Author's Note: Decided it might be a wise idea to repeat my various
disclaimers, since everyone else appears to do so at the beginning of their
stories. So, the usual-I do not own them, I do not claim to own them, and I
intend to infringement whatsoever. I merely borrow; hardly a crime, if you
consider the pointless situations in which I place them. Needless to say,
Harry Potter and related characters, themes, yada yada yada, are not mine.
Don't blame me for anything.
Also: thank you for the many wonderful reviews! Everyone has been incredibly kind and demure (which I appreciate, but I still want constructive criticism), especially considering that I am basically trying to discredit a following here. But just for the record, it's entirely possible that these two would make it together post-graduation. Just because I don't see it happening, doesn't mean it couldn't. Believe me.
Inescapable
Chapter Eleven
Parvati waltzed into the dormitory room not twenty minutes later, looking self-satisfied and openly smug. Hermione gave her a narrow-eyed look, wondering what was making the girl seem so supremely pleased with herself.
"What?" she demanded, when it became apparent that Parvati was unable to put an end to her smiling. Hermione surreptitiously wiped the last traces of tears from her lashes and forced her voice to remain on a calm and even note. Parvati hardly noticed; she launched immediately into a lengthy explanation.
"I talked to Dean today," she explained, hardly able to contain her elation. "We talked for over an hour, actually, and he explained to me all about why he broke up with me. He came to me, believe it or not, and said he wanted to talk to me, and so of course I said yes."
Hermione groaned inwardly; somehow, this didn't sound like the kind of conversation in which she would find anything of importance or interest. "And?" she forced herself to prompt when Parvati ceased talking and looked expectantly at her.
"He asked me out again!"
"NO!" Hermione knew she sounded sarcastic and mocking, but Parvati, as usual, was blindly oblivious.
"Yes, he did! He said he missed me, and he wondered if it wasn't a horrible mistake on his part not to show more tolerance and never let me go in the first place."
"And what was your response?" Hermione used her right hand, farthest from Parvati's sight, to inconspicuously shove Severus' letter beneath the mound of pillows on her bed. Her opinion of Parvati's ability to keep secrets was not altogether that low; the letter simply contained such shameful and tender subject matter that she fully intended to make it her mission to keep it hidden from any prying eyes. There would be no crime in never mentioning it to anyone; it would be their little secret, perhaps the very last thing they would share.
Tears formed again, but thankfully, Parvati didn't notice.
"I told him no!" Parvati exclaimed gleefully. "It's not that I'm playing hard to get, or anything, I just think it would look awfully desperate of me to accept his offer two seconds after he said it. He needs more time to think it over, and as long as I look like I have a life and I don't need him, he'll want me to accept even more. Don't you think?"
"Sure," Hermione lied. After six years of watching her peers mature before her very eyes, and viewing the many tangles and broken hearts that love seemed able to cause at its very whim, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe putting on false airs created the entire problem.
"I thought so, too," Parvati agreed. "Obviously. But Lavender doesn't agree with me, she thinks that Dean isn't that desperate and he'll just go to someone else."
"Like her?" Hermione hadn't meant to say it aloud, but recognition flashed in Parvati's eyes, and her mouth opened wide.
"Oh, my God! Remember? In Potions? She said she liked him!" Parvati's gaze suddenly went to her hands, folded gently in her lap, and Hermione could see the whirring thought process that began in her brain. Her day then reached an all-time low: in addition to receiving the most hurtful information of her entire life, she had managed to single-handedly wreck one of the best and most resilient friendships Hogwarts School had ever seen.
"Do you think that's her plan?" Parvati whispered urgently, pivoting on her hands to face Hermione, folding her knees up to her chest. She was curled up like a little child, wide-eyed and fearful, asking for assurance and soft words from a doting mother. Hermione wasn't sure how to respond; she would never have expected that Lavender would use her position as Parvati's primary confidante against her friend, but then again, she was not privy to the true degree of Lavender's feelings for Dean Thomas.
"I don't know." Hermione feared sounding TOO casual, but she also didn't want to alarm Parvati further. "It's possible, I suppose, but I personally don't think she would abuse her power of you in that way. She's you best friend, isn't she?"
Parvati nodded, staring off into space. "Since we were three years old. We grew up together, you know, and we even got our Hogwarts letters on the very same day. Our parents were so proud! They were glad we'd have someone else we knew at Hogwarts, since wizard and witch training isn't exactly easy."
"I'll agree to that," Hermione murmured. "But obviously, as far back as your relationship goes, it would be difficult for her to hurt you that way. Hypothetically speaking, if that is the scenario, I should think she'd realize you would figure it out eventually."
Parvati nodded. "I'm not stupid; she knows that."
"Maybe you should talk to her," Hermione suggested, shifting her own position so she could better face Parvati. Never had she felt so much a teenage girl, giving boyfriend and best friend advice to someone else. She wasn't entirely sure she enjoyed the sensation; it felt unrealistic and vacant, as though it wasn't meant to be part of her.
Parvati sighed resignedly, and nodded slowly, hopping off her bed and heading toward the door. "I'll go talk to her. If I'm direct enough, she'll have to confess; she never was a good liar." A slight giggle escaped her, and Hermione was relieved to catch a glimpse of her better nature. "Maybe it would be best for both of us if we just avoided Dean until we graduate, you know? It's not that far away.. We could survive." And with that she was gone, shutting the door slowly behind her.
Hermione's brain was awhirl with renegade thoughts. Why had Parvati even come to her for advice? Did she know she was there, or was another occupant in the dormitory room completely unexpected? When thoughts of graduation reached her mind, they both excited and depressed her. She would finally be leaving Hogwarts, striking out on her own and forging her independence in a truly adult world... And she would be escaping with intentional cowardice the messiest relationship of her life.
No doubt Severus would be glad to be rid of her, and all the incriminating evidence that she carried, as well. He had no reason to value her presence in the castle anymore, as he had made his true intentions known, and she was now reduced to her previous status: the class know-it-all, a brainy nuisance whom he simply could not stand. Nothing infuriated her more than the thought that her intelligence and her worth were diminished in his eyes; but he had every right to think less highly of them, given her behavior during the past months.
Yet it still nagged at her that he had even allowed her to go through with her supposed seduction in the first place. If he really thought so badly of her as a person and even as a girl (or woman), why had he responded at all? It would have been more in character, given his recently revealed true opinion of her, to turn her away-even ensure that she was reported to the Headmaster, and reprimanded accordingly. Someone who felt that way about her could not possibly be expected to go along with the ruse, even for personal gain. How could she really have disgusted him that much, if he'd allowed her to get away with what she had?
He's frightened, she mused, relieved that the flood of tears had finally abated, and replaced itself with rational, unemotional thought, the kind of contemplation she was familiar and comfortable with. Maybe he just can't stand to be in this situation because he knows it's wrong.
