Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling. Can't wait for June to get here. Please Ms. Rowling bring on Book Six!
Chapter 7: Swiss Snowing VillageHermione had to work hard in sneaking opportunities to complete Snape's book by her self-assigned deadline. She really did want it to only take three weeks, even though he'd given her more time. Harry had almost caught her once, but she scrambled to the door in the nick of time, offering the similar excuse of a state of undress.
She was happy for his company and she often played chess with him, even though it was more of Ron's talent than her own. She felt her mind drift, and Harry had asked her more than once if she was okay, or what was bothering her.
She waved his concern off, steering the conversation elsewhere. She smiled at his nervous talk about how to court Ginny.
Ginny was not an easy target. She swooned for Harry once before, but she had a streak in her as fiery as her red hair. Hermione knew she wouldn't make it easy for him the second time around, even though she loved him.
It was going to be fun to watch.
Hermione finished the work on the book finally and wrapped it, a bit sad that her job had ended. She was meticulous about it, and her thoughts lingered on the man she had spent more time seeing than she had any others during the summer. At the last minute, she remembered her promise, and ordered a certain set of items by mail order.
The highlight of her week was that Molly invited everyone to the Burrow, and Hermione got a chance to pile around the kitchen table with all of her friends, the Weasley family, Remus, and Tonks.
As a surprise, Crookshanks greeted her at the door and Hermione clutched the ginger, wild-haired, half-Kneazle to her chest, the only family she had at the party. Crookshanks had obviously had enough of vacationing with her parents.
All Albus Dumbledore said was that he seemed to "outgrow" his surroundings and that he'd "managed to sort everything out." Whatever that meant.
Snape had come in, and for just a brief moment Hermione's heart leapt, anticipating he might stay for supper. There was an available seat next to her. But the urgent look on his face and his business like manner sucked that hope from the air as he beckoned Remus to join him on an 'errand'.
She hated feeling in such a melancholy state, and Hermione blinked back overwhelmed tears as she saw the people surrounding the dinner table, laughing and talking, as if everything were okay— no Dark Lord on the move, no war being fought. A picture of the candles she had lit flashed before her eyes and it undid her. Molly murmured something she couldn't hear and she quickly excused herself from the table, going outside to get some fresh air.
Hermione leaned against the fence, Mrs. Weasley quickly behind her.
"Dear? What's wrong? You've looked positively glum all evening."
Her tears flowed and she turned to confide in a woman she respected. "Is… everything… going to be… okay?"She asked in shuddered gasps.
Molly started tearing at that too, and held her close. "Oh dear." She didn't say anything for a moment. Hermione was getting too old for cheerful bedtime stories with happy endings. Molly settled for the truth. "I don't know, dear. I don't know."
"I see all of us eating together and sometimes I just feel like it might be the last time, you know?" She sniffed. "So many of your own friends died during the war the first time You-Know-You came to power. I'd be foolish to believe that it won't be happening again to all of us," she cried. "I'm so worried. I know you know something, so don't try to deny it. And I hate being in the dark. Tell me, are Ginny and I in some kind of trouble?"
Molly sat with Hermione on a small wooden bench and held her at arms length. "I can't tell you everything, though I know you think it would give you piece of mind to know details. But I can assure you that Dumbledore and Remus and Snape would never allow any harm to come to you. The Order members are all working to resolve this."
Hermione felt only mildly better, but felt pretty confident she could come to Molly Weasley with anything that was bothering her. She was a mother to the core, but also secretly modern in some ways. Molly didn't take any lip. She was a leader in the Order. It was clear she ran her house, and her husband loved and respected her. She made do with little and didn't complain. Molly Weasley had a healthy sense of gratitude about her. She was blessed with the wealth of family love. Hermione admired all of that.
Back at Headquarters, she lay back on her bed and waited, for what she had no earthly clue. She was spacing out and daydreaming frequently. His dark robes, he smelled of spices… he left that familiar scent behind. She would often sit in her favorite chair where he left it, inhaling deeply, filling her thoughts with memories of his classroom, his face— shiny black hair hanging in front of his concentration filled features as he brewed.
