There was one thing that differed those two office doors and she loved it. It was the fact that she could hear what was going on on the other side. Therefore she heard the answer immediately and stepped in, though still careful whether someone had seen her.
“Good evening, Hermione. What can I do for you?”
Like at the first time she had been to that office, the woman sat at her desk, working over papers. But there was a change and that leapt out at her, naturally, because it was directly to her left. Though already crammed, she had somehow found space for something as pompous as this and despite being January already, the big gum tree was decorated with golden and silver balls, stars and tinsel.
“Nice – er – Christmas tree, Professor,”, Hermione eyed it.
“Lovely, isn’t it? I came back here from some days off and it just stood there with decoration and all and a note whether I’d like to adopt it. I haven’t seen him doing something that charming in years. Way too cute to not accept the plea.”, something distracted Hermione and made her blink – did that tree smell like – “Oh I’m sorry. That was tactless – ”
“What?”, Hermione startled, frowning at her. “Um – no – not – no. It – tactless? Why?“
“Never mind.”, Burbage said and put down her glasses. “So? What can I – ?”
“I – just wondered – ”, she still pondered, “Has he said something about where he went for Christmas?”
“No,”, the woman got slightly curious and emphasised that by straightening her back. “Should he?”
“I mean, you’re – you’re friends – hasn’t he – ”
“We haven’t seen each other since the beginning of the holidays, actually. I have been off, as I said. And when I came back, he wasn’t here.”
“Oh.”
“Is there any specific reason you would like to know that for?”
“I – just – I only wondered whether he had – ”
“Look, I can understand that you care for him, but Severus isn’t the kind of person to have a delightful Christmas. He is not going out anywhere – or does sit by a Christmas tree, exchanging presents – he’s – just not the type for such and as far as I can remember, there hasn’t been any really pleasant Christmas in his life. So why should it have been different this time? He’s used to it. He doesn’t really care anymore.”
Partly, Hermione wished that Burbage was right, but the other side of her hoped that she was terribly mistaken in her friend. Such a person could never be happy in her opinion and she – desperately wanted him to be happy, just somehow. Gazing through the room, she noticed that the hyacinth was in an absolutely miserable state.
“Is there something else you’d like to ask me?”, she followed Hermione’s stare.
“No.”, Hermione turned on the spot. “Goodnight, Professor.”
~~#~~
Wondering when the actual point had been at which she had become so different, so – revolutionary, she stormed out of the Great Hall, not bothering Ron’s muttering. If she was honest, she found it rather flattering that it made him mad how she always knew a way and he didn’t. But of course the reason was simple: because she didn’t shut her eyes due to an opinion she had built for herself. She let them open just a wee bit for the possibility of a hint that might convince her of the opposite, even though she didn’t show anyone. Therefore they could think what they wanted, she wouldn’t run to the Owlery for that letter she needed to send. She did hurry up the marble staircase, but stopped at the first landing. Hoping for the Heavens to be in her favour, she climbed over the banister and jumped.
“Aresto Momentum.”, she whispered, fearing already that it wouldn’t be enough.
But she stopped a few hands above the floor and landed indeed quite gently, right next to the spiral staircase to the Dungeons, out of sight from anyone in the Great Hall. Cheering inside with utter self-love, she took those stairs running as well. Hitting two birds with a single stone would be the best she could achieve, she thought, and slid to halt at a certain door. Praying to the very same Heavens from before that the reason why he hadn’t turned up for breakfast was because he had hidden in there for not being confronted with people catching the news of the breakout, she knocked a quick four times and waited.
Clicking. A pale face appeared in the frame, almost squeezed between it and the edge of the door. She hated when he acted as though he was naked behind that wood. But before she could speak, something in his dangling right hand caught her attention: it was a bundle of actual mice and a red and silver Venetian mask.
“Presents.”, he lifted them as a morning greet. “From Igor the Great Lunatic.”
“Oh.”
“I shall send his greetings from – Vemice to you as well, Miss Granger.”
“A mask?”, she giggled. “If you should want to wear a different one on occasions?”, his expression couldn’t have been less bemused.
“I have no idea when I ran into anything so hard my shields broke, but yes, that was exactly his note.”
