Author's Note: The name "Gollum" is a creation of J.R.R. Tolkien's; I do
not presume to own his works, only worship them.
Inescapable
Chapter Four
Hermione woke early on the morning of Halloween to find the dormitory completely empty. Whereas normally she would have been relieved to be liberated of Parvati and Co., she felt rather hurt, and lonely; it didn't seem right to wake up alone in a room devoid of Parvati's incessant chatter.
She rolled out of bed and placed unsteady feet on the floor, stretching as she did so. It was relaxing, she had to admit, but she couldn't help but wonder where everyone was. Halloween had occurred, mercifully, on a Saturday; she couldn't believe her luck. Saturdays were her days of escape and recuperation, and this one was a holiday in addition! Everyone was probably eating a magnificent breakfast in the Great Hall and getting on perfectly fine without her.
Well, let them; she'd find something else to do. Rummaging through her school bags, she pulled out her latest book and grabbed her bathrobe; she peeked out through the portrait hole to make sure the halls were empty, and then scurried down several corridors and came to a stop in front of a large oak door surrounded on both sides by two hideous gargoyles. Gargoyles, she thought with a smile, seemed to be the castle's dominant theme; but none could compare to Dumbledore's, of course.
Hermione whispered the password and the door creaked open at a painfully slow pace. Her eyes darted around to make sure that no one came, and when it was finally open sufficiently, she squeezed through and shut it as silently as she could. It was a private bathroom, meant solely for the Head Girl, and Hermione, technically, was not supposed to use it. She'd been offered the position of Head Girl, but prestigious as it was, had turned it down, fearing that it would interfere with her studies. Most people thought it surprisingly uncharacteristic of Hermione to turn down a position that would offer such obvious fame regarding her intelligence; she had a feeling they were just surprised she was modest.
But the Head Girl, a Ravenclaw who closely followed Hermione in class rank, had been so grateful for the chance to be Head Girl that she'd promised Hermione she could use the position's most enjoyable privilege—the private, luxurious bathroom—anytime she wanted. Hermione was known to complain that she could not run a hot bubble bath and read a book like she did at home while she was at Hogwarts, for the lack of privacy; it was, she decided, the best gift the girl could have given her.
They had coordinated times, and it worked out perfectly; Saturday mornings were Hermione's times to take refuge if she so chose. As everyone was now down at breakfast, she was even more alone than normal, and it was starting to feel great. She tapped the taps on the bathtub—really more like a miniature pool—and they began to foam with multicolored bubbles. She still couldn't believe her luck; maybe, if she'd known the Head Girl was awarded such riches, she would have ignored her neuroses and taken the position anyway.
A good hour was spent in the tub devouring her book, and when her skin was completely wrinkled and her hair dehydrated, she decided it was time to get out; she was panting for breath in the stifling heat and sick of the touch of bubbles. The bath drained quickly, and she toweled off and pulled back on her nightgown and bathrobe. Then it was back to the Gryffindor common room, and up the stairs quickly to the girls' dormitory to change clothes. Not three minutes after she pulled on her sweater, the creak of the portrait hole reached her ears and voices could be heard down in the common room. She smiled; perfect timing, as usual.
Harry and Ron, groaning that they'd eaten too much, refused to go anywhere with Hermione and settled themselves in for a game of wizard's chess. She wheedled a bit, but it was to no avail, so she finally abandoned them and headed downstairs. The Great Hall was by now emptied of its food, so she decided to head toward the kitchens and steal some leftovers from the house elves, whom she knew wouldn't mind; they were only too happy to oblige any hungry visitor.
Thinking as she went along helped Hermione to pass the time. The kitchen came into view eventually, and she stood on tiptoes (she was never going to be especially tall) to reach the pair in the picture and give it a small tickle. Squirming, the pair giggled, and then the picture swung forward. She climbed through the door and found herself in the Hogwarts kitchen, perhaps the best-hidden room in the castle.
Dobby knew Hermione quite well, and he noticed her immediately. "Miss is hungry?" he asked, and Hermione nodded, about to say she'd missed breakfast; but it didn't matter to Dobby. "Miss stay here!" he squeaked. "Dobby is getting food for miss, Dobby will…" and he trailed off to find her something. The house-elves were bustling about, putting away dirty pots and pans; in the corner, she could hear two elves planning the day's lunch menu. The elves always outdid themselves on the holidays, providing the students and staff with far better—and more—cuisine than they needed. By the end of the day, Ron and Harry were going to feel awful.
Dobby returned a few minutes later with a stack of toast and handed it to Hermione. "Dobby is sorry, but the other stuff is gone." For a moment, she was afraid he was going to cry with desolation; his bright green eyes filled with tears and she quickly put down her toast to comfort him.
"It's okay, Dobby, don't worry about it," she assured him. "I'm not hungry enough for anything else; it's okay!" Dobby brightened and gave her a smile, then pointed toward the door. "Dobby is wanting Miss to stay," he informed her sadly, "but we is busy, Miss, and Dobby is not having time to talk."
"That's all right," she said. "I'll say hello to Harry for you, shall I?"
"Oh, yes!" Dobby's tea-cozy hat was in danger of flying off his head as he jumped up and down excitedly. "Miss is saying hello to Harry Potter for Dobby, yes! Harry Potter is great wizard, Miss, and Miss is his friend, so Miss is great too."
Hermione chuckled; Dobby was far too liberal with compliments. "Thank you, Dobby. I'll go now."
Safely outside the kitchens, she walked back along the corridors, munching her toast and wondering what she would do that day to keep herself occupied. She had not yet reached the junction that led her back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room when she heard an odd noise; a scraping, soft but discernible, behind her.
Hermione froze, and nearly dropped her toast. What came to mind immediately was Death Eaters; Lord Voldemort; Avada kedavra and instantaneous death. What she found when she turned, frightened, was a long black snake slithering toward her. She was not overly fond of snakes, but found herself to be in an adventurous mood, so she decided to follow it. Shoving the last bit of toast in her mouth and brushing crumbs off her robes, she jogged after the snake as it headed down a corridor in the opposite direction.
