Chapter Thirteen

An Unfortunate Event

The cerulean clock on the mantelpiece chimed softly at 7:00, startling Hermione as she was leaving her office.  She was late and should have been at Irma's party by now.  Remus had stopped by her dungeons to walk her up to the Great Hall, but half way there, Hermione remembered Nicolas and Ehlaana's tutoring lesson and had to turn back to wait for the pair.  She wondered if it was a good idea to leave the two alone in the dungeons without supervision.  That they were both seventh-years did not change the fact they were also teenagers.  Hermione only hoped that Nicolas and Ehlaana would behave as she trusted them to and decided that it was best if she left the party early to check on them.

The sound of laughter, chatting, and mirth was muffled through the large doors of the Great Hall.  Hermione felt the pit of her stomach knot up as she neared the entrance.  She wished she had not paid heed to her reflection's insisting that she hang her hair and brush a bit of stardust on for the party.  Her fastidious reflection, whom she had come to call Mirra, had won the row they had in her bathroom when Hermione coincidentally dropped the hairbrush she held in her hand whilst she admonished the reflection for her constant complaints and unwarranted remarks about her hair and weight.  The loud clink against the mirror pane startled the reflection that she thought it to be intentional and harsh.  Hermione felt so wretched about the accident that she gave in and decided to wear her hair proper as well as putting a bit of blush and gloss on.

She regretted it now when she reached outside the Great Hall.  She couldn't stand the thought of being seen by her colleagues all dressed up and pretty.  It was rather embarrassing.  She wished now that she had not listened to her belittling reflection.

Hermione walked into the boisterous hall to find it beautifully decorated.  The four tables, laden with trays of food and drinks, were set against the sidewalls.  The floating candles were shaped like bookmarks, and some were magically charmed to flicker a green and gold color.  There was a large throne-like chair, undoubtedly charmed, in the shape of an open book, sitting in the front center of the hall.  Irma and all her dourness, occupied this seat with an expression of madness, and sulked whenever someone came near her.

Dumbledore, less the polka-dot robes, thankfully, was chatting cheerfully with Remus and Sinistra by the long tables.  Minerva, April, Viola, and Hagrid were not too far from them as well.  Everyone was scattered around the Great Hall and seemed very well occupied. 

No one appeared to notice Hermione when she walked in.  She was grateful for that.  She contemplated on whether she should join her colleagues and endure their staring, grins, and queries about her look tonight or just simply sneak off to the corner somewhere and blend in with one of the party statues Minerva put together. 

Hermione's stomach rumbled when she spotted a few tasty entrées.  She didn't eat too much that day and was feeling slightly woozy because of it.  She now had no choice but to get something to eat.  Hermione was about to join her colleagues when someone came up from behind her and offered her a glass of bubbly. 

Snape held the drink out in front of her, hoping that she would accept it from him.

Incredulous, Hermione stared at Snape as he glanced quickly at the drink he offered her.  After an awkward moment passed between them, Hermione took the drink and continued to shift her glances between the walls and Snape.  He seemed calm and tolerant for a change; Hermione was going mad trying to figure out what he was doing.  As if she needed any more tension, she felt more awkward by the moment. 

Snape did not walk away from her nor did he speak to her.  He remained silent and would occasionally glance at her and catch her doing the same.  She felt like a little girl all over again.  She kept wondering if he would ever speak and what he would say first, or if he was thinking about the way she looked that night, and what he thought about it.  Whether she hated him or not, she could not prevent these thoughts from forming in her head.

Hermione startled from her stupor when Snape spoke.

"You look pale.  You should take a drink and get something to eat," he stated.  His tone was neither indifferent nor concerned.  He glanced at her once whilst he spoke. 

Hermione resumed staring and did not care if he noticed.  She did not know what to say to him or if she should respond at all.  She wondered if it would come out rude or too pleasant.  She did not want to sound like either.  Snape turned to look at her while these thoughts floated in her head.  He did not look away and she saw something in his eyes that she had not seen in a long time: a twinkle.  They did not look creased and stern as if they were only capable of glaring and making people feel inferior or small. 

He glanced at her as if his eyes were smiling covertly at her.  The infinitesimal shifting of his eyes across her face told her he was studying her.  She was discomfited and shuddered inwardly, yet she could not keep herself from looking at him.  They were in surprisingly close proximity of one another and were unsure whether to yield to such propinquity. 

What are you doing?  Hermione decided it was best if she spoke her mind when Snape's eyes lingered on her still.  She stopped when he looked away from her.  Without saying a word, he walked away from her and towards the direction of Dumbledore and Remus. 

