Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy

Author's Notes: And the story begins… with Hermione.

Very special thanks to my wonderful beta, melusin.

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Hermione hated it here.

“It’s for your safety.” Dumbledore always reminded her of that.

The faded blanket covering her legs irritated her skin, making her even more restless. A forgotten book hung by her fingertips, while her gaze lingered over the parchment on the table. Her eyes glazed over, unblinking, as her mind became distracted by a variety of thoughts. Dumbledore had personally written to her, reminding her of the importance of not trying to contact her parents. She hadn’t seen them for months and longed for the simple comfort of her Muggle home.

“Find contentment in knowing they are safe, Hermione, and remember that your lack of communication keeps them that way.”

Contentment my arse, she thought.

Kicking the blanket from her legs, she shifted her sore bum on the hard window seat. “Ugh, look at yourself. Just how much more self-pity can you wallow in?”

Her parents were fine. Harry was fine. She was not only healthy, but had received the annual Hogwarts letter along with Dumbledore’s, stating that she was to be made Head Girl. It had been her dream since she was eleven years old.

“So why does it feel so unimportant now?”

Hermione, on the other hand, did not feel fine. She should have been thanking the heavens above to have survived a pretty uneventful sixth year in the middle of a war. But, in truth, such lack of action from Voldemort and his Death Eaters unnerved her to the point of nausea; especially when she did nothing but sit idly like this.

Hermione had had a long, lonely summer, thinking and languishing in the dankness that was number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Although, absolutely safe to all harmful forces that would relish the opportunity to get their hands on a Muggle-born witch, and Harry Potter’s best mate, she just never imagined that she would spend so much time there completely, and utterly, alone. At least during other visits, she had had Molly to keep her company, and the blasted twins to evoke the noisy wrath of Madam Black.

Even the plentifully stocked library downstairs held little appeal to her at this very moment.

“What is wrong with me?”

Her question was answered by a deep, irritated growl.

“Sorry, Crookshanks, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Sighing deeply, she moved to the dull oak dressing table beside her four-poster bed. Looking in the mirror whilst reaching for her hair pins, Hermione stopped to gaze at her reflection. She knew exactly what was wrong with her. Hermione was confused.

Which, of course, was not a sufficient explanation for her current state of mind. She felt exactly the way she looked.

I’m no longer a child.

In fact she was far from it. Hermione was not vain by nature. Outward appearances were never important to her. She never noticed a change in her physical appearance until her thoughts and emotions altered as well. Beauty and pleasure were more then corporal, it strengthened deep from within, like a fire continuously fed. Untouchable, Hermione’s loveliness could not wear rouge. No, definitely not vain. Sensual was the term she liked to use.

Hermione's signature hair was still as full and thick as ever, but years of trial and error had taught Hermione the art of nurturing wild curls. Hermione had begun to enjoy the romanticism of her hair and had allowed it to grow to mid-waist, slightly shorter at her crown, with short wispy curls that framed her neck and face.

Her current physical scrutiny followed her into the bathroom as she prepared for her bath. Sensual. That description hit her again as she removed her light-blue, satin bath robe. Glimpsing herself in the cracked mirror mounted around the ancient, claw-footed tub, she attempted to critically assess her body.

“No, definitely no longer a child.” She smiled.

Truthfully, in the last year, Hermione had gained weight. Naturally, at first she had been extremely self-conscious about her image when her old clothes no longer seemed to fit.

But her reflection possessed both perfections and flaws in equal measure. Her waist was slim, her stomach smooth without the harshness of protruding hipbones that so many girls in her class thought fashionable. All in all, Hermione was mostly satisfied with the reflection before her.

Again the term rushed through her as she lowered her tired body into the scalding hot water. Sensual. Her body screamed as her firm breasts rose to the surface, nipples tightening in the cold air. She slowly trailed her fingertips from the base of her throat down the expanse of her chest. Hermione’s face flushed as her hands caressed the dip of her waist and the generous flare of her hips. Her back arched against the tub when both hands met below her navel.

