Author's Note: A decent first kiss, or a complete disaster? What did you
think?
Inescapable Chapter Six
There was little incentive for Hermione to sleep that night, other than the promise of escape from her agonizing thoughts. Yet three days remained before the majority of the student body would return from their lengthy vacation to once again fill the Hogwarts corridors; and until then, there was no doubt in her mind, she would run into Snape multiple times.
What would he do? The possibility was always there that he would admit to Dumbledore their indiscretion, though it would mean severe repercussions for himself in order to punish her. But she could not help but think that such a vindictive motion would be too much, even for him. He had to realize that what had passed between them was not entirely her fault; even if she had initiated, he had reciprocated. There were two distinct sides to that particular story.
Envious visualizations filled her mind when she heard the squeak of springs from Ginny's bed, located within the adjacent chamber. That bed had always proven a problem for Ginny, who had somehow developed the luck to be cursed with its ownership; it often awoke light sleepers, many of whom would then proceed to hurl outraged pillows in Ginny's direction. Hermione heaved a sigh and smiled with just the slightest touch of amusement. Ginny would by now have delved deep into dreamland, albeit haunted by squealing springs. She was not wondering what fate awaited her now that she had kissed-kissed, if it was even believable-a teacher. Hermione did her best to cry herself to sleep; it would not work.
* * *
Ginny arrived in Hermione's dormitory room the next morning and woke Hermione herself; she shook her firmly by the shoulders until Hermione roused from her fitful sleep and questioned Ginny through blurred eyes. Ginny's face was grim and set as she dragged clothes out and tossed them at her friend.
"What are you"-a tired yawn-"doing here?" Hermione rubbed sleep from her eyes and pulled aside the drapes to glance at the grounds. It was relatively early for Ginny to be up and moving.
"Get up," the other girl said simply. "We're going to breakfast."
"We're eating breakfast with the teachers," Hermione reminded her, taking her time as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and planted them on the floor. They felt unsteady, and she did not want to chance standing up. Come to think of it, she wanted to rebury herself and die.
"You're not." Hermione's head swiveled sharply and she pierced Ginny with her look.
"What the hell do you mean, I'm not?" Her tone was beyond indignant; she did not enjoy being told what she would and would not do.
"I'm not letting you eat with the teachers. Not after what happened last night."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione snapped, grabbing her hairbrush and running it through her hair roughly, yanking out loose strands and looking at them with disgust.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You promised you wouldn't do anything!" Ginny hissed, glancing nervously at the doorway; she had never been fond of Hogwarts' lack of privacy, and found herself aggravated now moreso than ever before.
"Who said I did anything?" It was entirely a lie; no one could possibly have told Ginny what had happened, unless Gollum had become suddenly very talkative-and bilingual.
"I don't need to be told because I know you did. You disappeared right after we left the dinner table and didn't come back in for a good hour. I don't want to know what happened, Hermione, and I doubt you want to tell me. But I don't believe you for a second if you say that nothing happened."
Hermione was silent; her eyes spoke volumes more than she could have articulated.
Ginny rose slowly and pulled on her sweater. She planted herself firmly in the center of the room and refused to move. Hermione, resigning herself to the company of a private, unshakable chaperone, went to wash her face and dress. When she returned, Ginny had not moved from her spot. She eyed Hermione's simple khakis and sweater like a parent would and, deciding they were apparently appropriate, led the way down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.
Naturally, the hallways were empty. No one else was early enough a riser- and idiotic enough-to be out that early on the day after Christmas. Ginny made her way toward the kitchens and, upon entering, proceeded to tell the house-elves that Hermione wasn't feeling very well and would require a special breakfast-plain toast and jam, not the heavier fare they would serve to later-to comply with her stomach. The house-elves obliged most happily, and before long Hermione was munching on dry toast, having foregone the blackberry jam she most despised. She did not like it, but it was all she was going to get.
They passed by Gollum's Balcony, as Hermione had begun to call it to herself, and she felt a pang of longing. Even if Snape despised her, she would not have minded seeing his pet again. Gollum, besides reminding her of him, had made her feel welcome and worthwhile in a way that even Ginny didn't. Perhaps that was the beauty in all animals: they passed no judgment.
It was Fate's cruel sense of humor that morning that led them to intercept Snape as he came upstairs from the dungeons, heading toward the Great Hall to speak with the Headmaster. He had planned to address not what passed between himself and Hermione, but a completely different subject. Seeing her, however, brought it all flooding back into his mind, and he had to step deliberately and carefully on the stairs to ensure he did not trip. He could not take his eyes off her; she looked horrible, pale and sickly, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Just what his conscience needed-more reason to eat away at him.
"Good morning, Professor," Ginny rattled off with feigned pleasantness.
He did not return the greeting. "You two are up unusually early for a holiday. To where are you going?"
"Hermione isn't feeling well," Ginny said slowly, gauging Snape's reaction; something flashed in his eyes, but did not show on his face. "We got her some toast from the kitchens, and now we're going back to our common room. She needs sleep."
"I quite agree." He looked at Hermione's puffy eyes and bloodless pallor again, and then back at Ginny. "See that she is taken care of." He did not need to add what it would mean to him if Hermione were lost; she could, somehow, read it on his face. It made her flush slightly, bringing some color to her cheeks, but it was too late for him to notice for he had already swept off, leaving her speechless and Ginny suspicious.
"I swear you two can read each other's minds," she grumbled, and pushed Hermione in front of her so as to keep a better eye on her friend's location. "Back to the common room."
"Yes, Mother." Ginny did not smile.
