Nothing you recognise in this story is mine; it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.
xxx
I hear a thunder in the distance
See a vision of a cross
I feel the pain that was given
On that sad day of loss
A lion roars in the darkness
Only he holds the key
A light to free me from my burden
And grant me life eternally
My Own Prison by Creed
xxx
Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998
Friday, October 31st 1997
Halloween – the night I have come to dread with every fibre of my being, and the only night I will tolerate the presence of Remus Lupin for more than a minute at a time. For the past year or so there has been an unspoken declaration of peace between us, after he imprudently sought me out on this same date of last year in an apparently not so misguided attempt at finding someone to get sozzled with.
After much insulting (mostly on my part, I have to admit) we drank until we both passed out on my living room carpet. I have had far less of an inclination to insult him ever since; mutual intoxication, it seems, is a bonding process. It also helped that half way into our night of alcohol poisoning, he told me the entire story of how he came to almost murder me at school. Despite the sting of Albus' blatant favouritism all those years ago, I have let go of my grudge against the werewolf.
Despite my newfound almost liking of Lupin, I am not a person who wants, or is in the position to have friends; I have ignored his presence for most of the year. Personally I see this as being incredibly generous – I am no longer making snide comments as he enters the room and I've stopped making him beg for his Wolfsbane Potion each month.
Even so, although this is the anniversary of his friends deaths and he sought me out on this same night last year (out of desperation, in my opinion); this Halloween I am only half expecting him to seek me out again. So I am mildly surprised when I hear the distinctively tentative knock on my door. A generously filled glass of Courvoisier Brandy already warming in my hand, I lazily point my wand at the door and let him in.
"Severus." He nods at me in greeting and sets a bottle of some dubious looking liquor on the coffee table.
I bow my head slightly to acknowledge his presence and pour him a drink from the incredibly expensive bottle of Muggle Brandy that is already open. Minerva bought it for me along with this very diary last Christmas and it far more palatable than I would have expected for something Minerva habitually drinks.
Lupin sinks into my sofa and gratefully takes the glass from me.
"So we're dispensing with the small talk and getting straight down to the heavy drinking?" he asks, sounding more tired than he looks, which with it being close to the Full Moon, is saying something. If I had time I would work on a better alternative for his Wolfsbane, one that leaves him feeling and looking slightly better than the walking dead.
"I think it's best," I inform him, before taking a long drink of the amber liquid in my glass.
He is apparently in agreement, because for the next hour we barely speak a word to one another, unless the words, 'More?' and 'Yes please,' count as conversation. It is depressing; we are together in our guilt and misery in a way we could never be in friendship. If I could dig myself out of the drunken depression I am in, I would spend some of the night trying to wind the werewolf up, it would at least make the night somewhat bearable.
"What're you writing?" he asks, looking over at me curiously.
Nosy bastard.
"Fuck off, Lupin," I say, too drunk and depressed to think of a more inventive retaliation at that moment. I tuck the diary away down the side of my armchair, deciding to write in it with the aide of my Pensieve in the morning, hangover permitting. It's doubtful I could read my own script after writing while in this state anyway.
He shoots an amused look in my direction and I'm struck, not for the first time, with a small amount of horror that I have become Lupin's substitute for Black on these occasions. I know that on the one Halloween they had together before the half-wit got himself killed that he and the werewolf sat at home together, if you could call Grimmauld Place a home, getting very drunk and remembering their old friends. I know that he has started seeking me out in the same way and it is more than a little bit disturbing.
Now he and I are going to spend the rest of the night sitting alone together, ignoring one another. He will be remembering his friends and feeling guilty for not somehow being able to see into the future in order to rescue them all, the mongrel included; I will sit here remembering Lily and the fact that my quest for power and revenge is what ultimately put her in her grave. A woman so pure and beautiful, and the first person to truly see any good in me, and I am entirely responsible for her death.
