A/N: Thanks for all the encouraging reviews and for not lashing out at me for my tardiness! :D It's always lovely to read reviews after an overburdening day of work. It gives me the push to start editing the next chapter for you all! :)
Haive, I have responded to your question at the end of the update.
Enjoy!
Chapter 31: A Quick Reconciliation
"What an absolute idiot you are, Hermione Granger! What an absolute daft, dimwitted, imbecile!" Hermione huffed, laying in her bed. "Do you ever think? No, you leap before you think. Another reason why you're a Gryffindor!"
She would have tossed and turned in her bed, if she could. But she couldn't! So she asked Karly to help her turn, which only added to her annoyance.
"I'm so, so, so- Oh, God!"
Karly was listening to her ramblings, but not reacting. She respected privacy. Yes, Karly was way more discreet than Hermione was! And she had called Ron impetuous. Ha!
"After he told you of everything, after Mrs. Frost and Mr. Mallard told you of everything, you come up with this stupid, stupid plan! And you didn't even stop to think or ask or discuss! Because of your uncontrollable excitement when you get an idea!"
He must have been fazed. Did he think she thought of him like that? Did he think she took him to be capable of such obscenities? She buried her face in her pillow. "You idiot!"
How would she apologise? Or even talk to him? Would he even talk to her again? Of course, he would have to! They were not children, they were involved in a serious plan. But would he ever talk to her with ease? She thought not. And the thought hurt her. She was fond of their conversations... He even cracked jokes sometimes. She liked the jokes that they shared, even if that entailed mocking her acting.
What was she thinking!
No, she wasn't thinking!
Did she ever think!
She leaped before she thought!
The conversation went in loops until the rising sun covered the sky with a silver of its light and Hermione finally fell asleep.
UUUUUUU
"You have killed the muffin, Hermione, spare the poor soul," Ginny chuckled.
Hermione looked down at her plate where a mutilated muffin laid. The tines of her fork were stained with its chocolate. "I didn't realise..."
"Of course, you didn't," Ginny said. "Another fight with someone?"
Hermione turned to her in shock but breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed Ginny eyeing Ron, who was taking to Harry. She had completely forgotten her argument with him. "Yes," she lied.
"Don't worry, he'll come into his senses and say sorry soon," the red-head said lightly.
As the commotion around them was loud as usual—chatting students and clattering cutlery—and nobody in particular was interested in what she spoke to Ginny, Hermione decided to speak to the red-head, if in covert terms.
"Actually," Hermione bit her lip, "What if I am the one to apologise?"
"But it was Ron's fault, Harry told me," Ginny reasoned.
"But what if I am?" Hermione said insistently.
"So?"
"So how should I apologise?"
"To Ron?"
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Forget about it."
"If you're asking how you should apologise to someone, just go to them and tell them that you've realised where you were wrong," Ginny shrugged. "Acceptance is more important than apologising. Morgana's garters! I sound like Mum, Ron's right." She slapped her forehead.
"But what if they are not exactly...amicable for a heart-to-heart?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ginny's choice of curse.
Ginny eyed her with suspicion. "Write to them?"
"That will be overly dramatic," Hermione said.
"It will be practical. You won't put them to unease and convey what you want to," Ginny explained.
"Well... That does sound good," Hermione worried her lip between her teeth in thoughts.
"Who is this 'them', by the way?" Ginny asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Ron," Hermione shrugged and knew she absolutely failed at convincing the red-head. But at least, she had an idea for the Professor!
UUUUUUU
Professor Snape,
Last evening was very unthoughtful of me. I acted too spontaneously without taking the consequences into account. I apologise for that, heartily. Please, Sir, don't hold the misconception that I was implying anything by my actions. I have great respect for you. I only thought it would be prudent for our subterfuge. I am extremely apologetic if it was conceived in a wrong way.
Please let me know when we can meet next. I will be more discreet this time.
-Hermione Granger
"Tell Miss Granger to be at the Come and Go Room at the same time as that of yesterday."