It was at moments like these that Hermione sometimes missed Viktor Krum. Even though their breakup had been initiated by her, Hermione’s body still ached at times for the now absent sensation of a male’s touch. But no matter how attractive Viktor might have been to her, and no matter how decently he had treated her, it had never felt like enough. Hermione was grateful she had not completely given her body to him. First kisses, first groping, caresses, snogs and the embarrassment that followed were better left to experimental relationships. First Seamus and then Viktor, the latter getting a bit more physical due to his age, but neither had left her fulfilled. Sexual attraction and butterflies in the stomach could only take a no-nonsense woman like Hermione so far before she became bored and completely disinterested. She just needed something… more.

Wrapping a large terry towel around her body as she rose from the tub, Hermione realized her thoughts were no more organized now than they had been weeks ago. She loathed this odd feeling of uncertainty that constantly enveloped her.

She was lonely and yearned for some kind of human communication in this large, gloomy house, and yet did not want to be bothered with anyone either. She wanted to enjoy the pleasure of sitting beside a raging fire in the library surrounded by her friends, yet did not want to lose the peace of solitude. She wanted to answer the hum her female body felt at times for the close presence of a strong masculine male, yet did not want empty, emotionless, lust driven completion.

She whipped the wet towel over the back of her desk chair, and pounded her way to her wardrobe. “Blast it all to hell. Stop thinking so much.”

But she knew she wouldn’t. Long, sticky summer months in a dreary house caused her to develop a nature so overanalyzing that she had begun to talk to herself.

Walking down the stairs on her way to the kitchen, Hermione’s thoughts returned to her original observations of the evening, and her total lack of excitement over her Head Girl badge. She knew the truth, but did not want to admit it to herself. In the midst of the war, in the worry over the welfare of her Harry, and in the physical and emotional maturity of her mind and body, Hermione knew being Head Girl just was not that important anymore.

In fact, the idea of becoming overly excited and exerting all of her efforts into the position seemed like such a frivolous waste of time, that she was tempted to owl the badge back.

“We’re at war. I should be spending all my free time helping the Order.”

With a flick of her wand, the kitchen fire roared to life. She sat by its warmth in her familiar chair. It had been weeks since there had been an Order meeting in this kitchen, and again, the total lack of action on both sides of this battle caused her stomach to drop.

It was the first week of August, and she knew that the house would slowly come to life as the beginning of her seventh year drew near. Her feelings of confusion resurfaced when she realized she was both excited and apprehensive about her friends’ return; excited because she had not seen them in so long. She had not laughed with them for weeks. She welcomed the idea of no longer being abandoned in this dark pit of a house. She missed the taste of Molly’s cooking, and the smell of sunshine and lemons that was Professor Dumbledore. She wanted to continue the intellectual debates and conversations with Professor McGonagall that had began at the end of her sixth year, conversations that had led to such a bond being formed with her mentor that had allowed the exchange of given names. Most of all, she was looking forward to a news update from the Order.

And yet, her apprehension grew in equal measures. As much as she loved Harry and Ron, Hermione had noticed that she had become more and more impatient with their behavior during the last school year. Jumping head first into every situation, in an attempt to know everything that was going on in the school, no longer held such a strong appeal.

“We're at war,” she repeated.

Such constant thoughtless actions could no longer be simply put down to being a Gryffindor. They were downright dangerous.

She did not know if she could describe it as drifting apart, or simply growing up. Hermione just knew that the act of becoming a woman changed everything, and this included childhood friendships. As much as she loved and was devoted to them as brothers, she knew the time of sharing her every thought with Harry and Ron had long passed. After all, what woman tells her brothers everything about her philosophies and emotions?

With her now habitual heavy sigh, Hermione eyed the dwindling fire before deciding to leave the rapidly chilling kitchen.

“I need some company NOW before I go mad.” She nervously giggled at her thoughts, You’ve been talking to yourself for weeks and now you’re afraid of going mad?

Seating herself at the faded oak dressing table once more, Hermione began to pull the pins from the loose knot at the top of her head. Falling asleep with pins in her hair always made her wake up in the morning with an horrendous headache. Lazily, she walked to the chest of drawers that stood against the wall by the window seat, opposite the door. She pulled a nude slip dress from the top drawer and tugged it over her naked body. No one other than herself ever saw them on her, but they felt appealing to sleep in nonetheless.

