Chpt7: Evolution.
Hermione ran down the hallway of the portraits, ignoring the quizzical looks that she drew from the many peering faces. Their voices echoed through her brain, laughing, questioning, and prying as to who she might be, what she might be doing.
The bust of the Welsh Duke called out to her, while the Duchess looked on curiously.
"I say, are you quite alright, dear?" She ignored him, running up to the door, and out into the world. Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the hard concrete floor, gasping for air, before throwing up violently. After five minutes of coughing and spluttering desperately, she was able to wipe her mouth, and stumble out into the street, searching for the Honeydukes sweetshop, and the tunnel back into Hogwarts.
~*~*~*~
Harry and Ron didn't comment when they saw the state that she had arrived in, and although they had asked what was wrong, they didn't pry, for which Hermione was grateful. "I just don't feel too well." She had said, "I'm a bit tired, I guess. Don't worry about dinner, you can go without me."
Her friends had glanced at her questioningly.
"I'll be fine, I promise." "If you're sure." Harry had shrugged, whilst Ron said,
"I heard it's going to be spaghetti night today.. mmm . It's your loss, Hermione!" She had smiled unconvincingly and said, "Well, be sure to eat double portions, Ron, to make up for my share."
As they had headed out of the portrait hole, Hermione was sure that she heard one of them saying, "Well, maybe it's that time of the month again."
~*~*~*~
Hermione slowly went up to her private Head Girl bedroom, and closed the door. Finally, she was alone, in the comfort of her own surroundings, and, with the door closed behind her, she slid to the floor, her eyes brimming with tears.
She looked down at her hands, still remembering how the hot skin had felt under her touch. His skin. His touch. His body, his arms reaching out to touch her whilst she continued blindly on.
She wept bitter tears, knowing that it had been as much her fault as his, if not more.
// He doesn't even know who I am! // She shouted mentally to herself.
She had to get him off, had to wipe away his scent, his taste. Running a bath, she was filled with disgust, with bitterness, and self- loathing. She scrubbed, and scrubbed, peeling away layers of her skin, leaving her body raw with pain, and numb from her ordeal. For a moment, as she sat in the now cold bath, she considered the ludicrous idea of simply lying down in the water, letting it seep into her lungs as her indifferent brain slowly drifted away into sleep. Snapping herself out of the trance, Hermione hastily climbed out of the bath, determined not to take any. drastic. actions.
What had she been thinking?! It didn't matter how old she was pretending to be, technically, she was still only seventeen years old. Damn hormones! She buried her head in her pillow, and tried to focus her mind on the gentle rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. Eventually, she turned around, and allowed her mind to wander.
Falling asleep next to Severus. no. Snape, Professor Snape, she corrected, had been one of the most pleasurable things that she had experienced. She closed her eyes. Listening to his breathing as it became more balanced, feeling those strong arms around her as she had dozed had been a comfort, and she hated herself for not being able to deny it. Waking next to him had been. Well, she sat up, that was until she had realised who it was she was waking up next to, and why she was even there. Chocolate. That's what she needed, she needed chocolate. A lot of it. After rummaging through her trunk, she found the rations of the delicious luxury that she had allowed herself for the Winter Term. As soon as she found it, she ripped the wrapper off, indulging in the instant sensation of relief that it caused to flood through her.
As for her diet, she would think about it later. After all, she didn't need to eat during the holidays, and by bingeing on the chocolate, she had pretty much quashed her right to choose on the matter, she realised.
// Carrots and celery sticks it is, then. // She thought dryly, as she crept into her bed. It was warm and familiar, unlike the strange coolness of Snape's sheets. She closed her eyes, and found herself there again, within his reach. The sensations were real, and the shadow memories of every touch echoed in her mind. "Stop it!" she moaned, snapping her eyes open.
Resolutely, she searched through her medicine cupboard, eventually finding the small round bottle that contained the liquid that she desired. A dreamless sleep potion.
Clambering back into her own bed again, she gulped it down in one swift movement, and placed the crystal bottle on her bedside table. Almost instantly, sleep overcame her, and she slumped back into her pillows, free at last, from her own mind. ~*~*~*~
Alone in his bed, Severus Snape heard his chamber doors slam shut. She had left. The little whore thought that she could sleep with him and simply sneak off without a word? He would have to see to that.
He was confident that they would meet again. Every week, Thursday and Saturday, she had been in The Three Broomsticks, and somehow, he didn't think that she would change this routine. Sitting up, he wrapped the silken black sheets closer around him. He combed long fingers through his hair, and closed his eyes as he tried to focus on the white light behind his eyelids.
What the hell had just happened, anyway? // Pull yourself together, Severus! // he thought, feeling a little dizzy. It had been out of character for him to react to that woman in such a way, and even more so for him to allow it to go so far. He sighed. He stepped out of the bed, and headed towards the bathroom. A quick shower, and he emerged, dressed in fresh black robes. He scanned the room, seeing the disorder of the sheets, and with a wave of his wand, restored them to their proper state.
Quickly glancing at his pocket-watch, he swept out of the room.