Granger's house-elf bowed and vanished away.
Last night as Severus had left the Come and Go Room, he had instantly regretted his decision. He had acted disproportionately. They did not have time enough to procrastinate. The Dark Lord might as well summon them that very night.
He had also overlooked that the girl had to take up her rounds duty again, despite her health, only so their plan could be impeccable. Granger was still not in her fittest physical form, not to mention her restrictions of movement. He was overburdening her. Then, disregarding her travails for his trivialities.
Of course, it had only been an act. In fact, it was a meritorious idea. He had taken it too personally. What was he? A randy teenager who wore his heart on his sleeve? And now she was apologising for being spontaneous whereas if anybody had been foolishly spontaneous, it was he.
She had clarified that she was not meaning to imply anything and that she held...great respect for him. Him? Granger's mind worked in ways unfathomable to him.
He would think before taking decisions. Like the sensible man he was supposed to be! Merlin, it seemed like Granger was more mature than he!
UUUUUUU
Hermione was feeling nervous. Though Karly had returned with a fairly sober message, verbal implications could be misinterpreted.
It could have either been: 'Tell Miss Granger to be at the Come and Go Room at the same time as that of yesterday.'
Or: 'Tell Miss Granger to be at the Come and Go Room at the same time as that of yesterday!'
An exclamatory mark could alter the entire connotation of a sentence.
He could still be upset. Upset sounded more personal. He must be angry, though he seemed upset... Maybe it was not about him thinking that Hermione was accusing him. It could have been about reminding him of the past he most probably wanted to forget.
Now that she thought of it, every emotion that he felt, he expressed only in the form of anger. On being uncomfortable at her sending him a potion for his muscle spasm, he got furious. At being reminded of his father, he expressed his grief and regret as cold anger. It was a defence mechanism to conceal how he truly felt.
What about positive emotions? She had never heard him laughing outright. But he often smirked—in derision. When he smirked in pleasantness or smiled, which was too seldom, he hid it behind his fingers.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione jumped in surprise. "P-Professor."
The hallways were once again dark and empty, each illuminated by a lamp or two. And the shadows only provided for the man to conceal himself better, deep black robes as he preferred. It seemed to her than even his choice of colour was a way to keep himself obscure to the world.
"Have you established a telepathic connection with Barnabas the Barmy?" A corner of his lips twitched.
Hermione realised that she had been staring at the tapestry. "I was just...thinking, Sir..."
"About?"
You. "Our plan."
"I find merits in your idea," he said. "We shall continue where you last left."
"Are you...sure?" Hermione bit her lip. If she did not know better, she would have taken the grimace that formed on his face to be the result of her biting her lip.
"Yes." He did not elaborate or gave reasons to his change of mind. He walked past the area in front of the door three times, thinking of what they needed. The door appeared before them. He held it open for Hermione's Chair to pass.
They found themselves in the guest room of his house again. The details were exact as before. They settled into an unspoken routine. She called Karly for assistance while he stepped away to spell his clothes differently. Hermione applied the Charms as she had the night before. She looked frightening to her own self. A face evident to a litany of abuses threatened her. Had it been a Death Eater to whom she was bound, it would very well have been the reality. The mere notion sent chills through her blood.
And then to think how some women, when face the mirror, saw that image of themselves, without a Glamour... It was preposterous. To think that the Professor had watched his mother bearing the telltale signs of her abuse every day... She blinked rapidly before tears welled in her eyes.
"Are you ready?" He asked, startling her.
"Y-Yes." She called, stuffing the thoughts away before he recognised where her mind was gallivanting to.
The Professor stepped closer and studied her for a moment. If her appearance discomfited her, he did not let her see.
"There is something amiss," he observed.
"Amiss?" She glanced down at herself. "What?"
"You hair."
"My...hair?"
"They are too neat."
"My hair and neat?" She said in mock disbelief.
