Dawn hung bluish grey over Hogwarts as well as the snowy lands and ice covered waters around the castle. Some snowflakes were oddly falling from the few stuffed grey veils of clouds spread over the sky. Horrible. Nothing like the stereotype of a girl. But what were stereotypes anyway? Lavender’s snoring had woken her. Lying flat on her back, Hermione stared at the dark red velvet above. Actually, the snoring was to her advantage. Yawning almost silently, she stretched and slid out of her blankets, right into the plush slippers next to her bed. Standing off like a lion’s mane, her hair was back to normal. She gave a quiet sigh when she saw it in the mirror. Careful not to make too much noise, she dressed, took a chewing gum for her bad morning breath, picked up the black folded pile which was his cloak, put her wand into her pocket and slipped out of the dormitory.
As expected, no one else was up. The Fat Lady and her friend Violet, still sitting in the same portrait, let out a grunt when she pushed the canvas open. All other portraits were asleep too. Only some hippopotami grazed on the painting of a savannah, oblivious to the ado in the Grand Tower as always. Taking the usual shortcuts, she walked down to the Entrance Hall. The front gate had been closed after everyone had gone to bed, only the doors of the empty Great Hall stood open. It was an unusual sight. Exceptionally beautiful, she considered.
Voices echoed distantly through the foggy air. He couldn’t hear what they were saying or to whom. Grey hazes dulled his view, mixed with a blood red gleam and his insides felt like pulp, but somehow, the feeling seemed positive. Was he nervous? Maybe. He couldn’t fully tell. It had been too long ago for him that he had been nervous. The years had extinguished the memory of it. Dark eyes pierced into his. Eyes of a young girl, that much he knew, even though the rest of her face was hidden behind a silver mirror in the shape of a peacock. Around the whole, a bush of dark brown curls. Was she smiling? He wasn’t sure. Curious, but unable to move, only his eyes followed her left fist that rose. Dangling from it, on a thin silver chain, a small silver locket with ornamental engraving.
Sunlight fell into the scenery, making the billows shimmer, the mirror and locket glisten. Tiny sparkles blinded his eyes. Just slow, her hand opened. The chain slid from her fingers, pulled to the ground by the weight of the locket. With a loud clank, far too loud for its size, it landed on the ground, out of sight.
Then the dark eyes were gone. Instead, there were green ones. Huge green ones, on a shadowy silhouette against bright light.
Struck by the view, she remained standing in front of the doors for a while. Then something shot back to her mind.
She composed herself and walked further to the spiral staircase that led to the torch lit Dungeons. A blue shine guiding her way, she paced down the corridor leading to his office. Four firm knocks. Nothing but silence. Even the torches guttered without the faintest sound. How could she be so naïve to think he might be up already? She looked down on her shoes and closed her eyes. Should she knock again? She had never needed to knock more than those four times. But what if – a clicking sound, making her eyes open.
Suddenly there were toes in the bluish light. Grey cotton reaching the ankles. Hermione shortly blinked at the silver ring on one of the toes, her eyes; pulling her head with them; then wandering up the long grey nightshirt that was framed by a purple dressing gown, looking like everything had been thrown over hastily. A pair of hands hanging limply to his sides. She met with a very tired face. Hollow dark eyes, his hair a total mess, he gazed down on her. Unsure whether he was not still dreaming, his brows narrowed. Then he rubbed his eyes and blinked, frowning.
“Um – ”, Hermione curled her lips and held the black pile towards him. “Merry Christmas?”
“Merry – ”, he murmured, “What?”
His lips ajar, his stare fell on the fabric on her hands. A sigh escaped him and he scratched his neck in a manner that made something jump inside Hermione’s brain, but she had no idea what it was.
“I knew, there was something – ”, he aspirated numb and took the pile, holding it to his body with both arms wrapped around.
“I – I’m sorry.”
“What is it this time?”, he moaned.
“This time?”, Hermione asked, frowning like he had before.
“Maybe it has escaped your notice, but you tend to constantly apologise.”
“I don’t!”, she protested. “Sir.” – just to make sure.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What you feel sorry for.”, he groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Oh. Um – I – shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Mentioned what.”
“You know what I mean, Professor.”