The snake led her out another door and onto a balcony. Hermione was surprised; as far as she knew, only the teachers' private rooms had balconies, and among those, only a select few. Viewing the exterior of Hogwarts, she would never have imagined there was a balcony of such significant size; it was long and broad, with plenty of room for a party of people to mill about, or even for a pair of dancers, like a scene from a fairy-tale love story. She blushed at the thought and turned her attention back to the snake.
It was headed straight for a crack between two pillars on the barrier! She was paralyzed at first, not sure what to do. The thought of touching the snake terrified her; but the though of the snake, quite possibly someone's pet, falling off the balcony to its death, made her feel guilty. She didn't know if it was aware of the drop-off, but she couldn't just let it plunge to its demise. She darted forward and placed a gentle hand around the base of the snake's head, squinting her eyes and waiting for its fangs to contact her flesh.
Nothing of the sort happened; in fact, the snake seemed to like her. It flicked a gentle tongue against her wrist, and then began to twine itself around her arm, climbing upward to come to a rest draped, like a feather boa, around her neck. It seemed to snuggle itself in, as though preparing for a long ride; its tail flicked against one cheek and its head swayed back and forth in her peripheral vision, tongue flicking, tasting. She smiled; it wasn't slimy at all. Actually, it was rather friendly.
But where had it come from? She couldn't imagine such an exotic-looking species being native to England, or even the northern hemisphere, for that matter; it looked like something she'd once seen in a documentary about hazardous African animals. Obviously, it was either a zoo escapee, or someone's pet; given their current location, she deduced that it was someone's pet.
Whose? Hagrid's? No, she doubted it; Hagrid, though she did not doubt he would love the snake, had a fondness for larger, furrier animals with larger teeth and more frightening attributes. Dumbledore had Fawkes, it wasn't his; and it certainly wasn't a student's. A teacher's, then?
Snape's. It had to be; who else? Part of her glowed at the thought that she'd saved his pet from tumbling to its death (had she? She preferred to think so), and another part of her wondered what he would say if she showed up with his snake curled around her neck. He'd probably accuse her of hurting or kidnapping it, and then give her detention. Not that she would mind that….
Hermione made up her mind: she was going to return the snake. It was perfectly logical to think that it was Snape's, and if it wasn't, he might know whose it was. He couldn't exactly blame her for thinking him the teacher with the most potential to own a serpent, because there was something undeniably serpentine about him. She gave the snake a small smile, and it gave her what she decided was a small snake kiss; then they headed off the balcony and down the hallway.
* * *
There were no teachers in the Great Hall, nor in the staff room. She was puzzled at first, and knew that she couldn't walk up to the nearest person and merely ask them for directions; they'd take one look at the animal wrapped around her neck and run as fast as they possibly could in the other direction. The snake seemed completely at home and showed no inclination of removing itself. She would have to search out Professor Snape on her own.
Where his private quarters were, she had no idea; but she decided that he was most likely in there, or in his office. A quick stroll to the dungeons confirmed her belief that he was neither in the classroom nor in his office. The bookshelves struck a chord in her and she remembered that night a few weeks ago when she'd stood in front of them and embarrassed herself horribly with her prejudiced comments. Snape had taken them lightly, she thought; perhaps he was accustomed to it.
Rats scurried here and there as she left the dungeons, and the snake hissed at each one that passed. A slight glow reflected off its eyes and Hermione was unnerved by the sleek ebony head that darted here and there around her neck. Finally they reached the stairs, and left the rats behind to ascend back into the castle proper. Where was his private quarters?
She was turning in confused circles, debating whether or not she should chance asking someone, when a voice startled her.
"Miss Granger."
Oh, God, it was him. She whirled around and instinctively placed a hand over the snake to keep it from falling. It needed no help; its grip on her neck tightened noticeably when she turned sharply, and was released once she'd steadied herself. The snake tilted its head and peered directly into her eyes; now she had two interrogators.
"I see you've found my lost pet."
"Y-Yes, she—he—it—was crawling around in the corridors, and I found it."
"It is a she. Continue." His eyes were colder than she had ever seen them, and his presence was generally intimidating.
Hermione balked; what more was there to say? She found her faltering voice again and did her best. "Well, I didn't realize anyone in the castle owned a snake—that is, I assumed it was domesticated, given that it looks far too exotic to be indigenous—so I followed…her. She went out onto a balcony, and was making me nervous because she got far too close to the edge, so I thought I'd better find her owner before she, ah, hurt herself."
She'd been rambling, hadn't she? Mentally rebuking herself for being so juvenile, she waited for a nervous three or four seconds for his reply. He was looking first at his lost pet, and then over at her, with a stare of blatant appraisal. Was he surprised? Or angry?
"Thank you for your concern. She tends to be far too explorative for her own good." He turned on his heel and motioned with a hand for her to follow him. "Come with me; we'll have to take her back to my quarters. She will not come off your neck unless forced, and I don't want to cause a stir in the castle."
Hermione shuddered slightly at "forced." What did he intend to do to her, yank the snake from around her shoulders? If provoked, it would surely attack her, and she couldn't blame it. Snape led her down three or four more corridors, until she recognized where she was; somewhere between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common room entrances. Then it was down a flight of stairs, into an area that looked deserted. He opened a door to their left, hidden in shadows, and motioned for her to precede him into the room. He saw her obvious terror, and smiled wryly.
She walked in slowly, having not the slightest idea what awaited her; it was, in fact, a complete and utter shock. The room didn't look at all like she would have imagined Snape's private rooms looking; in fact, it looked normal, like a scholar's room. The furniture was neutral-colored and simple (there was, she noticed, an unusually large percentage of black-colored objects; he wasn't entirely normal), and one window, built into the rise of the ceiling, filled the room with some amount of light.
