A/N: What can I say? Exams, exams, exams! I'm so sorry but I have been really caught up in my end of year exams, between studying and working, I haven't had time to sleep, let alone write! But everything is easing up now, so I am pretty much free! Thank you so much for all of your reviews, please keep it up! I love you all xx
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from this and I'm not even witty enough to think of a cool disclaimer.
CHAPTER 5: JUST A DREAM?
Hermione awoke at the crack of dawn, covered in sweat from the previous night's terrors. It took Hermione several minutes to convince herself that Bellatrix and Lucius weren't going to jump out from behind the curtains. She was also confused as to where she was, and then it hit her, she was in the past. She didn't think that was ever going to sink in.
She softly padded toward the bathroom, Lily was fast asleep, after all, it was only 4:30 in the morning. Slowly, she peeled off the sweat covered clothes and stepped in the shower after throwing up some silencing charms.
The warm water undid the tight knots in her back and all her troubles came running back to her. Unwanted tears, sweat and the horror of the previous night's dream were washed away, but her problems stayed with her, and as everything else left her, they became clearer, defined.
The tangles that were formed in her hair by incessant tossing and turning came undone, and soon, her hair hung limply around her face. She stayed under the water, not wanting to leave. The shower was her escape. It was her escape from unwanted feelings, fear, sadness, emptiness.
The water grew cold all too soon. She reluctantly turned the nobs and stepped out of the shower. Her thin hand reached out and wiped the collecting steam off of the mirror. Her reflection was blurry but she could see herself clearly. Her narrow waist, round hips, toned thighs, medium sized breasts. And her scars.
They were invisible to others, just faint imperfections. They might have thought of her as vain to be worrying about such nonsense but to her they were there and they stood out like a fly in the milk dish.
The word 'Mudblood' had never offended or hurt her before, but now, when she saw the ugly, pink, jagged scar, it hurt. It killed her.
Sirius had woken early, or late, depending on which way you looked at it. He was sitting in the common room at three, writing another letter to Mrs Potter. He didn't know why he did that, maybe just to fill in the time. He wondered if Mrs Potter liked Sirius writing to her, telling her about what was happening, or maybe, it felt like something she had to do; a chore.
Sirius wanted to see Hermione. Why? He wasn't too sure. When he was with her, her felt like he could be himself, he didn't have to pretend, and that was wonderful, even if he didn't know what the feeling was.
Something was stopping him though. He didn't know what this feeling was, so how was he supposed to act on it? Hermione rejecting him hurt, not just his ego and pride but his heart as well. He was Sirius Black. He was notorious for his rebel attitude and devilishly handsome face. He could charm anyone, so why wasn't Hermione falling for him already?
He wondered what she was doing today. Maybe they could spend some time together and get to know one another? Sirius then got out another piece of parchment and began to write. He didn't think about it, he just let his hand and quill run free, and somehow, they created words. Sometimes the sentences he made didn't make sense, but sometimes they did. It wasn't up to his head to decide, it was up to his heart.
Hermione walked downstairs to the common room. She was expecting it to be empty, so when she came down and was confronted by someone hunched over a piece of parchment, she was startled. She walked wearily over to the figure silently. As soon as she saw its hair, she knew that it was Sirius. Why was he always down here? She walked up behind him silently, peering over his shoulder.
She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to her side. His expression softened when he saw that it was only Hermione and he released her.
"Sirius, that's beautiful," She said earnestly, "Do you write songs?"
"No, it's nothing." he said, scrunching the paper and shoving it into the pocket of his pants.
"It's not 'nothing', those lyrics are beautiful," a flush was crawling onto his cheeks.
"Just forget about it," he grumbled. Hermione decided to drop the subject.
"What are you doing up?" she asked.
"Couldn't sleep," he murmured as he sat down, "What about you?"
"Couldn't sleep," she said, sitting next to him. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Bad dream," he said, resting his arm over her shoulders and pulling her into him.
"What was it about?" she asked, leaning her head against his hard, but comfortable chest. She was too tired to pull away. She was being greedy, she wanted comfort. She felt him shake his head. He wouldn't tell her, at least not tonight. Was it about his family? She wasn't meant to know about the troubles he went through with them, but she did, and she couldn't say anything. And that hurt her.
"What about you?" He asked. And, as hard as she willed them away, tears spilled over the edge of her eyes. She hoped that he couldn't see or hear them but she was wrong.
"Was it about the attack?" He asked, turning her body towards him. She bowed her head, embarrassed by her childishness.
"It's ok, you know. You can cry." He said with an encouraging smile, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears away.
