Chpt17: High up in the Corn Field.
Hermione felt strangely alone..
Years ago, when she had been young and had gone to a Muggle school, she had been ignored by the other children, who did not even take enough notice of her to bother to make fun of her. Now, however, as she cocooned herself into the corner of her bed, she did not move.
// Is this love? // She thought, twisting her hair in her hands, // Is being alone part of being in love? To be unable to tell anyone. //
She stared at her hands.
It had been four weeks since that first time. Four weeks of uncertainty, of relearning everything that she had once thought was written in stone, unquestionable.
Four weeks of doubt, with not an ounce of logic to help.
Her father had once told her that a world without logic would be like a world without oxygen, she had been five at the time and had not understood, but now, as an adult, she knew. // Oh Severus, if only you knew. //
She sighed.
// But you must never know. //
Repeating it again and again, like a mantra, she tried to reassure herself;
"He must never know, he must never know, he must never know."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
// Go away, can't you see I'm brooding? //
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"Er. Hermione? Are you in there? It's me, Ginny."
Dragging herself out of bed, Hermione slunk over to the door and opened it.
"Ginny. Hi."
The red-head quickly entered, and settled comfortably herself into one of the soft red armchairs.
"I just don't know what it is I'm meant to do."
Had they already started this conversation, Hermione wondered, smiling as she pulled the plush duvet up to her chin.
"Harry."
"Yes, Harry, who else but Harry?!" Ginny smiled.
"Harry, Harry, Harry. It's like some sort of contagious desease or something, you know? I can't seem to be able to think of anything - anyone - but him."
Hermione laughed. "It's hard, isn't it?"
At this, Ginny looked up. "Who do you want to go with? I mean, it's obvious it's not Ron."
"Really, am I that transparent?" She couldn't help but share a private smile with her younger counterpart.
Ginny stifled a giggle.
"Well. Yes." She blushed at Hermione's look of indignation. "Sorry, but you are! It's funny," she glanced at her hands shyly, "you have too much unwanted attention, and I don't have enough."
"Oh, don't worry Ginny, he will open his eyes one day and realise what and idiot he's been, don't you worry about that. Why, he didn't even notice that I was a girl until our fourth year!"
"Boys."
Hermione grinned, "Who needs them!"
They fell into a comfortable silence, full of things that were understood, even though they had not been said, and after a while, Ginny looked up again.
"Who are you waiting for, then?"
"Me?"
// He must never know, he must never know, he must never know. //
"No one."
"He must be a pretty fantastic no one for you to be so enamoured by him."
"Enamoured?" Hermione laughed. "I'm not enamoured. And what sort of a word is enamoured, anyway?!"
"Oh, you know what I mean, you've had your head in the clouds for weeks now, and during meal times, you keep looking around and blushing!"
"I don't!"
"Yes, you do! You do it when you think that no one is looking. you just don't do it for long enough for me to see who it is!"
"Ooh, thank God!"
Ginny flashed the trademark Weasley grin, and her eyes flashed mischievously.
"Thank God, what?"
"Nothing."
That grin again. "Do you want to think about that first?"
Hermione sniffed indignantly and said nothing.
"I'm going to find out what you're up to, Hermione Granger, so you had better watch out, because you got a Weasley on your tail!"
~*~*~*~ "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
At once the familiar lines of the map began to tendril their way across the page, two distinct dots forming just around the corner from where she stood.
'Severus Snape' and 'Minerva McGonagall'.
// Brilliant. How simply bloody fantastic.// Hermione had been making her way towards the secret passage that lead into Hogsmeade, when who should be found arguing right next to the statue of the one-eyed witch but the two people that she least wanted to see.
"I tell you, Minerva, the boy has overstepped the mark!" she could clearly hear Snape's irritable voice become increasingly louder.
"And what makes you so sure that it is him? I assure you, Severus, that I will take no step against him until you are able to prove to me that Harry Potter has indeed committed any such crime."