The Great Hall was bustling with all the usual faces, as they crowded in to eat dinner. He headed towards the staff table, finding himself beside Professor Sprout. A swift nod, and he was relieved to know that the supposed "pleasantries" would be over for tonight.
The children continued to chatter incessantly, and he looked on, watching the hubbub as they continued to file in. The noise was soothing. It distracted his thoughts, as he surveyed the groups of talking students. On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy and his cronies were talking with Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, and although the two girls failed to notice, Draco kept glancing slyly at the two boys on either side of him. The two laughed dumbly, probably unaware of what they were meant to be laughing at.
On the other extreme of the hall, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were whispering to each other.
// What sort of escapade would they be planning this time? What new bout of rule breaking would the school be subjected to at their hands? // He glanced down the table, but there was no sign of the third wheel. The Granger-girl would probably be in the library, suffering from pre-exam nerves - a whole five months early. Granger. On an academic level, he supposed that he held a high esteem for Granger, knowing her capabilities to surpass every other student in the school. Had she been in Slytherin, her abilities in the finer arts could have been more greatly refined and nurtured. Had Harry Potter been in Slytherin, Hogwarts would be a different place, he mused, he might have been a different man.
He stared at the boy, wondering if a single person could so drastically change another's personality. After a moment, Harry glanced towards the High Table, frowning, and reaching towards his scar. He sneered. It wasn't the first time that that had happened, in fact, after Voldemort's initial increase of power, not a single Potions lesson had passed when the boy had not reached up to his scar. The food appeared on the serving dishes before them, and Snape's mouth curled in distaste. Spaghetti.
Every dish was piled high with spaghetti and meatballs, spaghetti with carbonara sauce, with creamy asparagus sauce. Who could possibly like spaghetti this much?! Light twinkling laughter was heard, and he looked across to his left. Dumbledore. He should have known. Serving himself some meatballs, he set himself the task of rearranging his food until it would be considered proper to leave. Until then, he allowed his thoughts to stray. Unsurprisingly, they led straight to her. Heather Gates, she called herself, but who was she? He had awoken long before she had, and had considered the Veritaserum. He had even come halfway to moving the arm that was draped across his chest, before he had decided against it. // Whatever will come from this will come. // he thought gravely. // I am not one to say what the future will hold. // After thirty minutes, he excused himself from the Great Hall, and retreated to his own quarters.
The house-elves had cleaned the room out, wiping away every trace of her presence. Her scent had been magicked away by the domestic elves, leaving Severus' strangely vivid memories somewhat out-of-place.
Undressing, he returned to his bed, choosing to ignore the drifting dreams that plagued him.
Hermione ran down the hallway of the portraits, ignoring the quizzical looks that she drew from the many peering faces. Their voices echoed through her brain, laughing, questioning, and prying as to who she might be, what she might be doing.
The bust of the Welsh Duke called out to her, while the Duchess looked on curiously.
"I say, are you quite alright, dear?" She ignored him, running up to the door, and out into the world. Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the hard concrete floor, gasping for air, before throwing up violently. After five minutes of coughing and spluttering desperately, she was able to wipe her mouth, and stumble out into the street, searching for the Honeydukes sweetshop, and the tunnel back into Hogwarts.
~*~*~*~
Harry and Ron didn't comment when they saw the state that she had arrived in, and although they had asked what was wrong, they didn't pry, for which Hermione was grateful. "I just don't feel too well." She had said, "I'm a bit tired, I guess. Don't worry about dinner, you can go without me."
Her friends had glanced at her questioningly.
"I'll be fine, I promise." "If you're sure." Harry had shrugged, whilst Ron said,
"I heard it's going to be spaghetti night today.. mmm . It's your loss, Hermione!" She had smiled unconvincingly and said, "Well, be sure to eat double portions, Ron, to make up for my share."
As they had headed out of the portrait hole, Hermione was sure that she heard one of them saying, "Well, maybe it's that time of the month again."
~*~*~*~
Hermione slowly went up to her private Head Girl bedroom, and closed the door. Finally, she was alone, in the comfort of her own surroundings, and, with the door closed behind her, she slid to the floor, her eyes brimming with tears.
She looked down at her hands, still remembering how the hot skin had felt under her touch. His skin. His touch. His body, his arms reaching out to touch her whilst she continued blindly on.
She wept bitter tears, knowing that it had been as much her fault as his, if not more.
// He doesn't even know who I am! // She shouted mentally to herself.
She had to get him off, had to wipe away his scent, his taste. Running a bath, she was filled with disgust, with bitterness, and self- loathing. She scrubbed, and scrubbed, peeling away layers of her skin, leaving her body raw with pain, and numb from her ordeal. For a moment, as she sat in the now cold bath, she considered the ludicrous idea of simply lying down in the water, letting it seep into her lungs as her indifferent brain slowly drifted away into sleep. Snapping herself out of the trance, Hermione hastily climbed out of the bath, determined not to take any. drastic. actions.
What had she been thinking?! It didn't matter how old she was pretending to be, technically, she was still only seventeen years old. Damn hormones! She buried her head in her pillow, and tried to focus her mind on the gentle rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. Eventually, she turned around, and allowed her mind to wander.
