Hello my lovelies!
All of you are amazing. Nearly 40 reviews for that chapter? Um, wow? (And there is definitely a direct correlation between reviews and writing because I wrote all of 22 and started 23) And it was so nice to hear from people who have been following this story for a long time. It's so nice to know you're there!
This chapter will start out familiar, and then... mwhaha. Goo.
Enjoy!
Chapter 18
The first Hogsmeade weekend was always a joyous time for Hogwarts students; they were free of the restrictions of the school's stone walls and stern teachers, there was an opportunity to buy candy and pranks, and the older students somehow always tried to find someone foolish enough to give them firewhiskey. Personally, Hermione had always loved the little village- one could take a deep breath of the crisp air and almost taste the history. With a small thrill, Hermione remembered that the goblin rebellion of 1618 had been headquartered in the village- and here she was, Muggleborn witch, masterminding a magical rebellion of her own in the only exclusively Wizarding settlement in Britain.
The castle had been slowly growing more and more oppressive as term went on- it was only October, and already Hermione was eager for the end of the year. The feeling Hermione had of living in a rather tyrannical environment was strengthened by the long queue by the door, where Filch was checking and double checking each name against his list of those allowed in the village.
When he reached Harry, he gave the boy a great sniff, eyes narrowed, before he reluctantly send the trio on their way. It confused Hermione for a moment, before Harry recalled his run-in with Filch in the Owlery. He mentioned he thought Malfoy had called the false tip- as always, Harry failed to see the larger picture. Sheh ad lurked in the background, disguised for a bit, before leaving Harry alone with Cho.
This is bigger than a childhood rivalry with Draco Malfoy, thought Hermione. This is Umbridge. She wants to read Harry's mail, and since this didn't work, she'll find a different way. Sooner rather than later, I'm guessing. I'll have to find a way to let Harry know this without making him furious.
The wind blew in their faces as they turned left on the road to Hogsmeade. Hermione remained silent as the boys talked about Quidditch- she was considering the people she had recruited to the Defense Group.
They'd best listen. I couldn't coach Harry, but I did prepare a speech of my own… except they don't really want to hear me speak, they want to hear Harry. Hopefully, he'll rise to the occasion.
When they arrived at The Hog's Head, Hermione looked around nervously. It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as Hermione stepped on to it she realized that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. Ew, was her first thought. God damn it, Severus, was her second.
The other patrons of the bar all had their faces covered. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.
Strange, a woman having such a large nose and such broad shoulders… and is that- hair on her knuckles? I think that's a man. Hermione squinted a bit and tried to estimate his height. Ah. Mundungus Fletcher, if I'm not mistaken. Dumbledore had promised an Order member, after all.
The boys were making grumbling noises of disbelief- Hermione ignored them for the moment and marched to the counter, head held high. "Three Butterbeers, please," she ordered, regarding the bartender with clear eyes. He was tall and thin, like Dumbledore, with bright blue eyes. Even so, his hair and beard were grey, not white, and his nose wasn't as crooked. The familial resemblance was certainly there, however, and Hermione made sure to smile at him.
They sat at a large table in the back, waiting for the people Hermione had recruited. Harry was looking increasingly nervous.
"So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.
"Just a couple of people," Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. "I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now."
The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.
First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones; Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose who confused Hermione for a moment before she remembered he was Zacharias Smith, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.
"A couple of people?" said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. "A couple of people?" Sorry, Harry. It's for the greater good as Dumbledore would say.
"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione happily. Inwardly, she frowned. There are extras. Five more than the ones I selected. "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"
The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full. Hermione wondered why they didn't use it for Order meetings. There was certainly more space here than in the kitchen of Number 12.
"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, "could we have . . . twenty-seven Butterbeers, please?"
"No, we're fine, Fred," Hermione called out. "Harry, Ron, and I have drinks."
Fred grinned at her. "Twenty-four, then," he told the bartender.
The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.
"Cheers," said Fred, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these . . ."
Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. He could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to him that they might be expecting same kind of speech, at which he rounded on Hermione.
"What have you been telling people?" he said in a low voice. "What are they expecting?" His face was slightly clammy, and he didn't look well. Hermione winced.
"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly; but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, "you don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first."
"Hi, Harry" said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite him. He grinned at Hermione too. She gave him a quick smile, and returned to surveying the crowd.