"Comparatively, by your usual standards-"
The expression on his face showed that he had blurted that out. Hermione couldn't help laughing outright. Had he been a little short on self control, he would have blushed maroon. That mental image made it harder to stop laughing.
"What I mean is, Miss Granger," he cleared his throat, "That after such an...such a—supposed—ordeal, one's appearance comes out as more haphazard."
"Well, that won't be a problem at all," she smirked. Hermione removed the hair pins that refrained her wild locks from bouncing away. As her curls attained their freedom, they dropped all guise of civility. She ruffled them even further. "Here. Ready now?"
"That was..." He fumbled for the right word.
So she helped, "Quick handiwork?"
"Indeed."
And there they were, the fingers under his nose. She was happy to elicit the reaction from him. The corners of his eyes wrinkled in the slightest indicating a smile. She found herself smiling, too.
"Shall we begin?"
"Yes."
Hermione erected her Shields. His words would bounce off the surface. The water will not let anything that he said seep in. It was an act, and she would not get affected by the dialogues. The man she was facing was decent and thoughtful. He would never hurt her. The role that he would take up was a mere veneer. "Ready."
The man who started towards her had supposedly been a tormentor, she made herself believe that he was her tormentor. The bruises that battered her face, the blood that was dripping from her split lip, the blue-black hue that skirted her eye—they had been administered by him, his brutality. And he was capable of much more. He could command her ruthlessly, he could kill her in cold blood. That soulless, murderous, lunatic man evoked fear. The reminder that he was the reason she was orphaned and bound, evoked loathe. The fact that she was doomed to eternity evoked haplessness.
Thus, Hermione took to the character of a helpless witch, strongly opposing every idea that she held of herself. The fear of pain, of humiliation, greater than she could bear, melted her resolve to be loyal to her friend.
Hermione let the faux emotions cloud her features—the fear was thoroughly evident. When he stepped closer to her and towered over her form, she flinched, strengthening the faux emotions that lingered above her Shields.
"Would you like to amend your decision, girl?" The dangerously low whisper only added to the store of fear.
"Please..."
"Please?" The smirk was dark and malicious. "Please what?"
From beneath her Shields, Hermione commended his acting. Above, Hermione recoiled into herself. "Please, don't hurt me." The statement came out with such fragility that Hermione cringed beneath the Shields. The Gryffindor that she was would never succumb to such infirmities. But it was an act, and act she would.
"Oh, but I enjoy it quite thoroughly, Granger, don't you?" He was smooth with words, not a hint of hesitation, not a hint to mark the fine line between the Order spy he was and the Death Eater he was expected to be.
"Why are you doing this!" She cried. That felt to be the most natural of a dialogue. Demand for an answer, while knowing what his response would be. Death Eaters had but one reason—they were blind and hungry for power, to establish a world with blood purity, and expel every other witch and wizard disloyal to that agend.
Still smirking in dark mirth and morbid glee that came at the expense of her fear, he stepped closer, and bent above her and held the arms of her chair, capturing her behind the human cage that he was. He leaned closer to her, until his lips were only a hairbreadth away from her ear. "Solely because I can."
His warm breath tickled her ear, sending the impression of snakes slithering over her skin. She closed her eyes, for a moment Hermione lost cognisance of the line between reality and facade.
Then he moved away and Hermione found herself releasing the long-held breath. "And," he said simply, callously, "Because Mudbloods like you have no other purpose but to serve your betters."
Viscous, venomous, demeaning words dripped down his tongue. The Hermione above the Shields felt sick, she took him to be insane. Insane with power. Insane for power. A man who was lost in servitude of his master. Of this man, her above self was afraid.
"Tell me, girl, what have you decided?" He spat.
"Please..." Was all that her senses sent for her to mouth.
"What. Have. You. Decided!" With each word, he leaned closer to her again. His nose was almost touching hers, his black orbs bore into her with indignation.
