Chapter 12
By Susanna (pigwidgeon37@yahoo.it)
You might be 130 years old, Madam Vespasiana reflected when she woke up on Sunday morning, and still have a lot of things to learn. Thinking before acting, to name just one of them. She rang for the House Elf to bring her her customary cup of early morning tea and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, thinking harder than she was used to right after opening her eyes.
What were the facts again? Severus Snape—of doubtful allegiance—had waltzed into her boutique the other day with that Granger girl in tow. He was a teacher and she was a student. That was condemnable in itself; nothing justified a teacher taking one of his charges, and one who didn't even belong to his own house, to a place where he had to expect to be left with her, alone and unchaperoned, in a room with a king-sized bed. So far, so good. But why hadn't she gone to Dumbledore? Why, oh why did she have to follow the silliest of impulses and rush to see Isobel Fudge?
The elf popped up with her cup of tea, and thoughtfully Vespasiana took the first sip. Approaching the problem from the logical side, there were two possibilities: Number one—Snape was or had been a Death Eater but was now loyal to Dumbledore. In that case, he might or might not work as a mole within Tom's organisation. But what if he did? What if that girl had been someone he had to protect? What if she was an aspiring Death Eater and he tried to dissuade her? Then the moral issue of a teacher-student relationship wouldn't weigh so heavily against him. But she, Madam Vespasia, might have put him and the girl at an enormous risk by shouting the secret all over England (telling Isobel Fudge was practically an equivalent of putting a headline on the first page of the Daily Prophet).
She had to go and see Dumbledore. Immediately. That was the only sensible answer to her many questions. After all, Snape was a teacher at his school. Either he knew about the story with that Granger girl anyway and approved of it because there was more to it than just an older man lusting after fresh meat, or he was ignorant of the matter, in which case it was his task, and his alone, to take the appropriate measures. Hopefully Isobel hadn't yet spurred on her dummy of a husband to throw a tantrum in the Headmaster's office. On the other hand, Vespasia thought with a sly smile, putting away the empty teacup, it would serve that pinstriped excuse for a politician right. To make a fool of himself in front of Dumbledore might prove a useful means of punctuating his inflated ego.
It was only 7.30 a.m.—time enough for a nice breakfast and a careful choice of robes-cum-accessories. Come to think of it, a chat with Albus was just what she needed.
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Severus Snape looked down at his—student? Lover in spe? Fiancée? She had stopped dead in her tracks when they had reached the clearing and stood there, gazing open-mouthed at the scenery.
"If this is a raptus mysticus I don't want to interrupt it, Hermione. But do you think you could tell me what exactly causes you to look like a strangled goldfish? Don't let such a reaction overpower you when in the presence of the Society Harpies—ingenuity isn't exactly appreciated."
Hermione's mouth closed abruptly. "Sorry," she said with an embarrassed grin, "but have you ever had the sensation of déjà vu?"
"I have it every time Longbottom blows up another cauldron," he replied dryly.
That made her giggle. "That's not what I meant. I know this place but I'm sure I've never been here in my entire life."
"A dream perhaps?" he offered, trying to be helpful.
"No, not a dream… a book, I'd say—"
"A book?" he echoed, in mock-astonishment, "Why, who would believe that, coming from Hermione Granger, The Girl Who Never Reads?—Why are you giving me that funny look?"
Hermione stepped closer to him until their bodies touched. "Do you have the faintest idea what you're doing to me when you're behaving like this?" He stared at her, hypnotized by her intense gaze, and slightly shook his head. "You turn me on, Severus," she whispered, "When you're being nice, and fun, you're turning me into putty. You are like that only for me, aren't you? And it's not a show just to make me feel more at my ease. That's how you really are. It makes me feel very special, and very much a woman, not a little girl."
So low was her voice that he could barely distinguish the words over the silvery splashing of the waterfall. It was one of the very few times in his life that Severus Snape was at a loss for words. Sneaking his arms round her, and revelling in the sensation of her doing likewise, he kissed her, gently and deeply, for a long time. When their lips finally separated, she smiled at him.
"Now I know," she said.
"You know what?"
"I know what this—" she gestured at the clearing "—reminds me of." Closing her eyes, she recited " 'For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the wood is golden, and golden is the roof, and the pillars are of silver, for the bark of the trees is smooth and grey.' He was a wizard, wasn't he?"
"Yes," he confirmed, returning her smile, "Tolkien was a wizard. And he must have been here on a bright September morning when the sky seems to be golden, and grass and leaves have already taken on this particular shade of yellow. What about breakfast?"
She nodded, and from the pockets of his cloak he produced various items he had previously shrunk. Hermione watched him as he restored everything to its original size—foolish wand-waving, indeed, she thought—so that a few minutes later the golden grass was covered by an enormous plaid on which sat plates, cutlery, cups, glasses, an impressive variety of food and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
Severus cast a quick warming charm and shucked off his robes, laughing at Hermiones shocked gasp. "I don't usually wear only my underpants under my robes," he said, sitting down, "That's only for special occasions when I have to undress for my students."
"But I… um, I'm only in my slip and underwear," Hermione said, blushing violently.
"Good news indeed. That will do very nicely. Come on, don't be shy," he encouraged her, getting up again to help her unbutton her robes. "Just pretend we're doing a tableau vivant, representing Monet's Le jeuner sur l'herbe."
"You would have to wear a stupid cap with a tassel, and I'd have to be naked," she replied indignantly.
Without breaking their eye contact, he conjured a fez-like cap with a tassel and put it on his head.
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When Cornelius Fudge entered the office of Headmaster Dumbledore and saw Madam Vespasiana sitting there, comfortably ensconced in a squashy armchair and holding a teacup, it was his turn to do a very convincing impression of a strangled goldfish.