* * *
Her mind racing as they approached the portrait hole, Hermione searched for a way to elude Ginny. She had to speak to Snape, even for just a moment; things had to be reconciled, or she would never be able to survive the remainder of the year in his classroom. She refused to let her grade suffer because of a crush, a few intimate conversations, and one kiss. That was ridiculous, and she would not allow it of herself.
She could conceive of only one way to take Ginny's mind off the mission at hand-Harry. Only Harry could completely fill Ginny's thoughts within a matter of milliseconds and compel them to the point where she would be oblivious to Hermione's exit. Mercifully, Harry and Ron were awake when they scrambled back in, sitting in front of the fireplace eating Mrs. Weasley's homemade toffee.
"I'm going to put my sweater away," Ginny informed her; she was flushed slightly by the heat in the castle and headed off toward her room. Hermione snatched her only chance and threw herself down on the floor in front of Harry. He stopped in mid-chew and looked up at her, confused.
"Harry. Listen to me. You have to distract Ginny."
"Wha?" He could not speak properly, for his mouth was stuck together with the toffee. Ron, also intrigued, eyed the two of them.
"You have to distract Ginny. I need to leave, and she'll follow me if you don't do something."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you right now"-Ginny's footsteps were coming back down the stairs-"just do it!"
"I'm back." Ginny appraised the situation as though expecting to find Hermione had defied the Hogwarts laws of physics and Disapparated. "What're you talking about?"
"Hey Ginny, I have something to ask you." Harry set his toffee aside and motioned for Ginny to sit next to him. Her eyes grew wide and color crept into her cheeks. "That okay?"
"Y-Yeah, sure." She approached clumsily and sat down near him, her face aglow with expectation. Harry, Hermione could tell, was searching for the right topic to pique Ginny's interest.
"It's about Bill's wedding-you know, the party?"
"Yeah." Hermione rose to her feet and took a few steps back.
"Well"-Harry glanced up involuntarily, noticing Hermione's slight progress- "Ron was saying how your mum was probably going to throw the reception, and I was thinking.well, wondering, actually.. There's probably going to be a big party, and-and dancing, right?"
Ginny could not speak. Her hands were folded together, the knuckles white with tension.
"I know this is probably a bit early to ask you, and I know you probably- have someone else you want to go with."
Hermione opened the portrait hole door.
".but if people go as couples, and you have no one to go with, would you go with me?" He tried to make his green eyes as irresistible as possible and Ginny absolutely melted for him.
"I'd love to!" she whispered hoarsely.
It was the last thing Hermione heard distinctively before the portrait swung shut, but she could still make out their voices from within the room, Ginny's singsong tones and Harry's deeper ones. Her footsteps were deliberately short and silent as she made her way down the halls and skirted the Great Hall for the dungeons. She peeked inside for only a moment; Snape was not to be found. His office, she thought frantically, and increased her pace.
She had turned a corner when hands landed on her shoulders and she was forced roughly against the wall. She tried to scream, but his hand covered her mouth. "Quiet," he hissed, and she relinquished her resistance. His grip on her face lessened, and his hand fell away all together; but the other remained on her shoulder, holding her firmly against the wall.
"You and I have to speak," he whispered, his face inches from hers, "and you know it." He removed his hand from her shoulder and she relaxed slightly.
"About what?" she feigned innocently. He fought the sneer that threatened to cross his face and growled.
"I am not letting you go until you talk to me, Hermione." She shivered slightly at hearing him use her name for the first time. "Speak."
There was only one thing she wanted to say, and while she ached to say it, she dreaded his inevitable reaction. "You may regret what happened," she told him solemnly, "but I don't."
He stared at her for a moment, and then pulled away, beginning to pace. His eyes were closed as though he refused to see the truth though it presented itself in front of him; Hermione maintained her place against the cold stone wall and wished he had stayed near her; she was growing cold with the absence of their combined body heat.
"You have no idea," he murmured, "what kind of trouble you have the potential to cause me."
"What makes you think your situation is any worse than mine?" she demanded. "I stand as much chance as you to be released from the school, sent away. I have a mere half a year to finish school before I must begin searching for a job. How would a record of seducing teachers look on a job application?"
"You should have thought of that before you kissed me."
"You shouldn't have kissed me back." Glare met glare and both knew there was nothing more to say; neither regretted it, and neither would have taken it back.
Snape seemed determined not to come within several feet of her, and she waited patiently for his self-control to diminish sufficiently. She was not going to be the one to initiate their second contact; if he was going to be involved, he was going to do his fair share. There was no reason for her to lose her chance at graduating if he did not also lose his position within the school.
"Do you mean to tell me," he asked, his voice deep and echoing between the stone walls, "that you are willing to sacrifice your chance at graduating to be with me?" There was an incredulity to his voice that shocked her; it was as though he thought her insane for liking him.
"If you are willing to risk your job."
"I have done nothing right in my life, nothing noble." His face betrayed a self-hatred that elicited both surprise and pity from her; she was confused by her own emotional response to his demons. "And yet Dumbledore has given me everything. How would he feel-how would I feel-if I betrayed him yet another time?"
"Horrible." She saw no point in denying it.
"You say it so lightly." He leaned against the wall opposite her and studied what promised to be his downfall; Hermione Granger. Who would have thought? When she had arrived at Hogwarts six or so years ago, he had never imagined himself facing her in the hallway and discussing the possibility of a secret relationship. What had he become?
"I don't know how much longer I can live with myself." He was staring down the hallway in the direction from which she had come, looking for something in the distance she was blind to. His eyes were still hard, impenetrable; she wondered if he was even able, after all these years, to put forth any other face to the world.
