Understanding

Thanks, Shem!
Understanding
Chapter 10:
Hello
****If I smile and don't believe
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream
Don't try to fix me- I'm not broken
Hello, I am the lie
Living for you so you can hide
Don't cry
Suddenly, I know I'm not dreaming
Hello, I'm still here
All that's left of yesterday****


After about an hour of wailing, I mean, packing, I finally made my way back down to the kitchen, ready to depart. Well, ready may have been an overstatement. My mind still swam with fears and doubts and unanswered questions, but I put on my brave face and smiled as convincingly as I could as Dumbledore and I once again climbed aboard the magic Harley.

As before, I was quite thankful that the rushing wind did not allow conversation. I had nothing to say to anyone- including Professor Snape, and I noticed I felt absolutely nothing as we neared the castle. In the past, even the slightest glimpse of the castle would have sent my heart soaring and an overwhelming feeling of being home would have washed over me, but now I would have been just as content to fall backwards off the bike straight into the belly of the giant squid. I had no home anymore. Not my house, not Hogwarts, just nowhere.

For the first time in my life I felt as if I was outside of myself watching the events that happened to me. It wasn't that I questioned the reality or validity of these events. I just didn't care. I felt nothing. Suddenly the only Muggle-born witch to ever have been top student at Hogwarts was a hollow, apathetic wasteland.

And I could not bring myself to care.

Upon arriving at the castle, Dumbledore helped me off the bike and led me to my new room. My suite was on the main floor but down a hallway I had never travelled before, which, in and of itself, was an oddity, as I had had patrolling duties both as a Prefect and as Head Girl. I had thought I'd known every inch of this castle, but apparently I had been wrong, and as the Headmaster uttered the passwoa laa large stone version of the Hogwarts crest swung open, revealing a long corridor. He explained that each occupant of this area of the castle had his or her own password, and the crest was enchanted to recognize the voice of each so no unauthorized visitors were allowed inside. I thought on this for a moment and chose "Fuck off" as my password.

Dumbledore made sure he showed me how to change it for when I was feeling more like myself.

I told him I was feeling perfectly fine, thank you.

Unperturbed, Dumbledore lead me the the long, richly decorated hallway. Each of the teacher's personalities was reflected on the outside wall of their rooms. McGonagall's was bright maroon and gold with a tiny cat drawn on the outside of the door.

Oh, Crookshanks'll love that. I give him two weeks before he figures out it's not real.

"This, my dear, is the faculty wing of the castle. Each professor has his or her own suite of rooms. With the recent... erm... shortage of teachers, we have room here for you." It was after his statement that I noticed a good number of the outer walls were completely bare. Moving closer to one of the doors, I saw a tiny gold nameplate engraved with Flitwick's name. I ran my fingers over it reverently and respectfully before Dumbledore once again prodded me onward.

"All of the teachers' quarters are here?" I asked, hope infused in the very air of my speech. With any luck, I would be roomed right next to Severus, he wouldn't hate me and we could have lots of sex and babies. Ooh, that would be nice. Maybe not the babies part right away- I don't even know where that came from- but the sex part sounded right up my alley.

"Yes. Well, Sybil never really lived down here, and there was Hagrid, of course. And Professor Snape has his own rooms in the dungeons. Never w to to be too far from his potions, that one."

Well, there goes my summer.

Dumbledore showed me to my door, at the very end of the hallway, and once again asked me to name my own password. I pretended to ponder the question thoughtfully before spitting out "Fuck it."

"Ah, yes. Of course, dear. Now, you should find all your things in there, and you may, of course, decorate it anyway you wish. The wall outside will change according to your moods and tastes. You may take as long as you wish to get settled and you are invited to the Great Hall for all meals with the rest of us. Breakfast at nine o'clock, lunch at noon, and dinner at five."

There was something odd about the Headmaster today. He was smiling too frequently and too disingenuinely. He was calling me "dear" entirely too often. And he seemed very nervous anytime the subject of Severus came up. Again, I got the feeling that he knew something- either something about what had gone on between Severus and myself or something otherwise that he just wasn't telling me. Thanking Dumbledore, I entered the rooms, glad to be rid of him for once.

