Bitterness and the Burrow
When Hermione arrived on the doorstep of the lopsided Burrow, with bags surrounding her and the sleeping Crookshanks at her side, she was grating her lip between her teeth and on the verge of tears. She was sure that she looked like a mess. She was a mess, in every way possible. She felt overwhelmed, confused, and abandoned. And if Snape loved her, as Beatrice had said, why did he let her go?
No one seemed to notice her jumbled emotions, not even the abnormally attuned Molly Weasley, who swept into the part of adopted mother immediately upon opening the door and ushered her into the busy house, complaining about how she'd lost weight and how she needed to gain it back and how her hair didn't look like it had seen a comb in weeks.
"Don't they treat you right in that place?" she had asked hurriedly, ordering Fred to take Hermione's things up to Ginny's room. "You're a fright. When was the last time you slept?"
Thankfully, she seemed unaware of the fact that Hermione had been staying with one Professor Severus Snape. She hoped that Ginny had kept the secret, though with the careful, suspicious looks that the abnormally quiet Ron was shooting her, she doubted it.
Dinner was soon served, and, ironically enough, was stuffed potato skins that were so delicious that Hermione, even with her churning stomach, couldn't resist them.
"So…" Hermione began uneasily, trying to break the uneasy silence that only proved to be unnerving. The Burrow was never quiet, especially during dinner, and with two extra guests (Harry was splitting his time between the Burrow and Grimmauld Place, and Luna had gone home a week earlier), she would have thought that everyone would be bursting with blunt observations and prying questions. But Ginny seemed to have complete control of the situation. She, if no one else, had finally noticed the delicate condition of Hermione's nerves, and her talent in hexes was infamous in the family. The Weasley clan kept quiet, and the most exciting moment was when Harry dragged his sleeve through the gravy. Itching with boredom and a burning desire for idle conversation, Hermione took it upon herself to start talking. "How have things been around here?"
"Very well," Mrs. Weasley answered before anyone could say otherwise, emptying a spoonful of green beans onto her plate. "Ron is surpassing the expectations of the Canon trainers."
"Yeah," interjected George. "They say he doesn't even need a broom anymore. The gigantic stick up his arse is actually faster than a Firebolt."
As a wooden serving spoon crashed down upon the unfortunate twin's head and Ron turned a color not found in nature, Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself. It was good to be back.
Though she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was missing.
"Yur lessons done 'ready?" Ginny asked through a mouthful of toothpaste suds as she and Hermione got ready for bed that night, both wrapped snuggly in flannel pajamas with their hair pulled back to the napes of their necks. Ginny's red mane was smooth and tamely allowed itself to be tied without any strays making an appearance. Hermione's, however, resembled something that looked more like a nest than anything else. She couldn't help but think that it looked as though they were about to have a slumber party. In all reality, they pretty much were.
"Yes," Hermione answered with a hint of a sigh that she hoped Ginny couldn't detect. "I'm taking the NEWT next month."
"You could have taken them when Ron and Harry did, and you still would have blown them out of the water," the redhead answered after she spit the suds into the sink and wiped her mouth on a bright orange towel.
"Oh well," Hermione answered, putting her own toothbrush away. "What's done is done. At least I get to take it at all."
Ginny's reflection shot Hermione an odd look from the mirror. "You make it sound like it's a privilege. It was your right to take it before, the bastard just screwed you over."
Hermione almost defended him, but decided to bite her lip and sink into a state of quiet disdain.
"I wish you'd cheer up a bit," Ginny said bitterly, moving out of the bathroom and beckoning her friend to follow. "We haven't talked, really talked, since we stayed at Grimmauld place last summer. And even then Lupin or Snape kept tromping up the stairs to tell us to shut up."
Hermione remembered those nights well, when the two of them would stay up till the wee hours of the morning, usually discussing Ginny and her (reciprocated) crush on Harry and how Hermione didn't have a romantic interest in anyone, even Krum, who she was still "sort of kind of" dating. A member of the Order would eventually come up at about two in the morning, at the latest, to tell them that people were trying to sleep and that they're silence would be appreciated. Remus usually requested quiet with a kind smile and a warm glance at Hermione, while Mrs. Weasley had no problem with threats and Snape said nothing but shot warning glances at both of them, his eyes lingering just a bit longer on Hermione.
"They just wanted to sleep," Hermione said, stifling a yawn as they padded down the hallway to Ginny's room.