"That's what I'm here for," she replied gently. His eyes moved, riveted on hers, and they stared at each other for a full minute.
"I am incapable of human feeling."
"Who says I'm any better?"
"I have no means of showing emotion."
"Then write it."
"I'm utterly unromantic."
"I'm in no position to judge." He smiled wryly and she felt herself warm; he could have a handsome smile if he would only let himself.
"Very well," he whispered, beginning to roll up the sleeves of his robe on his left arm. "I have one further argument." She knew what was coming, but did not betray it. He pulled the sleeve up and lifted his hand, palm facing forward, so that she was faced with the grisly mark that scarred his forearm: the Dark Mark, Lord Voldemort's insignia, in all its dark glory, had been burned into his flesh. She was filled with a mixture of wonder and pity; wonder at his past life and pity for the pain she knew it must still cause him. But no disgust, no repulsion.
"It's been said," she retorted, "that tattoos can be very sexy." He only stared back, and she wondered briefly if that was not the best thing for her to say; hearing such words from her own lips sounded strange and alien to her.
"You are delusional if you can somehow convince yourself that this has the potential to work out." His voice was harsh and unforgiving, as though he were warning her; should the relationship have catastrophic consequences, the finger of accusation would point directly at her.
"My delusions are few and small compared to yours," she countered, "and generally more grounded in reality." The slightest hint of a smile danced on his lips and she knew that he agreed.
* * *
Ginny's gaze drove daggers into Hermione when she returned to the common room, but Hermione hardly noticed; she wandered up to her room as though in a daze and lay down on her bed, pretending to sleep in order to gain privacy. She wanted nothing more than to relive the time in the hallway in her mind and dream about how much better things could yet become.
They had broken down and admitted, though not verbally, that they could not deny any longer what had passed between them, and how it made them feel. That is, Hermione had admitted it; Snape had been silent, but when she looked up for his confession, he had nodded in agreement. It was enough for her, and so a relationship had been forged. And he had kissed her again, not long, but with passion. Their lack of time did not bother her; quantity did not necessarily take precedence over quality.
When she wandered back downstairs for dinner, Ginny was waiting for her, along with the boys, at the portrait hole. Harry and Ron greeted her, though warily, and watched for her body language to betray just what she had been doing during her absence; Ginny spoke not a word to her. Dinner was uncomfortable, for Snape avoided talking to her and Ginny looked as though she longed to murder someone-anyone-nearby.
Dumbledore once again inquired after Hermione's state of health, remarking that she still looked slightly pale.
"Oh, Hermione had a stressful afternoon," Ginny spoke up, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She may be a bit tired."
Snape just managed to stop himself from dropping his fork as he looked up in alarm and anger at Hermione. She could not acknowledge him in front of the others, and realized with a sigh that she would have to explain the situation to him later. They had agreed to meet on Gollum's Balcony in the evening; this would take some courage. He was not going to be pleased.
Harry and Ron somehow contained their curiosity and remained silent. They glanced at Hermione, back toward Ginny, and then to Hermione again; they could sense that something was amiss between the two girls. Hermione noticed with dismay that once or twice their glances flicked toward Snape. There was a dangerous chance that they would put the pieces of the puzzle together and determine what was going on. She was not sure how she could possibly handle that.
Dumbledore seemed laid-back, as always, and flashed a disarming smile at Hermione. "Get plenty of sleep," he told her, "and I imagine you should feel better come tomorrow morning. If not, feel free to see Madam Pomfrey; or perhaps Severus would have a potion that might make you feel better." He raised an eyebrow and turned to the Potions master, who nodded stiffly. Dumbledore gave Hermione a confident nod of his head and turned his attentions toward Professor McGonagall.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; Snape did not betray his own relief openly, but she could see his body relax just slightly. He was every bit as intimated by their situation as she, and no doubt he felt the stress even more, being the adult of the situation.
Ginny ate in sullen silence, and even managed to look upset with Harry. Hermione felt a stab of guilt when she realized that she had turned Ginny against Harry; Ginny would have recognized by now that Harry, sincere or not about his offer, had put it forth at the time Hermione had asked him to do so in order to allow her to escape. While she was probably a bundle of nerves inside, knowing that she would be dancing with Harry, her external appearance was one of outrage and festering anger.
When dinner ended, they marched upstairs in a straight line, saying nothing; Ron and Harry were trying to feel, through the tension in the air, what the problem was; Ginny was now officially giving Hermione the cold shoulder and the silent treatment. Hermione wanted to believe that Ginny was merely being immature, but she knew deep down that she deserved every ounce of Ginny's cruel retaliation; she had only been trying to help.
The boys settled down to play a half-hearted game of wizard's chess and
Ginny stalked up to her bedroom without saying goodnight. When Hermione settled down next to the boys to calm herself before her rendezvous with Snape, they dropped their chess figures and gave her their undivided attention, expecting an explanation. She was understandably reluctant to offer one.
"What?" she asked wearily, seeing the hungry looks on their faces.
"What's going on?" Harry queried. "You and Ginny are acting like enemies suddenly, and I want to know why I had to help you escape her."
"She was trying to be my chaperone," Hermione said evasively, wondering how to appease their curiosity without rousing further-possibly hazardous- questions. "She thinks I'm sneaking off to do something against the rules and she was trying to keep me 'under control.' " She giggled for an added measure of reassurance.
"Are you doing something against the rules?" Ron asked slyly, arching an eyebrow. Hermione gave him a 'drop dead' look and shook her head.
