It took longer for Hermione to find her way back to the entrance hall than it did when she had gone to her rooms. She had the feeling that the hallways liked to change, just like the staircases had at Hogwarts, and was convinced that they were thrilled in having a more vulnerable subject to pick on.
She rushed down the white stairs, the elegant train of her dress racing along behind her, and reached the floor where Snape waited, panting for breath.
He was well-dressed in an old-fashioned Muggle suit, complete with a ruffled white shirt. Hermione looked at him oddly as she descended the stairs, wondering what power had gotten him into Muggle clothing. And also, to her great surprise, he didn't look half-bad.
He examined her expressionlessly as she approached, looking her up and down and not seeming to care whether she noticed. It made her uneasy, especially since the dress, though forgiving and easy to wear, was a bit too low cut for her liking. But his gaze was chaste and cold, and she doubted that he was becoming a dirty old man looking for some jollies. Instead, she felt like she was going to some sort of horrible ball, accompanied by the most horrible man in the known world. She was also disturbed by the sense that Snape wanted to compliment her, but was holding it back between clenched teeth. She couldn't wipe the horrified expression off her face, and he noticed it with a sneer.
"Does something about my appearance startle you, Miss Granger?" he said coldly, folding his arms across his chest. She had thought that this dinner, what seemed to have become a special occasion, would be held with some amount of chivalry between them. Obviously, this was not the case. He was still her Professor, a human being where the darkness and the light combined to create a sort of warped creature, whose personality seemed to change each second and whose eyes had many faces like diamonds, but were also deep abysses of nothingness. He confused her.
She shook her head hesitantly. "No. No, sir."
"Good." He paused uneasily. "I'm curious as to why you are wearing my ancestress' dress."
"Uh…" Hermione's hand smoothed over the waist of the gown and her palms began to sweat mildly. "I'm not really sure. Beatrice-"
"Ah, then that explains it. Let's go, you're late."
He pushed through the North door, not waiting for Hermione to accompany him. Sighing, she followed him through the door and into a large dining room, made completely of polished black marble like her bedroom, with a silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling and swooping low over a lofty table piled with enough food to satiate the whole of Hogwarts. Gothic style windows lined the far side of the room, revealing what was probably supposed to be a sunset but was really just dimming shades of blue and gray. Several cushioned, green velvet chairs were pushed up against the table (Hermione was beginning to sense a rather biased theme), and upon entering all but two of them trembled and vanished.
Snape took the closest chair, leaving Hermione to frown and walk to the one at the other side of the table, tug it out, and sit unceremoniously. The chair groaned, though she sensed that it was probably at Severus's behavior and not at herself. It sometimes seemed that the magical inanimate had more sense than he did on his good days.
The meal began and continued in silence. After sampling the smoked ham in a honey glaze, poached fish, Russian layer salad, deviled eggs, pears and apples, and the raspberry tart, she was wondering whether she would be able to make it back to her room. She decided to distract her mind from how uncomfortable she was and begin - Merlin forbid - to talk.
"When will my first lesson begin?" she asked quietly, trying to ignore the sugary sweet smell of the fruit syrups. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at his plate, seeing its meager quantities and beginning to worry that she had made a pig of herself. Well, she had - she knew that much- but the question pertained to if he had noticed.
"Tomorrow afternoon, promptly at three." He pushed his uneaten carrots around his plate, and from the position of Hermione's eyes she couldn't tell whether he was looking at her or not. "They will continue to be held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from here on out - at the same time."
"Why only three days per week?" She knew she was prying, but she no longer cared.
"Because…" Hermione fathered the courage to look into his eyes but was not pleased with the gaze she received as a reward. "Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of teaching. And being forced to spend that much time with you alone will prove to be more than enough to shave away at the remaining shreds of my sanity."
Slightly stung by the personal blow, Hermione flung the linen napkin on the table and stood. The chair whimpered behind her and pushed pleadingly into the back of her knees.
"I'm tired," she said plainly, and in a way that didn't make her sound very exhausted at all. "G'night, Professor."
"Pleasant dreams, Miss Granger." Hermione had known him long enough, and maybe even perfect strangers would perhaps be able, to recognize that there was little or no sincerity in his tone.
Sighing, she exited, unaware that Snape was watching the train of her skirt as she swept through the door, or that the shoulders of each house elf in the manor drooped as they began to clean the kitchen, tears of hopelessness drifting in their bulging eyes.
Hermione couldn't sleep. The nightgown she was wearing was itchy and uncomfortable, and the bed was too warm. She had tugged a heavy book from her suitcase and attempted to use it as a tool to lull her to sleep, but it seemed to have done the opposite and instead heightened her awareness. In the back of her mind, she harbored the vague wish that Professor Binns had followed her here just to lull her to sleep. She pondered asking Snape whether they could extend him an invitation, but finally decided against it.