Sometimes I wonder why I bother being conscious on this day at all. Albus has learned to stay away from me, so I am usually left alone for most of the evening at least. I should just dose both Lupin and I with dreamless sleep and save us both this misery, and the pretence of half-liking each other.
"Why do we do this?" I ask, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Misery loves company?" Lupin suggests, swirling the liquor around his glass before downing it all. He is well on his way to oblivion already and I am jealous; too many nights of trying to drink my thoughts away have hardened my body against the alcohol I am currently attempting to drown myself in.
"No, my misery loves solitude," I correct him. I wonder if he knows I was in love with Lily Evans, even after she left school and became Lily fucking Potter. As her greatest confidant throughout their childhood, it was likely she'd have told him the moment I had foolishly confessed to my infatuation of her. Maybe that's why he has started coming to me on this night, knowing that I am the only other person so deeply affected by her death.
Does he know that I killed her? I didn't cast the spell or point the wand, but it was my information about the prophecy that took the Dark Lord to her. Does Lupin know?
"Yet here you are, sharing your exceptionally good brandy," he points out, bringing me out of my suffocating thoughts. He looks up to shoot me a half-smile, which I attempt to shoot down with my nastiest of glares.
"Why aren't you with Minerva, or Albus?" Or someone who likes you? I finish off in my head.
He opens his mouth to explain, or possibly just to tell me to fuck off, which he does on occasion, once he's too drunk to think of any nicer, more Gryffindor retorts, and startling us both out of our drunken introspection there is a loud, almost annoyed sounding knock on my door.
Lupin looks at me, and I look blankly back. No one disturbs me on this night, unless they have a death wish. Maybe it's one of my Slytherins in an emergency, but as tonight is the night of the Halloween feast, I doubt any of them have yet to even finish watching whichever hideously awful and untalented musicians Albus got for them this year.
"Expecting someone?"
I don't bother to reply to Lupin's question. I decide this time to get up and open the door myself; it wouldn't do for any of my students to see me associating freely with the werewolf – I'd never get them to listen to anything I said ever again.
The door has barely opened more than a crack before I am almost knocked off my feet as the door is shoved forcefully open from the other side. A vision in black, which I am assuming to be Miss Granger, tumbles in and lands at my feet in a heap. She has apparently been leaning against the door while she hammers on it, waiting for it to be opened.
"Miss Granger," I greet, almost cordially for me. What the hell is she doing here, and what the hell is she wearing? I doubt very much Minerva has seen her favourite student this evening, as the costume she is wearing is utterly indecent. Minerva's flannel, tartan knickers would most definitely be in a twist if she could see her darling Hermione Granger right now.
The girl in question winces as she gets unsteadily to her feet, which I notice are encased in heels that a Knockturn Alley whore would have trouble walking in. This is not the Miss Granger I know, and I am tempted to check her for signs of Polyjuice. I haven't seen her outside of Potions classes for two weeks now, and anything could have happened to her in that time.
"Sodding Ginny," she mutters to herself, pointing an unsteady wand at her shoes. I watch as they morph smoothly into a pair of black, low-heeled boots. Impressive – not many students, even ones undertaking their Transfiguration N.E.W.T can transfigure clothing into anything remotely passable, but the boots that now encase her feet look to be of very good quality.
"Is there a reason behind your choice of clothing this evening, Miss Granger?" I ask, eyeing the far too short skirt disdainfully and making sure my eyes don't lift to focus in on the ample amount of cleavage she is also displaying. "Did you lose a bet?"
"Yes, actually."
Well at least that means that the girl has only taken leave of half her senses, as opposed to all of them.
"Have any of the other staff seen you like this?" I ask, tempted to transfigure her clothing into something less distracting so that I can safely look in her direction again. Other students wear clothes not unlike this during parties and holidays, but not this girl and something about seeing her like this feels incredibly wrong.