He had ignored her for the most part, and she, foolish girl— was avoiding his eyes to a peculiar degree since their trip to Diagon Alley.
God, he was so much older! At least twenty years. How was it that she found him so incredibly… attractive? Her mind strayed to forbidden thoughts and her blood raced again, her hands restless for something to do.
She thought on his graceful maneuvers around the classroom, observing students, brewing his own potions sometimes at the front workstation, his practiced fingers scarred by the love of his work. He tossed in ingredients with confidence, measuring each with precision. He seemed either intense or at absolute peace when working. She saw such a range of emotion in his eyes when he did that. Good grief, how long had it been? How long had she noticed him, saw him… that way?
She felt a stirring somewhere low and shifted on the bed. She covered her eyes with her hands and decided to go downstairs. No more locking yourself up here. Using Hedwig, she sent a note to Katie Renou. It was benign enough. No names.
She bought her ink and quills with her to the study. She had all day to herself. Ron and Harry had gone to a Chudley Cannons Quidditch game. She needed an outlet.
She sat at the desk provided and began to write.
I hate to love him
The exquisite torture of unrequited love
His voice and manner
Haunt my dreams
In both sun and shadow…
She wrote out everything, all of her hopes and fears, weaving her concerns through desperate poetry. These feelings she could never share with anyone. Feverishly, she poured her heart out on the page. Her fingers flew as her mind drew conclusions about what would happen if she pursued her desires. It would be a dangerous mistake. With horrible consequences. She was nearly in tears as she finished.
How would she make it? She heard the opening of a door and had to hide this, quickly. She blew on the ink and slipped it between the pages of a book of equal size.
She quickly took out another sheet and began a new letter to her parents. Dear Mum and Dad…
It was him.
"Good evening, Miss Granger." The tall figure of her preoccupation stood between the sliding doors.
"Good evening, Professor." Severus.
There was little place to sit in the smallish room, so Hermione gathered her things to move to the kitchen.
"You don't have to go," he said in his buttery tones. He was used to it. He often drove away students.
You don't have to go… "No, that's fine. You need space to read, and I can do this in the other room."Sigh.
Good, now I have my favorite chair back. And Snape sat down to read.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I got your last letter and I am so glad to hear that your vacation is going so well.
I can't believe you said it's snowing! It's the middle of the summer! Does it ever stop? Sounds like Dumbledore put you in quite a place! Did you say it was a cabin? Did he enchant it for you, or magic certain items for you? I can't imagine.
Thanks for sending Crookshanks along, I'm sure he was driving you crazy! Dumbledore mentioned something a bit mysterious. I hope nothing too weird came up with Crooks. But the professor did say he "sorted it out."
I miss you a lot, and it means more to me than you can know that you are safe and well. I am alright here, a little cooped up but I'll manage. Harry moved in too, and he's keeping me company.
Hey, I've had a lot on my mind lately and I wonder if you could keep me in your prayers. There's a lot going on I don't fully understand. I am trying to have faith that it will all work out.
Much love,
Hermione
Dumbledore received the letter from Pig and shrank it to the size of a penny. Then he dropped it under the cork stopper of the glass Swiss snowing village on his desk.
It swirled through the air and through the mail slot of the Grangers hideaway in the snowy woods filled with perfect rows of evergreen Blue Spruce Christmas trees. There wasn't anyone around for miles. Or maybe inches.
"Honey! Another letter from Hermione just slipped through the door! Come see!"
"Wendy, how does he do that?" Mr. Granger scratched his head.
"Magic, dear."
Snape reached for a book on the shelf when he spotted the sonnets again. He selected it instead and opened to the first page he saw, sinking his lean body into the comfortable leather chair, with which his frequent visits— retained the memory of his familiar impression.
Hmm… this is not Shakespeare… he read on, captivated by the obvious anguish of the woman who wrote it.
