Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 4: What Happens Now?
Hermione blinked, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. The room was darker than she was used to, the bed larger and scented an alluring sandalwood. Where were the red drapes hanging about her bed? Where was -
Her wand was resting on a nightstand beside the bed, two potion vials beside it. Hermione had the sense she was seeing an old friend she'd falsely believed was lost to her forever. Without really thinking about it, she clasped the wand and brought it to cradle against her chest, hugging it like a teddy bear.
Memories of the night before assailed her, rushing back in through a burst dam to flood her mind. Death Eaters had attacked during her shopping trip, killing her mum. Snape had saved her, and they'd…
She'd had sex with her professor, and was currently in his bed.
Hermione's head whipped around, looking for the man, but he wasn't in the room. The bedroom door was slightly propped, light filtering in through the crack, and she guessed he was in the sitting room beyond. Without her usual windows high in Gryffindor Tower, overlooking the Black Lake and gently rolling mountains, she had no reference to the time. It could just as easily be five in the morning as it could be ten.
Part of her guessed it was later than she normally woke for the simple fact that she felt better rested than she had in a very long time. Strange. Given everything that happened, she'd expected to be plagued by nightmares, her mind too overstuffed to shut any of the horrors or novelties out. Instead, she'd slept like the dead, utterly relaxed and sated.
"Lumos," she whispered, studying the potions.
One was a pale, swirling pink, shimmering with an iridescent glow in her wand light. The other was a bright blue, the shade of glacial ice. Carefully, she uncorked each in turn, sniffing them and looking for identifying clues. A curling tendril of vapor. A tangy aroma. Anything.
There was nothing recognizable to Hermione about either potion, though she had the vaguest sense that she may have had the blue one before. After Dolohov injured her in the Department of Mysteries maybe? For weeks she'd had to take a dozen potions a day. It was possible this had been one of them, but she thought perhaps it was slightly different.
Since she couldn't be sure, she closed them and left both on the nightstand. The night before had been an indelible reminder on the necessity of caution.
Shifting, Hermione got up, noting there were two more crammed bookcases in this room. Hadn't the other room been overflowing with books as well? She had the slightest impression of a veritable library contained in Snape's suite. It was perfect. Precisely what she planned on having herself someday.
She debated going immediately into the other room, but realized it might be best to use the loo before facing Snape. Give herself a moment to gather her composure. The only other door in the room proved to lead to the convenience and she made use of it, noting her core was tender and throbbing.
Her heart seemed to have relocated itself to between her legs, and was beginning to beat faster by the second.
Finished, she made to face Snape. He was seated on the couch, pouring over a tomb. Hermione swallowed, her eyes devouring the sight of him shirtless. His skin was so pale it looked like he'd been hewn from marble. The pulse between legs sped, a thudding drumbeat that refused to be ignored.
"My wand… How?" she asked, shoving the words out as she concentrated on breathing. In and out. Focus. Inhale. Exhale.
He did not look up as he crisply replied, "Albus brought it an hour ago. He wanted to check on you." A sneer contorted his face as he finished speaking. Disgusted that the older man knew how he'd spent his evening, considering he'd helped orchestrate the activities.
"He was -"
Need hit her and she staggered, unable to continue. Her fists squeezed tightly around empty air, and she whimpered, her body feeling as though it'd been dunked in a vat of simmering water. She was spinning, disoriented like a toy top. Her small sound of distress was enough to draw Snape's notice.
His head snapped up to assess her. Hermione watched as his eyes widened and his pale lips parted to form a startled O. With tremendous relief, she realized he understood her dilemma. Silently, she begged for his help, for him to not make her ask for what she needed from him again so soon after the first time.
"Come here, Granger," he drawled, setting the book on the coffee table and holding out a hand for her.
Slowly, she approached his reclining form, wondering why they weren't going back into the bedroom. Did he mean for them to have sex on the couch then?
His hands ghosted up her thighs when she reached him. They slipped beneath the hem of the shirt to hook in the sides of her panties. Gently, he eased them down, letting them fall to the ground. He offered a hand to help her step out of them and move to straddle him, her legs coming to rest on either side of his hips.
Desire gripped her faster and harder than it had the previous night. Rational thought was impossible. All she cared about was feeling, experiencing that rush he'd given her the night before.
Desperately, she pressed her core forward, rubbing herself on him. He let her, unresisting, though she somehow knew he wasn't likewise affected by the spell. Her hands roved over the expanse of his chest, gliding across the sinewy muscle. Hermione dipped her head, trailing hot, wet kisses up his neck. She caught the lobe of his ear with her teeth and tugged.