It was then that her Shields threatened to crack, and for the emotions on the two sides of her Shields to mingle together. Hermione was reminded of the Consummation, the wretched night. The anger and fear that were supposed to be feigned gave way to the recollection of that night, the emotions were the same that night, too, only they had been real. The sudden, unexpected proximity brought back the night, the shock similar to when she had felt that night...
No, he was not the same person, she reminded herself. He had not hurt her, he had not abused her. He had been as decent as he could. They were both suffering. That man was respectful and considerate.
The character before her was different. He was not the Severus Snape she was familiar with. He was inconsiderate, a monster. But at the end, it was only an act.
She was safe, she told herself, mending the crack in her Shields. The man that he truly was would never put her in the harm's way. She was certain of that.
It was only an act.
But the crack left her concentration shaken. "I..." She fumbled for the right words. The trepidation must have been displayed on her face, for he took the act a step further to cover for her stumbling.
His hand went to her neck, where his long fingers curled around her flesh. She had expected his fingers to be icy cold, perhaps a perception one gained with his backdrop of the dungeons. But she could feel the roughness of the warm skin against her neck.
And astoundingly, the touch did not remind her of the night of Consummation. Perhaps because he had not touched her that night. His touch did not frighten her. He did not frighten her.
She told herself to react appropriately, considering the situation that he was trying to choke her. But the reaction did not come naturally because his fingers did not tighten on her flesh. Hermione played as she had watched in Muggle films. She brought her own hands to get a grip on his, meanwhile pretending to fight for air. Ideally, she should also have been kicking him, but her lower body were numb. She tipped her head back, rolling her eyes up, in an impression of going breathless.
"The Dark Lord will give you status so high that a Mudblood like you can never imagine to achieve," he said painfully coldly. "The Dark Lord will bestow upon you his greatness. When he reigns, he shall let you live a life of luxury, a life beside his most faithful servant, a life beside me."
Hermione focused on emitting apt noises of being choked. Hermione brought one of her hands to his shoulders, trying to push him away, in vain.
"Tell me, Granger, will you be faithful to the Dark Lord? Will you do his bidding?" He whispered maliciously, almost madly, reminding her of Bellatrix's howls of sadistic pleasure after she had killed Sirius. He suddenly left her throat. She pretended to gasp for air, panting and coughing. "Yes! Yes, I will...do it..." She feigned a cough between the words, as if spoken in relief.
"Then, you shall live." A dark smirk graced his face.
As soon as it had come, the smirk vanished away, leaving a semblance of grimace. "Enough. That must will suffice." He stepped away.
"That will convince him, I think." Hermione's hand unconsciously rubbed at her neck, where her skin slightly tingled. She spotted him observing her hand working on her throat. She did not have to hear him speak to recognise his guilt. Hermione quickly left her neck. "I'm just a bit ticklish," she said reassuringly.
He averted his eyes away. "Even so," he muttered under his breath.
"Another memory?" She asked before he could dwell over his guilt any longer.
"No, you need your rest," he decided.
"Rest?" She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You are still recovering Miss Granger," he elaborated. "And it is late."
"I'm as recovered as I can be," she shrugged. "I can only regain function of my legs in two months or more. And I usually stay awake for another hour, studying or reading. I'm fine."
"Are you undergoing a physiotherapy?" He asked.
"Not yet," she replied. "I don't have much sensation below my waist. But Madam Pomfrey will put me on an exercise regimen in a few weeks."
"That would benefit the circulation of blood, yes."
"So another memory, then?"
"If you are not wearied."
"I'm not," she said with assurance. But it did little to ease the tension in his movements.
UUUUUUU
"Alright," Harry drawled. "How do we go about it then?" He was shaking his knee constantly under the table, making the entire table vibrate.
"Harry, stop it before my-" But Hermione's inkwell did not wait to heed the warning and spilled dark blue on the nearby parchment.
"Inkwell tumbles," Ron completed, snickering.