I hate to love him
The exquisite torture of unrequited love
His voice and manner
Haunt my dreams
In both sun and shadow.
What once stood here
In these shoes
Is now a hopeless fool
An utterly ruined woman
Pining for the love of a man
she cannot possess.
Who was the fool who said
'Love conquers all?'
Love has damned me forever.
The strains of her heart
Incapacitate her
Yet her body drones on
Going through the motions
Of shallow existence.
As she walks
With the this painful secret
Etched upon her breast
She feels the naked truth of love
Press upon her
Embarrassingly visible on her face.
They do not suspect
But friends comfort her
Making cruelly kind inquiries
About her supposed affliction.
Is it wrong
For her to care for
A man she cannot fully know?
How can she love him?
She aids him in secret—
Carefully concealing all subtle gestures
Of affection for him.
Ah, but his eyes radiate with such an intensity
Of passion and knowledge
She avoids even fleeting glances
If he were to look on her
Would he know?
If he found her—
If he truly saw her as she is
Would he honor her
With conversation and companionship?
It is sad
That she knows him not
The distance is cruel
And yet mere space or distance
Cannot communicate the secrets of
A private man.
He lets no one near
So alone—
She herself can appreciate
The pangs of lonely solitude.
He is in the dark
And so is she.
With him alone
She has been most honest
Though there has been a recent omission,
Can he forgive her?
Will he understand?
All for love,
All for protection—
She hopes he will pardon
Her brief but significant deception.
If she should volunteer the truth of her affection
Rejection would be swift and severe,
Knocking the breath from her lips,
Bruising her fragile heart
Even with the kindest of words.
Afraid as she is of him knowing
'Tis more painful still—
him not knowing.
If he should acknowledge her
In some brief way—
If love could be returned,
She would weep for joy of it.
Love has made her a coward.
She will never tell of it,
will not speak his name
Except in the innocuous
Clandestine tones
Of everyday happenings,
No one the wiser.
She shall guard against
Invasion of this sacred knowledge
As if the mention of it
Were a dagger that could end his life
If his name were spoken aloud.
On pain of death
No one will know,
Gladly accepting an Unforgivable
In place of the unforgivable betrayal
Of his identity.
My God
I hope he will rescue me
The futile yearnings of my heart
Might destroy me utterly
If I never share it.
He looked at the page, he hadn't noticed it before, and it was wedged deeply between pages, seeming a part of the book. It was penned in a handsome cursive script. It looked almost printed, though clearly it was an original. There was no signature identifying the author. Obviously written by a witch or wizard. Not many creative writings were available by the wizarding community… He read it again.
Love doesn't conquer all… don't wait to be rescued, he thought— and closed the book.
Snape sat at his desk, abandoning his recent efforts to locate information on dark spells, however briefly, in order to prepare for the upcoming school year. He had a promising seventh year student, but his interest in a senior project sadly lay elsewhere. He expected Mr. Boot would choose Transfiguration over Potions. Another point to Minerva.
He was trying to formulate a way to work in Granger on a project of some sort. That normally wouldn't be permitted in her sixth year. But she was older now, and an exception had been made in only her third year at the school when she'd used a time-turner to take a heavier course load. She had performed adequately. She was becoming less annoying lately, even with the frequency with which he had seen her. The know-it-all had grown up when he wasn't looking. She would make a fine potions mistress. If Minerva didn't hold supreme influence over her.
Hermione wasn't one to pick favorites, he noticed. If she had to pick a subject, she would select 'all' as her choice. Nothing was off limits. Except perhaps Divination. Trelawney had still not let that one go. Minerva was pleased as pumpkin juice when Hermione summarily dismissed the professor of fluff, walking out in front of the entire class. It was the stuff of legend in the teacher's lounge.
A familiar tawny owl swooped in his open window (he had to air it out since he had accidentally dropped a vile of sulfur…pheww.) The bird nearly shrank back from the force of smell. "I know, I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped," he told the bird. He was carrying a small box, on the top of which read 'enlarge me.'