Snape jerked, then bucked into her again when she mindlessly begged, "Touch me, please, Snape. I need you."
She felt his Adam's apple bob against her cheek, and huskily, she repeated, "Please."
Nimbly, his fingers unfasted the top three buttons of her borrowed shirt, and he shifted it, exposing the globe of her ivory breast, the fabric caught beneath the freed mound. There was a brief pause, then his mouth descended to capture the shell pink tip in his tantalizing mouth.
Hermione's hips worked harder against him, and she felt his cock growing hard as she pressed along its length. Her body urged her on, instructing her to touch him, to nip his ear again, to push more of her breast into his suckling mouth.
"Mmmh," she moaned, denying, "no, wait, more," when his hands stilled her hips and shifted her back. She reached for him, not near ready to stop, but he simply shoved his pants down enough that his cock sprang free, the thick, swollen rod waving up at her eagerly.
Snape gripped her hips again, guiding her up, and helping her to slide down atop him. She was so ready that his hardness moved easily into her empty, needy channel.
Experimentally, she shifted, and little sparks of pleasure resulted, radiating out from her center.
"Ride me," he ordered, voice little more than a breathy rasp. The instant he spoke, he ducked his head, averting his gaze and refocusing on her breast.
She did as instructed, finding it impossible not to listen to directions when given, not when it meant they produced more of the delicious friction that resulted when she rose up and allowed her body to slide back down his length. It was so nice that she did it again. And again. Faster.
"Yes, just like that," he growled approvingly, squeezing her bum and nuzzling her cleavage.
He worried her nipple, tugging it roughly when her hips circled, rubbing her throbbing clit against his groin. With a groan, he abandoned the bud to tongue the neglected peek poking through the silky fabric. The cloth scraped enticingly over the sensitive skin, and Hermione's head fell back.
Over and over she rose up only to let gravity pull her slamming back down on him, impaling herself repeatedly. It was ecstasy. He hummed and whispered encouragement, praising her actions. It was intoxicating - approval from the one person that had never given it to her before.
Desire coiled tighter in her center, much as it had the night before. Hermione chased it, allowing it to beckon her closer. Like a hinkypunk, she followed the glowing light, caught in its trance, uncaring as to the final destination.
It pulled her down, drowning her in such a sweet release, that she surrendered completely to the pleasure that flooded her. Hermione collapsed against Snape's chest. Arms looped around her, keeping her pressed tight against him as he bucked erratically into her, filling her with his own hot release.
The haze of desire cleared as she came down from her high, just as it had the night before. And with its absence, uncertainty crept back in. She wasn't sure what to do, especially not when she could feel his softening membrane still inside her.
His thumb brushed her exposed nipple, and she gasped at the feel. Instantly, Snape jerked his hand back as though he'd been scalded.
The light touch had felt exceedingly different than it had moments earlier. Before, it was fuel for the inferno. This was...intriguing. Curious. And far too fleeting to make sense of.
"My apologies," he said softly, refusing to look up at her.
"I thought you said a week between -"
"You insisted on sharing my bed last night. That was hours of continuous contact," he explained, attempting to keep his voice level and not accusatory.
Her leg was starting to cramp in its prolonged, bent position, so she shifted, gasping as she felt him slide out of her, a trail of damp liquid following the unexpected retreat to leak down her inner thigh.
Awkwardly, she moved off of him to sit against the sofa's arm. He adjusted his pants, covering his flaccid cock and producing his wand to vanish the glistening spot on the front that her earlier actions had produced. Hermione brought her legs up and winced when she tucked them beneath her.
"Did you take the potions I set out for you?" he inquired sharply, having noted her reaction to the movement.
"No. I didn't recognize them," she admitted.
Approval and something else passed over his face, there and gone in a flash.
"A good practice," he murmured quietly, going to retrieve them from the other room.
Hermione took the opportunity to hastily re-button the shirt she wore, flushing when she noticed a matching wet spot on the front, just over her still pebbled nipple. The fabric clung to the spot, rubbing her tender flesh.
Where had her wand gotten to? She looked around, remembering that she'd been carrying it when she came into the room - at the time, she'd never planned to release it again - but then the spell had taken over and she'd somehow lost track of it.
There! She'd dropped it on the floor in her rush to obey his summons earlier and had him tend to her throbbing body. Swiftly, she swiped it up, her discarded panties too, muttering, "Scourgify," to passably clean herself up a bit. She had just settled back onto the chocolate leather sofa when he returned.