Hermione began to feel a familiar hum as her breasts moved against the form-fitting satin that fell to mid thigh.

A different kind of reflection hit Hermione as she pulled back the duvet on her four-poster and slid into the worn sheets; a thought that she did not remember in the morning, and was too tired to analyze as sleep quickly claimed her mind. Before she closed her eyes, she slid a pillow between her knees, and wondered how Professor Snape spent his summer as the Order’s spy.

*** *** ***

Severus grunted in disgust as he threw her arm off him.

“Put some fucking clothes on. I told you that you couldn’t stay the night.”

He scowled menacingly, watching the woman scurry about the room to gather her belongings. He must have been completely pissed to bring this slag back.

The woman grinned stupidly to herself, enjoying the reaction she knew she would cause.

Severus didn’t get out of bed until he heard his front door slam downstairs. Reluctantly, he sat up on the side of his bed, massaging the sleep from his face. He had a meeting in a few hours that he was truly dreading the thought of attending. Hell, he dreaded anything that dragged him away from his bed in order to interact with self-righteous crusaders who just enjoyed hearing themselves talk.

Suddenly, Severus lifted his head from his hands and cocked his ear towards a high wall littered with bookcases. He lurched for his wand and flicked it towards the wall. With a violent crack, a hidden door flew open to reveal a terrified looking, portly man standing in a secreted hallway. The short man fidgeted under Severus harsh gaze, unsure if he should stay in place or run.

“I wonder, Wormtail,” Severus said smoothly, rising slowly from the bed, “if you will ever learn that you are unable to sneak around adequately in this house. Your years spent as a rodent have deluded your senses enough to believe that you can get around unnoticed, when in fact you have always been intentionally ignored.”

Incensed, Peter mustered enough angry courage to step into the room. “Maybe if you stopped force-feeding me that poison I would be able to….”

“I do not remember inviting you into my room,” Severus cut him off.

Wormtail did not have the courage to say anything further as he was staring down the pointed end of a Death Eater’s wand.

“I also question why you continuously try to eavesdrop whenever I have guests. Then again, I suppose the closest a pathetic excuse for a parasite like yourself can get to someone of the opposite sex, is to listen to a witch moan through a bedroom door. Please refrain from touching anything.”

Face flush with humiliation, Peter tried anxiously to refrain from arguing. “As a matter of fact, I’m here to inform you that the Dark Lord wishes for you to begin your stay at Dumbledore’s hideout and to.…”

“Silencio!” Severus barked. He stormed across the room to the bookcase, looming over the stout man. “I am already fully aware of my orders. Now, before you repeat them aloud, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to verify that the hag has truly left, and to reset the wards on my house.”

Severus glared reproachfully at Wormtail before going to the bathroom. The mute man gestured frantically for Snape to remove the hex. After a quick shower, Severus leisurely walked to his large wardrobe, smirking as he dressed.

“Oh, and by the way,” Severus paused at a door opposite from the hidden one, “do try to remember that your usefulness to our Master has entirely run its course. There is nothing he would tell you before any of the inner circle members. You are not here to assist me. You were dumped here so you would not get in the Dark Lord’s way. He believes I am the only one who can adequately control you. Why don’t you use this quiet time to reflect on that.” Severus smirked at Wormtail’s horrified face before slamming the bookcase closed with a flick of his wand.

Gracefully walking down a narrow staircase, Severus’ smirk grew a measure at the muffled sound of banging and kicking against a hard brick wall.

It was going to be another long week.

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Author’s Notes: Not much drama here, I know, but an introduction of our two favorite characters needed to be done. I’m eager to hear criticism of my take on Hermione. I warned that this was going to be a sexual story, and I have delivered with this small sex scene; Hermione and herself.

Chapter 2 coming up next.

Again, I must thank my beta melusin. Surprisingly, I had the most difficulty writing this chapter. Thanks to her I was able to fix most of my awkward sentences.

Chapter title taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book i. Line 22.