Brewing Glory

A/N:

I am so so sooo sorry to any of my dedicated readers for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. I had a huge case of writers block and a lot going on with school and work. This chapter is not quite as long as the others, but I figured it would be enough to hold you off for now. Thanks for being patient, and thanks to everyone who gave helpful ideas. I am keeping them in mind.





Hermione’s face was pressed deep into the sheets of a very comfortable bed, a very familiar bed. It smelled clean and of fresh shampoo that she recognized as her own. As her eyes began to open slowly, she realized that she was lying in her four-poster in Gryffindor Tower.



She slowly rolled around so that she was lying on her back. The sun was not shining through the window as it usually did, with the birds chirping happily outside. Instead, it was sad and dreary.



As Hermione lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, she realized that Snape must have taken her up here. He must have must have cleaned her up, judging by the smell of her hair, and taken her to bed. He must have done all of this, despite having forced himself upon her the previous night.



A well of emotions seemed to wash through Hermione’s body all at once and she found that she wanted nothing more than to start sobbing and crying her eyes out. The pain welled up inside of her chest, but just when she thought the tears would leak out of her eyes, nothing came. Instead, she lay there, broken and still, almost as if she were dead.




Minutes went by before her mind began to process what was actually going on around her. She turned to her side and reached lazily into the drawer of her dresser to try and find her wand. Her hand searched blindly through the contents before her it landed upon something small and smooth.




Her hand immediately stopped. She grasped the object and pulled out a small bottle of liquid, which she remembered as the Felix Felicis she had made with Snape. She wondered idly if she should simply throw it against the wall, watch the glass of the vial shatter, along with her memories of their time they spent together. She found that she could not bring herself to do it.

Hermione held onto the vial even tighter as she pulled herself out of bed.



She needed to get dressed. It was time to begin her day, and to hold her head high.



After Hermione had cleaned herself up and gotten dressed, she headed down into the common room to find it was almost deadly silent. The fireplace in front of the sofa was crackling softly, obviously seconds away from dying out. Nobody was within eye vision and no sounds could be heard.



Curious, Hermione went down the steps and headed downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. Even the hallways were quieter than normal. The portraits almost seemed still and very few students, ghosts, and teachers were walking along the halls.



For a moment it felt like she had fallen into some sort of deathly dream, like she was in some sort of ghostly empty castle with no one in it but herself. She felt like she was nothing, no one, alone in such a large place. And for a moment a heavy feeling of depression and remorse arose in her chest, even more powerful than when she had woken up earlier that morning.



She felt as if she were smaller than ever, a mere parasite on the face of the earth. And in all reality, she was, but it had never been quite so obvious until now. Her perception of herself had fallen greatly and it seemed as if her self-esteem had fallen lower than ever. As she waited for the staircases to move, she slid the back of her hand gently down the smooth railing, a lock of hair falling in front of her eyes.



Hermione took a deep breath and held her head high, pulling open the door to the Great Hall. She felt a small rush of relief to find that everyone was in for breakfast. She still remained puzzled at the fact that everything and everyone seemed so empty, so quiet, so… broken.



Almost timidly, she made her way towards the Gryffindor table where she usually sat, her robes swaying behind her as she walked. She was more than relieved and more than grateful to find Harry and Ron sitting across from each other, quietly eating their breakfast.



“Good morning,” she said quietly, taking a seat next to Harry as a breakfast plate appeared in front of her.



“Morning, Hermione,” said Harry cautiously, surveying her appearance. “You don’t look so well, are you feeling alright?”



She looked up to meet his eyes and saw the look of concern there and looked away almost immediately back towards her plate. “I’m fine,” she said, picking up a piece of toast and buttering it slowly.



Out of the corner of her eye, she saw both of the boys give each other a look of slight confusion, but continued eating. She remembered again so suddenly, of the events that had taken place the night before it a dark, deserted corridor, with no one other than Snape.



Knowing that he could be sitting at the front of the room, so close to she than he had been in several hours, made her heart beat furiously against her rib cage. He could be sitting right there at the head table like he did most mornings, sipping at a cup of coffee and eating quietly, acting as if nothing ever even happened, like he normally did.



Hermione inconspicuously darted her eyes over to where he normally sat, and almost jumped in surprise when she did not finding him sitting there. But where could he be? Her eyes scanned along the table quickly. There was McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Binns, Trelawney… but no Snape? And wait a moment, where was Dumbledore, as well?



