A/n - Please forgive me, the perspective changes a lot in this chapter. I hope it's not convoluted. It's also a bit long. Again, the reviews have been fantastic. The feedback is glorious. Thanks to SilverandSilent readers can now leave anonymous reviews if they wish. Stay tuned, there is so much more to come.
Chapter 6
Hermione ascended the steps of Ron's building, trying to settle on what to say. Apparating directly there, she trusted that he had returned to his apartment. She didn't want to chase him down the streets of London to settle this. Upon reaching the door, she stared at it, unsure what Ron's reaction was going to be to seeing her so soon. Standing there wasn't solving anything, she thought, as she let herself inside.
Ron was sitting on the couch facing the door, his focus toward the floor until he heard her enter, his face changing rapidly from misery to bitterness.
"I should have known you'd come running back," he said callously.
"Nice to see you too," Hermione almost whispered. The tears that she thought had been successfully purged earlier were prickling again like mad. Crossing the room, Hermione took a calming breath, and sat on the coffee table in front of Ron.
"I know that looked bad," Hermione said earnestly. "Please trust me. Nothing happened."
"Nothing," Ron reiterated as he fiddled with something in his hands. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"
"I don't think you're stupid at all," Hermione protested. "If you would listen--"
"What is there to hear?" Ron exclaimed. His face flushed, he jumped to his feet and paced away from her. "The first words out of your mouth were a lie."
"I was scared, Ron."
"What was he doing going up to your room anyway?" he asked excitedly. "I thought you were just going to give him the money when you found him, not keep him as a pet."
"It's more complicated than that," she tried to explain. "I asked him to assist with Harry's treatment."
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" Ron countered indignantly.
"I didn't want to get Harry's hopes up," she answered cautiously, "or anyone else's for that matter."
"And you thought sleeping with him would do the trick?" Ron inquired in a harsh voice.
"I didn't sleep with him Ron," Hermione replied in frustration, swiftly rising to her feet. "We had a few drinks. I needed him to trust me if there was any chance of him agreeing."
That was near to the truth, she thought, if not entirely chronologically accurate.
Ron was eyeing her appraisingly when he asked, "Why was he coming up to your room then, if this was all so harmless?"
"I was changing clothes before he took me to the city," Hermione answered.
"You were going on a date," Ron said, openly affronted.
"No!" Hermione cried. "Don't twist my words. He was just going to show me around."
Shaking his head, Ron started pacing angrily, "You leave for a few days and you're running around with another man, keeping secrets. I don't know what to believe."
"It's not a big deal," Hermione stressed. "Why won't you trust me on this?"
"It's not that simple," Ron said as he walked up to her, took her hand, and placed a small, black box in her palm. Despairingly, he said, "The only reason I showed up was to surprise you, a fat lot of good that did. Honestly Hermione, I've been waiting for something like this to happen."
Stunned, Hermione tried to object but Ron spoke over her.
"There is something wrong with you--with us--something you aren't telling me, and I know it," Ron said as he tapped the box in her hand. "You hang onto this until you can decide what you want."
Ron walked to the door, opening it as he said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."
Dejected, Hermione held back the deluge of emotions screaming to come out, crossed the room and stepped into the hall without looking at Ron. All the while, she was clutching the box he had given her and repressing the tears that were waiting so impatiently to fall. When the door clicked shut behind her, she opened the little box to discover an engagement ring. It was a modest diamond set in a simple white gold band. Upon seeing it, the regretful tears flooded down her cheeks. She instantly understood why Ron wanted to surprise her. As she made her way down the stairs and onto the street, she tried desperately to figure out how she had managed to make such a mess of things. However, most of all, she wanted to talk to Snape because he knew the truth, and he would listen.
>
After meeting with the super, paying him the previous months rent as well as the next three, Snape was in his apartment trying to pack. The trepidation of the trip was finding its distressing way into his mind. The only person in London who wanted him there was Hermione, and possibly Harry, which was a very odd thought in itself. Snape was sure that Ron wouldn't want to see him anytime in the near future.
