Author's Note: I apologize for making many of you feel as though I am
treating the characters incorrectly, considering their age, maturity level,
etc. I will be the first to admit that I haven't the slightest idea what
Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny will be like in all aspects of their
personality two years hence. But I AM trying my best; please believe me on
that.
Inescapable Chapter Eight
It became obvious to Hermione within the weeks following her conversation with Snape that things had changed drastically. Ginny, for her part, was becoming increasingly civil with her, although a tension remained strung between them that she could neither loosen nor break. Harry and Ron sensed the strain between the two girls, and Hermione willingly gave them credit for being more perceptive than she had originally expected.
She agreed one Saturday to go into Hogsmeade with the boys in the hopes that she could find a way to "clear the air," so to speak. They continued to watch her with suspicious eyes when she left the common room late every night; it was never after the set curfew, so as far as they knew, she was breaking no rules. Still, it was completely uncharacteristic of Hermione to leave her studying and dash off with wild abandon. She was going to have to find an explanation, or find another way to appease their questions.
The road to Hogsmeade was covered in a thin layer of snow; the winter had been mild that year, tapering off now that it was February, and the air was unusually warm. Hermione was feeling slightly overheated in all her extra clothes, brought as a precaution, and slowly began shedding layers. By the time they were a half the way there, her coat, sweater, and cloak were slung over her arm and all three were feeling uncomfortably hot.
Ron yawned sleepily and glanced over at Hermione. Her eyes were taking in the surroundings, and her skin was flushed from the heat. "Want me to carry something?" he offered. He had not dressed as heavily as she, and was carrying only his coat. She nodded gratefully and handed him her cloak, leaving her with only her sweater and coat.
"Thank you." She gave him a small smile, which he returned. Harry coughed slightly and tried to hide his own smile; Ron was not offering simply out of kindness.
Hermione's mind was strangely clear that day. Normally, she would have been preoccupied with thoughts about what Snape was doing right then, and both frightened an excited for the evening to arrive. Today, however, she was content to simply let her thoughts slip away and observe the lovely scenery. She appreciated the quiet, and was almost shocked by the boys' willingness to remain silent. They seemed to sense her gratitude, and did not speak.
"You two are quiet," she remarked airily, flashing them a questioning look.
Ron shrugged. "You looked like you were enjoying the silence."
"I was, but now it's becoming creepy. What's going on?"
Harry gave her an evil grin. "We're plotting our strategy for getting you to tell us what's going on with you."
She feigned innocence and irritation. "What are you talking about? You've demanded numerous times that I admit something to you-and I have nothing to admit!"
"You have to," Ron insisted, removing his coat and Hermione's cloak from his outstretched forearm and tossing them easily over his shoulder. The bulky vestments were hiding Harry's face from Hermione's view; she had to step ahead of them and look behind her to speak.
"Who says I have to?"
"Then what's wrong with you?"
She rolled her eyes and kept walking. It was necessary for her to move much more rapidly than the two boys to keep up with their long strides; their long legs carried them much more easily than her shorter ones.
"Slow down, please?" she requested, skipping forward to catch up with them. They obliged, and slowed their stride just slightly, allowing her to feel more relaxed and less rushed.
"Thank you." Both were grinning now.
"You're too short," Harry teased her. "You should have grown more."
"Yeah," Ron chipped in, "you're always slowing us down, Hermione! What's wrong with you?" He nudged her playfully and she reached up to return the gesture with an affectionate punch on the shoulder. He did not flinch, and she growled; was she ever again going to be able to hurt them?
"Dammit! Hold still!" She tried to punch him again, but Harry caught her by the wrists, and dragged her to the side. She could see Ron having trouble containing his laughter instead of collapsing on the ground.
"Face it, Hermione," Harry said gently, green eyes twinkling with unleashed laughter. "You're just too weak to hurt us anymore."
"Says who?" She stopped to face them squarely, hands on her hips. There had to be a way to hurt them. It was startling, actually, how much she was enjoying herself. Preoccupied with Quidditch or not, these were her best friends, and she felt a love for them deeper than any she had eve felt before. For the first time in nearly months, Hermione felt as though they were just normal friends, teasing each other and having fun. She missed the feeling, she realized with a pang of regret. Had the past few weeks' worth of awkwardness really been entirely her fault?
"We do." Harry's untidy dark hair was falling in front of his eyes, and he had to keep pushing it out of the way with a growl and a grimace. Hermione giggled; it was hard to take seriously anyone who had to fight their most important battle with their unruly mane of hair.
Hermione just grinned, and the smiles vanished from their faces. They watched her, eyes roving distrustfully, wondering what she was going to do and when.
"Oh, come on," she laughed, waving it off as being of no importance. "We're almost there."
The boys smirked and nodded; they had won. They were still several steps ahead of Hermione, and when they turned, she was left with a safe distance of three or so feet. As they walked, she reached down stealthily to grasp in her hands some of the wet, sticky snow from the road. Perfect. She divided the mound of snow into two roughly equal portions and began to shape identical spheres.
Harry and Ron never saw it coming; the snowball hit Ron on the back of the neck, and Harry's right upside the head. They gasped, hissing with the cold, and tried to wipe the offending snow from their skin. The heat from their hands only served to melt the snow further; she could see their sweaters being stained darker as the water ran down their backs.
Hermione wasn't sure she could remain on her feet; she was bent double with laughter, unable to meet their eyes. The looks on their faces at that moment when they had turned had been priceless. She would have given anything for a Polaroid image.
Harry pursed his lips. "You think that's FUNNY, do you?"