Her eyes moved along the table more anxiously now, desperately trying to find the black clad man sitting somewhere, but he was nowhere to be found. And neither was Dumbledore, and he would’ve been much easier to spot than Snape.



She must have her anxiety known, because she was soon torn out of her reverie to the sound of Ron calling her name.



“Hermione?” he asked, swallowing the last of his food, “Hermione are you sure you’re okay?”



Her head snapped over quickly to look at him and she nodded hastily, and tried to calm herself. “I’m just—” she took a deep breath, looking back and forth between the two of them, “Where’s Professor Dumbledore this morning?”



“Don’t know,” Harry said suddenly, setting down his fork. He looked tired himself, almost exhausted. He looked over to Ron, “we tried to ask McGonagall where he was but…”



“No luck there,” said Ron, reaching in to grab a second helping, “we kept trying to get it out of her of course, but she kept saying,” he began to mimic McGonagall’s strict tone of voice, “‘That is strictly between Professor Dumbledore and I!’”



“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “And what doe he think he’s doing, leaving at a time like this, especially after what happened last night?”



She and Harry’s eyes locked for a moment and she could tell exactly what he was thinking and how he was feeling. Confused, and somewhat betrayed at the thought of Dumbledore being absent at a time when they needed him most, and afraid, that in the end everything would not turn out like they always told him it would.



“You shouldn’t be angry with him though, Harry,” Hermione said rationally, glancing over at her food and suddenly losing her appetite. “We have to trust him, and he’s all that we have right now besides him and…” she stopped.



“Besides him and who?” Ron asked curiously, his mouth full of food.



Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes and shifted uncomfortably, taking a deep breath, “Professor Snape.”



“Snape?” they both asked incredulously, at the same time.



“Yes, Snape,” Hermione snapped, becoming braver now. “Despite how much you two have come to, oh what’s the word, loathe him, he is Dumbledore’s man through and through and you really ought to accept that if you ever want to have a chance of succeeding.”



“Honestly, Hermione, what has the git truly ever done for us?” asked Ron, still finding it hard to believe that Snape was truly on their side. But it did not matter to her; she knew deep within her heart, despite the things he had done to her, he was on their side.



“More than you are capable of seeing with that thick head of yours, Ronald,” she snapped, throwing down her napkin and standing up.



Ron’s cheeks turned a light shade of scarlet and he stood up also, “Then where is he now? Not here obviously, he’s probably run away like some sort of coward!”



The last word Ron spoke made Hermione’s blood boil. She gave a quick look to Harry, who was sitting there, his mouth agape. She gave Ron a nasty look before stepping over the bench of the table and storming off angrily.



“Good job there, Ron,” said Harry, sighing heavily, turning back to his food.



Ron sat back down; his face even redder than it was moments before. “She had it coming, mate.”



A few minutes later, Hermione was pacing the area around the Black Lake, her hair flying everywhere as the wind blew it around. She stopped suddenly and looked out into the distance when suddenly a well of tears began to stream down her cheeks. It was the heaviest she had cried probably since the Infractus Corpus curse. The damn curse had ruined her life. If she had never been the object of Voldemort’s attention and had taken that curse, she would have never had to live with Snape while he watched after her, worked with her, and even became somewhat close with her.



If you called him having sex with her twice ‘getting close’.



The pain was overwhelming and her knees suddenly buckled beaneath her. She fell onto the ground, looking up into the sky. It began to rain suddenly, the water plastering her wild hair to her head. She leaned over to clutch at the wet grass as her tears continued to fall. Hermione knew she had to calm herself and get inside before she got sick, or before something else happened.



Last time she had been wondering the grounds, he had taken her away, and that’s where it all began.



Leaning up slowly, she brushed off the front of her robes when her hand came across something hard sitting on the inside of her pocket. She reached into her cloak and pulled out the small vial she had found earlier that morning, the bottle of Felix Felicis she had made with Snape so long ago.



Looking at the little bottle ignited a small spark of hope inside of her. A kind of hope that told her the fight was not over yet, that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright again. She looked at it for another few moments and then tucked it back into the safety of her robes.



Before she had time to get on her feet and make her way back to the castle, a vice like grip grabbed her throat and threw her backward. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a hooded figure, tall and lean.



But now, she had a sinking feeling the man standing above her was not Snape. He would not be there to save her this time.