Chapter 4
Upon reaching the Entrance Hall, Hermione felt she was entering another world entirely. She had almost forgotten that the marble staircase leading to the upper floors was now a pile of broken and jagged stone. There was rock dust still floating on the air, coating everything in a fine powder, including the floor, which had a flurry of footprints imprinted on it. The front doors were just recently replaced, and the new doors looked out of place, like a fresh scar on old skin.
Making her way through the typical lunch time throng, Hermione found herself at last stepping into the Great Hall. Automatically, her eyes turned upward to observe the place where the ceiling should have been. It was strange to know that only a strong Shielding Charm now stood between the Hall and the great outdoors.
Looking about the room, which was crowded with volunteers that had come to repair the damage to the castle and grounds, she searched for Ginny. Hermione found the vibrant red-head rather quickly, although Ginny did not immediately see her.
Hermione's heart welled with compassion at the sight of her friend, seated amongst the strangers and mechanically eating her meal with a vacant expression on her pretty, freckled face.
As far as Hermione was concerned, Ginny was an enigma. The fact that she had stayed on at Hogwarts after the deaths of Fred and George made Hermione both proud of her friend and a little uneasy. Mr and Mrs Weasley had, at first, been resistant to the idea. Understandably, they had wanted all their remaining children as near to them as possible in that terrible time; especially their youngest daughter, who was something of a family favourite.
But, Ginny had tearfully insisted that she couldn't be spared from her work in the hospital wing. And, she had further argued, she did not like to leave Ron, who would need to stay and recover from his terrible injuries. It had been this argument that had finally convinced the heartbroken parents to let Ginny stay.
Privately, Hermione felt that her friend had insisted on continuing her work as much to keep herself too busy to think than for either Ron's sake or because Madam Pomfrey needed all the extra help she could get.
Hermione had only seen Ginny cry on the day of the battle, when the all ready lifeless forms of Fred and George had been brought to the hospital wing on magically floating stretchers. While the rest of the family had shed the copious and cleansing tears denoting healthy sorrow at the memorial service, Ginny had sat, all wide blue, tearless eyes and pale face, her lips a thin, controlled line. Watching as her friend kept such a tense hold on her emotions had made Hermione squirm inside. It did not seem at all natural.
Compound the lack of tears with the fact that Ginny avoided talking about her brothers' death with anyone who tried to broach the subject, and Hermione had begun to fear that Ginny was headed for an emotional break down of some kind, if only from a lack of proper expression of her sorrow. It seemed to her that it would all have to come to a head sometime.
She felt that Ginny was running from the inevitable, but Hermione couldn't imagine trying to breach the imposed silence on the subject that her friend insisted on maintaining. She just did not feel qualified to handle the storm of emotional pain she knew Ginny carried inside, once it finally broke through the tight control by which it was kept in.
Maybe one day …
"Hermione!" Ginny, who had finally noticed her friend, broke through Hermione's thoughts jarringly.
Hermione smiled ruefully and hurried over to greet her friend and lunch mate. "Hello, Ginny," she said as she let her bag down to the floor and slipped into a seat opposite her friend. "How are you?"
Ginny's eyes shadowed in an instant, and she cast them down, her smile turning somewhat forced. "I'm fine," she murmured.
"Good," Hermione said softly, as she gently patted her friend's hand. But, Ginny only slipped her hand out from under the tender ministration, and faced her friend with a now falsely cheerful grin.
"How was your morning?" Ginny asked, her eyes pleading with Hermione to move past the uncomfortable moment.
Time to let her off the hook … again, she thought sadly.
Hermione smiled tentatively at first, until she suddenly remembered the strange incident in the dungeons with Snape. Unconsciously, her eyes began to sparkle, and her smile grew wide and somewhat mischievous.
"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary," Ginny said, now genuinely grinning as she scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.
"You'll never believe what happened today!" Hermione enthused. "Just wait until I tell you!"
Ginny was all open ears and wide eyes, as Hermione recounted her eventful morning in the Potions room. "Ginny, I couldn't help but conclude that Snape didn't like my ignoring him." She paused thoughtfully. "I can't imagine why, when he has told me time and again to 'cease my senseless babbling'." With this, she lowered her voice and altered her speaking cadence in a fair attempt at capturing Snape's condescending tone.