Once again, the bookshelves struck her; this time, there were even more of them, lining just about every wall, filled with an even larger volume of books than he had in his office. He noticed her staring at the books, and once again could not suppress a smile; Hermione Granger would never have guessed that he, himself, had a passion for books. She would never have attributed such a worthwhile pursuit to his personality.
The snake was beginning to sense that it was at home, and loosened itself slightly, but seemed reluctant to remove itself completely. Hermione placed a hand gingerly on it and tugged; the snake darted forward to stare her straight in the eye, and for the second time, closing the door behind her, she heard Severus Snape laugh. It was not a cruel laugh, but simply a laugh, and the two startling happenings together were making her feel faint.
He walked over calmly and placed one hand beneath the snake's head. She could feel his fingers brush against the bare skin of her neck as he lifted the snake from her shoulders and carried it across the room. He placed it gently on the floor in front of a large gap in the bricks, and the snake, with a barely perceptible glance backward to thank her, slithered off into its hole. She was reminded of a mouse returning to its own hole, or a wolf returning to its den.
Snape turned back to her, but didn't seem to know what to say. The silence was uncomfortable, and she could feel the tension building in the room between them. Her mind and body filled with conflicting emotions and she had no idea whether she should stay or run; what she wanted and what she knew was right could not be brought into agreement.
"Thank you for returning her." She was unaccustomed to Snape showing any gratitude toward her, and it was visible on her face. "In case you were wondering"—he was facing her now, arms crossed casually, voice quiet—"you were right; she is not indigenous to this region. I purchased her through a friend of mine who works elsewhere. She is highly poisonous, but relatively tame around humans."
"Does she have a name?" It seemed a harmless enough question to ask. Nearly seven years now, she had known this man, and still she could not find anywhere within her the strength to face him as herself.
"Gollum." She couldn't help but laugh. "I thought at first she was male, but she's grown used to the name, so 'Gollum' it remains."
"You read J.R.R. Tolkien?" She had read his books, and enjoyed them, though her taste was usually more in the classics.
He nodded. "One must have something to pass the time. You would be surprised, Miss Granger, at how much we have in common."
She could sense that he regretted the open and inviting nature of the statement immediately, and wasn't sure how to respond. "I never thought of us as being alike," she said carefully after hesitating, not able to meet his eyes.
"You wouldn't. Why should you?" His voice now had a slight undertone of bitterness, as though he was a child complaining of being underappreciated.
"You went to Hogwarts, sir." She wasn't sure how to articulate what she wanted to ask, and found herself struggling to get the point across. "Were you…a good student? Did you study most of the time, like me?"
He shrugged. "A good deal, though perhaps not as obsessively as I expect you do." Her eyes narrowed defensively, and he chuckled. "I am not insulting you, Miss Granger; I'm merely stating an observation. Yes, I was a good student; I managed to overcome the previous record, held by a student there years before, and my overall record remains the best in the school."
She gasped. Snape the Brain? Why did that not make any sense? "You're kidding."
He looked at her as though she had slapped him. "No, Miss Granger, I am not kidding. I didn't realize you gave so little credit to my intelligence."
"I just…never thought about it."
"That's obvious." His voice was cold.
Silence again, but this time, even more palpable. She could fell his eyes on her, and while she knew she was staring right back at him, she was not fully aware of everything that seemed to be going on, and the emotions coursing through her body. She knew only one thing: that if she stayed in the room one moment longer, she was going to break down and either confess her thoughts about him or begin crying. Either one was undesirable.
"I need to leave." She turned abruptly and left the room, closing the door quickly behind her. Once outside of hearing range, she broke into a run and fled the premises, hoping that he was not standing in the center of his room, laughing at her childish stupidity. He was, in fact, as confused as she; he'd meant for their talk to be as friendly as he could possibly make it, not an uncomfortable confrontation.
But being "friendly" was not one of his strong points, and he knew it. He preferred that people feared him; it kept them a safe distance away and out of his life. Hermione's sudden departure had him thinking harder than he had in a very long time. If he accepted what he felt, instead of rationalizing based on what he knew to be right and wrong, then the fact was that he'd wanted her to stay; he enjoyed her company.
* * *
Hermione would not have been surprised if she had set an Olympic record in tearing from Snape's quarters and heading back toward the Gryffindor common room. Her breath was catching in her chest with every step and her robes caught between her feet, slowing her stride. She could still feel the place on her shoulder where Snape's fingers had brushed against her skin and wished she could rip it off; it would haunt her.
She skidded to a stop in front of the portrait covering the entrance to the common room. Farther down the hall, a group she recognized as several members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team were hanging around and talking; they shot startled looks at her when she nearly tripped in her haste to gasp the password and climb through the portrait hole. The common room had only a few inhabitants, but they were not on her mind; she needed to find Ginny.
"Ginny?" She peeked her head into the dorm room for the sixth-year girls, to find Ginny lying on her bed next to a friend; they were reading a magazine. They looked up in surprise, and their looks grew even more puzzled when they saw Hermione's obviously frantic state.
"I need to talk to Ginny," Hermione said to the friend, whom she was unfamiliar with. The girl glanced over at Ginny, who gave her an apologetic look and nodded; she rose and left the room, pausing just for a moment to look the intruder over and make her point known: she did not appreciate being excluded from something involving her friend. Hermione wondered if she should also apologize, but the words swimming through her head begged to be spoken, so she ignored the impulse and threw herself down on the floor by Ginny's bed.
"What is wrong with you?" Her friend gone, Ginny was open and very concerned. "You look like you ran from Hogsmeade…. You're crying!" Indeed, tears were coursing down Hermione's face. "What's wrong?"
"I—I'm okay," Hermione whispered, shocked to find her face damp. "I'm just a little shaken, that's all."
"Tell me what's wrong before I start crying." Ginny was fighting the urge to put a comforting arm around her friend, and could feel her own lip trembling. Hermione looked as though she was in serious trouble; naturally, thoughts of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters surfaced first in Ginny's brain. What had happened to frighten Hermione so completely?
