Scars we bear
The rest of Hermione's day was spent in cheerful anticipation of a night out. She would be way from the castle for the first time since her arrival, and attend her first real social event since her rescue. She found herself smiling and laughing more than she had since her school days. She spent her visit with Severus chatting happily to him about the party, her fingers busy buffing his nails.
Minerva Mcgonagall interrupted the manicure to inform her that her dress had arrived. "Hermione, its lovely. I took the liberty of ordering a little cape for you, in case its turns chilly later. They had such lovely plaids," she said, steering the younger witch down the halls to her room. Minerva had found a catalogue for witches that sold 'Muggle clothes'. Truth be told, they were wizarding versions.
Arriving in her rooms, she found a pretty red silk dress hanging on the door. It looked a bit like a toga, sleeveless and flowing, gathered at the shoulder and the waist. It was cocktail length, for summer. She laughed, "well, not exactly Muggle, but its not dress robes, now is it?" The other partygoers were likely to stare at her anyway, at least now they'd have a reason, she thought to herself. She laid the dress on her bed.
Getting ready was a simple process, a quick bath, spray of perfume, and then a little attention to her hair. Sitting in front of a mirror, she mused about her raven hair. The one alteration that unsettled people the most, the one she liked the best. Gone were the days of wrestling it into messy buns and breaking combs trying to tame thick brown curls. Now brushing it was a delight, reminded her strongly of brushing his hair. She quickly piled it atop her head in a loose knot, a few stray curls framing her face.
There was a knock at her door. She called out, "ENTER!" and pulled a wisp of red cloth from her bureau. She removed her robe as Poppy entered to help her dress. Wrapping the cloth around her middle, Hermione handed two long laces to Poppy and then turned her back and leaned toward the bed.
Madame Pomfrey had found a solution to the bulky and ugly back brace Hermione had worn at first. She found a number of pretty, old-fashioned corsets that suited the purpose nicely. Some of these the young girl was unable to get into without help. Including all the ones delicate enough to go unnoticed under a party dress.
Poppy laced the cords carefully, trying not to cause any more pain than was necessary. Using magic was impossible; the one time they had tried it caused her to pass out from the sudden grip of the garment. So they practiced an art of generations ago, Hermione gripping the bedpost for support while Poppy drew the flat-ribbons of a fine red satin undergarment snug enough to hold her upright without effort. Tying them off, she tucked the bow into the laces.
Hermione stepped into the dress; it was loose enough to hide the corset but flattering to her figure. Poppy helped her strap high-heeled black sandals to her feet. "Well, all that's left is the cape. I think I can manage that on my own. Thank you, Poppy," she stepped carefully around the room, trying the new shoes out.
Poppy frowned slightly, "are you quite sure about those shoes, dear. They look hazardous if you ask me. And it's a long walk, you know." Not receiving an answer, she left her young friend to return to the infirmary, muttering about silly Muggle clothes under her breath.
George arrived a moment later, as he had been waiting to be alone with her. She put on the short red plaid cape, fastened with a ruby brooch as he whistled his approval. "Gads, Hermione. If I'd known how shabby you were gonna make me look, I woulda rethought this a bit." He held out his arm gallantly, she took it and the two strode down the hall.
They left the castle in high spirits, summer breezes playing at the couple on their walk. The gathering dusk hiding them slightly from others walking into Hogsmeade for the party. They talked about the match, who was likely to be at the party, and George had big news.
"So, he's going to propose to Angelina tonight, in front of everyone. Mum's thrilled, said it was about time she gets to throw a wedding," he was telling her just as they arrived to find the streets crammed with young witches and wizards, some still sporting Quidditch colours or scarves. People had set up tables everywhere, some had even dragged them out of the Three Broomsticks, and Madame Rosemerta was taking orders outside.
"Wow, George, I didn't think there would be so many here," she said, trying to look everywhere at once. There was music playing in several places, voices and laughter filled the air, and every so often sparks and fireworks sprayed down over the crowd. By the time they made their way down to the Weasleys' joke shop they had said a quick hello to many of her former classmates.
"George, Hermione, over here! We staked out the whole front of the shop, squeeze in here, grab a drink," Angelina was shouting from the front door of the shop. She was wearing black dress robes and a bright Chudley Cannons scarf. "We are still waiting for Harry, but Ron's just got here, he's upstairs with Fred." She called up the stairs for them, handing Hermione a butterbeer.
Tasting his, George remarked, "think my brother spiked this a bit. Should be an interesting night."
"George, Snape, so glad you could join us!" Fred yelled, grabbing a handful of Angelina on his way over to them. Ron waved, and went outside without another word. "Little git, he IS happy to see you, really Hermione," Fred assured her.