The emptiness Snape had felt upon Hermione's departure was bothering him again. Hermione's arrival had started out obnoxious enough. However, her presence turned out to be something else entirely. Now, her absence was causing the bitter tendrils of misery to spread again, the ones formerly supplied by his regret.
After folding a few sets of robes, Snape paused to look out the bedroom window that Hermione had been standing by that very morning. He smiled at the memory of her ordering him out of bed. That memory led promptly to the next.
It had been naïve to think that she wouldn't discern what the cauldron contained. Perhaps unintentionally he wanted her to see, wanted her to comprehend to what lengths he had been pushed to survive. Snape knew that he wasn't prone to doing anything without reason, and brewing the potion right under her nose was a very good way to get her attention.
During her lecture, as it were, Hermione had been literally nose-to-nose with him, refusing to back down. She passed that test with verve, Snape reflected. The simple fact that he was putting her through those motions spoke volumes about his burgeoning respect for the woman. If she could match him verbally, then she could be formidable competition in other aspects as well. There had come a moment, her voice nothing but an airy whisper, that he thought she was leaning into him, that the weighty subject matter was not the reason for the sudden change in her respiration. Snape quickly squelched the thought. There was an enormous difference between what had been and what he wanted to perceive.
Acknowledging that he found her attractive was one thing, but trying to manufacture clues to her feelings for him was senseless. She was impassioned about the Potter boy's life, and that alone was her motivation for the entire incident. Disgusted with himself for being sentimental, Snape told himself that he was nothing more than a disheartened, middle-aged man who ought to stop daydreaming about the first person in ages to offer him friendship. Although, he reminded himself, she did refer to him as a genius.
>
Sitting rigid on the edge of her sofa, Hermione ogled the little black box that sat open on her coffee table. A few days before, she would have accepted Ron's proposal without hesitation, leaving her doubts to sort out later. It wasn't until she had voiced these doubts aloud to Snape, first out of nervousness and then again while a little tipsy, that those reservations began to glare ominously at the forefront of her mind.
What did she want? That was what Ron told her to decide. Furthermore, what had he meant by saying that he had expected something like this? Had he expected her to cheat on him? She hadn't cheated, she reminded herself brusquely. She had spent a very innocuous and wholly uncomfortable night on the couch.
Still, aside from her harmless inspection of Snape's finer qualities in his muggle jeans, there had been a moment when Ron and Harry were disregard, her obligations mute, and she had wanted terribly to fall deep within those dusky, nearly black eyes. The mere memory hastened her breathing. Ron's accusations may have held some validity if Snape hadn't stood up when he did. Had Snape been tired of arguing at that moment, or did he sense the magnetism as well?
Hermione laughed glumly at her predicament. Ron had been waiting in her hotel room with an engagement ring while she had been essentially flirting with Snape. The absurdity made her laugh again. Since the ring box was offering no solutions, she decided that it was time to visit Harry before it became too late. At least he would be happy to see her.
>
The day crawling by, Snape passed the time by disposing of what remained of the Fecund. Though he did discard the elixir, he chose to hold onto the plants. It was not against the law to grow the plant, so he would not be going back on his promise by keeping them. What's more, it had taken quite a lot of effort to cultivate them to begin with.
Such a simple brew, Fecund was made from the leaves of the African Trilorian, an herbaceous plant native to Madagascar. When stewed for twenty-four hours, the leaves disintegrated into a dense, amber colored elixir that gave the drinker a sense of limitless mental agility, although this sense was entirely illusory. The intricacy of the elixir was not in the brewing itself, but in the rearing of the plant.
Extremely temperamental, African Trilorian would only grow outside in a tropical climate, where they were in fact quite prolific. Elsewhere, the plants had to be cultivated indoors, a task only the most capable botanist--or potions master--would dare attempt. The temperature, sunlight, soil moisture, and humidity levels had to be near perfect to sustain the plant.
