Chpt31: Your Picture on My Wall.
~*~*~*~
I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all;
The morning rain clouds up my window and
I can't see at all.
Even if I could, it would all be grey,
But your picture on my wall, it reminds me
That it's not so bad.
~*~*~*~
That the bed was cold should have alerted Hermione that something was wrong. Moreover, even after she had dreamily stretched one arm out across the bed and found nothing, it took her well over two minutes to awaken enough to note the bed's obvious emptiness.
Peering out on a room that was lit only by the dim glow of early morning, everything was still.
"Severus?" Hermione frowned, her thoughts still clouded by happiness and sleep. Pulling out a sheet to wrap around herself, she stepped out onto the stone floor and began to open doors: the rooms were empty and the only sound was that of the grandfather clock that loomed in the corner, and Hermione's own thundering heartbeat. Even Wystetia was absent, leaving her utterly alone. Where could he be? The fires were all long dead, and the table had been cleared - approaching it, Hermione reached out and gently took a rose out of the vase that stood in the centre: there were two, white, like beacons in the darkness, their petals full and pale. The stems were of crisp Slytherin green, and when Hermione took one, she saw that a delicate silver ribbon had been wrapped around its length - a true Slytherin Rose, rich in its quality and in the shining silver that spiralled it, and threatening as every thorn glimmered menacingly.
It was 2am, and far away, a silver mask was being thrown into the fires of death. But Hermione knew nothing of this as she curled herself into one of the chairs before the empty hearth, her fingers gripping the rose so hard that blood seeped onto the petals, dying their edges a deep red and soaking them in the power of her love for Snape. Like this, numb to the pain, she waited for his return until worry and exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a restless sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was already daylight and a thin drizzle had begun outside, reflected by the magical images of the ceiling. Snape's chambers were still empty, she was still alone. Standing slowly, she searched the rooms again, finding nothing, and finally, desperate for any reason to remain in this place that was so definitively his, she padded across to the bathroom and began to run a bath. Unlike her own bath, this one was a part of the room itself, made of dark slate, and forming almost half of the room's contents. It was huge, sweeping away from the walls in a graceful arc that was unobstructed by either rails or curtains of any kind. Inside was a single floating tap, floating in the magical sense that it did actually float (or more accurately, hover), providing the means for both a bath, and a shower, without the use for pipes, hand sets or extra taps. It was a luxury that she was sure Snape never made use of, being the sort of man that would look down on baths and so on.
When the water was bright and frothy, she stepped out of the sheet and slid in, her mind mulling over the delicious idea that he might now return and find her there; her muscles still ached from the night before, a reminder of her love for him. And, moreover, a reminder of the success she had found in modifying the ageing potion. Without it she would have had to leave far too soon - long before their first loving had been over. Her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered how it had been, how he had teased her with feathery touches, how they had kissed each other's bodies and engraved them into their memories and how their amorous dances had continued as the night died. These recollections caused her stomach to tighten now, and she sat up quickly, brushing the soapsuds away from her eyes and glancing hopefully at the door. It did not open. Instead, she now turned her attentions to the sparse selection of bottles on the ledge of the bath. They were dark and unlabelled; their shapes similar to those used in the potions classrooms and stores. These bottles were trademarks of Snape's own fabrications - eulogy to his skill in brewing. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she opened one, gingerly sniffing it and recognising the familiar scents of cinnamon and wheatgerm. Scents that mingled with coffee to form the Severus Snape that she had grown to love. Resisting the need to swathe herself in his smell, she had to rely on the traditional Hogwarts selection of bath crèmes from the tap and then reluctantly stepping out when her fingers and toes had become wrinkled and it was evident that Snape was not about to make an imminent return.