"Lupin just wanted to see you," Ginny said with a smirk as she opened her bedroom door. "Pervy old man. I suppose he's cute though, for being a bit wrinkly and such. He's been looking quite healthy, lately, though."
Ginny continued with her musings as Hermione sunk into her bed and turned to stare at the wall, hugging air to her chest. She wished that she had Crookshanks to cuddle with, but the nocturnal creature seemed to have suddenly rediscovered his household use and was out stalking gnome holes in the garden.
"Hermione," Ginny said, startling her. She had thought that the girl had gone to sleep. "Why are you here?"
"I was invited," Hermione answered coldly, refusing to turn around and face her, even if it was dark. "Wasn't I?"
"Well, yes, but you didn't seem too keen on the idea. Ron and I were convinced that you would skip out."
"You're mad."
"No, I'm not. You really didn't want to come here. And that just makes me wonder why you showed up on our doorstep one day with all your luggage, looking like you'd been dragged through the mud by a kneazle."
"Crookshanks is half, you know."
"It's an expression," Ginny answered with an irritated sigh. She shifted loudly in her bed, the whisper of cotton and flannel and the loud groans of shifting springs weaving through the air. "Did you and Snape sleep together?"
Hermione could no longer face the wall. She shot straight up in bed, eyes wide in shock and her shoulders rigid. "What did you say?"
"I asked if you'd slept together. It would make sense…I've seen it before. Fleur always gets in a row with Bill, usually over sex or something of the sort, and shows up on our doorstep sniffling and thinking that we would be happy to take her in. Honestly, when Bill married her, we didn't think that we'd be taking on a boarder-"
"I did not sleep with Snape!"
"Fine," Ginny said with a slight giggle. "But you better keep it down, otherwise the whole household will hear and think that you did. Fred and George would have a field day."
"What gave you that idea in the first place?" Hermione posed in irritation, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and no longer feeling the need to sleep.
"You just seemed to enjoy staying with him too much. No one in their right mind would like living with him, unless they were shagging him. At least, that's what makes sense to me."
"You are absolutely awful, Ginevra Weasley."
"So my mother tells me. But so what? I never said that he wasn't a good shag." Her mischievous grin gleamed white in the moonlight pouring through the small, mismatched windows.
"Ginny!"
"Well something must have kept you there. And I'm bloody sure it wasn't the Potions, no matter how much you like them. You fancy him, don't you?"
Hermione didn't answer. She couldn't, she didn't even know what the answer was. She rocked her head to gaze out the window, folding her arms up against her chest. She just bit her tongue and hoped that the girl might take Hermione's silence as her cue to go to sleep.
No such luck.
"Hermione?"
"What?"
"I asked if you fancied him. Do you?"
There was a long drawn out pause, and Hermione just opted for the truth. "I don't know."
"How on earth can you not know? You either do or you don't. Do you get butterflies when you're around him? Do you think he's handsome even though he's not? Do you get jealous when you see him talking to other women? Do you wonder what those hands could do to you?"
Yes. Yes. Yes. And oooh, yes. "No," Hermione lied.
"Right, Hermione," Ginny said, her voice disbelieving. "Whatever you say."
The redhead turned in her bed to face away from Hermione, but the mirror on the wall still allowed Hermione a view of her shadowed face.
It was time to let it go. "The house elf told me that Snape loved me."
Ginny choked on a laugh and Hermione frowned at the girl's back. "You're joking."
"I wish I was." Hermione had had enough. This was more than she wanted to admit in a night. She settled back into her bed and pulled the sheets up to her chest, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the seduction of sleep to return to her. Ginny's voice was shooing it away.
"Since when do you believe house elves?" Ginny asked incredulously.
"It makes sense," Hermione answered, letting the confusion of her mind unwind. She couldn't believe that she had just said that…of course it didn't make sense. Severus Snape had a hard time loving anyone…it was impossible that he could love her. "Beatrice…the elf…said that he's loved me for a year, when I was still his student. If he tried to act on his feelings he would get fired. And I would probably get in trouble, too, even if I fended it off. So…"
"Even if?" Ginny posed. Hermione could practically hear her eyebrows raise.
Turning a shade of red that rivaled the Weasleys' hair color, Hermione pushed on. "Let me finish." She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "So he offered me the chance to tutor under him so I could finish his class…at first I thought it was because he felt guilty for dropping me, but I think it was so he could…try to make me fall in love with him."