"Engorgio," he chanted and presto! The box was two feet deep and two feet long. It was finished!
Buckwheat waited as usual. Snape opened the box and pulled out the enclosed letter.
Dear Artist, Author, Scientist, Scholar:
It has been my pleasure to complete this for you. If you find everything satisfactory, I do hope you'll consider using my services again sometime.
As promised, please find enclosed those items that piqued your curiosity. I hope the variety will keep you stocked for some time as I am sure you have as much occasion as I do, to mark your places, or leave little reminders for yourself through various texts and whatnot.
Many thanks and best wishes for excellent success in the publication of your book.
He pulled out the manuscript and looked through it in a familiar way. He didn't know if he'd keep it or give it as a gift to someone else. Underneath the volume was a smaller flat box.
Well I'll be damned.
When he opened it, Snape found every conceivable size of post-it, in multiple colors and widths, both translucent and opaque. He knew they were post-its, because the plastic coverings held the label— "Post-It Notes." Some were ruled with lines. Snape hadn't seen that in a while. These were obviously a Muggle invention. Clever.
He fitted Buckwheat's leg with a letter and the remaining fee. He thought about a proper thank you, and knew how many countless hours must have been spent on something Snape had produced. He decided to pass along a gift. He wrapped it up and sent the package on its way onto an unknown destination.
Snape opened a bottle of Ogden's and poured himself a glass. He knew this would be published before Winter break. Cheers.
Hermione woke up Sunday morning with a need to see the Cathedral windows. The light of the morning sun was so beautiful shining through the spectrum of colored glass, casting vibrant shadows along the stone entrance. It cheered her to see such a thing. She used to sit on the rear benches as a young girl and stare at the light dancing on the wide foyer.
She entered with Remus, who accustomed to the feeling of the place, gave Hermione more room, but she instead beckoned him to sit with her, like family. He was touched by her gesture, and saw other families seated closely together. It was something he wanted and his magical family was almost all he had left. She sang the responses and listened raptly during the homily, sometimes closing her eyes in contemplation of the Gospel. Hermione was a charming soul.
Hermione left him behind again while she greeted Sister Mary, and Snape heard her thank the kind clergywoman for her guidance and faith. She took off her jacket, as the cathedral was getting rather warm with windows letting in the summer sun.
Oh no, he thought. The listening device… Oh well, she's going to pray anyway. At least she'll finally have some privacy. But Snape quickly felt himself surprised that he actually missed her peaceful words of worship.
Then someone walked in past the rear and knelt down beside Hermione. It was a woman, and Snape tried to calm himself. This is a church and people come here to pray, he told himself. Surely Hermione isn't the only person who comes to light candles and pray.
Then the young woman leaned over and whispered.
Snape sat up. Prayer was a private thing. This was a bit unusual. The two women got up and left through the side door of the sanctuary, toward the educational wing. Quickly Snape was taking his long strides in pursuit of some line of sight. Hermione's jacket was still hanging over the front pew.
"My dear Professor Snape, so glad to see you again. If you continue to return to mass, I shall surely invite you to our catechism class," Sister Mary welcomed him with a sly smile. She was blocking the corridor to the back, but only subtly.
"Sister Barrone, good to see you as well," he said looking past her. "I'm sorry, did you say catechism?"
"Yes, it's the class that persons take before they make their confession of faith. Before they get baptized into the Catholic faith, Professor Snape." She lectured.
"Oh no, Sister… I'm not…" And the banter began. Snape hadn't even realized how it started, how easy it had been for her to lead him to this point.
Sister Barrone had an innocent way about her, but she was not innocent. Yet in her wise elder years, she would be someone Snape could not cross. Like Dumbledore, she was also able to steer people from the most awkward situations into something more peaceful and tranquil. Was that some magic taught at the convent?