"You do that well!" Ginny giggled. Hermione's eyes were bright with excitement as she poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Perhaps Snape fancies you, Hermione," Ginny put forth with careless nonchalance, her eyes searching her friend's face as though wishing to catch the first reaction to such an unexpected statement.
Hermione, who had been lifting her goblet to her lips, stopped mid-air, sloshing juice from her goblet onto her plate, her face frozen in horror. "You must be joking, Ginny!" she spluttered.
"Must I?" Ginny said, calmly buttering a roll.
Hermione rolled her eyes and threw up her hands dramatically. "Of course you are!" she said firmly. "Snape would no more think of me in that way, than …"
"Oh, please, Hermione," the red-head tossed her long locks behind her shoulders impatiently, "the two of you do spend an inordinate amount of time together …"
"Working, Ginny. We-are-working!"
"Of course you are! No one disputes that, least of all me. My point is that it's not unthinkable that Snape should find himself forming an attachment to you. He's a lonely man, Hermione." Hermione pursed her lips and gave a defiant little shake of her head.
"It's true!" Ginny persisted. "And, the two of you have quite a bit in common, don't you?"
"Do we?" Now Hermione looked and felt a bit shell-shocked.
"Come now," Ginny chided, with a sly smile. "Surely you've realised that! You're both intelligent, and fond of reading and research. You both enjoy working with potions, and prefer quiet and solitude to a busy social life."
"But, he's at least twenty years older than I am," Hermione squeaked. "He couldn't possibly see me as anything but a child."
Ginny pushed that argument away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "Nonsense! That doesn't matter a bit. You're probably every bit as mature as any witch twice your age. You are an old spirit, Hermione. You know you are!" Here, Ginny paused to eye her exasperated friend critically, one delicate finger gently tapping thoughtfully on her chin. "You know," she continued, "the more I think about it, the more I think you and Snape are perfect for one another."
Hermione's jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "I can't believe you just said that, Ginny Weasley! Tell me this is all your idea of a very bad joke!" She all but begged.
"Hermione …" the younger girl began, as if trying to calm an overexcited child.
"Ginny, Snape is difficult and unpleasant in the extreme, in case you've forgotten! Not to mention the fact that he dislikes practically everyone around him, especially me!"
"That is ridiculous. If he disliked you so much, he wouldn't have bothered with almost apologising to you today, would he?"
Hermione gave every impression of giving up, from the deep sigh to her sagging shoulders. "I don't pretend to understand anything about the inner workings of the mind of Severus Snape."
Ginny was eyeing her again, this time with suspicion. "Well, in any case, I think you had better put some thought into what you might be feeling about him."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked warily.
"Just this," Ginny said slowly, as though taking time to choose her words very carefully. "In all your protestations against a possible relationship between you and Snape, I've not heard you once say that you don't care for him." Hermione blanched, and started to reply. "Ah, ah, ah!" Ginny sing-songed smugly. "Too late!
Hermione's mouth snapped shut, as she levelled her so-called friend with a death glare. But, Ginny's eyes were now fixed on the Hall's double doors. "Speak of the devil," she whispered.
Hermione let her chocolate gaze follow Ginny's ice blue one. Snape was sweeping into the room, scowl firmly in place, and his eyes snapping at everyone who dared to meet his glance. But, when his eyes met Hermione's he gave her the tiniest of nods before he strode to the staff table.
Ginny smirked, "See?" she murmured taking note of her friend's flushed face and lowered eyes.
"Stop it," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.
Ginny only giggled, as Hermione stood abruptly. "I've got to go," she said, grabbing up her bag with a frantic air.
"Wait a minute," Ginny said. "You've not eaten and I would like to go with you, but I'm not finished either."
But, Hermione had all ready grabbed up half a roast beef sandwich and headed toward the doors. She was used to eating on the run these days.
"All right," Ginny called after her, "see you in the hospital wing in a few minutes."
Hermione did not reply. All she could think of was getting out of the Great Hall—away from her friend's insistent musings and Snape's unwelcome obsidian gaze.
