Chapter 11
As Hermione stirred from a deep slumber, her heart pounding and her eyes widened in terror, she tried to disentangle the remnants of her nightmare from reality. The dark, damp walls of the Gaunt house had felt so real, and the presence of Voldemort, Pettigrew, and Barty Crouch Jr. had been chillingly palpable.
"Bring me the girl," the serpentine voice of Voldemort echoed in her ears. Hermione realized that this wasn't the first time she had heard that phrase. The same words had floated through her consciousness just before she fainted in the Room of Requirement.
She sat up in bed, her breathing gradually steadying. Her eyes darted to the foot of her bed where, to her surprise, she found birthday gifts neatly wrapped in glittering paper and ribbons. A small card read "Happy 15th Birthday, Hermione!" She felt a bittersweet twinge; her friends didn't know that due to her time travel, she was actually turning 19 today.
On her bedside table, Crookshanks lay curled up, his squashed face peeking out from a tangle of fur. As if sensing her gaze, he stretched and meowed softly. Hermione scratched him behind the ears, finding some comfort in his warm presence.
She got out of bed and walked to the small mirror hanging on the wall. Staring at her reflection, she thought about the complexity of her situation. She was 19, but trapped in her 15-year-old existence, living a life she had already lived once. With a sigh, she turned to her makeup bag. If she was going to play this role, she had to look the part. Carefully, she applied minimal makeup, focusing on maintaining the youthful appearance that everyone expected from her.
Satisfied, she stepped out of the dormitory and made her way to the Gryffindor common room. As she descended the staircase, her friends looked up.
"Happy Birthday, Hermione!" Harry and Ron chorused, grinning broadly.
"Thank you," Hermione replied, forcing her lips into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Their innocence and ignorance of the grim realities she knew were heartbreaking, but also endearing.
"We're heading to the Quidditch pitch for practice. Care to join us?" Ron asked.
"I'll watch from the stands," she said. "I have some reading to do."
"Reading? On your birthday?" Harry raised an eyebrow but then shrugged. "Well, it's your day."
Hermione sat in the stands, book open on her lap. The title read "Soul Bonds: The Mystical Ties that Bind." She flipped through the pages, her mind alternating between the academic text and the thoughts of Severus Snape. The enigmatic Potions Master was her soul-bonded, a fact neither of them had truly come to terms with. According to the book, proximity would help them draw strength from each other, but how could they reconcile their fraught history, especially when so much of it was still a secret?
As she pondered these complexities, she looked up to see Harry and Ron on their broomsticks, the Quaffle passing energetically between them. A part of her wished for the simplicity of her original fourth year, for a time when her biggest worries had been house points and homework. But another part of her, the part that had lived through loss and war, was determined to use her advanced knowledge to make a difference.
Feeling the weight of both her years and the challenges ahead, Hermione sighed and resumed her reading. There were still so many questions to answer, so many uncertainties to navigate.
Her mind was brought back to her adventure in the Room of Requirement, and the mysterious chest she'd found there. Her curiosity, ever insatiable, led her back to the seventh-floor corridor that afternoon.
With her heart racing in anticipation, Hermione stood before the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Closing her eyes and concentrating on her intention, she paced in front of the blank stretch of wall three times. She envisioned the chest with the goblin-made items neatly arranged inside. When she opened her eyes, the concealed door to the room had appeared, and Hermione felt a surge of excitement.
Entering the room, she was greeted by the sight of the regal chest sitting in the same spot where she had left it. The golden initials glinted in the soft light, and the chest seemed to beckon her closer. She carefully shrunk the magical chest to a manageable size and brought it back to her dorm. She was determined to research more about the artifacts inside.
Later that evening, she sat at the Gryffindor table during dinner, picking at her food while stealing occasional glances at the head table. Severus sat there, absorbed in a book, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, but she knew better. For someone as observant as he was, few things escaped his notice.
"Earth to Hermione!" Ron waved a hand in front of her face, disrupting her reverie.
"Sorry, what?" she said, looking at her friends.
"We were discussing a birthday celebration for you in the common room tonight," Harry explained, an excited gleam in his eyes.
"Oh, that's really kind of you, but you don't have to," she deflected, the last thing she needed was more attention on her.
"Don't be daft. It's your birthday, Hermione!" Ron insisted.
"Look, I really appreciate it, but I'm not up for a celebration," she tried to sound as earnest as possible.
"Why not?" Harry pressed. "You've been disappearing every night after dinner, and now you're avoiding your own birthday party. Something's up."
Her heart skipped a beat. She was treading dangerous waters now, trying to balance the web of lies she'd spun with the fragments of truth she was forced to reveal.
"I've been going to the library, mostly," she lied, hoping they would buy it.
Ron scoffed. "I saw you go down to the dungeons one night, Hermione. The library is in the opposite direction."
Caught in her own deception, her cheeks flushed. She looked down at her plate, feigning embarrassment while she tried to come up with a lie.
"I didn't want to tell anyone," She started, her voice tinged with mortification for effect, "It's remedial Potions classes. Professor Snape thinks I need extra practice. It's a bit embarrassing, really."