“Then why don’t you say it aloud? Is it so hard to say, all of a sudden, when you could yesterday? Is it so difficult to say that you feel ashamed for having confessed that you know how my mother died? Yes, Miss Granger, you might still be in the process, but I have finished growing up many years ago. So, unless there are any more things you would like to whine about, I suggest you get back to your dormitory, before Miss Patil falls off the stairs.”
“What?”
Hermione’s head rushed to the left. Completely shocked, Parvati stood at the end of the corridor, where she had eavesdropped.
“What the heck are you doing down here?”, Hermione moaned upset.
“I could ask you just that!”, Parvati replied, though a little embarrassed. “And a bit more, actually!”
“And how come, you know, Sir?”, she looked back at Snape who was still a bit too far inside his office that he could have possibly seen her, though he just took a step to the right, turning slightly.
“Hello, Miss.”, a familiar voice squeaked.
“Dobby?”, she gaped down at the big, round, shiny green eyes and the sheepish smile.
“Miss mustn’t be angry with Dobby.”
“I’m not.”
“Thank you, Miss. Dobby saw Miss leaving the Gryffindor Tower when Dobby cleaned the stairs. Then Dobby saw the other Miss sneak after her and Dobby got curious, Miss.”
“So you followed us?”
“Yes, Miss. And when Dobby understood that Miss was going to the Dungeons, he knew Miss was heading to Professor Snape.”
“How – ”
“You must know, Dobby has noticed that Miss has acted strange lately.”
“You’ve been – spying on me?”, but it was Snape’s expression that bothered her. “You put him on me?”, she hissed, surprised that he couldn’t even hide it, while he usually could always hide anything he wanted. “Why!”
“I didn’t.”, he said coldly. “The Elves are supposed to warn teachers when they spot students approaching their office at odd day- and nighttimes.”
“What a nice lie, Sir.”, she huffed.
“Are you accusing me – ”, he became visibly angry, but she broke him off nevertheless.
“May it be the truth or not – ”
“It is the truth, Miss.”, Dobby whimpered.
“And what was that look then?”
“Look?”, Snape raised an eyebrow, all back to normal.
“Oh, I see – I presented you with a great idea, didn’t I, Professor? Not enough that my self-proclaimed friends are spying on me – ”, she ferociously pointed at Parvati.
“I didn’t!”, the girl shouted.
“Shut up, okay? Not enough that my colleagues spy on me, now my teachers do as well?”
“May I remind you that it has been you, who quite cunningly made someone as withdrawn as Igor Karkaroff – ”
“That is different!”, Hermione raged.
“Keep your voice down, Miss Granger, or you will notice by breakfast that the glass of Gryffindor House lost a hundred points.”
“That is different.”, she hissed through her teeth. “And I don’t give a damn about points right now.”, she added under her breath.
“It might be, if I was actually spying on you, Miss Granger. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to go back to bed. Dobby, thank you for warning me. You may leave.”
“Any time, Sir.”, the Elf bowed. “Goodbye, Sir, Miss,”, with a crack, he was gone.
Hermione curled her lips again. Some seconds passed in silence. Then, something strange happened. She couldn’t explain why, but there was a kind of tension rising in her whole body when he stepped closer. Just inches away from her, she felt his hand gliding into the left pocket of her coat. Her eyes followed his lifting arm and glided along her wand, finding it pointed directly at Parvati. Totally dumbfounded, she watched the girl turn around. A soft, barely visible, green stream of light hit Parvati and she climbed the stairs, out of sight. Not until her wand was back in her pocket, Hermione would dare to look at him once again. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came from it. All she could do was watch his empty face move backwards and the door being closed between them.
~~#~~
It was already shortly to ten o’clock when the trio managed to persuade themselves to walk down to the Great Hall. The remains of the previous evening had successfully been removed throughout the early morning hours and Hermione felt sorry for the Houseelves who had done all that work, knowing how the hall had looked like when she had left it. Now the glistening trees were still flanking the walls neatly again, the biggest one almost reaching the top of the front window and a reduced number of permanent ice crystals were shimmering in the dim, wintry morning sun and lit fires.