"Proof?!" he thundered in return,
("Don't you take that tone with me!")
"What more proof do you need than Potter's constant trouble-making since the first day that he set foot in the castle! Rules broken on a daily basis, embarrassing the school at every chance, associating with werewolves and convicted murderers, attacking a teacher,"
("Oh, so that's what this is about!")
"And most of all," he paused dramatically, "Most of all, the fact remains that his plundering of my stores has become a recurring habit!"
There was silence for a moment, before McGonagall's lowered voice was finally heard.
"Are you quite done?" she asked, and there was no audible reply. She continued, "For the past six and a half years I have handled wave upon wave of accusations concerning not only our most admired pupil, but his friends and companions."
Hermione moved closer, eager to hear their words more clearly.
"Now, I have no doubt that your reasons for suspecting Harry Potter must indeed have some sort of grounding, but I cannot - and will not - openly accuse Potter of anything without reasonable evidence. Now, if you will please tell me which ingredients are missing, I will begin my investigation, but until then, I must be on my way."
Hermione heard the slight rustle of clothes, and feet moving down the corridor.
McGonagall stopped.
"Oh, and Severus, I assume that you will be visiting Hogsmeade this afternoon?"
"Yes, Minerva," he replied coolly, "and I will clearly be in need of replacing some of my stocks."
"Very well." The Professor nodded, and departed.
The hallway went deathly quiet, and Hermione stepped forward towards the statue, only to find the very silent figure of her potions master standing there, perfectly still.
"So, Miss Granger," he sneered down at her, "You finally decided to show yourself."
"Sir?"
Obviously, he was still there. This was not good. This was so not good.
"I am not stupid, Miss Granger, so do not presume to speak to me as though I were."
"Professor, I don't know what you're talking about."
Inside, she tried to encourage herself, begging herself not to shy away from the angry tone in his voice. // I've seen you naked, // she thought, //I've taken you to the throes of passion. You don't scare me. //
"What I am talking about, is your eavesdropping on the private discussion of two members of staff."
"But sir," she cut in, "I've only just got here." Lying really wasn't her best talent. Snape's mouth curled into a cruel smile at seeing her discomfort, and she followed the movement with her eyes.
Truly, it could be said that he was magnificent.
"I don't want to hear your feeble lies and excuses, Miss Granger; five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your incapability when it comes to the respect owed to the staff."
She opened her mouth, and closed it again, knowing that anything that she might say would simply infuriate him. Knowing that this time there would be no. 'Kissing it better'.
He smirked again, "I will be keeping a close eye on you, so in your position, I would be careful - very careful - of what I do from now on. Are we clear?"
She nodded. "Yes, Professor, I'm sorry."
"Good." He began to walk away, but stopped mid-step and turned around again.
"Oh, and might I add that if I see you hanging around this statue again, I will personally ensure that whatever you and your friends find of interest in it is discovered and rectified."
With that, he left with a very Slytherinesque sweep of his lustrous cloak.
~*~*~*~
"Hi, Severus.
Hello, Sev!
I've been waiting for you, Professor.
Hello, how have you been?"
// No, no, NO!!! GODS! //
Hermione grabbed her hair and tugged at it fiercely. She had been sitting on the step ladder beneath Honeydukes for at least an hour, trying to figure out what to do, what to say, how to react.
She closed her eyes and imagined Severus taking her hands in his, and looking deeply into the eyes of her seventeen year-old self with ample eyes.
"Hermione."
// Oh Gods, what the have I got myself into?! //
The Ball was one week away, and ever since Dumbledore's announcement, she had been like an emotional bomb just waiting to explode.
"Severus," she breathed, "there is something that you should know - my name isn't Heather. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger.
Look. I know that you're angry. Okay, beyond angry, furious, I understand. I do, of course I do! But look. Listen, Severus, I love you. I do. It's weird, I know, but."
Dear God. Realisation hit her, not only was she talking to herself, but she was talking to herself about telling him.
