Chapter 17: Inadvertent Mistakes
"Check!" Ron's enthusiastic shriek startled Hermione and her book toppled over. She glared at her red-head friend who was grinning at Harry, who in turn was glaring at the chessboard before him. Hermione shook her head and picked her book up. She had not actually been reading, but mostly staring at the same page for some time.
The common room was less noisy that afternoon as most the students were outside, enjoying the surprisingly pleasant weather that day. That morning, when Hermione had woken up, she found a handkerchief and an old, empty photo-frame on her bedside cabinet. Snape had probably set a house-elf to the task. As her roommates, Lavender and Parvati, were still sleeping, Hermione cleaned both the items with a mumbled spell. Right after that, both the items disappeared on their own accord.
Snape had already informed her how exactly were they to work with the bond, so she had not been surprised on finding the items. But the prospect of spending thirty minutes with him daily was not exactly appealing, not to mention an utter waste of time. On the days when she had a DADA lesson—four days a week, the term would be fulfilled only by attending his class. But the other three days—Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday, she would either have to go to his office or they would have to sit in the Library, under many Concealment Charms, in a lone corner away from Madam Pince's sharp eyes or the door. For the time being, they could continue with the Occlumency lessons on those days. That would take at least an hour—the terms would be all satisfied.
She checked her watch—Snape's watch that she still wore, if only for the ease of checking the time rather than casting a Tempus.
"I have to go," she said and stood up. "I've to see Madam Pomfrey." But in all honesty, she did not even feel like getting up, let alone begin her training. In the past weeks, she had devoured books on Healing—both Magic and Muggle. But now that Hermione thought of it, she might eventually drop it.
"Blimey, Hermione, what happened?" Ron looked up from the board.
"Nothing happened," she rolled her eyes. "I will be training under her, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot," he said sheepishly.
Hermione picked up her satchel that was stuffed with her books on Healing and swung it over her shoulder. "I'll see you later."
Harry gave a small smile in acknowledgement but Ron was back to the game.
She had not much inclination to reach the Hospital Wing. But she maintained a pace, if only for the sake of punctuality. Her satchel felt too heavy on her shoulder and she found herself wishing that she had carried a warner cloak for herself.
"Oh, no!" She had not fed Crookshanks that afternoon. What's wrong with me! Halfway to the Hospital Wing, Hermione sprinted back to the Gryffindor Tower.
She got inside the Portrait door and made a beeline for the stairs to her dormitory. Harry and Ron's heads snapped up in question but she ignored them.
Crookshanks was scratching the carpet when Hermione arrived. Her familiar looked at her with disapproval but otherwise, he did not seem to be starving or unwell.
"I'm so sorry, Love," she murmured. Hermione quickly fed him with treats and stroked his fur as he ate with enthuse.
"I'm such a mess," she mumbled to herself and the empty dormitory. And irresponsible.
Irresponsible, yes. The word had been pricking her since finding the letter. Every now and then, a small voice whispered into her ear: You're irresponsible, thus they died. The voice smothered her until her breathing hastened to the point of passing out, and just like that, left her, sending her into an indecipherable numbness.
Hermione drew her legs closer and watched Crookshanks eat, not actually perceiving him. She had no inclination to visit the Infirmary. All she desired was to crawl into her bed and never get up, never face anyone until she either forgot about her loss.
When her familiar nudged at her with his nose, Hermione reluctantly got up and dragged herself down to the common room. At the questioning looks of her friends, she just gave a monosyllabic answer—"Crooks."
Ron looked entirely disinterested after that but Harry was eyeing her with...confusion, maybe.
She mentally shrugged and left the Tower again. The walk to the Hospital Wing felt longer than it was supposed to be. And when she reached the Wing and checked the watch, she was about ten minute late to the appointment.
Madam Pomfrey was fussing over a first year, probably. A Ravenclaw, she noted. His hair was dishevelled just as Harry's, but unlike Harry, his was not natural. The boy looked up at her shyly as Madam Pomfrey worked on his injured foot.
