Chapter 8

"Velata Tenet," Hermione whispered with a slight hitch in her voice and looked down. Nothing happened. She was still there. Then she smacked herself on the head for not thinking (she seemed to be doing that a lot lately). While most spells were not receptive toward its user's feelings, this particular one was different in that it gained strength from both the wand core and castor's willpower. Slowly, she collected herself, breathing in and out, in and out. Her heart rate slowed down and she spoke with more clarity and determination.

"Velata Tenet." She felt, rather than saw the shimmer that passed over her body. Hermione looked down. Nothing. A triumphant smile spread over her face and with renewed confidence, she turned to the door and opened it.

The dungeons were dark and unpleasantly cold and she could not cast the warming spell or a brightening spell while still using "velata tenet." Her wand could only manage one spell at a time. So, she walked into the shadows cast by a single flickering flame.
Goosebumps ran up her arms and back, like little vermin with icy feet. Plip! Plop! The sound startled her and she twirled around to see who was there. Nothing, just water. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned back.

The dungeons were suddenly thrown into darkness, and Hermione nearly screamed. A sizzle caught her attention and she glanced down; it had only been the torch falling to the ground. Apparently, her cloak had caught on it.

The gloom surrounded her and she shivered despite the fact that she was in these dungeons nearly every day. Creepy, dark, cold. A rush of fear came over her, disrupting her concentration.
The shimmer over her body shuddered too. Hermione shook her head and renewed her resolve. However, what to do now? Without light or guidance she could not reach the storeroom. After all, if she broke something, Snape was sure to notice. And how to relight the torch? She didn't have any matches. Besides, the wood was sopping wet by now.

Dimly, she heard Harry's voice when she had panicked while caught in the Devil's Snare.
"Are you a witch or aren't you?" Hermione whispered a "finite incantatem" and then "incendio." The torch glowed again.

"Velata Tenet." Her success brought a silly smile to her face and she turned the corner to find herself in front of another door.

The smile became wry. It seemed that despite Snape's carefully cultivated appearance of callousness, he was concerned. The storeroom password had not been reset.

Ever since some nasty encounters with warded rooms in the past, she had taken to casting a revealing spell on her eyes daily. Like her personal warming spell, it was a very useful thing. However, unlike that warming charm it did not require her wand's strength after the casting.
She turned the doorknob and walked in, careful to leave the door open a crack.

A flash of red: evil eyes glinting in the darkness met her. She was back in the stone room of her dream, so similar in gloom and chill. Her eyes went wide, her heart pounded, her feet stuck to the ground. She was directly in the snake's path and could do nothing to stop its strike. With that paralyzing fear her concentration on the spell was lost again. The shimmering of her body jolted her out of the terror and the metallic taste of retreating adrenaline reinforced her return to the present. Breath rushed into her lungs and she released it shakily. Deliberately, she closed her eyes and breathed in the rhythm of meditation, forcing her heartbeat to slow. When she opened them again, only vials met her. Two were filled with a radiating red liquid: blood. Shuddering, she turned away from them to begin her search. She couldn't see anything.

Bloody hell, she thought. Well, light was worth it.

"Finite Incantatem," she whispered into the dark. The shimmer of an invisibility cloak left her skin again. Then "lumos" and her wand glowed. Squinting slightly, she searched for the elusive ingredients. She knew they would not be in the front. The more rare and expensive items were in the back. Careful not to disturb Snape's organization (not that it had any pattern she could see), she read the flask labels.

Half an hour later, she was still there, looking for that crucial ingredient: dragon's claw. It increased the potency, and was one of the reasons why discarding the potions' effects proved so difficult. Ah there! She reached around the other vials, and while she was in that position she heard a noise. She had miscalculated how much time she had. The door was opening.
Snape was back.

Hermione grabbed the dragon claw, placed it in her bag, and hastily put out the light in her wand with a whispered "finiteincantatem!"

She heard a swish of robes and, apparently he had seen the door open, because he murmured something about imbeciles not being able to shut a cabinet. Energy shot through her and she quickly said "velata tenet," concentrating completely on willing herself and her bag to be invisible. Just in time, she shimmered out of existence. The door opened and Snape's shadowed face came into view. She held her breath and her will. His eyebrows knitted with suspicion as his nose twitched just a little. He shut the door.