There. She was finished, and it didn't make any more sense than it had earlier at all. Hermione had thought that saying everything out loud would make it less confusing, but it didn't help. If possible, it made her insides swell up even more inside of her, threatening to cut off her breathing.
"So do you love him?" Ginny asked before Hermione felt as though she could suffocate herself. But it was just the same question, over and over again, and Hermione still didn't have an answer.
"I don't know."
Ginny let it settle there, still not believing her, but becoming too tired to continue badgering her. Before they both drifted off to sleep, Ginny mused allowed, "Snape hasn't grown up, has he? He's like the boys in primary school, showing a girl he likes her by pulling on her hair…but instead he drops you from his class and thinks you'll take the hint…"
Ron had become more chipper after the night of her arrival, rushing her with a hug and a "good morning" a few mornings later in a flurry of red hair and Quidditch Dreams, enveloping her with friendly warmth. Harry settled with a brotherly pat on the shoulder and a push to the head, while Fred and George settled with putting an Invisible Flatu-Cushion on her breakfast chair. Ginny had wandered down to the table a half hour after Hermione with messy hair and a faulty memory, not yet remembering their nightly discussion that had become commonplace since Hermione's arrival. It usually took her until eleven to remember Hermione's predicament.
Everyone began their breakfast in a sleepy state, until Ron gathered enough energy to speak.
"You're spending time with me and Harry today," he said through a mouthful of spiced potatoes. "Whether you like it or not. We haven't seen you all summer and it's only fair since you saw Ginny in London." So he did know about their meeting in Diagon Alley. Blast. "It's only fair."
"I'd be more than happy to be with you two," Hermione said, spooning strawberries onto her plate as a random shiver passed down her spine. "As long as you aren't planning on playing Quidditch."
"No, but we might go over to Headquarters for a while. Harry owled Lupin to tell him that you're here and he practically begged for a visit." He tried to say this with good humor, but the expression on his face was obviously bitter. "And Mum wants us to de-gnome, if that's okay. Maybe we could put them in boxes and see if they start fighting…" A deadly look shot from Mrs. Weasley across the table shut him up. "Anyway…are you interested?"
"Sounds appealing," Hermione answered, picking up the new edition of the Daily Prophet that a handsome owl had recently dropped beside her plate.
The feel of her fingertips on the rough paper suddenly stirred up a memory and a lurching feeling in her stomach…
She was in bed, covered in black cotton sheets and blankets, looking through a morning edition of the Daily Prophet without interest. She was having a hard time staying awake, and it didn't even strike her as odd the fact that she had two rings on the second finger of her left hand, a ruby solitaire on a silver setting crowned by a platinum wedding band. She felt a hand fiddling with her hair, entwining itself in messy curls, as another hand landed on her hip and pulled her toward a warm, lean body, her lips crashing to a face with depthless black eyes and a hooked nose…
She had had a dream last night. She didn't even know that she had had one until this shared sense, the feel of the paper under her fingertips, had triggered it and unearthed it from her subconscious. She put the Daily Prophet down, sure that her face was burning so brightly that ships would find her in the daylight. Her heart was beating quicker than if she'd just run from the Great Hall to her dormitory. But no one seemed to notice.
She had dreamed that she had been…intimate with Snape. And, what was worse, she had enjoyed it.
Ginny was having a bad effect on her.
It was a relief to not be greeted by the customary rants and screams when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rang the doorbell at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Instead, Remus Lupin's face, bright with mild surprise, lit up the doorway as the newly painted door swung inward. Hermione witnessed his own pleasant surprise: Remus had shaved off his mustache.
"Why ring the bell?" Remus asked mildly, holding the door for them as the four filed in. The house looked fantastic – it sure had changed in the time that Hermione had been away. "Harry, you practically live here."
"It was Ron," Harry answered with a shrug. "Not me."
"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, peeking up at the landing of the stairway. "You got rid of the hag! How'd you do it?"
Remus led them into the kitchen where they slouched comfortably into the chairs around the table. Cups of tea immediately appeared in front of them, and they were even warm. "New house elf," Remus explained as everyone beside Harry shot him curious looks. "Snape gave him to us after it had a messy row with another elf at his manor. I asked him why he didn't give us the other one, and all he said was that even he wasn't that cruel." The first swallow of tea lit Hermione's brain and face on fire. "Funny, I thought he was."
Ginny caught Hermione's stiff, suffering expression and quickly changed the subject.