Hermione was confused.  She wondered if he did that intentionally just to irk her.  Why does he do this?   Hermione liked to think that she could walk right by the man or look at him and not feel a single thing.  She wanted to believe that she could look at Snape and see him as she used to see him before she loved him.  Loved?  For god's sake you were only seventeen; that wasn't love!  Heated, Hermione was convinced that Snape was still just as she expected—a bastard!

Hermione was disappointed.  She didn't know why, but she was.  What was that all about?  And why on earth did he just walk away?  She convinced herself that it wasn't worth contemplating over.  He wasn't an important part of her life anymore.  She'd moved on and she was glad.  Was she?

"Here."  Hermione looked up to see a small plate of hors d'oeuvres before her. 

Snape had gone to get her some food.  He noticed from her pallid face that she was not eating well.  She needs sunlight.

Hermione felt a sense of weirdness take over her again.  'He went to get me some food,' she thought.  She felt slightly guilty for her thoughts earlier.  What?  No, I don't.  After all the shit you put me through.  You deserve to be buried in a pyre!  One night of pleasantness isn't going to change my opinion of you!  No!  It's not.  These thoughts kept turning in her head, as if she were trying to convince herself that it was true.  She wasn't going to yield to his artifices. 

But why is he being so odd? Perhaps odd wasn't as accurate as nice …but then, again, Snape and nice were equivalent to the term odd.

Hermione took the plate without rancor and without thanks. 

Severus accepted her behavior.  He was perhaps grateful that she took it at all, and even more, that she did not spit on him and ignore him completely.  Say something!

"If you don't want the hors d'oeuvres--"

"If you think that I am in the least bit moved by your newfound amiability, you're in for a surprise.  One night of pleasantness isn't going to make up for your years of insufferable behavior.  I'm capable of taking care of myself, Professor; thank you, very much.  Now, if you'll excuse me--"

Hermione made to leave but was held back by Severus.  He quickly removed his hand from hers, but not before it brushed her palm gently.  She shuddered and he felt it through the tips of his fingers. 

"What are you doing?" she asked apprehensively.  "What do you want from me?"

Severus' face quickly took on another form.  He no longer seemed confident as he did earlier. The mounds above his brows were evidently lower than usual, giving him the impression of a timid child in chastisement.

Severus had been picturing this moment—these exact questions—for a very long time.  He had practiced every night for the past several years what he would say exactly and how to look calm and composed and slightly remorseful.  He also learned how to control his breathing while speaking (which proved a difficult task). This and everything else he learned flew out the window at that very moment. 

He expected the questions; he pictured the various settings; he also anticipated her anger, but he did not anticipate her face and the pain and sorrow that projected from it.  He did not realize that practicing with his reflection or imaginary Hermione was not in the least bit similar to speaking to her in person.  The hurt in her eyes was equivalent to the effect of the Cruciatus curse.  His heart writhed in pain, and his emotions, unstable and unrestrained, rushed forward to the inner regions of his soul and moved him to shame and sorrow. 

Severus was reminded of the morning he did the unthinkable.  He contemplated whether he should go through with his plan.  He was not worthy of her and did not deserve her.  But whoever said he was altruistic?  Severus was a far cry from being righteous.  He was selfish and inconsiderate and wanted her to himself.  But this seemed more impossible by the moment. 

He had been gathering courage all week to do this right, and now it proved just as he suspected: a good waste of time.  He might have come off too confident, when the truth of the matter was, he was anything but.  He did not want to seem anxious so as scare her off.  He figured that she would not be happy at all with his impeccable timing and his sudden change of behavior.  Perhaps he should have been more subtle and not spoken to her at all, tonight.  No!  He was growing impatient and his feelings for her were only intensifying by the day, to his dislike.  Why couldn't you grow out of love like every other normal person?

Now, all his nights of practiced duologue and emotions were brought down to a simple question:  What do you want from me? 

What did he want from her?  He wanted to be with her and to love her.  He needed her forgiveness and her friendship.  He wanted her to understand his reasons for deceiving and abandoning her, and not trusting their love and believing that it could overcome anything.  He wanted her to know that he was not worthy of her love or friendship—that he was desperately in love with her.  What did he want from her?  Severus Snape wanted too many things—things he knew he could not possibly have.  So how to express his feelings in as little words possible?  It was not quite possible at all, so he settled for the sincerest response he felt in his heart.

"I'm sorry." 

There it was.  Two words he did not plan on conveying.  It was by far the most passionate and sorrowfully poignant two words to escape his lips.  So much emotions and effort and guilt were evident in his lugubrious eyes.   Those eyes: the most vicious feature of his face -- more dangerous than his forked and vile tongue, created for the vilification of the human self-esteem.  It had both the power to destroy and to enrapture. 