Snape remembered her timing after the concert with Hermione's parents, giving them an out— all the while inviting everyone to mass. It was a genuine invitation too, he was sure of it. Sister Mary Josephine Barrone was also like the old man in that she knew many things, that she kept hidden, locked away in some secret part of her. She appeared sure of herself, but not proud. She was humble, but powerful. Snape liked her...
But she was in his way.
The two women had escaped to a small changing room decorated in roses and cream tones, and in the corner stood a long curtain rod. It was usually reserved for brides.
"Pansy! I hardly expected to see you here!" Hermione exclaimed in hushed tones.
"Sister Mary mentioned you were coming to church here and I decided to come. I told my parents that we had a lesson after church. I only have a little bit."
"I've been so worried about you after what you told me at the club," Hermione admitted.
"Why were you there? After you left, I saw Mr. Malfoy chase after you in a hurry."
"He didn't find out it was me, did he?" Hermione asked urgently.
"No, I don't think so. But he didn't come back either."Pansy's brow furrowed.
"I'm sorry about your predicament, Pansy. Your dad hasn't tried anything yet has he? Do you know when it might happen?"
Pansy eyes flashed angrily, a bit burned by her comment. 'Predicament… your dad hasn't tried anything has he?'Ooooh! Pansy swallowed her irritation and responded.
"No, he hasn't said. Mom seemed to indicate that it wouldn't happen over the summer. And since I've been arguing so much with Dad," she said his title with contempt, "Mom is letting me live with my Aunt."
"That's a relief. Hey Pansy, if you promise not to ask how I found out… I think I can say that You-Know-You isn't just after you." Hermione confided.
"What are you saying?"
"I think he's trying to get a whole bunch of virgins for some kind of… well, something."
"How can you be so sure?" Pansy looked skeptical.
"I'm sure. And it's bad, Pansy. It's all I've been thinking about since that night. I 've been doing some reading…"
"So what else is new?"teased Pansy. Know-it-all Gryffindor.
Grrr … "I've been trying to read up on magic having to do with virgins, but didn't come up with much dark magic. I also bought a book on the power of women and it looks promising. When we get back to school, I can do more. There's another book there that had some interesting stuff in it." She sighed. "We need to figure out a way out."
"Well, all we have to do is get shagged and it's ruined right?" Pansy offered the crude but obvious solution.
"I guess, but I wish there was some other way. The thing is, since he needs a whole bunch of us, we need to get a group of us together to blow it for him."
"How exactly are you planning to pull that off?" Pansy volleyed. Pass the buck.
"You mean we. Please say you'll help."
Pansy sighed a huff, rolled her eyes and slouched.
"Oh come on! Who's the Slytherin in this room anyway?! You're telling me you'd rather endorse those barbaric rituals with your silence than stand up and fight?"Hermione challenged.
Pansy's eyes narrowed, arms crossed in defiance. "Oh, alright. How do we do this? I can't send messages to you, that'd be suspicious."
"Me neither. Let's start by making a list of all of the girls in school and checking off the ones we know have had relations."
"Relations? Is that what you call it? Sex, Hermione. It's called sex."
Hermione for some reason didn't fancy herself saying the word sex in a house of God.
"Alright, what else?" Hermione posed.
"Hmmm… I guess we can think of a place we should meet, or actually… how do we know we can trust that any of the prospective members will keep our secret?" Pansy inquired cautiously.
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Let's start with the list. I'll keep compiling data on the uses of virgins and virgin's blood… that way we have somewhere to start."
"And where should we meet? It'll look weird if I'm seen talking to you. No offense."
"None taken," Hermione said a bit formally. "I have a place in mind already, no one will bother us th… Oops, gotta go. Someone's coming."
"Hey Hermione?" The Gryffindor's head turned. "I'm sorry about biting your head off after the concert when you asked about Malfoy. Looks like you had a right to be concerned." Pansy looked after her apologetically.
Hermione smiled weakly and nodded. She left to return to Remus who was standing with her coat next to Sister Mary.
Parkinson could hardly believe that she was talking to a Mudblood like an equal.
