DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling created and owns the rights to Harry Potter. In this chapter, I used the dialogue from Chapter Twenty-three: Christmas on the Closed Ward of JK Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Anything you recognize stems from her hands. I do not profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
A/N: Hello folks, and welcome to what you've all been waiting for - the big revelation! For those of you who don't know yet, I've been busy this weekend, resulting in 11k words of "Accommodations". That means that the next few chapters are written, and I will get you through February with weekly updates.
In case you're interested in information like this, on my writing pace, or wish to see sneak peaks into the next chapters, or would like to peruse chapter-individual aesthetics for what tidbits of information you can gain from them for the upcoming chapter, I suggest you follow me on Facebook. You can find me there under my pen name, MarcellaDix (no space between the names). See you there!
xxx Marcella
PS: For those of you who are worried about the slow pacing of this story: during the Christmas holidays, lots of smutty goodness will be coming soon - and yes, that horrible pun is fully intended. ;)
Friday, December 20th, 1995
When Hermione got onto the Knight Bus after a surprisingly long last day of term, she was relieved to see a familiar face at the back of the top floor. The wizard rose to his knees. Hermione made to offer him her hand in a shake, but he laughed, took her gently by the shoulders instead, and pressed an almost-kiss to both her cheeks in greeting. He then offered her a seat before sitting down himself opposite her, the spindly little table between them.
"I was merely told that somebody would be accompanying me to London," Hermione said. "I'm surprised it was you."
"Disappointed?"
"Not at all," she denied the question that had been posed with a genuine smile, one that was mirrored on her own face. "It's just that I thought your daytime job might be more important than escorting me halfway across Great Britain."
"More important, maybe, though that's strongly debatable, I'd say," he answered, his white teeth gleaming as neither of them seemed able to stop smiling. Hermione wondered shortly how it came that they were so at ease with one another, but decided to simply enjoy his company while she had the chance. "More pleasant, definitely not," he continued vehemently, though a wink accompanied his words. "There is nothing I'd rather do today than escort a lovely young witch like you across the country."
Hermione blushed, and her companion chuckled.
"Now, tell me, Hermione," Kingsley said, "how was your term?"
When Hermione reached the door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, on shaky legs, she decided that if she never had to ride on the Knight Bus again, it would be too soon.
Before she could open the door to enter, Kingsley halted her.
"This is where I take my leave, Hermione," he said. When he chuckled benevolently at her involuntary pout, Hermione wondered for a moment whether all it took was an attractive man to make her forget everything Professor Snape had taught her about masking her inner thoughts and emotions. "Much as I'd like to continue our conversation, I will need to return to my daytime job, as you called it. Can't be accompanying charming young witches all day for a living, I'm afraid."
"Well, that's just too bad," Hermione countered. "On a semi-regular basis, I am told to be quite a handful of work. Pity nobody will pay for handling that work, though."
Kingsley threw his head back and roared in laughter.
"Take care, princess," he said. Hermione was more than a little taken aback at the sudden use of a pet name, and even more so at the choice of name.
"Will we meet again before the next term?" she couldn't help but blurt out what she'd been wondering.
"I believe we will," Kingsley answered, a warm smile still gracing his lips. "I should be around sometime around New Year's, I believe. We'll see. Stay safe, alright?"
"Alright," Hermione replied automatically, quite breathless as the tall dark wizard pulled her close once more and brushed his lips against her cheeks before placing a kiss on her forehead.
"Don't worry, princess," Kingsley murmured against her forehead, "we'll take a cup of kindness yet."
He stepped back and graced her with a last smile, before turning and Disapparating on the spot.
Hermione stood on the doorstep of number twelve for a while, revelling in the cool air against the hot spot where Kingsley's lips had been placed against her forehead. Only when the first snowflake melted on the tip of her nose did she notice that it had begun to snow. In fact, her hair was pelted in snowflakes, and would be a mess to disentangle later. She did not quite trust her wandless magic where her hair was concerned.
