The Dust Ballet
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No profit made.
An: I know it's been a long time since the last update, but it's here. Here's a little Snape/Hermione bonding for you…oh, and a little Fleur/Hermione interaction…just not in the way you might think. Read. Review. Enjoy.
"Ms. Black." The humorless voice droned out, ceasing the noise coming from the students packing their things and rushing from the class. Hermione sighed, even after months of her heritage being public knowledge; they still stopped and stared when it came into focus.
"Yes Professor?" She sat her satchel down atop her desk and waited to be address.
Snape looked around at the gawking students with a sneer. "The rest of you are dismissed." He hissed. They scrambled to get out from beneath his steady glare, even Harry was in a hurry to leave, though he squeezed her arm in support as he left. He eyed them as they filtered out, well aware that Hermione's eyes were on him. As the last student hurried out he turned toward the set of doors on the opposite wall. "Follow me, please."
She did as demanded and followed him through the doors and into what looked to be his office. Hermione couldn't stop herself from eyeing the abundant shelves of potion ingredients, vials and books; it was impossible to not gawk at the vast amount of knowledge that surrounded her. With a great amount of self-control she took a surprisingly comfortable seat across from her Godfather. "Is this about my essay, Professor?" She asked rather meekly.
To her confusion the Potions Master tilted his head as he looked at her. "This…isn't an educational meeting, but rather a…social one." Hermione frowned as the usually powerful and direct man seemed to struggle with such a simple question. Snape looked away, studying the any shelves that surrounded them. He did not look at her while he spoke. "Your father was my friend…and I knew your mother well. From the day you were born into this world, you've had my protection…that does not change now that you are aware of everything."
Hermione swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat and looked down to her hands as they fiddled in her lap. "Professor, I…" She stopped, unable to continue as she squeezed her eyes closed against the sudden assault of tears.
Snape waited until she collected herself enough to look up at him. "You have the right to call me by name when not in an educational setting…Hermione." She could see that he tied to smile, and she grinned a bit as it looked well out of place on such a stoic face.
With a great sigh she fell back into the seat, the tension slowly seeping way to exhaustion. "I do suppose this is as awkward and surreal for you as it is for me." She took a breath and let it out slowly as she tried to work her mind around this new development in her relationship with her Godfather. "And I don't suppose that this is you being nostalgic and wanting to rehash the past, is it?" She asked.
He did not smile, but his dark eyes sparked in an unfamiliar way that made her think that maybe, he had found some amusement in what she said. "You are aware that both Sirius and I have equal guardianship over you, and while you have kept in contact with Sirius…well I rather not have second hand knowledge of your wellbeing when we reside within the same castle." He sighed as his care for her and solitude natured warred with each other.
Hermione found herself pitying him. By all accounts, Sirius had it easy in accumulating into her new life, she did after all live with him and Harry now; she was absolutely positive that she wasn't welcomed at the Grangers. From the moment she had started at Hogwarts, she and Snape had been on opposite sides of opinion and while that was for an honest and good purpose, it didn't exactly set them up to have an easy relationship.
"I'm not horrible." She admitted, smiling in a humbling kind of way. "I suppose I'm still adjusting, and maybe I'm still in a bit of doubt or shock about certain things. I don't second guess when the Professors call me by name anymore. The whispers and stares are still quite annoying, but they've calmed somewhat since the news of the tournament was announced, which I'm ever so grateful for. I've had some interaction with Narcissa and Draco…that is quite bizarre, but I find it, oh I don't know, refreshing? Though, I suppose you know them far better than I?"
Snape nodded as he peered over the desk at her. "Yes, I suppose that is correct. I've known Narcissa a long time…and I gather she has told you that I am Draco's Godfather as well?" He pondered.
Hermione smiled a bit as she nodded. "She did. I believe she did so in hopes that it'll give Draco and I something to talk about other than the years of torment." She ducked her head to hide her smirk.