Cho had just smiled at Harry and sat down on Ron's right. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told Hermione that, given her way, she wouldn't be there at all. She was one of the ones Hermione had not selected, mainly because of her mother's Ministry position. Her name was Marsela, or Mary, or Matilda or something like that. She would have to get her file from Severus.
In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious. Luna Lovegood gazed dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.
Hermione cleared her throat and stood. Reluctantly, they looked at her. "Thank you for coming," she said, making eye contact with the ones she didn't know. "You know why you are here," she continued. "Harry had the idea—" Harry glared at her, and Hermione sighed. I was trying to paint you in a favorable light, you dolt. "Fine. I had the idea that we needed to do something about the way Umbridge is teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts. Because nobody could really call that hag's class Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Anthony Goldstein grinned at her. "Hear, hear," he called. Hermione grinned back.
"I thought it would be good if we… took matters into our own hands," Hermione finished. She paused and looked over at Harry. He didn't look ready to take over. "By that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory, the real spells-"
"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said Michael Corner, who was sitting next to Ginny but watching Hermione intently.
Idiot. "Of course I do," Hermione replied tartly. "But the stakes are higher than that, as all of you know. I want to be properly trained in Defense because Lord Voldemort has returned."
The reaction was immediate and predictable. Clio's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.
"If you want to join us, we need to-" another person interrupted Hermione, which was starting to annoy her.
"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" Zacharias Smith called out in a rather aggressive voice.
Hermione fixed her eyes on him and stayed silent for a moment. Next to her, Harry stood as well. Together, they both looked at him.
There were rustles in the crowd and finally Luna took pity on the blonde Hufflepuff. "Hermione Granger was there with Harry," Luna said, her voice light and drifting. "Don't you remember? She was in the Hospital Wing for days."
Ron glowered at Harry's side. "Listen, mate," he said in anything but a friendly voice, "Dumbledore believes it-"
"You mean Dumbledore believes him," Smith interrupted again. "I-"
"Who are you?" Ron said, rather rudely.
Smith sneered at him. "Zacharias Smith. I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."
Hermione cleared her throat, and grabbed Harry's hand. He squeezed back and looked at her, concern on his face. "First off, don't say that it's just Harry who's saying Voldemort's back. I'm saying it too." She paused a moment, then continued. "And second, you have no right to know what happened in the graveyard. If you came here today to know what it's like when the evilest wizard in Britain has you and your best friend trussed up and ready to die then I am sorry but you have come to the wrong place." Hermione glared at all of them, and could feel Harry doing the same at her side. "Voldemort isn't a laughing matter," she continued in a gentler voice. "I've looked into his eyes. Harry's faced him several times. If you defy him, he will kill you. It's not harder than that."
She scanned the crowd. "Some of you are Muggleborn. No matter what he wants to kill you. Some of your parents support Dumbledore. You've got a target painted on your back too. Some of you will just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Do you want to know how to defend yourselves or not?"
Some people looked away; a few people's eyes glanced at the door, as if debating whether or not it would be safer to stay or leave. Still, more straightened in their seats, jaws set with determination. It was heartening, and Hermione felt confident enough to let go of Harry's hand and sit once more.
"Is it true you that you can produce a Patronus?" It was Susan Bones who spoke, a Hufflepuff with a long plait down her back. Her aunt is Amelia Bones, Hermione recalled. Kingsley said that she's the first female Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Has a strong reputation of doing what's right, not what's easy. Sometime supports Dumbledore. Some say that she'd make a good Minister.
"Yeah," Harry said defensively. The group seemed impressed.
Susan, however, not so much. "A corporeal Patronus?" she pressed.
Hermione expected Harry to answer, and was slightly surprised when he frowned. "Er- you don't know Madam Bones, do you?"
"She's my auntie," Susan said with a smile. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So- is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?" Madam Bones could get into a lot of trouble for discussing Wizengamot cases with her family. Useful blackmail, perhaps, if needed.
"Yes," Harry said, answering Susan's question.
"Blimey, Harry!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"
"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."
"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.
The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat.
"And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year . . ."
"Er - yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.
Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; Colin Creevey's mouth fell open and Lavender Brown said "Wow!" softly. Hermione was getting slightly nervous- she hadn't planned to tell these people everything Harry had ever done-
"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "he saved that Philological Stone - "
"Philosopher's," hissed Hermione. Oh no.
"Yes, that - from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.
Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.
"And that's not to mention," said Cho, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things…" Hermione glared at her.
There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. Hermione sighed. The fact that Cho just praised him is probably making it much, much harder for him to not spill everything about the graveyard.
"Look," Harry said, and everyone fell silent at once, "I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff . . ."
"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying . . ."
"Yeah, well - " said Harry, before Susan Bones interrupted.
"And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer," said Susan Bones.
"No," said Harry, "no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is - "
"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.
"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?"
Perhaps the word "weasel" had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.
"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," the Hufflepuff said.
"That's not what he said," snarled Fred.
"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.
"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.
"Yes, well, said Hermione hastily, "moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"
There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand. Perfect. The Weasley Twins are well respected among all the students and they just extremely publicly shot down any opposition to Harry.
"Right," said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week -"
"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."
"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."
"Nor ours," added Zacharias Smith.
"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against Death Eaters –" They have no clue how important this is.
"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan, who Hermione had been expecting to speak long before this. "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.'s coming up!"
He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry "Surely not!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells - "
"There is a reason the Ministry gave us such a useless teacher," Hermione said firmly. "I believe they are so firmly in denial of Voldemort's return that they think it is a trick on Dumbledore's part to build an army and forcibly take control of the Ministry. They would see any attempt to train us in defense as an attempt by Dumbledore to create an anti-Ministry group of trained fighters."
Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."
"What?" said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information. He looked over at Hermione, a confused expression on his face.
"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths," said Luna solemnly. What the bloody hell? Heliopaths are a myth.
Hermione looked over at Luna calmly. "Luna- I'm a Muggleborn, which means I didn't grow up knowing about magical creatures. But everything I've read says that Heliopaths haven't been around in years."
"They have," said Luna.
"What are Heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.
They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, "great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of - "
"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione, a touch of her impatience entering her tone. "Luna-"
"Oh, yes, they do!" said Luna angrily.
"I'm sorry, but we'll have to discuss this later, Luna-" snapped Hermione.
"There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you - "
"Hem, hem," said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defense lessons?"
"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right, Ginny." I can't get off track like that again.
Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.
"As long as - " began Angelina.
"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet . . ." Maybe I can persuade Severus to let us use the practice room if we need to…
This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.
"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.
"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.
"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard." No. If we were found out she'd get in too much trouble- she a staunch supporter of Dumbledore's so they'd use any excuse.
"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. This was something Severus had insisted on, and after listening to his argument, she rather agreed. But would they?
"I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign," Hermione made sure she had everyone's attention and that they could all hear here, "you are agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to. You agree to follow the leader we will elect at the next formal meeting. You agree to uphold this group and not to betray it." It was a challenge, firmly placing them in an us-against-them position. Hermione had to be sure that they understood what they were agreeing to sign to, because she had placed a not-so-ethical enchantment on that piece of parchment.
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Hermione noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. Some of them, perhaps, could recognize that signing that paper could be considered making a magical vow. She carefully made note of who they were.
"Er . . ." said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, "well . . . I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is." Oh no. That's not going to fly with me.
But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. Ernie Macmillan, you are going to support me on this one, you pompous Hufflepuff.
"I - well, we are prefects," Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out -"
"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," Harry reminded him.
"I - yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it's just - "
"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily. Here was where her reputation would come into play. Hermione Granger, swot extraordinaire, wouldn't do something stupid like leave a list containing the names of all the members of a secret rebellion against the Ministry's influence lying around somewhere it could be found by anyone.
"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. "I - yes, of course I'll sign."
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Hermione saw Cho's friend- Marissa, Marella- give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person - Zacharias - had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.
And they had. Hermione had enchanted that piece of paper with a tricky little spell Severus had found her that bound the group together in a subtle way. It strengthened their dedication, and it had consequences for betrayal.
"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."
In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too, and Hermione watched them leave with a small sigh of relief.
Cho made a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Ravenclaw, making sure the friend saw it too. Let the rumors spread all they wanted to, but Cho Chang would not be good for Harry at the moment.
With a pang of guilt, Hermione remembered how angry she had felt when Dumbledore had opposed her relationship with Krum. As much as she wished this was different, it wasn't really. She could make excuses, good ones, but they were still excuses. She felt the same anger and sadness for Harry. There were some days that Hermione could shake the doldrums and others that the sadness and fear and anger rose up at the slightest thing. The creeping hopelessness and anger were beginning to crawl over her spine.