She looks down the hallway before attempting to stagger down the steps into my quarters. She lurches forward and clutches the nearest thing for support – my robe. The punch has most definitely been spiked again, and Miss Granger appears to have consumed it all herself.
"I cast a Notice Me Not Charm," she informs me, her voice muffled against my chest as I attempt to pry her off me. "Which wasn't technically against the agreement."
Agreement? Oh fuck it – I'm in no state to care about what foolish Gryffindors get up to in their free time. They could be burning down Gryffindor tower and I wouldn't care right now. No I take that back, I'd be there, helping them fan the flames.
"Unfortunately the charm appears to have worn off," I inform her. It would be incredibly difficult not to notice her when she is hanging on to me, putting me even more off balance than I already am, dressed like an only slightly tamer version of a high class Dominatrix. At least when she was in my potions lab annoying the hell out of me she was properly dressed. I remember a time when this school had rules that applied to the seventh-years too, typically back when I was a seventh-year myself.
She pushes on my chest to right herself and she gazes at me through unfocused eyes. I train my eyes on hers in an effort to stop myself from noticing her cleavage. This is just irritating – I should definitely throw her out.
She wobbles on her feet again and resorts to leaning against the thick wooden door frame, folding her arms under her breasts and looking uncomfortable despite the large amount of alcohol she has obviously consumed, which should have lowered her inhibitions to disappearing point. This girl needs to wind down before she breaks and takes us all with her, and this is not the first time I have made this observation.
"I removed the charm, sir," she explains needlessly, her voice slurring a little. She shakes her head to try to clear it and winces as this makes her even more unsteady on her feet. She clutches the door frame more tightly and focuses her gaze on me again.
"I had to talk to you," she informs me.
I look warily at the drunken girl in my doorway. Her eyes are outlined in dark make up, which I have never before seen her wear and they are focused on me with a look that is both apprehensive and pleading. I should have seen this as a sign that nothing that would be coming out of her mouth would be beneficial to me and just closed the door. Anything that happened after, therefore, was entirely my own fault for letting curiosity get the better of me.
"I've been free of your presence for two weeks, Miss Granger," I say, instead of wisely throwing her out. "Is there some reason why you should suddenly need to break that lucky run to darken my doorstep, when you should be at the Halloween Feast, carrying out some inane bet?"
She closes her eyes for a moment and when she opens them there is drunken Gryffindor courage shining from her eyes. If I had any sense, I would be terrified. It is the same sort of determination I see when Minerva tries to get me to meet some 'charming witch' she knows, who has such a 'lovely personality.' Why she thinks the simpering idiots she tries to set me up with would be even remotely interesting is beyond my comprehension even when completely sober.
"I tried to give up and forget about it, but I just can't; not when there's a way it could still work."
I close my eyes, count to ten and decide not to look back at Lupin to observe his reaction to Miss Granger's statement and her current appearance which could be implying anything about our relationship; and not one thing it could imply could possibly be anything good.
"Please, sir," she begs, her voice still slurred as she looks up at me pleadingly. "I have money in my Gringotts vault. It's not a lot when it comes to risking Azkaban I know, but I'll give you every penny if you'll just help me get the blood. I know it's a lot to ask, but you could Obliviate me after and I'd never remember a thing. No one would ever find out"
She shudders visibly at what I assume is the thought of having her mind tampered with, and I understand, the thought of someone playing with my own mind terrifies me too. It takes me more than a few moments to realise that she is offering herself up as the literal virgin sacrifice to obtain her much coveted ingredient. I am utterly stunned; so stunned in fact that for a few moments I actually forget that Miss Granger and I are not the only ones in the room.
I take hold of the girl by the elbows and support her while looking intently at her face for the truth in her words. I would attempt to enter her mind, but with both of us pretty much inebriated it would be confusing for us both and probably end in us both lying together in a pile on the floor.
"You want me to take the blood from you?" I ask instead, in disbelief.