Unbeknownst to Hermione, Snape's flinty eyes were following her hurried progress out the Hall. He wondered what would cause his illustrious assistant's hasty departure. Was it only by chance that her retreat had coincided with his entrance?
Hermione was almost to the hospital wing before her aching chest and pained breathing reminded her to slow down. "I can't think about this right now," she commanded herself in a sharp undertone, viciously slicing the air with the hand still holding the now ragged sandwich for emphasis. She leaned wearily against the wall just to the side of the wing's doors to catch her breath. "I've got a job to do, "she continued to coach herself. "And, I just refuse to think about this right now!"
Taking a deep, calming breath, she pushed through the doors, only to run squarely into a warm, firm barrier. Falling back, she gasped, "Sorry, I—oh, hello, Neville!" she cried upon recognising the tall, pudge-faced boy precariously balancing a tray full of empty potions vials. "Here let me help you with that," she said, recognising the accident about to happen. She steadied her co-worker with one hand and grasped one side of the tray with the other.
"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said with a toothy grin. "I've not dropped anything, today. Wouldn't want to want to break my winning streak."
Hermione smiled at him fondly, "No, definitely not. Are you off at one, then?"
"Yes, just doing the afternoon doses. I've been here since six a.m. What time is it now?"
Hermione looked at her watch. "Almost 12:15."
"You're early then. Come to see Harry and Ron?" he asked, as he steadied one of the vials.
"Yes," she said, suddenly sober. "How are they today?"
"Improving," Neville said, his face showing his concern. "Harry is recovering rather well, really. He is getting much stronger. Ron is … well, you know … struggling a bit, but I think it helps that Harry's been moved to the bed next to his. And, I know your visits are important to him, too." Neville colored a bit, a shy smile spreading across his boyish face. "He's always asking when you'll be in."
Hermione felt her heart lurch uncomfortably. "Well, I'm glad to help any way I can," she laughed nervously. "See you later, Neville." she said warmly and walked away with a wave, heading deeper into the hospital wing.
The hospital wing was really one long corridor-like ward. One whole side of it was dominated by the familiar mullioned windows reaching from ceiling to mid-wall, flooding the space with bright sunshine. Patient beds lined each wall on either side of the corridor. Some were partitioned off from prying eyes, while others were without such contrived measures.
All the furniture in the wing— from the bed frames, visitor's chairs, bedside tables, and privacy partitions were stark white, providing a sharp contrast with the old, grey stone walls and the carpetless floors. All that crisp brightness conveyed a feeling of sterility, rather than comfort.
As Hermione's heels click-clacked down the walk way between the rows of beds she let her eyes fall on her patients, greeting those who were awake with an encouraging smile and passing silently by those who were not.
Finally, she reached a partitioned area behind which Harry and Ron were housed. She knocked on the metal frame of the partition. "Is everyone decent?" she called cheerily.
"Come in, Hermione," came the subdued voices of Harry and Ron in unison. She stepped around the barrier and smiled at her two closest friends.
She felt her breath catch at sight of the two normally active men, lying in weak repose before her. They were both pale, their faces lined with pain and exhaustion, but smiling with pleasure at seeing her.
"How are we today?" Hermione asked. Harry rolled his eyes.
"'We' are fine, and you sound like Madam Pomfrey." Ron nodded with a half-grin on his face.
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, coloring with embarrassment. Both men chuckled.
"At least you don't fuss nearly as much as her," Ron continued, with a grimace of disgust. "She can be right annoying."
Hermione eyed him with mock severity, as she pulled a chair from the wall to a spot between the two beds and sat down wearily. "She means well, Ron," she chided, reaching out to both her friends and took one of each of their hands in her own.
Ron nodded, "I know, and she is a good sort, really," he said by way of apology.
"How are you both feeling?" Hermione asked, eyeing them somewhat clinically.
Ron was bandaged from neck to knees, with healing balm covering the stripe-like wounds from the cutting spell he'd suffered. Hermione knew he must be in considerable pain, despite the pain reducer potions he was given every four hours.
Harry, on the other hand, looked a bit tired, but Hermione was glad to note that he was sitting up and had been apparently reading Quidditch Today, which he now had let fall to his lap.
