Baby's Breath Part 1: The Secret Admirer
With the return of the Dark Lord finally acknowledged by the Ministry, Severus Snape suddenly finds himself at crossroads- he has to save Draco, Potter, Zabini and is surprised to add both Longbottom and Granger into that list. And there is only one possible way to achieve that- make the Gryffindors unmask the Slytherins and start trusting them for once. (AU) (Follows HBP).
Dark mist over Great Britain intensifies, making Hermione Granger question a lot of things in her life. Everyone around her is trying to tell her something or the other. As she grapples to read in-between the lines, there is an anonymous admirer trying to catch her attention with her favorite flower and a series of short lines randomly picked from Muggle poetry.
Once again- MournfulSeverity stands as the source of inspiration. In her very first review of the first chapter of "Love Empowered Empathy- Prologue," she had mentioned the word "Obscurial". That got me researching like a mad hare. Thoughts of "venom" and some sequel of "Spiderman" flooded my mind. And with the emotionally loaded "Mute" and the huge fantastic tale weaving in the backdrop of "Love Empowered Empathy"- Baby's Breath was quietly born in one of my sleepless nights. I hope against hope I shall not disappoint my readers. I would like to thank Darknessdawns13 to inspire me to extend this story into four more parts. Moonvale happens to be the magnificent beta of this chapter. Can't thank you enough!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling. This story just left me sleepless. Thus, with red eyes burning, I am penning it down, or better typing it down. My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life.
Baby's Breath Part 1: The Secret Admirer
"And so being young,
And dipped in Folly,
I fell in love
with Melancholy."
Hermione Granger furrowed her brows, reread the note on the scrap of parchment and looked around. The library was quiet and she could distinctly hear the bell announcing dinner time. Bringing the paper closer, she studied the writing, thinking hard, Long elegant strokes...someone had taken great care to write the lines down. The peak of the 'd's were slightly curled, while the downstrokes of the 'y's twisted daintily depicting a classy touch and an elitist flair to the short note. There was no salutation at the top and no mention of the sender at the bottom.
Looking over her shoulders, she studied the dark corners of the bookshelves and strained her ears hoping to hear the clack of a boot or a soft sound of someone breathing. Close to dinner time, on a cheerful Friday evening, with exams several months away, no student in their right minds chose to loiter this deep into the Hogwarts library. Feeling the rough texture of the parchment the witch tried to think who among her friends wrote in such a way...No one, in fact, no one she knew of had any interest in poetry! Above that, this year wasn't really the best one to appreciate surprise gifts or in this case strange notes either.
But what if this note wasn't meant for her? What if this was meant for someone else? Fiddling with her wand the Gryffindor pondered over the possibilities, then shook her head,' No, no one else comes this far into the library, no one has any fascination for sharing this nook with her.'
The forgotten corner, furnished with a table and two chairs, pushed against the large window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds, was wedged between two rows of dusty tomes cataloged under the letter "A". To the left stood the shelves of Ancient Arithmancy and Artifacts: a study of forging weapons of the old- a comprehensive collection throwing light on the invention of Magical tools, apparatuses, and machines during the last two centuries, while the right one was reserved to store the long and worn out editions of Alchemy textbooks.
Staring at them blankly she mulled aloud, "And definitely, none of the present residents of the School would find learning about Architecture Magica exciting to the last letter, especially if one had to leaf through eighty-seven volumes of the great work."
The air around this place had this permanent smell of forgone days, dried ink, dust, and gum leaves. A smell that had her hooked and addicted since the first day she had wondered this far into the magically extended hall, running her fingers absentmindedly over the unknown books, feeling lonely and homesick.
Coming to a swift yet apologetic decision, she aimed her wand at the note. Her thoughts fleeted back to Madam Pince's long list of spells that students were prohibited from performing in the library. But Granger even if she was in her fifth year at Hogwarts, was already an accomplished witch. She could obviously control a spell and restrict it to just the piece of parchment, couldn't she?
"So which one to pick, 'Aquamenti'... no that won't destroy it. That leaves the only option, 'incendio'", her heart thudded in her ears and she could feel her neck growing warm. Oh dear, she was thinking of performing 'incendio' in the library. Her wand was still pointed at the paper, though her fingers shook a bit and her palm started sweating.
"Merlin, please please, please don't trigger Madam Pince's Alarms...Urgh, What was I thinking! No, I can't do it! If Madam Pince finds out she will definitely ban me from the library for the rest of my school life," snapping her eyes open, she dropped her wand next to the paper and tried to take in deep breathes. 'There must be another way. I can show it to one of the professors, surely Professor McGonagall..." As if reading her thoughts, the paper started twisting on its own.
Right there in front of her eyes, it twisted, turned and transformed itself into one small Gypsophila flower. Mrs. Weasley's frequent warning echoed somewhere deep in her mind, "What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain..." Clinging onto her parents' parting gift, "The Language of Flowers", the Gryffindor girl gasped in horror, stood up immediately, and backed away from the table, nearly toppling the chair she was sitting on. Panicking, she looked around but found no one.
Turning on her heels, grabbing her satchel, Hermione sprinted down the closest row of books but stopped and looked back. The cold draft of the castle whispered around her. She could still see the flower over on the dark wooden desk. The wind had managed to knock it around enough that it was now hanging precariously over the edge.
Looking away and closing her eyes she listened to the desperate words of her mind, 'It's not really a flower'. There is nothing innocent and pure about it. Someone must be pulling a prank. Smarts, remember what happened to Ginny.' Her heart hummed in disapproval. Rumbling within her ribcage, it defended, 'but that was a journal, this is a scrap of parchment.' Her mind argued furiously in reply, 'Oh for God's sake! How about the Triwizard Cup! Once again her heart sprung up in defense, 'it was a portkey, but this is just a tiny flower.'