"I couldn't put anyone else through that," she says earnestly, shaking her head emphatically in the way that only drunk people can. She nearly overbalances and I tighten my grip on her elbows.
"I have no doubt that you have read up on the subject," I say, knowing she would have put her Head Girl's pass to good use in the Restricted Section before even contemplating coming here. "So you must be aware of everything an extraction would involve?"
She nods, biting her lip and looking up at me earnestly. She looks terrified and I realise that it's not because she's scared of the idea of having that dangerous process performed on her, she's just terrified I'm going to refuse to help her again.
"No one would have to find out, you wouldn't get into trouble," she whispers, looking up at me. Her teeth release her lip and I notice the small indentations where she has been biting so hard. I can't tear my eyes away.
Nearly a minute goes by before Lupin has the decency to clear his throat. Miss Granger tears her eyes from mine to peer around me, and the nervous expression on her face is immediately replaced with one of pleasure.
"Professor Lupin!" she beams and launches herself away from me and across the room, looking like she's about to throw her arms around her ex-professor, who worryingly doesn't look completely adverse to the idea. She stops unsteadily in front of him, still beaming. "Hello, sir."
"Hermione," he says warmly. He reaches up and pulls the girl onto my sofa, puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side to give her a sort of sideways embrace. "Why haven't you been writing to me, hmm? All those promises to keep in touch once you were back at school…"
I clear my throat, impeding her answer. These are my quarters and I barely tolerate Lupin's presence in them, without him inviting the students in to join us in our night of mutual misery.
"The answer to your most eloquent request, Miss Granger, is an unsurprising and resounding no," I inform her. I am impressed at how sober I have just managed to sound, considering my actual state. I open the door for her and for a moment am tempted to force the werewolf out with her.
"What's she asking you to do, Severus?"
Now I am more than tempted.
"Get out, Granger," I order, ignoring Lupin's question, "before I am forced to take you to the Headmaster for being intoxicated on school premises. This is a beautiful example for the Head Girl to be setting."
Not to mention being indecently clothed.
"Surely it's much worse for her to be seen wandering around the school in this state?"
He is incredibly close to being cursed to within an inch of his life if he doesn't put a sock in it, never mind being thrown out. Miss Granger opens her mouth, seemingly to argue with Lupin's observation that she's in a state. She considers it for a moment and then looks resigned – she knows she's in a state.
"Taking advantage of young girls was more Lockheart's thing, Lupin. I never realised you were into it too. And to think that Albus was considering employing you again after the war…"
The arm he has around Miss Granger's shoulders tightens and his eyes narrow as he watches me. I am reminded that despite his desperate need to be liked, his innate kindness and need to see the very best in people, he is a very powerful Wizard. I, however, am more powerful, he is far more drunk and Gryffindor bating is one of my favourite hobbies. Today I seem to have a two for one deal going on, as a furious, mutinous look appears on the girl's face too.
"Professor Lupin would never…" she starts, the slur disappearing completely from her voice as her indignation on behalf of her friend temporarily overrides her drunkenness.
"Hermione, don't let him bait you," he interrupts her, stroking her arm soothingly. It's now my turn to narrow my eyes, as I wonder if my accusations that were designed purely to provoke, may possibly have some semblance of truth in them.
No, it's impossible. Lupin has more morals than the rest of the Order put together, and a conscience to match. I slam the door to my quarters shut and resigned to my fate, I relax back into one of my armchairs and Accio my drink into my hand, wordlessly and wandlessly. Miss Granger doesn't blink, let alone look even vaguely impressed – this irritates me still further.
"A drink, Miss Granger?" I offer after a moment, with a dangerously benign smile. I pick my most powerful bottle of Firewhisky from the table and pour a good measure of it into a glass. I levitate it over to her.
"Why not?" she asks with a shrug. She holds her hand out to catch the glass that I am sending over to her.