"Better," Harry answered, his pale face cracking into a more "Harry-like" grin than she'd seen since he'd been brought to the ward.
"How about you, Ron?" Hermione asked him gently, as she squeezed his hand.
Ron's smile was tired but pleased, and his eyes held something in them that made her want to turn away in sudden discomfort. "I'm always better when you're here," he said softly. His thumb began rubbing circles on Hermione's palm. She lowered her eyes in confusion.
"Come on, you two," Harry said in mock exasperation, "have a little discretion." Hermione giggled nervously, and withdrew her hand from both Harry's and Ron's grasp.
Suddenly, Harry turned serious. "How are you, Hermione? You look exhausted."
"I'm fine," she replied. "Only, there's so much to do. Remember, I'm brewing potions, as well as working here in the hospital."
"I, for one, have not forgotten," Ron said a bit bitterly. "Hermione, I think you are working too hard." Harry nodded in agreement.
"It's just for a time, Ron," Hermione said placatingly, as she looked somewhat pleadingly at both men. "And, think of all the training I'm getting! The credit in hours I'm getting toward my Healer's license means I'll have less to do later. Besides, it's all got to be done, in any case …" she finished lamely.
Ron only narrowed his eyes disdainfully. "Well, it can't be easy working with Snape. He'd give you enough stress all on his own."
Harry chuckled wryly, as though he knew well the truth of Ron's statement. And, Hermione had no doubt that he did.
The blow up that had taken place when Harry and Ron had returned from the Horcrux hunt to find out that, not only was Snape at Hogwarts but had plans to train him, had gotten very ugly, just as Hermione had known it would.
Professor McGonagall, who had apparently had some idea about how the meeting would go, had insisted that it happen in the Room of Requirement, presumably so that the damage could be contained more easily.
Hexes had flown fast and furious from the moment Harry had laid eyes on his former professor and for a good ten minutes thereafter, before Snape could get close enough to Harry to physically subdue him and take his wand. Then, the two angry wizards had shouted at each other for another half an hour, sometimes so loudly that the windows shook.
Ron had not been invited to attend the meeting, mainly because Professor McGonagall didn't want Snape to have to defend himself against two irate wizards. But, Hermione had been there as a show of support for Professor McGonagall's decisions to trust Snape and to talk to Harry when he was calm, in the hopes that he would accept Snape as his trainer.
Hermione knew she was unlikely to ever forget the look on Harry's face when he realised that she was there to talk him into trusting Dumbledore's killer. She had had to do some very fast talking, then. She had had to be calm, but stern until she got through to him, which she somehow managed to do after about two more hours of Harry's shouting, cursing, and dire threats. Through it all, Snape had kept quiet, his customary sneer on his face. Professor McGonagall, too, had given her former students a wide berth; only interrupting quietly when a point was brought up that only she could clarify.
Finally, Harry had begrudgingly consented to Snape's training. Hermione knew he had agreed only because he believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that no one could prepare him more thoroughly for the task of fighting in the final battle and killing Voldemort than Snape could, though he would rather die than admit it.
The training sessions between Snape and Harry had been horrifying to watch, with the two wizards working out of their hate for one another, and therefore coming at each other with as much malice as if they really were enemies on opposing sides. Snape had insisted on throwing almost everything he had at Harry from the start, and Harry, out of sheer stubbornness had refused to admit defeat, even when he lay in a ragged heap, torn and bleeding.
Day after day, the two went at each other, and Harry got faster, stronger, and more confident in his power and ability. Gradually, he began to be less and less antagonistic to Snape, taking his instruction with something like passive interest and eventually, outright enthusiasm. In return, Snape began to show his pupil a subtle respect, foregoing the taunts that had previously peppered his every communication with Harry.
The day Harry actually successfully blocked one of Snape's well-placed curses; the teacher had praised the student with a low-toned, "Well done." Hermione had watched as Harry's cheeks reddened, a small smile playing at his lips.
She had breathed a sigh of relief, "Perhaps they won't kill each other, after all."
Though their practice duels continued to be quite intense, it was clear to all who observed that the two skillful and determined wizards had learned to derive a certain enjoyment from them.