"I would never do that." A lie; another stab of guilt pierced her gut.
"I didn't think so," Ron conceded, and he reached forward to make a move on the chessboard. He captured one of Harry's pieces, eliciting a frustrated expletive from Harry, and leaned back again, thoroughly contented. Harry scrutinized the board and frowned, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He never seemed to defeat Ron at chess.
Hermione yawned on the outside and tried to calm her racing mind on the inside. It was nearly time to leave, and the boys were showing no intent to retire to bed for the night. There was no logical reason for her to leave the common room again, and in light of their recent conversation, they would become incredibly skeptical of any but the most conceivable reasons.
"Oh no!" She tried to sound distraught. "I forgot-" She rose from her seat and walked quickly toward the portrait hole, waiting for their oncoming assault.
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, forgetting the game. "Where are you going?"
"I forgot to ask McGonagall something," she said, opening the portrait.
"About what? It's the holidays!"
"I know, but I need plenty of time to prepare for it; it's about my course schedule, and I really need the answer as soon as possible."
They did indeed look skeptical. "What extra work are you trying to take on now?" Ron grumbled, looking as though he thought she was insane. Hermione had to bite back a smile; he worried that she would overtax herself, but he would never admit it.
"Nothing significant, just some extra exams that might help me when it comes time to approach the Ministry about a job."
"You're thinking about that already?" The boys exchanged looks; now she had them wondering about their own lives, and-to her advantage-forgetting that she was leaving.
"Yeah. I should be back in awhile. See you guys tomorrow, if you're in bed when I return." She swung her legs out and they called goodbye, then started wondering aloud to one another about their own futures. She had certainly picked a successful topic; that would keep them occupied for plenty of time.
Wondering if the Invisibility Cloak would have been a logical precaution, Hermione stepped cautiously down the halls. Walking off to meet him felt strange and exciting; she knew there was nothing honest or noble in such an action, but had succeeded in banishing that particular thought from her brain. She preferred to think that, for the first time in her seventeen years, Hermione Granger 'had a life.'
It was Gollum, not Snape, who met Hermione farther down the hallways, slithering along slowly to allow her to keep up with the surprisingly rapid movement of which the serpent was capable. Hermione giggled softly; there was something absurd about the fact that a snake, a creature with which she was incapable of initiating any communication, was guiding her. Gollum seemed to sense her fear, however, and for the most part, stayed in the shadows as they made their way along.
She perceived no sounds; the absence of noise was an entirely new sensation for Hermione. She wondered where Snape was, and whether or not it was this quiet there; she had never truly considered just what a relationship would mean. Could they possibly sit in silence with each other, and be comfortable? Somehow, her anxious mind imagined a different scenario, one of awkward silence and heated thoughts.
The balcony came into view eventually; Gollum abandoned the corridor and slipped into the soft darkness, through which Hermione could not see. He was in there, somewhere, and he could greet her with either a kiss or a knife in the chest; she would never know, with him.
He was there, weapons-free, leaning against the edge of the railing and staring off into the night sky. At first, he failed to notice her approach; she stood beyond him for a moment, observing in a new light. Her abrupt change in feelings for and about him brought to the surface new thoughts and realizations. He had lived a difficult life, she knew now, one filled with constant disappointments and reasons aplenty of abhor himself and the man he had become.
It was almost unbelievable that he should detest himself; she saw, true, that he had as many faults as any other. Becoming a Death Eater certainly did not grace one's personal record with worthwhile accomplishments, and his entire attitude toward society was one lacking in skill and appreciation for others. Nevertheless, she could see a passion and a ferocious intelligence that begged-demanded-to be seen, heard and acknowledged. Why he could not do so himself, she would never know.
"Hello." He jumped visibly in the moonlight and turned; he did not smile upon seeing her, but as usual, his emotions were just slightly more recognizable through his eyes. She found her own drawn to his, and had trouble moving them away when his stare became uncomfortable.
"You made it," he remarked simply. "I was beginning to wonder."
"But not to worry?" she surmised.
"Of course not. You are perfectly capable of caring for yourself, I am sure." She had to grin; no one but he could make such a comment sound sincere; her parents tried with all their hearts to assure her of their faith in her, but to no avail. She could read between the lines.
"I'm sorry about what happened during dinner today." She joined him in leaning against the railing and searched his face for some sign of comprehension.
"I assume you are referring to the incident with Ginny Weasley?" She nodded. "I admit I expected you familiarized her with your feelings long ago; I expected such a reaction." Now he did smile, but grimly. "It is not uncommon, you understand."
"No." He looked up. "I don't. What I do understand, however, is that you have major self-esteem issues."
"I beg your pardon?" He looked amused, and was leaning sideways against the railing now, one arm outstretched, his fingers drumming in silent rhythm. The emotional part of her was preoccupied by the fact that he was so close to her; if she had dared, she could have reached out and touched him. She tried to think of the darkness as a shield and regain her composure.
"I can't understand why you think so poorly of yourself. You have no reason to, so why do you do it?"
"Fishing for compliments," he quipped sarcastically, though he did not expect her to find him at all funny. "I did not invite you here for psychoanalysis, Miss Granger."
She missed the sound of "Hermione" in his deep, riveting tones; he was pulling away from her slightly.
"Then why did you invite me?"
"I don't know." The reply was quick and sincere, and one with which she could identify. She wasn't even sure why she had come, or how she had managed to toss aside seventeen years' worth of morals to meet with a teacher in the dead of night with such intents. But all was forgotten when he leaned forward to kiss her, and the wonderings were suspended for a while.