Hermione was stirred.  She could no longer avoid the evident plea for forgiveness.  She was simply and truly moved—where to, she had not quite grasped.  Tears filled her mascara-laden eyes as she was overcome with mixed and damned emotions.  How was she to respond?  She was certain what he was sorry for.  The years of cruelty and unpleasantness, all the spiteful and hurtful things he has ever said to her.  And most of all—she was sure that he was sorry for that morning after: the morning he took his love from her and her ability to love as well.  How was she to respond?

She saw fear in his eyes -- beautiful, delicious fear, oozing from its depths.  He had been reduced to a hopeless man asking forgiveness he knew was not likely to be given.  This was a big risk for Severus Snape, the intolerable.  She had him in the palm of her hands, and it was now her decision to decide his fate.

Whether she would shatter his ego or accept his apology, Severus did not know.  For a moment, he saw pity in her eyes.  She looked upon him as a man also in pain.  He expected to be strangled and cursed to his death, but all he received were tears--and he was hopeful for a moment, until she spoke. 

"And this is your act of contrition?"  Hermione laughed.  Her tear-stained face changed instantly to wonder.  Her laughter was a mixture of incredulity and malice.  "I'm sorry!" she reiterated.  "You cause me years of pain and disparagement and all you could say is 'I'm sorry'? 

Severus remained silent; his heart had stopped.

"You are not sorry," Hermione spat.

"I may seem petulant and stoical at times, but it is who I am and what I have become."

"Seem?" Hermione inquired sardonically. 

Severus paused for a moment when that statement caught him off guard.  "We all have our reasons for our actions and you can not begin to understand mine.  I came to offer you my… apology.  Whether you choose to accept it is up to you." 

"Children are sorry; excuses are sorry; sinners are sorry and capable of repentance; there are many things in this world that are sorry, but you Severus Snape, are a far cry from that emotion.  Are you even capable of such a thing?"  Hermione adroitly set him up for what he did not see coming.

"I'm capable of more feelings that simply being rueful, especially tonight."  

"Really?  Tell me, then, 'why anyone would waste such feelings on an insufferable nuisance such as myself'?"  These very words he uttered to her at the station so long ago had finally come back to break him.  He realized what she had been doing all along: she was giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

Hermione did not and would not see him as what he wanted to become.  She used his vulnerability and the opportunity to spite him for her suffering, and he realized this instantly. 

Things were not turning out as he had planned.


In the quiet and dark vastness of the corridors, leading to the dungeon, resonated an honest and mirthful laugh.  Ehlaana and Nicolas enjoyed the company of each other as they studied potions and learned more about one another.  Nicolas proved to be quite the entertainer, and shared much of his childhood experiences and memories with her.  Ehlaana learned that her mother's death was one of the few things she and Nicolas had in common.  He too had lost his mother, whom he loved above all else.  He was still devastated over her death. 

Ehlaana did not have much to share, given that her mother died giving birth to her, and her father was hardly there to be a father to her.  Nicolas cheered her up with his exceptional sense of humor.  She found out much about her friend and his character, and it enthralled her and pulled her into him.  Nicolas exuded a magic all of his own and she was charmed beyond words.  She could not imagine how lucky she was to have landed a friend as rare and unusual as Nicolas. 

She was simply in love.

They had been studying for the past three hours and covered much on Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts.  Nicolas learned that Ehlaana studied easier when relaxed and without stress.  He would have to talk to Snape about giving her more space and a lot less criticism.  He would have to visit him soon in his private quarters.

Ehlaana grew tired and Nicolas ended their lesson for the night. 

"We've covered enough for the night.  We can continue this another time?"

 "Yes," Ehlaana agreed.  "I am a little tired."

"All right; gather your things and we will be on our way."  No sooner had Nicolas uttered these words, when Hermione walked in.  She unwarded her doors and walked in, surprised to find Nicolas and Ehlaana in her dungeons.  The events of the night had caused her to forget that they were studying in her classroom. 

"What are you two still doing here?  You should have been in bed hours ago."

"I'm sorry, Professor.  It is my fault," Nicolas apologized.  "I wanted to make sure that Ehlaana covered the basis of our quiz next week.  I completely forgot about the time."

Hermione was sure that that was not the exact reason, but she let it go for now. 

"Gather your books, then, and be off.  Take this note, in case you run into someone."  Hermione took out a quill and parchment and scribbled a note explaining Nicolas and Ehlaana's lesson.  Hermione did not want to seem rude but she was very anxious to be left alone in her dungeons.  She was tired—physically and emotionally, and needed time to reflect on the night's events and what had happened to her. 

She simply needed to cry.

Nicolas noticed the difference in his professor.  He could only guess what or who the problem was, and he had one person in mind.

