Defamation of Character

Chapter Thirteen –

Staring at the majesty of the mountains surrounding her, Hermione sipped her tea and leaned back in the rocking chair. She studied the peaks and valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains, trying to draw inspiration from her surroundings, not that the mountains surrounding Hogwarts weren’t grand, but she didn’t want to chance running into Severus… for as long as she lived.

She inhaled, trying to take in as much fresh air as possible before her lungs burst. A mountain setting was just what the doctor had ordered, figuratively speaking of course. She wasn’t ill. She was quite well. A successful author. Her feature articles for The Quibbler had boosted sales by over one hundred and fifty percent, and had made The Daily Prophet look like last week’s fish and chips wrapping. She did miss investigative work though. But, she was content.

She had her career and… no love life to speak of, a tiny, internal voice mumbled miserably.

“Hush!” seethed Hermione. “I shan’t think about him.” She shuddered as she continued lying to herself. It was six months today that she had walked out of Severus’ life. What would have happened if she had stayed?

That was a question best left unanswered, for she knew exactly what would have happened. She would have forsaken her dignity for meaningless sex. She had done the right thing. She had left Severus Snape’s bed before the sun had risen. Though painful, it had been the right thing to do. It didn’t matter that he had loved her. What mattered was that he hadn’t wanted to love her.

She had left him, leaving behind the illusion that making love to him had meant little more to her than a one-night stand. When she had woken, embarrassment swamped her, causing her to panic and run. It wasn’t a very Gryffindor thing to do, but what’s done is done.

In the end, the truth had slapped her upside the head. As each day passed, turning into weeks and the weeks into months, she was reminded that Severus didn’t want to love her.
She had hoped that making love to him would make him want to love her, but that was like tossing a knut in a wishing well. There was no tidy, happily-ever-after ending for them. This wasn’t one of her romance novels. Too much had transpired between them to be neatly wrapped up in four hundred pages or less.

“I am content.”

Hermione frowned, no longer able to believe the words. “Devastated and hurt, the hero comes crawling back to the heroine on bended knee, begging for forgiveness and sweeping the heroine away. Yeah,” she scoffed mockingly, “right.”

An owl screeched in the distance, rescuing her from her melancholy thoughts. “You really need to stop living in a fantasy realm, Hermione. Relationships or lack thereof do not follow a set pattern of nonsensical notions.

“Romance is dead. It isn’t like Severus will Apparate into your bedroom and witch-nap you.”

The owl landed on the railing and dropped its overly large package, hopping excitedly as it waited for its treat.

This one owl, with markings similar to Hedwig’s, was a veritable mystery in her life. Most owls were redirected to Molly and Ginny. They handled all the fan mail, but this owl could not be redirected. And it was untraceable so she couldn’t even respond to the author of the letters to let her/him know that she could not possibly use any of her/his material.

Dictaquill-written chapters had kept arriving once a month for the past six months. The plot was non-existent. The hero was a nasty troll, and the heroine was stubbornly flawless. She honestly didn’t know if it was supposed to be a romance novel or a comedy. To be honest, the plot did not appeal to her, though it did have some humorous parts.

“This should be chapter six,” she handed the owl a treat, and it hooted softly in agreement. Untying the string that bound the brown wrapper around it, she sighed. “What the hell! I might as well read it. It will be good for a laugh.”

The package seemed larger than usual, and as she tore the wrapper away, Hermione could see why. Instead of the pages of a manuscript, there was a red notebook and a note. She opened the note with shaky hands.

Dearest Hermione,

I hardly know where to begin. I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have enclosed your notebook that I absconded with so long ago. It is unlikely that I shall ever be able to offer you enough recompense for my behavior toward you. I had hoped that you would be able to forgive me with the passage of time, but I see now that is not to be. I wish you the best in all your future endeavors.

Yours,

Severus

She flipped the letter over, expecting there to be more… hoping for there to be more. Nothing. She picked up her old notebook and thumbed through it, noticing that the pages were crisp, yet slightly worn. She came to the last entry, a scene between Cassandra and Simon—a scene that she had wanted desperately to realize.

She was such a “cowardly lion.” Simon was Severus, but Cassandra was somebody else. If she were truly Cassandra, she would have tied Severus to the nearest bed and made him love her. Cassandra would not have given up so easily. She wouldn’t have been satisfied until Simon wrote love sonnets for her.

But Simon wanted to love Cassandra, a reasonable voice reminded her.

“You can’t make someone love you,” agreed Hermione.

Actually, you can, the voice encouraged. Love potions are illegal for a reason.