Inescapable Chapter Six
There was little incentive for Hermione to sleep that night, other than the promise of escape from her agonizing thoughts. Yet three days remained before the majority of the student body would return from their lengthy vacation to once again fill the Hogwarts corridors; and until then, there was no doubt in her mind, she would run into Snape multiple times.
What would he do? The possibility was always there that he would admit to Dumbledore their indiscretion, though it would mean severe repercussions for himself in order to punish her. But she could not help but think that such a vindictive motion would be too much, even for him. He had to realize that what had passed between them was not entirely her fault; even if she had initiated, he had reciprocated. There were two distinct sides to that particular story.
Envious visualizations filled her mind when she heard the squeak of springs from Ginny's bed, located within the adjacent chamber. That bed had always proven a problem for Ginny, who had somehow developed the luck to be cursed with its ownership; it often awoke light sleepers, many of whom would then proceed to hurl outraged pillows in Ginny's direction. Hermione heaved a sigh and smiled with just the slightest touch of amusement. Ginny would by now have delved deep into dreamland, albeit haunted by squealing springs. She was not wondering what fate awaited her now that she had kissed-kissed, if it was even believable-a teacher. Hermione did her best to cry herself to sleep; it would not work.
* * *
Ginny arrived in Hermione's dormitory room the next morning and woke Hermione herself; she shook her firmly by the shoulders until Hermione roused from her fitful sleep and questioned Ginny through blurred eyes. Ginny's face was grim and set as she dragged clothes out and tossed them at her friend.
"What are you"-a tired yawn-"doing here?" Hermione rubbed sleep from her eyes and pulled aside the drapes to glance at the grounds. It was relatively early for Ginny to be up and moving.
"Get up," the other girl said simply. "We're going to breakfast."
"We're eating breakfast with the teachers," Hermione reminded her, taking her time as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and planted them on the floor. They felt unsteady, and she did not want to chance standing up. Come to think of it, she wanted to rebury herself and die.
"You're not." Hermione's head swiveled sharply and she pierced Ginny with her look.
"What the hell do you mean, I'm not?" Her tone was beyond indignant; she did not enjoy being told what she would and would not do.
"I'm not letting you eat with the teachers. Not after what happened last night."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione snapped, grabbing her hairbrush and running it through her hair roughly, yanking out loose strands and looking at them with disgust.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You promised you wouldn't do anything!" Ginny hissed, glancing nervously at the doorway; she had never been fond of Hogwarts' lack of privacy, and found herself aggravated now moreso than ever before.
"Who said I did anything?" It was entirely a lie; no one could possibly have told Ginny what had happened, unless Gollum had become suddenly very talkative-and bilingual.
"I don't need to be told because I know you did. You disappeared right after we left the dinner table and didn't come back in for a good hour. I don't want to know what happened, Hermione, and I doubt you want to tell me. But I don't believe you for a second if you say that nothing happened."
Hermione was silent; her eyes spoke volumes more than she could have articulated.
Ginny rose slowly and pulled on her sweater. She planted herself firmly in the center of the room and refused to move. Hermione, resigning herself to the company of a private, unshakable chaperone, went to wash her face and dress. When she returned, Ginny had not moved from her spot. She eyed Hermione's simple khakis and sweater like a parent would and, deciding they were apparently appropriate, led the way down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.
Naturally, the hallways were empty. No one else was early enough a riser- and idiotic enough-to be out that early on the day after Christmas. Ginny made her way toward the kitchens and, upon entering, proceeded to tell the house-elves that Hermione wasn't feeling very well and would require a special breakfast-plain toast and jam, not the heavier fare they would serve to later-to comply with her stomach. The house-elves obliged most happily, and before long Hermione was munching on dry toast, having foregone the blackberry jam she most despised. She did not like it, but it was all she was going to get.
They passed by Gollum's Balcony, as Hermione had begun to call it to herself, and she felt a pang of longing. Even if Snape despised her, she would not have minded seeing his pet again. Gollum, besides reminding her of him, had made her feel welcome and worthwhile in a way that even Ginny didn't. Perhaps that was the beauty in all animals: they passed no judgment.
It was Fate's cruel sense of humor that morning that led them to intercept Snape as he came upstairs from the dungeons, heading toward the Great Hall to speak with the Headmaster. He had planned to address not what passed between himself and Hermione, but a completely different subject. Seeing her, however, brought it all flooding back into his mind, and he had to step deliberately and carefully on the stairs to ensure he did not trip. He could not take his eyes off her; she looked horrible, pale and sickly, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Just what his conscience needed-more reason to eat away at him.
"Good morning, Professor," Ginny rattled off with feigned pleasantness.
He did not return the greeting. "You two are up unusually early for a holiday. To where are you going?"
"Hermione isn't feeling well," Ginny said slowly, gauging Snape's reaction; something flashed in his eyes, but did not show on his face. "We got her some toast from the kitchens, and now we're going back to our common room. She needs sleep."
"I quite agree." He looked at Hermione's puffy eyes and bloodless pallor again, and then back at Ginny. "See that she is taken care of." He did not need to add what it would mean to him if Hermione were lost; she could, somehow, read it on his face. It made her flush slightly, bringing some color to her cheeks, but it was too late for him to notice for he had already swept off, leaving her speechless and Ginny suspicious.
"I swear you two can read each other's minds," she grumbled, and pushed Hermione in front of her so as to keep a better eye on her friend's location. "Back to the common room."
"Yes, Mother." Ginny did not smile.