In barely a month, however, it would no longer be wrong; they had only six weeks until graduation. The winter had flown by, with Saint Valentine's Day and Saint Patrick's Day passing at amazing speed. Once she stepped across that platform and accepted her Hogwarts diploma, she would be officially lifted of the title of student; then, their relationship, while socially questionable, would be legally and morally appropriate.
After all, she had passed the legal age of consent; her sixteenth birthday was long past, her eighteenth now approaching. She would be eighteen; he, thirty-eight. The exact twenty-year difference between their respective ages often made her wonder, rather amusedly, what her parents would think if she admitted to them her dirty little secret. They could never prevent her from seeing him; not now that she was older, and especially not once graduation was completed. But they could certainly make their dislike known, and there was no doubt in her mind that 'dislike' would not be nearly strong enough a word to describe their feelings about the relationship.
She sighed, burying her head under a pillow and trying to remove the self- deprecating thoughts from her head. She felt like a character from one of her occasional fiction novels-something in a historical romance, or perhaps a tantalizing murder mystery. It was a convoluted situation at the best, and one which, she began to think, might possibly offer only one way out.
* * *
Harry thoroughly enjoyed Quidditch practice that evening, and returned feeling alert and exhilarated. His mind had long since abandoned its wonderings about Ron's actions in the library, and he gave no thought to what he might potentially have meant when he made his vehement comment about proving to Hermione that she and Snape were not meant to be.
The other members of the team bade him a cheerful goodnight and he branched off to head toward the Gryffindor common room. He did not expect to see Hermione there, and she had taken to completing her homework in the quiet sanctity of the library as of late, but as he grew closer, he fully expected to see Ron there; Ron usually waited politely for Harry to return so they could partake of the homework agony together.
Climbing through the portrait hole, he ambled up the stairs and tossed his Firebolt onto his bed, shed the outer layers of Quidditch robes and returned to the common room in his normal casual clothes. Flopping into a chair, he reached for his Divination book and wondered where Ron was; he was nowhere to be seen.
Hermione ducked under the portrait hole moments later, looking tense and shifty-eyed. Her shoulders were hunched and her head was forward, her hair partially blocking her face, giving her the appearance of one who wishes to make themselves invisible. Frowning slightly, Harry set down his quill and parchment to call after her before she made her way too far up the stairs and walked out of hearing range.
"Hey Hermione!" Seconds passed before he heard her footsteps retreating back the way she had come and her face peered around the edge of the spiraled staircase. He was shocked to see that she WAS tense-very tense; in fact, her skin was red-tinged and blotchy. Had she been crying?
"What's wrong?" he demanded, unable to keep the growing anger from his voice. He had begun to feel more protective about Hermione as the three of them had grown older, and Ron, he knew, felt the same; she rarely wanted their protection, and in fact discouraged it, but it would never have stopped him from exacting his own vengeance on anyone who harmed her.
"Nothing, I'm just a little emotional." She leaned her shoulder against the curved wall around which the staircase wound, yawning and blinking dizzily. "Did you want something?"
"Yeah. Do you know where Ron is? He said he'd help me with Divination; I never understand this damn stuff." He motioned with his open palm to the book and parchment spread before him, littered with fibers from the feather of his quill and errant drops of ink.
"No, I haven't seen him. Sorry." She stared directly at him as though waiting for a protest. "Is that all?"
"Yeah, I was just wondering. Hey-you sure you're all right?" He could see her resist the urge to roll her eyes and take off on one of her long lectures about the injustice of his feeling that he needed to protect her, when she was more than capable of standing up for herself.
"Yes. I told you, I'm fine. Just a bit emotional right now." She could tell he did not totally believe her, and in that moment of increasing desperation, inspiration struck. "You know-my time of the month." She smiled sheepishly when Harry laughed aloud. "I just need to be left alone for awhile."
He grinned. "Okay, no problem. Sorry to bother you." She escaped up the staircase and he heard the soft creaking of the door to her dorm room as she closed it carefully behind her. He wasn't sure he had ever heard Hermione slam a door, and he admired her ability to stabilize her actions even when her moods were emotionally shifting.
Returning to his Divination homework, it was not long before he lost all interest and began to grow frustrated. At nine o'clock, Ron still had not returned, and while Harry was not worried, he was indignant. It was unlike his friend to forget a promise, and he never would have expected that Ron would intentionally refrain from showing up.
Heading back out through the portrait hole, he scoured the halls aimlessly for the sound of Ron's voice. Wandering by chance led him past the Transfiguration room, where he could hear Professor McGonagall talking to a familiar voice.
Ron. The door was ajar, so he pushed it open carefully and stood politely to the side, against the wall. Ron was seated in his usual desk, a stack of parchment in front of him, holding one of the rare red-ink quills owned almost exclusively by Hogwarts professors for correcting papers. Ron made a sloppy checkmark on the parchment in front of him, about halfway down the paper, and scanned the rest of it while he remarked idly to Professor McGonagall about their last assignment. Having finished, he scrawled the final grade at the top of the paper and put it aside, lifting another one from the pile closest to his left arm.
"Ron?" His friend jumped slightly, shedding a few drops of red ink on the new parchment. Professor McGonagall looked up from her position at her own desk, surprised to see Harry standing in her doorway at nine-thirty in the evening.
"Yeah?" Ron raised an eyebrow, trying to sound easygoing and friendly, but Harry sensed somehow that something was amiss.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"Helping correct papers." Ron shrugged. "I had nothing else to do, so I thought I'd stick around. Professor McGonagall"-he nodded at their teacher, who was viewing the scene absently from her desk-"said she needed help in class today, remember? I figured I'd help her out, 'cause I get extra credit."
"What about Divination?" Harry attempted to speak in an undertone, so that Professor McGonagall would not be able to fully distinguish what he was saying. There was no point in embarrassing Ron by making it known in front of a professor that he was gaining extra credit in one class while skipping assignments in another, despite how boring the latter class actually was.
"What about it?" Ron's blue eyes were piercing him, becoming uncomfortable because his gaze refused to waver. "My grade in there's okay. You know that."
"You promised you'd help me." Harry's voice had risen now, and was beginning to betray some of his annoyance. Ron scribbled down a few check marks, wrote the final grade, and set that parchment aside and proceeded to pick up the succeeding one.
"I know, I know. There'll be time. I'm almost done." And so Harry, leaning against the cold wall of the Transfiguration classroom, waited twenty minutes while Ron finished correcting his share of the papers. Professor McGonagall inquired as to whether Harry would like to earn a few extra points for himself by relieving her of some of some of the papers in her portion, but he civilly declined, saying that he was growing tired and hesitated, since he might make careless mistakes.
"Perhaps you should be doing your Divination work earlier, Harry," she said with her characteristic tone-not openly chastising, but suggestive to the point of prodding. "I would hate to think that you might make careless mistakes when you return to your dorm room to complete it."
Harry forced himself to smile. "As long as Ron helps me, I should be okay," he promised, shifting awkwardly in his corner. Ron's borrowed maroon quill was moving with slow and determined ease across the paper. He was taking his sweet time while Harry fought he urge to pace in the back of the classroom.