She managed to straighten up, placing a hand to her tender midsection; her entire abdomen hurt from the force of the bellowing laughter. "I think that's revenge," she managed to gasp out, and saw their faces light up. She didn't have time to duck before Ron reached down to fashion his own snowball. The impact of the cold snow on her face drove the breath out of her.
* * *
"Oh, man, am I cold!" Harry shivered, pulling his mug of butterbeer closer to him and attempting to warm his hands on the sides. Hermione was viewing him out of wet, stringy hair that she could not seem to remove from her view. Her peripheral vision was encompassed by a rat's nest of damp, tangled hair.
She brushed it out of her face for the umpteenth time and grinned. Harry placed the palm of his hand over the mug, hoping to catch some of the steam coming from the hot liquid. Hermione doubted that anyone had ever walked up to Madam Rosmerta and requested that she heat their butterbeer to boiling temperatures as they had; but it served a purpose. They were finally warming.
She sipped her butterbeer and then turned her attention back to her friends. "Can I ask you two a question?"
They looked up. "Yeah?" Ron asked. Harry had butterbeer in his mouth and could only raise his dark eyebrows until they seemed to disappear into his hair.
She frowned, wondering how to best approach the subject. It could potentially be a tender topic with them; they had never, in her opinion, been known to show much foresight. She would not criticize, but did not want to cause any anger.
"What are you planning to do after we graduate?" she asked finally, stroking a finger idly around the handle of her mug.
Ron glanced at Harry; Harry glanced at Ron. Both looked back at her, and they shrugged in unison.
"Thinking of maybe doing an internship in Egypt with Bill," Ron said finally, a pensive tone entering his voice. "He offered last year, and since I'm not ready to make a permanent decision, I think that might be best."
Harry nodded his agreement before he answered for himself. "I don't have the grades to get into the Ministry of Magic," he told her, not sounding at all disappointed, "but I may quality for a Quidditch scholarship to the Glasgow Institute, get some kind of training."
She nodded; it was an admirable plan. The Glasgow Institute of Secondary Education, a wizarding university, more or less, offered myriad Quidditch scholarships. Harry would definitely qualify for one among them, and she knew that nothing would make him happier than the chance to play Quidditch on a regular, competitive basis for as long as possible.
"Sounds good," she said with a smile.
"And you?" Ron asked finally, eyes boring into hers.
"The Ministry of Magic, I hope," she admitted. "They might send me to Glasgow or something, but if I do well on the N.E.W.T.s, I should qualify immediately."
"Hey, that would be great!" Harry exclaimed. "Wouldn't it?" He turned to Ron. "She'd be there with your dad."
"And Percy," Ron reminded him, causing all three to break into short laughter. Hermione, though she cared not the slightest for Percy, would still be polite toward him. She had always received the impression that Percy felt her to be a know-it-all; most likely, he would perform his own share of avoidance.
"What department?" Harry queried.
Her eyes widened momentarily, and she bit her lip in concentration. She had not yet given that particular aspect of her future any thought; she had always assumed that, upon entering the Ministry of Magic, inspiration would strike and she would find herself inexplicably drawn to a certain area. Now that she considered it, that was naïve and downright foolish-she could not expect the decisions to solve themselves for her.
"Not sure," she admitted. "Maybe International Affairs would be interesting."
"Anything that doesn't involve cooperating with Percy will be interesting," Ron promised with a sly smile.
* * *
Upon returning to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was met immediately by the sounds of a girl's desperate wailing. Wincing, she removed her coat and heavy cloak (which had become necessary once the temperature cooled with the waning day) and tossed them on a nearby chair. She had intended to spend a few hours studying for their upcoming Transfiguration test, but her curiosity overcame her good intentions; she padded softly up the stairs and peeked into her own dormitory room.
It was Parvati; somehow, she had expected that. Lavender was bending over her best friend's prone figure, lying on her bed with her face buried in several pillows, trying to assuage her apparent grief.
Hermione approached with polite trepidation, leaning over just slightly to see what she could of Parvati. Lavender shot her a desperate look, fairly begging for Hermione's intervention; it was clear that she had no further methods of helping Parvati, and none had worked. Parvati's cries were increasing in volume and heart-wrenching sorrow.
"Parvati?" The cries stopped immediately and Hermione was soon confronted with Parvati's tear-streaked face as she looked up from her pillow.
"Oh. It's you." She wiped the back of her hand across both eyes to remove as much dampness as possible, and rested comfortably on her forearms, allowing herself a look at Hermione. "Did you have a good time at Hogsmeade?" Her voice was bitter, but remorseful.
"Yes. What's wrong?" Hermione stopped herself from sitting on the edge of the mattress and placing a comforting hand on Parvati's shoulder; this was Parvati, not Ginny, and Lavender was there to perform whatever bedside manner was necessary.
"Dean broke up with me." A series of sniffles followed, as well as a few sobs. "I don't know what I did wrong!"
"It wasn't you!" Lavender exclaimed vehemently. "You didn't do anything, you know that. It was him."
"No, I DON'T know that," Parvati retorted. "It was probably me."
"Blaming yourself is no way to repair damaged self-esteem," Hermione pointed out with as much compassion as she could muster. She still didn't completely understand the situation, and was hesitant to develop a strong opinion one way or the other without hearing both sides of the story.
"He just came up to me all of a sudden, and.and." She gratefully accepted a tissue from Lavender, and paused to blow her nose and wipe fresh tears from her eyes. "...Then he asked me if we could go somewhere quiet to talk. So I went with him"-she nodded toward the Hogwarts grounds, in the direction of the lake-"and we sat by the lake, and he started talking.