After his robe swished out of hearing, Hermione let out the air she had held captured in her lungs. However, with that relief came the realization that now she was trapped until the next morning.

She had never had to go to the bathroom so badly before in her life. Alternately crouching on the floor and standing when her legs threatened to cramp, she waited. This was worse, much worse, than the occasional game of manhunt she had played long ago. For she knew that the moment she was discovered, she would be expelled, never given the chance to explain the evidence in her bag.

Expulsion. The word held a weight in her mind and heart that no other ever had. All of her aspirations would dwindle before her eyes and she would return to an existence dull and empty without magic. And so, fear lending her strength for once, she clung desperately to the thin rope of her spell. The second she let go, Snape would come back.

It became colder, night was coming. She shivered. Close-cramped walls seemed to move in, leaving her little space for air. The red light of blood threw the flask shadows into relief, elongating and shaping them. Cold stone, cloaked figures, and red eyes. The room waited maliciously for her to fail so it could breathe life to her nightmares.

Voices, whether birthed in her own head or the shadows' room, whispered around her, but she refused to listen. Her sanity a thin line, she dared not let her eyelids droop. She could not.
Alas, a blink lasted too long. The red light faded.

Hermione did not know what woke her, but awake she was. Ah, there it was: a rustle of robes just inside her hearing. Quickly, quietly, she whispered the spell again.

The noise swished by, but did not open the door. A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. The robes swirled around, and the door was flung open again. Snape's scowl greeted her and, so happy she was to see light and a familiar face, she stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

Well, perhaps in an alternative universe she would have, but her legs were so cramped from the night that she was restrained by the pain. After a curious glance, his face left her sight and the door was closed again. Careful not to exhale again, she waited until she heard the dungeon door open and shut. Then, finally, she clambered out of the storeroom. Double-checking that she still had the potion ingredients, she glanced at her watch. Great, it was Valentine's Day. And shite! She was late. Hermione waited another minute to ascertain that Snape was gone, and then quickly walked out the dungeon door to her rooms.

"Miss Granger, this is unexpected. I trust you have an acceptable excuse for being late to my class?"

"I'm sorry Professor McGonagall. I overslept," Hermione's appearance lent credit to the lie. Her hair was escaping its ties, and the bags under her eyes were a deep purple.

Her teacher gave her a piercing glance.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Now, as I was saying, I conferred with Professor Flitwick and we both considered this class advanced enough to attempt some of the more difficult applications of transfiguration." Various looks crossed the students' faces: puzzled, intrigued, and, in Hermione's case, dead tired. "Transfiguration is more than just a convenient way to create something that you do not have at hand. When combined with certain charms, the formerly inanimate object can be directed by the witch or wizard. We will be practicing this skill today."

"Solio Volubilis," Professor McGonagall waved her wand in a circle after the traditional swish-and-flick. The chairs arranged themselves into two figures much like parenthesis marks, leaving two spaces at either end. Another spell was cast and two force fields arose, one protecting each row. In the middle were two boxes.

"Now you may take your seats." The class rushed to take their seats. Hermione, not as quick this morning as expected, was left standing. On one side were two seats empty, hers and Neville's. Apparently, the latter was still unconscious in the hospital wing. Hermione flinched a little, but took her seat, one on the very edge of an opening.

"The rules of this lesson are simple. I will call out two names. Those two will each transfigure their box into another object. Then, using spells hopefully remembered from Professor Flitwick's class, the two will use their creations in attempts to pass through the opposite opening. Obviously, problems such as incomplete anatomies will present difficulties in reaching this goal. So be sure your transfiguration is complete before using the commands." Some of the students were gaping at their teacher, sure that this was an elaborate joke. Simple rules, indeed.

"Miss Brown, Mr. Finnigan. Please begin."

The two students reluctantly raised their wands and transfigured their boxes. Lavender changed the one on her right into a unicorn, pure white with a lavender horn. Seamus morphed his into a passable imitation of an ogre. They both whispered an animation and control spell, ending with a command to obey their spoken directives. Soon the air was filled with their shouts. The unicorn bellowed a challenge and charged the ogre, its horn lowered at the monster's stomach. The huge thing tried to dodge but was scored on the side.