Closing the door, I investigated my rooms. There was a large sitting room with two small couches and a large fireplace. There were two doors, one to the right and one to left. The left was a nice bathroom. Nothing spectacular. I had had access to a nicer one as Head Girl. The right was a very spacious bedchamber with a gigantic four poster bed in the center. I saw Crookshanks curled up in a contented ball in the center. There was a huge picture window on one side of the room complete with a plush window seat and a fireplace across from the bed with a grouping of armchairs in front of it. Another door led from the bedroom to another bathroom. This bathroom was more up to my expectations- sunken tub, marble, the works. I decided on a nice hot bath after redecorating, and decided to get to work making my rooms my own. I would be here for three and a half months, after all. I didn't think I could have dealt with the stark, plain white that was covering everything in the room except for Crookshanks. A tiny smile twisted one corner of my mouth; I felt like I was in the movie "Pleasantville."

I made quick work of the living room. The couches became squishy black leather, the hardware and accents a shiny modern chrome. I made the walls a dark, deep blood red. Not Gryffindor red. Hermione red. New, bad-ass Hermione red. As an afterthought, I conjured a small round table and two chairs. I had a feeling I wouldn't be dining with the staff very frequently. I noticed all of my books and knick-knacks had been arranged on the built-in shelves, and I smiled. My first kind of grown up home. Mum and Dad would be so proud.

The first bathroom was easy, as well. I simply mimicked my bathroom at home, and half hoped that no one would ever ask to use my toilet. The walls became a light, sea blue, quite complimentary to the view I had of the lake from the window located conveniently right over my bathtub. Vaguely, I wondered what kind of perve had designed the room before hanging the somewhat childish, but entirely familiar "Little Mermaid" shower curtain. I then laid the rug shaped like Flounder and went on to my bedroom.

My mother had once remarked that my room at home was forty shades of purple, and I saw no reason not to repeat what my relatives had once deigned to be "the purplest room ever." I splashed a bluey royal purple shade on the walls and made the bedclothes alternating shades of violet and lilac. My throw pillows I had brought from home went from one extreme of purple to the next. I pulled my personal effects out from my bags and placed the purple candles, picture frames, and stereo I'd charmed to work on magic and not electricity strategically around the room. With a final look around, I quickly changed the window seat to a dark, rich purple, decorating it with Trevor, my teddy bear, and a blue stuffed bull wearing a shirt bearing the words "Just Bring It." Harry had been a big fan of World Wrestling Entertainment and had bought me the Brahma bull at an event Remus had managed to get tickets to for Harry's last birthday. I had no idea what it symbolized or why the bull had one eyebrow raised in a manner somewhat similar to that of Severus Snape. To me, it represented Harry and one of the few chances he'd ever had to enjoy his short life.

Flopping down on the window seat and basking in the early summer sun, I was sure summer at Hogwarts would prove to be not entirely undesirable. After all, I had always excelled at my studies and loved reading and learning, so it was a more than logical choice for me to stay in my institution of learning.

Institution.

Exactly.

I was drifting off when I heard the soft knock at the window. Jerking my head up in hopes of seeing Severus' owl, I instead saw a tiny owl only slightly larger than Pigwidgeon who seemed, if it was at all possible for owls to do so, to be smiling at me. I let it in and it hooted happily, sticking out its leg. From somewhere deep inside, I felt a smile pulled out.

"Hi, Buddy. What's your name?" The owl hooted at me once again and stuck its leg out a bit further. I took the small scroll off its leg and read slowly. I learned quickly that it was Professor McGonagall's owl and she was inviting me to tea in about fifteen minutes in her rooms. I smiled weakly. Professor McGonagall had always been like a second mother to me, and I was grateful that she was once again trying to make me comfortable, but I wasn't quite in the mood for anyone trying to be motherly. I gave the owl a bit of chocolate I had found in my bag. I hoped it wasn't quite as bad for owls as it supposedly was for dogs. I didn't have any owl treats on me.