After two hours of tossing and turning, she decided that sleep was an impossibility.
She tossed the book aside, sighing as it landed with a heavy thump on the floor. She rubbed her palms across her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, smoothing the nightmarish thing that Beatrice had forced her into and thinking vaguely that she might have even preferred sleeping nude, even if Snape was in the house. Of course, she would put a strong locking charm on the door. Although someone could easily break it (what's the point of locking things if there's always Alohomora?), at least they would get the hint.
Hermione flipped open the lid of a suitcase that she had yet to unpack and rummaged through it, then found her terry cloth bathrobe but nothing else. Believing that even that would be better than the nightgown - and she couldn't bring herself to shed her clothes entirely - she discarded the nightgown on the floor and secured the bathrobe tightly around her waist.
"All right," she murmured. "What now? Will I actually be able to sleep?"
"Not with that hair."
Hermione swung around, startled. There was no one there.
The voice sounded aged, tired, and annoyed. "Honestly, I don't think I would be able to even be unconscious with that nest on my head. What do you do to it, make it a second home for that cat of yours?"
Crookshanks was curled up in a ball on the foot of Hermione's bed, unaware that he was being talked about. He purred softly, tail twitching in the midst of pleasant dreams.
Hermione reached for the wand on her nightstand, running a mental checklist of hexes she had memorized and wondering what would be the most effective.
The voice sighed loudly. "Here, imbecile."
She let out a gasp of relief as she saw her full reflection in the floor-length mirror on the other side of her room. There had been no portraits in her room and she had forgotten that mirrors could talk; fortunately, the ones at Hogwarts preferred to remain silent.
"You startled me," Hermione breathed. She tucked her wand into the belt of her bathrobe.
Its reply was bland. "Surprise, surprise. Loosen the robe, you'll never get a man if you dress like a nun."
Hermione scowled. "Excuse me?"
The mirror didn't answer, it had apparently gone to amuse itself elsewhere, if that was possible.
"Well," she told no one in particular, thinking that perhaps her sleeping cat would listen. "I couldn't possibly sleep now. I suppose Snape wouldn't mind too much if I took a self-guided tour?"
Well, of course he would, she knew that. But he would just have to find out, wouldn't he?
Hoping no one else in the manor was awake, Hermione left her room and went through hallways upon hallway, looking for a familiar place. Apparently, the walls never slept. The subjects of paintings and portraits were leaning against their frames, snoring loudly. In another, Penelope and one her suitors snuggled in the corner while the others slept, oblivious.
"Poor Odysseus," Hermione said with a stifled grin. She continued onwards.
She soon reached the entrance room, which was odd since, to her knowledge, she had not descended any stairs.
It was dark and empty. A pang of loneliness twanged in Hermione's stomach as the steady ticks of the clock echoed through the marble room. It was then that she noticed that the door to the West Wing was slightly ajar, and a golden warmth radiated from within.
"Curious," whispered Hermione, hesitantly walking across the hall, trying to muffle the slaps of her bare feet on the white marble. "Shouldn't it be locked?"
She was fighting a battle with herself. A part of her, a very strong, stubborn part of her, told her that this was a privilege, and an opportunity, to learn something about the mysterious Professor. Another weaker voice warned her that she could get into deep, deep trouble.
Well she thought. I've indulged my curiosity hundreds of times, and I haven't been killed…yet.
It was all quite logical, really.
Before she was completely aware of her actions, her hand was on the cold handle and the door swung silently open.
"Convenient…"
As though the source of light had sensed her arrival, the room suddenly plunged into darkness, leaving a vague impression of its dimensions on Hermione's mind. It was small and completely empty. Another doorway stood on the opposite side, also open. Hermione crossed the room and walked courageously through it.
She was now in a long stone corridor, lit by torchlight. It held an odd feeling that made her hesitant in continuing, as if someone had been there recently. A mere scattering of small, gothic-style paintings were hung on the walls in long increments, but they mostly remained quiet. One girl was bold enough to ask her what she was doing there, but Hermione shot her a seething look and she ran away.
Step followed step. The hall seemed to continue on for miles and it only got colder. She finally came upon an entrance to another room, from which silver light poured out and spilled silently to the ground, slithering into the shadows.
Hermione approached warily, not wanting to make Snape (if he was there) aware of her arrival.
When she entered, she noticed with some shock that there were no windows, and instead what had looked like moonlight was coming from the center of the room. The only piece of furniture was a shallow table, on which sat an ancient-looking stone bowl.
Craning her neck around the check for any non-existent tattle-tale portraits, she walked to the center of the room and stared down at the table.
It was like a bowl of misty light. Hermione had never seen anything like it. Silver wisps of silk tumbled and spun dizzyingly, creating a glow that softened edges and made shadows frightening. On the edge of the bowl were carved odd letterings that she vaguely recognized but couldn't place.