"I need to admit something to you." Hermione was rising now; she sat gingerly on the bed, placing a hand on one shoulder, against her neck, as though she expected something to be there. "This isn't easy, and please don't laugh at me, I feel horrible enough already."
Ginny folded her hands in front of her and stared at Hermione, silent as a tomb. Hermione couldn't help but smile; her friend knew exactly how to react to her eccentricities. She sighed and repositioned herself so that the two girls were sitting, cross-legged, facing one another; it truly felt like a girls-only gabfest.
"I have a problem." No, really? she snapped at herself.
Ginny nodded. "And that is…?"
She knew she had to spit the words out, but it was far more difficult than she'd thought moments before, when a confession seemed the best idea. She rolled them around on her tongue, trying to find the best way to get her message across without Ginny suffering a heart attack.
"I can't say it." She buried her face in her hands and gave a resounding sigh. Ginny frowned, and then opened her mouth for a moment, searching for her own words.
"What's it about?"
"Snape." Well, that had come out easily. Predictably, Ginny looked quizzical; she couldn't possibly imagine what problems Hermione might have encountered with the Potions master. She was only concerned, typically, with her grades, and as far as Ginny knew, her grades in every class remained impeccable.
"What did he do?"
A million things, Hermione thought angrily, each striking her more deeply than the ones before. But what she said was, "Nothing, it's what I did."
Ginny gasped, then giggled. "You told him off!" She looked envious, and Hermione suspected that, were that the case, Ginny would be disappointed at not witnessing the scene.
"No!" Her voice sounded harsh, and Ginny reacted as though she'd slapped her. "No," she said more gently, "I didn't tell him off. I didn't tell him anything."
"Then what?"
It begged to come out. "I like him."
Three simple words, and yet their effects on Ginny were astounding. She stared at first, as though not truly seeing Hermione, her eyes glazed over. Then she blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus; the eyes grew wide, the mouth opened, and before she knew it, Ginny was off the bed and pacing back and forth, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Oh, God, Hermione, that was as good one. Seriously, what's wrong?"
Hermione said nothing; her look told all.
"Oh no. You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"You can't like Snape," Ginny told her firmly, "it just isn't possible."
"The hell I don't!" Hermione was angry now. Ginny, of all people, was supposed to believe her, to be her support. "I can tell I like him, Ginny, it doesn't take a doctor to figure it out!"
"But why?"
"I don't know why!" Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration.
"You don't love him, do you? It's just a crush, right?" Hermione did not respond to her question; she looked shocked and unsteady, as though the slightest breeze would blow her over.
Now that was something to think about. Hermione's own opinion was that she, of all people, wouldn't recognize love if it hit her over the head with a sledgehammer; but as confused as she was right then, anything was possible. She recognized none of the feelings she was experiencing; who knew? One might, quite possibly, be love.
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"No." Ginny looked skeptical.
"When did this happen?"
Again, Hermione seemed at a loss for words. "I don't know, really. I just started noticing him, and then…. Do you remember, several weeks ago, how everyone was discussing what happened in our Potions class, when Lavender Brown volunteered to be a guinea pig for the Veritaserum trial?"
"Yes." Ginny's head was tilted and she was watching Hermione through studious eyes, as though trying to read into her words like one would a book.
"Well, Lavender mentioned something about me—about my reading habits. And he laughed at me."
"Damn," Ginny said sarcastically, "that's the sweetest thing, Hermione. Now I know why you're in love with him!"
The humor was lost on Hermione; now that her pent-up thoughts were pouring forth in a flood, she was powerless to stop them. "Only it wasn't a spiteful laugh; it wasn't anything you would imagine him being capable of. It was a normal laugh."
"Severus Snape," Ginny said with quiet ferocity, "is anything but normal."
"I know, I know; but he seemed so relaxed, so open…. Not friendly, exactly, but teasing, in an affectionate way."
"I would not add 'affectionate' to his list of possible characteristics," Ginny objected.
"That's what it was, though."
Ginny pivoted on her feet and turned her back to Hermione; she began to rub her temples as though their conversation was giving her a migraine, and stood that way for several minutes, thinking. When she turned back, her words struck Hermione as both sincere and commanding.
"Look, Hermione, I don't know what to think; I honestly don't. But you seem serious, and I'll believe you. Just promise me you won't do anything."
Now it was Hermione's turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"
"Don't do anything foolish. Don't try to seduce the man, for God's sake! You, of all people, know that a student and a teacher going out is wrong."
Hermione had not thought of that, either.
"You'll get over it," Ginny promised her. "Just promise me you won't act on it."
Hermione relented. "All right. I promise."
* * *
Ginny spent the evening with friends, prowling the grounds around Hogwarts and playing various tricks on whomever they came across. Her mind, preoccupied with other thoughts, did not wander often to Hermione's predicament. She had to admit that, deep down, she did not believe her friend; Hermione Granger, known for scrupulously avoiding matters of the heart, could not possibly like Professor Snape. There was nothing to see in him.
They returned the common room late, giggling uncontrollably and kicking each other to make sure no one gave away their presence; every time footsteps were heard in the halls, they ducked into the nearest empty room and held their breath until the person passed. Ginny never thought of herself as a troublemaker, though perhaps she was numbed to rule-breaking somewhat by being the younger sister of Fred and George Weasley. She saw it as having fun with her friends; letting loose for the holidays; being a teenager.
The common room was empty, and suddenly she remembered Hermione. As her friends trooped upstairs to change for bed, she slipped aside and quietly opened the door to the seventh-year girls' room. Parvati and Lavender were absent from their beds, but Hermione was there. She crept closer, wanting to ask Hermione what she'd done during the evening.
Hermione was fast asleep; she was curled up, her hands clutching the covers, and a strange look on her face: a mixture of troubled worry and relaxed joy. Ginny wondered briefly what—or who—she was dreaming about. She paid little attention to the book next to the her, its page still clearly marked, that had fallen aside when Hermione passed into sleep: Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. But Ginny, of course, would not have known its significance.