"So Professor Lupin," she said in a disgustingly sweet manner that immediately set everyone on guard. Ron's spine straightened in preparation for his little sister's set-up. "Since I'm your favorite student and helped in the Order and everything, I automatically get the highest mark in your class, don't I?"
"That depends. Are you actually going to work?" Remus said with the same false sweetness and a wolfish grin. "If you do, I'll make a half-arsed promise that you won't fail."
"Thanks," Ginny replied dryly, glaring down at her tea.
"Besides, I never thought that giving me a silver chalice for Christmas could be considered helping the Order."
"I forgot!" Ginny protested, on the verge of laughter.
"Like how I'll forget to pass you?"
"Don't argue, Ginny," Ron said with a small smile. "Besides, we all know that Hermione will always be his favorite." It was added as a bitter afterthought, silencing all five of them. Remus, attempting to be brave, tried to meet Ron's eyes, but even the outspoken Weasley turned away.
Hermione swallowed nervously.
"Well…" Harry said after a while. "Anyone up for chocolate?"
Everyone muttered their "sure"s and pieces broken off of chocolate bars and placed carefully in the centers of small plates appeared before them on the table. Hermione was half-wishing for a cup of hot chocolate large enough so that she could drown herself in it.
They finished their chocolate in silence and by the time it was gone, Harry and Ginny were sharing anxious looks and both fidgeting under the table, obviously wanting to go off for a little privacy. Ginny left the kitchen claiming that she had to use the loo, Harry said he had to go get a book from his room, and Ron, unaware of what he was going after, unassumingly followed after them and left Hermione and Remus alone in the kitchen.
"Would you mind keeping me company while I wash the dishes?" Remus asked, gathering the plates from the tabletop and clanking them around to soothe his frazzled nerves.
"I thought you had an elf to do that," Hermione answered, getting up from the table and carefully handing him her own plate.
"I told him that I'd rather do the dishes. It helps me relax, for some reason. I think it's the warm water."
"Oh," Hermione said plainly, her fingers wiggling, hands grasping for something to do. "I'll help you."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "If you want to."
He washed, she dried. She wasn't very used to washing dishes by hand; her parents had a dishwasher and she never had to worry about chores at Hogwarts. Her movements were slightly clumsy as she worked inside the delicate teacups, her inexperience apparent when she dropped one and it shattered into porcelain dust.
She stammered her apologies as Remus pointed his wand at it and it flew back up the counter, reassembling without any evidence that it had been smashed to smithereens.
"Don't worry about it," he said with a tiny, shy smile. She breathed a sigh of relief and flickered her eyes back to the task at hand. She was very aware that Remus was watching her and edging ever closer. She could feel the warmth radiate from him and seep through her clothing, making her hairs stand on edge and her fingers shake slightly, making her work even more difficult. She didn't know why, but for some reason, she was frightened.
She tried to ignore the odd feeling and set the last teacup aside. She reached her left hand over and said, "Could you hand me a plate?"
Instead of a plate, Remus slipped his wet, sudsy hand into hers and grasped it warmly. Surprised, Hermione glanced up at him, her lips parted in questioning. His eyes were bright and kind as he leaned forward and pressed his warm, soft mouth to hers. Hermione inhaled deeply and felt his other hand go behind her neck, weaving dishwater through her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, still shocked but trying to enjoy it, but only saw darkness.
There were no fireworks, just lips and dishwater, and a love that was nothing more than platonic.
I'm sorry, Remus.
He could sense her uneasiness. He pulled away, sadness running rings around his pupils. He pulled his hands away from her and stuffed them shyly into his pockets. His voice was soft as he said, "You don't have feelings for me, do you?"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, summoning the words to say from a place where sadness didn't reign. Instead, her mind wandered back to the library at Hogwarts…
Something was familiar, but something was wrong.
She played her discovery of the library over in her brain, her eyes traveling far away from a crushed Remus Lupin who was standing, waiting patiently, before her. Something had happened with Snape, there were motions missing, seconds missing in her memory. The fluid motion of time had been chopped apart, somewhere between when she had thanked him and when he had walked wordlessly down the hallway. She didn't remember him walking through the doorway.
Something had happened that she couldn't remember.
Had Snape erased something from her memory? But why? And what was it?
And why did Remus's kiss feel vaguely, if not similarly, familiar? Had Snape…kissed her?
"Hermione?" Remus said gently, coaxing her from her academic mindset lost in thoughts of days before.