"Miss Granger," the Medi-witch said in greeting, though she did a show of checking the clock and shaking her head in disapproval. "Please wait for me in my office."
"Yes, Ma'am," she mumbled, unbothered about offering an apology about her tardiness, and went straight to the lady's office at the far end of the Hospital Wing.
Madam Pomfrey's office was lit with sunlight that poured in frommthe large windows. The flimsy curtains were drawn back completely, as if to suggest how the Medi-witch abhorred the darkness. But the light stung Hermione's eye, like she wasn't ready to face such brightness yet—literally and metaphorically.
Hermione sat heavily on one of the chairs by the desk and closed her eyes to the light. The fireplace was not alight, to her dismay. Five classes plus the Healer's training—what was I thinking? She sighed. It was suddenly weighing heavy on her, disinterested as she found herself nowadays.
This morning during breakfast, Professor McGonagall had come to hand their schedules to them. There was an almost palpable tension between them. But Hermione had tried to make herself sound casual and respectful—it was not her Head of House she was angry with. So she had been as amicable as she could manage to be. Hermione had accepted the schedule and thanked her. She even managed to answer her in the Transfiguration lesson when nobody else had raised their hands. That seemed to have convinced her Professor that there were no ill feelings between them.
But now, sitting alone in an empty office, Hermione felt lonely. She didn't want to talk, yet she wanted somebody to understand. Without words, without explanations. She could feel the burden of grief on her person as if she was lifting a sack of bricks. She wanted to keep the sack down, but the strings wouldn't disentangle for her to relieve it. Each time she tried to free herself, she ended up only winding it further.
When Madam Pomfrey came in after another ten minutes, she started by giving Hermione a preamble of what Healing was about—quite similar to what she had said earlier. But as the Medi-witch went on and on, Hermione found herself losing her nerves to work in such a complex field.
A sense of responsibility, a sense of compassion... How could she ever muster those from the cold breeze brewing within her. But she kept nodding or pitching a word or two in acquiescence. She showed the Medi-witch all the books that she had read in the vacation. Madam Pomfrey looked quite impressed at her choice to read Muggle books, as well.
"Now, Miss Granger," she said after looking at the books, "I will keep giving you material to read, but more focus will be on the practical approach. Initially, I will teach you the Charms, you will tend to the patients under my watch until I deem you fit to look after them by yourself."
"Oh," she nodded.
"Yes, and you will also be brewing potions here," she continued. "A Medi-witch or Healer must know how to brew some basic medicinal potions and salves. The more complex ones will be procured from the Potions Master or Mistress or a Potioneer whom you so choose to provide you with the stock. Here, Professor Snape provides for the stock."
"Professor Slughorn?" She asked.
"No, he does not," Madam Pomfrey told her. "Professor Slughorn has come out of retirement only as a favour to the Headmaster. He is here only to teach, not brew for us."
"Oh, alright," she mumbled.
"Now, you can of course take my help if you are stuck anywhere in brewing," Madam Pomfrey said. "Or seek advice from Professor Snape, too, if you so need. Also, I want you to keep a regular check on the stocks and make reports of what we are running short on—that is also a part of being a Healer. You should always be ready before a patient approaches."
"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione nodded, listening to everything from a distance, it seemed.
"On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, you have all the lessons after lunch free, yes?" The Medi-witch asked to confirm. Hermione nodded, pushing towards her her class-timetable.
"Then on those days, you will report here after lunch," she said, glancing at the parchment. "On Tuesday and Thursday, you will come here after dinner. Of course, your duty will be over before curfew. Each shift will extend to three hours, is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes, Ma'am. And the weekends?" Hermione was already feeling exhausted, yet asked. Three hours—it was already proving to be overbearing.
The Medi-witch gave a smile. "Those are free for you. But in case I need your assistance, I will call you—at any time of any day, that is. A Healer should always be ready to treat a patient."