Inescapable
Chapter Four
Hermione woke early on the morning of Halloween to find the dormitory completely empty. Whereas normally she would have been relieved to be liberated of Parvati and Co., she felt rather hurt, and lonely; it didn't seem right to wake up alone in a room devoid of Parvati's incessant chatter.
She rolled out of bed and placed unsteady feet on the floor, stretching as she did so. It was relaxing, she had to admit, but she couldn't help but wonder where everyone was. Halloween had occurred, mercifully, on a Saturday; she couldn't believe her luck. Saturdays were her days of escape and recuperation, and this one was a holiday in addition! Everyone was probably eating a magnificent breakfast in the Great Hall and getting on perfectly fine without her.
Well, let them; she'd find something else to do. Rummaging through her school bags, she pulled out her latest book and grabbed her bathrobe; she peeked out through the portrait hole to make sure the halls were empty, and then scurried down several corridors and came to a stop in front of a large oak door surrounded on both sides by two hideous gargoyles. Gargoyles, she thought with a smile, seemed to be the castle's dominant theme; but none could compare to Dumbledore's, of course.
Hermione whispered the password and the door creaked open at a painfully slow pace. Her eyes darted around to make sure that no one came, and when it was finally open sufficiently, she squeezed through and shut it as silently as she could. It was a private bathroom, meant solely for the Head Girl, and Hermione, technically, was not supposed to use it. She'd been offered the position of Head Girl, but prestigious as it was, had turned it down, fearing that it would interfere with her studies. Most people thought it surprisingly uncharacteristic of Hermione to turn down a position that would offer such obvious fame regarding her intelligence; she had a feeling they were just surprised she was modest.
But the Head Girl, a Ravenclaw who closely followed Hermione in class rank, had been so grateful for the chance to be Head Girl that she'd promised Hermione she could use the position's most enjoyable privilege—the private, luxurious bathroom—anytime she wanted. Hermione was known to complain that she could not run a hot bubble bath and read a book like she did at home while she was at Hogwarts, for the lack of privacy; it was, she decided, the best gift the girl could have given her.
They had coordinated times, and it worked out perfectly; Saturday mornings were Hermione's times to take refuge if she so chose. As everyone was now down at breakfast, she was even more alone than normal, and it was starting to feel great. She tapped the taps on the bathtub—really more like a miniature pool—and they began to foam with multicolored bubbles. She still couldn't believe her luck; maybe, if she'd known the Head Girl was awarded such riches, she would have ignored her neuroses and taken the position anyway.
A good hour was spent in the tub devouring her book, and when her skin was completely wrinkled and her hair dehydrated, she decided it was time to get out; she was panting for breath in the stifling heat and sick of the touch of bubbles. The bath drained quickly, and she toweled off and pulled back on her nightgown and bathrobe. Then it was back to the Gryffindor common room, and up the stairs quickly to the girls' dormitory to change clothes. Not three minutes after she pulled on her sweater, the creak of the portrait hole reached her ears and voices could be heard down in the common room. She smiled; perfect timing, as usual.
Harry and Ron, groaning that they'd eaten too much, refused to go anywhere with Hermione and settled themselves in for a game of wizard's chess. She wheedled a bit, but it was to no avail, so she finally abandoned them and headed downstairs. The Great Hall was by now emptied of its food, so she decided to head toward the kitchens and steal some leftovers from the house elves, whom she knew wouldn't mind; they were only too happy to oblige any hungry visitor.
Thinking as she went along helped Hermione to pass the time. The kitchen came into view eventually, and she stood on tiptoes (she was never going to be especially tall) to reach the pair in the picture and give it a small tickle. Squirming, the pair giggled, and then the picture swung forward. She climbed through the door and found herself in the Hogwarts kitchen, perhaps the best-hidden room in the castle.
Dobby knew Hermione quite well, and he noticed her immediately. "Miss is hungry?" he asked, and Hermione nodded, about to say she'd missed breakfast; but it didn't matter to Dobby. "Miss stay here!" he squeaked. "Dobby is getting food for miss, Dobby will…" and he trailed off to find her something. The house-elves were bustling about, putting away dirty pots and pans; in the corner, she could hear two elves planning the day's lunch menu. The elves always outdid themselves on the holidays, providing the students and staff with far better—and more—cuisine than they needed. By the end of the day, Ron and Harry were going to feel awful.
Dobby returned a few minutes later with a stack of toast and handed it to Hermione. "Dobby is sorry, but the other stuff is gone." For a moment, she was afraid he was going to cry with desolation; his bright green eyes filled with tears and she quickly put down her toast to comfort him.
"It's okay, Dobby, don't worry about it," she assured him. "I'm not hungry enough for anything else; it's okay!" Dobby brightened and gave her a smile, then pointed toward the door. "Dobby is wanting Miss to stay," he informed her sadly, "but we is busy, Miss, and Dobby is not having time to talk."
"That's all right," she said. "I'll say hello to Harry for you, shall I?"
"Oh, yes!" Dobby's tea-cozy hat was in danger of flying off his head as he jumped up and down excitedly. "Miss is saying hello to Harry Potter for Dobby, yes! Harry Potter is great wizard, Miss, and Miss is his friend, so Miss is great too."
Hermione chuckled; Dobby was far too liberal with compliments. "Thank you, Dobby. I'll go now."
Safely outside the kitchens, she walked back along the corridors, munching her toast and wondering what she would do that day to keep herself occupied. She had not yet reached the junction that led her back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room when she heard an odd noise; a scraping, soft but discernible, behind her.
Hermione froze, and nearly dropped her toast. What came to mind immediately was Death Eaters; Lord Voldemort; Avada kedavra and instantaneous death. What she found when she turned, frightened, was a long black snake slithering toward her. She was not overly fond of snakes, but found herself to be in an adventurous mood, so she decided to follow it. Shoving the last bit of toast in her mouth and brushing crumbs off her robes, she jogged after the snake as it headed down a corridor in the opposite direction.