Granger couldn't believe she was actually considering trusting a Slytherin with a responsibility this important.
Gryffindor or Slytherin. It didn't matter.
Woman to woman. Sisterhood.
That was the only connection needed to help them forge an alliance.
Author's Notes:
Okay, by popular demand Pansy is here— two chapters early! I was going to title this chapter "Unlikely Partner" but I decided to keep you in suspense. You suggest, I write. That's how it works. What can I say? I'm a slave.
BTW, the Swiss Snowing Village was an idea I got from True Lies. Harry Trask (Arnold Schwarznegger) gives his daughter this lame gift when he returns from a spy mission. I was going to stick them in a bottle like 'I Dream of Jeannie' but liked this idea better. I can imagine the plastic snowflakes swirling… I love it that they are seated on top of Dumbledore's desk! Reminds me of the Truman Show. Could you see Ed Harris as Dumbledore? Hahahaha!
I am going to have to slow down my pace. My husband left the country for three weeks and he returns Sunday. So that means no more nights up until 4 am writing fan fiction. Ahhh… but I will get more sleep. Thanks to all reviewers. Especially about the constructive feedback!
The Perfectionist: Thank you for your review. I reloaded 5 but will proof it again for the errors you mentioned. And since you feel Ginny is OOC, please make recommendations on how to improve it. (Beside not matching her up with Harry… I know that's over… but game it's game on for them in this fic.) I so welcome your recommendations. I need more intel on the red head.
HarryPotterFreak1234: Relax, I'm getting there! I'd shoot Snape myself if he'd try anything at this point.
Maxy baby! I got your Pansy right here. Here you go! I decided not to make you wait! And I don't think I've read Roman Holiday, can you send me the info on rating, characters, author… something to help me narrow down my search? Is it complete? Thanks!
Celtic Words: Thank you very much! As long as you keep reviewing I'll keep writing!
SimplyScribbling: Thank you, thank you. I'm so glad you've stuck with both. I am especially proud of the first fic. Even though it's a bit more fanciful than the book might permit… (ya think?)
Lyress: Thank you. I hope this chapter came soon enough. When I first began the fic, I hadn't intended Hermione's faith to play such an important role. But it helped the plot. I am wondering if somehow this isn't some subconscious desire for me to return to my church. I used to be so active. Hmmm…
Magictwinkle: Thank you, thank you!
Alicat999: Thanks for looking into that for me. I've looked on line, but you know how that goes. I could get it wrong anyway. Australia… cool beans!
Kukla: Thank you. I came upon that prayer on line, as I was looking for info on the rosary. Then the words leapt out at me. It seemed so appropo for this work. Poor Hermione has a lot on her mind.
Queen-aerinha: hey there! Thanks for your feedback. Enh…I know it was pretty ambitious deadline… no way in the real world. But you were correct in observing that I needed to have her finish inside of the summer. Hermione is a mad woman when it comes to work. But calligraphy you can't rush. I'm a quilter and when one of my friends asked me if I could finish a quilt in a month or two, I laughed her right out. Sorry I didn't explain why the portkey got put there in the first place… that would've been a good bit. J
Ezmerelda: Thank you, honorary beta! I immediately corrected the chapter and reloaded it. Thank you for pointing it out, and "its/it's" out to me. Ugh. I really should wait a few hours and return to a work I've been writing to proofread it again before posting. Thanks.
GeekGoddess: Thank you. I sometimes have a hard time making Snape a complete bastard. You know he really is just horrible. S'why I love him! What I imagine is that he's a bit more normal (did I say normal? I meant to say tolerant and tolerable) during the summer, without the pressure of those mangy kids all damn day. Cause when school's back in session… watch out! I see him as a poorly misunderstood man, who goes out of his way to be misunderstood, not correcting anyone's assumptions. He knows all to well how nasty Voldemort can be, and while he won't defend the students from each other (he'll certainly let them devour themselves… fewer students to teach), he won't see them come to harm outside the school if he can help it. Just my two cents. J