"He was babbling, and I knew it. He just didn't know how to say it without hurting my feelings, but he was trying, I have to admit THAT." She glowered despite her acceptance. "Then he told me, 'I really DO like you, but you're far too possessive and overbearing.' Overbearing!" Another tissue was needed, and a few more seconds' pause. "He never once told me that I was overbearing, or possessive, or anything awful. All I ever heard before was compliments."
"Perhaps he didn't know how to break it to you gently, and it finally caught up with him." Hermione felt awkward with her suggestions, because she was unaccustomed to pampering a heartbroken friend. Ginny loved only Harry, and had her own more knowledgeable friends to turn to for comfort in her times of need. Hermione had never been her shoulder to cry on, and she was finding the position to be far out of her league.
"I suppose." Parvati seemed to have regained control over her renegade emotions, and was now dry-faced and without red eyes. She leaned back against the pillows at the head of her bed and stared thoughtfully out the nearby window. Hermione wondered whether it was her cue to leave.
"I'll go now." She rose and made a motion to go to the door, but Lavender stopped her with her voice.
"Hey Hermione, I forgot to tell you, you're supposed to go see Headmaster Dumbledore."
Hermione's heart fluttered a few times and then seemed to stop. She pivoted slowly on her left foot until she was facing Lavender, and forced herself to look as calm and unflustered as possible.
"Whatever for?"
"I have no idea. He stopped me in the hallway and told me that when you returned, I was supposed to deliver the message. He said for you to come to his office as soon as you had the chance."
Hermione nodded, eyes avoiding Lavender's. "Yes, all right. I'll leave, then. Thank you." Lavender was, mercifully, too preoccupied with Parvati to notice how shaken Hermione truly was.
She took her time getting to the Headmaster's office, her mind overflowing with irrational worries. While she knew the odds were very much against his knowing of her and Snape (dared she now say 'Severus'?), she could not help but fear such a situation. How he could find out, she did not know; but there were times when he seemed to be more All-Knowing that Professor Trelawney with her Inner Eye, and Hermione felt her worries were justified.
The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office met her with a stony, unforgiving stare. She could have sworn it was daring her to enter, and found that anger was beginning to boil deep inside her body.
Without knowledge of the password, she began to rattle off random guesses. "Lemon drop. Chocolate frog. Cockroach cluster. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans." Nothing. The fire inside her stomach rose into her chest. "Fine then! Peppermint Imp! Chocoball! Licorice Twist!"
With a squeal and a sickening scraping, the gargoyle moved ungracefully to the side to admit her entrance. Licorice twist? That was awfully Muggle for Dumbledore's tastes; but she had no time to consider that.
At the top of the staircase, she paused for thirty seconds to gather her composure. She could hear from within the room the rustle of soft wings- Fawkes-and the scrape of a quill against parchment. No audible voices, however, so it was likely that the Headmaster was alone; it was a relief for her. If he had indeed called her to elicit a confession, it would be without the added embarrassment of Snape's presence.
"Headmaster?" She pushed the door ajar, only enough to allow a portion of her face to be visible to the occupant inside. "You wanted to see me?"
"Ah! Yes indeed, Miss Granger-please come in." With a flourish, he finished his writing and placed the quill aside, capped the inkwell, and folded his hands in front of him, watching her intently. Hermione had slipped through the door and shut it carefully. She stood deliberately in front of the door and did not move toward a chair.
"Sit down, Hermione. Make yourself comfortable." His smile was disarming, and his eyes were twinkling; but she could not fully trust him.
Placing herself on the edge of one of the seats, she kept her arms to her sides and ignored the stares coming from the portraits on Dumbledore's walls. Past headmasters and headmistresses, bored out of their wits and trapped within confining frames, enjoyed scrutinizing the occasional visitor. Hermione hated to be the subject of their gossipy discussions; already, inter-portrait whispers had begun.
"Hermione, are you feeling well? You look slightly pale."
"Fine, sir. Just a little.startled."
"By my summons, you mean?" He laughed. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you! Actually, I have quite an interesting prospect for you."
She cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. "Sir?"
"With the end of the school year coming to a close, the Ministry of Magic has begun its annual recruiting." Her excitement began to rise steadily, but she held her tongue and waited for him to complete his explanation. "Naturally, you are yet a bit young to undertake a position of much prestige within the Ministry, but they have requested that I speak to you, especially, about a possible internship this summer."
She gasped, eyes widening, and her face broke into a broad grin. An internship! Not only would an internship deliver invaluable job experience, but also, it would provide her with a moderately profitable summer activity.
Dumbledore was beaming as well, clearly pleased by her thrill. "I'm glad you approve. You would undertake a position similar to that held by Percy Weasley originally-possibly an assistant to another employee, but also completing your own personal tasks. The Ministry has stated irrevocably that, should you wish it, the position is yours. You are their first choice."
"Absolutely!" She realized that she was falling forward off her chair, and had to brace her feet against the floor and push herself back. It took hands placed on the arm rests to keep her sitting upright-she wanted to curl into a joyful little ball.
"Your lodgings, meals, and such will be provided by the Ministry. They understand that, being Muggle born, you are in a unique and difficult position. Their representative has informed me that they are more than willing to bend a few rules to accommodate you." He tapped a finger on the desk, surveying her excited squirming, and could not keep from adding, "I'm overjoyed that you agree, Hermione. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, and almost guarantees you an eventual position within the Ministry."