Repeating her mantra, she inhaled deeply.
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
But maybe just-
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
He might underst-
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
NEVER.
Never EVER or even on the off chance of a maybe.
She drummed it into her head, refusing to think of the many innuendoes that could somehow result in the truth slipping out.
NEVER EVER EVER.
Thinking of the ball, of her self-acknowledged love, of the circumstance in which she had become entangled, of the hopelessness of her situation, she cried, letting the tears roll down her face until there was nothing but blotchy redness and shame at being so alone.
After a while, she stood up and went back to the common room. She could not face him tonight.
~*~*~*~
Seven hours.
For seven hours, he had waited, and she had not come.
At first he had been mildly irritated, but had then realised that no direct arrangement had been made between them. Then, he had been nervous.
Perhaps she did not want him. Now that she had had him twice, perhaps she was ashamed. Perhaps it had all been a joke, a cruel plan to trap him in her web.
After a while, he had begun to worry. Maybe she was hurt. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death!
At this stage, he had begun to roam Hogsmeade's many alleyways and corner- shops, searching for the missing girl.
Having searched the town, he felt suspicious; what the hell did she think she was playing at? Now, after seven hours on the emotional see-saw, he simply felt tired, and oddly disappointed. Where was she? Didn't she care anymore?
His head hurt. Well, obviously it must hurt, if he had even begun to consider that she might have cared in the first place.
It was six o'clock in the evening, and Madam Rosmerta was looking oddly disconcerted by the fact that he was still there; that he had been there since three.
Dumping a small pile of coins onto the counter, he departed, a small cauldronful of ingredients in his hand as he left.
Why did he even care whether she turned up or not? Did it matter?
All she was was a convenient shag-buddy.
He shuddered at the word.
Never had he come across words more vulgar than 'shag' and 'fuck'.
The act of love-making in itself should not be so degraded by such a common phrase.
So engrossed was he in his contemplation, that even he did not see the irony in his own thoughts.
Hermione felt strangely alone..
Years ago, when she had been young and had gone to a Muggle school, she had been ignored by the other children, who did not even take enough notice of her to bother to make fun of her. Now, however, as she cocooned herself into the corner of her bed, she did not move.
// Is this love? // She thought, twisting her hair in her hands, // Is being alone part of being in love? To be unable to tell anyone. //
She stared at her hands.
It had been four weeks since that first time. Four weeks of uncertainty, of relearning everything that she had once thought was written in stone, unquestionable.
Four weeks of doubt, with not an ounce of logic to help.
Her father had once told her that a world without logic would be like a world without oxygen, she had been five at the time and had not understood, but now, as an adult, she knew. // Oh Severus, if only you knew. //
She sighed.
// But you must never know. //
Repeating it again and again, like a mantra, she tried to reassure herself;
"He must never know, he must never know, he must never know."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
// Go away, can't you see I'm brooding? //
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"Er. Hermione? Are you in there? It's me, Ginny."
Dragging herself out of bed, Hermione slunk over to the door and opened it.
"Ginny. Hi."
The red-head quickly entered, and settled comfortably herself into one of the soft red armchairs.
"I just don't know what it is I'm meant to do."
Had they already started this conversation, Hermione wondered, smiling as she pulled the plush duvet up to her chin.
"Harry."
"Yes, Harry, who else but Harry?!" Ginny smiled.
"Harry, Harry, Harry. It's like some sort of contagious desease or something, you know? I can't seem to be able to think of anything - anyone - but him."
Hermione laughed. "It's hard, isn't it?"
At this, Ginny looked up. "Who do you want to go with? I mean, it's obvious it's not Ron."
"Really, am I that transparent?" She couldn't help but share a private smile with her younger counterpart.
Ginny stifled a giggle.
"Well. Yes." She blushed at Hermione's look of indignation. "Sorry, but you are! It's funny," she glanced at her hands shyly, "you have too much unwanted attention, and I don't have enough."
