Hi, everyone, and sorry about the wait. What with the hectic holidays and the system outages, this one's taken a bit of time to put up. Thanks, as always, for the wonderful encouragement, and I appreciate all the nice reviews.
Touch the Air Softly
by Jessa L'Rynn
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. J.K. Rowling created them and writes them with a genius that has never been equaled. Warner Bros. owns the right to do dumb things with them and doubtlessly will once Jo's finished with them, unless she kills them all. I try to fight the urge to put words into other people's visions. But every once in awhile, something yummy like this comes along and I find myself committing what I have been told is both crime and honor. With all due respect to Jo Rowling and her marvelous world, here is my attempt to "steal from the best".
Chapter 5: Robin's Egg BlueHermione was sitting in the History of Magic classroom, waiting for everyone to arrive. She was taking a break from her huge pile of homework, guiltily reading Ginny's book, wondering if she would ever get to the end of it. So far, the main character – the mainest main character – had been kidnapped by Barbary pirates, trapped in a harem, traded and sold between 14 different wizards, nearly blown up by the Dark Lord Mafisto, and subject to the machinations of a Muggle physicist. All this before the age of 17. In this chapter, the already voluptuous and conniving girl had entered Hogwarts quite late and been taken by lust for her teacher.
Hermione giggled and bent over to put the book away as she heard someone behind her. Ron had promised to come meet her early, so she was expecting him. "That's it! You can take this stupid book back to your sister. I can't believe this cheeky brat. She's got her divination teacher over the desk and is…" She looked up from her bag and met Snape's eyes with horror.
"Am I to presume, Miss Granger, that you have not yet recovered from your pursuit of mindless drivel?"
She looked at her shoes. "No, sir. I normally don't read things like this."
"Then why are you now, Ms. Granger? Attempting to acquire information for a previously unknown facet of the Muggleborn lifestyle?"
"No, sir," she whispered, miserably, looking up at him. "I just…"
"What were you saying when I entered the room?" He was jeering at her, laughing behind those black eyes.
She felt her cheeks heat, then whiten. Then, all of the sudden, something snapped. She rose to her feet. "I'll show you, sir," she whispered and had her hands on his shoulders before he could think to move away. His arms went around her to stop himself from falling under the force of her sudden move. She raised her face to reach his lips, brushing them with hers, so that he could feel the friction without feeling an actual pressure, or even an actual touch. She brought her hand up to brush the side of his face, grazing the line of his jaw, tracing it with one finger, a whisper of heated air that barely breathed across his skin. He moved suddenly, whether to jerk his head away or pull her closer, she didn't know...
"Hermione!"
Hermione gasped and the world suddenly shifted. She pulled her head up and looked around at Ron, knowing what she must look like, her eyes wide open, her hair plastered to her face. She had been sleeping – dreaming – and she hadn't even known. She looked around the room, eyes wide with horror, but they seemed to be the only ones there. "Ron, you scared me to death!"
"Yeah, you sorta are as pale as the Bloody Baron." He sat down in the desk behind her. "Were you having a nightmare?" he asked, kindly. "I'm glad I interrupted if you were."
She smiled at him, her next best friend, and thought he would have chalked it up to nightmare, even if he had known what she had dreamed about. "Look, I wanted to ask you what you're doing for Harry for Christmas."
"Isn't it a bit EARLY for that, Hermione?"
"Well, maybe, but Ron, it's really important. He could really use cheering up, and I can't be with him on the holidays this year and I thought maybe we could come up with something before then. Please, Ron?"
Ron glared at her, trying to look all surly and indignant as he wanted to when his leisure was interrupted. But he finally gave in to her hopeful smile and tossed out one of his characteristic jokes. "You know what he'd probably like best? Get Snape away from Hogwarts for Christmas so they're not constantly running into each other."
Hermione laughed. "I'll have to think about it." They talked of other possibilities for several more minutes as everyone kept filing in. Hermione decided to hand the book to Luna and ask her to return it to Ginny. She knew Ron would forget, and didn't know when she'd see the only Weasley girl again. Snape arrived into the class just as she pulled it out.
His voice was like satin on sandpaper – rich and grating. "Am I to presume, Miss Granger, that you have not yet recovered from your pursuit of mindless drivel?"
Hermione couldn't do more than gape at him as he made his way to the front of the class.
Snape sat down behind the desk and called the roll, taking ten points from Harry for answering "here" instead of "here, sir," and five points from Ravenclaw because it took one of them more than two seconds to answer him. Hermione sat in her seat, watching him, frantically wondering if the line had been the same because he had actually been in her dream or because she knew him so well that her subconscious could supply words he would actually himself say. She wondered which was worse.
While Snape wrote a few words on the blackboard behind him, Ron passed her a note. It was a tiny, very accurate cartoon Snape with a speech bubble that said, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is shagging…"
Hermione fought it, hard, handing the note to Harry and breathing very carefully. When he looked at her and she looked at him, all three of them burst out laughing. Snape turned on his heel, the look on his face the same awful look she had seen him wear at the single meeting of the Dueling Club in second year. His eyes caught the paper before Harry could vanish it. "Accio note," he said and pointed his wand at Harry's hand.
Even with Harry's blindingly fast reflexes, Snape managed to get the paper. He glared furiously at them each in turn, suspicious of the fact that people rarely got things away from Harry if The-Boy-Who-Lived wanted to hold on to them anymore. Harry raised his eyebrows, daring Snape to open the paper. Giving in to his curiosity, the Potions Master unfolded the small slip of parchment. He read what was written there, then looked up at Ron, who was sinking slowly into his desk. "Let's see. Five points each from Gryffindor and an extra five from Mr. Weasley."