Fred's proposal was a curt, "suppose we ought to have a wedding, then, Angelina?" To which she replied, "don't see why not, George." George himself spit beer all down his robes, but Fred just kissed her, laughing. The next few hours were spent in spirited conversation of the day's game, drinking and watching the various displays outside.
Midway through the evening, she began to feel strange. A slight disconnected feeling, as if she didn't really belong there anymore. She barely noticed when Ron and Harry left, and she and George ended up back outside the Three Broomsticks. It had become increasingly difficult to walk, so George had taken her shoes off for her, commenting that she was pissed. She agreed, and accused him of having had his fair share.
The feeling of inebriation was mixed with something else, a growing sense of hunger and desire. Though she should have known better, she drowned the feeling with a few glasses of wine. In this state, a drunken George suggested they stay in town. She agreed, ignoring the hidden voice in her head whispering warnings against. She held her shoes in one hand, and George in the other.
They stumbled into his room and crashed against the door. He was holding her firmly, dizzy with drink and possibilities. The feel of her against him and the alcohol in his brain combined to make resistance nearly impossible. When he hesitated, she threw him to the bed, landing on him in a heap of red silk and repressed lust. The first kiss was rough, an assault of his mouth as she bit into him. Sucking the breath from him, she explored the inside of his mouth with her tongue, stroking his face with her hands.
He forced her up and held her at arms length, determined to put a stop to this. She had a wild look in her eyes, her hair fallen around her face. He began the protest pleading damage to their friendship, being too drunk to know what she wanted, any excuse that popped into his head until he didn't believe himself even.
"Mine," she whispered. He got the sensation of heat seeping into his brain. Dulling his senses, draining his willpower, forcing him to give in to her. 'Shh, now, just give this to me, choose me, don't think...just feel,' he heard, a small erotic voice in his head. He began to feel drugged and sleepy. She looked radiant, bathed in passion and open for him, only him. "My chosen, protector, need this, you," she panted in between nibbling kisses. Somehow she had removed his clothes, but he couldn't recall it happening.
Submitting he answered her demands ardently. He removed her dress, so soft he barely felt the fabric, handfuls of silky black hair, her skin burning his fingers. He stroked her body with longing, as she purred her consent. He noticed for the first time the mark, a small letter on her hip, just under the edge of the corset. 'Where he branded her, the one who took her first. Spoiled her as you will not!' a terrible voice screamed in his head. He sat up, drawing her into his arms, trying to regain sobriety to sort it all out.
'MY ARMS WILL NOT TIRE...'the voice screamed again. Breaking his hold on her, he jumped from the bed in alarm. This time, he knew the voice, Snape's voice, and remembered the burning sensation in his fingers. Turning back to her, he caught his breath. She was kneeling in the bed, head down, gasping for air. She looked mad, anger and wanting blazing in her eyes. Dressing fast, he scrambled to get her back to the castle, to him, before... he shuddered to think. "It's okay, Hermione, we'll be there soon, Dumbledore will know what to do," he told her anxiously, carrying her in his strong arms at a dead run for Hogwarts.
But she was no longer aware of George. Her mind was filled with darkness, with the song of water flowing. The waves of George's desire had unleashed the weeks of suppressed longing for the other half of her soul. And now, so far from his still form in the infirmary, her head was achingly full of him. Caressing her, seeping into her as warmth from a fire, willing her to return. 'No, not like this, not in here only,' she pleaded. 'Wake, or let me alone. You must, you promised, I'd be free you said. You must set me free, Severus. Free,'
"Free," she whispered aloud. The only word she spoke until George laid her in her bed, Poppy running frantically behind him, pushing him away.
"Dear dear child, what have you done," she quietly addressed the now unconscious Hermione. In only a few hours, she was in worse shape than any other time she had left his side. But all Hermione saw or heard was him, her soul. The dark and dangerous man that possessed her now. She begged and pleaded, demanded he return to her.
'Come out, wake up, join me or I will leave forever. Run away, as far as my feet can carry, never to return. So far you cannot reach me here, never reach me again!' she flung at him finally. And then he was gone. She heard nothing but silence and Poppy's fussing, and sleep took her.
When she awoke, she'd have thought it a dream but for the party dress and cape she still wore. Light streamed through the window, and she had woken up in her own bed for the first time in two months.
"Looked right frightful she did, Albus. Lit up all pink, she was, and muttering 'wake up' over and over. Then she was calm, and slept the rest of the night," came a snatch of conversation from the hallway.
Hermione got up and opened the door and Dumbledore bade her follow him. She knew where he was leading, and for the first time, she dreaded it. She felt a traitor going to face justice.
