Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 8All the Gryffindors slept late on Sunday morning, after the raucous celebrations of the previous night. Hermione was no exception, and eventually stumbled down to the Great Hall with Harry and Ron at half past eleven. She and Ron played a half-hearted game of chess while Harry looked on. Hermione had never been much of a strategist and within twenty minutes she was being so royally trounced the pieces had stopped following her directions.
Just after noon, other students started trickling into the Great Hall, along with most of the teachers. Snape nodded briefly to Hermione as he strode past the Gryffindor table, acknowledging he hadn't forgotten their appointment after lunch. She turned back to the chess board just as her king finally conceded defeat, dropping his sword with a loud clang.
"Next time, let us make our own moves from the start, Missy," grumbled one of the black bishops lying on his side next to the board.
"Oh, shut it, you," she snapped, ignoring his cry of indignation as she tossed him back into the box with the other pieces.
"So, what are we going to do this afternoon?" Ron asked a while later. "The day's still young; lots of time for mischief."
"Well, I don't know about you," Hermione said, pouring a generous amount of custard over her pudding, "but I have to see Professor Snape after lunch, so you'll have to make mischief without me today."
"But 'Mione, it's Sunday!" Ron exclaimed.
"And?" she said testily.
"Well, honestly," he groused, "you're spending more time with that greasy bat lately than you are with us, your friends, remember?" He waved his hand crudely in front of her face.
Harry, sitting on the other side of the table next to Ron, was watching his plate, conspicuously foregoing the opportunity to ridicule the Potions master and for that, Hermione was glad. Harry still hated Snape with a passion, she knew, but this year he had finally ceased his constant barrage of abuse for the man, choosing instead to focus on his studies, and the approaching confrontation with his true nemesis, Voldemort.
Hermione glared across the table at her red-haired friend, and hissed, "If you call him that one more time, mark my words, Ronald Weasley, you will have detention until you graduate."
"You w-"
"Yes, I would," she snapped, "until you find some common decency and respect for those doing their best to ensure we all have a safe world to live in, or hadn't you noticed there's a world beyond the Quidditch pitch?"
Ron's ears were going very pink as others in the Great Hall were turning interestedly to listen to the heated conversation.
"Of course I realise," he scoffed. "I just think if we're all going to die soon, who in their right mind would want to spend their last days shut up in a dungeon with Snape?"
SMACK!
Harry, who had stood up abruptly at Ron's words, was no longer beside the red-haired Weasley, who went sprawling to the ground, reeling from the force of Hermione's blow.
Picking himself up painfully from the stone floor, Ron found himself face to face with Harry, a cold anger burning in his eyes.
"Don't put much faith in your friends, do you?" he said softly, and then he turned to Hermione, who was still standing, hand raised, tears bright in her eyes on the other side of the table. "You know how I feel about Snape," he said to her, "but I can't deny he's on our side and we need him, so whatever you're doing down there, it's all right with me."
She smiled at him gratefully and he gave her a small one before he turned and left the Great Hall. Hermione watched him leave sadly. True, Ron's words had been directed at her, but they had hurt Harry just as much, if not more. The pressure on her green-eyed friend was immense; he'd once been the saviour of the wizarding world, and now that world was asking, no demanding, it of him again.
Hermione had spent summer and the early part of the school year trying to reach out to him, but he'd only retreated further into himself. Quidditch was the only time she's seen him truly happy in the last few months, and even after his spectacular victory the previous day, the spark in his eyes had already dimmed; his mind focusing on the grimness of reality.
And now to have his best friend show such little faith. Whether Ron meant it or not, it must have hurt.
Ron, for his part, was still standing stunned on the other side of the table, one hand over his burning cheek, watching Hermione in case she made a move to hit him again. She didn't, but the venom in her words stung just as much.
"How could you?" she whispered, furiously blinking back tears, not for herself, but for Harry. She turned on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall as quickly as she could without actually running. She was late for her meeting with Snape; torn between chasing after Harry and irritating the Potions master by being even later still.
Ron must have realised if he didn't act now, he'd never make it up to either of his best friends, and a moment later he caught Hermione's arm just as she reached the door.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I didn't mean-"
"It's not me you should be apologising to," she cut in coldly. She wasn't giving in that easily. Ron always had an annoying habit of pretending everything was all right when it wasn't, and now was no exception.
"If Harry has the heart to speak to you, maybe I'll consider it, too." With that, she yanked her arm away from his grasp and pushed through the door out into the Entrance Hall.
He wasn't stupid enough to follow her again.
Hermione realised she was shaking as she made her way down the dungeon stairs to the Potions classroom. Whether it was from anger, hurt or a combination of both, she couldn't determine. She knew Ron could be a royal prat sometimes, but never had he said something so callously thoughtless.
She wiped at the tears on her face as she hurried down the corridor. It wouldn't do for Snape to know she'd been crying. Not that he would care, she thought. He'd be more likely to mock the dissention in the ranks of the close-knit trio.
She was so lost in thought she didn't see the dark bulky form of Gregory Goyle until she walked into him.
"Sorry-" she started to say, not registering who she'd collided with.
"Watch yourself, Mudblood," he spat, and made a show of brushing off his robes as though she'd soiled them.
"Watch your language, Goyle," she retorted, drawing herself up. Six years of the insult had toughened her skin. "You might find yourself disembowelling horned toads for a week."