When Ron finally finished, Harry nearly dragged him from the room. Calling a hasty goodnight to Professor McGonagall, he pulled his friend back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, trying to keep his voice calm.
"What's up with you?" He searched Ron's face for a sign of dishonesty, but found none. "You never do extra credit. Why all of a sudden, on the night you promised me you'd help me with Divination?"
"I thought it might be beneficial to my grade," Ron said simply, not meeting Harry's eyes. "My grade in Transfiguration dropped after that last test on Animagi principles and I'd rather have a good grade in Transfiguration than Divination."
"Yeah, so would I-and I'm going to, if you keep breaking your promises!"
"I didn't 'break' it," Ron snapped. "I just took a little longer to get back, that's all. What're you so uptight about, anyway?" He spat the password to the Fat Lady with uncommon violence, and she looked taken aback as she swung forward to admit them into their common room.
"It's just not like you to avoid me." Harry wondered why he hadn't said it before; but it DID seem as though Ron was avoiding him, with his refusal to meet Harry's eyes and his insistence and working at a painfully slow rate correcting papers that, under normal circumstances and his normal disposition, he would not have wanted to correct.
"Where's your bloody homework?" he asked angrily, flopping down on a cushion next to the fireplace. "Let's get it over with so I can get some sleep. I'm tired."
"You're not the only one." Harry tossed the homework to him, and Ron gave it a quick glance before offering some simple suggestions. His face quickly relaxed from suspicious and cross to helpful and self-confident, for he loved giving Harry directions; helping Harry, he was in his element, holding the spotlight for himself and feeling, for a few stray minutes, that he had talents that exceeded his famous best friend's.
"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. Suddenly, the assignment made a great deal more sense, and the visions of Professor Trelawney's quiet wrath the following day disappeared. There was nothing worse than having that green- gauzed, overgrown insect of a woman lecture you in front of the entire class, especially when you knew you could easily snap her in half an be rid of her nerve-grating voice.
"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked absently, trying to look absorbed in his Quidditch periodical, which featured, that particular month, the Chudley Cannons. Harry saw immediately that Ron's interested was feigned; he was on page sixty-eight, and the day before, had read up to page ninety-four.
"Upstairs. She's tired and wants to be left alone." Harry carefully gauged Ron's reaction. Something like pain flashed across his blue eyes, but was quickly replaced with repressed resentment.
"Okay."
Harry was tempted to query why Ron was concerned, and see how his friend managed a nonchalant response, but thought better of it; arousing Ron's ire would only make it more difficult to eventually pry from his whatever was on his mind. And there was quite clearly something on his mind. In fact, he was beginning to think that there was a secret hanging between the three of them that he, as of yet, did not recognize.
* * *
It was fitting, Hermione thought sadly as she traipsed down the stairs to the dungeons, that the day after she received Severus' letter, the Gryffindors were condemned to a session of double Potions. Perhaps he had planned it that way, knowing she would still be recovering from the intense shock of the letter, and that seeing him would only make it more difficult. Such a situation would appeal to his sadistic sense of humor.
The classroom was oddly quiet, she noticed immediately, but she was not-and quite deliberately not-the first person to arrive. Harry and Ron were waiting for her, looking up from their seats and flashing her friendly smiles of greeting. Harry's was bright, but laced with concern in his green eyes; Ron's was brief, and faded quickly. He had been acting strangely lately, she noticed, ever since she'd asked him whether or not Harry had confessed something to him. No doubt the change in his mood was entirely her fault.
Neville sat waiting for her, and no sooner had she taken her seat then he pulled out their homework, due minutes hence, and asked her about a few questions. She was pleased to once again have the chance to use her brain, stretch and flex it to the point of challenging herself and forgetting about her woes. Neville, being her seat partner, had a different form that her, and the questions were different; some, she had never seen.
"The answer to that one's gingerroot," she said, pointing to number eight, "and that one's an infusion of rosemary and hemlock."
Neville shuddered. "I hate this subject," he muttered fervently, scribbling down his hasty answers while looking up constantly to make sure Professor Snape did not notice his last-minute corrections. "It always makes me think of poisons and horrible criminals."
Hermione bit back a laugh; somehow, Severus only added to that seemingly felonious air.
As the class filed in for their lesson, Hermione began to feel hot and nauseous. She had thought that by simply breathing deeply and forcing herself to remain in control over her emotions, she would make it without problem through the class period. But it became apparent that she simply couldn't; the first time Severus' dark eyes landed on her, she felt an urge to cry so powerful that she had to swallow several times and close her eyes to keep her reactions in check.
Was it just her imagination, or wasn't he purposefully over-focusing on her? He asked her question after question, writing down her answers on his blackboard and then discussing them with the class. When she got her first answer wrong, she knew for sure it wasn't her imagination-he was being especially vindictive.
"Miss Granger, I had thought your mental capacity was restored fully," he remarked with a sneer. "Perhaps I was mistaken. Are you forgetting that in that particular region of Asia, that herb is nonexistent?"
Her vision blurred as she looked down at her paper. No, her brain screamed at her, you read the wrong answer. You read number eleven, we're on number twenty-one, you have to look at the ENTIRE number..
"May I suggest you stay attuned to the class?" He was relentless, would never let her have any peace. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your wandering attention."
She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Yes, the tears were coming now, and she knew in a sudden flash that she was not going to be able to stop them. She was going to burst into tears in full view of the entire Potions class, an unheard-of display of emotion for the stoic and prudish Brain of Gryffindor. It was probably what he had been conniving for all along.
"Hermione?" Neville's worried whisper registered somewhere in the back of her mind, where her brain and her auditory senses were still connected with reality. Her vision had long since gone, and she placed a hand over her eyes, feeling the first sob.
"Hermione!" Neville was shaking her now, trying to draw her hand away from her face. She heard the hasty scrape of chairs and knew that Harry and Ron were making their way toward her, coming to save her from her humiliation.
"Hermione." It was Harry's voice. Through the thick curtain of tears, she could see him kneeling in front of her, his black school robes blocking whatever of her view remained of the classroom. "Hermione, what's wrong?"
Ron was utterly silent, but she could sense him next to her. It was odd for Harry to be the one showing the open concern; usually, he remained on the sidelines and let her fend for herself, while Ron ignored her irate demands for independence and stood up for her in battle.
"I'm taking her to the Headmaster, Professor." Harry said the sentence with such absolutely conviction that Severus offered no protest. She could no longer see him-in fact, she could hardly see anything-but she could hear the soft tap of his shoes as he walked forward, muffled by the worried whispers of the Gryffindors and the snickers of the Slytherins.
Harry drew her to her feet and placed an arm around her shoulders, trying to steady her. She kept her watery gaze locked on the floor, aware of every single step they took in the long journey toward the door of the Potions classroom. From behind her, Severus' voice issued loudly and angrily as he demanded silence of the classroom, and that they return to their studies despite the 'interruption.'