The snake led her out another door and onto a balcony. Hermione was surprised; as far as she knew, only the teachers' private rooms had balconies, and among those, only a select few. Viewing the exterior of Hogwarts, she would never have imagined there was a balcony of such significant size; it was long and broad, with plenty of room for a party of people to mill about, or even for a pair of dancers, like a scene from a fairy-tale love story. She blushed at the thought and turned her attention back to the snake.
It was headed straight for a crack between two pillars on the barrier! She was paralyzed at first, not sure what to do. The thought of touching the snake terrified her; but the though of the snake, quite possibly someone's pet, falling off the balcony to its death, made her feel guilty. She didn't know if it was aware of the drop-off, but she couldn't just let it plunge to its demise. She darted forward and placed a gentle hand around the base of the snake's head, squinting her eyes and waiting for its fangs to contact her flesh.
Nothing of the sort happened; in fact, the snake seemed to like her. It flicked a gentle tongue against her wrist, and then began to twine itself around her arm, climbing upward to come to a rest draped, like a feather boa, around her neck. It seemed to snuggle itself in, as though preparing for a long ride; its tail flicked against one cheek and its head swayed back and forth in her peripheral vision, tongue flicking, tasting. She smiled; it wasn't slimy at all. Actually, it was rather friendly.
But where had it come from? She couldn't imagine such an exotic-looking species being native to England, or even the northern hemisphere, for that matter; it looked like something she'd once seen in a documentary about hazardous African animals. Obviously, it was either a zoo escapee, or someone's pet; given their current location, she deduced that it was someone's pet.
Whose? Hagrid's? No, she doubted it; Hagrid, though she did not doubt he would love the snake, had a fondness for larger, furrier animals with larger teeth and more frightening attributes. Dumbledore had Fawkes, it wasn't his; and it certainly wasn't a student's. A teacher's, then?
Snape's. It had to be; who else? Part of her glowed at the thought that she'd saved his pet from tumbling to its death (had she? She preferred to think so), and another part of her wondered what he would say if she showed up with his snake curled around her neck. He'd probably accuse her of hurting or kidnapping it, and then give her detention. Not that she would mind that….
Hermione made up her mind: she was going to return the snake. It was perfectly logical to think that it was Snape's, and if it wasn't, he might know whose it was. He couldn't exactly blame her for thinking him the teacher with the most potential to own a serpent, because there was something undeniably serpentine about him. She gave the snake a small smile, and it gave her what she decided was a small snake kiss; then they headed off the balcony and down the hallway.
* * *
There were no teachers in the Great Hall, nor in the staff room. She was puzzled at first, and knew that she couldn't walk up to the nearest person and merely ask them for directions; they'd take one look at the animal wrapped around her neck and run as fast as they possibly could in the other direction. The snake seemed completely at home and showed no inclination of removing itself. She would have to search out Professor Snape on her own.
Where his private quarters were, she had no idea; but she decided that he was most likely in there, or in his office. A quick stroll to the dungeons confirmed her belief that he was neither in the classroom nor in his office. The bookshelves struck a chord in her and she remembered that night a few weeks ago when she'd stood in front of them and embarrassed herself horribly with her prejudiced comments. Snape had taken them lightly, she thought; perhaps he was accustomed to it.
Rats scurried here and there as she left the dungeons, and the snake hissed at each one that passed. A slight glow reflected off its eyes and Hermione was unnerved by the sleek ebony head that darted here and there around her neck. Finally they reached the stairs, and left the rats behind to ascend back into the castle proper. Where was his private quarters?
She was turning in confused circles, debating whether or not she should chance asking someone, when a voice startled her.
"Miss Granger."
Oh, God, it was him. She whirled around and instinctively placed a hand over the snake to keep it from falling. It needed no help; its grip on her neck tightened noticeably when she turned sharply, and was released once she'd steadied herself. The snake tilted its head and peered directly into her eyes; now she had two interrogators.
"I see you've found my lost pet."
"Y-Yes, she—he—it—was crawling around in the corridors, and I found it."
"It is a she. Continue." His eyes were colder than she had ever seen them, and his presence was generally intimidating.
Hermione balked; what more was there to say? She found her faltering voice again and did her best. "Well, I didn't realize anyone in the castle owned a snake—that is, I assumed it was domesticated, given that it looks far too exotic to be indigenous—so I followed…her. She went out onto a balcony, and was making me nervous because she got far too close to the edge, so I thought I'd better find her owner before she, ah, hurt herself."
She'd been rambling, hadn't she? Mentally rebuking herself for being so juvenile, she waited for a nervous three or four seconds for his reply. He was looking first at his lost pet, and then over at her, with a stare of blatant appraisal. Was he surprised? Or angry?
"Thank you for your concern. She tends to be far too explorative for her own good." He turned on his heel and motioned with a hand for her to follow him. "Come with me; we'll have to take her back to my quarters. She will not come off your neck unless forced, and I don't want to cause a stir in the castle."
Hermione shuddered slightly at "forced." What did he intend to do to her, yank the snake from around her shoulders? If provoked, it would surely attack her, and she couldn't blame it. Snape led her down three or four more corridors, until she recognized where she was; somewhere between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common room entrances. Then it was down a flight of stairs, into an area that looked deserted. He opened a door to their left, hidden in shadows, and motioned for her to precede him into the room. He saw her obvious terror, and smiled wryly.
She walked in slowly, having not the slightest idea what awaited her; it was, in fact, a complete and utter shock. The room didn't look at all like she would have imagined Snape's private rooms looking; in fact, it looked normal, like a scholar's room. The furniture was neutral-colored and simple (there was, she noticed, an unusually large percentage of black-colored objects; he wasn't entirely normal), and one window, built into the rise of the ceiling, filled the room with some amount of light.