The rest of Hermione's day was spent in cheerful anticipation of a night out. She would be way from the castle for the first time since her arrival, and attend her first real social event since her rescue. She found herself smiling and laughing more than she had since her school days. She spent her visit with Severus chatting happily to him about the party, her fingers busy buffing his nails.
Minerva Mcgonagall interrupted the manicure to inform her that her dress had arrived. "Hermione, its lovely. I took the liberty of ordering a little cape for you, in case its turns chilly later. They had such lovely plaids," she said, steering the younger witch down the halls to her room. Minerva had found a catalogue for witches that sold 'Muggle clothes'. Truth be told, they were wizarding versions.
Arriving in her rooms, she found a pretty red silk dress hanging on the door. It looked a bit like a toga, sleeveless and flowing, gathered at the shoulder and the waist. It was cocktail length, for summer. She laughed, "well, not exactly Muggle, but its not dress robes, now is it?" The other partygoers were likely to stare at her anyway, at least now they'd have a reason, she thought to herself. She laid the dress on her bed.
Getting ready was a simple process, a quick bath, spray of perfume, and then a little attention to her hair. Sitting in front of a mirror, she mused about her raven hair. The one alteration that unsettled people the most, the one she liked the best. Gone were the days of wrestling it into messy buns and breaking combs trying to tame thick brown curls. Now brushing it was a delight, reminded her strongly of brushing his hair. She quickly piled it atop her head in a loose knot, a few stray curls framing her face.
There was a knock at her door. She called out, "ENTER!" and pulled a wisp of red cloth from her bureau. She removed her robe as Poppy entered to help her dress. Wrapping the cloth around her middle, Hermione handed two long laces to Poppy and then turned her back and leaned toward the bed.
Madame Pomfrey had found a solution to the bulky and ugly back brace Hermione had worn at first. She found a number of pretty, old-fashioned corsets that suited the purpose nicely. Some of these the young girl was unable to get into without help. Including all the ones delicate enough to go unnoticed under a party dress.
Poppy laced the cords carefully, trying not to cause any more pain than was necessary. Using magic was impossible; the one time they had tried it caused her to pass out from the sudden grip of the garment. So they practiced an art of generations ago, Hermione gripping the bedpost for support while Poppy drew the flat-ribbons of a fine red satin undergarment snug enough to hold her upright without effort. Tying them off, she tucked the bow into the laces.
Hermione stepped into the dress; it was loose enough to hide the corset but flattering to her figure. Poppy helped her strap high-heeled black sandals to her feet. "Well, all that's left is the cape. I think I can manage that on my own. Thank you, Poppy," she stepped carefully around the room, trying the new shoes out.
Poppy frowned slightly, "are you quite sure about those shoes, dear. They look hazardous if you ask me. And it's a long walk, you know." Not receiving an answer, she left her young friend to return to the infirmary, muttering about silly Muggle clothes under her breath.
George arrived a moment later, as he had been waiting to be alone with her. She put on the short red plaid cape, fastened with a ruby brooch as he whistled his approval. "Gads, Hermione. If I'd known how shabby you were gonna make me look, I woulda rethought this a bit." He held out his arm gallantly, she took it and the two strode down the hall.
They left the castle in high spirits, summer breezes playing at the couple on their walk. The gathering dusk hiding them slightly from others walking into Hogsmeade for the party. They talked about the match, who was likely to be at the party, and George had big news.
"So, he's going to propose to Angelina tonight, in front of everyone. Mum's thrilled, said it was about time she gets to throw a wedding," he was telling her just as they arrived to find the streets crammed with young witches and wizards, some still sporting Quidditch colours or scarves. People had set up tables everywhere, some had even dragged them out of the Three Broomsticks, and Madame Rosemerta was taking orders outside.
"Wow, George, I didn't think there would be so many here," she said, trying to look everywhere at once. There was music playing in several places, voices and laughter filled the air, and every so often sparks and fireworks sprayed down over the crowd. By the time they made their way down to the Weasleys' joke shop they had said a quick hello to many of her former classmates.
"George, Hermione, over here! We staked out the whole front of the shop, squeeze in here, grab a drink," Angelina was shouting from the front door of the shop. She was wearing black dress robes and a bright Chudley Cannons scarf. "We are still waiting for Harry, but Ron's just got here, he's upstairs with Fred." She called up the stairs for them, handing Hermione a butterbeer.
Tasting his, George remarked, "think my brother spiked this a bit. Should be an interesting night."
"George, Snape, so glad you could join us!" Fred yelled, grabbing a handful of Angelina on his way over to them. Ron waved, and went outside without another word. "Little git, he IS happy to see you, really Hermione," Fred assured her.
