again. Spying her bookbag and its spilled contents she set about putting it to rights but found she really lacked the energy to get back up off the floor. She studiously avoided looking at the bed where Severus' sheets lay crumpled in a heap. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She'd always had plans and had always known the next step that needed to be done. Plans and steps were good and fitted into her orderly world. Harry needed help so she found something to set him on his path once more. Ron and Ginny needs support so she offered them her friendship. Rink was lost, so she did what she could to ease his distress and put right what harm she'd created. Neat, logical steps.
But Severus? Here she was lost. No steps presented themselves. No plans sprang to her mind. No books called to her to research. Sitting on the floor of her room with the silence pushing in around her, Hermione listened to the overly loud beating of her heart. Every so often, she reached up and wiped away tears.
During the next days, everything Snape had predicted had come to pass. Hogwarts became a gloomy place, filled with silent, suspicious-eyed students. Small knots of students whispered together in the hallways, only to fall silent when another individual walked by. Fights and accusations had broken out several times, not only between the various Houses but within the Houses. One fight in the Ravenclaw common room had ended with four students under the care of Madam Pomfrey.
The slowly building tension within the castle rose up each day, only to explode each morning as more names appeared in each edition of The Daily Prophet. The only bright spot was that Harry seemed to have found his calling. The wild swings of temper and paranoia, while not gone, at least had a focal point now. Harry had found an enemy he could focus on rather than the nebulous, out-of-reach Lord Voldemort and he was making a difference.
"How many today?" Harry asked Hermione.
It had become habit for Hermione to be the one to check the paper each morning. Flipping to the correct page, she quickly scanned the information. "Only four. No names I recognise."
Ron grimaced. "That's something. Not much but something." Then pushing his breakfast plate away from him, he gave a quick glance around the hall. "Are we talking to anyone this morning?"
Harry nodded and sat back as well. "Dunnigan in Ravenclaw. He's Muggleborn."
"Best get to it then. Oh, and don't forget, I've got the Head Boy meeting with Dawlish this afternoon. Bloody ponce."
"It works in our favor if the Aurors still think you're spying on us for them," Hermione said.
"Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it and acting like Percy makes my head hurt."
Leting out a half-hearted chuckle, Hermione gave a nod out to the open room, "Quit grumbling and go on." As she watched them head towards the Ravenclaw table, she risked a glance from the corner of her eye up at the Head Table. Professor Snape watched Ron and Harry's progress across the Hall with a deep scowl on his face, but his eyes never turned in her direction.
Hermione had started out trying to pretend that nothing had changed between them. She tried to be polite and engaging and make her presence known, hoping that Professor Snape would see her remorse. That brought her nothing but silence. When passing Professor Snape in the hallways she greeted him the same. He looked through her now. Defence class had become an ordeal. It wasn't that Snape called on her or used her as a target. For all that he acknowledged her presence; she might as well have not been in the class.
Hermione thought that his indifference might hurt more than if he'd acted his normally acerbic self. He didn't look at her with scorn or hatred or even contempt, he didn't look at her at all. It was as if she was even more invisible than the castle ghosts. She'd even considered simply writing him a message, hoping to explain, but in the end she'd discarded that notion. What needed to be done and said, needed to be done and said in person.
Time and again she told herself that he was hurt and angry, but she couldn't ignore the fact she was hurting as well. Hermione, though not a great reader of fiction, had read enough romance novels in her life – mostly from her mother's stash of books – that she knew the scenario of the pining heroine. Personally, she'd always thought that was pure rubbish and she'd never let any man hurt her like that. She acknowledged now that she'd been more than a little naïve. The hurt was all too real and not easily set aside but as the days progressed Hermione decided she was done with pining.
She might not be able to stop the hurt when Severus' eyes slid past her, but she didn't have to languish like those silly book heroines. Harry and Ron needed her. And Severus . . . well, she could hope that one day he'd forgive her but she'd be damned if she was going to waste away like a gothic heroine in some cheesy romance.
Like most things in life, though, it was easier said than done. But she was learning and taking it one step at a time.
It was to that end that she once again gathered up her sewing supplies, spreading them out across the coverlet of her bed. She chose her needle with great care and carded out several dozen of the fine, white silk threads. Then she reached under the coverlet and felt down along the foot of her bed until her questing fingers hit against a soft bundle of cloth. Pulling it up to her, she shook out the bottom sheet until it was spread across her bed. The magic imbued in the sheets was still there, resonating in her fingertips. She let out a breath in relief. She'd been afraid to really touch the sheets before now, fearing that the magic had faded. It had been silly, but if she hadn't known for sure, then she didn't have to admit that everything really was over. But they hadn't been destroyed, even if everything else had.
But this thing, she'd decided, was the last step in letting go of something that she wasn't even sure she'd ever had to begin with.
"Idiot girl," she muttered to the sheet in her hand. Breathing deep, Hermione summoned her magic and centered it in her chest. When she could almost feel the beat of it like a second heartbeat, she felt herself ready. She'd come a long way since the first time she'd tried this, feeling sure and confident now in both herself and her magic. This time, the magic wouldn't be the drain it had before.
Softly she began to sing, and if this time there was a note of sadness in the words, there was no one to hear but the magic.
Author's Note 3: Everyone get out their big boy and girl britches. Very evil things will happen in the next chapter. I, of course, lay the blame for the evil things squarely at Nadrek's feet.