"I…don't know," Hermione said, unblinking as she stared into Remus's gentle gray eyes.
"You don't know…what?" he said. He wanted to reach for her hand again, but he held himself back. She wasn't comfortable with it, whatever had just happened, and he didn't want to make a mistake…another one…that he would regret later.
"I…I…" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "I think…I don't think you're the one for me."
Remus sighed and collapsed at the table, running his fingers through his hair and propping his forehead on his palms. "I thought as much."
"What?" she asked, staying where she was with the dishtowel still hanging limply from her hand.
"You love Snape," he said in a matter-of-fact tone that made the heat rush to Hermione's face. "You have for a while."
"No, I don't," she protested quietly. "He's only a friend…I don't love anyone in that way."
He ignored her remark. "And he loves you."
She had no retort for this. She knew he was right, but the thing she couldn't figure out was why. Everything made sense, but nothing did at the root. How could he love her? It didn't match up. How did the greasy Head of Slytherin fall in love with the know-it-all best friend of Harry Potter? It just didn't work. There was no logic. That's what made her afraid.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said solemnly, taking the plate from the dishwater on her own and drying it stubbornly, even after all the drops of water had been wiped away.
"That's fine," he said, a sigh ruffling the edges of his words. "Just thought I'd tell you that today is his fortieth birthday, and that there is one man in this room that would like to see you happy, no matter what it costs him."
"Hermione?" a timid voice said from the doorway. Ginny stood there with her bag shrugged onto her shoulder, looking as if she had broken into something very private where she was not allowed…she had, in all reality. "Um…Harry wants to take me to the…cinething. He said there was a…moving playing that he wanted to see. Is it okay if we went?"
"A movie," Hermione corrected with a sigh. "Yes, that's fine. Is Ron going with you?"
"He fell asleep," Ginny answered, sounding apologetic. "We were just going to leave him here, if you don't mind waking him up when you leave."
"All right," Hermione replied, suddenly feeling very tired herself. "I'll see you later, then."
Ginny's "goodbye" was a muttered wish for escape that she was quickly granted. Remus and Hermione just stood in silence as they heard the front door shut quietly, followed by a few murmurs from Ron who was sleeping somewhere in the parlor that Hermione couldn't see through the doorway.
"You're exactly like him," Remus said sourly when silence and uneasiness had thoroughly permeated the room like an offensive stench.
"Exactly like who, pray tell?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms across her chest.
"You even talk like him," he scoffed. "If you weren't so much prettier, I would think that you were the same person."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"I don't want to fight with you, Hermione," he said, turning his head away to glare at the paintings on the wall, wishing that he could tear the gawking faces into shreds with his mind. Maybe when there was a full moon… "You're exactly like him, because you don't want to admit your own weaknesses."
"Love isn't a weakness." She couldn't help but make a face.
"In a practical sense…it's the difference between success and failure. You don't want to take the chance, even if you're practically guaranteed to succeed. Someone gives you fact and all you see is the small uncertainty."
"I'm not afraid of failure," Hermione argued vehemently with the stubborn tone of a primary school child being called on her faults. "I like to think of myself as…dangerous."
A disbelieving, if not amused, eyebrow lift was the only reply she received from her torturer.
Hermione finally made her grumbled confession, "I'm very confused."
Whatever Remus could have said in reply was cut off before he opened his mouth as a muffled crack cut through the stuffy room. A ruddy house elf with unusually small ears had appeared in the center of the wooden floor, scuttling silently across the planks with a steady expression. He didn't even glance at them and went to finish the dishes that the two humans had started and left undone, going about his work as if they didn't even exist.
Recovering his composure and turning his distraction away from the elf and back to the flustered Hermione, he said, "Perhaps you should sit down."
She obliged wordlessly and flopped down in the chair next to him, the worn upholstery refusing to cushion her fall. A fire sprung up in the fireplace, lighting Remus's kind eyes aflame.
He took her hand, but not forcefully. His grasp was gentle and compliant, the positions of his fingers translating concern.
"Do you doubt that he loves you?" he asked. The elf pushed on, uninterested in the revelations concerning his former master being carried out before him.
"I have a hard time believing that it's possible," she answered, her eyes focused intently on the free hand that she had securely fastened to her knee. "I never thought that he even liked me."
"Of course he liked you. You were always his favorite student."
"You're joking," Hermione stated in stolid disbelief.