As Head Girl, she didn't have the power to take House points, or hand out detentions herself, but a word to one of the Professor's was all it took.
Usually, the threat was enough to make the cowardly Slytherin back off, but not this time. Hermione realised, too late, she had made the mistake of threatening him in a deserted corridor of his own territory.
She only had time to utter a muffled squeak of surprise as he grabbed her and shoved her hard, face first, against the wall. Her cheek scraped on the rough stones of the dungeon wall as one of his hands closed over her mouth, the other gripping her wrists painfully behind her back.
"Now," he said softly, "if I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?" He chuckled. "Not that anyone would hear you, anyway."
She struggled, panicking, and he yanked her arms down, sending a sharp pain through her shoulder. Tears were flowing freely down her face, and she searched wildly for any sign of other students in the corridor; there was none.
"Now, let's see," he whispered, his breath hot on her ear, "what could a filthy little Gryffindor be doing down here, alone, in the dungeons, on a lovely day such as this?"
She tried to kick him, but somehow he'd managed to pin her legs with one of his own. She was trapped.
"Know what I think?" he leered, twisting her face around to his own. "I think you're down here looking for Snape."
She stared at him in confusion, but he laughed again.
"I've seen you coming down here," he continued, stroking her cheek with his thumb while still keeping his palm clamped firmly over her mouth. "You'd try anything to stay top of the class, wouldn't you? Well, I've got news for you, Head Girl," he whispered. "Snape's as pureblood as they come. He wouldn't put a finger on a filthy Mudblood whore like you."
Goyle twisted her around to face him and pushed himself hard up against her, pinning her between his body and the wall.
"Me, on the other hand," he leered. "I'm not as picky as ol' Snape. I don't care who gives it to me as long as I get it."
Her eyes widened in horror as she realised the implication of his words and, at the same time, felt something hard pressing into her stomach.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate on her magic. As a child, before she'd discovered what her 'strange powers' really were, she'd been able to bring forth a flare of magic whenever she'd been terribly angry or afraid. Now though, after learning to control her magic and channel it through her wand, her wild magic wouldn't come. She had no hope of reaching her wand, so she was left to fend for herself, helpless.
Oh, god, she thought. Please, somebody -anybody - find us.
She thought frantically for anything she could do to stop him. His hand was still clamped tightly over her mouth, and with sudden inspiration she twisted her head, taking him by surprise, and bit him.
"Owwww!" he yelled, pulling his hand away as she pushed against him and they both lurch away from the wall, out into the open corridor again. "Bloody bitch!"
Terrified of what he would do now angered, she turned to run and collided blindly with another dark figure.
"Leave me alone!" she yelled, stumbling as she backed away. A hand closed around her arm, preventing her from falling completely, and she looked up at the figure for the first time.
"Professor Snape!"
The Potions master released Hermione once she had regained her balance, and surveyed the scene with a calculating glare. Goyle had stopped advancing on Hermione again, and was clutching his hand where she bit him, obviously in pain.
"Mr Goyle," Snape said coldly. "Explain."
"The bloody Mudblood bit me, sir!" he exclaimed.
Hermione made to interject, but Snape silenced her with a single glance. "And why would our Head Girl exhibit such uncouth behaviour?" he enquired dangerously.
"She ran into me," Goyle continued, looking at Hermione contemptuously as if daring her to contradict him. "She fell and when I went to help her up, she just grabbed my hand in her teeth!"
"Really?" Snape said, looking very hard at the Slytherin. "Well, let's see, then... Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor for fighting like a common Muggle."
Hermione looked at Snape in disbelief, but he seemed oblivious to her incredulity. Couldn't he see the fingermarks on her face? Goyle smirked at her.
"Mr Goyle, twenty points from Slytherin," Snape continued, and the grin vanished from the student's face. "I have warned you against using that word outside the Common Room, which is where you will now return."
"Yes, sir," Goyle mumbled, and he lumbered past Snape, who turned around to watch the Slytherin until he disappeared through a hidden doorway further along the corridor.
Snape turned back to Hermione. "Follow me," he said stiffly.
She followed him miserably in the opposite direction down the corridor, sniffling and clutching her painfully wrenched right arm to her side. He strode quickly ahead of her, unmindful of her obvious grief and uncaring of what Goyle had been about to do.
What did you expect him to do, Granger? she thought bitterly. Rush in and defend you from the wayward son of a Death Eater?
No, she knew that would never happen. She'd be no better off for it, and he'd be dead at Voldemort's next summons. Nevertheless, he could have at least conceded the seriousness of the scene he'd happened upon. He must have seen what Goyle was trying to do to her.
"Sir-" she started say, but he rounded on her angrily.
"Silence, Miss Granger," he snarled. "Whatever you have to say is extraneous to the dilemma you find yourself in, so I suggest you avoid further implicating yourself and keep your mouth closed." He grasped her by the elbow and fairly dragged her along the corridor.
Surely he wasn't blind enough not to realise what had been about to happen? Of course, he did have a blind spot where the Slytherins were concerned. He always had, and although she now recognised the reasons behind his favouritism, she never imagined it would go as far as him ignoring an attempted assault on another student.
They reached Snape's office and he pushed her unceremoniously ahead of him, slamming the door in their wake.
Out in the corridor, two more shadowy shapes materialised from hidden alcoves in the dark stone walls.
To be continued…
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