From the number of people in the hall, Hermione could tell that none had felt the need for a usual breakfast time. Some were showing off the Christmas presents they had gotten, others were just unwrapping them. As cheerful as ever, Dumbledore sat in the middle of the staff table, on his silver hair, an insanely high, sharp hat that seemed to sparkle on its own and was changing bright colours. McGonagall discernibly shielded her eyes from it by leaning against her hand while she ate some sort of cream. His grim eyes travelling across the tables, Karkaroff sat extremely straight to Dumbledore’s left, trying hard to avoid automatic looks at the magical madness. Even from the distance, Hermione could tell that he was eating some peculiar goulash with beans that she would have rather had at lunch, as one other part of the mix, she could identify at a closer look as roasted liver. Two chairs to his own left, were empty.
Too fixated on that lonely space, she nearly fell onto the table when she got caught with her foot at a blind attempt to climb over the bench. Shocked, she braced her hands against the tabletop and looked at her empty plate that was dangerously close to her nose.
“Are you alright?”, a low voice said from behind and she slipped against a startled Harry with a shriek, glad that he had caught her.
“I – I’m fine, than-thanks!”, she stammered high pitched, staring up at Viktor, her legs in a very awkward position. “Just my feet – a little – tired, still – from – from dancing – ”
A strange giggle escaped her and she knew that she gave the silliest impression, but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Though Viktor didn’t seem to bother. With an additional push of Harry’s into her back, he helped her over the bench so she could sit down properly. What Ron had so far kept for himself that morning, returned to his expression as he reached over the table to get himself some bacon and toast. Hermione ignored it.
“Thank you, Viktor.”, Ron commented it with a snort. “Did you sleep well?”
“You are velcome. And very vell, yes. You?”
“Like a baby.”, she grinned and he laughed a little.
“May I sit here?”, Viktor pointed between her and Ron, but Hermione panicked.
“Rather not.”, she moaned which made him frown. “Ron’s – not in an all too good constitution today.”
“Uh – I don’t think he vill bite me, vill he?”
“I’d not be so sure.”, grumbled Ron, straight at his toast and Ginny, already sitting next to Neville opposite to him, raised an eyebrow.
“Uh, I can survive this, I think.”, smiled Viktor and swung his legs over the bench
Ron notably slid to the right, which resulted in Seamus sliding away too and closer to Dean, who nearly pushed Fay onto Lavender, who’s shoulder was now pressed against the head of a very disgusted smirking first-year boy. Ginny, as well as the twins to her right simultaneously snorted with broad smiles, which earned them a killing glance from their brother.
Harry in the meanwhile had spotted a plate with a sort of white, flat, round biscuits he hadn’t seen in ages. If he was honest, he had just seen them once in his life. They contained chocolate chips and had a dot of red jam in the middle, on which a single almond slice throned. The memory of his first and last time he had eaten such was as clear as a crystal mountain lake.
It had been the day before his ninth Christmas at the Dursleys’ when the Monday-postman had knocked, rather than ringing the bell. Of course, hanging around bored in his cupboard and the others in the living room by the TV with the door closed, he alone had heard the knocking. White snowflakes on the hat and jacket of his uniform and some caught in his beard, Blackbeard had stood on the doormat. Harry had called him like that for himself as his beard had been more black than anyone else’s he had seen by then and though he had worn his hair in a ponytail, the dark, shiny eyes and the single earring had made him look a bit like a pirate for Harry. The heavy Scottish accent had been an emphasising adding to his sailor-like appearance. Though the only contrast had been his reading glasses he had needed for deciphering the writing on the envelopes.
That one morning however, he hadn’t brought post. He had come to wish Harry a Merry Christmas since he had; as the postman had stated; always accepted the post with a much brighter face than Uncle Vernon. He had given Harry a box with exactly such biscuits and, knowing from brief conversations that the Dursleys weren’t too friendly with him, suggested him with a wink to hide it quickly and thoroughly.
It had also been the first time someone had patted him on the head, rather than hit him and more than that, it had been the first time he remembered that someone had hugged him. Actually it had been Harry himself who had taken the first step, but the postman had returned it in such a loving way that it could have been a father embracing his son. Harry had felt like home in those warming arms there in between the cold of the lane and the very slight warmth of the corridor. It had been one of the most wonderful things he had ever experienced and he felt horribly ashamed that he had needed a plate of biscuits to remember it.