She bit her lip to prevent giddy laughter and admitted, "That was my goal, actually."
"And a worthwhile one it is for someone of your talents and intellect. I will inform the representative that you have agreed, and I daresay he will want to meet with you sometime in the next few months."
"That would be fine." She longed to escape from his office and run screaming through the halls of the castle, to tell Harry and Ron.
"You can leave now," he told her, noticing her wriggling legs and uneasy movements. "I'm sure you can't wait to tell your friends."
"Thank you!" The words were hardly out of her mouth before she had removed herself from the chair and was across the room, yanking at the door.
"Oh, Hermione-one more thing." She turned, fully expecting another little anecdote involving the Ministry of Magic. "Ginny Weasley admitted a startling thing to me yesterday, when I crossed her in the hallway."
Every ounce of blood in Hermione's face drained away; her pallor remained sickly pale and her eyes look like those of a frightened rabbit. Dumbledore, shocked by her response, was unable to continue for several seconds.
"She told me that she is concerned for you-that she thinks you may be pushing yourself too hard in your classes."
She mouthed wordlessly. WHAT?
"Don't exhaust yourself, Hermione. Your grades are excellent, as always, and you are far too close to graduating to have a nervous breakdown. Take a slight break. You deserve it more than any other student I could name."
The color slowly seeped back into Hermione's face, and she breathed a sigh of intense relief. "Thank you, sir. I will."
"No, you won't," he whispered after she had left. Hermione would never allow herself to slack off, even the slightest bit. He knew that many teachers worried about her-that her rigorous work ethic would one day be the death of her. Severus Snape especially, Dumbledore remembered; and it was odd for him to care about the mental health of any student at all.
* * *
The evening was cool and the wind blustery; Hermione shivered inside her many layers as she sat huddled against the exterior stone wall on Gollum's Balcony.
When Snape arrived, he stood just outside the door and directly next to her, looking down with an expression of utter amusement. She glared up and burrowed her face deeper into her cloak, causing him to laugh.
"You look like a chipmunk scrambling for shelter," he informed her, walking across the balcony and leaning against the barrier on the far side to admire her. She shrugged and pulled the folds of fabric more closely about her body, wishing she had had the foresight to bring along her thick woolen coat.
"And you don't look at all cold," she said with a perplexed tone. He shook his head and said, quite matter-of-factly,
"I am rarely cold."
"How is that possible?" She stood up slowly, stiffly, and stretched the cold-induced kinks from her legs and joints. Snape was thinking to himself, apparently considering his reply.
"I don't know. The cold has never bothered me." His appearance corroborated with his statement completely; he wore only his regular cloak over his robes, and it was unbuttoned and hanging loosely about his shoulders. Hermione envied his immunity.
He silently removed his cloak, crossed the stone floor, and held it out for her. She could tell by his tense fingers and stiff stance that he felt too awkward-maybe even too shy?-to put it on her himself. She smiled gratefully and took the cloak in her own fingers, draping it about herself to make her fourth, maybe even fifth, layer. The cloak was nearly a foot too long and considerably too broad in the shoulders, the sleeves reaching far beyond her hands. She giggled, and noticed that he was smiling as well.
"Perhaps you will grow into it," he remarked, as would a sympathetic mother. She laughed and swirled her arm in circles; the superfluous material beyond her hands flapped in the cold air.
"Did Dumbledore speak with you today?" His eyes were darker, somehow, in the ebony night, and she tried hard to concentrate on forming her words.
"Yes. I've been offered an internship with the Ministry of Magic."
"It's about time." The encouragement that filled his voice was timid but sincere. "I was wondering when they would send a representative. I have connections within the Ministry. They have been intent upon recruiting you for a considerable time now."
"Really?" The thought that another person-maybe even people-had been tracking her academic career for any length of time both fascinated and repelled her. It was creepy, in many ways, but incredibly flattering.
"Absolutely. They would be unable to place a price on the worth of having you as an employee."
Hermione was grateful for their reduced sight in the dimmed light; she was blushing furiously and hated to be caught in such a state. She hoped the embarrassment was not detectable in her voice.
"I had hoped to secure a position there."
He nodded. "A worthwhile goal."
She grinned. "You know, Professor Snape, that's exactly what the Headmaster said."
He became grave suddenly. "You may call me Severus, you know." His gaze penetrated the darkness to try and read the somewhat pained expression that flitted across her face; it was gone instantaneously, but not quickly enough. It was clear to him that something about his words bothered her.
Severus. She tested the name. It had a delicious sound to it-dark, masculine, almost forbidden in nature. Yet thinking it was one thing; calling him by that name was entirely another. He was her teacher, after all, and one was not supposed to be on a first-name basis with one's teacher. Somehow, it seemed more a violation of the rules than their relationship.
"I-I don't know if I can call you that," she conceded with a nervous smile.
"Why not?" He moved a little closer.
"Because it may cause irreparable damage to the level of respect I'm supposed to have for you," she teased, loving his exasperated reaction.
"Oh, hell, don't give me that." He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I can't stand hearing you call me 'Professor' every time; there is something undeniably wrong about it."
"Fine." She submitted. "I'll try it-Severus."
"There." He was right next to her now, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body; it was heaven compared to the frigid shroud of air surrounding her. "That did not seem all that difficult."
"No." His lips were close to hers and she could actually feel the kiss that was to come. There were times when she could lose herself in the kiss, lose her mind and her thoughts in an unconscious effort to abandon every restraint and feel lost and beautifully free. But there were times, like this particular time, when the rapture that flooded her brain was clouded by a sense of shame and dread. She tried to push it from her mind, to concentrate instead on the amazing feeling of his lips against hers; but the thoughts stood firm and refused to budge.