"Oh, don't worry Ginny, he will open his eyes one day and realise what and idiot he's been, don't you worry about that. Why, he didn't even notice that I was a girl until our fourth year!"
"Boys."
Hermione grinned, "Who needs them!"
They fell into a comfortable silence, full of things that were understood, even though they had not been said, and after a while, Ginny looked up again.
"Who are you waiting for, then?"
"Me?"
// He must never know, he must never know, he must never know. //
"No one."
"He must be a pretty fantastic no one for you to be so enamoured by him."
"Enamoured?" Hermione laughed. "I'm not enamoured. And what sort of a word is enamoured, anyway?!"
"Oh, you know what I mean, you've had your head in the clouds for weeks now, and during meal times, you keep looking around and blushing!"
"I don't!"
"Yes, you do! You do it when you think that no one is looking. you just don't do it for long enough for me to see who it is!"
"Ooh, thank God!"
Ginny flashed the trademark Weasley grin, and her eyes flashed mischievously.
"Thank God, what?"
"Nothing."
That grin again. "Do you want to think about that first?"
Hermione sniffed indignantly and said nothing.
"I'm going to find out what you're up to, Hermione Granger, so you had better watch out, because you got a Weasley on your tail!"
~*~*~*~ "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
At once the familiar lines of the map began to tendril their way across the page, two distinct dots forming just around the corner from where she stood.
'Severus Snape' and 'Minerva McGonagall'.
// Brilliant. How simply bloody fantastic.// Hermione had been making her way towards the secret passage that lead into Hogsmeade, when who should be found arguing right next to the statue of the one-eyed witch but the two people that she least wanted to see.
"I tell you, Minerva, the boy has overstepped the mark!" she could clearly hear Snape's irritable voice become increasingly louder.
"And what makes you so sure that it is him? I assure you, Severus, that I will take no step against him until you are able to prove to me that Harry Potter has indeed committed any such crime."
"Proof?!" he thundered in return,
("Don't you take that tone with me!")
"What more proof do you need than Potter's constant trouble-making since the first day that he set foot in the castle! Rules broken on a daily basis, embarrassing the school at every chance, associating with werewolves and convicted murderers, attacking a teacher,"
("Oh, so that's what this is about!")
"And most of all," he paused dramatically, "Most of all, the fact remains that his plundering of my stores has become a recurring habit!"
There was silence for a moment, before McGonagall's lowered voice was finally heard.
"Are you quite done?" she asked, and there was no audible reply. She continued, "For the past six and a half years I have handled wave upon wave of accusations concerning not only our most admired pupil, but his friends and companions."
Hermione moved closer, eager to hear their words more clearly.
"Now, I have no doubt that your reasons for suspecting Harry Potter must indeed have some sort of grounding, but I cannot - and will not - openly accuse Potter of anything without reasonable evidence. Now, if you will please tell me which ingredients are missing, I will begin my investigation, but until then, I must be on my way."
Hermione heard the slight rustle of clothes, and feet moving down the corridor.
McGonagall stopped.
"Oh, and Severus, I assume that you will be visiting Hogsmeade this afternoon?"
"Yes, Minerva," he replied coolly, "and I will clearly be in need of replacing some of my stocks."
"Very well." The Professor nodded, and departed.
The hallway went deathly quiet, and Hermione stepped forward towards the statue, only to find the very silent figure of her potions master standing there, perfectly still.
"So, Miss Granger," he sneered down at her, "You finally decided to show yourself."
"Sir?"
Obviously, he was still there. This was not good. This was so not good.
"I am not stupid, Miss Granger, so do not presume to speak to me as though I were."
"Professor, I don't know what you're talking about."
Inside, she tried to encourage herself, begging herself not to shy away from the angry tone in his voice. // I've seen you naked, // she thought, //I've taken you to the throes of passion. You don't scare me. //
"What I am talking about, is your eavesdropping on the private discussion of two members of staff."