"It seems like a very Narcissa thing to do…You must realize that while Narcissa almost never does anything without personal gain in her motivations, she will do and has done a great many things for her family. Blacks cherish family above all else, much like the rest of Pureblood society. Though, I suspect that you're becoming more and more familiar with your family's traditions?"
"Yes, Narcissa has been most informative." Hermione sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair.
"My advice Hermione…" He paused, calculating his words. "One must take all the help they are given…and surely one can never have too many people whom care for them?"
Hermione eyed the cynical man and smirked a bit. "Why Severus, I do believe you're optimism is shining through." She teased and nearly had a heart attack as she did so.
But then, the Potions Master chuckled dryly and waved her off with a flippant hand. Hermione stood and made for the door. "Ms. Black." Snape called her to a stop. He did not look up from his parchment and quill as she looked back at him. "You may be a Gryffindor, but my door will always open for you and should you find yourself in need…you need only look about you and reach out a hand; help will always be there to take it." She frowned at the very Dumbledore-like riddle, but shrugged it off. It was probably just the contemptuous man's way of showing he cared without actually saying that he did.
Back in the many rows of the library laid a table, but this wasn't just any table. This table was a special table that sat in a tidy corner, one chair with its back too unused and forgotten shelves of student yearbooks, the other chair having its back to the rest of the two person desks in this part of the library. It's the desk Hermione always hid herself away in. With the arched window pressed against its side and the wonderful view of the forbidden forest, she lost herself in the views of dust dancing through the sunlight.
She sits there now, her back to the forgotten shelves, half watching the dust ballet and half watching how the students interacted with each other. People watching; her mother had called it that once…no, Mrs. Granger had called it that once, she corrected herself. It was something she'd done since as far as she could remember.
A 'social butterfly' had never applied to Hermione's character, in fact the only friends she ever made had been those here at Hogwarts, and that was all from a rogue troll. Don't get her wrong, she was utterly grateful to any and every God and/or Goddess out there for Harry, that silly boy gave her strength to be herself that she wouldn't have otherwise found without him. However, Hermione is no fool of who she is.
She is an observer, an introvert and there's nothing wrong with that, honestly. It's how she picked up most of her social norms as a child, and even then, she stood out as far more mature than children of the same age. Hermione figured it is one of the reasons Harry and her work so wondrously. He kept her light and in the moment and she gives him firm ground and consciousness of what's to come. A ying-yang sort of thing. Balance. They give one another license to portray all faucets of their personalities.
So while Harry was busy with the diabolical duo, Hermione made use of the time alone to just be. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair, knees pulled to her chest, a book balancing open atop them, one hand thumbing the page and the other twirling the curls of her ponytail absently, she was lost to the world and yet, all too aware of it. Now if only she had a steaming cup of chamomile, but of course there was no food or drink allowed in the library, and rightly so.
So she watched the dust ballet, an absentminded smile playing on her lips as she watch the whimsical flurries, it reminded her of how the snow drifts down to kiss the ground; beautiful. And she watches the blurs of students pass from table to table, from conversation to conversation, all from a distance and all like the world was moving in slow motion and hyper speed. She doesn't turn the page. She doesn't stop twirling her hair, and the smile never fails nor does it grow.
That's why, she reasons, she doesn't notice it right away. It was all because she wasn't paying attention to the world around her, not really anyway. Besides, it wasn't like she was actively staring at one person, not on purpose. But…her vision does find a focal point and there is but one person that fills her field of vision.
Now if Hermione was an introvert, a distant observer, than she was everything that was opposite. She, who laughed openly and talked animatedly to whoever was willing to listen, is everything Hermione isn't. The way the dust ballet dances around her, setting her flaxen hair aglow, was enough to make any man or woman stare. Sapphire eyes shine with what appeared to be genuine mirth and warmth, that Hermione found herself feeling guilty for peering in on such a moment.
