Chpt25: Bed of Roses.
Severus Snape awoke to the sound of rain falling in the outside world. It was late. well, as late as one could consider nine o'clock to be; but to a man that made a habit of rising a 5am, nine could most certainly be considered late.
Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to overpower the sheets of rain that had began to fall on the previous night, and the effect was a cacophony of colour and light that would alter and distort faster than the viewer could blink. In his chambers, however, Snape was not aware of the rainbow of colours that glittered on each windowpane or flagstone, nor was he aware of the soft murmurings of the wind as it teased the frozen grass with gentle whispers. At this moment, all that Severus Snape was aware of was of the extreme absence of one thing.
For many nights now, he had been plagued by a dream. A dream, moreover, not a nightmare or a demon of the sleep, merely a dream that should have warmed the soul. But it did not.
This dream had only reminded him of everything that he had spent so many years trying to forget; that he had lived his life without actually stopping to think he about where he was going. Had that not been how he had become a Death Eater? How he had carelessly thrown away the lives of countless civilians?
But something had happened, something that had come before the dream - that had caused the dream, perhaps, as the light within himself had begun to choke and flare into the spark of hope of what had once been.
When people are alone, they will sometimes meet someone that looks a certain way, or has something in their smile. Someone that makes them feel a little less alone. But it is wrong to hope. Only a fool would see a beautiful pool and admire it for its beauty, only a fool would dare to look at it and hazard to hope that shoals of piranhas were not hidden in its depths.
It did not do to dwell on the hopes and dreams that a man would share with himself in the deepest watches of the night when even he could not see their true identities.
Snape opened his eyes again, stretching and yawning as he slid out of the bed, his feet padding on the cold stone floors.
The dream had not returned. He was free, and his heart rejoiced in that he was not alone. No matter how dark his thoughts should become, Heather Gates had promised to be there with him.
He was not alone.
~*~*~*~
Ron caught the ball as it bounced off the wall, and threw it back again with well-practised ease.
"So," he began, launching the ball again, "Does anyone know what the hell happened?"
The two other people in the room shrugged and kicked their feet uncomfortably.
"I mean," he glanced at Ginny, "it's not normal, is it, even for a girl?"
"Ron, the mood-swings that you males so often put down to PMS are mostly just the results of you guys being such irritating arseholes!"
"In which case, we're back to square one. Hermione must have found herself a boyfriend of some sort." Harry intruded, catching the ball mid flight and throwing it from one hand to the other as he tried to think clearly.
Shrugging nonchalantly, Ron waved his wand, producing another ball that was identical in colour and size to the last. Ginny sat down exasperatedly and tugged at the hair that fell about her face.
"That just doesn't make sense though, I mean, why would Hermione want to hide something like this? And anyway," she paused, "wouldn't you have heard about it from the boy involved?"
Harry nodded, "You're right, Ginny, guys can't help but brag, and I'm sure that whoever was going out with Hermione would be glad to let everyone know that he'd won her over."
Ginny raised an eyebrow but refused to allow herself to comment, saying instead, "Well, surely that can only mean that she's been seeing someone outside of the school."
Harry nodded and looked over his shoulder at Ron. "What do you think, Ron?"
"I think it's a bloody brilliant idea! And, gee, just for the record," he grinned, "I would like to say that I am not in any way smug that the idea that I suggested ages ago and was dismissed by you is now the most viable."
Slightly perplexed, the other two stared at him before bursting into gales of laughter.
~*~*~*~
In her room, the subject of the ongoing discussion was busily writing an essay.
The Ball would be on Tuesday, but unfortunately, Hermione Granger was still stuck on Sunday morning. Never in the history of man had the clocks been known to tick to slowly, the seconds lengthening to the size of fully-grown elephants as they laboriously tried to move the hands of time forward.
Tomorrow would be Monday, she thought, closing the textbook in front of her and setting her quill aside and looking out the window in front of her. Without going outside, or opening the window, she knew that it was a beautiful day, and she could almost feel the wind as it whistled past her ears.
Standing resolutely, she crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door, taking out her plain black school robes, specially designed in some long past unknown century by a witch with maximum heat-retention in mind. Wrapping it about her, and adding a standard Gryffindor scarf as the final touch, she exited the room, leaving it locked and warded as a matter of habit.
The journey through Hogwarts was oddly uneventful. Oddly, of course, in comparison to its usual furore, yet rather normal - considering the fact that it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Hermione, however, did not feel the silence about her.
She may have felt it, perhaps, back in her first year, in a time that she did not now have the inclination to recall. But that Hermione was gone now.