Once again, the bookshelves struck her; this time, there were even more of them, lining just about every wall, filled with an even larger volume of books than he had in his office. He noticed her staring at the books, and once again could not suppress a smile; Hermione Granger would never have guessed that he, himself, had a passion for books. She would never have attributed such a worthwhile pursuit to his personality.
The snake was beginning to sense that it was at home, and loosened itself slightly, but seemed reluctant to remove itself completely. Hermione placed a hand gingerly on it and tugged; the snake darted forward to stare her straight in the eye, and for the second time, closing the door behind her, she heard Severus Snape laugh. It was not a cruel laugh, but simply a laugh, and the two startling happenings together were making her feel faint.
He walked over calmly and placed one hand beneath the snake's head. She could feel his fingers brush against the bare skin of her neck as he lifted the snake from her shoulders and carried it across the room. He placed it gently on the floor in front of a large gap in the bricks, and the snake, with a barely perceptible glance backward to thank her, slithered off into its hole. She was reminded of a mouse returning to its own hole, or a wolf returning to its den.
Snape turned back to her, but didn't seem to know what to say. The silence was uncomfortable, and she could feel the tension building in the room between them. Her mind and body filled with conflicting emotions and she had no idea whether she should stay or run; what she wanted and what she knew was right could not be brought into agreement.
"Thank you for returning her." She was unaccustomed to Snape showing any gratitude toward her, and it was visible on her face. "In case you were wondering"—he was facing her now, arms crossed casually, voice quiet—"you were right; she is not indigenous to this region. I purchased her through a friend of mine who works elsewhere. She is highly poisonous, but relatively tame around humans."
"Does she have a name?" It seemed a harmless enough question to ask. Nearly seven years now, she had known this man, and still she could not find anywhere within her the strength to face him as herself.
"Gollum." She couldn't help but laugh. "I thought at first she was male, but she's grown used to the name, so 'Gollum' it remains."
"You read J.R.R. Tolkien?" She had read his books, and enjoyed them, though her taste was usually more in the classics.
He nodded. "One must have something to pass the time. You would be surprised, Miss Granger, at how much we have in common."
She could sense that he regretted the open and inviting nature of the statement immediately, and wasn't sure how to respond. "I never thought of us as being alike," she said carefully after hesitating, not able to meet his eyes.
"You wouldn't. Why should you?" His voice now had a slight undertone of bitterness, as though he was a child complaining of being underappreciated.
"You went to Hogwarts, sir." She wasn't sure how to articulate what she wanted to ask, and found herself struggling to get the point across. "Were you…a good student? Did you study most of the time, like me?"
He shrugged. "A good deal, though perhaps not as obsessively as I expect you do." Her eyes narrowed defensively, and he chuckled. "I am not insulting you, Miss Granger; I'm merely stating an observation. Yes, I was a good student; I managed to overcome the previous record, held by a student there years before, and my overall record remains the best in the school."
She gasped. Snape the Brain? Why did that not make any sense? "You're kidding."
He looked at her as though she had slapped him. "No, Miss Granger, I am not kidding. I didn't realize you gave so little credit to my intelligence."
"I just…never thought about it."
"That's obvious." His voice was cold.
Silence again, but this time, even more palpable. She could fell his eyes on her, and while she knew she was staring right back at him, she was not fully aware of everything that seemed to be going on, and the emotions coursing through her body. She knew only one thing: that if she stayed in the room one moment longer, she was going to break down and either confess her thoughts about him or begin crying. Either one was undesirable.
"I need to leave." She turned abruptly and left the room, closing the door quickly behind her. Once outside of hearing range, she broke into a run and fled the premises, hoping that he was not standing in the center of his room, laughing at her childish stupidity. He was, in fact, as confused as she; he'd meant for their talk to be as friendly as he could possibly make it, not an uncomfortable confrontation.
But being "friendly" was not one of his strong points, and he knew it. He preferred that people feared him; it kept them a safe distance away and out of his life. Hermione's sudden departure had him thinking harder than he had in a very long time. If he accepted what he felt, instead of rationalizing based on what he knew to be right and wrong, then the fact was that he'd wanted her to stay; he enjoyed her company.
* * *
Hermione would not have been surprised if she had set an Olympic record in tearing from Snape's quarters and heading back toward the Gryffindor common room. Her breath was catching in her chest with every step and her robes caught between her feet, slowing her stride. She could still feel the place on her shoulder where Snape's fingers had brushed against her skin and wished she could rip it off; it would haunt her.
She skidded to a stop in front of the portrait covering the entrance to the common room. Farther down the hall, a group she recognized as several members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team were hanging around and talking; they shot startled looks at her when she nearly tripped in her haste to gasp the password and climb through the portrait hole. The common room had only a few inhabitants, but they were not on her mind; she needed to find Ginny.
"Ginny?" She peeked her head into the dorm room for the sixth-year girls, to find Ginny lying on her bed next to a friend; they were reading a magazine. They looked up in surprise, and their looks grew even more puzzled when they saw Hermione's obviously frantic state.
"I need to talk to Ginny," Hermione said to the friend, whom she was unfamiliar with. The girl glanced over at Ginny, who gave her an apologetic look and nodded; she rose and left the room, pausing just for a moment to look the intruder over and make her point known: she did not appreciate being excluded from something involving her friend. Hermione wondered if she should also apologize, but the words swimming through her head begged to be spoken, so she ignored the impulse and threw herself down on the floor by Ginny's bed.
"What is wrong with you?" Her friend gone, Ginny was open and very concerned. "You look like you ran from Hogsmeade…. You're crying!" Indeed, tears were coursing down Hermione's face. "What's wrong?"
"I—I'm okay," Hermione whispered, shocked to find her face damp. "I'm just a little shaken, that's all."
"Tell me what's wrong before I start crying." Ginny was fighting the urge to put a comforting arm around her friend, and could feel her own lip trembling. Hermione looked as though she was in serious trouble; naturally, thoughts of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters surfaced first in Ginny's brain. What had happened to frighten Hermione so completely?