“Really?”, Hermione laughed.
“Yes, really. And keep your voice down. I am expecting an unwanted guest.”
“Because you haven’t had breakfast in the hall? She honestly can’t force every single person to attend all meals, can she?”
“Oh, I slowly begin to believe that she can.”
“Then kill her and let it look like an accident – ”, Hermione was shocked by her own words.
“If that was wise, I would have done so months ago, Miss Granger. I do not need more enemies than I already have; half of them not understanding they shouldn’t see me as one and the other half unaware that they are. That is enough trouble for an entire government, let alone, a single man.”
“Alright, then not. But speaking of which, how does he – ”, she pointed her wand along the corridor she had come through and mumbled, “Homenum Revelio – ”, nothing happened, “Send you letters?”, nevertheless, she carried on with her voice lowered.
“Give me a moment, please.”, he immediately understood, stepped out of the office pulling his pouch with his free hand, in which he stored the things he held in the other and locked the door magically when the pouch was safe again. “Hold on tight.”
Hermione didn’t need telling twice. She downright flung her arms around his neck. Next second they were already rushing through the corridor they had taken weeks ago on his broom, empty once more. But this time he brought her up to the West Tower, landing in one of the upper windows of the Owlery to check whether they were alone, before he would finally drop her gently in the middle of the tower where he conjured a table and chair for her. There was no need for her to wonder how he could have possibly figured her actual intention. While she wrote her letter, wrapped in his cloak, he patrolled. Hermione had nearly finished it when a cat hopped in. Snape was quicker than a fly to pick her up and turn his back on Hermione so the cat couldn’t spot the girl.
“Good morning, dear Lady.”, he mumbled to her. “Aren’t you cold up here? Tell your Daddy that I took under Bathsheda’s shifts this week since she has a lot of work to do. Can you do that for me?”
The owls made too much noise for Hermione to hear Mrs Norris purr, but he put her down and she was gone without meaning to look into the tower at all. It was then that he downright exploded with a sneeze.
“Bless you.”, Hermione said languidly, having expected it.
“Thanks.”, he coughed and rubbed his nose.
Hermione wrote the last words and scanned the letter for any mistakes. Done, she gave him a nod. He drew his wand and sent a small, slightly greenish, blue light bulb outside.
“I didn’t know that Professor Babbling does watches?”
“All teachers do, taking biweekly turns in groups. I am the only one who has a constant duty. And Sybill of course, who doesn’t do shifts at all. We just cannot expect her to put up with it.”
“Naturally. Was that some sort of tracking spell?”
“It was. It becomes invisible once the caster cannot see it anymore and flies straight through the recipient, telling them where to go.”
“And who is the recipient?”, the question was answered by the screech of a falcon that sailed through one of the lower windows and settled down on his lightly stretched out left arm.
“Whom is the letter for?”
“Rita Skeeter.”
“Roll it and put it into the sack at Bernard’s leg.”
He walked the bird over to her and Hermione did as ordered, glad that he didn’t ask for her intentions. It smoothly disappeared inside and she pulled the strings again, making the knot into them that had been there before, careful however, when she saw that the falcon only had that one leg, and had lost its right eye too by quite likely the claw of another raptor, which had caused a wonky scar across the empty little socket. Snape cast another spell, this time more blue. It actually floated into the falcons’ chest and he threw the bird up a little to allow it a better takeoff. Both watched it fly out and vanish from view.
“It’s called Bernard?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting name for a – ”, he took back his cloak and put it on. “Falcon.”, she added with a shivering sigh and raised. “I know I mustn’t be late for class, but – ”
“Exactly, you mustn’t be late for class.”
“One question, please.”
“Would you put your arms around me so I can fly you to your – ”
“I meant, from me, not from you.”
“I know.”, he didn’t turn to fog yet when she held to his shoulders.
“Was that what he kept you busy with? Arranging the breakout?”
“No. But levelling the paths for the aftermath. How does flying feel to you?”
“Do you mean the broom or about now, Sir?”
“Both.”
“Brooms are horror, as I said. But you’re an amazing flier, I think.”, she could have sworn to see some colour appear on his sallow cheeks. “That probably belittled it. And otherwise, it is – um – how shall I explain – refreshing?”, now the colour was there, vaguely, but it was definitely there.