When Snape was reasonably sure Harry was as ready as he could be to face the battle that lay ahead, he began training Ron to guard his friend, while keeping himself alive to tell about it. Ron, though he could admit to Snape's genius on the battle field, felt no less rancorous toward him, and didn't hesitate to let it show. He never did learn to respect Snape as Harry had.
No, there will never be any love lost between Snape and Ron, she thought as she considered her next words to her friends carefully.
"I won't say he is easy to work with," Hermione said slowly. Harry laughed again.
"Ha! I'll bet not!" Ron answered derisively.
"But, he's really not that bad," she continued. "He is brilliant, and I'm learning so much!" she finished enthusiastically.
"That's our Hermione," Harry said fondly. "Never one to pass up a learning opportunity, no matter how odious the circumstances."
"That's right, I live to learn!" she answered, playing along. The sooner they were off the subject of Snape the better, as far as she was concerned.
But, Ron was not to be joked out of his rather serious tone. "Hermione just tell me you won't work yourself into the ground … That you'll find some way to rest." He reached for her hand again, his eyes sincere.
"Don't worry, Ron," she said soothingly, as she gently extricated her hand once again. "I should probably go and let you both rest," she said in an unnaturally high voice, as she stood up. "Besides, my shift starts soon."
"You'll come back soon, won't you?" Ron asked.
"Of course," she reassured him, but she could not make herself look up.
"Great," Harry said quietly. "We'll see you later, then." Hermione's eyes flicked up to his in time to see him giving her a hard stare.
Harry knows something's wrong, she thought in a panic.
"All right," she said more brightly, smiling at both of her friends as she slipped away.
"Marvelous," she murmured, as she hurried off. "That went well."
With a quarter of an hour to go before her shift began, Hermione decided to avail herself of the staff room, in an attempt to secure a quiet place to examine her increasingly disturbing thoughts.
"Please be empty," she whispered to the staff room door just before opening it. Thankfully, it was.
Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and dragged herself to the long wooden table littered with candy wrappers, dirty tea mugs, and used napkins. Hermione smiled as she threw herself down into a chair and cleared a space before her so she could rest her aching head on the tabletop unimpeded.
I see that house elves haven't been here in a while, she thought purposelessly.
Hermione rolled her head back and forth on the table a few times, just feeling the cool, smooth wood on her warm forehead. And, she wondered about Ron.
He's acting just like the time when … oh, God, no! she thought with sudden alarm, giving the table a little bang with her head. "I am not going through that again! I won't give him my heart, only to have him crush it once more!" She clutched at her chest as though to protect the offended organ.
Her mind went back to the mistake she had made with Ron the previous year … a mistake she did not intend to ever make again.
Ron and Harry had been out Horcrux hunting, returning to Hogwarts at odd times to rest and regroup before heading out again. Hermione had, of course, been attending seventh year classes, working with Madam Pomfrey, and helping her two best friends in any way she could.
One Saturday afternoon, during one of Harry's and Ron's sporadic visits, Hermione and Ron had found themselves alone in the room that he and Harry always shared when they came back. Harry had been off debriefing Professor McGonagall on his activities, leaving his two friends to research a particular curse on one of the Horcruxes that had been found recently.
Ron had been acting strangely all that day. He had been distracted and unable to keep up with the conversation around him. Hermione had caught him staring at her a great deal of the time. It had been as though he'd had something on his mind, and was trying to work out how to talk about it..
After Hermione had asked him to pass a reference book to her three times without response, she had looked up from her work to see Ron staring at her vacantly. Concern deeply etched on her face, and with her heart in her throat, Hermione had touched his hand, finally covering it with her own.
Now, as she sat alone in the staff room, she could remember how her heart had clutched at her with nerves. She remembered feeling afraid and strangely excited at the same time. She closed her eyes as she saw her memory self take a deep breath and …
"What's wrong, Ron?" she whispered. Ron's face reddened, as he stared at her hand on his. He did not pull away, and she felt a thrill run through her.
"I want something more with you, Hermione!" he blurted, suddenly. And, his hand was now clutching hers desperately.