"Let's go," she told the boys. "I believe both of you promised we could stop at Scrivenshaft's."
Severus found her in the practice room, draped on a conjured chaise longue and blowing up targets nonverbally. It was obvious that she was upset- when she was sad or angry he noticed that she preferred her Muggle clothes, which was probably why she was lounging in a scoop-necked long sleeved shirt and flimsy skirt instead of her sensible Hogwarts uniform. Her curls were nearly standing on end, and he half believed they would start sparking. Her hair had gotten darker- it was a deep, rich brown now, a nice contrast to her pale skin. His eyes were drawn to where an unruly curl was brushing her collarbone- Severus clenched his jaw and forced himself to look at her face. Her eyes were dark and set, and there was an absence of red in her cheeks. She was just staring at the end of the practice hall, and blowing small wooden targets up.
"You look like Bellatrix Lestrange when you do that," Severus drawled from his corner. She has wild hair too, and pale skin. She used to be beautiful. But hers was a cruel beauty and Hermione Granger's is a warm one. He instantly felt a bit disgusted with himself. She's young. Off limits.
Hermione laughed humorlessly, but her next explosion was bigger. "Your point being?"
"What did the poor targets ever do to you?" he deadpanned. "I can name three things more deserving of your time and fifteen more deserving of your anger." Myself included in both.
When she didn't move, he walked over the end of the couch where her head was, and leaned against the backing. "Did the meeting go that poorly?"
Three more targets exploded in quick succession. "It went fine," Hermione said noncommittally.
Severus frowned. Something was wrong with her- there was an edge to her voice, a particular set to her chin. "Did the Chosen Idiot and his comrade do something particularly frustrating?"
Hermione shook her head. "Do I hear mild interest in your voice, Severus?" she asked dryly.
He scowled automatically, although she wasn't looking at him. "I'm not fishing for the answer," he told her tartly. I'm behaving like a love struck fool.
"I'm just having an 'I hate the world' day," she told him. "Thought I might at least get some practice out of it." On cue, another two targets exploded.
"You could do this in your sleep," Severus pointed out. "Try it without the wand." He was developing an idea, one that just might work…
Now Hermione turned from her side, lying flat on her back to look up at him. "I can't do wandless magic."
"You can and you will," snapped Severus. "I don't waste my breath telling dunderheads they can do things they can't do."
Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. "I've tried it, Severus. I don't think I'm powerful enough."
"Nonsense," he told her. "Put down your wand."
She crossed her arms, wand dangling from her fingers. "Well, I shouldn't start on blowing things up, I should start with calling things-" As she spoke she conjured a table and a quill.
Severus heaved a great sigh. "You could do that. You could start from the beginning like everyone else who tries to learn wandless magic. It would take you about three months to make that quill twitch and another few weeks before it floated over to your hand. And then it would take a month or so for that to become consistent. And then-"
She scowled up at him. "Do you have a better idea, then?"
A corner of his mouth twitched up. "I do," he said smugly. "It's something Dumbledore and I have been debating for a few years." He noticed her eyes widen at the mention of Dumbledore. "You could help me prove him wrong," he coaxed.
Hermione grinned up at him. "Today, in particular, that sounds lovely." You look lovely when you smile, he thought. "What's your idea?"
Severus shed his teaching robes, and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his muscles. "I can do wandless magic," he started. "I learned the long hard way. Tell me what you've read about wandless magic."
Hermione sat up on the chaise longue, unconsciously stroking her wand as she spoke. "In their formative years, young witches and wizards often use magic unconsciously, without a wand. Their magic is unstable, it flares when needed. But when they are eleven, their magic stabilizes and they get a wand with a magical core. The wand is a conduit- it makes channeling magic easier. It enhances the power that is already there, and with the incantations and the wand movements the magic is strengthened. It's like- it's like you're trying to lift something. Doing it wandlessly requires doing all the hard work with your own muscles. But using a wand is like using a pulley- you are still putting in effort and doing work, but you are doing less work."
"That would be perfectly correct if the people who wrote all those books you read knew what they were talking about," Severus said, a trace of laughter in his voice. "However, they do not."
He watched as she rose and walked over to him. "Oh? So how does it work, then?" He could hear her annoyance- Hermione hated to be told anything she had learned from books was wrong.
