The Unfortunates

Ah! Finally back, ey...? Have had the worst couple of weeks, what with the end of term and so on... Was so tired, then I finished this chapter earlier today and it just made my day... I never relax as much as when I get to write; it’s the best therapy in the world. That and, of course, the response from people who read and enjoy what I write.

On with the story, lads! Yeah!

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE INFATUATIONS OF A POTIONS MASTER


“What do you mean?”

“Are my words really that difficult to decipher, Mr. Potter? I meant exactly what I said: Release him.”

“What happened to all this stuff about him being a traitor? Hermione gave you the facts, Professor; I would’ve thought –”

“The very same Hermione also just gave me the facts that prove our beloved Frenchman is innocent, as it happens,” interrupted Severus in a weary voice. “So I suggest you do as I’ve been saying from the beginning and release him.”

Potter didn’t have an answer to this one, but luckily, his dear guardian and protector stepped in to support him:

“You are going to have to give us the full story, Severus,” said Lupin calmly.

So he did.

By the time he was finished, Severus was nothing short of completely exhausted. He couldn’t really understand why; he’d had days a lot harder than this one before, with less weariness following still. Perhaps there was something special about today, though...

Severus rubbed his temples, keeping his eyes firmly shut, as he with forced patience listened to his fellow Rebels’ discussion on what to do on the matter of Claude Accolade.

“Well, of course we’ll have to let him out of that dungeon!” said Ginny Weasley defiantly. “He’s innocent! We’ll have to apologize and bring him straight up!”

“Yez, but of curze,” said the French girl, Eponine. “Az I zed from ze beginning, Claude ‘az done notin’ wrong!”

“Look,” said Bill Weasley, “of course he’s innocent, and of course we’ll have to release him, but stop and think for a second: We’ve kept this guy locked up against his will and with no valid reason for weeks; we can’t just run down there and throw the door open and expect he’ll just forgive us and everything will be fine. What if –”

“Look,” interrupted Severus then, climbing wearily to his feet with the help of his palms on the table, “if you don’t mind, I would like to retreat to my quarters. I’ve had a most... challenging day, and I would really like some peace and quiet.”

There were no immediate answers to this; apparently they all thought it unfair that he should leave, because he’d after all been the one who’d brought the news that threw Claude to the dungeons, but all the same he had also been the one to meet up with Hermione tonight to get the truth and surely that must have been tiring... Not to mention he probably looked too intimidating and ready for a fight for anyone to dare challenge anyway.

“Right, then,” he said with satisfaction before any of them managed to gather enough courage to answer, “I’ll say goodnight.”

He left them in a hurry, rushing from the dining hall with his robes billowing behind him as he impatiently sought for the solitude and quiet of his rooms. When he reached there, he hurried inside and slammed the door shut behind him, making his swift way across the room to his bureau where he knew his cigarettes and a half forgotten bottle of Firewhisky could be found.

He lit the cigarette with his wand, inhaling deeply whilst simultaneously pouring himself a glass. The taste of strong alcohol and nicotine did miracles for his nerves, as they always did. With a few weary steps he was finally able to sit himself down on the bed, taking a real breath for the first time in at least three hours as he finally let his body relax.

Hermione.

The name popped into his head so suddenly he felt a strange kind of twinge in his stomach as the many thoughts and memories rushed to his brain, forcing him to remember and relive the experience from The Shrieking Shack with intensification.

No one could accuse Severus Snape of being a man women willingly kissed. Nor could he be accused of being a man who willingly and with real care kissed women, either; though he obviously adored women as such and the sound of some wanton female (what heterosexual men didn’t enjoy that?) he had never taken any particular interest in the opposite sex. He’d never gotten to know any of them with the prospect of potential partnership, nor had he ever really cared for any woman besides his Mother.

Oh, wait. That wasn’t true, was it...

But the memory of her... It brought back other, more recent memories, such as those of both Severus and Hermione watching the silvery figure in the gardens, and that again brought back even worse, yet older, memories, ones Severus had long ago forced himself to block out.

So no, he wouldn’t think of her. No way.

“Fuck off,” he whispered silently to his glass of Firewhisky, willing the memories to just vanish permanently. “You know you should.”

But she didn’t.

Quite the opposite, in fact – there she was.

Right in front of his bed, staring at him with the emptiest eyes Severus had ever seen; staring silently and unmoving and almost tearing his soul out with that cold, yet desperate, frozen gaze. Severus could feel a chill creeping slowly up his spine, grasping at the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sending goosebumps across every inch of his skin.

She was here. Now. Staring at him; her eyes showed no fury or bitterness, just cold and unchanging desperation.

Her face and body revealed nothing, but her eyes said it all.

Suddenly, Severus felt an unbelievably strong urge to tell her everything. All about Hermione, their encounters at Lilly’s and now the kiss from The Shack. He wanted to say all that he felt; how confused and hurtful he was; how he yearned and yet hated himself for yearning.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, she suddenly moved, for the very first time since she had appeared there in front of him.

She turned, her movements very graceful and unwavering considering what state her body looked to be in, her silver-coloured face still emotionless as her gaze turned away from Severus’s to look at the wall at the far end of the room.