Then, well, with his usual weary smirk, the postman had said goodbye forever because he had been removed to a post in a different village far away from Little Whinging. He had knelt down in front of Harry so he could look straight into his eyes. The postman had calmed him with words like that he would find many friends one day. He had promised it, then pulled him close another time and left into the falling snow.
Picking up one of the biscuits with a similar weary smile, Harry wondered what had become of that man now and whether he was still delivering mail in that village he had moved to. He now regretted that he hadn’t asked him for the name of the village. But the biscuit – it tasted exactly like those back then. Maybe he could get to know in the kitchen where those biscuits or the recipe came from and this way somehow track down the postman. He just had to tell him that he had been right. Though his thoughts were distracted by one of the Weasley twins.
“Hang on!”, Fred’s attention was drawn to something that moved at the golden wings of the entrance and he dragged everyone’s with it. “Count Drakul got pimped!”
The heads of the lot around him weren’t the only ones to turn. It wasn’t the robe or the cloak, which were plain and black as on an ordinary day, it was something glistening on his chest and in his hair. Second was not greasy, but strangely looking like elegant silken waves. Neither was it hanging down in curtains, but the ends stood off in strange ways. And some meanwhile very familiar badge shone from between the crystals and his left collar bone. The looks he received were pretty much the same all over the tables: frowning, grimaces of disbelief, widely opened mouths and eyes.
“Looks like he had sex or something,”, murmured Ron.
“What?”, Parvati gasped.
“Yeah. A bit like Dad’s afterglow-pride, now that you say it.”, meant Ginny.
Pacing incredibly feminine, he approached the middle of the Gryffindor table. Hermione swallowed heavily as she stared up at him, both of them ignoring a flashing light from across the table. Although brief surprise about where the second S.P.E.W. badge she had sold Professor Burbage had apparently gone hit her, her embarrassment reached a shocking climax when he pulled one of the pins with blue crystals from his hair, grabbed a bundle of hers and stuck it up weirdly.
“Greetings,”, a second pin changed person in a similar manner, “From a certain,”, followed by a wound hair clasp that was also decorated with blue crystals which he pushed up from the back and Hermione curled her lips, a mournful look on her face, blushing heavily with her head turned to the twins, “Elf.”, he opened the fitting necklace and took it off as well. “Next time you – ”, it was placed leisurely on top of the strangely artistic seeming creation, “Throw your jewellery at your classmates, you better – ”, a third and last pin was pulled and stuck in to fix the necklace, “Recover it before the personnel does. Merry Christmas, Miss Granger.”, he sneered and walked on, up to his bewildered colleagues with an awkwardly smiling Professor Burbage on his heels.
Another bright, flashing. Colin Creevey had scored for the second time. Grinning as though he had just won the House Cup, the Tournament and the Quidditch World Championship at once and all by himself, he hopped back to his seat.
“You really haff interesting teachers here, Hermy-own-ninny.”
Somehow, he was right, thought Hermione. But that wasn’t undoing her plight.
~~#~~
After what had started as an attempt to be, for once in her life, comfortable with herself, had transformed into a total disaster, suddenly making the entire school aware that she existed – apart from being a bookworm who supposedly loved to tell everyone off as soon as she spotted a teensy mistake, it was quite understandable that a fifteen year old girl needed her peace. Eventually, when she had been fed up with panting her lungs out while trying to get it everywhere else in the castle, she had found that peace in the deserted library, and, much to her own surprise, in an ancient sort of diary. In the soft silvery light falling in from the window to her left, she began devoting to the text. Though of course she wasn’t as alone as she had hoped for. The voice of a woman made her startle up from the captivating handwriting.
“Oh goodness – and I believed, no one values a book anymore.”
“It’s Christmas, Madam Pince. I am about the only one.”
“There used to be times – ”
“I’m sure they used to be. But apparently they moved on to somewhere else.”
“Very well.”, it surprised her to see the librarian smile. “I will no longer disturb you. Enjoy your reading, Miss Granger.”
“Thanks.”