"It's hard. It's so hard." She whimpered. The tears were running freely as she remembered. The emotional pain was so much bigger than the physical. Sirius didn't reply, he just rubbed her gingerly on the back. She sunk further into his embrace and cried. She didn't speak, nor did he. It was perfect. This was all she needed.
Soon, her tears ran dry, but her choked sobs continued. Sirius was rubbing circles on her back and whispering in her ear. Hermione yearned for comfort, and she didn't entirely mind that Sirius was the one providing it.
Slowly, the whimpers ebbed and all that remained was the dull ache behind her eyes and in her throat. She snuggled further into Sirius' embrace, a bit hazy from her lack of sleep. She burrowed deeper into his arms, greedily breathing in his man-smell.
Sirius' eyes grew droopy and tired as the moon light escaped through the stained glass windows in the corner of the common room. Hermione, he figured, was asleep by now, so he shut his eyes and let sleep take him over.
Hermione watched Severus Snape fight, run, dodge, dive, when suddenly, a searing pain shot through his arm. He was being summoned. He increased his speed, running faster, the pain coursing through his veins giving him a new energy and made it harder for Hermione to keep up. Soon, he reached a sparse clearing in the forbidden forest. He fell to his knees, gritted his teeth together, clenched in hands and dipped the tip of his wand into the tattooed skin of his forearm.
The smell was ghastly and the room decrepit. Water dripped from the sordid pillars of wood that made up the ceiling and anguish sat in the dark corner, hugging its knees. But Severus Snape knew where he was immedinetally, even if his childhood hiding place had changed vastly. It was the, his, boat house.
Hermione watched as The Dark Lord approached from the deck, caressing his wand. His vigilant eyes were peaceful and calm. Nagani slithered in behind him indifferently. Voldemort walk around the Potions Master and surveyed him with watchful eyes.
"Severus,"
"My Lord, their resistance is crumbing – "
" – and it is doing so without your help," said Voldemort, in his high, clear voice. "Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there… almost."
"Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please."
Snape strode past the gap, and Hermione drew back a little. Voldemort stood up. Hermione could see him now, see the red eyes, the flattened serpentine face, the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semi-darkness.
"I have a problem, Severus," said Voldemort softly.
"My Lord?" said Snape.
Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton.
"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"
"My – my Lord?" said Snape blankly. "I do not understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."
"No," said Voldemort. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. It has not revealed the words it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."
Even though Voldemort's tone was musing, clam, Hermione could tell that fury was building up inside of him.
"No difference," said Voldemort again.
Snape did not speak. Hermione could not see his face, she wondered whether Snape sensed danger, was trying to find the right words, to reassure his master.
Voldemort started to move around the room: Harry lost sight of him for seconds as he prowled, speaking in that same measured voice.
"I have thought long and hard, Severus… do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"
"No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter."
"You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."
"But my Lord, he might be killed accidently by one other than yourself –"
"My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends – the more, the better – but do not kill him. But it is of you that I wished to speak, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."
"My Lord knows I seek to serve him. But – let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you, I know I can –"
"I have told you, no!" said Voldemort, and Hermione caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again. "My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"
"My Lord, there can be no question, surely –?"
"– but there is a question, Severus, there is."
Voldemort halted, and Hermione could see him plainly again as he slid the Elder Wand through his white fingers, staring at Snape.
"Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"
"I – I cannot answer that, my Lord."
"Can't you?"
"My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but, Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."
"I – I have no explanation, my Lord."
Snape was not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes were still fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.
"I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."
And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape's face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.
"My Lord – let me go to the boy –"
"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer."
Snape did not speak.
"Perhaps you already know? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."
"My Lord –"
"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last master. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While yu live, Severus, the elder wand cannot be truly mine."
"My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand.
"It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand and I master Potter at last."
And Voldemort swiped the air with the elder wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second, thought he had been reprieved: but then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snakes cage was rolling through the air and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head aadn shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.
"kill."
There was a terrible scream. Hermione saw Snape's face lose the little colour It had left, it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snakes fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor.
"I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.
He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding.
"Hermione," said Severus, frothing slightly at the mouth. His voice was barely a whisper. And then the scene before her disappeared and reality took over.
Hermione jolted upright, breaking through Sirius' vice like arms in one swift motion but he stayed asleep, snoring slightly. Little droplets of sweat were collecting on her brow and she was panting. A million questions were racing through her head. Was it just a silly nightmare? Why was she dreaming of Severus Snape all of a sudden? And most importantly of all, what did the dream mean?
The early morning light that flooded the common room and the birds that tweeted and chirped innocently reminded Hermione that students would be making their way to breakfast soon. She couldn't afford to be seen in another compromising situation with Sirius again, so she quietly rose from the sofa and walked up to her dorm, scared and wondering about her dream.