"He rather thought that you enjoyed his company…"
"Until he tried to change himself."
Remus's face suddenly unknotted itself, and an understanding expression came over his face that conveyed one simple word: "oh".
"You didn't appreciate that," he replied blandly, but not without a small, knowing smirk.
"No." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "It bothered me. It made me realize that he's…fine the way he is."
"So you love him, then." There was a distant twinkle in his eyes.
Hermione made a disgusted noise. "You need to stop seeing things in black and white. What ever happened to shades of gray?"
"I asked you a question." He couldn't help but think that the situation was a bit funny. This was the first time that he had asked her a question and she hadn't been waving her hand in the air, begging him to call on her. Instead, she seemed to sink ever lower in her chair.
"I hardly think that saying he's 'fine the way he is' constitutes as loving him."
"I think it does. You don't want to change him, even though he's a greasy, inconsiderate, manipulative excuse for a man. If that's not love, I don't know what is."
"It's not love," Hermione protested coldly. "I'm just used to him the way he is. It would be odd if he was any different."
"Hermione…" The grasp on her hand became surprisingly tighter. "With your permission, I'm going to kiss you again. And after I do, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it truthfully."
Two twin spots of pink appeared on Hermione's face, but she murmured her hesitant agreement.
But before Remus could lean forward, she put a hand on his chest, pushing him back away from her.
"Remus," she said gently. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I love you," he answered without shame, without a grimace. "And I want to see you happy." An amused smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "And, according to Ginny, I'm a perverted old man that will say anything to get his jollies."
The kiss began gently, sweet and tender, progressing slowly into something a bit more passionate. So this is what it feels like to be loved… Hermione's eyes were squeezed very tightly shut, as if she was trying to conjure something out of thin air, or imagine that the person kissing her was someone else…
When Remus pulled away, he asked immediately, "When I kissed you, who did you wish that I was?"
She just stared at him, unblinking, trying to register this man's actions and his words within her thoughts.
Then something shifted in Hermione's mind, a lost memory clicked into place.
Certain memories were possible to regain. Memories lost due to certain spells, such as Obliviate, despite its name, were not actually erased from the mind but sent somewhere set deep in the subconscious, on the level saved for dreams. And, like dreams, could be jolted back to the conscious by familiarities, like déjà vu or common senses. Hermione had experienced a remembrance of her dream when she picked up the Daily Prophet that very morning.
And like the Daily Prophet, Remus's kiss triggered a memory suppressed somewhere within her mind. She remembered that moment that had been missing like the last puzzle piece from that afternoon in the library, between when she had thanked the Potions master and when he had left.
He had approached her quickly, leaving her no time to step back in surprise. But now that she thought about it, she wasn't certain that she had wanted to. His mouth was urgent, desperate, she could hear his breaths coming quickly, could feel his fingers in his hair, could smell his indescribable scent, and didn't want it to end. His warmth had melted into her and stirred something deep inside of her. She was kissing Severus Snape, and that fact made her happy. And it reminded her of Remus's kiss in the fact that she had thought the exact same words…
So this is what it feels like to be loved…
"He kissed me," Hermione murmured, forgetting that Remus had even asked her a question to begin with it.
His expression was a mixture between relief and stiff disappointment. The corners of his mouth turned upward, but his eyes sank into the floor.
"Did he?" he said.
"And I liked it."
He had kissed her.
And she had liked it. No, she had more than liked it.
And he had erased it from her memory…or so he thought.
"You did."
"Remus…" She grasped his hand tightly, apologetically, and swallowed her regrets. "You're right."
He smiled bravely. "A small compensation."
"Remus…" Her heart was fluttering, her face was flushed, and she couldn't help but break into a smile. "I love Severus Snape."
"Why?" A new voice broke into Hermione's moment of revelation, startling both Remus and Hermione out of their private reverie. Ron was standing in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep, with a livid and jealous expression burning away in the pits of his eyes.
Before he could even wait for an explanation, Ron darted for the door. Without even thinking, Hermione sprang after him and shoved the door out of her way, feeling the unusually cold hair crash into her as she ran outside after the red haired young man.
"Where are you going?" Hermione shouted into the dark street at the dim shadow of Ron's retreating back.
"I'm going to have a little talk with your dear Snape!" Ron yelled back, rousing a few open windows from the neighbors as people peeked out to see what the din was all about, but could see nothing in the night.