"I understand," she said.
"On Tuesday and Friday, I would like you to brew," she continued. "On the other days, I will teach you the Charm-work. You will finish your reading in your free time, or maybe here if there is nothing else to be done. It's upto you how often you want to check the stores, although I do it once in two weeks."
"I think that would be better," she agreed.
"Now, do you have any questions?"
Without thinking much, Hermione just shook her head.
"Excellent, then," Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands together. "As it is a Tuesday, you will report here after dinner."
"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione nodded.
"Uh, Miss Granger?" The lady's hesitant voice took Hermione by surprise. "Professor Dumbledore had informed me that you are planning to join the Order of the Phoenix soon?"
"Yes, I will be of age this month, so..." She trailed off, as the lady nodded in understanding.
"Good, then, I can tell you openly," she sat back comfortably. "Although I am only involved with the Order for the Healing purposes, I am a member, too, not of the inner circle but the outer."
"Oh," Hermione was listening intently now.
"At times, as a patient, I have to treat," she paused, Hermione knew which direction she was heading to, "Professor Snape, because of his-" she gave a cough, "-extraordinary duties."
"I do understand, Madam," Hermione said more earnestly. "I will not speak a word of it to anyone." She had already seen enough of Snape after one of his summonings—injured and in shock.
"That, and you are very competent, Miss Granger. As a future member of the Order, you should also be able to treat wounds of a graver nature," she leaned forward. "You will help me in Professor Snape's healing, too, if I so ask. Though he only rarely approaches me. He is learned in Healing as well, to a certain degree. Mostly, he treats himself."
"But..." She said in a quiet tone, "Isn't self-Healing frowned upon? It's very unhealthy."
The Medi-witch sighed and nodded. "It is, it is. But the Professor is a stub- um, he is quite set in his ways, let's say."
Hermione strongly suspected what Madam Pomfrey wanted to call Snape was stubborn. She nodded. Of course, Snape did not react well to Hermione's attempt at helping him that night at Spinner's End. That vaguely ached her hand that was subjected to the man's sudden shock on the night of his summoning. Hermione unconsciously rubbed the now-healed hand. "But...wouldn't he...object?"
"Nonsense," the lady waved it off. "When you treat him, you will not be his student, but his Healer. He cannot object to seeking medical help."
That dead look in his eyes still frightened her out of her wits. The opaque, black orbs looking at her but not exactly seeing her. That memory always made her wonder if that was how death felt—empty and opaque.
Hermione Granger, control yourself! She pushed those dangerous thoughts out of her mind.
After some time, Hermione thanked the Medi-witch for considering her as a trainee, and excused herself.
She claimed a seat on an empty bench in a lonely corridor that led to the stone staircase. She opened her planner and flipped to the last page where she made rough notes. She fished a Muggle pen out of her bag, that she preferred to quills, and jotted her schedule down, so as not miss any day. It was an old habit.
MWF - Infirmary—after lunch
TT- Infirmary—evening
WSS - No DADA—meet Snape outside class
W - Snape—evening
S&S - Snape—anytime in the day
Then she bit her lip in thought before tearing the page and vanishing it away. She could not openly write Snape's name in her planner. She opened to a fresh page and applied discretion when she wrote again.
MWF - Infirmary—after lunch
TT- Infirmary—evening
WSS - Free time
W - Free time—evening
S&S - Free time—anytime in the day
Working with Snape could hardly be called as 'free time' but it would not arouse any suspicions, in case someone read her note.
She thought of retiring to the Library until dinner. But for some reason, she almost felt afraid of being by herself and the pessimistic thoughts invading her mind.
She knew she was disturbed after finding the Headmaster's letter. But only the knowledge that she was treading on precarious grounds with her stupors did not exactly impede the train of thoughts. Maybe spending some time with her friends would be better even if she did not prefer loud chatters at the moment—but it would do well to keep her mind off things.
UUUUUUU
"...not that they could beat the Chudley Cannons ever!"