'So I'm an interruption?' she wanted to scream. 'You should have thought of that before!' But the words could not be formed with her lips amidst the pitiful moans and sobs.
Harry spoke nothing as they made their way up the stairs toward the main area of the castle. She wondered idly whether he would take her to Dumbledore or to the infirmary; it was far more likely he would go to Dumbledore, provided they were able to find the elusive wizard. He was often absent from his office, attending to various matters in the castle and surrounding grounds. She wasn't sure she could face Madam Pomfrey's incessant questions right then, so Dumbledore seemed the best option.
Approaching the gargoyle, Harry rattled off any and every name of candy he could think of. When nothing worked, Hermione managed to quell her choking long enough to gasp, "Licorice twist." The gargoyle sprang to the side and Harry looked at her in awe.
"How'd you know that?" She shrugged, not meeting his eyes, and he dropped the matter; he knew better than to pose too many questions at such a time.
Fortunately, Dumbledore was seated at his desk, papers strewn about in front of him, next to him, around him-the entire area was a total mess. Hermione was surprised that she managed to register the room's state of cleanliness in her condition. Never had she felt so completely raw and exposed.
"Dear Merlin." Dumbledore rose from his seat, shedding a flurry of papers from his lap. "Miss Granger! Whatever happened?"
Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry, still unable to speak, and Harry was forced to answer for her. "She just started crying in Potions." His voice had the terse tone of someone who was forcing themselves to refrain from saying what they really wanted to say, and she knew that he was fighting the awful temptation to make a comment about Severus' tyranny. "She answered a question wrong, and Professor Snape said some things to her, and." He gestured helplessly at the girl before him.
Dumbledore walked rapidly around the corner of his majestic desk and took Hermione in his arms, leading her over to a chair, and handed her a handkerchief. "It's all right," he said soothingly, motioning for Harry to have a seat nearby. "Dry your eyes and tell us what happened."
Hermione knew she couldn't tell; she could never tell, and what was the point? It was over now; the entire situation had gone to hell, every last bit of it, and she was left with a highly volatile Severus and pleasant memories that, by all rights, she should have regretted, which only made her feel all the more awful about herself.
"I don't know," she managed to whisper, glad of the material with which to dry her eyes. As her vision returned and her body slowed its grief-induced convulsing, she regained some of her control and her ability to speak. "I just.I've been very emotional lately, and." She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, causing the last of the tears to fall.
"Has this anything to do with graduation?" Dumbledore's voice was inquisitive but not to the point of being prying, and she was grateful, though not sure how to express it.
"Maybe. I'm just.very emotional." She knew no other way to describe her state of mind without raising dangerous questions.
"It was Professor Snape," Harry said emphatically from across the room. "She answered the question wrong and he embarrassed her. He started talking about how her mental capacity was still impaired, and she should try to remember tha-"
"Harry, you may return to your class." Dumbledore's voice was firm and resolute. "When the time comes to delve further into this matter, I will be asking you and your classmates for their version of events. Now is not the time for editorials."
Harry looked furious, and stalked from the room. Hermione reached out a hand briefly, trying to stop him, but he could only slow down just enough to grasp her hand in his and give it a reassuring squeeze. She knew it meant that he would be back to visit her later, and would not leave her alone for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"I think perhaps some rest would be best," Dumbledore said, chuckling good- naturedly at his own unintentional rhyme. His voice was lilting, as usual, and somehow had the comforting effect of music. "I'll escort you to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey will provide you with somewhere to sleep. And some food, I think. It would help calm the dizziness if you had something in your stomach."
The thought of food, drink, and Madam Pomfrey made Hermione's stomach roil, but she remained silent and followed Dumbledore with stumbling feet through the castle corridors. Madam Pomfrey, in a shocking instance of empathy, restrained herself from asking Hermione questions and wordlessly handed her hot tea, some plain toast, and a warm blanket. Hermione drank her tea, munched a few bites of toast, and abandoned the offered bed to curl up in a choice spot in front of the fireplace. The warmth seeped into her with agonizing slowness; she felt as though her body would never escape from the cold prison.
* * *
Severus tossed aside the last parchment and felt the tell-tale signs of a horrible headache entering his head. With a muttered curse, he threw his wand aside as well and headed toward the corner for a bottle of brandy; alcohol might partially numb the pain. He had never been an alcoholic, but often thought longingly of the relief it might bring. Memories of his own father's drinking problem always stopped him, however, and he knew he would never be able to bring himself to totally escape the world with drinking.
Two shots of brandy and the fireplace seemed to help. Gollum offered her companionship, curling up around his shoulders, but he was in no mood for the cool feeling of scales on his skin and removed her instantly. She gave a threatening hiss, but he was unafraid; she would never hurt him. Resituating herself in front of the fireplace, only inches from the flames, she, too, found comfort in the warmth and gentle crackle of the burning logs. It was the closest to silence that he had been fortunate enough to be exposed to in days.
Hermione's sudden emotional distress in Potions class had shocked him. For months now, she had borne his scathing insults with perfectly executed indignation, but nothing even bordering on hurt. He wondered if perhaps his words, coupled with the knowledge of their true association, had finally been too much for her-if she could no longer stand kissing and shrinking from the same man. In that event, it was perfectly understandable; he only wished she would have warned him sooner.
Questions were bound to surface, asked, most likely, by Dumbledore, who favored Hermione above all other students. Even Potter couldn't compare to Hermione's value, and Dumbledore would never allow an injustice to reign unpunished over her life. Hermione was a strong and resilient girl, he knew, more than capable of overcoming a period of depression than anyone he knew; but Dumbledore would never give her the chance. He would take charge, as he always did.
Severus supposed it would be best to admit that maybe he had gotten a bit carried away with chastising Hermione, but to enforce the fact that he had never imagined it would have such an effect on her. Dumbledore was aware of his reputation as an often very malicious teacher, and extremely strict, but knew him overall to be a gifted instructor. A brief lapse into cruelty would not cost him his job, or even a few weeks of pay; only precious minutes of silence spent under lecturing and scrutiny.
Minerva would express, yet again, her concern that he was 'too demanding' of his pupils; and Sprout, damn her, would go on another one of her tirades about how wonderful 'the Granger girl' was, and how he did her such an injustice by refusing to acknowledge her talents of genius caliber that were obvious to everyone but him. He wasn't sure he could withstand another one of her recitations without snapping something he would undoubtedly regret later on.
For the first time in years, he thought longingly of taking a vacation, escaping from the monotony of his life and visiting somewhere distant and quiet, far from the prying eyes of any world, wizarding or Muggle. Would he take Hermione with him? No, no, that would never work-her parents would file a lawsuit, act out of complete irrationality, and maybe even murder him. Most likely, they'd heard an abundance of unflattering tales about him and his classroom persona; he had no intention of meeting them before necessity demanded.
Would he ever? It had never crossed his mind that his relationship with Hermione could possibly become so serious as to lead to the dreaded 'meeting the parents.' The thought almost made him smile.