Gently pushing the front door into the lock once inside, so that Mrs Black wouldn't hear and start another one of her many tedious tirades, Hermione didn't notice the lord of the house sneak up behind her. Only when she felt the distinct flutter of a charm being cast over her did she wonder if something might not be about to happen, only to be hugged around the waist from behind and twirled around a couple of circles.
She squealed in shock and then delight, noticing that she must have been Silencio'd, because no sound escaped her mouth. When the twirling finally stopped and she was set down, she turned around and threw her arms around Sirius.
"Hey there, kitten," he greeted her, a little surprised, it seemed, by her warm hug. "How have you been?"
Gesturing to her lips, she waited until a chuckling Sirius had lifted the Silencio from her, before answering, "Thank you, I'm very well. How are the others?"
Sirius's face instantly darkened.
"The Weasley kids are surprisingly fine," he supplied. "Harry though…"
No more words were needed. Hermione nodded in understanding. Harry would be the one to shut himself off from the others if he felt something might even be remotely his fault.
"Do you know where –?"
"Upstairs," Sirius answered. "He grabbed a bucket of rats earlier, so I assume he'd be in Buckbeak's room."
"Thanks," she said and climbed the stairs.
She met Mrs Weasley who was just on her way down.
"Oh, Hermione, dear," the Weasley matriarch greeted her warmly, drawing her into a motherly hug that turned out a little awkward, standing on different steps as they were. "I didn't know you had already arrived. Go on, I just lit a fire in the boys' bedroom. Sandwiches will be right up, as well, you must be starving, poor girl; you're far too skinny, I tell you. I'll let Ron and Ginny know that you're here, they'll want to see you."
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," Hermione replied, and continued on her way.
The door to the late Orion Black's study was shut. Hermione found it amusing that Sirius had dubbed the elaborate chamber 'Buckbeak's room' after stuffing the hippogriff in here and encouraging him to destroy anything he saw.
A few sharp knocks on the door should even wake a sulking Harry from his reverie, Hermione thought, and proceeded to rap her knuckles against the unyielding wood.
"I know you're in there," she called through the door. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."
"What are you doing here?" a surprised Harry almost shouted the question at her the moment he pulled the door open. In the background, Hermione could see Buckbeak going for any bits of rat that might still be lying around. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."
And thus, Hermione found herself explaining about how skiing wasn't exactly her thing, and would he please not tell Ron, all the while guiding him downstairs to the second floor, Harry following her placidly.
That was, until she opened the door and he saw Ginny and Ron waiting for them within.
"I came on the Knight Bus," Hermione supplied, trying to disperse the tension that had immediately crept into the room. "Professor McGonagall told me what had happened first thing yesterday morning, but I had to wait for term to end before setting off. "
Opening and taking off her jacket, Hermione hung the item onto a hook next to the door, closing it behind Harry, before he could run away.
"Umbridge is already livid that you lot," she vaguely gestured at the three others, "disappeared right under her nose, even though Professor Dumbledore told her Mr Weasley was in St Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit. So…"
Crossing over the room, Hermione let herself fall down next to Ginny, who sat with Ron on his bed. Ginny immediately took her friend's hand in hers and started drawing shapes into Hermione's palm with her fingers.
"How're you feeling?" she asked. In that moment, she realized that the shapes traced onto the skin of her palm were letters, and it took all she had to concentrate on deciphering them and putting them together, while also maintaining the conversation with Harry.
"Fine," came his terse answer, and Hermione saw Harry's whole body tense up.
"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she cut his charade off, more than a little impatient that if he didn't want to face his emotions, he could at least make more of an effort to hide them better than that. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St Mungo's."
They had said no such thing, but it appeared that Order members who frequented London knew everything, and Kingsley had been supplying groceries for Molly, and the matriarch must have told him about the children, or at least he had known enough to fill in a few of Hermione's blanks while they had suffered the ride on the Knight Bus together.
Fortunately, neither Ron nor Ginny seemed about to contradict her, so she must have summed the issue up quite nicely.