It was enrapturing. Her fingertips first grazed the edge, testing the smoothness of the stone, but soon she was grasping it white-knuckled and staring into the threads of light. She barely even felt the pull as she was tugged from her feet and fell head first into Professor Snape's Pensieve.
Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office, gazing at the shelves of whirling silver gadgets as she tried to collect her thoughts.
She wondered where she was - which was soon quite obvious, when she was - it couldn't have been long before she left Hogwarts, and more importantly: how she had gotten there.
The room seemed distant even though she was standing directly inside of it. The lively tinkles whirrs, whizzes, chugs, and honks seemed muted as though they had been stuffed under a think piece of cloth. The colors weren't as bright and vibrant as she felt they should have been.
She turned to face Dumbledore's desk and received a mild shock - it was empty.
A mumbling from the other side of the room made Hermione's head jerk upward. Severus Snape was standing on the other side of the room, arms crossed, the characteristic sneer pasted across his face. He looked paler than usual, his robes darker.
"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't see you. I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. Well…not really. I am honestly sorry and…"
She stopped, thinking that Snape was ignoring her. But then she reached the conclusion that he wasn't ignoring her, but he could not see or hear her. And she couldn't figure why.
"Bloody Dumbledore," Snape muttered gloomily. Hermione couldn't help but be amused with the fact that he talked to himself. She tried to hide a grin…would he be able to sense that? "You would think that older men would have more respect for peoples' time. It's not as if either of us are getting any younger."
The door then creaked open and Dumbledore entered from what looked like completely bleakness.
It was then that it came to her.
Pensieve.
She had stumbled into Snape's memories.
She was in trouble.
"Dumbledore shut the door slowly, deliberately adding to Snape's irritation. He smiled slyly and said, "Sorry, Severus. I had planned to be punctual, but a few unexpected…obstacles popped up on the way. That Weasley girl certainly can remind me of her mother."
Hermione smiled, but Snape did quite the opposite.
"You should let Filch do what he wants with them."
"What?" Dumbledore sat in his chair, beckoning Snape to do the same. He did so, but somewhat reluctantly. Two steaming cups of tea appeared in front of both in them and Dumbledore sipped for a second or two while Snape completely ignored his own. Dumbledore put the teacup down and tapped his spoon idly against its side, clearing his throat. "What, you mean suspend them on the ceiling by their ankles? I do not believe it would work. Once you set them back on their feet, all that blood would have to go somewhere." Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "Ah, youth. Which is what I believe you wanted to talk to me about, Severus?"
Snape shifted in his chair, uncomfortable.
"Not necessarily. My problems are of a more serious nature."
"Yes, I am well aware of that." The old wizard pushed the spectacles up the bridge of his nose and took another sip of tea. "I hate saying this…" Snape let out an irritated sigh, but Dumbledore defended his argument with an open palm. "No, I really do. But I can no longer protect you. It would be illegal, and…"
"Hasn't stopped you before," Snape snarled in reply.
"That is true," he answered slowly in contemplation. Hermione's muscles were beginning to stiffen, but she still held herself still, nervous that it could be possible to disrupt anyone even though she knew better. "But now that Fudge is dead, rest his foolish soul, I have a certain…standard that I must uphold."
"So you're not going to help me."
Dumbledore opened his hands in a gesture of apology. "I wish that I could. But you must take matters into your own hands."
Snape climbed to his feet. His voice was cold and stubborn. "I've let too many things slip through my fingers," he said, his baritone voice barely a whisper. "I'm not going to let it happen again. I'm going to do something about this."
A smile quirked the corner of Dumbledore's mouth. "That's my boy. I just don't know anything about this, all right?"
Snape's expression was still stony but it had somehow changed, though Hermione couldn't point out when it had occurred.
He was just about to close the door when she felt a hard tug on her shoulder and she fell, coughing and sputtering, onto the cold floor of Reality.
Thanks to: Luna Writer, c[R]ud[E]dly, Anarane Anwamane, krisleigh (Haha, I know. The blind leading the blind), Kailin, Snapegirl51606 (erm...if you don't mind me asking, in time for what?), Sara Lily Potter, Akasha Ravensong, Zvezdana (I don't think I've ever heard the expression before. The house elves have...problems. But don't all of them?), lacewing (but of course. Curiosity is something that Hermione always has), Zephyre (ah, thank you), Satern Mya, Joshua Glass, Aindel S. Druida, Zvezdana (your wish is granted :)), and Dues Ex (hm, so I'm guessing my following advertisement won't work on you). Extra, extra thanks to my beta Saskia/Laia who has returned and is now correcting my stupid mistakes.
Also, one last plea before you review *cough*, I have an original story posted on fictionpress with the very stupid name of Haunted Ivy, but it's taking up most of my energy right now and I'm putting way too many serious feelings and thoughts in it. So if you're up for some Wonkish literature, I suggest you check it out at ?storyid=1487528 . Thanks.