“Are you suggesting that I spike his pumpkin juice with a Love Potion?” she mumbled the question softly.

Thankfully, her conscience didn’t reply. She flipped to a blank page and jotted the question down, turning her frustration and pity-party into a creative exercise.

Requited Love
by
Hermione J. Granger

The young witch splintered into two.

Would she ever be whole again? Most likely not…

Even as she rested on top of her lover, still intimately connected with him, she felt that pain of truth keenly.

“I love you,” he had blurted, though the look in his eyes had told a different story. It was as though she could read his mind. He would sell his soul to not love her. Love was a burden. It was a curse.

The notebook lurched in her lap as if a pair of ghostly hands had taken hold of it. She held onto it and watched in fascinated horror when bright red script started overwriting the beginning of her scene.

The title and first three paragraphs were left alone, but the third paragraph looked like it was bleeding. The red lettering appear with broad, assured strokes. “I love you!” he declared, the look in his eyes shuttered and unsure. If she could read his mind, she would find fear—a mindless, paralyzing fear. His love for her was no burden. Nor was it a curse.

Hermione stared at the edits in shock, suddenly remembering the blue notebook and the enchantment. Staring at the page, shock turned to fascinated hope. Seconds turned into minutes, the rustle of the wind through the trees her only companion.

She must have fallen asleep. This must be a dream.

The other author added more. His love for her terrified him. He had never imagined that love was so potent. The last sentence was written slowly, each letter methodically written, forming the words that Hermione had difficulty understanding.

The other author continued. He had lost her once. Could he gather the courage and convince her of his sincerity? Could he ever earn her forgiveness?

Hermione read the last two paragraphs again and again, twisting the words around in her head and looking for hidden meanings. Then she looked up, searching for practical jokers or hidden cameras, the dream-like quality melting as she realized that she was indeed awake and alone. More words appeared.

He knew he didn’t deserve her, but his parsimonious nature overruled his good intentions.

“Parsimonious?” Hermione sniggered. She struck the word with a bold flourish and a note. “Selfish is more like it,” she murmured shakily.

--

Hope flourished in his decrepit heart when he saw her response. It wasn’t exactly “I love you and forgive you,” but he would take what he would get. She had responded. He circled her suggestion and added one of his own. Agreed… I am a selfish bastard

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he waited for a response, but there was none. The least she could do is agree with him. Months… He had wasted months without her, taking Minerva and Albus’ advice and giving her time and space.

The ache in his chest still had yet to abate. When he had woken alone, he had stared at the indentation in her pillow.

He should have known. Even buried within her, there had been something in her eyes… something within her that she had held back. Distrust. He had convinced himself that she had loved him enough to forgive him. He had convinced himself that they would overcome his original cruelty, and he had been willing to exploit her feelings to appease his own.

But it hadn’t worked. He had woken up alone.

It was a bitter potion to swallow. She may have loved him, but she certainly hadn’t trusted him. It was unlikely that she ever would. After all, he had plotted to discredit her… to destroy her infatuation with him.

Had he succeeded?

Resentful rage had flared to life within him. He had set out to find Hermione, but had run into Minerva and Albus instead. They had convinced him to give her time, but he hadn’t really listened to them. Instead, he had picked up his quill and started writing.

At first, he had written for therapeutic purposes. Once he had written the first chapter of their story, he’d sent it to her. It wasn’t as though he had chronicled their relationship. He had buried their true identities beneath layers of purple prose that even he had difficulty discerning between fiction and reality.

He had lost count of how many times he’d entertained the idea of witch-napping her, but if he’d learned anything about Hermione Granger, he’d learned that she didn’t respond well to being bullied.

Another school year had passed, another group of blithering idiots fostered. Throughout the months, he had plotted and schemed ways to win her, none of which would have worked, for they were convoluted and manipulative. He had resigned himself to the inevitable.

He still owed her an apology, one that wasn’t influenced by Truth Serum or Firewhisky, but one that…

Severus? Her elegant handwriting was a sight for his sore eyes.

Seagulls and crashing waves sounded in the distance. He had returned to the scene of the crime. Dipping the tip of his quill into the ink well, he responded. Yes.

--

Deep down, she’d know who had been sending the speckled owl with the horrendous chapters, but she had ignored it and had buried it. Severus… The confirmation shattered her serenity. She didn’t know what she was angrier about—the fact that Severus was a world-class arse, or the fact that it had taken him so long to contact her. Part of her wanted to slam the notebook down and cast it into the lush bushes that surrounded the property. The other part, the one that had pined for the dark-haired wizard for the last several months, kept staring at the page.