Severus pulled back his hair with a tie, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. After a moment's consideration, he unbuttoned the top button. It was warm in the room and he didn't want to feel like he was choking. "I'm going to use a form of Legilimency on you, Hermione," he explained. "We're going to try something. Sit here." He conjured a stool, and she sat obediently. "This is going to be extremely disorienting- for both of us."
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, a bit wary.
Severus gave her a tight smile. "I'm going to help you visualize your magic," he told her. "If you really were sixteen, if wouldn't work, your magic would still be fluctuating too much. What I'm going to try to do is maintain mental contact through touch instead of through eye contact." He hesitated. "Hermione- if you are uncomfortable with this in the slightest at any time, you need to tell me. Do not break away or pull away, but let me know and I'll disengage as quickly as possible." If anything, he did not want to hurt her.
Hermione looked up at him with trust in her eyes. "Like I said during the summer. I trust you, Severus." She smiled gently.
It was clear to Hermione that Severus was both excited and perhaps not-unduly worried about trying this. She, on the other hand, was incredibly eager. It probably had no little part to do with her hormones- they were flying all over the place listening to him with his silky voice explaining he was going to try to maintain a mental connection with touch- holy flying fuck he's going to be inside my mind in moments and I'm ogling his suprasternal notch. And thinking about licking it. Dear gods I'm done for.
When he stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, she stiffened. Almost instantaneously, she could see the quick pain on his face and he pulled his hand away.
"Wait-" Hermione felt frantic. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand again. "Severus- I'm sorry."
He was cold when he looked at her. "No. It is clear my touch repulses you and I apol-"
It was so far from the truth that Hermione laughed, causing him to try to pull his hand away. "No- I'm sorry-" she kept her grasp on his hand and brought it to her shoulder again, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. "Your touch doesn't repulse me. I was-" just thinking about how attractive you are and- she flushed. "Severus, look at me."
Slowly he looked up from where he had been staring at the ground. His features were carefully arranged into neutrality, but Hermione could see with sickening clarity that she had hurt him. "I'm the one who should apologize," she said softly, bringing up her other hand so that both of hers were on top of his. Her fingers stroked his wrist gently. "You startled me, that was all." She lifted one of her hands, and reached out for the hand that was lying limp at Severus' side. She brought that one up to her other shoulder. His hands were so beautiful, with long pale fingers covered in old scars and burns. The heavy weight of them on her shoulders sent shivers down to her belly. "Are you ready to begin?"
His jaw had tightened, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes," he said, voice rough. "Clear your mind."
Hermione closed her mind, and did just that. She pushed her thoughts of Severus and his wonderful hands and concentrated on serenity. Slowly, her thoughts drifted away and she was simply floating in her mindspace. "I'm ready," she said, and she could hear how her voice sounded rather deliciously languid.
"Open your eyes," Severus ordered, and still feeling wonderfully calm and possessed Hermione obeyed, seeking out Severus' eyes. And there they were, beautiful and dark and fathomless. I could drown in his eyes Hermione thought contentedly. They were closer now, and coaxing, and she could feel a slight sweeping brush against her shields.
After so long, to lower her Occlumency shields felt disquieting, like she was stripping naked and exposed in front of Severus. But it's Severus. It's not that bad. It's Severus. You trust him. Dutifully, Hermione yielded to Severus' mind, allowing herself to fall into her own mindspace.
You need to give me some control, Hermione. His voice echoed in her skull, and Hermione felt the strange disassociation of someone being inside her mind while she was looking at them at the same time. I'm going to guide you into the proper visualization.
Alright, Severus, Hermione thought back. What do you want me to do?
Drop all your shields, instructed Severus.All of them. You need to be totally open to me. On the outside, on her physical body, Severus moved his hands from her shoulders to cup her face. Behind her shields Hermione wanted to sigh at the touch. I will be dropping mine too. I won't look at anything you don't want me to see, and I expect you to extend the same courtesy.
Reluctantly, Hermione dropped all of her shields. It was like rainwater sluicing off her skin, a shivery feeling that left her feeling lighter and cold at the same time. Defenseless. But at the same time, Hermione recognized that it must be much harder for Severus, he who had thousands of secrets and years of keeping his shields up entirely. Impulsively, Hermione lifted her hands, placing them on either side of Severus' neck. Let the connection flow in a circle, like a circuit, Hermione suggested when he jerked under her touch.