Taking one of the towels, she dried herself, then dressed quickly, deciding not to replace the towel straight away but to take it with her (to return once clean, of course). To this effect, when she finally came to reluctantly leave, she took with her, not only the white-red rose, but also a towel that bore the embroidered initials SS in silver thread. By the time she had returned to the Gryffindor Tower, it was already past noon, and the icy sun was high in the sky, shrouded in the wintry mists of the Scottish moors. The rain drizzled musically against the windows, providing a backdrop for the few sleepy gatherings that were to be found in the common room. There was an atmosphere of easy calm in which Hermione felt altogether alien and uncertain, and she quickly retreated from it, choosing to go to the Hall. It was lunchtime, and there was a possibility that Severus would be found there. She knew that now that she had ended the potion's effects she could not approach him, but even the sight of him would comfort her a little, and assure her that he was safe, regardless of the lingering doubt that perhaps he had left her deliberately.
Outside, on the shores of the lake, Severus himself remained completely still, soaked through, after hours of rain, numb even to the cold that filled and encircled him, a cold that had been a part of him for many years. It was nightfall once again, before he blindly stood and made his way back to the castle. She would be gone, by now, he knew.
~*~*~*~
Hermione jumped up with a start. Christmas was over, and now that all her friends felt adequately rested and refreshed, they were finally able to begin chattering about the Ball, the celebrations, the gifts, the hassle that she had become accustomed to in the previous seven years. She had awoken early that morning to check the dungeons, only to be confronted by the irredeemably annoying Draco Malfoy, and had eventually given up in her attempts to outwit him. Now, having opened her bedroom door, she was shocked to find Ginny on her bed, lounging across her crimson sheets, stroking Crookshanks as though it were something that she did as a matter of habit.
Genuinely glad to see her, she closed the door, saying a bright "Hey, Ginny!" and collapsing onto the bed beside them.
Ginny grinned and sat up, her hair falling haphazardly over her shoulders as she launched into a 30-mph speech. "Oh my god, Hermione! The Ball was so much fun! I can't believe you didn't stay until the end of it! What was your disguise? It's so unfair, did you know that loads of people left before midnight?! I really wanted to know who everyone was! I mean, Seamus and I tried to figure out who some of the people were but everyone was using glamour charms and we only worked a few out. I'm surprised Dumbledore thought a masked ball would be a good idea at all - can you imagine what would have happened if someone had sneaked in? We wouldn't have even noticed them!" She stopped with a horrified look on her face then stared at Hermione thoughtfully.
"What did you think of it? I know parties aren't really your thing, but it was pretty fabulous though, wasn't it?!"
Hermione smiled and laughed, trying to remember the previous night, trying to think about anything other than the smartly dressed gentleman that had led her out for a dance at the end of the night, or the following dance and its consequences. "It was lovely," she said at last, a thoughtful half- smile on her lips that contrasted with the frown in her eyes. "I'm surprised that Dumbledore let us have wine though, especially as there was no age lock on who went."
"Oh! I know! I overheard Filch fuming about drunken randy teenagers all over the school! Said he'd chain people to the ceiling if he found them doing anything indecent, regardless of what Dumbledore said!" The two girls cackled with laughter at the thought, finally falling into a comfortable silence.
"Are you and Seamus going to make a go of it, then?" Hermione asked, remembering her hopeful glances towards Harry.
She beamed and nodded, "I think so, I mean, we're not going to swear our undying love for each other, but I think we have a chance, you know, we've got a lot in common."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and it turns out that his grandparents live in the village next to ours, so he might be able to come and visit during the holidays." She paused, "god, I sound pathetic, planning ahead like this," she blushed and looked at Hermione. "It's.."
Hermione smiled and squeezed her arm, "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about! You two are going to make a great couple, trust me, he's been mooning over you since the start of term!"
Ginny's whole face seemed to light up, "Really?!" she repeated Hermione's earlier question disbelievingly and swooned onto the pillow at the nod she received in reply. "Wow," she sighed, then added, "I guess I should be glad that Harry didn't ask me out. I think I'd kind of guessed that we didn't have a chance in the world, but it's just, you know, habit." She sat up. "It sounds so stupid, but I think that I still liked him because I'd done it for so long, and I thought that I should. My slot in life would be 'Ginny, the girl in love with Harry Potter'."