She sighed when the woman walked back into the depths of the library, and she returned to the fragile pages before her. The dates could hardly be read as they had been written with red ink instead of black and the writing itself was rather akin to runes, yet it was English. Outdated for centuries of course, still she could read it and after a while she had gotten into it so well, that she wasn’t even distracted by the clacking of Madam Pince’s high shoes, travelling between the rows to sort back in the one or other book. So deep in, that she startled up with a gasp when the corridor had become darker, in ways. As surprised as her, he stood there for some moments, until he blinked several short times in a row and glided on to the shelf behind her. On a snort, she turned her head up to him, but he just fixated the books.
“Irma?”, he called out quietly, the librarian came hurrying immediately.
“Yes? What is it?”
“That is what I wonder as well. What in the name of Golpalott is this?”
“A gap.”
“As if I wouldn’t have come to acknowledge that myself.”, he murmured. “Why is it there.”
“Oh well,”, Madam Pince pouted, “Maybe because the book that normally fills it, has been borrowed?”
“Well, that exactly is the problem. It shouldn’t be gone.”
“Be glad that students still read these days.”
“It seems, we don’t speak the same language. This,”, he tapped at the wood on the free space with each word, “Book, is, not, to, be, lent. Honestly, you nearly live in these halls. You of all should know that.”
“Don’t be so mad at me!”, she snapped. “Then I happened to have made a mistake, alright? I will look up immediately who borrowed it. You can haunt them instead, if you must.”
“I have a better solution.”
“Neither of us is interested in your solutions, Miss Granger.”, Snape puffed.
“Then not.”, Hermione sighed and turned her back on the two. “I was merely suggesting that, before either of you lose your head, you should consider asking me for the logic between one single book in this entire row missing and one single book lying in front of me. Then I would have told you that it is of course logical that someone borrowed it illegally for reading it a fathom away from where it is supposed to rest.”
“Oh Severus.”, she could hear Madam Pince moan.
“Then I happened to have made a mistake.”, hissed the teacher. “Stop giving me that look.”
“Fine. I will leave you to your troubles with Miss Granger. Try to treat her better than she treats his records. If that is even possible. Because, as far as I know her and can see what she is doing, no one has ever treated a book better. Not even you. It surprises me that she doesn’t wear silk gloves, actually.”, Madam Pince flounced off. “And don’t you give me that look. Oh yes, I know exactly the kind of look you have thrown after me.”, she added from far away already.
“What kind of look have you given her, Sir?”, Hermione mumbled under her breath, trying not to give her grin away.
“If you haven’t seen it, it is none of your business, Miss Granger.”
“Would you like to borrow the book from me to look up what you have meant to?”
There was no response, but after some moments of hesitation, he had sat down on the chair very close to her right and she carefully passed the book on. Never had she seen anyone treat a book with the same caution as she did. His rather thin, pale fingers tenderly flipped parchment page after parchment page, while his forehead leant against his right hand. Though the black, almost straight veil with peculiarly springy ends prevented her from seeing more than the very tip of his nose, she imagined how his dark eyes wandered over the declining lines. Whether it was her gaze he felt or something else bothering, she didn’t know why he took that deep breath through his nose. But then he slowly robbed his eyes with three of his fingers and she believed to know the reason when his hand slid down onto his mouth and his breathing got stuck for a moment.
“I don’t know what else you did tonight,”, she said softly over his quiet yawn, “And I won’t be as rude as to ask, but you should go back to sleep again.”
“I am fine, Miss Granger.”, he grumbled as quiet, though robbed his eyes another time.
“That looks slightly different to me.”
“It doesn’t matter what it looks like to you. If I say I am fine, then I am.”
“You could tell me what you are looking for. I’d read it to you.”
“I have found it already.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”, he cautiously pointed on a date above an entry. “Nine hundred fifty-three.”
“And that – is – ”, she tried to read some of the text when he had placed his hand on the wooden board again.
“A prime. I had a little discussion going on whether the year he settled down was a prime, and it appears, I won the bet. If you excuse me now, I need to pocket my – winnings – ”, her hand grabbed his so quickly she wouldn’t even have noticed what she had done, if it hadn’t been for his confused stare at it. “And what – is this – supposed to achieve?”, he moved his look from her fingers that had hooked themselves between his thumb and the rest of his hand, to her face.
