THE WORLD'S GREATEST ACTRESS
Post-War. Three years after graduation.
She arrived at Hogwarts late Friday night, as she always did. And, as always, she had what was virtually a great sack of textbooks weighing her down, in addition to the small overnight bag she brought with her. And, as always, she looked thin and tired and drawn, and the sweet, relieved smile she gave him as she entered the dungeons was not enough to disguise the shadows under her eyes or her pale, pale face.
She went to him, sitting over by the fireplace in an armchair, and plonked down in his lap in her achingly familiar way. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and snaked her arms around his waist.
"Thank Merlin it's Friday," she said, sighing in a deeply satisfied way.
But he said not a word. And though it was not unusual for him to be quiet for long periods while she did all the talking, on this particular occasion there was a reason for his silence and she felt it before she'd even looked up at him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Immediately he gave her a push that was gentle but firm, and she was forced awkwardly to her feet. He stood as well, taking a moment to tower over her in an intimidating manner before moving over to the mantel above the fire. She stayed put, taken aback at his coldness. Of course, he was taciturn by nature, even cruel to an extent – she knew this, and accepted it. Even loved him for it, in her own way. But this was different. There was usually a reason for his fits of unkindness, as she called them. He was cruel, yes, but not unfair (at least not to the woman he loved). If he was ever unpleasant or mean to her, it was because she had given him reason to be (or he believed her to have done so). But how could she have done so in this case? She hadn't seen him all week, and the last time they'd been together there had been nothing done on her behalf to provoke this kind of treatment from him. So Hermione stood, arms by her side, frown on her face, waiting for an explanation.
"Well?" she asked momentarily, watching him as he leaned on the mantel, brooding.
Severus turned around sharply, and Hermione winced. It was not like her, and she was immediately angry with herself for doing it. It simply wouldn't do to revert to their former roles of menacing professor and fearful schoolgirl every time he became cross with her. They were both adults and could handle their problems in an adult manner. Hermione breathed in deeply and drew her shoulders back, matching his gaze.
"Severus, what's going –"
"Why don't you tell me what's going on?" he cut her off harshly.
She shook her head, looking confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Are you hiding anything from me, Hermione?" he asked in a mockingly inquisitive way, as though he already knew the answer. "Is there something you're afraid to tell me?"
Hermione's eyes widened briefly and her mouth snapped shut. He couldn't possibly know... He couldn't possibly...
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said again, but she had lost her former self-assuredness and there was an almost undetectable shake in her voice.
He picked up a small case from the mantel and threw it directly at her. Due to her poor reflexes, it hit her in the arm with a small thump and fell to the floor. She didn't look down. Her eyes were still trained on him, now betraying no hint of emotion. She kept her face impassive and did not speak for several long moments.
"Pick it up," he finally said in his most quiet, dangerous voice. But she didn't need to pick it up. She knew exactly what it was. "Now, Hermione."
"Where did you get it?"
"Pick it up. I won't ask again."
"WHERE DID YOU GET IT?" she yelled at him. The trepidation that had been building in her gave way to outright indignation. "You have no right to-"
He closed the distance between them in three long strides. Grabbing her wrist, he bent to pick up the case and then pulled her across the room to an upright wooden chair and pushed her into it. He slammed the case on the table in front of her.
"Do you like to see me like this, Hermione? Does it please you to make me angry?"
"No, it doesn't please me," she said through gritted teeth.
"Then why?" he said. "Why are you doing it? Why now, after everything we went through before?"
She shook her head, staring at the table. "Where did you get it?" she asked again quietly.
He made a noise, obviously disgusted with her. "Your roommate. It seems even Miss Abbott sees the destruction you wreak. She sent an owl to Dumbledore this morning."
"Hannah. That nosy fucking bitch," Hermione muttered to herself.
"That nosy fucking bitch probably just saved your life!" Severus snapped, sitting down in the chair opposite Hermione. They were both quiet for a minute. Neither seemed to know what to say next – Severus was angry, disappointed, disillusioned. Hermione felt betrayed, trapped, embarrassed. The reality of the situation sunk into both of them, and suddenly each felt exhausted.
"Muggle drugs, Hermione?" he said finally. "You told me you'd stopped. You swore to me – you swore to Dumbledore! You asked us to trust you, and we did. We believed you."
Hermione looked up sulkily, her eyes cruel and cold. "Yeah. Well. I'm the world's greatest actress."
He laughed, but there was no humour in it. It was a low, mean laugh, deep in his throat. "No, you're not. You're just a stupid little girl who's good at telling lies."