Once every month, the plant would sprout a marvelous midnight blue flower resembling a hyacinth, though without the scent. After the flower reached full bloom, the leaves would be viable for seven days. Gathered and utilized during that time, the leaves would produce Fecund. Otherwise, any elixir that they created would be deadly. The color and odor of the potion would not vary, but the drinker would still be very dead. Fecund had initially named Silent Adder for its speed in dispensing with the ill-fated drinker. Believed to be nothing but a poison, analysis of the plant's true properties did not occur until after a few would-be murderers discovered that the people that they were trying to kill only ended up deliriously happy and self-satisfied.
Snape would have to take the plants with him or else return to a sill full of dead flora. As he carefully prepared each for transport, he checked the clock. It was barely past noon. It had been so long since he had anything to anticipate, anything of this magnitude anyway, that the wait was agonizing.
Walking to the refrigerator, he took out the trusty bottle and poured a glass, optimistic that it would help speed along the remainder of the day. He took a sip, but it wasn't what he wanted. A bit shaky from not eating that day, he opted to wait on the liquor. He still had the menu that the quiet little man had brought with their dinner the night before, so he decided to order some food. Eating was bound to keep him busy for at least an hour.
>
"How are you feeling this evening?" Hermione asked Harry as she peeked around the curtain surrounding his bed at St. Mungo's. Harry was propped up against a mound of pillows, as gaunt and pale as ever.
"Probably better than you," was Harry's raspy reply.
"Are you better today?" asked Hermione hopefully.
Harry gave a laugh that turned into a retching cough. When the coughs abated, he murmured, "You just missed Ron."
"Oh," she said quietly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.
"He seemed upset," said Harry faintly.
"Did he?" she laughed softly. "I suppose you want an explanation as well?"
Shaking his head no, Harry grinned. "I told him--" he said before another round of coughs descended upon him. Clearing his throat, he finished, "--told him he was being thick."
Hermione smiled warmly, "Good, he'll listen to you."
Harry looked about to speak again but Hermione stopped him. "Rest Harry, we'll talk more about it later."
Leaning back into the mass of pillows, Harry smiled expectantly.
"I guess Ron told you about Snape?" she asked.
Harry nodded while his grin amplified.
"Did Ron tell you that Snape is going to be here to see you tomorrow?" she asked.
His eyes large, Harry shook his head as the grin faded.
"He's going to try some new treatments," she told him. "I don't know what yet, but I guess we'll both find out tomorrow."
Harry nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, somewhere between dread and excitement.
"You aren't upset that he'll be here, are you?" Hermione prompted.
"No," Harry said in a strained voice. "I want to talk to him."
"Then don't waste your breath on me," she replied.
Harry sat forward, clearly wanting to say more. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Hermione eased him back against the pillows.
"I know you want to say everything that's on your mind," she said with a smile, "but I don't know the spell to put back your lung after you cough it up."
Harry sneered at her before grinning again.
"Get some sleep," she told him as she got to her feet. "Tomorrow is going to be busy, and no doubt very interesting."
"When," Harry wheezed.
"At noon," she answered as the familiar lump climbed into her throat.
"I'll invite Ron," he whispered, smiling mischievously.
"You do that," Hermione smirked, "and I'll have them replace your mashed potatoes with vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's."
Harry grimaced.
"That's what I thought," Hermione gloated before kissing him gently on the cheek. "Now sleep or I'll get that nurse to sit with you who likes to talk about her cats, all fifteen of them."
Quickly throwing back his head, Harry feigned sleep, squinting one eye as he smiled.
"Thank you," she said, smiling and squeezing his hand one last time before leaving the room.