“You should go to bed, Sir.”, he opened his mouth to say something but she had no intentions waiting for it to slip past his tongue even. “You look absolutely dreadful.”, she moaned quietly and, apparently knowing that he wouldn’t be able to deny it, he only curled his lips, swallowed and looked at the books in front of him, hiding his face from her once more. “Whatever this bet was about, if you really won already, I think, your opponent can wait until you have slept.”
“I am sorry.”, he breathed.
“You already looked horrible in the morning, but now you’re worse. You really should – what?“
“I said, I am sorry.”, it took her some seconds to grasp that, although he had repeated it.
“What – what for?”, she breathed, and could have sworn she had heard a tiny huff escape him.
“For denouncing you in front of the whole school.”
“Oh. That’s – that’s nothing, really.”, Hermione considered. “It was – quite funny, actually. In the end. And – and I think, I deserved it. After all I kept confronting you with your personal issues that shouldn’t be of my interest.”
“That is right. They are my personal issues. And it was wrong of me to snap at you, while you only meant to show me that I am not – all the same for you – that you – care – ”
Suddenly; she had not expected anything like it; his fingers closed around hers. Not too firm, but they did. Yet he didn’t look at her, but bore her eyes resting on his silhouette while they did nothing else but sitting there in silence, and holding hands. His breathing was absolutely calm and she listened to it, as long as he would allow her. Madam Pince was gone, to somewhere in the back of the library, away from her earshot. All she could hear was their breathing and she tried to reduce the sound of her own so she would be able to hear his only, so quiet and gentle, it would have been missed with only the faintest other noise present.
Slowly, it became a bit louder, distinctive, steady. Maybe it was only because she concentrated so much on it – but then his head slightly tilted forward. A broad grin drifted on the lips she pressed together, and she even held her free hand on them then so she wouldn’t wake him with an uncontrolled chuckle. Nevertheless he startled up from his doze with a sniff and she couldn’t hold herself when he blinked at her, past his veil of hair.
“You should – definitely go to bed, Sir.”, Hermione giggled as quiet as she could and he sighed with a flat nod, then loosened his grip and pulled his hand from hers when he stood up – but startled another time. “Sir?”, she stared at the back of his head from below, but after he had overcome his hesitation, he hastily walked off, letting her see what had halted him. “Oh my – ”
“Vot vos that?”, Viktor’s gaze wandered from her to him as he left the library, and back to her.
“What do you mean?”, she said quickly, trying to look as though it was absolutely normal to hold a tired teacher’s hand at Christmas.
“Vell,”, he slouched over to her and – sat down where Snape had sat, staring straight into her eyes, which she tried to avoid by cautiously lifting the book back so she could continue reading. “I don’t know how things are in your culture, but vare I come from, students don’t hold hands with teachers.”
“I bet, where you come from, students are too afraid of their teachers as to even be able to care for them rather than their own welfare. And I wasn’t holding hands with him.”, she snorted, her eyes strictly wandering over the lines she didn’t pay attention to.
“You held his hand and he didn’t do anything against it but held yours as vell.”
“If wanting to cheer a person up is forbidden in Bulgaria,”
“That is not vot I meant.”
“Look,”, she turned to face him grimly, “Just because we danced together or because you’ve been watching me many times since you came here, it doesn’t mean that I will tell you everything about my life in detail. Yes, I took his hand. I don’t know for how long you’ve been spying on us without our notice and I don’t really care as long as you aren’t going to spread stories about it.”
“I von’t – ”, Viktor looked seriously appalled.
“Good. Because I don’t think I could forgive anyone for that. So, yes, I took his hand and suddenly he apologised for having treated me badly. Want to know when he apologises?”, she paused for a second, perhaps for some dramatic effect she actually hadn’t fully intended to create. “Never. I have been his student for three and a half years and he has never ever apologised for anything. And believe me, he’s done worse than pinning up mine or anyone’s hair.”
Shutting the book with as much caution she could bring up in her sudden anger, she took it, placed it in its gap, grabbed her bag and stormed out before Viktor could find any more arguments.
~~#~~
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