"For the discomfort," he said simply, handing her the vial of pale blue liquid first. He waited until she swallowed, cool relief soothing her strained, untried inner muscles, unused to being stretched as they'd now been twice in a short span of time. The potion was probably something of his own invention, because it definitely hadn't been one from any of their course books. Then he handed over the other swirling pink concoction. "Albus was kind enough to remind me that you would likely not already be taking a Contraceptive Potion. I will prepare it for you each month so that you do not need to go to Madam Pomfrey for it."
Contraceptive Potion...to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. Because what they were doing could result in a baby if she didn't take it. A baby. At seventeen. With a man that only barely tolerated her, even if he would go to great lengths to protect her. It was a terrifying thought.
"Thank you," she muttered, unable to look at him as she accepted the potion and swallowed it quickly. It was so surreal.
"I can see the wheels turning in that incessant little head of yours. Just ask what it is you wish to know," he snapped, returning to his previous seat instead of continuing to tower above her.
Did he think that made conversing with him any easier? It didn't. Not when he sounded like that.
His tone was considerably sharper than it had been at any point the night before. Why? Because he wasn't feeling the effects of the spell anymore? Or because he was upset with either her or himself from fulfilling them?
She didn't know him well enough to make a reliable determination. The realization stung. She was married to, and being intimate with, a man she hardly knew. And he had made it clear that he intended to keep it that way.
Swallowing, Hermione gathered her thoughts and decided to ignore his prickly attitude in favor of hashing things out. "How can we possibly make this work?"
Questions bombarded her, a faucet turned all the way up to form a gushing stream. There were so many things to be concerned about, that she didn't know where to start!
When would they meet? How often? How could they keep it secret? What would Malfoy and the other students whose parents had been at the attack say when they returned to school? What if -
"I don't see that much will change," he drawled lazily, almost daring her to argue with him. His demeanor grated, sharpening her razor-thin nerves.
"Don't you?" she asked crisply. "Where am I to stay? We -"
"You will continue to reside in the Gryffindor dormitory, of course," he said coolly, lips curling up distastefully. "This is not a real binding."
Her fragile temper sparked at being interrupted before she could state all of her concerns or simply finish pointing out that they couldn't have sex in her dorm in full view of her gossipy classmates as she'd been trying to say. His verbal slap-down didn't even open up an opportunity for any dialogue on all of the other problems she'd thought up for their situation.
His scornful remarks pushed her to snap, "What will we do when the spell affects either or both of us?"
"You cannot reside here. I will not live with a student. You'll be underfoot enough as it is," he said flatly, shutters closing over his fathomless inky eyes as he tried to conceal his reaction to the thought of spending more time with her.
"I didn't ask to live with you. I was referring to getting word to each other and where we would meet to take care of the spell's requirements," she clarified, taking slow, even breaths. He was being deliberately difficult and obtuse, putting words in her mouth based on his own fears and thoughts.
He gave her another fleeting look, before his carefully neutral, blank mask was back. One that was impossible to identify any hidden, underlying emotions. But Hermione suspected that he might have been slightly abashed for jumping to conclusions.
"When it happens, come here after dinner has ended," he instructed blandly, feigning indifference to the idea of her seeking him out regularly for sex.
Did he honestly think that would work? An evidenced that morning, the spell wasn't on a timer, and she'd not be able to sit through class with her head spinning.
"What will you do when you need me?" she asked, trying to appear equally composed as the new thought struck her.
Snape gritted his teeth audibly. She wondered if he'd ever had to need anyone before this. He seemed so self-sufficient and contained that it seemed unlikely. Probably, it chaffed to admit he would now occasionally need a student he'd found so disagreeable for so long.
"Should that happen, I will inevitably get word to you," he muttered. The clipped words rankled.
Should? They'd just seen that it would! It hadn't escaped her notice that it had taken her rubbing herself provocatively against him for at least two minutes while he enjoyed her breasts before he'd become aroused enough to shag her. The reverse was bound to happen at some point. He was not above such base desires while the spell had its talons deep in each of them.
"How?"
"I don't know!" he yelled, evidently frustrated. How unexpected to see him so rattled! Hermione had honestly thought him unshakable. He'd certainly appeared that way the night before in the face of the revel and his talk of dying and killing with Professor Dumbledore.
"Then I suppose it is a good thing we have nearly two weeks to figure it out. You might remember that I am not without intelligence, and -"
"Regurgitating books hardly constitutes being intelligent," he said disdainfully.