“It is January, Miss Granger.”
“No, really.”
“Yes, really.”
“No!”, she laughed brightly.
“Believe me when I say, the day is the ninth of January. I should know.”
“No, I mean,”
“It is.”
“Sir!”, Hermione chuckled into his chest, her laughs flattening at the feeling of his arms around her back, covering her with his warming cloak. “That way of flying does feel refreshing.”, she was bright red when she looked up at him again. “And it’s got nothing to do with the month or season or any weather at all. Really.”
~~#~~
Time. Peculiar thing. Three months were nothing, even less than the two after her accident had been. And those Educational Decrees were unnerving. Especially numbers twenty-six and -eight. Whenever she had knocked at his door, it had remained unanswered. Staying behind in class had only resulted in being told off or a single annoyed glance, sending her to leave with only the warning abbreviation `PP´ resounding in her head.
The fact that the March edition of the Quibbler had started something rolling she hadn’t expected to be that big but even more, quite positive and amusingly profound, was no remedy, as the final results had been the beginning of terror. It had actually led to another of those terrible visions of Harry, and when ignoring Snape’s most recent try to throw her out of the classroom had ended in her hissing an extremely exact quote of Harry’s portrayals into their teacher’s face, he had looked appalled, but nevertheless thrown her out, sparing her the favour of a comment on it. She got his comment anyway, from Harry, who had wailed about the following Occlumency lesson.
Potions had turned into bearing ignorance from his side then. Snape didn’t even look at her anymore. She had become thin air to him. Whatever this new game of his was, she was fed up, she was tired and she wanted to slam the fact into his pallid face along with a full boiling cauldron. But of course she remained as silent in those periods so nobody would conceive suspicion. Eventually it had been Ron who had confronted her with it and she had fed him with the part-lie that she couldn’t accept how he treated Harry, but was afraid he would launch himself at her with full wrath. After all Harry had managed to break into his memory. That had given her the satisfaction that Snape had been wrong. Harry was bad at Occlumency, but not nearly as sucking at the whole matter as he had described.
Now, sitting on the forest ground and staring up at the trees was a wonderful exchange to the fumy, dusty tower chamber. Firenze was much easier to listen to, mostly because he had a talent with words and was a lot more objective towards the art of fortune telling. Though she felt petty for Trelawney, she liked his theory of connections in the universe much better. It made a lot of sense when she compared it with the knowledge she had gotten from the night they had used the Time-Turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak.
Firenze said that all information was there, just waiting to be sought in. So far, it fit to Trelawney’s `open your eyes´-thing. But he said that when people looked at the ways things happened in the past, they could analyse and come to conclusions, which acts could lead to which things, much like a child remembering that fire hurts when once having been burnt, and that the rest was the interesting part, the things that couldn’t be predicted with any method. The exceptions that prove the rule..that as much as we knew about someone, we could never say it was the truth..never, no matter how often the alarm clock on her bedside table rang..what?
Hermione sat straight in her bed. Harry and Ron had told her so thoroughly about Firenze’s lessons that she had already dreamt of attending them as one of all the other students who hadn’t fled from Trelawney’s class two school years previously.
She had laid down in the one free hour after lunch, too tired for doing anything. That war – or whatever it is – is changing too many people in ways I don’t really fancy. Even you. Ginny had been right. There was something going on out there, like a monster crawling around the bed at nights. Perceptible, but not visible. Shadowy claws reaching out..
..crawling up the spine, drilling a hole into the head and eating up all positive thoughts. Silently gliding back down, stopping between the shoulder blades and thrusting a rusty knife into the heart – turning – turning – turning it around, until no blood was left to be spilled. It felt exactly like that and the soft April wind around the tower was powerless against those claws. One could – only one could – but – gone – long ago – there until the end of it all – though still – eternally out of reach.
Leaning over the parapet, the left hand clinging to it, a thin silver chain hanging from the fist the other formed, lying on the cold metal bar. The chain swaying in the wind. Careful not to drop it, he slightly opened his fingers. A shaking hand approaching the locket, a click. A smile so warm, always there, never changing, never leaving – and – still – and forever more – a memory alone. A single tear – unable to endure, he closed the locket and put it back around his neck, hiding it safely beneath his robes, those, bulging as he turned and left the tower.