"Oh, please!" Ginny cut her brother off. "Harpies won the last three matches in a row!"
"But none against the Cannons," Ron said haughtily.
"But she does have a point there," Harry said, a little sheepishly. "The Harpies are better on strategy. So if..."
Hermione was more focused on stabbing her food with the tines of her fork. She had to report to the Hospital Wing right after dinner. As she was not hungry, she could have reported early, but Madam Pomfrey was likely to be eating herself. The Medi-witch seldom dined in the Great Hall, probably to be available for any patients residing in the Wing. Life as a Healer was tough and demanded time from one's personal activities. Even Hermione was asked to report whenever she was called, in case of an emergency.
Can I even be that responsible?
Shut up, Hermione.
Two days worth of self-pity was already weighing heavily on her, and she decided to put a stop on it, like she had earlier in the summer. Melancholia would lead her nowhere, she decided.
You have to be your own guardian angel, Hermione. She knew that. She had to help herself, for nobody else could.
And she would.
"Hermione?" Harry nudged her gently. She looked up from her plate. "Hmm?"
"You aren't nudging me to eat," he tried to sound amused but his wary eyes betrayed him. He was concerned.
Hermione forced a small smile. "I just...thought of giving you some space to breathe for once."
Harry returned a grin. "Not that it's not appreciated. Your chilled self, I mean."
"If only you could be just as cool with our homework..." Ron smirked.
"You'll fail," Ginny added, drawing a laughter from both Harry and Hermione.
"Oh, shut up," he rolled his eyes.
"How did it go with Pomfrey?" Ginny asked, ignoring her brother.
"I have a schedule to follow, you see..." She told her, not diving into details. "When I have no lessons after lunch, I will report to the Hospital Wing, right after. When I do have classes, I have my shifts in the evening."
"Blindly, Hermione," Ron shook his head. "You could have enjoyed so much free time what with no classes after lunch."
"Well, some of us give more importance to our careers, Ron," Ginny replied for her.
Before Ron could counter his sister's remark, Harry said, "At least we both can still become Aurors, with Slughorn allowing even Es to enter the class."
"We had a class with him today," Ginny said, putting some custard on her pudding.
"I bet he was way better than the Greasy Git!" Ron scoffed.
"He was definitely less paranoid or anti-Gryffindor," she told them. "But...Snape had the class in his grip. Slughorn was chilled about it. It just felt...weird."
"Don't tell me you were missing the Overgrown Bat, Ginny," Ron laughed, earning a kick on the shin from his sister.
'I must say, Miss Granger, coming from a Gryffindor, it crosses all limits of hypocrisy. Do not think that I am unbeknownst to what your House members refer to me as.'
Hermione sighed inwardly. Ron was no better than Snape in making personal comments. Honestly, she did not condone to such remarks. Snape's hair was greasy, thus earning him
the title of a 'Greasy Git' because after spending the better part of the day in front of a cauldron fumes did not leave one's skin and scalp exactly fresh. And he was called an 'Overgrown bat' but if Snape did not wear the swirling black robes, he would...what? Look less intimidating? Well, Hermione had seen him in a pair of black trousers and a white shirt—he was looking almost human... The casual wear suited him, she thought.
She glanced at her friends, wondering what they might think if they were to know that Hermione had spent the last few months sharing a house with the man they were blatantly mocking. Would they understand her plight? Harry might but not Ron. Her red-head friend would embark on a killing spree before listening to reason. It frightened her to think about her future with Ron. He was very dear to her but if he decided to cease to be friends with her after realising that they could not have anything romantic, she would lose one of the most important people in her life. And God knew how few she was left with.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying that Snape as a teacher is better than Slughorn as a teacher."
"Well, Snape as a teacher is as intolerable in DADA as he was in Potions all these years," Harry added somewhat bitterly.