The jab hurt. Particularly as she sat only partially clothed on his couch, an echo of the sticky residue from their encounter still dying uncomfortably on her thighs.
She'd always known he was unimpressed with her efforts in the classroom. The Know-It-All taunt from her third year demonstrating his contempt rather effectively. But she didn't know what else she could do to prove herself to him. Or if she should even bother trying anymore.
Huffing, she figured she'd get further by not trying. She doubted he'd appreciate it if she suddenly didn't rise to his baiting. Probably, it would infuriate him further. The idea had merit.
"And, two minds would be better for coming up with a reasonable plan. Particularly since it involves both of us," she concluded, raising a brow at him in challenge.
"I could kill Albus for doing this to me," he growled, turning his face away from her.
"I thought that was already the plan," she said darkly. The conversation she'd heard was a lead weight in her stomach, dragging her down to the dark depths of the Black Lake.
"Do not speak of what you do not understand," he replied icily.
"You brought it up," she countered, meeting his measured glare and refusing to back down.
"Enough, Granger," he sighed, leaning back wearily in his seat. Trading cutting barbs with her seemed to have deflated him, releasing all of the air until he resembled a popped balloon.
"Why would he ask you to..." she began, sensing he was vulnerable, and possibly open to discussing the topic, but she trailed off at the return of his thunderous look. Perhaps she'd mistaken her ability to weasel anything out of him. Harry was much better at being deceptive than she was.
"I will not repeat myself again. Do not insert yourself where you and your input are neither wanted nor needed," he said grimly, clenching his jaw until a muscle ticked along the taunt edge.
The underlying message came through loud and clear, sharing his bed didn't equate to emotional intimacy or the privilege of hearing his secrets.
Honestly, Hermione couldn't blame him either. She'd been thrust upon him, without warning, and he'd accepted the burden with relatively few complaints - at least for him - even when it seemed to compromise his morals.
She should just be grateful that he'd taken pity on her and made the encounters more enjoyable than they might have otherwise been. She couldn't imagine being with Ron would have been anything less than a fumbling disaster - not after watching what seemed to think constituted as snogging. Even if they had the spell to help her enjoy everything he did, she doubted she'd have climaxed.
Very little in Ron's life had ever been wholly his. Hermione had the feeling that that would translate into him being a selfish lover, seeking only his own gratification as quickly as possible, regardless of if his partner received the same.
Guilt swamped her at the unkind, and possibly unfair assessment given her lack of firsthand knowledge. She must still be more bitter over his relationship with Lavender than she realized.
"Are we clear?" he asked, still not looking at her.
Who was Snape? The man was a riddle wrapped in a mystery. One that Hermione couldn't hope to comprehend. She'd known him for going on six years, and still knew next to nothing about him. She didn't even know how he liked his tea!
"Understood, Snape," she agreed. She owed him, after all. Respecting his privacy was the least she could do.
Snape seemed to get a handle on himself, a fraction of the tension draining from his stiff limbs. "Did you have any other concerns about our arrangement?" he seemed to force himself to ask, onyx eyes glitters like a night sky.
Yes, but discussing them seemed to upset him, and she didn't wish to argue further. She felt too emotionally raw. There was nothing so pressing it couldn't wait. A change of subject was needed instead.
"You said Professor Dumbledore came by…" she started, thinking of him finding her mum when he located her wand. Hermione felt a stab of pain low in her gut, and rapidly changed gears, not ready to face the terrible loss just yet. That would be even harder than arguing. "The woman Lucius hurt - is she all right?"
"She'll survive. As for the state of her mind…" he replied, shaking his head ever so slightly, curtains of his ebony hair swishing around his chin and brushing over his shoulders. Hermione watched dark shadows seem to converge around him, like haunting wraiths swooping in to torment him. Some past atrocity lurking just out of reach.
For a moment Hermione felt sick imagining that he might possibly be recalling past victims from his Death Death activities, but then she knew. Simply knew with perfect clarity.
He'd stepped in to prevent it happening to her because he couldn't abide it. Severus Snape would never condone rape.
"You haven't ever," she blurted, confidence infused in each word.
His eyes snapped to hers. Hermione braced herself, expecting a quick set down for her impertinence. Already, he had made it abundantly clear that he'd not welcome prying.
"No," he admitted frankly, shocking her by opening up. "Unless you count last night or this morning."
"I initiated it, and was perfectly willing - both times," Hermione insisted bravely.
Undiluted relief washed over him, relaxing his rigid stance. It wasn't until just then that she truly understood how tense he'd been the entire conversation.