Walls. Endless walls of stone. Ancient. Never breaking. Like the smile. Seeming impossible to be crushed. Monsters lurking from behind the torches, from between the stones. Hidden in every crack. Dead eyes following. Not there, but still. Waiting to reach out, claws and knives sharpened. All the same. In every corridor. The next corner wouldn’t change it. Turning left, ready to ignore them again. Though not ready for – a squeal.
Two hands on his chest, four eyes meeting in shock and surprise. He hadn’t heard her come running, nor had she expected to meet anyone on her way to the Room of Requirement and neither of them could merely be guessing it would be the last time before Umbridge would find the DA in there.
“Sorry!”, she moaned. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I didn’t – ”
“No – ”
“I’m really sorry, Sir. I don’t know where I had my eyes – I – ”
“I said – ”
“Hope I didn’t hurt y– ”
“I’m still alive, am I not?”, he murmured slack, only then she perceived the sadness in every line of his face.
“Sorry.”, she aspirated.
“Stop apologising. It helps neither of us.”, abashed, she finally stepped aside, staring after him as he walked on. “Just try to watch out. Times are not right for feeling too safe. The walls have ears and eyes.”, frowning, she watched the black hair that reached his shoulders and the floor-length black cloak billow with every step. “I ought to know.”, he added mumbling.
~~#~~
And there it was again. That thing – time. So long time ago it seemed, almost like centuries, when he had made that curl spring back up. Twitchy little toad, PP had been. But like a hydra, any time her integrity had been caused to totter, she had recomposed to a more scrupulous and malevolent monster which increasingly had become determined, at last sending her straight up to – her `own´ office. With Dumbledore she had reached a limit and weakened by that, she was vulnerable again, fallen to the level she had been on when Snape or McGonagall had offered her cough-drops. But she was recovering slowly, unfortunately.
Dizzy from the miraculous past days and hopes of a better Easter wandering around in her quite recovered brain, Hermione sat at the windowsill between two empty beds, her knees bent and leaned onto her hand, wanting to banish Umbridge from her head. An escapee soared past the window, making the glass lozenges glisten in bright orange and pink. Her roommates were still down in the common room, worshipping Fred and George.
She would try, she thought. That downfall must have cheered him up somehow. She would try tomorrow, and if she had to sit outside his office all day.
But as though her intention was written all over her face during that tomorrow’s breakfast, their eyes met for the first time in three months. It gave her shudders, in many ways. Though the knowing expression on his face when he had unambiguously looked at her on purpose, eradicated all her plans in a span shorter than a blink.
~~#~~
The scratching on the flipchart was taking not only her own nerves to a boiling point. Her hands in her lap, she sat unusually straight, staring past McGonagall’s oval spectacles. The woman glared back, some vein at her temple twitching. Umbridge gave a cough and McGonagall simply closed her eyes with annoyance.
“Are you not going to ask Miss Granger anything?”
“Oh certainly, I would.”
“You – would?”, Umbridge sang in a mock-worried high tone.
“How are you feeling, Miss Granger?”, they reassumed eye contact.
“Fine.”, Hermione said stiffly.
“Stressed? Because of the upcoming exams?”
“I have everything under control, Professor.”
“Does it not get to your head? Don’t you feel like it would – explode?”, she immediately understood, anger now jumping into the pot to swim along with her nerves.
“And he said, he would not tell anyone.”, Hermione huffed under her breath.
“He? Oh no, Miss Granger, if you are referring to the one who once had sat strangely similar to you here in front of me and his own Head of House with his arch enemy at those times, your are getting it completely wrong. It has been Madam Pomfrey who at last informed me, after half a year of pleading and a threat of poisoning her with an overdose of Veritaserum if she should not tell me what exactly had happened. Though she could not provide me details of the antecedents due to her own lack of knowledge about it; I must daresay I am disappointed that you have not come to me personally. I am your Head of House, Miss Granger. You ought to tell me if you had an accident that might result in long-term – ”
“I said, I am fine, Madam.”, she countered in the same consistent manner, inwardly relieved that he had kept his promise and guilty that she had accused him wrongly a few seconds too early.