A few drops flew over to where Crookshanks was curled up on the table and stained his fur with tiny spots of blue. The cat abruptly stood on his paws, raising his back, and hissed at no one in particular. When none of the three Gryffindors paid much attention to the annoyed feline, he hopped down the table to lick his ginger coat clean.
"Er... Sorry?" Harry said slowly, eyeing a fuming Hermione who was desperately trying to spell the ink away from the parchment that was supposed to become the planner for the boys' study schedule.
"I'll just...er, clean the table," Harry quickly decided when his friend threw a glare at him.
"It's okay, Hermione, we don't need a study planner, honest," Ron shrugged.
Still annoyed after their last argument, Hermione slammed the parchment down on the recently cleaned table. "Fine, then." She pulled out her wand, "Eva-"
"No, I need a planner!" Harry exclaimed.
"-nesco." The parchment vanished away.
Ron was again snickering, while Harry was only gawking from Hermione's fuming face to the spot where the parchment had once been.
"I'd have actually liked a planner..." Harry said in a small voice, eyeing Hermione wearily.
"Oh, stop pretending, Harry Potter! I'm not making you any planners from now on!" She declared.
"How long will you stand on that statement, 'Mione?" Ron snorted.
"Until you come crying to me about your teetering grades, Ronald," she huffed. "And don't call me that!"
Now out of shock, even Harry was snickering behind his hand. Both boys knew that Hermione's threats were more often than not empty. She'd eventually succumb to old habits and craft a planner for them.
She threw another glare at both boys before returning to work on her Potions essay on Amortentia, that they had only recently brewed in class. The Gryffindor common room was exceptionally empty today, mostly owing to the good weather outside. The sun had decided to grant them with his waning light before winter engulfed Scotland completely. But the trio was sitting inside for they acknowledged it as an opportunity to execute their plan with Professor Slughorn.
Well, amidst that how Hermione had started on an essay and a planner was anybody's guess.
"Er... So, how do we go about it then?" Harry prompted.
"Simple," Ron shrugged. "We'll find Slughorn, corner him, cast the spell, take the memories, and flee."
Hermione slammed her quill down, only belatedly realising that the delicate nib could have broken. "You just can't go waltzing to Professor Slughorn and 'corner hin', Ronald." Her tone of voice naturally took up the bossiness that she was notorious for.
"Oh?" Ron feigned surprise.
She rolled her eyes. "Professor Slughorn usually sits in the staff room when not teaching. He seldom goes to his personal office. He's almost never alone."
"Blimey, wish we had had to extract the memory from Snape," Ron snorted. "He's a loner."
"Some people enjoy their own company more," Hermione found herself defending the man. Harry shot her an inquisitive glance while Ron's face scrunched up. She felt her cheeks warming as a blush crept to her face. She'd do better than to make such defensive statements in Ron's presence. "Anyway," she quickly said, "We need to somehow approach Professor Slughorn when he's alone."
"This can't be that difficult," Harry said. "We'll just catch him after class- No, okay, right, he leaves the classroom himself after classes. Oh! Let's get a detention from him!"
Ron shook his head, "Mate, have you ever seen Slughorn giving out detentions? Why d'you think I'm still surviving Sixth year Potions?!"
"But we can do something to really piss him off, can't we?" Harry said. "Like...explode a cauldron in his face or something..."
"In his face?!" Hermione said incredulously. "Harry!"
"You wanna end up in detention or Azkaban?" Ron laughed.
Azkaban—somehow, the prison reminded Hermione of the nature of dark magic that Professor Snape had warned her about. It left a residue, an addictive residue... God, she promised never to use such spells again once they extracted the memory from their Potions Professor.
"Any ideas?" Ron turned to her.
Hermione's lip quickly slipped between her teeth, as if that stimulated her brain to work. Once she was visibly putting her brains to the task, both boys relaxed and sat back. Hermione frowned at them but said nothing. She was too familiar with their antics by now to berate either. At times, their—silent—appreciation for her quick thinking even pleased her.