"As willing as I was, I'm sure," he replied dryly, perhaps even mockingly.
Was that it then? Was he in such a foul temper this morning because he falsely believed he'd forced himself on her? Was that why he'd wanted her to take the lead this morning when it was only she suffering the effects of the spell? So she could take what she needed while he simply allowed her to make use of his person?
It was true that they'd not have been intimate without the spell, but they were in this together. It wasn't like he apparently seemed to fear.
Hermione studied him, trying to see past the impenetrable walls he barricaded himself behind. The shields were solid obsidian, and so thick that she'd likely have to content herself with the occasional glimpse beyond the outermost exterior. It was highly unlikely she'd ever be willingly let past the gates to the innermost heart of the man.
"Why?" she asked slowly. Then specifying, "Weren't you ever expected to? Did they not notice you didn't participate?"
"It did not occur as often before. Now, anytime emotions are heightened… Anytime they feel the need to exert their power and superiority…
"Azkaban warped a great many of the Dark Lord's supporters, twisted their already rotten souls, and removed all inhibitions restraining their darkest impulses," he said, describing the sort of monsters the Death Eaters had become. "Before, they knew I would not, given my history."
He watched her expectantly, waiting for the inevitable probing question. Probably simply so he could berate her again for prying. It was true that she was desperate to hear the story, no matter how dark, but she figured this was a test of trust. They needed to start somewhere, and he seemed to be making more of an effort in the last twelve hours or so than she'd believed he would. She could do the same.
Wonderingly, Hermione asked, "If Lucius is so...unhinged...is Malfoy safe with him? Last night…"
"Worried about the boy? I'd have thought you'd find this a fitting punishment given your own history with Draco," Snape remarked idly, raising a brow in question at her.
"I will never take pleasure in another's suffering," Hermione said stiffly, meaning it with every fiber of her being.
"Hmm," he hummed, apparently deciding not to comment.
"How often do nights like last night occur?" she wondered, wishing the war was already at an end, so that no one else had to endure something similar.
"It varies," he said vaguely. "They aren't often planned in advance."
Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to know how often he went, and she'd already learned the one she'd been a part of occurred strictly for her benefit.
"Last night was different then," she said without really intending to speak.
"Potter is a threat so long as he is surrounded by allies. You, in particular, have made yourself known as being the source of his cunning and ability to get out of sticky situations," Snape informed her gravely.
"Me?" Hermione said shrilly, disbelieving that they'd put so much significance on her.
"Were you not, just mere minutes ago, bragging about your intelligence?" he asked dryly, and she was surprised to note a shred of humor woven through the reminder.
"Yes," she agreed wryly, smiling faintly.
"They want you broken or dead. Either works as well as the other," he warned, serious as he impressed upon her the severity of the situation.
"And now that we…"
"They do not know of our binding. You must be especially careful moving forward. They will likely think that I'll tire of you before long and welcome them disposing of you for me," he stated, not mincing words. She appreciated his frankness with her, the way he spoke to her as though he believed her mature and responsible enough to handle the truth. "I won't be able to save you again."
She wanted to ask more, specifically what danger he expected would befall her, or if he would tire of her, but her stomach growled rather loudly. She'd missed dinner the night before, her mum planning to take her out once they'd finished, but they'd been out much longer than intended.
"Hungry?" Snape asked, looking genuinely amused by the interruption. The half smile twisting his lips utterly transformed his face. His hooked nose faded, becoming far less of a focal point and he appeared years younger.
"Famished, actually," she admitted, wincing ruefully as she blinked, bringing the Snape she was familiar with back into focus.
Two bouts of sex without refueling would do that to a person she supposed. Especially when a dash of shock was thrown into the mix for good measure.
"You may leave whenever you wish," he offered, making it clear she wasn't required to remain in his rooms any longer. More like he was ready to be rid of her and get back to his regular routine without her interference or questioning.
Hermione glanced at the wall of books. Every wall lined with intriguing volumes. Several hundred. Such a temptation. The sanctuary and comfort of words. So much more preferable to the alternative. Even with her surly professor beside her. Because truly, she couldn't bear the isolation of her dorm room. Or worse - time with Lavender.
"Or I can have something brought here, and you can assist me in searching for any references to the spell used on us," Snape said quietly, having picked up on her reluctance to depart. She was immensely grateful for the reprieve - however temporary.
"Truly?" she breathed, seeking verification. Hermione had not expected the kindness of him to allow her to remain, and she'd never dared hope that he'd grant her permission to touch his things.