"Oh dear!" Lavender cried, dismayed at the sight of the ogre's blood. During her lapse in concentration, Seamus' construction passed by the unicorn and entered the gate at the opposite end.

"Acceptable. However, next time, Miss Brown, try not to be squeamish. It cost you some points. Mr. Finnegan, you lose points for allowing the unicorn to draw blood." Professor McGonagall swished her wand and the boxes were in the middle again. "Next pair: Mr. Potter and Mr. Jordan. Begin."

The box on Hermione's left was transfigured into a horrible monster: half hippogriff and half cheetah; they had both tried to change the same box. The two students blushed at their mistake as laughs rippled through the classroom. After a few moments, they managed to change it back into a box.

Hermione yawned, covering it somewhat discreetly with her hand. Her eyes drooped a bit, but she pulled back to reality, forcing herself to pay attention as the cheetah attempted to pin the hippogriff to the ground. She watched for a few moments more before her eyes closed completely again. The cheers and commands became a dull murmur in her ears as her mind forgot how to process English.
Feels so good...
...Go to sleep...
...Sleep...
...Slee...

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall's voice jerked Hermione awake.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for falling asleep in my class. Your opponent is Mr. Weasley. Begin."

Her brain was scrambled; she couldn't concentrate. An errant hair tickled her face. She blew it out of the way. She needed to concentrate. A suitable animal. She couldn't think. Tired.

Ron was already shaping his box. Panic overcame her. She was going to fail. Something small. Something hard to catch. Something fast.

Damnable hair! She thought as the hair returned. She hated fly-away-hairs.

A fly! Working quickly, Hermione vanished the box. In its place buzzed a small black fly. She cast

her coercive spell and commanded it to hurry over to the goal opening. The fly just managed to beat Ron's dog in the race as the bell rang. Professor McGonagall transfigured the dog and fly back into boxes, and dismissed the class, thankfully not giving them homework.

"Miss Granger, a word if you please," the witch gestured to Hermione. "I couldn't excuse you from my class, because this was a large part of your grade, but I will give you a note for Professor Sprout so you may visit the hospital wing for a Pepper-Up potion. Try to get more sleep tonight."

"I will. Thank you, Professor."

She despised Valentine's Day. No, she hated it with a passion. And with her Pepper-Up potion, she was better able to appreciate the depth of her hatred.

Deck the halls indeed, she thought. And deck the person who came up with the color scheme. Pink is a horrible color. Everywhere she went, pink pink pink. At times she wondered about Professor Dumbledore's sexual preferences.

Snape swept by her, mercifully wearing his black robes, mouth set in his customary sneer, though it did seem more venomous than usual.

At least she wasn't the only one unhappy with the situation, she thought maliciously. Misery loves company.

Well, perhaps not. Dinner in bed might be a good idea today, she thought as she walked past the Great Hall and on to her rooms. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Lunch had been quite the affair: snogging couples, sappy love poems, unrequited love, heartaches, and of course, pink valentines. Pansy Parkinson was sure to flaunt all of her roses...again. Indeed, she did not need to suffer through that again. She shuddered in remembrance.

"My boyfriend, Draco, sent me a dozen roses today, each of them charmed to recite such a lovely poem." And then that snot had proudly shown the gossiping group her vase of roses. Right on cue it had started spewing off some of the tritest dribble that Hermione had ever heard.

"Sweet roses are red

And violets are blue

But no bloom is as pretty

As wonderful you."

Suddenly, and inexplicably, Hermione was angry. A self-disgusted sneer slid over her face as she looked in the mirror. Her features, though not drop dead gorgeous, were pretty enough to have turned some heads on the street (well, when she wasn't sneering). The wizard robes hid her figure, but she knew it was curvaceous enough to entice the other sex. Therefore, it must be her personality. QED

Her brain ticked off imaginary fingers as she mercilessly enumerated all her faults. She was too smart by half, and, although she wasn't the exhibitionist she had been, most were intimidated by that intelligence. Also, if she had to be completely honest with herself, she was often too sarcastic. It wasn't a chronic thing, but enough to warn off some.