In a dramatic gesture, of departure, she threw up her hands, saying "adieu!" as though to the invisible fraction of her past self that had chosen to linger through to present life. Then, bursting into an embarrassed smile and giggling slightly, she turned around, checking that no one had seen result of the mental conversation that she had been having with herself.
The stairway was still empty, and she continued on her journey, greeting the paintings that waved and called out from the walls.
The result of what she had set into motion when she had first decided to venture into Hogsmeade all those many weeks ago would have to be seen now, and although she was uncertain of how it would end, she knew one thing for sure; she was head, body and soul in love with Severus Snape. Never in her wildest, most confused dreams had she imagined that she could feel this for anyone - especially him - or that he would actually allow her to indulge her whim.
~*~*~*~
Destiny has a funny way
When it comes and takes all your cares away.
I can't think of a single thing
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in.
~*~*~*~
The day was swept up in the pre-Ball commotion, and soon enough, classes had ended, and Hermione had been rushed off into the heart of Gryffindor Tower by Ginny Weasley, after all, "the preparation process simply HAS to start the day before!"
Following a strict regime of depilatory spells and intensive moisturising (along with a couple of mud-packs, manicures, pedicures, and various other treatments), Hermione was eventually allowed to flop back into her bed, feeling exhausted (yet oddly refreshed), and let out a long breath.
Ginny crept onto the corner and grinned, her skin positively glowing.
"Trust me, Hermione, we are going to stun and dazzle tomorrow!"
"I would have settled for something more usual that required half the work!"
"More usual?! Oh, really, Hermione, I would have thought that you wanted to make an impression, you know, like back in your fourth year."
Hermione snorted, remembering how many hours she had spent preparing for her supposed 'hot date' with Viktor.
This time, the Ball wouldn't be the time to make her impression, it would be the after-show party.
"You still haven't told me who you're going with," Ginny commented, trying not to sound eager.
"That's because I'm going alone.
(gasp)
I'm glad Harry got his act together and asked you out - it's about bloody time!"
"How can you be going alone, Hermione?! This is the last Yule Ball you'll be able to go to here, you need a date!"
Hermione didn't reply, choosing to inspect her complexion with an unprecedented interest instead.
"I think that tomorrow will be fun either way."
Severus Snape awoke to the sound of rain falling in the outside world. It was late. well, as late as one could consider nine o'clock to be; but to a man that made a habit of rising a 5am, nine could most certainly be considered late.
Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to overpower the sheets of rain that had began to fall on the previous night, and the effect was a cacophony of colour and light that would alter and distort faster than the viewer could blink. In his chambers, however, Snape was not aware of the rainbow of colours that glittered on each windowpane or flagstone, nor was he aware of the soft murmurings of the wind as it teased the frozen grass with gentle whispers. At this moment, all that Severus Snape was aware of was of the extreme absence of one thing.
For many nights now, he had been plagued by a dream. A dream, moreover, not a nightmare or a demon of the sleep, merely a dream that should have warmed the soul. But it did not.
This dream had only reminded him of everything that he had spent so many years trying to forget; that he had lived his life without actually stopping to think he about where he was going. Had that not been how he had become a Death Eater? How he had carelessly thrown away the lives of countless civilians?
But something had happened, something that had come before the dream - that had caused the dream, perhaps, as the light within himself had begun to choke and flare into the spark of hope of what had once been.
When people are alone, they will sometimes meet someone that looks a certain way, or has something in their smile. Someone that makes them feel a little less alone. But it is wrong to hope. Only a fool would see a beautiful pool and admire it for its beauty, only a fool would dare to look at it and hazard to hope that shoals of piranhas were not hidden in its depths.
It did not do to dwell on the hopes and dreams that a man would share with himself in the deepest watches of the night when even he could not see their true identities.
Snape opened his eyes again, stretching and yawning as he slid out of the bed, his feet padding on the cold stone floors.
The dream had not returned. He was free, and his heart rejoiced in that he was not alone. No matter how dark his thoughts should become, Heather Gates had promised to be there with him.
He was not alone.
~*~*~*~
Ron caught the ball as it bounced off the wall, and threw it back again with well-practised ease.
"So," he began, launching the ball again, "Does anyone know what the hell happened?"
The two other people in the room shrugged and kicked their feet uncomfortably.
"I mean," he glanced at Ginny, "it's not normal, is it, even for a girl?"
"Ron, the mood-swings that you males so often put down to PMS are mostly just the results of you guys being such irritating arseholes!"