Holding her breath as she walked down the hall, she entered the staffroom and made sure no one was there before allowing the tears to arrive. Everyday Harry was weaker, and everyday the dreams that refused to let her rest were that much closer to validation. She knew that Snape was Harry's final hope, and Snape was her last hope for Harry as well.
>
After twenty minutes that tried his patience and made him seriously question his intelligence, Snape managed to place the order using the payphone. Hermione had made using the phone look so simple, putting in the coins and dialing the number. He had used regular telephones before, but these were ridiculous. After getting nothing but an annoying beeping sound, Snape finally resorted to charming it. He wasn't sure which charm worked, and the phone wouldn't call anywhere except the Chinese restaurant now, but that wasn't Snape's problem.
While he ate his lunch, he chuckled at the fact that he could read people's thoughts when he wanted, make objects float, and conjure things from thin air, but the complexities of a payphone succeeded in baffling him. Hermione would have found that riotously funny, he thought.
At the thought of her, his stomach turned and he pushed away his meal half-eaten. He checked the clock again, but it was barely two in the afternoon. Having already packed and prepared for the trip, there was nothing left to do but wait, and the waiting was again making him dreadfully impatient.
There was nothing for it, he decided, he would travel tonight and then he wouldn't have to fuss with it in the morning. The day would already be well into the evening there, so he would get a room and take a sleeping potion upon arrival so he would be rested in the morning for the meeting.
Content with the plan, Snape hastily collected his things, including the bottle that he charmed to remain cold during the journey, and heavily warded the door before leaving his apartment. He was already standing in the alleyway down the street when he remembered that he hadn't even decided where to Apparate. There was a muggle hostel near The Leaky Cauldron. It was cheap, and there would likely be no wizards staying there with The Leaky Cauldron so nearby. That would be the place to go.
Closing his eyes and bracing himself for the long flight, he pictured the hostel in his mind. A full minute later, Snape arrived with a headache on the dark street directly in front of the hostel. He had aimed for the sidewalk, but the street wasn't bad considering.
After checking in and stowing his things in the room, he was still restless. He thought briefly of changing into robes and visiting Diagon Alley, but the risk of being recognized was too great. He would have to deal with enough stares at the hospital tomorrow as it was. The muggle clothes would lessen the likelihood of anyone bothering him, so he opted for a walk to clear his head before taking the dreamless sleep potion.
When he made his way back onto the street, his headache receding, he could finally appreciate the crisp autumn air and the familiar redolence of the city. Choosing an aimless path, he turned first left and then right, comforted to hear a familiar accent in the conversations of the people that he passed along the way.
He wandered for half an hour before turning back. The walk had served its purpose, taking his mind off Hermione and putting it on Harry. Snape was confident in the course of action he wanted to take with the boy's treatment. The first thing to do was to find out any information that might help him diagnose the spells Voldemort had used. The second was a bit more far reaching, consisting of not screwing this up. He was just moving on to number three--not to disappoint Hermione--when a familiar voice, a voice that made him fail to take his next breath, spoke seven words that he wasn't used to hearing all strung together.
>
After crying for the umpteenth time that day, and sick and tired of doing it, Hermione left the hospital. Opting to walk to pass a little time, she made a direct path to her apartment building. Turning the corner onto her block, she stopped in her tracks, astounded by the man she saw walking toward her in the dim street light. He was staring at the sidewalk, visibly pensive.
"I am so glad to see you," she told him.
The man halted, his head snapping up with an expression that should only follow a poke with a sharp stick.
"Where did you come from?" Snape asked in obvious shock.
"The hospital," she answered. Even through her melancholy, she couldn't help but giggle at his surprise. "You're early. What'd you do, Locate me?"
"No," he replied with consternation. "I elected to travel tonight."
Confused, Hermione motioned to the building on her left, "I live right here. How did you find me then?"
"I went for a walk," he said softly before he smirked, "and we appear to have found each other."
Returning the smirk and thankful for the apparent happy accident, Hermione said, "Lucky us."