“Very well, Miss Granger.”, sighed McGonagall. “I am used to your determination and therefore I believe it might not be much of a problem to establish yourself in any position you are striving after. Have you had anything in mind?”
“Well, I’ve already been offered the opportunity to work as an intern at the Goblin Liaison Office, but due to education haven’t yet been able to accommodate the demand.”
“Hem, hem.”
“Yes?”, McGonagall murmured.
“And who might have done so?”
“Mr Cresswell himself.”
“And – when – would he have – done so?”
“We met at St Mungo’s last Christmas as he was there for visiting a friend and we had a spirited but professional conversation.”, she gently threw the lie directly into Umbridge’s scornful face.
“I will make sure to ascertain this.”, Umbridge took down a note, but Hermione knew that Snape was rigorous enough to have made sure Cresswell was informed and capable of talking himself out of details.
“But anyway, I’m not sure whether I’d like to.”, Hermione said honestly, looking back at McGonagall. “I’m aware that I of course have the qualification to work in an office dealing with Muggles, or even magical creatures,”
“So you are planning on a career in the Ministry?”, McGonagall asked.
“Quite frankly, yes. That place needs some breath of new life, if I think about it.”, by the intensity of Umbridge’s scribbling she knew she had just upset her. “Other than that, I also considered becoming an Auror.”
She thought, giving it a try to see their reactions, couldn’t hurt. And indeed, Umbridge had stopped writing and McGonagall looked very much like Snape when she had hit him with that pillow. Her jaw had dropped slightly and her eyes began to widen dangerously in between her blinking.
“Are you sure that your physical condition – ”
“Mr Moody has been in far worse conditions throughout his career and ever carried on.”
“Certainly, yes.”, the elderly woman swallowed. “A true word. Yes, I can even see how. You have proven to be quick and well learning, capable of spells most students at your age would find difficult, logical thinking and able to look past complicated constrictions and find the essence of information behind in short time. Your marks speak for themselves, you only would need to work a little harder in Potions. Professor Snape has rated you with an E, but he will not attend anyone to N.E.W.T. levels with anything lower than an O.”
“I can see where this resides in.”
“Can you, Miss Granger?”
“Oh yes. Eleven OWLs and nine NEWTs, all with an Outstanding.”, Hermione smiled, rather proud to know something most people had dared to forget – or never heard before.
“So you are very well informed what kind of person he is?”
“Oh indeed, yes.”, she smirked now, self-satisfied. “I suppose, I will just try to receive an Outstanding in all my OWLs as well and go for every NEWT class possible, fetching the same result and turn our whole society upside down without anyone’s notice.”, she had no idea how that had come to her mind, but as her stronger-than-ever revolutionary spirit hadn’t faded since the beginning of the Easter holidays, it had left her lips with ease. “That last one was a joke, Professor.”, she growled at Umbridge who had continued scribbling frantically. “I have no intentions of going to hell. I want a clean, honest job, even if I should chose to be an Auror. One doesn’t necessarily need to kill, in order to hunt down and drive Death Eaters to insanity, do they?”
Hermione’s satisfaction reached a climax when the languid frown and short flick of her eyes to a specific arm she gave Umbridge had blasted exactly the smack in the woman’s face she had wished to achieve. There was no note taken upon it and McGonagall didn’t fail to notice. With big interest, her eyes skipped between the two, but she decided to end the meeting before anything worse could happen.
“Good. Well then, Miss Granger, if that is all, you may leave. You as well, Headmistress. I have essays to correct and need my peace to do that adequately.”
~~#~~
May had passed and the last week of it arrived almost so fast that she hadn’t had too many moments of thinking about one matter. She had been busy with studying, revising and escaping the remains of the twins’ products that carried on haunting Filch and Umbridge. Even though Peeves more concentrated on the pair of them with indirect help of the other staff members, his mood effected students likewise. So she had spent all time she had walked the corridors watching out for him. But as though he had owed somebody a favour, she had obviously been spared on purpose.