Severus didn’t watch her as she walked away, but he knew if he had he would have seen her glide with elegance straight through that wall, apparently completely ignorant to the fact that she was passing through solid stone rather than thin air.

And just like that, she was gone and he was alone again.

Severus felt if he had just been given the opportunity to tell her about Hermione, he wouldn’t feel so guilty and hurtful. He wouldn’t be so angry with himself, he was certain of this, if only he could have told someone... most of all, her.

The woman who would never stop haunting him.

And Severus didn’t even know what she wanted. He seriously suspected she was sticking around just to make his every day a reminder of all the mistakes he’d made in his life. She was undoubtedly a big part of one of them.

“Fuck off,” he whispered again, this time angrily, as he downed his Firewhisky and hastily poured himself another while inhaling deeply from the cigarette. He felt like some pathetic addict, drinking and smoking and wallowing in self pity and old memories.

No, better then with new memories. Happy, new memories.

Not even the phantom who haunted his childhood home (and garden in particular) could ruin those memories:

The feel of Hermione Granger in his arms, clinging to him, kissing him back with care and emotion and a need as great as his own, perhaps greater, was a memory unlike any he’d had before. Warmth spread through him at the very thought of her and rid him of any leftovers there might have been of the chills and goosebumps; Hermione was a beautiful, young woman; fierce and passionate, and she’d kissed him.

Yes, he’d kissed her first, and he’d not been very nice about it, this he would not deny, but... But she’d kissed him that second time, showing him that she indeed wanted him; showing him that perhaps there was some flicker of hope, after all.

He downed his second glass, put it on the nightstand and grasped at the bed sheets while he inhaled from the cigarette again, blowing out smoke to dance gracefully in the half-moonlight that illuminated his room.

A knock on the door interrupted his uneasy ponderings on Hermione.

“Severus?”

It was Lupin, carefully stepping into the room as though he feared some beast in the shadows may attack did he not tread lightly; he then spotted Severus on the bed and approached him.

Severus glanced up with disinterest, inhaling the last of his cigarette and enjoying each second of it.

“I hope I’m not disturbing,” said Lupin, his voice much kinder than Severus had thought it would be, “I just figured I’d let you know that Claude Accolade has been released from the dungeons. He wasn’t as angry as we feared he’d be. More relieved, I think in fact. Poor bloke had been terrified of what we were going to do to him. You the most, I think,” he added with a small smile.

“Ah,” said Severus, glancing away to glare at the stone wall. He really didn’t want to look into Lupin’s eyes right now; he knew he probably looked a right mess.

He noticed Lupin was taking in the surroundings, probably spotting both the bottle and the empty glass. The wolf sighed heavily before speaking again.

“Did something happen today, Severus?”

“What?”

“You didn’t have any troubles, did you? Getting back and forth, for example? I realize it can be a bit of a challenge to stay hidden while passing through all of Diagon Alley... They know you’re alive, after all.”

“No,” replied Severus wearily. “No troubles, Lupin.”

“Hm.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Severus felt the bed sink slightly as Lupin sat down next to him.

“I take it Hermione is alright?”

“She appeared fine,” replied Severus stiffly.

“Oh, I’m glad.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lupin,” he snarled before he could stop himself.

Lupin actually laughed. “What are you on about, Severus? You sure have a short temper today... or at least tonight; you weren’t as bad as this when you left. Yet you seem to be drowning something, the gods only know what, in alcohol and cigarettes. Are you certain nothing happened?”

“Who would know, if not I?” snapped Severus, turning his head to glare angrily at the werewolf.

“Hermione, for one,” said Lupin with a wink. He appeared thoroughly amused.

“I am surprised you aren’t ripping my head off,” said Severus through clenched teeth, “considering the reprimand you gave me the last time I dared go near her. Actually, come to think of it I am surprised you even supported my being the one to stay in touch with her.”

Lupin sighed. “Honestly, Severus. Don’t forget I am used to be listening to my instincts and senses. As such, I pride myself on being more attentive than most, and I tend to notice things that often pass others by unnoticed.”

“If you have a point to your drivel, Lupin, I’d rather you make it q–”

“More than anything it became obvious to me while Hermione stayed here,” continued Lupin as though unaffected, “and strangely enough it actually shows better on you than on her, simply because you are so desperately trying to hide it, both from yourself and from those around you.”

“What are you on about?”

Lupin drew a deep breath then, and in stead of answering he got to his feet and glanced around the room.

“Get some sleep, Severus. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He made for the door, but as he reached it he stopped with his hand on the handle, not yet turning it. “Just... watch yourself, man.”

Severus turned abruptly on the bed to glare at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Be careful what you do, Severus. I won’t have you ruining anyone’s lives again.”

And with that, he left.

Severus sighed, throwing himself back on the bed, glaring up at the roof and feeling completely pathetic and yet proud and irritated, to top it all off.

I won’t have you ruining anyone’s lives again.

Fuck it. Lupin didn’t know what he was talking about.