"Because you will be unconscious in less than ten minutes if you drink that on top of all the alcohol you've already had." Remus intercepts the drink before her fingers can close around it and he shakes his head at me. "Play nice, Severus."
There is a delightfully irritated look on the girl's face. However well the werewolf seems to know Miss Granger, he doesn't seem to have picked up on her strong sense of independence and stubbornness. I have only had a month of observing her outside of my classes and I already know that there is a stubborn streak in the girl that is a mile long. She knows her mind, however irksome the thoughts it produces are.
She smoothly takes the glass from his hand and I allow myself to smile smugly. She should definitely be unconscious in very short order, and I can go back to brooding in relative peace.
Her eyes narrow at me and I get the uneasy feeling that she knows exactly what I'm thinking. She lifts the glass to her small, turned up nose and inhales deeply over the amber liquid.
"I'm afraid that you'll have to drink it for me," she says regretfully, sending a small smile in Lupin's direction before handing him the glass. Her hand passes over the glass as she hands it to Lupin and I am about to open my mouth to warn him not to take a drink when she fixes me with a hard stare.
She wants to talk to me alone badly enough that she's prepared to drug a person she obviously cares about. Admittedly, the almost indiscernible spell I noticed her perform did nothing more than times the alcohol content in the glass by a very small amount, but that is still not entirely right, and not what I would have expected from Miss Hermione Granger, House Elf Activist and All Around Perfect Student.
Actually, nothing she has done this entire evening has been in keeping with what I would have expected of the student whose presence I have had to endure for six years. The clothes and make up may have been part of a bet, but for her to make the bet in the first place is, from what I have bothered to remember of her, entirely out of character. Her noticeably intoxicated state when she arrived at the door to my chambers tonight is only slightly stranger than her appearing here at all.
Curiosity may have killed the cat but the cat most definitely enjoyed himself first. For the first time in my association with Miss Granger, she has become interesting. What has changed her?
I watch Lupin sip his drink and wonder, with senses as strong as his, how he hasn't noticed that the drink that before could have been considered smooth, was now practically lethal, and would be less than pleasant to drink. She would have been better offering the man some Absinthe out of my stores, an act which I wouldn't put past her if the thought entered her head. She really doesn't seem to care about inciting my wrath any more.
She leans back against the cushions on my chair and watches me, while Lupin prattles on in a slurred voice about some training they had been doing over the summer. It seems that they have spent most of the summer together, with only weekends apart when she went home to her parents. I am suddenly hit with the quite strange and horrifying thought that maybe she is having an affair with Lupin, and is stringing Potter along at the same time.
I blink to clear my head and look back over at the girl. No, despite the clothes she has been forced into donning this evening, she is still innocent; the very fact that she is so innocent is the reason why she is able to come here tonight to ask me to extract the First Blood from her.
"What were you doing over the summer?" I ask despite myself. I put the glass down on the coffee table and vow not to drink another drop until she has left my rooms.
"Professor Lupin was teaching me Defence," she says, smiling fondly up at the man, who smiles unfocusedly back. "Harry had to be somewhere safe, and with Ron to keep him company he didn't really need me, and with the war…"
"Three months of training with Lupin," I muse, interrupting. "Are you any good?"
"Well right now I can barely walk in a straight line," she informs me needlessly with a small grin. Yes, that I already know.
"But in general I'm getting there," she finishes with an annoyingly modest shrug of her bare shoulders.
"Alcohol is no excuse," I tell her. "You should always be prepared to defend yourself."
"Constant vigilance!" she snaps, sounding uncannily like Moody. She breaks into another grin and snuggles into Remus' embrace while he takes yet another sip of the drugged drink he has in his grip.
She stops grinning inanely and looks warily up at me from her comfortable position on my sofa, as if she was expecting me to suddenly pull my wand from my cloak and attack her. Well, I can't say it isn't tempting.
"A duel?" she offers foolishly, with a small shrug.
"Hermione," Lupin warns her through his alcoholic haze. "Bad idea."