Feeling the strain of her battling wits, she looked back once again. The flower was no longer there. It had rolled over and fallen right next to the foot of her vacant chair.
She thought of those lines from the parchment, "dipped in Folly/ I fell in Love/with Melancholy." Folly and melancholy, not the usual set of words anyone would use unless they were being philosophical, or were guilty, repenting and helpless. Walking back to her favorite corner of the library, she knelt beside the desk and picked up the white flower. Aiming her wand at it, she muttered a couple of complex spells then heaved a sigh, "Nothing malicious, still it is not a random flower, is it?".
Bringing out a vial she transformed it into a small glass jar and dropped the flower inside. Sealing the mouth of the transparent container, she rotated it and watched its single item with furrowed brows. This was an exceptional example of Transfiguration, only students from senior years could perform such spells. The cluster of snow-white petals sat delicately over a long thin stem, it did look fresh. Possibly there was some kind of a stasis spell incorporated in it. She didn't remember finding this flower anywhere around the castle or in the greenhouses, even Hagrid never thought of growing something this little. His idea of innocence would rather involve a carnivorous flower.
She thought once again about reporting it to Professor McGonagall, but what would she tell her? She had tried the reversing spells but had failed to transform it back to that small note. Staring sideways at the edge of the book "The Language of the Flowers" still peeping out from her satchel, she muttered thoughtfully, "In anyways, within a week the flower should wilt off or maybe the spell will wane off on its own. I will have to wait before I show it to Professor McGonagall." Somehow the idea of showing it to Neville, Ginny, Harry or Ron didn't sit well with her.
Rotating the container Hermione bit her lips and wondered, "'Dipped in Folly, I fell in love with Melancholy' Why would someone write that at all? Why leave it on my desk? It's a pretty sad note, Is someone in danger? Is this a warning?" She couldn't quite understand why, of all the people, she thought about Moaning Myrtle.
Honestly, several students did have a reason to get depressed. Voldemort was back, Death eaters were raiding, kidnapping, and killing people across the country. Muggleborns had reasons to fear for their lives. All those who openly opposed the Dark Lord's ideologies were sooner or later getting persecuted by his sympathizers.
In such trying times, who would think of picking up a poetry book and quote lines from it? The more she thought about it the more it felt like someone was trying to reach out to her. There was someone in this castle, who was repenting, hurting and desperate. Hermione was certain about one thing, no normal teenager would feel attracted to these lines.
Shaking her head, she dropped the jar inside her book bag and made her way out of the library. She did look around in between the rows as she crossed the reading desks spread over the place to catch a glimpse of the potential anonymous writer. Sadly the place was empty but for Madam Pince waiting for her by the tall oak doors, looking stern and impatient as always.
Sliding next to Harry, Granger loaded her plate with food still thinking about the glass jar tucked inside her satchel when her friend groaned in frustration. Apparently, Harry had been fixated about Malfoy throughout this term, once he had revived from his mourning over his godfather, Sirius Black's sudden death. Rolling her eyes, she muttered knowing all too well what the answer would be, "What is it, Harry?"
He glared at her and muttered back, "I know you don't believe me but I am telling you, Malfoy is up to something big. Look at him. Even his housemates show little interest in him, he sulks and hardly eats. I am telling you…" He grew quiet once he caught his two other friends sharing a look of exasperation.
Ron spoke with his mouthful, "Maybe he wants to starve himself, feeling guilty about being such a git...Harry...mate...for once, we don't really have to spend time thinking of ways to hex him to the next millennia." He tried to grin with a bit of chicken still poking out of his bulging mouth.
Hermione tried to ignore it but did twist her face making an effort to support the joke and turned at Harry. Unfortunately, instead of grinning, Harry was glowering at them. Stabbing his dinner with murder dancing in his green eyes, he growled, "I get it, you don't believe me! But I will prove it! He is going to do something which we will all end up regretting. You just mark my words."
Ron spoke sounding a little hurt, "Blimey Harry, it's not that we don't trust you but look at the git. Daddy rotting in Azkaban, Crabbe and Goyle abandoning him; I guess the ferret has finally realized he's not some Slytherin Prince, right 'Mione?" The redhead wizard silently pleaded her to say something in support.
Hermione nodded but her eyes were trained on the Slytherin classmate, sitting aloof and apart from his usual group of friends. Harry was right; he showed no interest in his plate. Propping his chin on his palm, he was busy staring blankly at a bowl of fruit. He took no notice of Bloody Baron floating out of the assortment and settled himself right next to him; eyeing his goblet with interest. He no longer looked like Draco Malfoy: pompous and arrogant. Rather he looked much like a person whose world was slipping through his fingers and no matter how hard he tried he could not save it.
Those poetic lines flashed in her mind, "And so being young, /And dipped in Folly,/I fell in love with Melancholy." Draco Malfoy was indeed the saddest picture of Melancholy in the cheerful Great Hall.
A/N: I am still writing a couple of chapters to explain what happened in between Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince. Since this is the first installment of the series, I think I should address Snape and Remus's odd friendship, Snape's first responses to Granger's mental magic prowess, Draco's gradual metamorphosis, and how the little flower Baby's Breath play a vital role for the three of the central character- Snape, Draco, and Hermione. So far, I have posted five of the first chapters. Probably there would be five more, then we are good to go. Perhaps, this will explain the vagueness between.