Looked like I had a date for tea.

Great.

I left my at the appropriate time and noticed the outer wall of my rooms was black and foreboding. Good. I didn't want any visitors (except one who I knew wouldn't be coming). I was unhappy I even had to leave to see McGonagall, but as she'd been most congenial, I felt it would be rude not to go.

Sighing heavily, I raised my fist and gently knocked on Professor McGonagaldoordoor for what I was sure was to be the first of many attempted bonding experiments. It wouldn't be so bad. It wasn't that I resented McGonagall's attempts to take me under her wing, I'd always loved my Transfiguration professor, but since my parents' murder, I always came away from meetings with McGonagall feeling as if I were a small child who needed to be cuddled and comforted. And- no offense to Minerva- I had only ever wanted my mother to hold me and tell me everything would be okay.

It had always been my mother who sat on the edge of the bed, listening to me cry when the other children teased me about being smart. It was my mother who had sent encouragement cards in my lunch for no apparent reason except to say she loved me. It had been my mother who had held me and rocked my hysterical body after my first dog had been hit by a car after getting loose. My mother had been so proud when I'd received my Hogwarts letter, and then, at Christmas holiday when I had announced I was top in my class. My mother had begged me to do magic even though she knew I wasn't allowed. It was my mother who still sung me lullabies whenever I wanted her to. It was my mother who told jokes no one else thought were funny. My mother who had never tried to get me to wear more makeup or dress more lady-like. My mother who had knitted Crookshanks a tiny sweater even though she hated the cat with a passion. My mother who had dressed up as Geri Halliwell one rather embarrassing Halloween.

Yes, Professor McGonagall was nice, and I did love her very much. But she was not my mother, and I didn't feel like anyone trying to be my mother right then.

As the door slowly creaked open, I forced myself to slap a smile on my face. It was a weak attempt, and everyone knew it, but it was an attempt, and I thought I should get points for effort.

"Hermione, dear, please come in," McGonagall invited, opening the door wenouenough so that Dumbledore was now visible. I steeled myself and walked inside slowly. I hadn't known he would be here. I hoped to God he had no intention of taking on the paternal role as McGonagall had taken on the maternal. That would have been the last straw.

As close as I had been with my mother, my father and I had had a special, unspoken bond. My mother had always been good at communicating her emotions, but my father had been soft-spoken and understated. But he had told me he loved me every night before I went to bed. Even as I had grown old enough to put myself to bed, he made sure he told me every night. But mostly, he communicated through unconventional means.
Through my childhood, we had shared favorite television programs which we religiously watched together. I hated football, but I wore the Cleveland Browns jersey anyway. As I'd grown older, we'd watched "Jeopardy!" together and answered as many questions as we could. I was sure he was the smartest man I'd ever meet, and I'd begged him to try out for the game show. He'd always declined, though, stating that all "Jeopardy!" contestants had to have a funny anecdote or unusual collection to tell Alex about during their little vignettes, and he neither collected anything nor had any terribly interesting life stories. But I knew deep down he had the same paralysizing fear of failure and unacceptance that had plagued me. He and I had even spoken a secret language of television and movie quotations that my mother could not decipher for the life of her ("I don't know how you two remember all that useless trivia!"). In the Granger household, it was not uncommon to hear the phrase, "Dude, where's my car?" or any given line from "Tommy Boy" or "A Christmas Story." One of our favorites had been one called "While You Were Sleeping" and a scene in which a rather rambunctious family had been having several conversations at once and getting all of them confused. At all of the stuffy family dinners my mother's side of the family had hosted, I had sat next to my father who randomly muttered things like "These mashed potatoes are so creamy" to which I would reply "Caesar Romero was not Cuban!" and the two of us would giggle quietly between ourselves. I had loved my mother with all my heart, but I would always be my Daddy's little girl, for all we had shared. It was the stupid little stuff that made me miss him. The stupid little things that made me cry.