Without missing a beat, Snape replied, "You've been hitting that flask again, haven't you."
"After the day I've had, I'm entitled," she said, laughing in spite of her mood. "Do you want to come up for a bit?" The question already asked she realized how casual it sounded. She was relieved to see the smile spreading across his face.
"Do you think that's wise?" he asked with his eyebrows raised. "What if there's a Weasley we're unaware of?"
"I assure you, my flat is a Weasley-free environment at the moment," she answered.
"As long as you're aware of the repercussions," he said.
Unsure whether he had accepted, Hermione waited for him to elaborate. She didn't have to wait long.
"Are you going to lead the way?" he asked in a wry voice. "Or do you live right here on the sidewalk?"
"No," she replied. "I moved inside ages ago. My things kept getting wet whenever it rained."
Hermione could still hear him chuckling as he followed her up the steps. She couldn't tell if the sudden edginess she felt was from having Snape join her in her apartment, or the hope that Ron hadn't decided to drop in again. As she pushed open the door to her flat, she thought it was a bit too late to worry about either now.
>
Shock didn't begin to cover what Snape felt upon seeing Hermione standing before him in the street. Whether luck or fate had guided him there, he wasn't concerned. What concerned him was his happiness upon seeing her. The emotion was strong, and it had been so long out of use that it was disconcerting.
Nonetheless, she clearly wanted his company, so he accepted her invitation in spite of his own misgivings. With any luck, there would be no surprises this time.
"See?" Hermione said as they entered her flat, "no Weasleys."
"You sound relieved," Snape said.
Hermione only smiled as she removed her cloak. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked as she conjured a fire in the hearth.
"Coffee?" he meant to say but ended up asking.
"Sure," she smiled. "I know where I keep my things."
Snape smiled back as he stood in the middle of the tiny room and watched her prepare the kettle.
"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked
Snape realized that he had been standing rather stiff. It was difficult not to when every effort was going into believing their chance reunion. Accepting the hint, he moved toward the sofa, taking the opportunity to appraise her choice of surroundings.
Small was definitely the word to describe her apartment. The living area and kitchen were one room much like his, but it was less than half the size. The sofa sat in front of the tiny fireplace, while the efficiency kitchen took up the other half of the room. He noticed instantly that there were no windows.
Snape sat on the arm of the sofa so that he wouldn't be sitting with his back to her. That sounded like a good excuse, should she ask. He didn't want to admit just yet that he wanted to be able to see her.
When Hermione shut off the bright-white fluorescent lights of the kitchen, the room seemed to shrink under the weak glow of the fire. Snape seated himself on the sofa and took the mug she offered when she passed in front of him.
"They must not pay healers what they used to," Snape said dryly.
"I've lived here ever since graduation," she explained as she sat on the far end of the sofa. "I know it's not much, I've just never gotten around to finding another place."
"You should consider doing so," he advised, "before you develop claustrophobia."
Hermione laughed, but Snape noticed that it wasn't as musical as it had been before. There was something encumbering it, as though it was now trying for her to make the sound. Her hair was beginning to disobey whatever charm she used to keep it smoothed into the ponytail, wisps of curls falling onto her forehead and cheeks. She looked drained, her cheeks pale and her eyes tragically sad behind her rehearsed composure.
"You said you were glad to see me," he said gently. "May I ask why?"
She cleared her throat nervously, running a finger around the rim of her cup before answering, "I spoke with Ron."
Snape understood how that could make a person sad, but he was sure that they would have differing reasons for the sadness. Still, that alone did not explain the trouble he sensed.
"How is Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked. "Still unduly upset, I imagine?"
"Of course," she said softly. "I didn't know what to say to him."
"You did nothing wrong," Snape told her. "It was merely poor timing."
Hermione sighed, "This is why he was there."
Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a small black box and handed it to Snape. He opened it, already sure of what it contained.
"What did you say?" he asked as he handed back the ring.