"In which case, we're back to square one. Hermione must have found herself a boyfriend of some sort." Harry intruded, catching the ball mid flight and throwing it from one hand to the other as he tried to think clearly.
Shrugging nonchalantly, Ron waved his wand, producing another ball that was identical in colour and size to the last. Ginny sat down exasperatedly and tugged at the hair that fell about her face.
"That just doesn't make sense though, I mean, why would Hermione want to hide something like this? And anyway," she paused, "wouldn't you have heard about it from the boy involved?"
Harry nodded, "You're right, Ginny, guys can't help but brag, and I'm sure that whoever was going out with Hermione would be glad to let everyone know that he'd won her over."
Ginny raised an eyebrow but refused to allow herself to comment, saying instead, "Well, surely that can only mean that she's been seeing someone outside of the school."
Harry nodded and looked over his shoulder at Ron. "What do you think, Ron?"
"I think it's a bloody brilliant idea! And, gee, just for the record," he grinned, "I would like to say that I am not in any way smug that the idea that I suggested ages ago and was dismissed by you is now the most viable."
Slightly perplexed, the other two stared at him before bursting into gales of laughter.
~*~*~*~
In her room, the subject of the ongoing discussion was busily writing an essay.
The Ball would be on Tuesday, but unfortunately, Hermione Granger was still stuck on Sunday morning. Never in the history of man had the clocks been known to tick to slowly, the seconds lengthening to the size of fully-grown elephants as they laboriously tried to move the hands of time forward.
Tomorrow would be Monday, she thought, closing the textbook in front of her and setting her quill aside and looking out the window in front of her. Without going outside, or opening the window, she knew that it was a beautiful day, and she could almost feel the wind as it whistled past her ears.
Standing resolutely, she crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door, taking out her plain black school robes, specially designed in some long past unknown century by a witch with maximum heat-retention in mind. Wrapping it about her, and adding a standard Gryffindor scarf as the final touch, she exited the room, leaving it locked and warded as a matter of habit.
The journey through Hogwarts was oddly uneventful. Oddly, of course, in comparison to its usual furore, yet rather normal - considering the fact that it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Hermione, however, did not feel the silence about her.
She may have felt it, perhaps, back in her first year, in a time that she did not now have the inclination to recall. But that Hermione was gone now.
In a dramatic gesture, of departure, she threw up her hands, saying "adieu!" as though to the invisible fraction of her past self that had chosen to linger through to present life. Then, bursting into an embarrassed smile and giggling slightly, she turned around, checking that no one had seen result of the mental conversation that she had been having with herself.
The stairway was still empty, and she continued on her journey, greeting the paintings that waved and called out from the walls.
The result of what she had set into motion when she had first decided to venture into Hogsmeade all those many weeks ago would have to be seen now, and although she was uncertain of how it would end, she knew one thing for sure; she was head, body and soul in love with Severus Snape. Never in her wildest, most confused dreams had she imagined that she could feel this for anyone - especially him - or that he would actually allow her to indulge her whim.
~*~*~*~
Destiny has a funny way
When it comes and takes all your cares away.
I can't think of a single thing
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in.
~*~*~*~
The day was swept up in the pre-Ball commotion, and soon enough, classes had ended, and Hermione had been rushed off into the heart of Gryffindor Tower by Ginny Weasley, after all, "the preparation process simply HAS to start the day before!"
Following a strict regime of depilatory spells and intensive moisturising (along with a couple of mud-packs, manicures, pedicures, and various other treatments), Hermione was eventually allowed to flop back into her bed, feeling exhausted (yet oddly refreshed), and let out a long breath.
Ginny crept onto the corner and grinned, her skin positively glowing.
"Trust me, Hermione, we are going to stun and dazzle tomorrow!"
"I would have settled for something more usual that required half the work!"
"More usual?! Oh, really, Hermione, I would have thought that you wanted to make an impression, you know, like back in your fourth year."
Hermione snorted, remembering how many hours she had spent preparing for her supposed 'hot date' with Viktor.
This time, the Ball wouldn't be the time to make her impression, it would be the after-show party.
"You still haven't told me who you're going with," Ginny commented, trying not to sound eager.
"That's because I'm going alone.
(gasp)
I'm glad Harry got his act together and asked you out - it's about bloody time!"
"How can you be going alone, Hermione?! This is the last Yule Ball you'll be able to go to here, you need a date!"
Hermione didn't reply, choosing to inspect her complexion with an unprecedented interest instead.
"I think that tomorrow will be fun either way."