Inescapable Chapter Eight
It became obvious to Hermione within the weeks following her conversation with Snape that things had changed drastically. Ginny, for her part, was becoming increasingly civil with her, although a tension remained strung between them that she could neither loosen nor break. Harry and Ron sensed the strain between the two girls, and Hermione willingly gave them credit for being more perceptive than she had originally expected.
She agreed one Saturday to go into Hogsmeade with the boys in the hopes that she could find a way to "clear the air," so to speak. They continued to watch her with suspicious eyes when she left the common room late every night; it was never after the set curfew, so as far as they knew, she was breaking no rules. Still, it was completely uncharacteristic of Hermione to leave her studying and dash off with wild abandon. She was going to have to find an explanation, or find another way to appease their questions.
The road to Hogsmeade was covered in a thin layer of snow; the winter had been mild that year, tapering off now that it was February, and the air was unusually warm. Hermione was feeling slightly overheated in all her extra clothes, brought as a precaution, and slowly began shedding layers. By the time they were a half the way there, her coat, sweater, and cloak were slung over her arm and all three were feeling uncomfortably hot.
Ron yawned sleepily and glanced over at Hermione. Her eyes were taking in the surroundings, and her skin was flushed from the heat. "Want me to carry something?" he offered. He had not dressed as heavily as she, and was carrying only his coat. She nodded gratefully and handed him her cloak, leaving her with only her sweater and coat.
"Thank you." She gave him a small smile, which he returned. Harry coughed slightly and tried to hide his own smile; Ron was not offering simply out of kindness.
Hermione's mind was strangely clear that day. Normally, she would have been preoccupied with thoughts about what Snape was doing right then, and both frightened an excited for the evening to arrive. Today, however, she was content to simply let her thoughts slip away and observe the lovely scenery. She appreciated the quiet, and was almost shocked by the boys' willingness to remain silent. They seemed to sense her gratitude, and did not speak.
"You two are quiet," she remarked airily, flashing them a questioning look.
Ron shrugged. "You looked like you were enjoying the silence."
"I was, but now it's becoming creepy. What's going on?"
Harry gave her an evil grin. "We're plotting our strategy for getting you to tell us what's going on with you."
She feigned innocence and irritation. "What are you talking about? You've demanded numerous times that I admit something to you-and I have nothing to admit!"
"You have to," Ron insisted, removing his coat and Hermione's cloak from his outstretched forearm and tossing them easily over his shoulder. The bulky vestments were hiding Harry's face from Hermione's view; she had to step ahead of them and look behind her to speak.
"Who says I have to?"
"Then what's wrong with you?"
She rolled her eyes and kept walking. It was necessary for her to move much more rapidly than the two boys to keep up with their long strides; their long legs carried them much more easily than her shorter ones.
"Slow down, please?" she requested, skipping forward to catch up with them. They obliged, and slowed their stride just slightly, allowing her to feel more relaxed and less rushed.
"Thank you." Both were grinning now.
"You're too short," Harry teased her. "You should have grown more."
"Yeah," Ron chipped in, "you're always slowing us down, Hermione! What's wrong with you?" He nudged her playfully and she reached up to return the gesture with an affectionate punch on the shoulder. He did not flinch, and she growled; was she ever again going to be able to hurt them?
"Dammit! Hold still!" She tried to punch him again, but Harry caught her by the wrists, and dragged her to the side. She could see Ron having trouble containing his laughter instead of collapsing on the ground.
"Face it, Hermione," Harry said gently, green eyes twinkling with unleashed laughter. "You're just too weak to hurt us anymore."
"Says who?" She stopped to face them squarely, hands on her hips. There had to be a way to hurt them. It was startling, actually, how much she was enjoying herself. Preoccupied with Quidditch or not, these were her best friends, and she felt a love for them deeper than any she had eve felt before. For the first time in nearly months, Hermione felt as though they were just normal friends, teasing each other and having fun. She missed the feeling, she realized with a pang of regret. Had the past few weeks' worth of awkwardness really been entirely her fault?
"We do." Harry's untidy dark hair was falling in front of his eyes, and he had to keep pushing it out of the way with a growl and a grimace. Hermione giggled; it was hard to take seriously anyone who had to fight their most important battle with their unruly mane of hair.
Hermione just grinned, and the smiles vanished from their faces. They watched her, eyes roving distrustfully, wondering what she was going to do and when.
"Oh, come on," she laughed, waving it off as being of no importance. "We're almost there."
The boys smirked and nodded; they had won. They were still several steps ahead of Hermione, and when they turned, she was left with a safe distance of three or so feet. As they walked, she reached down stealthily to grasp in her hands some of the wet, sticky snow from the road. Perfect. She divided the mound of snow into two roughly equal portions and began to shape identical spheres.
Harry and Ron never saw it coming; the snowball hit Ron on the back of the neck, and Harry's right upside the head. They gasped, hissing with the cold, and tried to wipe the offending snow from their skin. The heat from their hands only served to melt the snow further; she could see their sweaters being stained darker as the water ran down their backs.
Hermione wasn't sure she could remain on her feet; she was bent double with laughter, unable to meet their eyes. The looks on their faces at that moment when they had turned had been priceless. She would have given anything for a Polaroid image.
Harry pursed his lips. "You think that's FUNNY, do you?"