"What's changed?"
Ginny stared out the window for a moment, and finally said, "I couldn't say exactly what is different, but when I went to the ball I didn't care about figuring out who Harry was, or who he was dancing with, and afterwards I didn't care when he and Visa Silverstone went of together."
"Silverstone? The Ravenclaw?"
She nodded, "She's in my DADA group."
"Do you like her?"
"I don't know. I always thought she had a thing for Malfoy. I even heard that they -you know- a couple of times. She seems ok though, one of those people that you can't dislike even if you want to."
Hermione paused, "Does Harry know about her and Malfoy?"
"No. But I don't think we should say anything," she seemed about to add something, then stopped and said instead, "so how about you? Any luck last night? Who was your date?"
She smiled, "No one. I went by myself and had a wonderful night, believe it or not!"
"Fancy telling me about it over lunch?"
She raised her eyebrows and smiled, "You wish."
~*~*~*~
Snape wasn't there at lunch while she dodged Ginny's questions, nor was he there that night at dinner, as the shadow of worry crept over Hermione's mind. Those students that had remained for the dance but wished to spend the holidays at home had left that morning, and now the castle was empty of their echoes. Shortly after sundown, she received a note, carried by one of the more stately school owls used by teachers. The parchment had been folded over and sealed with wax, and inspecting the crest, she saw a snake, coiled tightly around a sword as its blood dripped onto a bed of ivy beneath it. She had seen it before, of the ring with which the seal had been made. It was Snape's coat of arms.
Hands shaking, she broke the seal and opened the letter, wondering why he would want to write to her. Had he discovered her secret? Was that why he had been gone for so long?
The words within were curt and precise, Snape to the core:
"There is to be a Potions Group for sixth and seventh years. You are expected at the dungeons tomorrow at 3 o'clock sharp.
Professor S. Snape
Potions Master."
Re-reading the letter, she let out a sigh. There was nothing in his words to suggest that he knew of the role she had been playing for the last month, and she fell into the seat at her desk with exhausted relief, one hand clutching the phial at her neck, the other over the place where he had scratched his signature on the letter.
"Hermione?" Ginny was standing in the doorway, and Hermione jumped to her feet, startled, trying to hide the letter in under the books on her desk.
"Erm. hi," she muttered, "what's up?"
The other girl stepped into the room and shut the door, "That's what I was wandering - didn't you hear me knocking?"
She shook her head, no. "I was on another planet for a moment there, sorry."
Pulling up a chair, Ginny set beside the desk and said simply, "Who is it?"
Sinking back into her own seat, Hermione replied, "I don't know what you're talking about!" and pretended to pack away her revision notes.
Ginny grabbed her hand, stopping the sudden flourish of movement and held it between both of her own, saying nothing, but speaking volumes.
"I can't. It's a terrible mess, Gins, and just when I thought-" she fell silent. "It's nothing."
Shaking her head, Ginny squeezed her hand, then sat back. "It's obviously not 'nothing'. You've been up and down like a seesaw for weeks, and your mind's been elsewhere all day. It can't be that bad, can it? You seemed so happy for a while.
Instinctively, Hermione's hand went back up to the chain of her first true moment of happiness, and following the movement, Ginny remembered the flourish of activity at her entrance. "Was that a letter from him?"
"No. Not exactly."
Taking this to mean 'yes', she thought for a moment, then asked, "Do I know him, is he at Hogwarts?"
She received a dumb nod in return, before continuing suddenly, "You're not ashamed of it, are you?"
"No!" Hermione burst out immediately, then, thinking of how she had lied to Snape and to her friends, and how each would receive the truth, she amended weakly, "Yes." Two fat tears rolled down her cheek, and she brushed them aside hastily. Feeling traitorous and pathetic.
"I won't judge you" Ginny said comfortingly.