Especially not after he'd said all that about not wanting her underfoot. The man was utterly baffling to her.
They worked in companionable silence for almost four hours. Neither had any luck finding anything useful about the spell that Snape didn't already know. It wasn't really surprising that he didn't have multiple books on such a topic. His collection was more academic in nature, and she'd honestly gotten lost in reading rather than researching not long after they'd started. His tomb on mental linking magic was fascinating. He'd let her read at her leisure too.
"I must make an appearance in the Great Hall for lunch," he announced quietly.
Hermione blinked, attention torn reluctantly from the book propped on her lap. Snape was looking at her expectantly, and she understood that it was the kindest he could bring himself to be in dismissing her.
"Thank you," she murmured, glancing about for her coat. He'd draped it on a hook by the door. She could do with a hot shower and… Well, several things, not all of which were possible.
When she went to set the book on the table, he softly said, "Take it. This one too. It may answer some of those questions you managed to refrain from asking."
She nodded, accepting the second book he held out to her, then froze as he helped wrap her coat tightly about her. Once bundled, she headed back to the Gryffindor common room, luckily making the journey without having to talk to anyone. The only people she saw were two first years, and they hurriedly scurried past her.
Her dorm space was thankfully empty too, those remaining behind all at lunch. Hermione realized she was still in Snape's shirt. She wondered why he'd not pointed it out before she left. Possibly, he'd not wanted her to find another excuse to stay if she delayed by changing. Or maybe he thought this was better than the dress she'd been wearing. The one her mum had given her.
Her mum.
Her mum was gone.
Dead.
Murdered before her eyes.
Killed by Death Eaters because Hermione was helping Harry, and was therefore considered a threat.
She'd never have the chance to repair their strained relationship. Her mum would never have the chance to see Hermione graduate. Get a job. Get married.
Oh, Merlin! Hermione was already married, and her parents hadn't been a part of it.
They'd never be a part of her life again.
A giant chasm ripped open inside her chest, tearing her apart. Grief poured in from all sides, crushing her beneath its weight. Sobs rose in her chest, temporarily suffocating her as they collapsed her airway, fighting to escape her as quickly as possible. Then they were free. Loud, piercing cries that rent the silent dorm.
Her entire body quaked as she fell to the floor, mourning a loss that hardly seemed bearable. Because it wasn't. Not yet at any rate.
Her soul reached out, longing for parents that had only been on the periphery of her life for years now. Relegated to rare, vague notes and random half-truths about her activities when she infrequently saw them. What a waste. How could she not have taken advantage of the time she had with them. Hadn't knowing Harry all these years taught her anything?
She wanted to rage, to lash out and attack someone, but the person she was most angry with was herself.
When Lavender entered an hour later, Hermione's gut-wrenching agony had quieted to sniffles, her body unable to continue producing a full-scale tangible manifestation of her despair.
"When did you get back?" Lavender blurted, startled to find her dorm mate sitting on the floor beside her bed with red-rimmed eyes.
"This morning," she croaked, her voice hoarse from her crying jag.
"Is it because Ron didn't want you at the Burrow this Christmas?" Lavender asked timidly, scanning Hermione's tear-stained face. "I didn't ask him to do that, you know," she added defensively, as though afraid Hermione intended to blame her.
She didn't. Hermione knew that bit had been all Ron. Same as his relationship with Lavender was. His immature attempts to punish her because he wasn't ready to have a real relationship. Because he was scared he'd not be good enough for Hermione, and she'd wake up and realize it as soon as they got together.
Lovely.
The mention of Ron was a double blow. First, because if she'd gone to the Burrow as originally planned, she'd not have been out shopping with her mum. Meaning her mum would still be alive. And second, because now that she was married, she'd never have a chance to see what Ron and she could have been once he was finally ready. Never have a chance to prove that she was more loyal than he gave her credit for.
Burning tears, stinging her swollen and fiery eyes, started up again. Cascading down her face in a torrent of glistening salt water.
Lavender looked horrified, clearly not having expected her words to inspire such a dramatic reaction from the usually impassive and brusque Hermione. Not since her third year had Hermione cried at Hogwarts. At least not in view of her dorm mates, or anyone aside from Harry. He was the only one she felt truly comfortable being so open and vulnerable around. The boy as close as family - the only family she had left, in fact.
"I'm sorry," Lavender tried, stepping closer and extending a hand to pat Hermione, but she waved the other girl away. "I-I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?" Lavender offered, abandoning Hermione to her staggering grief.