"Oh, I know I'll lose," she says. "But it'll be an experience."
"He knows all the worst sort of curses," Lupin slurs slowly, trying again to dissuade her. His eyes are closed and he is evidently in no state to stop her. Hermione squeezes his arm gently as she moves away from him and gets unsteadily to her feet.
"Then maybe we should try it the Muggle way?"
She takes a step towards the armchair I am currently residing in but stops when I start talking – apparently she is no state to listen and walk at the same time – which isn't entirely surprising.
"Are you assuming that I am unskilled in any sort of hand to hand combat, or are you merely feeling suicidal?" I ask her, partially serious. Maybe a deep-seated depression was the underlying reason for her temporary insanity this evening?
"Suicidal," she informs me succinctly.
Well, that answered that question, at least.
"If I hadn't let you spike my drink, I'd be sober enough to stop you right now," Lupin slurs from his position on the sofa, sliding down the sofa and twisting so that he could lie flat on it, which in my opinion is quite sensible of him.
The girl at least has the grace to wince a little, but only for a moment. She moves carefully to my chair and puts out her hand, offering to pull me up. I gaze at her hand for a moment, wondering how this night has suddenly become so surreal. Should I take her hand, or should I tell her to leave? Assuming she would take any notice, that would leave me alone with a comatose Lupin, far too sober for comfort, but far too drunk to do anything but mope.
The decision is taken from my hands when Miss Granger curses under her breath and turns away from me. I wonder what the problem is for a moment before I realise that Lupin isn't unconscious quite yet, and he is currently lying on the sofa with fresh tears making his pale cheeks wet.
"It's okay," she murmurs. She kneels by the side of the sofa and slides one arm under his waist, wrapping the other one around him too. She seems unfazed when he buries his face in her neck and starts crying in earnest, clinging to her. Alcohol is a depressant, and Lupin was far from happy to start with.
"You've got so many people who still care about you, Remus," she tells him, lifting a hand to stroke his hair soothingly. Gone is the formal title she had been insisting on less than an hour earlier and I am suddenly jealous of the way she is holding him so gently. I don't ever remember being shown that sort of affection, even in my childhood, and although I am aware of every reason for Lupin's current despair, I find myself wishing myself in his place.
"Harry has been looking for you all night," she says, resting her forehead against his. "Do you want me to tell him where you are?"
I direct what can only be described as a panicked look in Miss Granger's direction. I will not have Potter in my rooms under any circumstances. I contemplate leaving both the girl and the werewolf in my corridor and going to bed.
"I think I should go to bed." That is, without a doubt, the first good suggestion he has had all night.
"I don't think you should be on your own."
Does she plan on sleeping with him? I must ask Albus what on earth he was thinking letting a man of Lupin's age and experience spend the summer alone with a young and relatively innocent girl. I'm only thankful that Miss Granger won't be around next year when Lupin is possibly to become the Defence teacher once again – his favouritism was galling enough when she and the two idiots were in their third year, and he barely knew them then.
"He can sleep on my sofa," I inform her, just in case she is thinking of inviting him back to her Head Girl's quarters or something equally inane. I use my wand to Accio a blanket for Lupin and she catches it quite deftly considering she is two sheets to the wind. When she has tucked the cover gently around the werewolf, she gets to her feet.
"Goodnight," she whispers, touching his cheek. I look away, contemplating the collection of de-activated Dark Arts artefacts I have on the shelf before me. I am so intent on not watching the girl and Lupin that I don't notice her standing in front of me until she is reaching for my hand again.
"Is there somewhere we can talk?" she asks me softly.
I want to say no, and my head is vehemently telling me to say no, to throw her out of my rooms; but somehow someone else is in control of my body. I find myself nodding and rising to my feet, ignoring her offered hand as I stride past her.
It strikes me that I haven't held anyone's hand since I was a small child, shopping with my mother.