Moving into McGonagall's room, I took a seat opposite Dumbledore in a chair near the fire, which was lit even though the late June afternoon was muggy and oppressive. It almost felt like Trelawney's classroom down here.

"Ah, Hermione, so good to see you," Dumbledore greeted, smiling seemingly genuinely at me, that constant twinkle present in his eye. Reluctantly, I felt a small smile pulled from me. Dumbledore was the closest thing to Santa s I's I'd ever known, and in a time when I felt so child-like and vulnerable, a visit with Santa maye bee been just what I needed. "Would you like some tea, dear?"

Nodding an affirmation, I finally greeted him.

"Hello, Headmaster. Yes, please."

"Now, Hermione. You have graduated and are no longer my pupil. Please call me Albus."

"I'll try, but it feels a little weird." And it did. I doubted very much I would ever call him "Albus." Off-handedly, I wonderhy ihy it was so weird to call him "Albus" but "Severus" rolled off my tongue so sweetly.

Probably because I never wanted to shag Dumbledore.

I sat through tea quite passively, biding my time until I could escape once again to the sanctuary of my room. Or maybe up to the owlery to send a note to Severus. From the way Dumbledore made it sound, Severus was very, very intense when immersed in his research, and I didn't want to intrude and mess up an his his studies. It was getting to be about time that I could make a graceful exit when I realized McGonagall was speaking to me.

"And what do you have planned for this summer, Hermione? It will probably be lonely for someone your age to be here alone all summer."

"Nothing really, Professor. Probably some reading." I'm Hermione Granger. I mean, really, what did she expect me to do all summer? Play Quidditch?

"Oh, dear. That is quite solitary. You know, I have a nephew several years older than you. He's quite handsome and quite single. He may be some good company for you," she suggested, a proud smile on her face. I looked up into her sincere eyes and knew she was not being facetious or silly. She honestly had no idea what had transpired between Snape and me. Honestly, how could she? But it still hurt that no one knew and that no one would know if he refused to see me over the summer. For no real reason, I felt my eyes well up with tears, and I excused myself, practically running from McGonagall's quarters.

I did not want to go back to my rooms, and so, besides my earlier disinterest in ever setting foot on the Quidditch pitch again, that is where I found myself. Sitting in the stands and crying for lives and love lost. It was approaching dusk when I finally made my way back to the castle, and I met the throng of professors exiting the Great Hall as they finished dinner. Among the teachers, one head was conspicuously missing, and as I whipped ad tod to search for him, I smacked my face straight into the chest of my beloved Severus Snape.

"Miss Granger," hat wat with a sneer in his voice I had not expected in the least. "You will kindly watch where you are going." Staring into his black eyes, I felt my own tear up. He showed absolutely no feelings on his face, and his arms were folded testily over his chest.

"I... I'm sorry, Professor. But... I was wondering if you would allow me to help you with your research this summer. I love potions, and I'm afraid I'll be terribly lonely over the summer..."

God, I sounded like an idiot.

"Miss Granger, I'm sorry, but as you never even finished your seventh year Potions class, it would be rather disastrous to allow you to interfere in my projects. Perhaps you could assist Professor McGonagall with some housekeeping duties or something else to which you are better suited."

My heart was pounding and my eyes watering. What was Severus doing? Why would he want to do this to me? He knew I was more than competent in Potions. And after what we had shared.
"S
"Severus?" I called weakly.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger. I trust you will find something to occupy your time this summer."

And with that, the man who had popped my cherry strode away as if I were the most deplorable piece of rubbish ever imaginable.

*****
I hated Albus Dumbledore with every fiber of my being. He had been standing there, hidden from Hermione's view, as I had sent her away. I could not even begin to imagine how badly I had hurt her and how much she must hate me.

It would be no match for how much I hated myself.

I was a grown man; I was independently wealthy and owned a very large family home, and as the Dark Lord had fallen, I had no more ties to Dumbledore. So why was I allowing that blasted man rule my life? Was my twisted sense of pride more important to me than having a beautiful woman love me?