Falling asleep next to Severus. no. Snape, Professor Snape, she corrected, had been one of the most pleasurable things that she had experienced. She closed her eyes. Listening to his breathing as it became more balanced, feeling those strong arms around her as she had dozed had been a comfort, and she hated herself for not being able to deny it. Waking next to him had been. Well, she sat up, that was until she had realised who it was she was waking up next to, and why she was even there. Chocolate. That's what she needed, she needed chocolate. A lot of it. After rummaging through her trunk, she found the rations of the delicious luxury that she had allowed herself for the Winter Term. As soon as she found it, she ripped the wrapper off, indulging in the instant sensation of relief that it caused to flood through her.
As for her diet, she would think about it later. After all, she didn't need to eat during the holidays, and by bingeing on the chocolate, she had pretty much quashed her right to choose on the matter, she realised.
// Carrots and celery sticks it is, then. // She thought dryly, as she crept into her bed. It was warm and familiar, unlike the strange coolness of Snape's sheets. She closed her eyes, and found herself there again, within his reach. The sensations were real, and the shadow memories of every touch echoed in her mind. "Stop it!" she moaned, snapping her eyes open.
Resolutely, she searched through her medicine cupboard, eventually finding the small round bottle that contained the liquid that she desired. A dreamless sleep potion.
Clambering back into her own bed again, she gulped it down in one swift movement, and placed the crystal bottle on her bedside table. Almost instantly, sleep overcame her, and she slumped back into her pillows, free at last, from her own mind. ~*~*~*~
Alone in his bed, Severus Snape heard his chamber doors slam shut. She had left. The little whore thought that she could sleep with him and simply sneak off without a word? He would have to see to that.
He was confident that they would meet again. Every week, Thursday and Saturday, she had been in The Three Broomsticks, and somehow, he didn't think that she would change this routine. Sitting up, he wrapped the silken black sheets closer around him. He combed long fingers through his hair, and closed his eyes as he tried to focus on the white light behind his eyelids.
What the hell had just happened, anyway? // Pull yourself together, Severus! // he thought, feeling a little dizzy. It had been out of character for him to react to that woman in such a way, and even more so for him to allow it to go so far. He sighed. He stepped out of the bed, and headed towards the bathroom. A quick shower, and he emerged, dressed in fresh black robes. He scanned the room, seeing the disorder of the sheets, and with a wave of his wand, restored them to their proper state.
Quickly glancing at his pocket-watch, he swept out of the room.
The Great Hall was bustling with all the usual faces, as they crowded in to eat dinner. He headed towards the staff table, finding himself beside Professor Sprout. A swift nod, and he was relieved to know that the supposed "pleasantries" would be over for tonight.
The children continued to chatter incessantly, and he looked on, watching the hubbub as they continued to file in. The noise was soothing. It distracted his thoughts, as he surveyed the groups of talking students. On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy and his cronies were talking with Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, and although the two girls failed to notice, Draco kept glancing slyly at the two boys on either side of him. The two laughed dumbly, probably unaware of what they were meant to be laughing at.
On the other extreme of the hall, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were whispering to each other.
// What sort of escapade would they be planning this time? What new bout of rule breaking would the school be subjected to at their hands? // He glanced down the table, but there was no sign of the third wheel. The Granger-girl would probably be in the library, suffering from pre-exam nerves - a whole five months early. Granger. On an academic level, he supposed that he held a high esteem for Granger, knowing her capabilities to surpass every other student in the school. Had she been in Slytherin, her abilities in the finer arts could have been more greatly refined and nurtured. Had Harry Potter been in Slytherin, Hogwarts would be a different place, he mused, he might have been a different man.
He stared at the boy, wondering if a single person could so drastically change another's personality. After a moment, Harry glanced towards the High Table, frowning, and reaching towards his scar. He sneered. It wasn't the first time that that had happened, in fact, after Voldemort's initial increase of power, not a single Potions lesson had passed when the boy had not reached up to his scar. The food appeared on the serving dishes before them, and Snape's mouth curled in distaste. Spaghetti.
Every dish was piled high with spaghetti and meatballs, spaghetti with carbonara sauce, with creamy asparagus sauce. Who could possibly like spaghetti this much?! Light twinkling laughter was heard, and he looked across to his left. Dumbledore. He should have known. Serving himself some meatballs, he set himself the task of rearranging his food until it would be considered proper to leave. Until then, he allowed his thoughts to stray. Unsurprisingly, they led straight to her. Heather Gates, she called herself, but who was she? He had awoken long before she had, and had considered the Veritaserum. He had even come halfway to moving the arm that was draped across his chest, before he had decided against it. // Whatever will come from this will come. // he thought gravely. // I am not one to say what the future will hold. // After thirty minutes, he excused himself from the Great Hall, and retreated to his own quarters.
The house-elves had cleaned the room out, wiping away every trace of her presence. Her scent had been magicked away by the domestic elves, leaving Severus' strangely vivid memories somewhat out-of-place.
Undressing, he returned to his bed, choosing to ignore the drifting dreams that plagued him.