She managed to straighten up, placing a hand to her tender midsection; her entire abdomen hurt from the force of the bellowing laughter. "I think that's revenge," she managed to gasp out, and saw their faces light up. She didn't have time to duck before Ron reached down to fashion his own snowball. The impact of the cold snow on her face drove the breath out of her.
* * *
"Oh, man, am I cold!" Harry shivered, pulling his mug of butterbeer closer to him and attempting to warm his hands on the sides. Hermione was viewing him out of wet, stringy hair that she could not seem to remove from her view. Her peripheral vision was encompassed by a rat's nest of damp, tangled hair.
She brushed it out of her face for the umpteenth time and grinned. Harry placed the palm of his hand over the mug, hoping to catch some of the steam coming from the hot liquid. Hermione doubted that anyone had ever walked up to Madam Rosmerta and requested that she heat their butterbeer to boiling temperatures as they had; but it served a purpose. They were finally warming.
She sipped her butterbeer and then turned her attention back to her friends. "Can I ask you two a question?"
They looked up. "Yeah?" Ron asked. Harry had butterbeer in his mouth and could only raise his dark eyebrows until they seemed to disappear into his hair.
She frowned, wondering how to best approach the subject. It could potentially be a tender topic with them; they had never, in her opinion, been known to show much foresight. She would not criticize, but did not want to cause any anger.
"What are you planning to do after we graduate?" she asked finally, stroking a finger idly around the handle of her mug.
Ron glanced at Harry; Harry glanced at Ron. Both looked back at her, and they shrugged in unison.
"Thinking of maybe doing an internship in Egypt with Bill," Ron said finally, a pensive tone entering his voice. "He offered last year, and since I'm not ready to make a permanent decision, I think that might be best."
Harry nodded his agreement before he answered for himself. "I don't have the grades to get into the Ministry of Magic," he told her, not sounding at all disappointed, "but I may quality for a Quidditch scholarship to the Glasgow Institute, get some kind of training."
She nodded; it was an admirable plan. The Glasgow Institute of Secondary Education, a wizarding university, more or less, offered myriad Quidditch scholarships. Harry would definitely qualify for one among them, and she knew that nothing would make him happier than the chance to play Quidditch on a regular, competitive basis for as long as possible.
"Sounds good," she said with a smile.
"And you?" Ron asked finally, eyes boring into hers.
"The Ministry of Magic, I hope," she admitted. "They might send me to Glasgow or something, but if I do well on the N.E.W.T.s, I should qualify immediately."
"Hey, that would be great!" Harry exclaimed. "Wouldn't it?" He turned to Ron. "She'd be there with your dad."
"And Percy," Ron reminded him, causing all three to break into short laughter. Hermione, though she cared not the slightest for Percy, would still be polite toward him. She had always received the impression that Percy felt her to be a know-it-all; most likely, he would perform his own share of avoidance.
"What department?" Harry queried.
Her eyes widened momentarily, and she bit her lip in concentration. She had not yet given that particular aspect of her future any thought; she had always assumed that, upon entering the Ministry of Magic, inspiration would strike and she would find herself inexplicably drawn to a certain area. Now that she considered it, that was naïve and downright foolish-she could not expect the decisions to solve themselves for her.
"Not sure," she admitted. "Maybe International Affairs would be interesting."
"Anything that doesn't involve cooperating with Percy will be interesting," Ron promised with a sly smile.
* * *
Upon returning to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was met immediately by the sounds of a girl's desperate wailing. Wincing, she removed her coat and heavy cloak (which had become necessary once the temperature cooled with the waning day) and tossed them on a nearby chair. She had intended to spend a few hours studying for their upcoming Transfiguration test, but her curiosity overcame her good intentions; she padded softly up the stairs and peeked into her own dormitory room.
It was Parvati; somehow, she had expected that. Lavender was bending over her best friend's prone figure, lying on her bed with her face buried in several pillows, trying to assuage her apparent grief.
Hermione approached with polite trepidation, leaning over just slightly to see what she could of Parvati. Lavender shot her a desperate look, fairly begging for Hermione's intervention; it was clear that she had no further methods of helping Parvati, and none had worked. Parvati's cries were increasing in volume and heart-wrenching sorrow.
"Parvati?" The cries stopped immediately and Hermione was soon confronted with Parvati's tear-streaked face as she looked up from her pillow.
"Oh. It's you." She wiped the back of her hand across both eyes to remove as much dampness as possible, and rested comfortably on her forearms, allowing herself a look at Hermione. "Did you have a good time at Hogsmeade?" Her voice was bitter, but remorseful.
"Yes. What's wrong?" Hermione stopped herself from sitting on the edge of the mattress and placing a comforting hand on Parvati's shoulder; this was Parvati, not Ginny, and Lavender was there to perform whatever bedside manner was necessary.
"Dean broke up with me." A series of sniffles followed, as well as a few sobs. "I don't know what I did wrong!"
"It wasn't you!" Lavender exclaimed vehemently. "You didn't do anything, you know that. It was him."
"No, I DON'T know that," Parvati retorted. "It was probably me."
"Blaming yourself is no way to repair damaged self-esteem," Hermione pointed out with as much compassion as she could muster. She still didn't completely understand the situation, and was hesitant to develop a strong opinion one way or the other without hearing both sides of the story.
"He just came up to me all of a sudden, and.and." She gratefully accepted a tissue from Lavender, and paused to blow her nose and wipe fresh tears from her eyes. "...Then he asked me if we could go somewhere quiet to talk. So I went with him"-she nodded toward the Hogwarts grounds, in the direction of the lake-"and we sat by the lake, and he started talking.