Her friends went silent for a moment before Harry exclaimed, "That's ridiculous! You're brilliant at Potions. Snape is just being unfair as usual."
"Especially if he's making you go on your birthday," Ron added indignantly. "That's low, even for him."
"It's fine," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I agreed to it, and I don't want to fall behind."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their faces a mixture of disbelief and concern.
"If you say so," Harry finally said, sounding unconvinced.
"Yeah, but you should at least get your birthday off," Ron insisted, his eyes narrowing as if contemplating marching to Snape and demanding justice.
"It's fine, Ron," she repeated. "Honestly, I'm fine with it."
The trio sat in an uneasy silence for a moment before the conversation moved on, but she could tell her friends were worried—and suspicious. She felt guilty for lying but justified it as a necessary evil. There were bigger, darker things at play, and she couldn't afford to let her guard down. Not now, when so much depended on her actions and decisions.
As she pushed her half-eaten plate away, she glanced to Severus from across the hall. For a split second, their eyes locked, and Hermione felt that peculiar pull again, the invisible thread that now linked them together, defying logic and understanding. He broke eye contact, and she watched as he rose and exited the hall.
With a sigh, she rose from the table also, excusing herself early under the guise of studying. Harry and Ron nodded, their eyes following the movements of the potions master, and their expressions tinged with a worry they didn't voice. As she left the Great Hall, her thoughts were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions—guilt for lying to her friends, concern for the dangerous path she was treading, and an uneasy curiosity about her soul bond with Severus.
Descending the stone steps that led to the dungeon, she took a deep breath to steady herself. A strange tension filled the air, charged with both the electric sensation of her mysterious soul bond and the gravity of the tasks that lay ahead. The evening's brewing session was critical in exposing Moody's true identity, and every moment they spent concocting the Polyjuice Counter-Potion was a moment closer to unmasking the imposter.
When she entered the potion's laboratory, she found him already there, engrossed in his own preparations. The room was imbued with the earthy scent of brewing potions, an olfactory backdrop against which hung the fragrance of fresh-cut herbs and simmering cauldrons. Severus looked up, acknowledging her entrance with a curt nod.
"Severus," she greeted, setting her bag down on the workbench.
"Hermione," he returned, the use of her first name still sounding strange in the air.
For the most part, they worked in silence, each focused on their respective tasks. The atmosphere was thick with a mixture of tension and concentration. Hermione felt a slow recharge of energy, like water replenishing a parched ground, every time she came within a closer radius to Severus. She supposed it was the effect of their soul bond, a phenomenon she was still struggling to understand.
After a while, she decided to bring up the subject of her friends' growing curiosity. "Harry and Ron have started noticing my absences," she began cautiously, measuring her words. "They even wanted to throw a birthday party for me tonight, which I had to decline."
Severus paused, setting down the beaker he was holding. "I was unaware that it was your birthday."
She hesitated for a moment before saying, "I'm nineteen now, actually."
He raised an eyebrow, perhaps taking in the peculiarities of time travel and the incongruence it caused. "Nineteen," he repeated, almost thoughtfully.
"To preserve secrecy, I thought I might use another entrance to your study," she continued. "Something less conspicuous than walking straight down to the dungeons."
He considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I'll make adjustments to the wards. You can use my private entrance by the library. The door will materialize for you when you approach."
"Thank you," she said, feeling a genuine sense of relief.
They resumed their work, Hermione focused on chopping a set of rare magical herbs. Her knife slipped just as she was slicing through a particularly resilient stem, splashing some of the acidic juice onto her wrist above her gloves. She hissed in pain as the acidic liquid rolled down onto her hand inside the glove, immediately dropping the knife. Her hand felt like it was on fire, a searing sensation that shot up her arm.
In an instant, Severus was at her side, his eyes narrowed in concern. Before she could say anything, he took her hand, gently removed the glove, and examined the reddened, irritated skin. His touch was unexpectedly tender, and Hermione felt an unexpected flutter of warmth where his skin met hers. He pulled out his wand and conjured a small jar of salve, carefully applying it to her burn.
As his fingers moved with a surprising grace, she couldn't help but notice the strength in his hands, the elegant length of his fingers, and the deliberation in each of his movements. The bond between them thrummed like a low, pleasant hum in the background, seeming to strengthen with the closeness.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Hermione felt her pulse quicken, a strange but not unwelcome sensation. Severus's eyes were dark, impenetrable pools, but she thought she detected a flicker of something—Curiosity? Longing? —in their depths.
Then, as quickly as it came, the moment vanished. Severus abruptly pulled away, the jar of salve disappearing with a flick of his wand.
"You should be more careful, especially considering your blatant disregard for potion-making fundamentals," he snapped, reverting to the cold, snide demeanor that was his default. "That will be all for tonight. Leave."
Stunned and a little hurt, Hermione took a moment to gather herself before complying. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with a bitterness she couldn't quite suppress. "Goodnight, Severus."
She packed up her belongings, her eyes stinging for reasons she couldn't fully articulate. As she left his study, her hand felt significantly better, but her thoughts were a chaotic whirl. Severus had dismissed her, that much was clear; but not before their bond had pulsed more strongly than ever before.