"Not here," I tell her, looking over at Lupin's seemingly unconscious form. I open the door to the library with a flick of my wand and gesture her in.
She follows me, uncharacteristically silent. The room is quite small, as it houses only my own personal books and none that belong to the school, but it is still my favourite room and it is where I usually spend my evenings, in the only chair in the room, in front of the fireplace. This is my haven, away from students and the Dark Lord and responsibility, where I can lose myself for a few hours a week.
Seconds pass and it occurs to me that since we entered the room Miss Granger hasn't said a word. I turn to make sure she is still in the room and realise she is standing stock still, her eyes wide and bright. I should have realised that this room would be a Utopia to someone like her; a room full of forbidden or unusual books that you would be very unlikely to find in the library. I find myself surprised she hasn't already cracked a book open and thrown herself into my own chair to read it.
She turns reluctantly to give me her full attention and I run my hand through my hair in frustration. I know what she is about to ask and contrary to her belief, I do not enjoy refusing her.
"I understand that you are disappointed," I tell her. "You have shown remarkable restraint in not coming here over the past two weeks, and I know you think the First Blood is the ingredient you need."
"It is," she assures me, earnestly. I realise the alcohol isn't anywhere near leaving her system yet.
"It is speculation. A long shot, like all the other ingredients were, Miss Granger"
"It has to work," she says desperately. "If I mix it with the crushed Bezoar and…"
"I have read your theories," I interrupt. "A long shot is not worth risking everything for, and it is certainly not worth the danger you would be putting yourself in going through the extraction itself – you are aware of the dangers?"
"It's perfectly safe with someone who knows what they're doing."
For fuck sake!
"You are assuming I would know what I was doing," I snap. This is getting ridiculous. I have never met someone who refuses to take no for an answer quite as stubbornly as Hermione Granger.
She fixes me with a scornful look that tells me she isn't actually going to bother replying to that. I wonder why she has such confidence in my abilities as a Potions Master when, truthfully, in all the years I have taught her, I have done nothing but belittle or ignore her presence completely. Admittedly, the reasons behind this are not all because I am a complete bastard, but I doubt she is aware of the pressures that are put upon me to keep up my façade as Prejudiced Bastard Extraordinaire.
Is it even still a façade?
"Fine," I say. "If you won't take the danger to yourself, or the risk of Azkaban for us both into account, there is also the fact that I never want to see one of my students unclothed, and if I were to do this, there would be no choice in the matter."
"I'm sure you would be completely professional," she tells me haughtily.
Does she honestly think I am made of stone?
"And who would you propose would be the person to take your virginity for this little task?" I ask. "Do you suggest I rouse Lupin and ask him if he's feeling energetic?"
I am aware that I'm being slightly crude, but I am suddenly wondering why I am even bothering to argue with her. I should just have taken house points from her every time she opened her mouth, then thrown her out when that became tedious.
"I…"
She is momentarily lost for words, which I feel is something of an achievement. I should take advantage of this moment of silence to get rid of her, but I don't.
"Harry?" she suggests hopefully.
That disgusting pink school punch she has undoubtedly consumed far too much of this evening has definitely addled her brain.
"I'll find someone," she vows, reading the look on my face quickly and entirely accurately. "Someone discreet, who we can trust."
"Miss Granger, you could ask Albus himself, and he still wouldn't be trustworthy enough for me."
The look of disgust and revulsion on her face almost makes this entire conversation worthwhile, but unfortunately only almost.
I do understand where her desperation is coming from. As much as she irks me, I have taken the time to read over all of her equations and every one of her theories for this project. There is a very good chance that First Blood is her missing ingredient, and she has certainly tried everything else. A potion that would reduce or eliminate the effects of the Cruciactus Curse would without a doubt swing this war in our favour. Add to that the fact that she has been working on this potion in theory at least for a long time and I am surprised she is showing this amount of restraint.