* * *
Her mind racing as they approached the portrait hole, Hermione searched for a way to elude Ginny. She had to speak to Snape, even for just a moment; things had to be reconciled, or she would never be able to survive the remainder of the year in his classroom. She refused to let her grade suffer because of a crush, a few intimate conversations, and one kiss. That was ridiculous, and she would not allow it of herself.
She could conceive of only one way to take Ginny's mind off the mission at hand-Harry. Only Harry could completely fill Ginny's thoughts within a matter of milliseconds and compel them to the point where she would be oblivious to Hermione's exit. Mercifully, Harry and Ron were awake when they scrambled back in, sitting in front of the fireplace eating Mrs. Weasley's homemade toffee.
"I'm going to put my sweater away," Ginny informed her; she was flushed slightly by the heat in the castle and headed off toward her room. Hermione snatched her only chance and threw herself down on the floor in front of Harry. He stopped in mid-chew and looked up at her, confused.
"Harry. Listen to me. You have to distract Ginny."
"Wha?" He could not speak properly, for his mouth was stuck together with the toffee. Ron, also intrigued, eyed the two of them.
"You have to distract Ginny. I need to leave, and she'll follow me if you don't do something."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you right now"-Ginny's footsteps were coming back down the stairs-"just do it!"
"I'm back." Ginny appraised the situation as though expecting to find Hermione had defied the Hogwarts laws of physics and Disapparated. "What're you talking about?"
"Hey Ginny, I have something to ask you." Harry set his toffee aside and motioned for Ginny to sit next to him. Her eyes grew wide and color crept into her cheeks. "That okay?"
"Y-Yeah, sure." She approached clumsily and sat down near him, her face aglow with expectation. Harry, Hermione could tell, was searching for the right topic to pique Ginny's interest.
"It's about Bill's wedding-you know, the party?"
"Yeah." Hermione rose to her feet and took a few steps back.
"Well"-Harry glanced up involuntarily, noticing Hermione's slight progress- "Ron was saying how your mum was probably going to throw the reception, and I was thinking.well, wondering, actually.. There's probably going to be a big party, and-and dancing, right?"
Ginny could not speak. Her hands were folded together, the knuckles white with tension.
"I know this is probably a bit early to ask you, and I know you probably- have someone else you want to go with."
Hermione opened the portrait hole door.
".but if people go as couples, and you have no one to go with, would you go with me?" He tried to make his green eyes as irresistible as possible and Ginny absolutely melted for him.
"I'd love to!" she whispered hoarsely.
It was the last thing Hermione heard distinctively before the portrait swung shut, but she could still make out their voices from within the room, Ginny's singsong tones and Harry's deeper ones. Her footsteps were deliberately short and silent as she made her way down the halls and skirted the Great Hall for the dungeons. She peeked inside for only a moment; Snape was not to be found. His office, she thought frantically, and increased her pace.
She had turned a corner when hands landed on her shoulders and she was forced roughly against the wall. She tried to scream, but his hand covered her mouth. "Quiet," he hissed, and she relinquished her resistance. His grip on her face lessened, and his hand fell away all together; but the other remained on her shoulder, holding her firmly against the wall.
"You and I have to speak," he whispered, his face inches from hers, "and you know it." He removed his hand from her shoulder and she relaxed slightly.
"About what?" she feigned innocently. He fought the sneer that threatened to cross his face and growled.
"I am not letting you go until you talk to me, Hermione." She shivered slightly at hearing him use her name for the first time. "Speak."
There was only one thing she wanted to say, and while she ached to say it, she dreaded his inevitable reaction. "You may regret what happened," she told him solemnly, "but I don't."
He stared at her for a moment, and then pulled away, beginning to pace. His eyes were closed as though he refused to see the truth though it presented itself in front of him; Hermione maintained her place against the cold stone wall and wished he had stayed near her; she was growing cold with the absence of their combined body heat.
"You have no idea," he murmured, "what kind of trouble you have the potential to cause me."
"What makes you think your situation is any worse than mine?" she demanded. "I stand as much chance as you to be released from the school, sent away. I have a mere half a year to finish school before I must begin searching for a job. How would a record of seducing teachers look on a job application?"
"You should have thought of that before you kissed me."
"You shouldn't have kissed me back." Glare met glare and both knew there was nothing more to say; neither regretted it, and neither would have taken it back.
Snape seemed determined not to come within several feet of her, and she waited patiently for his self-control to diminish sufficiently. She was not going to be the one to initiate their second contact; if he was going to be involved, he was going to do his fair share. There was no reason for her to lose her chance at graduating if he did not also lose his position within the school.
"Do you mean to tell me," he asked, his voice deep and echoing between the stone walls, "that you are willing to sacrifice your chance at graduating to be with me?" There was an incredulity to his voice that shocked her; it was as though he thought her insane for liking him.
"If you are willing to risk your job."
"I have done nothing right in my life, nothing noble." His face betrayed a self-hatred that elicited both surprise and pity from her; she was confused by her own emotional response to his demons. "And yet Dumbledore has given me everything. How would he feel-how would I feel-if I betrayed him yet another time?"
"Horrible." She saw no point in denying it.
"You say it so lightly." He leaned against the wall opposite her and studied what promised to be his downfall; Hermione Granger. Who would have thought? When she had arrived at Hogwarts six or so years ago, he had never imagined himself facing her in the hallway and discussing the possibility of a secret relationship. What had he become?
"I don't know how much longer I can live with myself." He was staring down the hallway in the direction from which she had come, looking for something in the distance she was blind to. His eyes were still hard, impenetrable; she wondered if he was even able, after all these years, to put forth any other face to the world.