"I need to admit something to you." Hermione was rising now; she sat gingerly on the bed, placing a hand on one shoulder, against her neck, as though she expected something to be there. "This isn't easy, and please don't laugh at me, I feel horrible enough already."
Ginny folded her hands in front of her and stared at Hermione, silent as a tomb. Hermione couldn't help but smile; her friend knew exactly how to react to her eccentricities. She sighed and repositioned herself so that the two girls were sitting, cross-legged, facing one another; it truly felt like a girls-only gabfest.
"I have a problem." No, really? she snapped at herself.
Ginny nodded. "And that is…?"
She knew she had to spit the words out, but it was far more difficult than she'd thought moments before, when a confession seemed the best idea. She rolled them around on her tongue, trying to find the best way to get her message across without Ginny suffering a heart attack.
"I can't say it." She buried her face in her hands and gave a resounding sigh. Ginny frowned, and then opened her mouth for a moment, searching for her own words.
"What's it about?"
"Snape." Well, that had come out easily. Predictably, Ginny looked quizzical; she couldn't possibly imagine what problems Hermione might have encountered with the Potions master. She was only concerned, typically, with her grades, and as far as Ginny knew, her grades in every class remained impeccable.
"What did he do?"
A million things, Hermione thought angrily, each striking her more deeply than the ones before. But what she said was, "Nothing, it's what I did."
Ginny gasped, then giggled. "You told him off!" She looked envious, and Hermione suspected that, were that the case, Ginny would be disappointed at not witnessing the scene.
"No!" Her voice sounded harsh, and Ginny reacted as though she'd slapped her. "No," she said more gently, "I didn't tell him off. I didn't tell him anything."
"Then what?"
It begged to come out. "I like him."
Three simple words, and yet their effects on Ginny were astounding. She stared at first, as though not truly seeing Hermione, her eyes glazed over. Then she blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus; the eyes grew wide, the mouth opened, and before she knew it, Ginny was off the bed and pacing back and forth, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Oh, God, Hermione, that was as good one. Seriously, what's wrong?"
Hermione said nothing; her look told all.
"Oh no. You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"You can't like Snape," Ginny told her firmly, "it just isn't possible."
"The hell I don't!" Hermione was angry now. Ginny, of all people, was supposed to believe her, to be her support. "I can tell I like him, Ginny, it doesn't take a doctor to figure it out!"
"But why?"
"I don't know why!" Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration.
"You don't love him, do you? It's just a crush, right?" Hermione did not respond to her question; she looked shocked and unsteady, as though the slightest breeze would blow her over.
Now that was something to think about. Hermione's own opinion was that she, of all people, wouldn't recognize love if it hit her over the head with a sledgehammer; but as confused as she was right then, anything was possible. She recognized none of the feelings she was experiencing; who knew? One might, quite possibly, be love.
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"No." Ginny looked skeptical.
"When did this happen?"
Again, Hermione seemed at a loss for words. "I don't know, really. I just started noticing him, and then…. Do you remember, several weeks ago, how everyone was discussing what happened in our Potions class, when Lavender Brown volunteered to be a guinea pig for the Veritaserum trial?"
"Yes." Ginny's head was tilted and she was watching Hermione through studious eyes, as though trying to read into her words like one would a book.
"Well, Lavender mentioned something about me—about my reading habits. And he laughed at me."
"Damn," Ginny said sarcastically, "that's the sweetest thing, Hermione. Now I know why you're in love with him!"
The humor was lost on Hermione; now that her pent-up thoughts were pouring forth in a flood, she was powerless to stop them. "Only it wasn't a spiteful laugh; it wasn't anything you would imagine him being capable of. It was a normal laugh."
"Severus Snape," Ginny said with quiet ferocity, "is anything but normal."
"I know, I know; but he seemed so relaxed, so open…. Not friendly, exactly, but teasing, in an affectionate way."
"I would not add 'affectionate' to his list of possible characteristics," Ginny objected.
"That's what it was, though."
Ginny pivoted on her feet and turned her back to Hermione; she began to rub her temples as though their conversation was giving her a migraine, and stood that way for several minutes, thinking. When she turned back, her words struck Hermione as both sincere and commanding.
"Look, Hermione, I don't know what to think; I honestly don't. But you seem serious, and I'll believe you. Just promise me you won't do anything."
Now it was Hermione's turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"
"Don't do anything foolish. Don't try to seduce the man, for God's sake! You, of all people, know that a student and a teacher going out is wrong."
Hermione had not thought of that, either.
"You'll get over it," Ginny promised her. "Just promise me you won't act on it."
Hermione relented. "All right. I promise."
* * *
Ginny spent the evening with friends, prowling the grounds around Hogwarts and playing various tricks on whomever they came across. Her mind, preoccupied with other thoughts, did not wander often to Hermione's predicament. She had to admit that, deep down, she did not believe her friend; Hermione Granger, known for scrupulously avoiding matters of the heart, could not possibly like Professor Snape. There was nothing to see in him.
They returned the common room late, giggling uncontrollably and kicking each other to make sure no one gave away their presence; every time footsteps were heard in the halls, they ducked into the nearest empty room and held their breath until the person passed. Ginny never thought of herself as a troublemaker, though perhaps she was numbed to rule-breaking somewhat by being the younger sister of Fred and George Weasley. She saw it as having fun with her friends; letting loose for the holidays; being a teenager.
The common room was empty, and suddenly she remembered Hermione. As her friends trooped upstairs to change for bed, she slipped aside and quietly opened the door to the seventh-year girls' room. Parvati and Lavender were absent from their beds, but Hermione was there. She crept closer, wanting to ask Hermione what she'd done during the evening.
Hermione was fast asleep; she was curled up, her hands clutching the covers, and a strange look on her face: a mixture of troubled worry and relaxed joy. Ginny wondered briefly what—or who—she was dreaming about. She paid little attention to the book next to the her, its page still clearly marked, that had fallen aside when Hermione passed into sleep: Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. But Ginny, of course, would not have known its significance.