Almost. Because at that exact moment, a searing pain erupted from his arm, and he looked down to see the Dark Mark begin to glow with its evil summons.
Also: thank you for the many wonderful reviews! Everyone has been incredibly kind and demure (which I appreciate, but I still want constructive criticism), especially considering that I am basically trying to discredit a following here. But just for the record, it's entirely possible that these two would make it together post-graduation. Just because I don't see it happening, doesn't mean it couldn't. Believe me.
Inescapable
Chapter Eleven
Parvati waltzed into the dormitory room not twenty minutes later, looking self-satisfied and openly smug. Hermione gave her a narrow-eyed look, wondering what was making the girl seem so supremely pleased with herself.
"What?" she demanded, when it became apparent that Parvati was unable to put an end to her smiling. Hermione surreptitiously wiped the last traces of tears from her lashes and forced her voice to remain on a calm and even note. Parvati hardly noticed; she launched immediately into a lengthy explanation.
"I talked to Dean today," she explained, hardly able to contain her elation. "We talked for over an hour, actually, and he explained to me all about why he broke up with me. He came to me, believe it or not, and said he wanted to talk to me, and so of course I said yes."
Hermione groaned inwardly; somehow, this didn't sound like the kind of conversation in which she would find anything of importance or interest. "And?" she forced herself to prompt when Parvati ceased talking and looked expectantly at her.
"He asked me out again!"
"NO!" Hermione knew she sounded sarcastic and mocking, but Parvati, as usual, was blindly oblivious.
"Yes, he did! He said he missed me, and he wondered if it wasn't a horrible mistake on his part not to show more tolerance and never let me go in the first place."
"And what was your response?" Hermione used her right hand, farthest from Parvati's sight, to inconspicuously shove Severus' letter beneath the mound of pillows on her bed. Her opinion of Parvati's ability to keep secrets was not altogether that low; the letter simply contained such shameful and tender subject matter that she fully intended to make it her mission to keep it hidden from any prying eyes. There would be no crime in never mentioning it to anyone; it would be their little secret, perhaps the very last thing they would share.
Tears formed again, but thankfully, Parvati didn't notice.
"I told him no!" Parvati exclaimed gleefully. "It's not that I'm playing hard to get, or anything, I just think it would look awfully desperate of me to accept his offer two seconds after he said it. He needs more time to think it over, and as long as I look like I have a life and I don't need him, he'll want me to accept even more. Don't you think?"
"Sure," Hermione lied. After six years of watching her peers mature before her very eyes, and viewing the many tangles and broken hearts that love seemed able to cause at its very whim, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe putting on false airs created the entire problem.
"I thought so, too," Parvati agreed. "Obviously. But Lavender doesn't agree with me, she thinks that Dean isn't that desperate and he'll just go to someone else."
"Like her?" Hermione hadn't meant to say it aloud, but recognition flashed in Parvati's eyes, and her mouth opened wide.
"Oh, my God! Remember? In Potions? She said she liked him!" Parvati's gaze suddenly went to her hands, folded gently in her lap, and Hermione could see the whirring thought process that began in her brain. Her day then reached an all-time low: in addition to receiving the most hurtful information of her entire life, she had managed to single-handedly wreck one of the best and most resilient friendships Hogwarts School had ever seen.
"Do you think that's her plan?" Parvati whispered urgently, pivoting on her hands to face Hermione, folding her knees up to her chest. She was curled up like a little child, wide-eyed and fearful, asking for assurance and soft words from a doting mother. Hermione wasn't sure how to respond; she would never have expected that Lavender would use her position as Parvati's primary confidante against her friend, but then again, she was not privy to the true degree of Lavender's feelings for Dean Thomas.
"I don't know." Hermione feared sounding TOO casual, but she also didn't want to alarm Parvati further. "It's possible, I suppose, but I personally don't think she would abuse her power of you in that way. She's you best friend, isn't she?"
Parvati nodded, staring off into space. "Since we were three years old. We grew up together, you know, and we even got our Hogwarts letters on the very same day. Our parents were so proud! They were glad we'd have someone else we knew at Hogwarts, since wizard and witch training isn't exactly easy."
"I'll agree to that," Hermione murmured. "But obviously, as far back as your relationship goes, it would be difficult for her to hurt you that way. Hypothetically speaking, if that is the scenario, I should think she'd realize you would figure it out eventually."
Parvati nodded. "I'm not stupid; she knows that."
"Maybe you should talk to her," Hermione suggested, shifting her own position so she could better face Parvati. Never had she felt so much a teenage girl, giving boyfriend and best friend advice to someone else. She wasn't entirely sure she enjoyed the sensation; it felt unrealistic and vacant, as though it wasn't meant to be part of her.
Parvati sighed resignedly, and nodded slowly, hopping off her bed and heading toward the door. "I'll go talk to her. If I'm direct enough, she'll have to confess; she never was a good liar." A slight giggle escaped her, and Hermione was relieved to catch a glimpse of her better nature. "Maybe it would be best for both of us if we just avoided Dean until we graduate, you know? It's not that far away.. We could survive." And with that she was gone, shutting the door slowly behind her.
Hermione's brain was awhirl with renegade thoughts. Why had Parvati even come to her for advice? Did she know she was there, or was another occupant in the dormitory room completely unexpected? When thoughts of graduation reached her mind, they both excited and depressed her. She would finally be leaving Hogwarts, striking out on her own and forging her independence in a truly adult world... And she would be escaping with intentional cowardice the messiest relationship of her life.
No doubt Severus would be glad to be rid of her, and all the incriminating evidence that she carried, as well. He had no reason to value her presence in the castle anymore, as he had made his true intentions known, and she was now reduced to her previous status: the class know-it-all, a brainy nuisance whom he simply could not stand. Nothing infuriated her more than the thought that her intelligence and her worth were diminished in his eyes; but he had every right to think less highly of them, given her behavior during the past months.
Yet it still nagged at her that he had even allowed her to go through with her supposed seduction in the first place. If he really thought so badly of her as a person and even as a girl (or woman), why had he responded at all? It would have been more in character, given his recently revealed true opinion of her, to turn her away-even ensure that she was reported to the Headmaster, and reprimanded accordingly. Someone who felt that way about her could not possibly be expected to go along with the ruse, even for personal gain. How could she really have disgusted him that much, if he'd allowed her to get away with what she had?
He's frightened, she mused, relieved that the flood of tears had finally abated, and replaced itself with rational, unemotional thought, the kind of contemplation she was familiar and comfortable with. Maybe he just can't stand to be in this situation because he knows it's wrong.
In barely a month, however, it would no longer be wrong; they had only six weeks until graduation. The winter had flown by, with Saint Valentine's Day and Saint Patrick's Day passing at amazing speed. Once she stepped across that platform and accepted her Hogwarts diploma, she would be officially lifted of the title of student; then, their relationship, while socially questionable, would be legally and morally appropriate.