"But sir," she cut in, "I've only just got here." Lying really wasn't her best talent. Snape's mouth curled into a cruel smile at seeing her discomfort, and she followed the movement with her eyes.
Truly, it could be said that he was magnificent.
"I don't want to hear your feeble lies and excuses, Miss Granger; five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your incapability when it comes to the respect owed to the staff."
She opened her mouth, and closed it again, knowing that anything that she might say would simply infuriate him. Knowing that this time there would be no. 'Kissing it better'.
He smirked again, "I will be keeping a close eye on you, so in your position, I would be careful - very careful - of what I do from now on. Are we clear?"
She nodded. "Yes, Professor, I'm sorry."
"Good." He began to walk away, but stopped mid-step and turned around again.
"Oh, and might I add that if I see you hanging around this statue again, I will personally ensure that whatever you and your friends find of interest in it is discovered and rectified."
With that, he left with a very Slytherinesque sweep of his lustrous cloak.
~*~*~*~
"Hi, Severus.
Hello, Sev!
I've been waiting for you, Professor.
Hello, how have you been?"
// No, no, NO!!! GODS! //
Hermione grabbed her hair and tugged at it fiercely. She had been sitting on the step ladder beneath Honeydukes for at least an hour, trying to figure out what to do, what to say, how to react.
She closed her eyes and imagined Severus taking her hands in his, and looking deeply into the eyes of her seventeen year-old self with ample eyes.
"Hermione."
// Oh Gods, what the have I got myself into?! //
The Ball was one week away, and ever since Dumbledore's announcement, she had been like an emotional bomb just waiting to explode.
"Severus," she breathed, "there is something that you should know - my name isn't Heather. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger.
Look. I know that you're angry. Okay, beyond angry, furious, I understand. I do, of course I do! But look. Listen, Severus, I love you. I do. It's weird, I know, but."
Dear God. Realisation hit her, not only was she talking to herself, but she was talking to herself about telling him.
Repeating her mantra, she inhaled deeply.
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
But maybe just-
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
He might underst-
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.
NEVER.
Never EVER or even on the off chance of a maybe.
She drummed it into her head, refusing to think of the many innuendoes that could somehow result in the truth slipping out.
NEVER EVER EVER.
Thinking of the ball, of her self-acknowledged love, of the circumstance in which she had become entangled, of the hopelessness of her situation, she cried, letting the tears roll down her face until there was nothing but blotchy redness and shame at being so alone.
After a while, she stood up and went back to the common room. She could not face him tonight.
~*~*~*~
Seven hours.
For seven hours, he had waited, and she had not come.
At first he had been mildly irritated, but had then realised that no direct arrangement had been made between them. Then, he had been nervous.
Perhaps she did not want him. Now that she had had him twice, perhaps she was ashamed. Perhaps it had all been a joke, a cruel plan to trap him in her web.
After a while, he had begun to worry. Maybe she was hurt. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death!
At this stage, he had begun to roam Hogsmeade's many alleyways and corner- shops, searching for the missing girl.
Having searched the town, he felt suspicious; what the hell did she think she was playing at? Now, after seven hours on the emotional see-saw, he simply felt tired, and oddly disappointed. Where was she? Didn't she care anymore?
His head hurt. Well, obviously it must hurt, if he had even begun to consider that she might have cared in the first place.
It was six o'clock in the evening, and Madam Rosmerta was looking oddly disconcerted by the fact that he was still there; that he had been there since three.
Dumping a small pile of coins onto the counter, he departed, a small cauldronful of ingredients in his hand as he left.
Why did he even care whether she turned up or not? Did it matter?
All she was was a convenient shag-buddy.
He shuddered at the word.
Never had he come across words more vulgar than 'shag' and 'fuck'.
The act of love-making in itself should not be so degraded by such a common phrase.
So engrossed was he in his contemplation, that even he did not see the irony in his own thoughts.