A loud crack echoed through the lane, like the backfire of a car, rattling the windowpanes and reverberating painfully in Hermione's head like she had just been shot. She stood still in the middle of the road, letting what had just happened sink into her skin like the bitter cold of the air.
Wordlessly, she went back up the steps and into the house, shutting the door softly behind her.
"He's going to get himself into trouble," Remus said as she walked back into the kitchen, pale and stunned. "Anyone challenging Snape is bound for trouble, especially a Weasley."
"I know." Hermione slumped against the wall, feeling like she had just run a marathon. Her face was still frozen in the same surprised expression and her forehead was throbbing painfully.
A new, kinder voice invaded their conversation. "Did Master say that the Weazey has gone to see the Master Snape?" the house elf said quietly from the corner, picking up the plates from the countertop.
"Yes, Merf," Remus said in a sigh. "I did."
"Beatrice will not like that…" Merf said with a tiny shrug of his shoulders and an accompanying sigh. "She does not like being disturbed. She especially does not like it when someone says something bad about the master."
"Well, Beatrice can shove a sock in it," Hermione replied bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest once again.
"Beatrice is an evil, evil creature," whispered the wide-eyed house elf as he levitated the dishes into their respective cupboards. "She is being like the You-Know-Who of house elves, Miss. House elves do not like to say her name. She killed my brother, Miss, with only a tea strainer."
Hermione bit her tongue, hard, and looked questioningly at Remus. He looked skeptical and shrugged.
"Please do not doubt Merf, miss," the house elf said in a reverent whisper with all the respect he could muster. "Doubting Merf will only lead to trouble for the Weazey or for the Master Snape. Please, miss, please go help them. Beatrice is a bomb, if something disturbs her, she will go boom!" The elf made an exaggerated gesture that would have been laugh-worthy at a different time.
"What happens if I stay here?" Hermione defiantly asked with a lifted eyebrow. Remus only made an incredulous noise.
"Believe me, miss," Merf replied in a whisper. "If no one stops her, there will be blood spilled tonight."
The prophetic statement rung oddly in Hermione's mind as she stared at the creature, confused, half of her wondering what she was waiting for. It seemed silly, really, thinking that a murderous house elf would kill her best friend if he so much as called Snape a bad name. It would have been a lot funnier if she didn't know what Beatrice was capable of.
Then it finally struck her, the reason she had begun to help Snape find a mate in the first place…the curse. The curse would reach its final point on the evening of Snape's fortieth birthday.
Suddenly, the statement that Remus had made about it being Severus's birthday made a lot more sense. If she didn't get there before midnight, he was going to die.
"Just go, Hermione," Remus commanded with a serious tone that threatened to shatter her heart into pieces. "Go, for both your sake and Ron's."
Hermione walked determinedly to the fireplace, her wand held firmly in her hand. Grabbing a pinch of Floo Power and throwing it into the fireplace, she knew that she didn't have only one life to save.
The fire glowed green; her muscles were burning.
"Reynold House!" With that, she stepped into the flames, leaving lost love behind her to pray selfishly for her return.
Poor Remus. Though honestly, the tea strainer intrigues me... That's one thing I admire about Beatrice, she's rather creative.
Thanks to: CassandraTheEvil, cRudEdly (maybe he would say that...and obliviate anyone he said it to:)), SlytherinSide85, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, grangerhermoine, pickles87 (Cliffhangers are a good literary minipulation. Makes you want to come back, doesn't it :)?), Kaliae, cherriebaby, crystalclear8050, MidnightPrincess, Katrina Stardust (yeah...I don't do sex scenes. So, if it ever seems like I'm leading up to it, be confident that I'll worm out of it somehow), Sailorsun195, Blatant Discontent, EvieBlack, The Lady Elizibeth, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Cow as White as Milk, sweetevangeline, lupinite23, moviebuff101, googleplexia, Jewlz, Purple Spotted Hedwig (I'm glad I am, too :)), Aindel S. Druida (happily ever after? Huh?), Fou Fou, Soki, KidWonder:TheCrashTestDummy (thanks for your review, it made me smile :) ), Greenleaf, Zvezdana (Never, I say!), MissSiriusBlack1020, Rylee Smith, and Captain Oblivious (I'm very, very happy that this story has been able to appeal to people of different tastes. I think it's one of the reasons that I'm enjoying writing it so much. Thanks for reading!).
My beta's also leaving on holiday, so any mistakes in this chapter are mine.
Thank you for your reviews!