After all, she had passed the legal age of consent; her sixteenth birthday was long past, her eighteenth now approaching. She would be eighteen; he, thirty-eight. The exact twenty-year difference between their respective ages often made her wonder, rather amusedly, what her parents would think if she admitted to them her dirty little secret. They could never prevent her from seeing him; not now that she was older, and especially not once graduation was completed. But they could certainly make their dislike known, and there was no doubt in her mind that 'dislike' would not be nearly strong enough a word to describe their feelings about the relationship.
She sighed, burying her head under a pillow and trying to remove the self- deprecating thoughts from her head. She felt like a character from one of her occasional fiction novels-something in a historical romance, or perhaps a tantalizing murder mystery. It was a convoluted situation at the best, and one which, she began to think, might possibly offer only one way out.
* * *
Harry thoroughly enjoyed Quidditch practice that evening, and returned feeling alert and exhilarated. His mind had long since abandoned its wonderings about Ron's actions in the library, and he gave no thought to what he might potentially have meant when he made his vehement comment about proving to Hermione that she and Snape were not meant to be.
The other members of the team bade him a cheerful goodnight and he branched off to head toward the Gryffindor common room. He did not expect to see Hermione there, and she had taken to completing her homework in the quiet sanctity of the library as of late, but as he grew closer, he fully expected to see Ron there; Ron usually waited politely for Harry to return so they could partake of the homework agony together.
Climbing through the portrait hole, he ambled up the stairs and tossed his Firebolt onto his bed, shed the outer layers of Quidditch robes and returned to the common room in his normal casual clothes. Flopping into a chair, he reached for his Divination book and wondered where Ron was; he was nowhere to be seen.
Hermione ducked under the portrait hole moments later, looking tense and shifty-eyed. Her shoulders were hunched and her head was forward, her hair partially blocking her face, giving her the appearance of one who wishes to make themselves invisible. Frowning slightly, Harry set down his quill and parchment to call after her before she made her way too far up the stairs and walked out of hearing range.
"Hey Hermione!" Seconds passed before he heard her footsteps retreating back the way she had come and her face peered around the edge of the spiraled staircase. He was shocked to see that she WAS tense-very tense; in fact, her skin was red-tinged and blotchy. Had she been crying?
"What's wrong?" he demanded, unable to keep the growing anger from his voice. He had begun to feel more protective about Hermione as the three of them had grown older, and Ron, he knew, felt the same; she rarely wanted their protection, and in fact discouraged it, but it would never have stopped him from exacting his own vengeance on anyone who harmed her.
"Nothing, I'm just a little emotional." She leaned her shoulder against the curved wall around which the staircase wound, yawning and blinking dizzily. "Did you want something?"
"Yeah. Do you know where Ron is? He said he'd help me with Divination; I never understand this damn stuff." He motioned with his open palm to the book and parchment spread before him, littered with fibers from the feather of his quill and errant drops of ink.
"No, I haven't seen him. Sorry." She stared directly at him as though waiting for a protest. "Is that all?"
"Yeah, I was just wondering. Hey-you sure you're all right?" He could see her resist the urge to roll her eyes and take off on one of her long lectures about the injustice of his feeling that he needed to protect her, when she was more than capable of standing up for herself.
"Yes. I told you, I'm fine. Just a bit emotional right now." She could tell he did not totally believe her, and in that moment of increasing desperation, inspiration struck. "You know-my time of the month." She smiled sheepishly when Harry laughed aloud. "I just need to be left alone for awhile."
He grinned. "Okay, no problem. Sorry to bother you." She escaped up the staircase and he heard the soft creaking of the door to her dorm room as she closed it carefully behind her. He wasn't sure he had ever heard Hermione slam a door, and he admired her ability to stabilize her actions even when her moods were emotionally shifting.
Returning to his Divination homework, it was not long before he lost all interest and began to grow frustrated. At nine o'clock, Ron still had not returned, and while Harry was not worried, he was indignant. It was unlike his friend to forget a promise, and he never would have expected that Ron would intentionally refrain from showing up.
Heading back out through the portrait hole, he scoured the halls aimlessly for the sound of Ron's voice. Wandering by chance led him past the Transfiguration room, where he could hear Professor McGonagall talking to a familiar voice.
Ron. The door was ajar, so he pushed it open carefully and stood politely to the side, against the wall. Ron was seated in his usual desk, a stack of parchment in front of him, holding one of the rare red-ink quills owned almost exclusively by Hogwarts professors for correcting papers. Ron made a sloppy checkmark on the parchment in front of him, about halfway down the paper, and scanned the rest of it while he remarked idly to Professor McGonagall about their last assignment. Having finished, he scrawled the final grade at the top of the paper and put it aside, lifting another one from the pile closest to his left arm.
"Ron?" His friend jumped slightly, shedding a few drops of red ink on the new parchment. Professor McGonagall looked up from her position at her own desk, surprised to see Harry standing in her doorway at nine-thirty in the evening.
"Yeah?" Ron raised an eyebrow, trying to sound easygoing and friendly, but Harry sensed somehow that something was amiss.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"Helping correct papers." Ron shrugged. "I had nothing else to do, so I thought I'd stick around. Professor McGonagall"-he nodded at their teacher, who was viewing the scene absently from her desk-"said she needed help in class today, remember? I figured I'd help her out, 'cause I get extra credit."
"What about Divination?" Harry attempted to speak in an undertone, so that Professor McGonagall would not be able to fully distinguish what he was saying. There was no point in embarrassing Ron by making it known in front of a professor that he was gaining extra credit in one class while skipping assignments in another, despite how boring the latter class actually was.
"What about it?" Ron's blue eyes were piercing him, becoming uncomfortable because his gaze refused to waver. "My grade in there's okay. You know that."
"You promised you'd help me." Harry's voice had risen now, and was beginning to betray some of his annoyance. Ron scribbled down a few check marks, wrote the final grade, and set that parchment aside and proceeded to pick up the succeeding one.
"I know, I know. There'll be time. I'm almost done." And so Harry, leaning against the cold wall of the Transfiguration classroom, waited twenty minutes while Ron finished correcting his share of the papers. Professor McGonagall inquired as to whether Harry would like to earn a few extra points for himself by relieving her of some of some of the papers in her portion, but he civilly declined, saying that he was growing tired and hesitated, since he might make careless mistakes.
"Perhaps you should be doing your Divination work earlier, Harry," she said with her characteristic tone-not openly chastising, but suggestive to the point of prodding. "I would hate to think that you might make careless mistakes when you return to your dorm room to complete it."
Harry forced himself to smile. "As long as Ron helps me, I should be okay," he promised, shifting awkwardly in his corner. Ron's borrowed maroon quill was moving with slow and determined ease across the paper. He was taking his sweet time while Harry fought he urge to pace in the back of the classroom.
When Ron finally finished, Harry nearly dragged him from the room. Calling a hasty goodnight to Professor McGonagall, he pulled his friend back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, trying to keep his voice calm.