"Yes!" She grinned, drawing her frizzy fringes behind her ears. Ron and Harry sat up to watch her with more attention. "I will approach Professor Slughorn after dinner and ask him to check a potion that I'll go and brew in the study hours-"
"Study hours?"
"What study hours?"
Both the boys asked in unison.
Hermione's condescending gaze travelled from one to another in disbelief. "We have extra study hours four days a month to practice our potions, in the classroom!"
"What!"
Ron and Harry looked at each other with wide eyes, both gaping. Just when Hermione thought they seemed genuinely shocked, both friends broke into gales of laughter that had the meagre students still remaining inside turning an annoyed eye at them.
"Bloody hell, six years and we're still learning 'bout these things!" Ron laughed.
"Damn, I could have actually used these 'study hours' last year," Harry snorted.
"Honestly, you two!" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"How come you never talked 'bout this before, Hermione?" Ron said, finally quelling his laughter.
"I must have, but when do you both ever listen when I talk about anything academic?!" She huffed.
Harry looked sheepish while Ron was simply amused. Hermione loved her friends but their ignorance rattled her. And then they don't need planners, ha, as if they'll be able to manage without me making one.
"Okay, okay, let's focus," Harry cleared his throat, then again broke into a grin. Ron slapped his back, in good humour—that Hermione couldn't come to understand.
With a sigh, Hermione took the lead. "The next study hour is on...let me check." She picked up her colour-coded planner and turned to her October study schedule. Only one day of Potions study hour remained in October, before the next was scheduled on November, 10th. "It's on Halloween-" She abruptly stopped.
What if Voldemort called them on Halloween? There was a high chance that the dark wizard might choose the 31st, a day of celebration, to summon them. But then again, he might call them earlier. Or even today! She gasped involuntarily.
"Hermione?" Ron nudged her.
She shook her head. Well, if Voldemort did call them on the 31st, the trio would just have to drag their plan with Professor Slughorn to November. "The next study hour is on the 31st."
"Blimey, we'll have to waste our Halloween on Slughorn," Ron rolled his eyes. "And I bet Slughorn will be even less excited to help you on a potion on Halloween, Hermione."
"He is the Potions Professor, Ronald," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Not everyone finds Potions a waste of time. I'll approach the Professor after the feast and accompany him to the Potions classroom. Harry, Ron, it's your responsibility to see that the corridor is empty of others while I take him in."
"Then, we'll just lock the door and cast the spell?" Harry said. "That's it, right?"
"If everything goes well, then yes," she shrugged.
"It's nowhere as exciting as our other adventures," Ron complained.
"And I think we should be thankful for the lack of excitement then," Hermione said. "I'd rather the year be boring than something like our Second year."
"Or last year," Harry muttered, unconsciously rubbing a finger over the back of his hand that still retained the last reminder of Umbridge's tyrannical reign over the school.
"And, one more thing," Hermione said a little hesitantly. "We might have to shift our plan to the tenth next month, if Madam Pomphrey needs me in the Hospital Wing working that night. There've been far too many cases of students drinking on Halloween night." Yes, that would make for a good excuse to the boys—Ron, in particular, if Voldemort called them that night.
"Drinking?" Ron blinked. "Bloody hell. Where do they nick the Firewhisky from? And how come we never got our hands on any?"
Harry burst into another chuckle while Hermione shook her head, smiling at her friends' antics. At the back of her head, though, fear never ceased to brew—Voldemort would call them soon and one slip could cause them two lives and a war.
Next up: The meeting with Voldemort. Let's see how Hermione strives through one horrible night. I'm quite excited for the next two chapters! (I think that's hint enough...) :D
Next update will be probably by Tuesday or maybe Monday if RL allows.
Response to Haive: Hola, siempre me complace responder a las reseñas. Pero, honestamente, si les digo cómo se desarrollará la historia, ¿cuál será la diversión de leer? Creo que te gustará lo que planeo hacer eventualmente. De todos modos, ¡gracias por leer! Espero tener más noticias de usted.