Nicolas and Ehlaana were quite slow in gathering their belongings.  When they left, Hermione instantly collapsed in her chair and cried convulsively onto her desk.  It was a long and muffled cry.  She uttered no words of execration, or loud deafening curses.  She embraced herself in her arms and cried inexorable tears of grief.  She could not and would not hold back her tears.  She repressed the urge to scream at the top of her lungs: God, why? What must I do?   

Hermione felt soft arms embrace her and lift her up.  Caught off her guard, she found herself face to face with Thierry.  "Wha--"  She had completely forgotten to ward her doors.  She was overwhelmed and drenched in tears; she could not find any words of chastisement for Nicolas.  He smiled softly at her and took her hands in his.  He looked at her concernedly.

Instead of sending him off to his room, Hermione found herself buried in the fragrant niche of his neck.  She embraced her student with unrestrained emotion and he, in return, allowed her to cry on his shoulder.  He had no doubt as to who caused pain such as this.  Memories of his mother in a similar situation came back to him vividly.  He felt his heart tightening within him and he gritted his teeth in anger.  He remained silent whilst his professor's protracted and wordless cries seeped through the breadth of his heart.

Nicolas was the first to speak when Hermione was finally calm.  "You are weak and tired.  Tell me where your room is and I will take you there." 

Hermione was lost in her thoughts and did not catch all that Nicolas said.  It felt very good to be in his arms.  She was lulled by the comfort his body provided her.  She quickly felt herself drifting off into deep slumber.  Nicolas shook her gently and her eyes opened slightly to find his soothing stare fixed on her. 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

"Please, you are not well.  You need to be in your bed."

"Yes, of course."  Hermione walked to the back of the room and tapped her wand twice on the narrow wall of bricks adjacent to the cupboard door.  A small brick at the center of the wall changed red, and Hermione instinctively uttered the words: revalen ancien pas.   

Nicolas watched as the slightly fractured bricks smoothed out into an impeccable flat surface.  A knob was produced from the exact spot the red brick had been earlier.  Hermione turned the handle exhaustedly and walked down a long dark passage to her room. 

Concerned, Nicolas slipped past the entrance and followed after Hermione, for he did not think that she was well at all.  She forgot to ward the entrance to her room and was walking in the dead darkness of the passageway without light.  He did not know that the magical entrance closed on its own and warded its Mistress' abode against intruders.  Hermione was accustomed to the darkness and was familiar with the winding passage with or without her wand-light. 

Nicolas was lucky to have slipped by so quickly.  He would be the first person, since Hermione was given the secret room, to visit, though it was without permission.

Hermione reached the entrance to her room and muttered Alohomora to unlock her door.  She walked in unsteadily and collapsed onto her small sofa.  She had left the door open and had not noticed Nicolas coming in.

He took a second to glance around her private quarters and was more than certain that she was not aware of his presence.  He realized the trouble he inadvertently put himself in, but was more concerned with Hermione and the state she was in to care.

He prodded her gently, and she did not stir.  He was sure that she had fallen asleep.  Nicolas stood and watched her for a long while before deciding what best to do.  He lifted her up gently and helped her out of her dress robe. 

She seemed lifeless in his arms.  She looked very innocent in her sleep, he thought, and very young.  He had not realized how young she was until now.  Her eyes, closed, lacked the harsh lines that always accompanied it, and her lips were soft and ruddy.  He traced his fingers along the side of her face and across her lips.  He did not fear that she should wake up and find him in her room, invading her privacy, and caressing her face.

She is young.  Nicolas knew that now for a fact.  She was still a child and not much older than he; so consumed in grief and her past, it showed in her face, on her skin, and in her eyes.  Her façade was now uncovered.  She grew up too soon, and her misery had altered her appearance and person.  He could picture her innocence taken so abruptly from her.  And now she had become like him: wasting away till the chance of recovery was long but passed, and love, itself would be of no avail.

"Elle masquerades pour cacher sa peine," he whispered in the gentle night. He turned to the sleeping Hermione and murmured, "Has love been unkind to you?"  Nicolas gazed at her peaceful state and wondered if it was the only time she was ever at peace.  He was in way over his head.  He kept her in his arms for a moment before laying her down to sleep.  

Nicolas walked over to the only window in the room and pondered over some thoughts that were bothering him.  Slowly, he began to realize that some answers had finally come to him.  Many things made sense to him now that did not before.  A wicked smile flitted over his face as he thought about the mischief his father had been getting into for the past years.

He glanced over at the figure on the bed and thought, 'You have been the cause of much distress.'  

Nicolas turned his attention to the wind howling through the crevices of the lone window and stood there in thought for most of the night, before retiring on the small sofa by the hearth.

What the following morning would bring would be a surprise to both him and Hermione.


A/N: My thanks to my super-beta, Severitaserum.  Sarah, you're such a life saver!  You deserve all the credit for this chapter. ;P

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