For whatever reason, I could not bring myself to stand up to Dumbledore. He still held so much guilt over me and I was a pussy. There was nothing more to it. I was a fucking pussy and I couldn't stand up to a self-righteous old man.

Arriving back in my dungeons, I slammed the door and pulled out my brand new supply of firewhiskey. I was sure I would be needing plenty of it this summer. I had begun drinking heavily this morning and was quite sure that my planned research was going to be shelved this summer. I intended onng eng either drunk or hung-over every waking moment until Hermione left for her home. I was sure my little display this evening would prevent her from coming to look for me or from contacting me otherwise. I knew that everywhere I went this summer, Dumbledore would be there watching. What was that phrase the Muggles used? "Big Brother?" Indeed.

The firewhiskey had me nicely buzzing in short time, and I turned from furious to pleadingly miserable in a matter of seconds. I needed to talk to Hermione. I needed to explain. Even if she didn't understand. Even if she'd never read it.

I hastily pulled out a blank book, bound in leather, and began to write. In the weeks to come, the book would become a testament to my obsession with Hermione, but tonight, the only thing I could think of was getting all of the things I was feeling out of my head.

"My Dearest Hermione,

I cannot possibly explain to you how much it hurts me to not be with you right now. You should know right now that this is all Dumbledore's fault. I know I sound like a petulant child, but it is. He started it.

I know I have hurt you by leaving you that night and now by insulting you in the entrance hall. I am sorry. I hate myself more every second for not being able to tell you- to tell Albus to fuck off.

The night I spent with you was and is the best night of my life. I have been entranced by you for so long, Hermione, and to have you hold me and love me as you did was beyond every hope and dream I even had. I know you heard me when I told you I loved you, and I meant what I said. You are my everything.

To answer the question I can hear you asking even now, Dumbledore's wand warned him that you had cast a silencing spell and he came to investigate. When he could not find you, he became suspicious of me and deconstructed the spell. Perverted old bastard probably heard me screaming your name."

I could not continue writing. I was once again furious (and nicely wasted), and I threw the book away from me in a rage. I stormed from room to room until I found the thing I had unconsciously been searching for.

The tiny sickle sat proudly on my desk, slightly red from its last usage. Sitting at my desk, I once again carved at the Dark Mark, but after that lost its fun, I began to work on other designs. The pain of the blade was all I needed to take my mind off Hermione, but at the same time it increased my misery and my memories of her. The curve I traced along my rightearmearm was her smile, the drops of blood fallen on the desk were her eyes. I cut a crude "H" above the Dark Mark.

I am not sure if the firewhiskey precipitated the cutting incidents or if it simply gave me the courage to destroy myself slowly. Either way, I decided to pour it all out in the morning. Instead, I told myself to fuck of and downed the remainder of the bottle. The next day I would make my way to Hogsmeade to replenish my supply of firewhiskey and fine, sharp blades.

It most certainly would prove to be a very long summer.

**************A/N***************************
Thanks!
deblovesdragon: Um... yikes. Remind me never to piss you off in real life! Thanks for the review, even if it scared me a little!
spaz141: Thanks! You rock!
Shem: You need to lay off the... oh... "lemon drops?" Is that what the kids are calling it these days? And don't worry about Sev- he says "hi!" He's here in my bed... :)
Titania: Thanks! You rock, too!
GrrArrg: Thanks! You are queen of all ts...s... um... pertaining to J.Lo? Don't know. I'm tired. And my butt is still numb. Damn computers! Why can't they be easier to use in bed! Don't answer, I don't want to know.
LittleBird- Thanks!
XxphoenixX: Thanks! Hope the chapters made up for your crappy vacation. And I am smart as well, and I love classical music, but I hate the misconception that all smart people listen to is classical. And, no, I'm probably not a porn star compared to you. At least physically. In my sick, twisted mind maybe...
Deb: Thank you, and I am so sorry about your loss. I'm glad you had your husband, though. I'm sure it made everything better. I had my ex-boyfriend tell me he never wanted to marry me on the day of my father's funeral. I hope you're doing okay. I'm thinking of you and praying for you.