"They do, do they?" Harry shot back. Ron, who had never been good at confronting Harry, found a sudden interest in his own feet, but Ginny wouldn't take any of that.
"Well, you have!" she countered. "And you won't look at any of us!"
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" came the accusatory answer.
For some reason, Hermione found the issue highly amusing. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd known Harry for too long for her to give in to his emotional fits. Perhaps it was because with her suffering under Professor Snape's teaching, there was little that her best friend might throw at her that could faze her now. Perhaps it was because she was in an extremely pleasant, almost giddy mood, following her enjoyable ride with Kingsley – more for the fact that Kingsley had accompanied her than for the ride itself – and Sirius's warm welcome towards her. Why she thought it a good idea to tease Harry further, Hermione could not say, but she couldn't quite resist the temptation either.
"Maybe," she suggested, "you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other."
"Very funny," Harry snapped at her, and turned away.
That was the end of the rope for Hermione. Yes, things were difficult for Harry, but he could at least try to act like the adult he was constantly insisting others treat him like. This was about the Weasley kids who'd just almost lost their father, not about his pity party and childish whims.
"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," she bit out, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. A few sharp taps against her palm told her that the inaudible spelling bee Ginny had been playing with her was over. Realizing what the letters combined to, Hermione took a leap of faith, hoping she was right. "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears –"
Before she could continue, Harry interrupted her once more, and what followed was half a discussion, half a shouting match between Harry and Ginny. It seemed she had understood correctly what Ginny had inaudibly been telling her. Unwilling to get caught up in the emotions running high between the two of them, Hermione went back to her pleasant memories of the bus ride with the handsome Auror.
She had been surprised when he'd stated that he enjoyed her company, and to Hermione, it had seemed as if he might even take as much pleasure in their friendly banter and academic discussions as she did. To revel in the company of the attractive and attentive wizard had positively boosted her self-confidence, and she felt that even if she might have to fall back on Kingsley as her first… suitor, then that might not be the worst that could happen to her. In fact, she liked to think that the experience might actually be quite pleasurable for both of them.
Of course, Sirius sweeping her off her feet – quite literally – had come almost as unexpected. She contributed it to the fact that he was probably overjoyed to have so many people in his home over Christmas, but for him to show that much exuberance towards her, of all people, was highly unusual.
Hermione wondered whether there was some hidden meaning in the fact that Number Two and Number Three on her list of the worthiest candidates had suddenly become much more open towards her. Could the professor have said anything to them? No, Hermione did not think so. Perhaps she was just… growing up, and apparently not in a way that was entirely unpleasing to the eye.
"That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though –"
That caught Hermione's attention, and she was back in the conversation.
"Harry," she said, "you've had these dreams before. You had flashes of what Voldemort," Ron whimpered in the background, "was up to last year."
"This was different," Harry countered. "I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake…. What if Voldemort somehow transported me to London –?"
Hermione had enough. Those ridiculous notions of his were getting out of hand here.
"One day," she said, and her exasperation audibly seeped into her voice, "you'll read Hogwarts, A History, and perhaps that will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."
"You didn't leave your bed, mate," Ron chose this moment to chime up, which Hermione was immensely glad for. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep about a minute before we could wake you up…"
Hermione watched Harry pace the length of the room, obviously deep in thought. Well, she supposed if books were not enough proof to him that he hadn't been magically transported to London and back without realizing it, then perhaps Ron's intervention might help.
Apparently, it did. When Harry turned back towards them, he seemed relieved and much happier than before. If she didn't know it better, Hermione might even have expected him to break out in song any second now, to join Sirius in the hallway in "God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs".
Tuesday, December 24th, 1995
The following days passed in a much more joyous mood than Harry must have been in before. Sirius animated them to decorate every single room, which was much more fun than scrubbing them clean.
On Christmas Eve, Harry, Ron and Sirius were decorating the biggest Christmas tree Hermione had ever seen outside of Hogwarts. They had erected the festive green monstrosity in front of the Black family tree, obscuring the whole thing, including the scorch marks and unloved relatives.