"You will. Everyone will, once this gets out, and everyone will know how stupid and deceitful I've been. Everyone will know that- that-"
"That you fell in love with the worst person imaginable? I won't judge you, Hermione."
So it was that between breathless tears, Hermione told her of how she had thought to find a part-time job in Hogsmeade, but had instead become fascinated with the Potions Master. She told of their confrontation, and her new identity, of how she had felt a connection between then that night in the rain, and how she had carelessly abandoned thought and slept with him only to feel disgusted for it afterwards. She told Ginny about the Visual Veritaserum, about how she had overheard him talking to McGonagall and how she had modified the ageing potion. She told her about the ball, and how they had danced, and how he had vanished on the same night. Then she told Ginny about falling in love with a man that did not - could not - know her name.
An hour later, Ginny leaned back into her seat, having edged forward as the tale unravelled. "My god," she whispered, "all this in a month. no wonder you're a mess!" Slowly, she said, "Does he feel the same way, do you think, about Heather?"
Hermione hid her face behind her hands. "I don't know. I- I think he does. He hasn't said anything, and I don't think he will, but. it's little things. Like the day when I didn't go, I think he waited for me for hours, and looked all round Hogsmeade for me."
"And he knows how you feel?"
She nodded, "On Christmas Eve. I didn't let him say anything, though. I didn't want him to feel cornered, you know? But maybe- maybe I just didn't want to hear him give his love to somebody who wasn't real." She rubbed her eyes dry and smoothed her skirt, trying to compose herself.
"Wow." Was all that Ginny could say, her mind racing back over the details. "Snape. I never thought of him in that way." She turned the idea over in her mind then, mischievously, "What was it like?"
Suddenly laughing at the absurdity of the situation, Hermione grinned, "Wonderful." she sighed, "I never would have even thought of him in that light, but now, I don't think I could want any other man! It sounds so perverse!" her mind fluttered downstairs, and she added, "he is perfect in every way."
Ginny squealed with laughter, and the mood in the room tangibly shifted; the load was shared, she was no longer alone, and the grip over her heart loosened a little.
"So what should I do now?"
~*~*~*~
I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all;
The morning rain clouds up my window and
I can't see at all.
Even if I could, it would all be grey,
But your picture on my wall, it reminds me
That it's not so bad.
~*~*~*~
That the bed was cold should have alerted Hermione that something was wrong. Moreover, even after she had dreamily stretched one arm out across the bed and found nothing, it took her well over two minutes to awaken enough to note the bed's obvious emptiness.
Peering out on a room that was lit only by the dim glow of early morning, everything was still.
"Severus?" Hermione frowned, her thoughts still clouded by happiness and sleep. Pulling out a sheet to wrap around herself, she stepped out onto the stone floor and began to open doors: the rooms were empty and the only sound was that of the grandfather clock that loomed in the corner, and Hermione's own thundering heartbeat. Even Wystetia was absent, leaving her utterly alone. Where could he be? The fires were all long dead, and the table had been cleared - approaching it, Hermione reached out and gently took a rose out of the vase that stood in the centre: there were two, white, like beacons in the darkness, their petals full and pale. The stems were of crisp Slytherin green, and when Hermione took one, she saw that a delicate silver ribbon had been wrapped around its length - a true Slytherin Rose, rich in its quality and in the shining silver that spiralled it, and threatening as every thorn glimmered menacingly.
It was 2am, and far away, a silver mask was being thrown into the fires of death. But Hermione knew nothing of this as she curled herself into one of the chairs before the empty hearth, her fingers gripping the rose so hard that blood seeped onto the petals, dying their edges a deep red and soaking them in the power of her love for Snape. Like this, numb to the pain, she waited for his return until worry and exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a restless sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was already daylight and a thin drizzle had begun outside, reflected by the magical images of the ceiling. Snape's chambers were still empty, she was still alone. Standing slowly, she searched the rooms again, finding nothing, and finally, desperate for any reason to remain in this place that was so definitively his, she padded across to the bathroom and began to run a bath. Unlike her own bath, this one was a part of the room itself, made of dark slate, and forming almost half of the room's contents. It was huge, sweeping away from the walls in a graceful arc that was unobstructed by either rails or curtains of any kind. Inside was a single floating tap, floating in the magical sense that it did actually float (or more accurately, hover), providing the means for both a bath, and a shower, without the use for pipes, hand sets or extra taps. It was a luxury that she was sure Snape never made use of, being the sort of man that would look down on baths and so on.