"That's what I'm here for," she replied gently. His eyes moved, riveted on hers, and they stared at each other for a full minute.
"I am incapable of human feeling."
"Who says I'm any better?"
"I have no means of showing emotion."
"Then write it."
"I'm utterly unromantic."
"I'm in no position to judge." He smiled wryly and she felt herself warm; he could have a handsome smile if he would only let himself.
"Very well," he whispered, beginning to roll up the sleeves of his robe on his left arm. "I have one further argument." She knew what was coming, but did not betray it. He pulled the sleeve up and lifted his hand, palm facing forward, so that she was faced with the grisly mark that scarred his forearm: the Dark Mark, Lord Voldemort's insignia, in all its dark glory, had been burned into his flesh. She was filled with a mixture of wonder and pity; wonder at his past life and pity for the pain she knew it must still cause him. But no disgust, no repulsion.
"It's been said," she retorted, "that tattoos can be very sexy." He only stared back, and she wondered briefly if that was not the best thing for her to say; hearing such words from her own lips sounded strange and alien to her.
"You are delusional if you can somehow convince yourself that this has the potential to work out." His voice was harsh and unforgiving, as though he were warning her; should the relationship have catastrophic consequences, the finger of accusation would point directly at her.
"My delusions are few and small compared to yours," she countered, "and generally more grounded in reality." The slightest hint of a smile danced on his lips and she knew that he agreed.
* * *
Ginny's gaze drove daggers into Hermione when she returned to the common room, but Hermione hardly noticed; she wandered up to her room as though in a daze and lay down on her bed, pretending to sleep in order to gain privacy. She wanted nothing more than to relive the time in the hallway in her mind and dream about how much better things could yet become.
They had broken down and admitted, though not verbally, that they could not deny any longer what had passed between them, and how it made them feel. That is, Hermione had admitted it; Snape had been silent, but when she looked up for his confession, he had nodded in agreement. It was enough for her, and so a relationship had been forged. And he had kissed her again, not long, but with passion. Their lack of time did not bother her; quantity did not necessarily take precedence over quality.
When she wandered back downstairs for dinner, Ginny was waiting for her, along with the boys, at the portrait hole. Harry and Ron greeted her, though warily, and watched for her body language to betray just what she had been doing during her absence; Ginny spoke not a word to her. Dinner was uncomfortable, for Snape avoided talking to her and Ginny looked as though she longed to murder someone-anyone-nearby.
Dumbledore once again inquired after Hermione's state of health, remarking that she still looked slightly pale.
"Oh, Hermione had a stressful afternoon," Ginny spoke up, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She may be a bit tired."
Snape just managed to stop himself from dropping his fork as he looked up in alarm and anger at Hermione. She could not acknowledge him in front of the others, and realized with a sigh that she would have to explain the situation to him later. They had agreed to meet on Gollum's Balcony in the evening; this would take some courage. He was not going to be pleased.
Harry and Ron somehow contained their curiosity and remained silent. They glanced at Hermione, back toward Ginny, and then to Hermione again; they could sense that something was amiss between the two girls. Hermione noticed with dismay that once or twice their glances flicked toward Snape. There was a dangerous chance that they would put the pieces of the puzzle together and determine what was going on. She was not sure how she could possibly handle that.
Dumbledore seemed laid-back, as always, and flashed a disarming smile at Hermione. "Get plenty of sleep," he told her, "and I imagine you should feel better come tomorrow morning. If not, feel free to see Madam Pomfrey; or perhaps Severus would have a potion that might make you feel better." He raised an eyebrow and turned to the Potions master, who nodded stiffly. Dumbledore gave Hermione a confident nod of his head and turned his attentions toward Professor McGonagall.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; Snape did not betray his own relief openly, but she could see his body relax just slightly. He was every bit as intimated by their situation as she, and no doubt he felt the stress even more, being the adult of the situation.
Ginny ate in sullen silence, and even managed to look upset with Harry. Hermione felt a stab of guilt when she realized that she had turned Ginny against Harry; Ginny would have recognized by now that Harry, sincere or not about his offer, had put it forth at the time Hermione had asked him to do so in order to allow her to escape. While she was probably a bundle of nerves inside, knowing that she would be dancing with Harry, her external appearance was one of outrage and festering anger.
When dinner ended, they marched upstairs in a straight line, saying nothing; Ron and Harry were trying to feel, through the tension in the air, what the problem was; Ginny was now officially giving Hermione the cold shoulder and the silent treatment. Hermione wanted to believe that Ginny was merely being immature, but she knew deep down that she deserved every ounce of Ginny's cruel retaliation; she had only been trying to help.
The boys settled down to play a half-hearted game of wizard's chess and
Ginny stalked up to her bedroom without saying goodnight. When Hermione settled down next to the boys to calm herself before her rendezvous with Snape, they dropped their chess figures and gave her their undivided attention, expecting an explanation. She was understandably reluctant to offer one.
"What?" she asked wearily, seeing the hungry looks on their faces.
"What's going on?" Harry queried. "You and Ginny are acting like enemies suddenly, and I want to know why I had to help you escape her."
"She was trying to be my chaperone," Hermione said evasively, wondering how to appease their curiosity without rousing further-possibly hazardous- questions. "She thinks I'm sneaking off to do something against the rules and she was trying to keep me 'under control.' " She giggled for an added measure of reassurance.
"Are you doing something against the rules?" Ron asked slyly, arching an eyebrow. Hermione gave him a 'drop dead' look and shook her head.