It was a surreal sort of thing; the girl was so effortless and natural whereas Hermione would be awkward and stiff in such a setting. Hermione can see, in this small infinite moment, exactly where the sun that the world orbits around is replaced and in its place stands this girl; all bright teethed smiles and full laughs as she sits there surrounded by her friends, they themselves surrounded by admirers like meteors orbiting the planets that orbit the sun.
She is the sun. In this moment, Hermione sees her shine far more brightly than any star she's ever watched in the midnight sky. She, who is so bright, that Hermione can feel herself losing all sense of the world around her until she is the sole remaining thing.
But moments are fleeting, and infinities only last so long till the next one starts. This one is no different. It ends as a bigger bang sounds from the doors, a distraction, a louder intrusion into Hermione's private little world. Hermione, like the rest of the occupants in the library, turn to see Krum rush in with a gaggle of giggling girls following close behind. It's enough for the moment to pass into the next. It's enough for Hermione to forget all that she observed, because now she's focused back on the arched window and the dust ballet…everything else simply fading back to the void.
It's the night of Halloween and the floating candles have been replaced by floating Jack o' Lanterns. Everyone is a buzz talking about the selecting of Champions, Cedric from Hufflepuff is the favorite for Hogwarts, Krum for Durmstrang, and surprisingly, at least in Hermione's opinion, Fleur Delacour is the favorite for Beauxbatons.
Hermione sips from her goblet as she eyes the table across the way or more specifically the group of powder blue among the Ravenclaws. The voices of Draco drift from behind her; he's speaking of Krum's chances against Cedric or rather, Cedric's chances against Krum. The chatter surrounding her reveals much of the same, Krum and Cedric…no mention of the Beauxbaton girl.
So, Hermione exams her from a distance, trying to see the paradox of her being the favorite choice for Beauxbaton Champion and yet, already counted out as of no consequence for the competition. She sees what they all sees, she supposes. Fleur Delacour is a pretty girl, stunning actually, and from her place Hermione can see the air of perfection that surrounds her. Though Hermione knows how prestigious Beauxbatons is, she has done her research on the visiting schools, and Beauxbaton was certainly not of no consequence.
The lighting is low to create the mood of the holiday, but Hermione knows when blue eyes catch hers. It's not enough to break her study of the girl, if anything the peculiar way in which the girl stares back at Hermione only draws the Gryffindor in more. Her head tilts without notice, her eyes squint with concentration and of all things…the girl smiles at Hermione all the while. Without thought, a bemused and disbelieving smile morphs onto Hermione's lips in response.
Then she's blushing and ducking her head, because what is she doing? She doesn't know this girl, has really only had one encounter with her, one that Hermione thinks hardly counts. Yet, Hermione doesn't stop herself from peeking up over the rim of her goblet and getting caught by those smiling blue eyes once more. Fleur is smiling with perfectly white teeth and her eyes twinkle in the light of the Jack o' Lanterns, and Hermione catches herself thinking that she's never quite seen a sight like this before.
Hermione feels this spark that settles itself deep in her chest and like little lightning strikes it sends adrenaline pulsing through her body. She doesn't know how to stop it, but the sound of Dumbledore's voice sounds over the Great Hall and quiets the room. Her eyes drawn to her Headmaster as he stands next to the Goblet of Fire and the connection is broken.
Before she knows it the Champions have been chosen; Cedric, Krum and Fleur Delacour all standing proud at representing their schools. The Champions go into the room behind the Professor's table and dinner is called to an end.
It's not until she's lying awake in bed that she thinks about what it all meant, but it's all in vain. Hermione doesn't know just why she looked at the girl and she hasn't a clue as to why the girl smiled at her. She doesn't know why she watched her in the library the other day and she doesn't understand how people can so easily write the girl off when the Goblet choose her, and as far as Hermione can tell the Goblet doesn't make mistakes.
Hermione resolves that she doesn't know much of anything as of late.