Hermione sat on a couch in the background, watching her boys – she affectionately included Sirius in that – decorate the huge tree. To anyone watching her, it might have seemed as if she was completely lost in the contents of the book spread out across her thighs, but in all actuality, she was scrutinizing every bauble and ornament hung onto the tree, flinching every time they were attached in an irregular way – so, naturally, every time anyone hung something up.
Alright, apparently not everyone watching her thought her immersed in her book. Sirius, she saw, was smiling into her direction every now and then, catching her eye and smirking as if sensing her displeasure.
When Molly brought them sandwiches and suggested they take them to the boys' bedroom to eat, Hermione begged off, gesturing vaguely towards the tome in her lap. Before leaving the room, Sirius leaned down to her and whispered into her ear, "Leave Harry's, alright?"
Hermione nodded at him, breathing in the exceptionally masculine scent of him, and another smirk graced his lips before he chased after Harry and Ron.
Listening for a minute whether they were truly gone, Hermione put her book to the side, carefully closing the pages around her bookmark, and went to the tree. Truly, never leave decorative tasks to men, she thought to herself, as she took ornament after bauble after ornament and rearranged them around the tree. Her memory served her well in leaving Harry's items where he'd hung them, and she spared most of Sirius's as well. She told herself that her only reason for wanting to please him this way was merely because it was his first real Christmas in a very long while, but she couldn't quite manage to convince herself of that.
When she was satisfied with the result, knowing she couldn't do any better without moving at least a couple of ornaments Harry had placed on the tree, Hermione decided to allow the boys some boy-time, for Harry to catch up with his godfather and for Ron to feel included. Instead of joining them in their room on the second floor, she headed down the stairs instead, intent on making herself a cup of tea.
Taking extra care to be as silent as possible in the area around the Entrance Hall, Hermione took those few steps with caution, tiptoeing downwards. What she had not expected was running into somebody. Somebody, she noticed, clad in the blackest of robes.
"Professor Snape," she exclaimed, surprised, yet keeping her voice down to a whisper. "I didn't know you were here."
"As it should be, Miss Granger," he answered smoothly, glaring at her for some reason. "I do not make a habit of announcing my intents to people who have no business knowing about my business."
"Of course, sir," she replied automatically. "What are you doing here?"
He merely continued to glare at her, and Hermione wanted to curse herself for asking such a stupid question after having been told that he would not divulge that information easily.
To her great surprise, however, the professor spoke.
"I updated Mrs Weasley on the medication for her husband," he explained.
"You are –" Hermione caught herself, though not quite in time. The Potions Master scowled. "Of course it is you who is brewing the antidote, sir, there could be no one better than you, I would say."
"And for once, Miss Granger, you would be right," the professor answered, still scowling, "though any skilled potioneer could brew the antidote. I am the one developing it."
Hermione's mind reeled. Naturally, Voldemort wouldn't own some common snake, it had to be one whose poison had no known antidote.
"You are digressing, Miss Granger," Professor Snape drawled. "Was there something you wished to discuss or do you simply make a habit of running people over and, to make matters worse, further stalling them in their business by asking impertinent questions?"
"I –"
Hermione knew not what to say. He was here, actually here, where she had almost given up hope on meeting him. She had imagined this moment plenty of times, yet now that it was here… How to broach the topic she needed his cooperation on, she had not the slightest idea.
"Perhaps we should take this particular conversation somewhere more private, sir?" Hermione suggested, and without waiting for a reply, she presumptuously led the way upstairs.
On the first floor was a little used room, right next to the one she shared with Ginny. It was often offered to Order members who did not have a steady room at Grimmauld Place yet wished to stay for a night or two. Luckily, these past few days had not seen any overnight visitors, and Hermione had seen fit to prepare the room for the encounter expected of her to happen, no matter which man would accompany her.
Opening the door, she led the professor inside. Once he saw the bed in the room, looking freshly made, he inhaled sharply.