It didn't take long before they were two separate entities inside Hermione's mind. Imagine darkness, Severus told her. In her mind he spoke with the same velvety richness, made even more succulent because of the faint echo. Hermione acquiesced, pulling an image of velvety darkness, devoid of even stars, to her mindspace.
Will this do? she asked.
She could feel Severus smile. Yes, he answered. Now I'm going to be doing the imagining. I'm going to be leading you through the darkness until we find what we need.
They formed mental bodies, and Hermione took his hand. She could sense his surprise, but in return she also knew he could sense her determination. Alright. Off we go.
In the utter blackness, the strong and sure presence of Severus next to her reassured Hermione. Suddenly, she could see how one could go mad inside one's own mind. Fear shot through her for a moment, but almost immediately after she could feel calm radiating from Severus. I won't let you go mad, he thought wryly.
Sorry, Hermione replied sheepishly. Let's go.
They wandered in the darkness of her mind, with Severus taking the lead. Before long, Hermione could feel grass under her feet, and a breeze on her face. Light was spilling from what appeared to be a hole in the ground. When they approached, Hermione let go of Severus' hand and knelt by the edge of the pool. The edges were lined in stone, craggy rocks with jagged edges that looked like they would cut into the skin painfully.
Severus knelt beside her, his face illuminated by the light coming from the hole. Look down into it.
Hermione obeyed, trusting Severus to keep her from falling in. It was quite like a well, the hole, with the walls made from smooth stone. Only a hair deeper than she could reach without cutting herself on the lining rocks was the source of the light. It wasn't quite gold and it wasn't quite silver, but it moved gracefully in swirling patterns, dancing inside the confines of the well with a viscosity that wasn't as heavy as honey or as liquid as water but with the sweet languid fluidity of magic, sometimes lifting into the air and sometimes creating small vortexes.
It's beautiful, Hermione breathed.
She could feel a sort of happiness and peace from Severus. It's you, he told her. Your magic. This is how it looks.
Contentment rose and covered Hermione. So pretty, she crooned to her magic. What do I need to do with it, Severus?
Do you see the hole in the side of the well, higher up than the magic rises to? he asked her. That one, right there? When she nodded assent, he continued. When you use a wand, the magic rises to that hole and is channeled through it through your arm and your wand and your words. The words and movements beckon the magic, and your will makes it follow.
So what I need to do is call my magic to that hole? Hermione asked.
Severus shook his head. No. What you need to do it call your magic straight up, out of this hole here. Pull it toward you.
Hermione stood shakily, and looked down at her magic. Come here, she called, reaching a hand out to it. I need you. The magic sloshed around, and some hopeful tendrils rose and fell again lazily. The fatigue was upon Hermione suddenly. Ouch.
That's why it normally takes so long to learn, Severus said. Now, I'm going to help you. I'm going to break the direct eye contact and try to use touch alone. Close your eyes, and focus on me.
His mindself stood behind her, and slowly Hermione closed her eyes, pulling them from Severus'. Immediately the connection wavered, and Hermione used all her might and will to hold Severus to her mind. Stay with me!
I'm here, he said reassuringly. Her real body could feel Severus standing behind her as she was sitting on the stool; there was a comforting warmth at her back, and two strong hands holding her head. She sighed as the connection stabilized. Are you ready to begin?
Yes, she answered. Mind-Severus was standing behind her, and Real-Severus mimicked his pose. Mind-Severus, however, grasped her hands, twining his fingers with hers. She could feel him pulling at his own magic, and as he cupped his and Hermione's hands, his own magic shimmered inside them.
Call your magic now, Severus told her. I'll help.
Come here, Hermione called. Come join us.
Her magic felt the call of the magic already between her palms, Severus' magic. It rose eagerly to merge with Severus' magic, glowing happily and mixing in with his. It's happy, Hermione noted.
It's your magic. Control it, Severus said wryly. Now thrust your hands out toward the target while thinking the spell. Open your eyes.
It was dizzying, to have her eyes open and maintain the connection at the same time, but Hermione did so, pushing her cupped hands at the target nearest to her. Flante!
In retrospect, this was a bad idea as the target immediately exploded violently, sending splinters of wood into the air. One of them scoured a line of pain down Hermione's cheek, and she cried out, still half lost in her mindspace.
We should end the connection now, Severus said hastily. Slowly. Let me pull out.