"Absolutely nothing," she answered. Her voice was delicate when she added, "He didn't so much ask as tell me to choose, whatever the hell that means. He told me that he expected something like this, like I'm some sort of floozy."
"Perhaps that's not what he meant," Snape said, unable to believe that he was defending Weasley.
She laughed wearily, "He accused me of sleeping with you before he said it. I'm fairly certain that's what he meant."
"He will realize his mistake eventually," Snape said, trying to comfort the best he could. "You mustn't blame yourself."
Snape watched as her lips tumbled into a trembling frown.
"I know," she said in a tense voice. She went on in little more than a whisper, "But what if I don't want him to."
"What do you mean?" Snape asked.
She didn't respond, instead shutting her eyes tight. Snape noticed quickly that she wasn't breathing.
Snape set down his cup and slid closer to her, trying to ignore the voice in his head telling him to keep his distance. He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder to find that she was shaking.
"What are you doing?" he asked softly.
"If I hold my breath," she whispered, "then I won't cry." She choked back a sob, "I'm not going to cry anymore today."
The heartrending sight was producing urges that Snape had disregarded long ago. He felt compelled to take her up in his arms, to soothe away the tears and the worries that she did nothing to earn.
As Snape squeezed her shoulder, Hermione brought her hands up to her face, wiping at her eyes. Quietly, she said, "I was glad to see you because I need to say this out loud."
"Then say it," Snape told her.
She turned her eyes up to his. They were a gleaming, lustrous copper in the firelight.
"I don't want to--" she began hurriedly, her voice strained again. "I don't want to marry Ron. I keep thinking that if Ron is angry with me then it can all be his fault and I won't have to be the one who destroys everything."
She swiftly put both hands over her face, but she wasn't sobbing, nor was she breathing. Tossing aside his reticence, Snape took hold of both her wrists and gently pulled her hands away, inclining his head down to see her eyes while she stared down at her lap.
"You aren't responsible for anyone's happiness but your own," he told her smoothly. "If you spend your life focused on everyone else's happiness you'll never find any for yourself."
"I know you're right," she whispered, "but that doesn't make it any easier."
"Love wouldn't be worth it if it were easy," Snape said softly, leaning in closer to see her face.
"You're just full of advice, aren't you?" Hermione asked, her voice still rough with unreleased emotion, but she was peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. Snape could see an almost undetectable smirk on her lips.
"Then you should cease tormenting yourself before I start quoting Shakespeare," he told her.
Hermione smiled, finally turning to face him. "Thank you," she whispered before pulling her hands from his and throwing her arms around his neck.
Before Snape even considered what he was doing, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her to him. He smiled when he felt her head resting on his shoulder, thinking how good it felt to be necessary and how lovely it was to hold her while her hair tickled his cheek and her heart rapped against his chest.
Snape sustained the embrace until he heard her breathing become steady. As he tried to pull her away, he recognized quickly that she had fallen asleep, probably exhausted from her emotional turmoil.
"My god, you must be narcoleptic," Snape murmured as he attempted to wake her. However, as he tried to draw away she only tightened her grip on his neck. Unsure what to do, he cradled her in his arms and tried several more times to rouse her unsuccessfully. Before long, his back was staring to ache and he was growing tired himself.
"Have it your way then," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down alongside him on the couch.
It was the most uncomfortable Snape had been in a very long time. The arm of the sofa lacked sufficient padding and his arm that lay under her shoulder was already beginning to tingle. Still, that meant little when compared to the arms around his neck, the vision of the firelight dancing in the auburn curls that drifted across her face, and the svelte curve of her waist against which his right arm was currently resting. The warmth from her body and the fire were quickly lulling him to sleep. He continued to hold her under the pretense of preventing her from falling from the couch. As the last wave of drowsiness swept over him, he wondered if he would ever again be fortunate enough to suffer anything so intimate and still so innocent.