"He was babbling, and I knew it. He just didn't know how to say it without hurting my feelings, but he was trying, I have to admit THAT." She glowered despite her acceptance. "Then he told me, 'I really DO like you, but you're far too possessive and overbearing.' Overbearing!" Another tissue was needed, and a few more seconds' pause. "He never once told me that I was overbearing, or possessive, or anything awful. All I ever heard before was compliments."
"Perhaps he didn't know how to break it to you gently, and it finally caught up with him." Hermione felt awkward with her suggestions, because she was unaccustomed to pampering a heartbroken friend. Ginny loved only Harry, and had her own more knowledgeable friends to turn to for comfort in her times of need. Hermione had never been her shoulder to cry on, and she was finding the position to be far out of her league.
"I suppose." Parvati seemed to have regained control over her renegade emotions, and was now dry-faced and without red eyes. She leaned back against the pillows at the head of her bed and stared thoughtfully out the nearby window. Hermione wondered whether it was her cue to leave.
"I'll go now." She rose and made a motion to go to the door, but Lavender stopped her with her voice.
"Hey Hermione, I forgot to tell you, you're supposed to go see Headmaster Dumbledore."
Hermione's heart fluttered a few times and then seemed to stop. She pivoted slowly on her left foot until she was facing Lavender, and forced herself to look as calm and unflustered as possible.
"Whatever for?"
"I have no idea. He stopped me in the hallway and told me that when you returned, I was supposed to deliver the message. He said for you to come to his office as soon as you had the chance."
Hermione nodded, eyes avoiding Lavender's. "Yes, all right. I'll leave, then. Thank you." Lavender was, mercifully, too preoccupied with Parvati to notice how shaken Hermione truly was.
She took her time getting to the Headmaster's office, her mind overflowing with irrational worries. While she knew the odds were very much against his knowing of her and Snape (dared she now say 'Severus'?), she could not help but fear such a situation. How he could find out, she did not know; but there were times when he seemed to be more All-Knowing that Professor Trelawney with her Inner Eye, and Hermione felt her worries were justified.
The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office met her with a stony, unforgiving stare. She could have sworn it was daring her to enter, and found that anger was beginning to boil deep inside her body.
Without knowledge of the password, she began to rattle off random guesses. "Lemon drop. Chocolate frog. Cockroach cluster. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans." Nothing. The fire inside her stomach rose into her chest. "Fine then! Peppermint Imp! Chocoball! Licorice Twist!"
With a squeal and a sickening scraping, the gargoyle moved ungracefully to the side to admit her entrance. Licorice twist? That was awfully Muggle for Dumbledore's tastes; but she had no time to consider that.
At the top of the staircase, she paused for thirty seconds to gather her composure. She could hear from within the room the rustle of soft wings- Fawkes-and the scrape of a quill against parchment. No audible voices, however, so it was likely that the Headmaster was alone; it was a relief for her. If he had indeed called her to elicit a confession, it would be without the added embarrassment of Snape's presence.
"Headmaster?" She pushed the door ajar, only enough to allow a portion of her face to be visible to the occupant inside. "You wanted to see me?"
"Ah! Yes indeed, Miss Granger-please come in." With a flourish, he finished his writing and placed the quill aside, capped the inkwell, and folded his hands in front of him, watching her intently. Hermione had slipped through the door and shut it carefully. She stood deliberately in front of the door and did not move toward a chair.
"Sit down, Hermione. Make yourself comfortable." His smile was disarming, and his eyes were twinkling; but she could not fully trust him.
Placing herself on the edge of one of the seats, she kept her arms to her sides and ignored the stares coming from the portraits on Dumbledore's walls. Past headmasters and headmistresses, bored out of their wits and trapped within confining frames, enjoyed scrutinizing the occasional visitor. Hermione hated to be the subject of their gossipy discussions; already, inter-portrait whispers had begun.
"Hermione, are you feeling well? You look slightly pale."
"Fine, sir. Just a little.startled."
"By my summons, you mean?" He laughed. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you! Actually, I have quite an interesting prospect for you."
She cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. "Sir?"
"With the end of the school year coming to a close, the Ministry of Magic has begun its annual recruiting." Her excitement began to rise steadily, but she held her tongue and waited for him to complete his explanation. "Naturally, you are yet a bit young to undertake a position of much prestige within the Ministry, but they have requested that I speak to you, especially, about a possible internship this summer."
She gasped, eyes widening, and her face broke into a broad grin. An internship! Not only would an internship deliver invaluable job experience, but also, it would provide her with a moderately profitable summer activity.
Dumbledore was beaming as well, clearly pleased by her thrill. "I'm glad you approve. You would undertake a position similar to that held by Percy Weasley originally-possibly an assistant to another employee, but also completing your own personal tasks. The Ministry has stated irrevocably that, should you wish it, the position is yours. You are their first choice."
"Absolutely!" She realized that she was falling forward off her chair, and had to brace her feet against the floor and push herself back. It took hands placed on the arm rests to keep her sitting upright-she wanted to curl into a joyful little ball.
"Your lodgings, meals, and such will be provided by the Ministry. They understand that, being Muggle born, you are in a unique and difficult position. Their representative has informed me that they are more than willing to bend a few rules to accommodate you." He tapped a finger on the desk, surveying her excited squirming, and could not keep from adding, "I'm overjoyed that you agree, Hermione. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, and almost guarantees you an eventual position within the Ministry."
She bit her lip to prevent giddy laughter and admitted, "That was my goal, actually."
"And a worthwhile one it is for someone of your talents and intellect. I will inform the representative that you have agreed, and I daresay he will want to meet with you sometime in the next few months."