Hermione came back to reality, back to the practice room. Severus was still standing behind her, two hands on either side of her neck and head. The magic had taken its toll on her- Hermione lolled back against the firm chest behind her, completely exhausted.
"If you move I'll fall," she said, voice slurred.
Behind her, Severus chuckled. "I should have seen that coming," he said, thoroughly amused. "How are you feeling?"
"Limp," Hermione answered. "Noodlely. Ow." She could feel a warm wetness on her cheek. Blood, probably. "You?"
"I'm perfectly fine," Severus said, and she could hear his smirk in his voice. "I'm going to pick you up and set you down somewhere you won't fall and hurt yourself."
One of his hands went behind her back, and the other lifted behind her knees, scooping her up bridal style. Hermione sighed, feeling inordinately tired and extremely grateful for the strong arms that were around her. "Why is it you only pick me up when I'm hurt?" she asked. Immediately she felt the urge to clap a hand over her mouth, and a second, stronger urge to not care. She gave in to the second.
Severus looked down at her. "That's not true." She couldn't read anything in his face other than dry amusement.
"It is," she insisted, yawning. The cut on her cheek stretched painfully. "Ow. There was last year, after the graveyard, and then over the summer when you burned me."
"Don't yawn, you're stretching the cut," he sighed. "And that's not true. I carried you to your bed over the summer when we dueled."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I don't remember that one."
He smelled delightful, herbs and smoke and books and man. "You wouldn't," Severus replied wryly. "Didn't you hear me say I carried you to your bed? You were asleep, you silly girl."
"Oh," Hermione said unnecessarily. "Why am I so tired now?"
"Because you just used wandless and nonverbal magic," answered Severus. "With my help, of course."
Hermione wrinkled her nose at that, shifted in his arms. "Of course. Why did we do that?"
"Don't wiggle about or I'll dump you on your arse," he warned her. "We did that to show you where your magic is. The theory is that now you can find it again, since you've learned how it feels to call magic to your aid without a wand."
He carefully set her down on the chaise longue, then promptly Transfigured it into a proper couch. "Stay here," he ordered. "I'm going to go to my office and get some salve for that cut."
"Mm'kay," Hermione sighed, closing her eyes. "I might take a nap."
And so ends Chapter Eighteen.
And more goo next chapter, which will be posted on November 29th. I hope that lived up the promised? Let me know in a review!
Thanks to Reih who left the 400th review in French which made me very happy because I could read and understand it. So that made my day for two reasons.
But one other review brought up a major concern for me: The reviewer suggested that Hermione was becoming a bit of a Mary Sue. My first response was to immediately deny it, which means I'm not looking at my own story critically. What do you guys think? I don't want Hermione to be a Mary Sue. The entire purpose of starting this story in First Year was to show a gradual progression and give an extremely logical explanation for the skill level necessary for many other plot points later in the story to take place. I thought I did a good job circumventing the entire Mary Sue thing by showing Hermione's struggles with what she's learning. But I need to hear from you guys. And if you do think she's turning into (or is) a MS, could you leave me with constructive comments/crictism? Suggestions for improvement? That's what's great about FF. You get feedback from your readers so you can fix what you're doing wrong. I want to fix what I'm doing wrong.
And that means anything. Feel free to let me know if you agree or disagree with anything. (But please be nice since it is very hard for me to accept criticism because of several self esteem issues.)
On a happier note: GUESS WHO GOT INTO A COLLEGE? I got my first acceptance letter yesterday. And they offered me a 15-20 thousand a year scholarship, so I'm pretty happy. (Of course they're 50 thousand a year so it's not relatively much but... not ready to turn it down yet!) I was very happy.
Alright, enough of my blathering. Your excerpt:
Severus frowned, but didn't comment on her stammer or her flush. "I'd hope I'd be good at them after two decades of practice."
She was remembering the last time he mentioned his years of experience, and smirked. She had landed him on his arse in the first minute. He seemed to know what she was thinking about, and scowled. "You could pretend to respect me," he said loftily.
Hermione laughed. "When cauldrons are involved, you have my utmost respect," she said playfully. "But when I can have you on your back in three minutes flat…" For some reason her throat dried and she pictured Severus flat on his back with-
"Impudent woman," he growled.
Next chapter is, like I said, more relationshippy. Leave a comment, please! Either to give helpful suggestions or just what you thought about the chapter!