"What's up with you?" He searched Ron's face for a sign of dishonesty, but found none. "You never do extra credit. Why all of a sudden, on the night you promised me you'd help me with Divination?"
"I thought it might be beneficial to my grade," Ron said simply, not meeting Harry's eyes. "My grade in Transfiguration dropped after that last test on Animagi principles and I'd rather have a good grade in Transfiguration than Divination."
"Yeah, so would I-and I'm going to, if you keep breaking your promises!"
"I didn't 'break' it," Ron snapped. "I just took a little longer to get back, that's all. What're you so uptight about, anyway?" He spat the password to the Fat Lady with uncommon violence, and she looked taken aback as she swung forward to admit them into their common room.
"It's just not like you to avoid me." Harry wondered why he hadn't said it before; but it DID seem as though Ron was avoiding him, with his refusal to meet Harry's eyes and his insistence and working at a painfully slow rate correcting papers that, under normal circumstances and his normal disposition, he would not have wanted to correct.
"Where's your bloody homework?" he asked angrily, flopping down on a cushion next to the fireplace. "Let's get it over with so I can get some sleep. I'm tired."
"You're not the only one." Harry tossed the homework to him, and Ron gave it a quick glance before offering some simple suggestions. His face quickly relaxed from suspicious and cross to helpful and self-confident, for he loved giving Harry directions; helping Harry, he was in his element, holding the spotlight for himself and feeling, for a few stray minutes, that he had talents that exceeded his famous best friend's.
"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. Suddenly, the assignment made a great deal more sense, and the visions of Professor Trelawney's quiet wrath the following day disappeared. There was nothing worse than having that green- gauzed, overgrown insect of a woman lecture you in front of the entire class, especially when you knew you could easily snap her in half an be rid of her nerve-grating voice.
"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked absently, trying to look absorbed in his Quidditch periodical, which featured, that particular month, the Chudley Cannons. Harry saw immediately that Ron's interested was feigned; he was on page sixty-eight, and the day before, had read up to page ninety-four.
"Upstairs. She's tired and wants to be left alone." Harry carefully gauged Ron's reaction. Something like pain flashed across his blue eyes, but was quickly replaced with repressed resentment.
"Okay."
Harry was tempted to query why Ron was concerned, and see how his friend managed a nonchalant response, but thought better of it; arousing Ron's ire would only make it more difficult to eventually pry from his whatever was on his mind. And there was quite clearly something on his mind. In fact, he was beginning to think that there was a secret hanging between the three of them that he, as of yet, did not recognize.
* * *
It was fitting, Hermione thought sadly as she traipsed down the stairs to the dungeons, that the day after she received Severus' letter, the Gryffindors were condemned to a session of double Potions. Perhaps he had planned it that way, knowing she would still be recovering from the intense shock of the letter, and that seeing him would only make it more difficult. Such a situation would appeal to his sadistic sense of humor.
The classroom was oddly quiet, she noticed immediately, but she was not-and quite deliberately not-the first person to arrive. Harry and Ron were waiting for her, looking up from their seats and flashing her friendly smiles of greeting. Harry's was bright, but laced with concern in his green eyes; Ron's was brief, and faded quickly. He had been acting strangely lately, she noticed, ever since she'd asked him whether or not Harry had confessed something to him. No doubt the change in his mood was entirely her fault.
Neville sat waiting for her, and no sooner had she taken her seat then he pulled out their homework, due minutes hence, and asked her about a few questions. She was pleased to once again have the chance to use her brain, stretch and flex it to the point of challenging herself and forgetting about her woes. Neville, being her seat partner, had a different form that her, and the questions were different; some, she had never seen.
"The answer to that one's gingerroot," she said, pointing to number eight, "and that one's an infusion of rosemary and hemlock."
Neville shuddered. "I hate this subject," he muttered fervently, scribbling down his hasty answers while looking up constantly to make sure Professor Snape did not notice his last-minute corrections. "It always makes me think of poisons and horrible criminals."
Hermione bit back a laugh; somehow, Severus only added to that seemingly felonious air.
As the class filed in for their lesson, Hermione began to feel hot and nauseous. She had thought that by simply breathing deeply and forcing herself to remain in control over her emotions, she would make it without problem through the class period. But it became apparent that she simply couldn't; the first time Severus' dark eyes landed on her, she felt an urge to cry so powerful that she had to swallow several times and close her eyes to keep her reactions in check.
Was it just her imagination, or wasn't he purposefully over-focusing on her? He asked her question after question, writing down her answers on his blackboard and then discussing them with the class. When she got her first answer wrong, she knew for sure it wasn't her imagination-he was being especially vindictive.
"Miss Granger, I had thought your mental capacity was restored fully," he remarked with a sneer. "Perhaps I was mistaken. Are you forgetting that in that particular region of Asia, that herb is nonexistent?"
Her vision blurred as she looked down at her paper. No, her brain screamed at her, you read the wrong answer. You read number eleven, we're on number twenty-one, you have to look at the ENTIRE number..
"May I suggest you stay attuned to the class?" He was relentless, would never let her have any peace. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your wandering attention."
She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Yes, the tears were coming now, and she knew in a sudden flash that she was not going to be able to stop them. She was going to burst into tears in full view of the entire Potions class, an unheard-of display of emotion for the stoic and prudish Brain of Gryffindor. It was probably what he had been conniving for all along.
"Hermione?" Neville's worried whisper registered somewhere in the back of her mind, where her brain and her auditory senses were still connected with reality. Her vision had long since gone, and she placed a hand over her eyes, feeling the first sob.
"Hermione!" Neville was shaking her now, trying to draw her hand away from her face. She heard the hasty scrape of chairs and knew that Harry and Ron were making their way toward her, coming to save her from her humiliation.
"Hermione." It was Harry's voice. Through the thick curtain of tears, she could see him kneeling in front of her, his black school robes blocking whatever of her view remained of the classroom. "Hermione, what's wrong?"
Ron was utterly silent, but she could sense him next to her. It was odd for Harry to be the one showing the open concern; usually, he remained on the sidelines and let her fend for herself, while Ron ignored her irate demands for independence and stood up for her in battle.
"I'm taking her to the Headmaster, Professor." Harry said the sentence with such absolutely conviction that Severus offered no protest. She could no longer see him-in fact, she could hardly see anything-but she could hear the soft tap of his shoes as he walked forward, muffled by the worried whispers of the Gryffindors and the snickers of the Slytherins.
Harry drew her to her feet and placed an arm around her shoulders, trying to steady her. She kept her watery gaze locked on the floor, aware of every single step they took in the long journey toward the door of the Potions classroom. From behind her, Severus' voice issued loudly and angrily as he demanded silence of the classroom, and that they return to their studies despite the 'interruption.'
'So I'm an interruption?' she wanted to scream. 'You should have thought of that before!' But the words could not be formed with her lips amidst the pitiful moans and sobs.