When the water was bright and frothy, she stepped out of the sheet and slid in, her mind mulling over the delicious idea that he might now return and find her there; her muscles still ached from the night before, a reminder of her love for him. And, moreover, a reminder of the success she had found in modifying the ageing potion. Without it she would have had to leave far too soon - long before their first loving had been over. Her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered how it had been, how he had teased her with feathery touches, how they had kissed each other's bodies and engraved them into their memories and how their amorous dances had continued as the night died. These recollections caused her stomach to tighten now, and she sat up quickly, brushing the soapsuds away from her eyes and glancing hopefully at the door. It did not open. Instead, she now turned her attentions to the sparse selection of bottles on the ledge of the bath. They were dark and unlabelled; their shapes similar to those used in the potions classrooms and stores. These bottles were trademarks of Snape's own fabrications - eulogy to his skill in brewing. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she opened one, gingerly sniffing it and recognising the familiar scents of cinnamon and wheatgerm. Scents that mingled with coffee to form the Severus Snape that she had grown to love. Resisting the need to swathe herself in his smell, she had to rely on the traditional Hogwarts selection of bath crèmes from the tap and then reluctantly stepping out when her fingers and toes had become wrinkled and it was evident that Snape was not about to make an imminent return.
Taking one of the towels, she dried herself, then dressed quickly, deciding not to replace the towel straight away but to take it with her (to return once clean, of course). To this effect, when she finally came to reluctantly leave, she took with her, not only the white-red rose, but also a towel that bore the embroidered initials SS in silver thread. By the time she had returned to the Gryffindor Tower, it was already past noon, and the icy sun was high in the sky, shrouded in the wintry mists of the Scottish moors. The rain drizzled musically against the windows, providing a backdrop for the few sleepy gatherings that were to be found in the common room. There was an atmosphere of easy calm in which Hermione felt altogether alien and uncertain, and she quickly retreated from it, choosing to go to the Hall. It was lunchtime, and there was a possibility that Severus would be found there. She knew that now that she had ended the potion's effects she could not approach him, but even the sight of him would comfort her a little, and assure her that he was safe, regardless of the lingering doubt that perhaps he had left her deliberately.
Outside, on the shores of the lake, Severus himself remained completely still, soaked through, after hours of rain, numb even to the cold that filled and encircled him, a cold that had been a part of him for many years. It was nightfall once again, before he blindly stood and made his way back to the castle. She would be gone, by now, he knew.
~*~*~*~
Hermione jumped up with a start. Christmas was over, and now that all her friends felt adequately rested and refreshed, they were finally able to begin chattering about the Ball, the celebrations, the gifts, the hassle that she had become accustomed to in the previous seven years. She had awoken early that morning to check the dungeons, only to be confronted by the irredeemably annoying Draco Malfoy, and had eventually given up in her attempts to outwit him. Now, having opened her bedroom door, she was shocked to find Ginny on her bed, lounging across her crimson sheets, stroking Crookshanks as though it were something that she did as a matter of habit.
Genuinely glad to see her, she closed the door, saying a bright "Hey, Ginny!" and collapsing onto the bed beside them.
Ginny grinned and sat up, her hair falling haphazardly over her shoulders as she launched into a 30-mph speech. "Oh my god, Hermione! The Ball was so much fun! I can't believe you didn't stay until the end of it! What was your disguise? It's so unfair, did you know that loads of people left before midnight?! I really wanted to know who everyone was! I mean, Seamus and I tried to figure out who some of the people were but everyone was using glamour charms and we only worked a few out. I'm surprised Dumbledore thought a masked ball would be a good idea at all - can you imagine what would have happened if someone had sneaked in? We wouldn't have even noticed them!" She stopped with a horrified look on her face then stared at Hermione thoughtfully.