Hermione snorted. Snarky and smart; bad combination for a woman looking for a date on Valentine's Day. Better to be sweet and stupid.

Stop this idiotic pity party, Miss Granger. There's no use. She scolded herself. If you want a bloody valentine and chocolates, go out and buy them yourself.

"Fine! I will!" She shouted to no one in particular. Gathering up her cloak, she opened the door and slammed it behind her. Since Valentine's Day fell on a Friday, the students were allowed to go into Hogsmeade. She snarled at Filch as he checked her permission form, and left as soon as he grudgingly gave her a nod.

Minutes later, she was in front of Honeyduke's. This is pathetic. I can't believe I'm going to buy myself chocolate on Valentine's Day.

Bypassing all the gaudily wrapped pink and red boxes, she quickly went to the aisle labeled Chocolate, and picked out some Chocolate Frogs and a few Caramel Clues. The latter featured an ongoing mystery, with weekly clue updates. When the customer bit into it, they were shown another puzzle piece. Hermione only bought them for the chocolate; she'd solved the mystery a month ago.

About to walk up to the cashier, a display caught her eye. She raised a brow. Chocolate Kisses? Those were Muggle candies. The clerk realized where she was looking and answered her tacit question.

"Ah yes, those just came in this week. Fashioned after Hershey's, the famous Muggle corporation, they're spelled to simulate being kissed. They still taste of chocolate of course, and melt in your tongue after a while. I've heard wonderful reports so far."

Hermione smiled to herself. Why not? She picked up a bag.

After paying, she thanked the man, and stepped outside. And walked right into something.

"Miss Granger, you seem to have a penchant for running into things. It would behoove you to curb it, before you find yourself in an unpleasant situation." Professor Snape, of course. Who else would possibly knock into her while she was buying pity chocolate? She was about to snap back a snarky comment about already being in an unpleasant situation, but decided against it. Again, she simply assented, leaving him puzzled by her lack of insolence.

While she was walking away, the thought came to her that Professor Snape had a sweet tooth. She didn't bother to dwell on that, because she still needed to make certain that the potion was ready for later. The new moon had finally come (or was that gone?) and the potion had to be made that night. Hermione decided to definitely take dinner in her rooms and take a quick nap.

After a lonely Valentine dinner for one, she fell onto her bed, suddenly very tired, physically, mentally, emotionally tired. The burden on her shoulders compressed her chest and choked her throat. She felt an urge to run down to the common room, rip her heart out of its shell, and put it on the table. Would anyone care, or would they leave it there to beat, bleed, eventually stop, and then complain about the bloodstains?

She wanted to run away, go home, stick her bare feet into rich brown soil filled with worms, and feel life soak her skin and pulse through her veins again. The cold stone threatened to suck all her body's warmth.

Tears streamed down her face. She called to Crookshanks, wanting some physical contact, some comfort. He didn't come. Depressed, she turned to her pillow and cried until her eyes and nose were red. And fell asleep.

She awoke a few hours later, close to nine o'clock, and realized that her pity party had cost her precious time. Forcing down her anger and depression, she went over to the cauldron.

A deep blue color, so dark as to reflect black in its depths, the potion held her mesmerized. Flickering candlelight winked over its surface, hinting at temptations and desires; it offered that which she yearned for most. Hermione would have been swallowed by the potion, seduced by its visions, had it not been for her cat.

Startled out of her trance, Hermione smiled sheepishly at Crookshanks. He gave her a reproachful look as if to agree with her sentiments, then butted his head against her again, and she laughed.

"Guess it wasn't concern for me after all," she said as she picked him up and began petting. "Just self-interest." He ignored her philosophical babbling and purred, settling down for a good rubbing.

Hermione stroked him absently, trying to remember the visions. They evaded her, like a familiar melody that stayed just out of memory's edge. All she remember was a sense of awe and desire.

"Obviously," she said to her indifferent cat, "that potion is dangerous." Again she laughed, albeit shakily. "All that time collecting rare and powerful ingredients, and it takes a cat bumping into my leg to let me know the potion is dangerous. And you're not even black. Unsurprisingly, he ignored her.

"OK. OFF you go." With that, she deposited him on the bed, ignoring his indignant glare. "I have work to do." The potion waited, its siren song silently calling.