They waited until he turned away and stared at each other in surprise. Hermione watched him and would have sworn she saw him tuck the parchment into his notes.
He had them read the long, boring introduction to their textbook and take down the notes on the blackboard. Hermione, having anticipated this, had managed to refrain from reading their book prematurely. She was sure he would have them read today and make them do an essay for next Monday. The reason was obvious – the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match was coming this weekend and he would want the Gryffindors as inconvenienced as possible. And she was right. "I'll expect a three foot essay on the proper methods of casting protective charms and spells. You can turn it in on Monday to seventh year prefects who can bring them to me. And if you please, Miss Granger, stick to the topic at hand. I do not need to know everything you have ever learned from Professor Flitwick."
She glared at him and got up with the boys to leave. Why did he have to be this way? It wasn't as if it didn't matter to demonstrate that she had learned her lessons well. Mind, it was Harry who needed to know his best, but they were all doomed, anyway, to have to stand and fight with whatever magic knowledge they had available. I won't think about that, she declared.
"That was weird," Harry said as they retreated toward Gryffindor tower. "He only took twenty points. I was sure we would get a detention."
"I was sure we were dead," said Ron, going pale just thinking about it. "But you know, I think he thought it was funny."
Hermione had wondered if she was the only one who sensed that. "Probably just because it proved you actually listened to him at least once," she said.
"Noticed he didn't miss a chance to insult you, though, Hermione." Ron said grimly.
"He takes a grouchiness potion every morning," Luna said, sincerely. "He's not actually like that."
Hermione tried to ignore her. Nice little fantasy that, and it would certainly have made it easier to reconcile what was going on in her head with what was going on in her heart. "I think he just wants me to…" She stopped suddenly. Her face was wet and they were staring at her. "What?" she whispered, miserably.
"You're crying, Hermione," Harry said, tenderly. At the sound of such gentle concern from a boy whose moods normally fluctuated between fury and quidditch, she broke down entirely. Next thing she knew, Ron and Harry were both holding her up, while she felt Luna's hand on her hair. She heard a quiet voice say, "I'll get McGonagall," and couldn't even protest. Hands were all around her, arms supporting her. She could hear Ginny and Lavender on the outskirts, two second years she had befriended, the Creevy boys whispering.
"It's ok, Hermione." Harry whispered as he guided her into the common room. He sat with her on a sofa, and Ron pulled up a stool beside her, holding her hand. She felt surrounded in warmth, welcome, loved, and bitterly, miserably alone.
Professor McGonagall came into her line of vision, then bent over her, trying to stare into Hermione's flooding eyes. "Ms. Granger, whatever is the matter?" she asked. It was the one tone of voice the stern, older witch could have used to make matters even worse. Hermione sobbed again and started to wail in earnest, all the while trying to choke it down and breathe like a sane woman. "He hates me," she announced bitterly. "He hates me, and I never did anything to him."
McGonagall looked at Harry. "Bring her along, Mr. Potter," she said in a brisk voice.
Before Hermione knew what had happened, Harry had picked her up and cradled her against his chest and shoulder like a child. She hoped that Ginny didn't get mad and that thought only made her crying continue. They stepped through the portrait hole, Hermione's body still aching with the effort of trying to stop sobbing, when she heard Dumbledore's voice. She still couldn't stop crying. "I think Miss Granger will need some rest," the ancient wizard said and walked along with them, patting her hand gently every stair case or so. After awhile, Harry was huffing and puffing in her ear. Even mythical strength, she thought, had limits when attached to an ordinary boy. Ron took her from Harry as they reached the bottom of the stairs. His arms around her were familiar and would have been so comforting if she was not so miserable and so afraid of what his girlfriend would say. She felt another pat from Dumbledore. "He hates me," Hermione whispered through a hiccup. "He hates me and I've worked so hard and he doesn't care, he just hates me." She sobbed again and stuffed her hand into her mouth.
They climbed some stairs. Ron stopped and leaned up against the wall. Hermione tried again to stop her tears by closing her eyes tight shut and pretending that she was not dying of embarrassment and sorrow. Someone took her from Ron (probably Harry again, though this time he felt far more secure) and carried her somewhere and put her into a bed. Hermione opened her eyes to see Harry, Ron, and McGonagall all smiling down at her. She choked back more tears. "Anxiety attack," Madam Pomfrey muttered from one side. "I've been expecting this one for years now." There was a sound of clinking glass and a muttered exchange, then Ron was holding her head up while Madame Pomfrey poured a smoky concoction down her throat.
"Valarian," she coughed. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I don't know what's wrong. It's just so sad. We're all in so much trouble and he's not helping, and I'm not helping, and everything's so hard. I feel so stupid. And I didn't do anything, you know, except in third year. And he hates…" She felt sleep coming up to get her. There was the vague impression of Harry and Ron saying they would return for her in the morning, and of McGonagall and Dumbledore explaining that things would be fine when she woke. There was Madame Pomfrey saying to call her if she needed anything. Then, when all the voices had gone and she was almost sure she was asleep, there was one more voice, chocolate dark and just as rich. "No one hates you, Miss Granger." A warm touch on her hands, footsteps, then silence.
I know, I know. Sounds a little trite and a little strange, perhaps a bit out of character. Trust me – it's not what it seems. Let me know what you think.