"What did you think of it? I know parties aren't really your thing, but it was pretty fabulous though, wasn't it?!"
Hermione smiled and laughed, trying to remember the previous night, trying to think about anything other than the smartly dressed gentleman that had led her out for a dance at the end of the night, or the following dance and its consequences. "It was lovely," she said at last, a thoughtful half- smile on her lips that contrasted with the frown in her eyes. "I'm surprised that Dumbledore let us have wine though, especially as there was no age lock on who went."
"Oh! I know! I overheard Filch fuming about drunken randy teenagers all over the school! Said he'd chain people to the ceiling if he found them doing anything indecent, regardless of what Dumbledore said!" The two girls cackled with laughter at the thought, finally falling into a comfortable silence.
"Are you and Seamus going to make a go of it, then?" Hermione asked, remembering her hopeful glances towards Harry.
She beamed and nodded, "I think so, I mean, we're not going to swear our undying love for each other, but I think we have a chance, you know, we've got a lot in common."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and it turns out that his grandparents live in the village next to ours, so he might be able to come and visit during the holidays." She paused, "god, I sound pathetic, planning ahead like this," she blushed and looked at Hermione. "It's.."
Hermione smiled and squeezed her arm, "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about! You two are going to make a great couple, trust me, he's been mooning over you since the start of term!"
Ginny's whole face seemed to light up, "Really?!" she repeated Hermione's earlier question disbelievingly and swooned onto the pillow at the nod she received in reply. "Wow," she sighed, then added, "I guess I should be glad that Harry didn't ask me out. I think I'd kind of guessed that we didn't have a chance in the world, but it's just, you know, habit." She sat up. "It sounds so stupid, but I think that I still liked him because I'd done it for so long, and I thought that I should. My slot in life would be 'Ginny, the girl in love with Harry Potter'."
"What's changed?"
Ginny stared out the window for a moment, and finally said, "I couldn't say exactly what is different, but when I went to the ball I didn't care about figuring out who Harry was, or who he was dancing with, and afterwards I didn't care when he and Visa Silverstone went of together."
"Silverstone? The Ravenclaw?"
She nodded, "She's in my DADA group."
"Do you like her?"
"I don't know. I always thought she had a thing for Malfoy. I even heard that they -you know- a couple of times. She seems ok though, one of those people that you can't dislike even if you want to."
Hermione paused, "Does Harry know about her and Malfoy?"
"No. But I don't think we should say anything," she seemed about to add something, then stopped and said instead, "so how about you? Any luck last night? Who was your date?"
She smiled, "No one. I went by myself and had a wonderful night, believe it or not!"
"Fancy telling me about it over lunch?"
She raised her eyebrows and smiled, "You wish."
~*~*~*~
Snape wasn't there at lunch while she dodged Ginny's questions, nor was he there that night at dinner, as the shadow of worry crept over Hermione's mind. Those students that had remained for the dance but wished to spend the holidays at home had left that morning, and now the castle was empty of their echoes. Shortly after sundown, she received a note, carried by one of the more stately school owls used by teachers. The parchment had been folded over and sealed with wax, and inspecting the crest, she saw a snake, coiled tightly around a sword as its blood dripped onto a bed of ivy beneath it. She had seen it before, of the ring with which the seal had been made. It was Snape's coat of arms.
Hands shaking, she broke the seal and opened the letter, wondering why he would want to write to her. Had he discovered her secret? Was that why he had been gone for so long?
The words within were curt and precise, Snape to the core:
"There is to be a Potions Group for sixth and seventh years. You are expected at the dungeons tomorrow at 3 o'clock sharp.
Professor S. Snape
Potions Master."