"I would never do that." A lie; another stab of guilt pierced her gut.
"I didn't think so," Ron conceded, and he reached forward to make a move on the chessboard. He captured one of Harry's pieces, eliciting a frustrated expletive from Harry, and leaned back again, thoroughly contented. Harry scrutinized the board and frowned, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He never seemed to defeat Ron at chess.
Hermione yawned on the outside and tried to calm her racing mind on the inside. It was nearly time to leave, and the boys were showing no intent to retire to bed for the night. There was no logical reason for her to leave the common room again, and in light of their recent conversation, they would become incredibly skeptical of any but the most conceivable reasons.
"Oh no!" She tried to sound distraught. "I forgot-" She rose from her seat and walked quickly toward the portrait hole, waiting for their oncoming assault.
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, forgetting the game. "Where are you going?"
"I forgot to ask McGonagall something," she said, opening the portrait.
"About what? It's the holidays!"
"I know, but I need plenty of time to prepare for it; it's about my course schedule, and I really need the answer as soon as possible."
They did indeed look skeptical. "What extra work are you trying to take on now?" Ron grumbled, looking as though he thought she was insane. Hermione had to bite back a smile; he worried that she would overtax herself, but he would never admit it.
"Nothing significant, just some extra exams that might help me when it comes time to approach the Ministry about a job."
"You're thinking about that already?" The boys exchanged looks; now she had them wondering about their own lives, and-to her advantage-forgetting that she was leaving.
"Yeah. I should be back in awhile. See you guys tomorrow, if you're in bed when I return." She swung her legs out and they called goodbye, then started wondering aloud to one another about their own futures. She had certainly picked a successful topic; that would keep them occupied for plenty of time.
Wondering if the Invisibility Cloak would have been a logical precaution, Hermione stepped cautiously down the halls. Walking off to meet him felt strange and exciting; she knew there was nothing honest or noble in such an action, but had succeeded in banishing that particular thought from her brain. She preferred to think that, for the first time in her seventeen years, Hermione Granger 'had a life.'
It was Gollum, not Snape, who met Hermione farther down the hallways, slithering along slowly to allow her to keep up with the surprisingly rapid movement of which the serpent was capable. Hermione giggled softly; there was something absurd about the fact that a snake, a creature with which she was incapable of initiating any communication, was guiding her. Gollum seemed to sense her fear, however, and for the most part, stayed in the shadows as they made their way along.
She perceived no sounds; the absence of noise was an entirely new sensation for Hermione. She wondered where Snape was, and whether or not it was this quiet there; she had never truly considered just what a relationship would mean. Could they possibly sit in silence with each other, and be comfortable? Somehow, her anxious mind imagined a different scenario, one of awkward silence and heated thoughts.
The balcony came into view eventually; Gollum abandoned the corridor and slipped into the soft darkness, through which Hermione could not see. He was in there, somewhere, and he could greet her with either a kiss or a knife in the chest; she would never know, with him.
He was there, weapons-free, leaning against the edge of the railing and staring off into the night sky. At first, he failed to notice her approach; she stood beyond him for a moment, observing in a new light. Her abrupt change in feelings for and about him brought to the surface new thoughts and realizations. He had lived a difficult life, she knew now, one filled with constant disappointments and reasons aplenty of abhor himself and the man he had become.
It was almost unbelievable that he should detest himself; she saw, true, that he had as many faults as any other. Becoming a Death Eater certainly did not grace one's personal record with worthwhile accomplishments, and his entire attitude toward society was one lacking in skill and appreciation for others. Nevertheless, she could see a passion and a ferocious intelligence that begged-demanded-to be seen, heard and acknowledged. Why he could not do so himself, she would never know.
"Hello." He jumped visibly in the moonlight and turned; he did not smile upon seeing her, but as usual, his emotions were just slightly more recognizable through his eyes. She found her own drawn to his, and had trouble moving them away when his stare became uncomfortable.
"You made it," he remarked simply. "I was beginning to wonder."
"But not to worry?" she surmised.
"Of course not. You are perfectly capable of caring for yourself, I am sure." She had to grin; no one but he could make such a comment sound sincere; her parents tried with all their hearts to assure her of their faith in her, but to no avail. She could read between the lines.
"I'm sorry about what happened during dinner today." She joined him in leaning against the railing and searched his face for some sign of comprehension.
"I assume you are referring to the incident with Ginny Weasley?" She nodded. "I admit I expected you familiarized her with your feelings long ago; I expected such a reaction." Now he did smile, but grimly. "It is not uncommon, you understand."
"No." He looked up. "I don't. What I do understand, however, is that you have major self-esteem issues."
"I beg your pardon?" He looked amused, and was leaning sideways against the railing now, one arm outstretched, his fingers drumming in silent rhythm. The emotional part of her was preoccupied by the fact that he was so close to her; if she had dared, she could have reached out and touched him. She tried to think of the darkness as a shield and regain her composure.
"I can't understand why you think so poorly of yourself. You have no reason to, so why do you do it?"
"Fishing for compliments," he quipped sarcastically, though he did not expect her to find him at all funny. "I did not invite you here for psychoanalysis, Miss Granger."
She missed the sound of "Hermione" in his deep, riveting tones; he was pulling away from her slightly.
"Then why did you invite me?"
"I don't know." The reply was quick and sincere, and one with which she could identify. She wasn't even sure why she had come, or how she had managed to toss aside seventeen years' worth of morals to meet with a teacher in the dead of night with such intents. But all was forgotten when he leaned forward to kiss her, and the wonderings were suspended for a while.