TBC
Post-War. Three years after graduation.
She arrived at Hogwarts late Friday night, as she always did. And, as always, she had what was virtually a great sack of textbooks weighing her down, in addition to the small overnight bag she brought with her. And, as always, she looked thin and tired and drawn, and the sweet, relieved smile she gave him as she entered the dungeons was not enough to disguise the shadows under her eyes or her pale, pale face.
She went to him, sitting over by the fireplace in an armchair, and plonked down in his lap in her achingly familiar way. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and snaked her arms around his waist.
"Thank Merlin it's Friday," she said, sighing in a deeply satisfied way.
But he said not a word. And though it was not unusual for him to be quiet for long periods while she did all the talking, on this particular occasion there was a reason for his silence and she felt it before she'd even looked up at him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Immediately he gave her a push that was gentle but firm, and she was forced awkwardly to her feet. He stood as well, taking a moment to tower over her in an intimidating manner before moving over to the mantel above the fire. She stayed put, taken aback at his coldness. Of course, he was taciturn by nature, even cruel to an extent – she knew this, and accepted it. Even loved him for it, in her own way. But this was different. There was usually a reason for his fits of unkindness, as she called them. He was cruel, yes, but not unfair (at least not to the woman he loved). If he was ever unpleasant or mean to her, it was because she had given him reason to be (or he believed her to have done so). But how could she have done so in this case? She hadn't seen him all week, and the last time they'd been together there had been nothing done on her behalf to provoke this kind of treatment from him. So Hermione stood, arms by her side, frown on her face, waiting for an explanation.
"Well?" she asked momentarily, watching him as he leaned on the mantel, brooding.
Severus turned around sharply, and Hermione winced. It was not like her, and she was immediately angry with herself for doing it. It simply wouldn't do to revert to their former roles of menacing professor and fearful schoolgirl every time he became cross with her. They were both adults and could handle their problems in an adult manner. Hermione breathed in deeply and drew her shoulders back, matching his gaze.
"Severus, what's going –"
"Why don't you tell me what's going on?" he cut her off harshly.
She shook her head, looking confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Are you hiding anything from me, Hermione?" he asked in a mockingly inquisitive way, as though he already knew the answer. "Is there something you're afraid to tell me?"
Hermione's eyes widened briefly and her mouth snapped shut. He couldn't possibly know... He couldn't possibly...
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said again, but she had lost her former self-assuredness and there was an almost undetectable shake in her voice.
He picked up a small case from the mantel and threw it directly at her. Due to her poor reflexes, it hit her in the arm with a small thump and fell to the floor. She didn't look down. Her eyes were still trained on him, now betraying no hint of emotion. She kept her face impassive and did not speak for several long moments.
"Pick it up," he finally said in his most quiet, dangerous voice. But she didn't need to pick it up. She knew exactly what it was. "Now, Hermione."
"Where did you get it?"
"Pick it up. I won't ask again."
"WHERE DID YOU GET IT?" she yelled at him. The trepidation that had been building in her gave way to outright indignation. "You have no right to-"
He closed the distance between them in three long strides. Grabbing her wrist, he bent to pick up the case and then pulled her across the room to an upright wooden chair and pushed her into it. He slammed the case on the table in front of her.
"Do you like to see me like this, Hermione? Does it please you to make me angry?"
"No, it doesn't please me," she said through gritted teeth.
"Then why?" he said. "Why are you doing it? Why now, after everything we went through before?"
She shook her head, staring at the table. "Where did you get it?" she asked again quietly.
He made a noise, obviously disgusted with her. "Your roommate. It seems even Miss Abbott sees the destruction you wreak. She sent an owl to Dumbledore this morning."
"Hannah. That nosy fucking bitch," Hermione muttered to herself.
"That nosy fucking bitch probably just saved your life!" Severus snapped, sitting down in the chair opposite Hermione. They were both quiet for a minute. Neither seemed to know what to say next – Severus was angry, disappointed, disillusioned. Hermione felt betrayed, trapped, embarrassed. The reality of the situation sunk into both of them, and suddenly each felt exhausted.
"Muggle drugs, Hermione?" he said finally. "You told me you'd stopped. You swore to me – you swore to Dumbledore! You asked us to trust you, and we did. We believed you."
Hermione looked up sulkily, her eyes cruel and cold. "Yeah. Well. I'm the world's greatest actress."
He laughed, but there was no humour in it. It was a low, mean laugh, deep in his throat. "No, you're not. You're just a stupid little girl who's good at telling lies."
TBC