Harry spoke nothing as they made their way up the stairs toward the main area of the castle. She wondered idly whether he would take her to Dumbledore or to the infirmary; it was far more likely he would go to Dumbledore, provided they were able to find the elusive wizard. He was often absent from his office, attending to various matters in the castle and surrounding grounds. She wasn't sure she could face Madam Pomfrey's incessant questions right then, so Dumbledore seemed the best option.
Approaching the gargoyle, Harry rattled off any and every name of candy he could think of. When nothing worked, Hermione managed to quell her choking long enough to gasp, "Licorice twist." The gargoyle sprang to the side and Harry looked at her in awe.
"How'd you know that?" She shrugged, not meeting his eyes, and he dropped the matter; he knew better than to pose too many questions at such a time.
Fortunately, Dumbledore was seated at his desk, papers strewn about in front of him, next to him, around him-the entire area was a total mess. Hermione was surprised that she managed to register the room's state of cleanliness in her condition. Never had she felt so completely raw and exposed.
"Dear Merlin." Dumbledore rose from his seat, shedding a flurry of papers from his lap. "Miss Granger! Whatever happened?"
Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry, still unable to speak, and Harry was forced to answer for her. "She just started crying in Potions." His voice had the terse tone of someone who was forcing themselves to refrain from saying what they really wanted to say, and she knew that he was fighting the awful temptation to make a comment about Severus' tyranny. "She answered a question wrong, and Professor Snape said some things to her, and." He gestured helplessly at the girl before him.
Dumbledore walked rapidly around the corner of his majestic desk and took Hermione in his arms, leading her over to a chair, and handed her a handkerchief. "It's all right," he said soothingly, motioning for Harry to have a seat nearby. "Dry your eyes and tell us what happened."
Hermione knew she couldn't tell; she could never tell, and what was the point? It was over now; the entire situation had gone to hell, every last bit of it, and she was left with a highly volatile Severus and pleasant memories that, by all rights, she should have regretted, which only made her feel all the more awful about herself.
"I don't know," she managed to whisper, glad of the material with which to dry her eyes. As her vision returned and her body slowed its grief-induced convulsing, she regained some of her control and her ability to speak. "I just.I've been very emotional lately, and." She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, causing the last of the tears to fall.
"Has this anything to do with graduation?" Dumbledore's voice was inquisitive but not to the point of being prying, and she was grateful, though not sure how to express it.
"Maybe. I'm just.very emotional." She knew no other way to describe her state of mind without raising dangerous questions.
"It was Professor Snape," Harry said emphatically from across the room. "She answered the question wrong and he embarrassed her. He started talking about how her mental capacity was still impaired, and she should try to remember tha-"
"Harry, you may return to your class." Dumbledore's voice was firm and resolute. "When the time comes to delve further into this matter, I will be asking you and your classmates for their version of events. Now is not the time for editorials."
Harry looked furious, and stalked from the room. Hermione reached out a hand briefly, trying to stop him, but he could only slow down just enough to grasp her hand in his and give it a reassuring squeeze. She knew it meant that he would be back to visit her later, and would not leave her alone for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"I think perhaps some rest would be best," Dumbledore said, chuckling good- naturedly at his own unintentional rhyme. His voice was lilting, as usual, and somehow had the comforting effect of music. "I'll escort you to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey will provide you with somewhere to sleep. And some food, I think. It would help calm the dizziness if you had something in your stomach."
The thought of food, drink, and Madam Pomfrey made Hermione's stomach roil, but she remained silent and followed Dumbledore with stumbling feet through the castle corridors. Madam Pomfrey, in a shocking instance of empathy, restrained herself from asking Hermione questions and wordlessly handed her hot tea, some plain toast, and a warm blanket. Hermione drank her tea, munched a few bites of toast, and abandoned the offered bed to curl up in a choice spot in front of the fireplace. The warmth seeped into her with agonizing slowness; she felt as though her body would never escape from the cold prison.
* * *
Severus tossed aside the last parchment and felt the tell-tale signs of a horrible headache entering his head. With a muttered curse, he threw his wand aside as well and headed toward the corner for a bottle of brandy; alcohol might partially numb the pain. He had never been an alcoholic, but often thought longingly of the relief it might bring. Memories of his own father's drinking problem always stopped him, however, and he knew he would never be able to bring himself to totally escape the world with drinking.
Two shots of brandy and the fireplace seemed to help. Gollum offered her companionship, curling up around his shoulders, but he was in no mood for the cool feeling of scales on his skin and removed her instantly. She gave a threatening hiss, but he was unafraid; she would never hurt him. Resituating herself in front of the fireplace, only inches from the flames, she, too, found comfort in the warmth and gentle crackle of the burning logs. It was the closest to silence that he had been fortunate enough to be exposed to in days.
Hermione's sudden emotional distress in Potions class had shocked him. For months now, she had borne his scathing insults with perfectly executed indignation, but nothing even bordering on hurt. He wondered if perhaps his words, coupled with the knowledge of their true association, had finally been too much for her-if she could no longer stand kissing and shrinking from the same man. In that event, it was perfectly understandable; he only wished she would have warned him sooner.
Questions were bound to surface, asked, most likely, by Dumbledore, who favored Hermione above all other students. Even Potter couldn't compare to Hermione's value, and Dumbledore would never allow an injustice to reign unpunished over her life. Hermione was a strong and resilient girl, he knew, more than capable of overcoming a period of depression than anyone he knew; but Dumbledore would never give her the chance. He would take charge, as he always did.
Severus supposed it would be best to admit that maybe he had gotten a bit carried away with chastising Hermione, but to enforce the fact that he had never imagined it would have such an effect on her. Dumbledore was aware of his reputation as an often very malicious teacher, and extremely strict, but knew him overall to be a gifted instructor. A brief lapse into cruelty would not cost him his job, or even a few weeks of pay; only precious minutes of silence spent under lecturing and scrutiny.
Minerva would express, yet again, her concern that he was 'too demanding' of his pupils; and Sprout, damn her, would go on another one of her tirades about how wonderful 'the Granger girl' was, and how he did her such an injustice by refusing to acknowledge her talents of genius caliber that were obvious to everyone but him. He wasn't sure he could withstand another one of her recitations without snapping something he would undoubtedly regret later on.
For the first time in years, he thought longingly of taking a vacation, escaping from the monotony of his life and visiting somewhere distant and quiet, far from the prying eyes of any world, wizarding or Muggle. Would he take Hermione with him? No, no, that would never work-her parents would file a lawsuit, act out of complete irrationality, and maybe even murder him. Most likely, they'd heard an abundance of unflattering tales about him and his classroom persona; he had no intention of meeting them before necessity demanded.
Would he ever? It had never crossed his mind that his relationship with Hermione could possibly become so serious as to lead to the dreaded 'meeting the parents.' The thought almost made him smile.
Almost. Because at that exact moment, a searing pain erupted from his arm, and he looked down to see the Dark Mark begin to glow with its evil summons.