"That would be fine." She longed to escape from his office and run screaming through the halls of the castle, to tell Harry and Ron.
"You can leave now," he told her, noticing her wriggling legs and uneasy movements. "I'm sure you can't wait to tell your friends."
"Thank you!" The words were hardly out of her mouth before she had removed herself from the chair and was across the room, yanking at the door.
"Oh, Hermione-one more thing." She turned, fully expecting another little anecdote involving the Ministry of Magic. "Ginny Weasley admitted a startling thing to me yesterday, when I crossed her in the hallway."
Every ounce of blood in Hermione's face drained away; her pallor remained sickly pale and her eyes look like those of a frightened rabbit. Dumbledore, shocked by her response, was unable to continue for several seconds.
"She told me that she is concerned for you-that she thinks you may be pushing yourself too hard in your classes."
She mouthed wordlessly. WHAT?
"Don't exhaust yourself, Hermione. Your grades are excellent, as always, and you are far too close to graduating to have a nervous breakdown. Take a slight break. You deserve it more than any other student I could name."
The color slowly seeped back into Hermione's face, and she breathed a sigh of intense relief. "Thank you, sir. I will."
"No, you won't," he whispered after she had left. Hermione would never allow herself to slack off, even the slightest bit. He knew that many teachers worried about her-that her rigorous work ethic would one day be the death of her. Severus Snape especially, Dumbledore remembered; and it was odd for him to care about the mental health of any student at all.
* * *
The evening was cool and the wind blustery; Hermione shivered inside her many layers as she sat huddled against the exterior stone wall on Gollum's Balcony.
When Snape arrived, he stood just outside the door and directly next to her, looking down with an expression of utter amusement. She glared up and burrowed her face deeper into her cloak, causing him to laugh.
"You look like a chipmunk scrambling for shelter," he informed her, walking across the balcony and leaning against the barrier on the far side to admire her. She shrugged and pulled the folds of fabric more closely about her body, wishing she had had the foresight to bring along her thick woolen coat.
"And you don't look at all cold," she said with a perplexed tone. He shook his head and said, quite matter-of-factly,
"I am rarely cold."
"How is that possible?" She stood up slowly, stiffly, and stretched the cold-induced kinks from her legs and joints. Snape was thinking to himself, apparently considering his reply.
"I don't know. The cold has never bothered me." His appearance corroborated with his statement completely; he wore only his regular cloak over his robes, and it was unbuttoned and hanging loosely about his shoulders. Hermione envied his immunity.
He silently removed his cloak, crossed the stone floor, and held it out for her. She could tell by his tense fingers and stiff stance that he felt too awkward-maybe even too shy?-to put it on her himself. She smiled gratefully and took the cloak in her own fingers, draping it about herself to make her fourth, maybe even fifth, layer. The cloak was nearly a foot too long and considerably too broad in the shoulders, the sleeves reaching far beyond her hands. She giggled, and noticed that he was smiling as well.
"Perhaps you will grow into it," he remarked, as would a sympathetic mother. She laughed and swirled her arm in circles; the superfluous material beyond her hands flapped in the cold air.
"Did Dumbledore speak with you today?" His eyes were darker, somehow, in the ebony night, and she tried hard to concentrate on forming her words.
"Yes. I've been offered an internship with the Ministry of Magic."
"It's about time." The encouragement that filled his voice was timid but sincere. "I was wondering when they would send a representative. I have connections within the Ministry. They have been intent upon recruiting you for a considerable time now."
"Really?" The thought that another person-maybe even people-had been tracking her academic career for any length of time both fascinated and repelled her. It was creepy, in many ways, but incredibly flattering.
"Absolutely. They would be unable to place a price on the worth of having you as an employee."
Hermione was grateful for their reduced sight in the dimmed light; she was blushing furiously and hated to be caught in such a state. She hoped the embarrassment was not detectable in her voice.
"I had hoped to secure a position there."
He nodded. "A worthwhile goal."
She grinned. "You know, Professor Snape, that's exactly what the Headmaster said."
He became grave suddenly. "You may call me Severus, you know." His gaze penetrated the darkness to try and read the somewhat pained expression that flitted across her face; it was gone instantaneously, but not quickly enough. It was clear to him that something about his words bothered her.
Severus. She tested the name. It had a delicious sound to it-dark, masculine, almost forbidden in nature. Yet thinking it was one thing; calling him by that name was entirely another. He was her teacher, after all, and one was not supposed to be on a first-name basis with one's teacher. Somehow, it seemed more a violation of the rules than their relationship.
"I-I don't know if I can call you that," she conceded with a nervous smile.
"Why not?" He moved a little closer.
"Because it may cause irreparable damage to the level of respect I'm supposed to have for you," she teased, loving his exasperated reaction.
"Oh, hell, don't give me that." He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I can't stand hearing you call me 'Professor' every time; there is something undeniably wrong about it."
"Fine." She submitted. "I'll try it-Severus."
"There." He was right next to her now, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body; it was heaven compared to the frigid shroud of air surrounding her. "That did not seem all that difficult."
"No." His lips were close to hers and she could actually feel the kiss that was to come. There were times when she could lose herself in the kiss, lose her mind and her thoughts in an unconscious effort to abandon every restraint and feel lost and beautifully free. But there were times, like this particular time, when the rapture that flooded her brain was clouded by a sense of shame and dread. She tried to push it from her mind, to concentrate instead on the amazing feeling of his lips against hers; but the thoughts stood firm and refused to budge.