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It was a common known fact to most in the Wizarding world that at Malfoy Manor, voices were never raised and loud noises were never heard. Even at night, during some great aristocratic party, the old house still appeared as though deadly silent despite the hundreds of voices that exchanged friendly conversation on the inside. Even when music was played, the Manor held a quiet air about itself. It spoke of dignity and honour, above all, and anyone who had ever sat foot in Malfoy Manor would be quite used to the fact that one would always hear the creaking of feet on floor or old clocks ticking during their stay; there was always a subconscious silence present.

At night, that silence was ten times as intense.

And although Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy treasured this infamous silence, their newest employee however, did not.

Hermione was sitting on her bed, wide awake, practically watching time pass her by. The only sounds that could be heard were those of the wind outside and a ticking that she suspected actually came from the old grandfather’s clock on the first floor. Yes, it was far away, but one couldn’t put anything past this manor.

Grasped in her hands, Hermione held a small, silver pendant.

She couldn’t sleep. She felt as though she couldn’t think, either, though she deep down knew that was exactly what she was doing, and too much of it at that. She just couldn’t get rest now; it was impossible.

She’d gone over her situation again and again that night. Her earlier decision didn’t seem to sit well with her, and although she desperately wanted to just forget all that had happened in The Shack, she had found as the evening grew late and she still couldn’t sleep that it was something she simply couldn’t put aside. Not for a month, a week or even a few days.

Which was why the pendant was now cradled in her hands.

She desperately wanted to use it. The only problem was, she had no idea what to say, was she to send him a message. She had no news for the Rebels, after all, and nothing had happened that they really needed know of.

She could tell him about her confrontation with Mrs. Malfoy though, couldn’t she?

No. That wasn’t really something to tell; she’d dealt with it and nothing bad had come from the talk with the lady of the house, after all. That was no excuse to be disturbing Professor Snape at half past two in the morning.

Half past two. Surely he was asleep; there was no point sending him a message now, he probably wouldn’t read it until he awoke the next morning anyway.

Hermione drew a deep breath and slowly, almost unwillingly, she placed the pendant on the bed sheets as she made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for bed.

When she returned a few minutes later, she picked the pendant up again to place it around her neck as she crawled into bed, but then found to her surprise that there was something different about it now.

It wasn’t plain, as it usually was; in stead a sentence had formed itself on the one side in elegant, loopy letters:

Miss Granger: I think you and I need to find the time to discuss a few essential matters.

Hermione felt as if her heart had just jumped up to her throat; he’d contacted her! He, Snape, felt they needed to discuss something!

Wait. Was that good? What did he want to discuss? Perhaps he didn’t feel as Hermione did at all; perhaps he wanted to say they should just forget the incident and move on with the mission.

What if he just wanted to make sure nothing more would ever happen?

No, that can’t be it – can it?

After all, he’d kissed her first! It always came back to that, and Hermione felt it was a good argument. Reaching for her wand, she whispered an evanesco to make Snape’s words disappear before conducting her reply:

“Perscribo ‘Really, Professor? What are we to discuss?’”

The words immediately appeared along the edges of the small pendant, sending Hermione’s message straight to its twin.

The reply came within a matter of seconds.

Ah, you are awake. I had expected your reply in the morning.

Hermione couldn’t resist a grin as she replied him.

You are avoiding my question, Professor.

This time, his reply took a lot longer time; it was at least three minutes before Hermione’s words were replaced with his own. He’d written a bit more this time:

It was not intentional. I believe you know what we ought to discuss, Hermione – unless you have already forgotten what happened today?

Hermione drew a deep breath and conducted her words with outmost care.

I have not forgotten, but remember we are at a war here, Sir; don’t you think there are more important issues to address?

His reply took even longer this time, still it was the shortest one yet.

Perhaps.

Hermione felt a twinge in her stomach at his one, single word; he sounded so rejected; a moment earlier he had practically confronted her on their kiss, and now he appeared closed and warded again, thanks to her reluctant attitude.

This was Professor Snape, after all, he was known for his ice cold appearance. For a single moment he had dared to be honest with a person – and a Gryffindor at that – and Hermione had been stupid enough to indicate she didn’t want to discuss what had happened; that she thought other issues were more important...

Nothing’s more important than this...

Now he’d pulled back, and unless Hermione did something she’d never even get a chance with him again...

She wanted a chance with him. She wanted Professor Snape, then? Liked him? Fancied him?

Hell yes.

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione conducted her final reply to her ex Potions Master, her heart still caught in her throat:

My apologies, Professor, I should have chosen my words with more care. I too feel we need to discuss what occurred between us, and I think I’ll go insane if it doesn’t happen soon. I will keep my eyes open for any opportunity I get to sneak out tomorrow; I will send you a message and pray to the gods you’ll be willing to meet with me. Sleep well, Professor – yours truly, Hermione.

He did not reply to it.


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A/N: Ah, there we are! Thanks so much to my beta, JessiokaFroka, and hopefully you won’t hate me too much for this cliffie... Now, I know some of you will be wondering about the size of this pendant, seeing as how a message as long as Hermione\'s could fit on it... It\'s not that big, and the writing\'s small and goes around in circles if necessary. ;) It\'s magic, okay? And an author\'s liberty. ;) Please review, as I cannot go on without it!