"I don't suppose there is any chance you would consider…" she closes her eyes, gathering courage to finish her question. I know what she is going to ask and the tightness in my throat worries me more than a little.
"Get out, Miss Granger."
"Sir…"
"Get out!" I bellow.
She looks at me for a moment, then nods slowly. She takes two steps towards the door and I think she is going to go around me to get to it. Instead she stops just in front of me.
"Goodnight, sir," she says, just as softly as when she said the same words to Lupin, what can only have been minutes earlier. She reaches her hand up so quickly I have no time to stop her, and she runs the backs of her fingers over my cheek. By the time I have recovered my senses enough to speak, she has already gone, leaving me alone in my rooms, with nothing but an inebriated, depressed werewolf for company.
I feel curiously empty.
xxx
Draycott Hotel, London
Empty…?
"I'd forgotten about dressing you up that night!" Ginny exclaimed, grinning and putting paid to Hermione's jumbled and turbulent thoughts. "I can't believe you went to talk to Snape dressed like that!"
"I can't believe you made me go through with wearing the awful thing. Besides, it was only once the alcohol was in my system that I had the idea and felt brave enough to go."
"That corset was gorgeous," Ginny said, looking hurt and Hermione remembered too late that the entire outfit had belonged to Ginny and had only been transfigured to fit her. "I thought you looked great – it was well worth all that nagging and threatening I did to get Ron and Harry to do all that extra homework. I knew I could make them do it."
"I just didn't look like myself," Hermione said, suppressing a wince at the memory of having to walk in the shoes that had definitely not been made for human use. Only Harry, Ron and Ginny had seen her in the clothes Ginny had insisted on dressing her in, and if she hadn't thought to cast the Notice Me Not charm, she doubted whether she would have ever lived the outfit down. Ron had looked like he was ready to pass out.
"That's the whole point of Halloween!" Ginny exclaimed, rolling her eyes in mock disgust at her friend. "And in those days you were so insecure about your looks, it must have done you some good to see the effect you had on Harry and Ron. I can't believe Snape didn't fancy you in it – I always knew he wasn't human."
Hermione was saved from having to make the choice between throwing a scathing retort at Ginny, or throwing her out, when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Chocolate!" she exclaimed, putting the diary down for the first time since she had lifted it from its box.
"It's nice to know you still have your priorities straight," sighed Ginny, taking the tray from the man at the door and breathing in the smell of the hot chocolate cake. "Calories, how I've missed you."
Hermione smiled at the immaculately dressed man and let him in to set the ice bucket up next to their bed and open one of the bottles of wine. When he had finished she tipped him with a shy smile – she still wasn't used to having money, and she wondered what on earth the poor man thought of she and Ginny sharing the honeymoon suite.
It'll fuel his fantasies for the rest of the week, she thought with a wicked grin as she clambered back onto the bed.
"You look great, you know," Hermione told her friend. She reached for one of the bowls on the tray, ignoring the ice bucket holding the bottles of wine – the chocolate was far more important. "If you keep dieting, you'll end up looking like Pansy Parkinson, not to mention the fact that your mum's going to go mad if you keep losing weight like this."
Ginny froze as she was lifting a large spoon of chocolate cake to her mouth. She turned her wide-eyed look to Hermione and dropped the spoon back into the bowl.
"Mum," Ginny said, looking like she had seen a ghost, a look of recollection on her face.
"No, Her-mi-o-nie,' Hermione said slowly, amused.
"Mum knows, doesn't she?"
Hermione winced, which answered Ginny more surely than if Hermione had spoken.
"How! I noticed she was acting strangely, even Fred and George noticed… Hermione, how does she know!"
"You don't want to know," Hermione told her. "Look, read these with me and eventually I'm sure you'll find out."
"I don't know that I want to," Ginny muttered, spooning a large piece of sticky cake into her mouth.
xxx
Thank you once again to my fantastic betas, Twice1203 and DeathStarring, for all their hard work and patience. :o)