He was still furious about Snape's supposed involvement in Sirius' death. True, the man did drive Sirius over the edge with his taunts, but Hermione did not believe that Sirius, being a matured adult, was affected by Snape so much as to risk his own life. Harry's Godfather had come to the Ministry for his Godson, not because of Snape. But Harry refused to see the reasoning.
He is in the dark. Maybe that was why Professor McGonagall had given Hermione Snape's memories to watch. Could it be that he was not at fault? After having stayed with him for more than two months, she did not have a clear answer to that.
Snape had been humane with her—according to his standards, anyway. Except the occasional squabbles, he had not—intentionally—attempted to harm her in any way. But Hermione's own eyes had witnessed the gruesome murder, how could she-
"Argh!" She yelped, clutching her leg left hand in her other.
Her fingers were burning, as if put directly upon a lit stove. The spot where the band was concealed was the epicentre of her agony.
"Hermione?" Harry and Ginny turned to her, while Ron got up from his seat across the table.
Hermione raced her mind to what exactly could have been the cause of the bond reacting in that way. She had cleaned the sent items, she had been in class with him for one hour.
As the burning intensified, Hermione scrunched her face in pain. She felt as if her fingers might fall off. Although there was nothing visible, she was afraid to see her hand.
"What's happening, Hermione?" Ron sounded panicked, having come to stand behind her.
"Is it your hand?" Harry was trying to pry her other hand away from the targeted one.
"Let me see," Ginny was insisting.
The burning was increasing, she heard herself hissing in pain, not able to refrain herself. She was vaguely aware of the murmuring around her, but the pain was so deep that she couldn't care less.
She had to indicate Snape if he hadn't already witnessed her. Hoping that he was present at the Head Table, Hermione looked up to find the man's eyes on her.
For a very brief moment, their eyes met. Instantly, a realisation dawned on his face. She saw a flicker of...guilt? on his face before his expressions smoothed into impassiveness.
"Let's take her to the Infirmary," Ron said. "Where the hell is McGonagall?"
Somebody had placed their hand on her shoulder, but Hermione's entire focus was on her burning and throbbing hand. The sensation had spread to her wrist now. It felt like she was holding her hand in the blazing fire. She felt tears of agony come to her eyes and the hand on her shoulder gave her a light squeeze.
"Come, Hermione-"
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall was abstaining the panic from her firm voice. "What is the matter?"
"It's her hand, Professor," Ginny told her. "It suddenly happened."
"Come, Miss Granger, let me escort you to Madam Pomfrey," her Head of House insisted.
But Madam Pomfrey could not know about the bond. Reluctantly, Hermione got up, still clutching her hand to her chest. She would have to tell her Head of House that it was because of the bonding, if she didn't already know.
Professor McGonagall held her by the elbow of her good arm, and led her forward. She was grateful for the support as her eyes were brimming with tears and she was vaguely aware of occasionally hissing of pain that was a telltale of her pain.
"No," Professor McGonagall turned back and said. "Potter, Weasley, stay here. Madam Pomfrey does not need the Infirmary crowded."
There were words of protests but both her Professor and Hermione herself ignored them. She was led out of the Great Hall, aware of all the eyes on her. But that did nothing to take her mind off her afflicted hand.
As they reached outside the Great Hall and far away from earshot, Hermione breathed, "Its the...bond..."
"I know, child." Seldom did anyone hear that tone from the stern woman. But whenever one did, it was a cause of concern.
Professor McGonagall conjured a chair for Hermione. She lowered herself heavily on it, almost doubling over herself with her hand stuck between her chest and thighs.
"He will fix it, just a little while longer, Hermione," Professor McGonagall said calmly and softly. "Breathe through it."
The burning had spread to the middle of her forearm now, and Hermione had a taste of hell. She was softly crying in pain, not bothering how weak she looked to her Head of House and Gryffindor pride.
Make it stop!
"It will, just a moment more." At those words, Hermione wondered if she had mouthed the words out loud.
But stop it did. After what felt like an eternity to Hermione, the worst edge of the burning diminished.
She sighed in relief.