Then there was a part of her that wanted to slam the notebook shut, find Severus, and smack him upside the head with it.

“That’s just great!” she exclaimed, her writing instrument poised over the paper. “I’m going crazy. I have three voices in my head arguing over what to do!”

--

What could he say? He’d lost count of the times he’d lain in bed devising elaborate plans to get her back. Most of the plans revolved around using the Obliviate Charm on her and starting from scratch. That, of course, was totally unacceptable… convenient, but unacceptable.

Several minutes had passed since his last entry. Certain that Hermione had recognized the red notebook on sight, he grew nervous. (She was an over-intelligent witch and had undoubtedly figured out what he was up to by now.) Closing his eyes, he sought his spy, Silvan, his white-speckled owl. Hopefully, the bird was still with Hermione.

He centered himself, struggling to push aside his anxiety. It was now or never. He had to make his move. He had to make his motives known. He felt like the Grand Wizard Tulane at the Battle of Stonehenge. If he failed to win Hermione now, all was lost to him.

Chanting, Severus connected with his owl and saw what Silvan saw. Owl-vision was quite disconcerting, seeing as they saw things in such a different manner. Silvan was a hyper owl and, as usual, was hopping up and down and hooting for treats. He could only see through Silvan, not listen. He willed the animal to turn its head, for all he saw was the wall of the log cabin Hermione currently called home.

As if Silvan had read his thoughts, the owl turned. The vision that greeted him stole his breath away. He was no angel. He’d been spying on Hermione through Silvan ever since he’d sent the owl with the first few chapters. It was his insurance policy. He couldn’t very well stand aside and let some other wizard woo her.

Woo her?

What had ever happened to that plan?

It was a victim of cowardice, a caustic voice reminded him none-so-gently.

Severus winced. The witch that he spied upon deserved so much more than what he had to offer. The irony of his situation twisted in his gut like a rusted knife. He had read all of her books, which made romance seem… well, romantic. Ha! It was anything but! Romance was nothing more than a bloody battle.

She sat there, talking animatedly at the notebook.

--

“Yes?” Hermione hissed, somehow resisting the urge to rip the page out of the book. “Is that all you have to say?” She felt cheated. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. You were supposed to show up, toss me over your shoulder, take me somewhere… anywhere… and make passionate love to me! You were supposed to become an Alpha male and make demands of me that, although I didn’t like them, agreed to reluctantly. That’s the way it works in romance books!

“Are you here to ruin yet another vacation? Where have you been? What do you want?” she asked, running her hand along the page and tracing the one-word response as if she were touching him. Realizing she was lovingly stroking the page, she shook her hand and smacked the armrest of the chair she was sitting in.

Be careful, red ink scrawled beneath his earlier response. You wouldn’t want to hurt the chair.

--

Severus grinned, wondering how long it would take her to realize he was spying on her. Fortunately for him, Silvan was standing still and staring at her with his unblinking gaze.
He watched as she leaned forward and scribbled hastily in the notebook.

Where are you? What do you want? Her letters displayed her frustration. There were brood loops in her handwriting.

I am far away, he replied quickly, knowingly goading her. He couldn’t resist. An ocean did not separate them, but distance did. Instead of brewing for the summer, he had taken time away from his duties and had set out to apologize and hopefully ensnare his lover. Somehow, he reasoned, it was imperative they come full circle. So, he had chosen to return to the vacation villa that she had visited last summer.

I see. He could feel her anger radiate off the page. What do you want? she repeated the question.

“You,” he replied softly. I must speak with you. I hope that you will grant me the courtesy of an audience. The last page in your notebook is a Portkey. It is set to depart in one hour.

--

Hermione slammed the notebook shut. “Of all the nerve!” Suddenly, poisoning Severus and Love Potion and smacking him upside the head with the notebook didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

--

TBC

Author’s Notes – So, I lied. This isn’t the last chapter. Please except my apologies for the lack of update, but real life issues have seriously cut into my writing time. I cannot thank Jen enough for helping me through this story. Please, please, please! I am begging everyone who reviews this chapter to make sure the reviews are spoiler-free. I am halfway though Deathly Hallows. I do know how it ends because I cheated and read the epilogue. Unlike my sister, I cannot read a seven hundred fifty-nine-page book in three hours. Sniff! Anyway, I know who lives and who dies. As for any characters that you see living in this story, I am well aware that it is AU and non-canon. I consider fanfiction, by its very nature, to be an alternative universe to canon. It’s fun to take characters out of their element and play with them. Any hoo! The next chapter is really the last. Thank you so much for reading. God bless!