Fred's proposal was a curt, "suppose we ought to have a wedding, then, Angelina?" To which she replied, "don't see why not, George." George himself spit beer all down his robes, but Fred just kissed her, laughing. The next few hours were spent in spirited conversation of the day's game, drinking and watching the various displays outside.
Midway through the evening, she began to feel strange. A slight disconnected feeling, as if she didn't really belong there anymore. She barely noticed when Ron and Harry left, and she and George ended up back outside the Three Broomsticks. It had become increasingly difficult to walk, so George had taken her shoes off for her, commenting that she was pissed. She agreed, and accused him of having had his fair share.
The feeling of inebriation was mixed with something else, a growing sense of hunger and desire. Though she should have known better, she drowned the feeling with a few glasses of wine. In this state, a drunken George suggested they stay in town. She agreed, ignoring the hidden voice in her head whispering warnings against. She held her shoes in one hand, and George in the other.
They stumbled into his room and crashed against the door. He was holding her firmly, dizzy with drink and possibilities. The feel of her against him and the alcohol in his brain combined to make resistance nearly impossible. When he hesitated, she threw him to the bed, landing on him in a heap of red silk and repressed lust. The first kiss was rough, an assault of his mouth as she bit into him. Sucking the breath from him, she explored the inside of his mouth with her tongue, stroking his face with her hands.
He forced her up and held her at arms length, determined to put a stop to this. She had a wild look in her eyes, her hair fallen around her face. He began the protest pleading damage to their friendship, being too drunk to know what she wanted, any excuse that popped into his head until he didn't believe himself even.
"Mine," she whispered. He got the sensation of heat seeping into his brain. Dulling his senses, draining his willpower, forcing him to give in to her. 'Shh, now, just give this to me, choose me, don't think...just feel,' he heard, a small erotic voice in his head. He began to feel drugged and sleepy. She looked radiant, bathed in passion and open for him, only him. "My chosen, protector, need this, you," she panted in between nibbling kisses. Somehow she had removed his clothes, but he couldn't recall it happening.
Submitting he answered her demands ardently. He removed her dress, so soft he barely felt the fabric, handfuls of silky black hair, her skin burning his fingers. He stroked her body with longing, as she purred her consent. He noticed for the first time the mark, a small letter on her hip, just under the edge of the corset. 'Where he branded her, the one who took her first. Spoiled her as you will not!' a terrible voice screamed in his head. He sat up, drawing her into his arms, trying to regain sobriety to sort it all out.
'MY ARMS WILL NOT TIRE...'the voice screamed again. Breaking his hold on her, he jumped from the bed in alarm. This time, he knew the voice, Snape's voice, and remembered the burning sensation in his fingers. Turning back to her, he caught his breath. She was kneeling in the bed, head down, gasping for air. She looked mad, anger and wanting blazing in her eyes. Dressing fast, he scrambled to get her back to the castle, to him, before... he shuddered to think. "It's okay, Hermione, we'll be there soon, Dumbledore will know what to do," he told her anxiously, carrying her in his strong arms at a dead run for Hogwarts.
But she was no longer aware of George. Her mind was filled with darkness, with the song of water flowing. The waves of George's desire had unleashed the weeks of suppressed longing for the other half of her soul. And now, so far from his still form in the infirmary, her head was achingly full of him. Caressing her, seeping into her as warmth from a fire, willing her to return. 'No, not like this, not in here only,' she pleaded. 'Wake, or let me alone. You must, you promised, I'd be free you said. You must set me free, Severus. Free,'
"Free," she whispered aloud. The only word she spoke until George laid her in her bed, Poppy running frantically behind him, pushing him away.
"Dear dear child, what have you done," she quietly addressed the now unconscious Hermione. In only a few hours, she was in worse shape than any other time she had left his side. But all Hermione saw or heard was him, her soul. The dark and dangerous man that possessed her now. She begged and pleaded, demanded he return to her.
'Come out, wake up, join me or I will leave forever. Run away, as far as my feet can carry, never to return. So far you cannot reach me here, never reach me again!' she flung at him finally. And then he was gone. She heard nothing but silence and Poppy's fussing, and sleep took her.
When she awoke, she'd have thought it a dream but for the party dress and cape she still wore. Light streamed through the window, and she had woken up in her own bed for the first time in two months.
"Looked right frightful she did, Albus. Lit up all pink, she was, and muttering 'wake up' over and over. Then she was calm, and slept the rest of the night," came a snatch of conversation from the hallway.
Hermione got up and opened the door and Dumbledore bade her follow him. She knew where he was leading, and for the first time, she dreaded it. She felt a traitor going to face justice.