Re-reading the letter, she let out a sigh. There was nothing in his words to suggest that he knew of the role she had been playing for the last month, and she fell into the seat at her desk with exhausted relief, one hand clutching the phial at her neck, the other over the place where he had scratched his signature on the letter.
"Hermione?" Ginny was standing in the doorway, and Hermione jumped to her feet, startled, trying to hide the letter in under the books on her desk.
"Erm. hi," she muttered, "what's up?"
The other girl stepped into the room and shut the door, "That's what I was wandering - didn't you hear me knocking?"
She shook her head, no. "I was on another planet for a moment there, sorry."
Pulling up a chair, Ginny set beside the desk and said simply, "Who is it?"
Sinking back into her own seat, Hermione replied, "I don't know what you're talking about!" and pretended to pack away her revision notes.
Ginny grabbed her hand, stopping the sudden flourish of movement and held it between both of her own, saying nothing, but speaking volumes.
"I can't. It's a terrible mess, Gins, and just when I thought-" she fell silent. "It's nothing."
Shaking her head, Ginny squeezed her hand, then sat back. "It's obviously not 'nothing'. You've been up and down like a seesaw for weeks, and your mind's been elsewhere all day. It can't be that bad, can it? You seemed so happy for a while.
Instinctively, Hermione's hand went back up to the chain of her first true moment of happiness, and following the movement, Ginny remembered the flourish of activity at her entrance. "Was that a letter from him?"
"No. Not exactly."
Taking this to mean 'yes', she thought for a moment, then asked, "Do I know him, is he at Hogwarts?"
She received a dumb nod in return, before continuing suddenly, "You're not ashamed of it, are you?"
"No!" Hermione burst out immediately, then, thinking of how she had lied to Snape and to her friends, and how each would receive the truth, she amended weakly, "Yes." Two fat tears rolled down her cheek, and she brushed them aside hastily. Feeling traitorous and pathetic.
"I won't judge you" Ginny said comfortingly.
"You will. Everyone will, once this gets out, and everyone will know how stupid and deceitful I've been. Everyone will know that- that-"
"That you fell in love with the worst person imaginable? I won't judge you, Hermione."
So it was that between breathless tears, Hermione told her of how she had thought to find a part-time job in Hogsmeade, but had instead become fascinated with the Potions Master. She told of their confrontation, and her new identity, of how she had felt a connection between then that night in the rain, and how she had carelessly abandoned thought and slept with him only to feel disgusted for it afterwards. She told Ginny about the Visual Veritaserum, about how she had overheard him talking to McGonagall and how she had modified the ageing potion. She told her about the ball, and how they had danced, and how he had vanished on the same night. Then she told Ginny about falling in love with a man that did not - could not - know her name.
An hour later, Ginny leaned back into her seat, having edged forward as the tale unravelled. "My god," she whispered, "all this in a month. no wonder you're a mess!" Slowly, she said, "Does he feel the same way, do you think, about Heather?"
Hermione hid her face behind her hands. "I don't know. I- I think he does. He hasn't said anything, and I don't think he will, but. it's little things. Like the day when I didn't go, I think he waited for me for hours, and looked all round Hogsmeade for me."
"And he knows how you feel?"
She nodded, "On Christmas Eve. I didn't let him say anything, though. I didn't want him to feel cornered, you know? But maybe- maybe I just didn't want to hear him give his love to somebody who wasn't real." She rubbed her eyes dry and smoothed her skirt, trying to compose herself.
"Wow." Was all that Ginny could say, her mind racing back over the details. "Snape. I never thought of him in that way." She turned the idea over in her mind then, mischievously, "What was it like?"
Suddenly laughing at the absurdity of the situation, Hermione grinned, "Wonderful." she sighed, "I never would have even thought of him in that light, but now, I don't think I could want any other man! It sounds so perverse!" her mind fluttered downstairs, and she added, "he is perfect in every way."
Ginny squealed with laughter, and the mood in the room tangibly shifted; the load was shared, she was no longer alone, and the grip over her heart loosened a little.
"So what should I do now?"