"Feeling better?"
Hermione sat up against the backrest of the conjured chair and breathed deeply. The pain and burning were still very much present, but not as agonising as before.
She felt a goblet being pressed to her good hand. Hermione accepted it and downed the cold water gratefully. Her mind reeled to the find the cause of the pain. The jam! She realised that he might have not had the jam today.
Gradually, the burning vanished entirely, leaving only a dull ache behind which was more prominent in her fingers than the rest of her hand and forearm. Her Head of House also conjured a wet cloth for her. Hermione murmured her thanks and accepted it, too. She lightly puffed her sweaty forehead with it, feeling calmer.
"Are you feeling better now?" Professor McGonagall vanished both the goblet and the wet cloak away.
Hermione nodded, still breathing deeply, with her head resting on the crest-rail of the chair.
"He did not intend for it, I believe," the lady said quietly.
"I know," Hermione whispered.
She had agreed to it without even giving it a thought. She was not daft—Snape had never used the bond against her in the last two months—never with intention, anyway.
"Come, I will escort you to the Tower," Professor McGonagall stepped away for her to get up.
"No, Ma'am," Hermione got up, a little giddy but nothing a small walk could not cure. "I have my duty with Madam Pomfrey."
"But will you be able to manage?" The lady studied her with her eyes.
"Yes, Professor," she nodded, saying it with conviction.
UUUUUUU
Severus was in a habit of examining the Great Hall during meals but he remained clandestine in his spy-work. He only ever overtly stared at his own Slytherins, when he saw a student misbehaving before the school. One glare from him usually conveyed the message.
Just as it did five minutes ago. One glare at Zabini and his mouth was snapped shut from where he was openly arguring with the Parkinson girl across the table. Severus did not tolerate such misdemeanour or show of inner-House conflicts in public—especially when the involved students belonged to the families of Death Eaters—one slip and Severus' entire facade would be blown.
Being a spy called for 'creative' measures. If one Slytherin slipped and revealed Severus' supposed loyalty to the Dark Lord, or if another student heard of it, Severus would be no longer of any use to the Dark Lord. And thus the Order's only source of intel would be blocked, draining their chances of winning.
Too high a price to pay for the idiocy of a couple of students.
"I am worried about her," Minerva said to her, looking crestfallen.
He did need to ask who 'her' was. "And you think it wise to discuss one of your Gryffindors with me, because?"
"For Merlin's sake, Severus," Minerva thinned her lips in a line. "Don't tell me that you don't find her distracted and upset."
"Not distracted enough to disturb my class, thus not exactly on top of my list of concerns," he said silkily. Or lied smoothly. Of course, Granger was not herself.
"Really, Severus?" Minerva sighed. "I am really worried. I thought she was angry with me, but she is just resigned."
And meek. And contrite. "I have never doubted your capabilities as a Head of House. A wayward student should be the least of your worries."
"She is all but wayward," his colleague said defensively. "Miss Granger is very resilient and mature for her age. The way she has conducted herself all this time, and coped so well with the situation... Even you have to commend her for that."
Of course he commended her for that, thus now her change in behaviour troubled him so. "Is there a purpose of this conversation? And moreover, my involvement in it?" He said irritably.
Minerva took a sip from her goblet, that certainly did not have virgin Pumpkin Juice. "I just thought you could talk to her."
Severus snorted. "And she is an open book to me, isn't she?"
"You have lived with her for over two months, Severus, she might be more comfortable talking to you," Minerva reasoned.
"I assure you, Madam, my daily interaction with the girl exceeded no more than thirty minutes without an Occlumency lesson, and add sixty to it, with one." He scoffed.
"You are an impossible man, Severus," Minerva huffed.
"Indeed," he muttered, focusing on his food.
"Albus will inform the teachers about Miss Granger's parents in the next staff meeting," she told him. "Just thought you should be prepared if that topic comes out."
"I will make it a point not to attend the next staff meeting—this time, I will even have a valid reason for my absence," he drawled.