"Miss Granger," he said acidly, "I have no time for such nonsense. I believe I made myself very clear when I told you that I will merely demand my price if, and only if, you decide to continue our lessons in the upcoming year. I do not need, nor do I wish, your payment now."
Hermione fought the tears that threatened to fill her eyes at his harsh words, and steeled both her Occlumency shields and her resolve.
"Professor Snape," she began formally, "I would much appreciate it if you never mentioned your demands in combination with any form of the word payment ever again. I am not some object that you can put a price tag on, nor am I a whore who can be paid to made use of. I am a human being, and I expect to be treated as such."
"Do you not intend to whore yourself out to me in exchange for knowledge, Miss Granger?" the Potions Master whispered, his voice scathing.
"Prostitution is illegal at Hogwarts," Hermione shot back. "How would you like to be a criminal, sir?"
To her horror, the professor laughed, yet there was no mirth in the sound.
"Make no mistake, Miss Granger," he said, "I already am one. Not even counting the innumerable offenses committed under the Dark Lord – and the Light one, if I might say so – I have already put you under the Imperius Curse and plan to put you under the Cruciatus, as well, should you elect to continue learning under me. So tell me, what does it matter if I encourage a female student to prostitute herself for my sake?"
Why he was being so honest with the girl, Severus could not say. All he knew was that with being led here, to an opulent bed, in a room where he was completely alone with the young witch, his control seemed to have gone right out the window.
"Besides," he continued, his tone even more derisive than before, "what else would you call a woman who gives herself to dogs?"
The girl went deathly pale at his latest accusation. The insult seemed to have hit her right where it hurt, and Severus fought to push down the feelings of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him at her distraught sight.
"I didn't," she denied his assumption, "I didn't –"
Yet Severus wasn't listening. Something distracted him, something distinctly tingling, some sensation stroking very lightly against the ends of his nerves.
"What is this?" he asked into the room, not really addressing the girl who was the only one who could answer him. "What is this magic?"
It took Hermione a moment to gather her thoughts which had scattered at the professor's scathing insult. He knew that Sirius was the Potions Master's childhood nemesis, had felt it ever since she'd first seen the two of them together in the same room, back in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year. Yet for him to lash out at her so…
In fact, she almost missed his question. Luckily, he repeated it over and over, as if assuming that if he only asked often enough, the room would answer him.
"What is this magic?"
'This magic', Hermione knew, was a bed sheet underneath the usual sheets, carefully embroidered with protective runes. She had sat on her dorm bed at night for two weeks, taking an hour or two every night, and had painstakingly placed needle and thread so that the fabric would later show a pentagram, infused with ancient runes protecting her virtue and the receiver of the resulting stone.
"It's runic wards, professor," she explained. "For protection."
"Fearing for your virtue, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape laughed, though the sound was as derisive as they came. "Doesn't Black have that now?"
"No, sir," Hermione replied. At the shocked look on her professor's face, she reiterated, "Sirius doesn't have it. I still have it."
"You mean –" he asked, but broke off. "Why –"
"Why did I show you his face?" Hermione offered. "Well, you asked me not to tell you the truth, which was in my own interests, as well, so I showed you one version of the truth that I hoped would never come to be, knowing it would make you angry enough to believe the lie."
"What is it to be now, Miss Granger," the professor questioned, "a lie or a version of the truth? There is a significant difference between the two."
"It is both, professor," Hermione sought to explain. "Sirius was my fall-back plan, in case my first choice was not available or not agreeable to the idea. In that way, what I showed you was a version of the truth, yet I hoped for it to become a lie when my first choice agreed to bed me."
"And who might that be, Miss Granger," the professor queried, "your first choice?"
Hermione worried her lower lip for a moment, until Professor Snape stepped forwards and pulled the offending lip from between her teeth, looking as if he might chastise her for making him wait. He remained there, his thumb still pressing on her lower lip and Hermione kissed the digit before answering him.
"Isn't that obvious, professor?" she asked, her lips brushing against the thumb still resting against them as she spoke. "It's you."
Coming up: Chapter twenty-five, wherein promises, presents, and propriety are pondered.