Even harder had the discovery of Hagrid’s half brother shocked her, but now that the Gryffindor common room had transformed into the biggest party ever, she sat on that windowsill again, what she usually did when she was alone like now, and stared outside, playing with a woollen elf hat with glass beads, tormenting herself in thoughts that she couldn’t sew. It was far too warm for wool already. Angry, she threw the hat sideways into the room, not caring where it fell. But when it did so without a sound from the beads hitting he floor, she startled from her thoughts. There was another reflection against the window, black and white in the dusk-lit room. She turned her head to the right. How by all forces of good and evil together –
Pallid fingers were holding the hat as though it was the most fragile thing in the world. His face was equally sallow, but the rest was entirely black, only the delicate silver clasps down his chest reflected the soft blue that came through the window; the sun had already set; and his hair and eyes shimmered slightly. He hadn’t appeared for any meals that Saturday, she remembered, but he didn’t seem at all in a miserable state. His hair was a little bouffant, telling her that he had washed it latest in the morning.
Holding the hat still in hands, he slowly glided towards her, sat down opposite to her and forced his legs up into the narrow space, bending them like she did. The tips of their shoes stood together. Hermione watched him study the green hat thoughtfully, trailing his fingers over the red beads. He was breathing calm and steady through his nose, his dark eyes on – his knees, as she noticed. She had been wrong.
Feeling guilty, she saw a shiny tear travel down his right cheek. He looked out of the window to hide it from her view. Hearing her own words in her head, she didn’t dare to ask him how he could have passed the crowded common room and gotten to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory without being seen. He had come for silence. And he eventually confirmed it by pulling his wand and shortly flicking it at the door in blind flight, making the lock click. When he tucked it back up his sleeve, the sounds from below already died down as if the party had dissolved. But she knew he had locked out any sound in addition. His right hand was back at the hat to assist the left.
The silence that fell over the room had something comforting, something peaceful to it and she couldn’t help but feel grateful. It had been the first silence in months. Even before falling asleep, her thoughts hadn’t granted her silence. So it was a bit odd at first, to hear nothing but her heart and their quiet breathing, but it felt good eventually. At least she knew now what Harry must have felt when trying to work Occlumency before falling asleep. The current quiet gave her time to examine the half of the left side of his face that wasn’t veiled by the black hair. His hooked nose, cheeks that looked as though they had known a time of happiness, a time they had been pushed up high by his curly lips’ smile, but that it had left the world so long ago those cheeks had forgotten what it was like. If it hadn’t been for the solitude, he would have been an actually quite handsome man. At least to her. But even that gave him some charm, some mysterious aura, some reason to abandon everything just for comforting him.
Hermione reached out between her knees, hardly able to stretch her arm further past them. Still not looking at her but apparently seeing it in the corner of his eye, he let go of he hat with his left hand and searched for it. She bit her lower lip at his blinking when their fingers met. He must have felt the same tingling. Hesitantly, he laid his fingers into hers and they slowly enclosed, insecure like a child that learned to walk. Then finally, they stopped moving when resting in a semi-firm grip, Hermione’s thumb on his little finger.
For a while they just sat in the narrow alcove, holding hands, watching the landscape outside getting swallowed by darkness. Some stars appeared on the clear sky, initiating the arrival of night. The silence taking over her mind and sweeping all remained unnecessary thoughts from it, Hermione started stroking her thumb over his knuckles. She didn’t really look at him either, but his eyes closed and he lowered his chin to the level of his collarbone, his face still owned by a sad emptiness. Equally slow, she turned her head to look at him again, with the hint of a smile she didn’t even notice. He opened his eyes, looking straight into hers as if he had known where to direct them. His head lightly raised as well. She was too off her senses to get hold of what had just happened.
Before he had returned to look outside, a soft smile had drifted into his entire face, so pure, so honest, but gone within seconds, flowing away into space by the sigh that escaped him along with the slow blinking.
Seemingly an hour had passed in mere hollow silence. He let go of her hand in the light of the risen moon and slid off the sill. Giving her a last look of gratefulness, he carefully placed the elf hat where he had sat, turned and flicked his wand at the door as he left, bringing back the question how he would cross that still noisy room again.
Though as to confuse her even more, Fay, Parvati and Lavender entered, chatting lively and obviously unaware that their much-hated Potions teacher had just passed them on the stairs.
~~#~~
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