Minerva muttered something under her breath that he ignored. He glanced at Granger. She was silently nodding to her chattering friends. As Severus had never observed her before, he couldn't say if she had always been that quiet by nature or if it was so marking another change in her personality. Though Granger had seldom refrained from speaking in class when asked a question.
He looked away before somebody noticed his point of focus. Once his plate was empty, it disappeared from before him. Severus drank from his goblet which, unlike that of his colleague's, carried only Pumpkin Juice. A spy was not at a liberty to indulge himself much—or at all, though he did occasionally enjoy a drink or two, but in privacy. He kept the goblet back, ready to leave.
For a moment, Severus felt a heating sensation on his finger that bore the concealed ring. He looked down at his hand, eyeing the spot where the ring was concealed. That had never happened before. The band never exuded any sensation.
"Minerva," Ponoma called, "There's something wrong with Miss Granger, I think."
If not for her panicked tone and Minerva's gasp, he would have thought that the Herbology Professor's allusion was made in regards to Granger's lack of concentration in class.
When he looked at the Gryffindor table again, Severus froze.
Granger's face was scrunched in pain, one of her hands was clutching the other tightly. Potter and the Weasley siblings were by her side but at a loss. As Granger's eyes met his, Severus could see pain and an angry plea.
Severus, you idiot! He cursed inwardly, and climbed to his feet at the same time as Minerva. But as the lady was heading to her House table, Severus was heading out of the Great Hall.
"Minerva," he said in a whisper, but seriously enough to draw the panicked lady's attention. "It is the bond. Do not let Poppy get involved."
With that, he exited the Great Hall in strides. He all but ran to an empty corridor, glad that no student was roaming in the corridors outside the Great Hall.
"Timmer!"
A small house-elf who attended to Severus, appeared with a pop. "How can Timmer helps Master Snape, Sir?"
"Timmer, go to my quarters. On the coffee table, a jar filled with jam is kept. Get that. Immediately." His tone was authoritarian enough to send the elf away instantly.
It would have taken too long for him to walk to his quarters, and summoning it from such a distance might have broken the glass jar. The elf returned momentarily with the jar.
Severus dismissed the house-elf, who left with a bow.
He hastily uncapped the jar and ate the contained jam. Another slight warmth in his own finger indicated that Granger's ring had stopped burning.
He released a heavy sigh. What an absolute idiot I am! After consuming the jam—even the previous atrocious excuse for it—at every meal, religiously, how could he have forgotten it suddenly!
In fact, he had had the jam for both, breakfast and lunch! How could he have forgotten the dinner dose! He had come directly from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where he had baan collecting some herbs for his potions, to the Great Hall. In the hectic schedule of the day, it must have slipped his mind.
But whatsoever the reason be—he had again, however inadvertently, caused the bond to affect Granger. The fact that she had taken pains to replace the previous sickening mix with the more appetising one only added to his glaring sense of guilt.
He had an Occlumency lesson with her the next day. Perhaps, if Granger managed to control her temper, they might even have a civilised conversation, and he could take his time to come clean—and...apologise.
A/N: After posting the last chapter and the Author's Note where I displayed my disappointment about the lack of reviews, I was amazed by the number of people who left a comment. I'm thankful to each and every one of them. I didn't mean to complain like that, but honestly I was feeling quite low and was actually considering not posting further... But when so many people assured me that they are liking my story, I was relieved. My spirits hiked pleasantly after hearing from so many of you.
THANKS A LOT FOR REVIEWING! I hope to hear more from my readers!
I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter, as well. A hint for the coming chapters: something big is going to happen. It will sort of be a turning point that will shape the story in a new mould. Also, as Severus and Hermione's interactions have been pretty much subtle, the coming plot will give an interesting angle to them. Now I don't know how you perceive this change, I have given it my best. But as it's my first attempt at writing something of this degree, please bear with me. Very soon, we'll reach this said point. ;)