Hermione stared at him, her heart beating so fast that she feared she might faint. "What do you mean?" she asked shakily. But, he did not answer her—not in words, anyway.
For, in the next moment, his lips were on hers, soft but insistent. Hermione couldn't move, so great was her shock. Was this really happening, at long last?
She had waited three long years for Ron to notice her … three years of heartache and crying into her pillow. Had the boy she had once described as having "the emotional range of a teaspoon," finally grown up enough to recognise his own heart's leanings?
She leaned into him, as far as the table between them would allow, and kissed him back with all her heart. Apparently encouraged, he dragged her out of her chair and pressed her to him possessively.
As their kisses became more passionate, Hermione's heart soared and her delirious mind lost itself in the moment. Through the fog, she heard Ron confess his love to her, and she responded breathily in kind. Articles of clothing fell away, puddling themselves on the floor at their feet. And there was skin on skin. There was heated clutching, and frenzied cries of pleasure.
At some point, Hermione was gently lowered onto Ron's four poster, and there was gentle exploration, stroking, licking, nibbling … then, there was pain, and blood, and groans of release … and then neither Ron nor Hermione were virgins anymore.
Hermione's eyes snapped open and the memory receded like so much fog burning off at the touch of the sun.
She sat up, feeling heart sore and suddenly very alone. She could not say she was sorry she had given herself to Ron, for at the time, she had really believed they were in love. That was why she had been so devastated when, a few months later, on another visit to the castle, Ron had gently told her he felt they had made a mistake …
Hermione closed her eyes against the cutting memory of the overwhelming pain she'd felt at his words …
"A mistake!" Hermione cried, her eyes immediately pooling with incredulous tears. "What are you talking about?"
Ron looked sheepish, his eyes downcast, his ears crimson with disconcertion. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, running a hand roughly through his hair, as he started to pace. "There's so much going on right now, what with the war escalating. The final battle isn't far away … maybe we just got carried away. Maybe what we have isn't really love." He looked at her, his eyes fearful and apologetic.
"You're babbling, Ron," she mumbled, as she lowered her own eyes miserably.
"I know," he said sullenly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I'm just not sure what I want with you, Hermione. And, I can't take time to figure it out right now," He eyed her sadly for a moment. "I'm sorry."
Hermione just barely contained her impulse to gape at him. She felt as though he'd pounded a stake through her heart. She was sure she could feel her life's blood pumping out of her.
"That's it, then?" she whispered, still looking down dejectedly.
"For now," Ron replied, his voice full of pity. She cringed inwardly at it. "But, if you would wait for me … until after the war, perhaps? Maybe we could talk again."
Clasping her hands over her face in mortification, Hermione groaned as she remembered agreeing to wait. It had been a pathetic thing to do, but the pain had been too great. It had threatened to overtake her, and she had felt compelled to grasp at any chance of hope Ron held out to her. She would have, at that moment, done anything to make his rejection more bearable.
The next several weeks had been hell. She had thrown herself into her work, so she couldn't think about Ron. It had seemed to her far better to fill her head with Healing Spells, Potions, and procedures than to think of their first time together … and all it had meant to her.
Now, as she sat in the familiar staff room, a feeling of unreality blanketed her.
This just can't be happening, Hermione thought, wishing with all her heart that thinking the words made them true.
And, in that instant, as if in answer to a prayer, her conflicted emotions gelled and a sense of clarity filled her. "I don't love him anymore," she whispered, her eyes wide with realisation. A small, tight smile formed on her face. "That's why I felt so uncomfortable when I saw that look in his eyes."
At some point, during all the previous months of pain and chaos, Hermione had stopped loving Ron. This fact at once exhilarated and saddened her. She knew she could never be hurt by Ron's rejection again, but now she must do the rejecting, if he were to speak to her about starting up their relationship again.
"That is not a happy thought," she said with a frown. "I just hope he doesn't say anything until he is recovered." She did not relish the thought of hurting him when he was at his lowest point, both physically and emotionally. After all, he was dealing with war injuries AND his brothers' deaths. She shook her head sadly.
Hermione looked down at her watch absently and noted it was time to start her shift. She stood to go, and feeling free, but, at the same time, strangely fettered, she left to begin her rounds.