Twenty-Four Little Hours

3pm-5pm - what the hell was that?

3pm-4pm - Hermione was lying on the bed, gazing into space. There was nothing else to do.

He seemed to have dozed off. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes had been closed for the last twenty minutes or so. At least the cut on his head had eventually stopped bleeding.

She shivered. It was so cold. She had pulled the blanket over her, but there were so many holes in it, it provided very little in the way of warmth - and the fel felt damp. She was sure she'd seen silverfish scuttling into the edging of the mattress as she'd pulled the blanket away to lie down.

She looked up at the window.

The last time she'd seen her parents had been at Christmas. Why hadn't she gone home at Easter?

Because they had gone skiing with the Birkowitz's and she had wanted to spend all her spare time revising for her NEWT's.

Had she known what was going to happen, that Voldemort would strike before the exams, then she would have gone home.

Christmas might haeen een the last time she'd seen them - ever.

She swallowed.

She hadn't taken enough notice of them; she hadn't made enough fuss of them; she hadn't done enough to make them realise how much she loved them...

...but she hadn't known this was going to happen.

Now she might never get the chance. This time tomorrow she could be...

Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

She turned to look at Snape. His head had shifted so that she could see one side of his face.

Was he as scared as she? Did he have the same dread fear of what would happen to them...to everyone, if Voldemort won this battle?

For a brief moment she wondered if he would turn - pledge his allegiance to Voldemort once again, to save his skin. Somehow, she didn't think so. Even if he loathed Harry, Hermione thought that Snape had enough loyalty to Dumbledore, to stick to this side - the good side.

She wriggled and realised she needed to pee quite badly. She glanced at the pot standing in the corner of the room, then she glanced at Snape. Would he wake? Could she get over there and do it without disturbing him?

Instead of getting up, she remained looking at him, her eyes studying his face.

He looked very peaceful when he was asleep. Rather like a slumbering bird. His nose was rather large; would that get in the way if..? His lips were thin and didn't exactly invite kissing but...

She twisted her head to bring her face in line with his. So this was how he would look if she woke up one day to find him next to her in bed.

Knowing it was silly, realising it was a really giggly, girlie thing to do, but needing to keep her mind off darker thoughts, she closed her eyes and imagined herself in a big double bed, her head on a lovely fluffy pillow and her body snuggled against him. Then she would wake after a lovely night of sex and sleep and, as her eyelids fluttered open, she would see him asleep beside her...

Her eyes really did flutter open and she looked across at him in order to bring a touch of reality to her fantasy...only to find him staring back at her.

She squealed and sat up.

Her face burned. Oh, God, how embarrassing; how humiliating; how...

...and he was a Legilimens! He might have been able to see what she'd been thinking!

Ohhhhhhhh!

4pm-5pm - Naturally she had screamed.

How could he have expected anything else? A young woman like her, waking to find his cold, old face staring at her.

He had been wrong to stare, but when he'd opened his eyes and seen her asleep on the bed, she'd looked so... peaceful and...beautiful...like something from a fairy tale. She had a happy, expectant expression and although he couldn't read her thoughts while her eyes were closed, he could see enough to know her dream was a sweet one. He wondered idly which lucky Gryffindor was there with her.

He'd looked away quickly as her eyes had opened, embarrassed to have been caught watching her.

Now she was pacing the room. He looked up to see her with her arms across her body, bending over as if in pain, her face very red.

"Miss Granger, are you unwell?" he asked, alarmed.

"No. No," she replied, airily. "I just...I just...oh! I need to pee!"

Needed to..? Oh, yes, of course. Hmmm. This could be a problem...

His eyes ran around the room and came to rest on a pot standing in the corner. He pointed it out to her.

"Yes, I know it's there...but...but so are you. I would like some privacy."

He stared at her.

"Miss Granger, we are locked up in a twelve-by-twelve cell, where do you expect me to go?"

"I know, but..."

"Or perhaps you are imagining the guard to be a reasonable sort who will allow me to step outside for a moment while the lady relieves herself?"

aw haw her eyes begin to glisten and for once in his life he scolded himself for being mean.

"I shall close my eyes."

"That's not good enough. You have to turn your back as well."

"I can assure you I will not spy on you, Miss Granger."

"I don't care. Turn your back."

With a sigh, he did as requested.

"And put your hands over your ears..."

With another sigh he did this also.

"Can you still hear me?"

"No."

"Ohhhhh! Sing..."

"I beg your pardon?" He turned an incredulous face to her.

"Sing. Then I'll know you can't hear me."

"Miss Granger, I have never sung in my life!"

"Well...hum then, but...oh, pleeeese..."

She looked desperate. With a feeling of dread, he turned his back on her once again, closed his eyes, covered his ears and dredged up a tune from way back in his youth.

A little while later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to face her.

"What the hell was that?"

"Miss Granger, please remember I am your teacher and address me accordingly..."

She laughed.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I will but...what the hell was that?"

"Just a song I remember from my younger days."

"Called?"

"Does it matter?" He wasn't going to tell her - it was just a song he'd snatched from his memory, that was all. He didn't know why that particular one should have come up, but it had. It had been a random thing.

Completely random.

"I don't remember."

"Oh, OK. Who's it by, then?"

"Miss Granger..." he said, wearily.

"Come on...who's it by?"

He sighed.

"A band called The Buzzcocks."

"Oh. Very...nice!" she grinned, then frowned. "I think I've heard of them..."

"Really?" he said, flatly.

"They were a punk band, weren't they? A muggle band?"

"Yes." He saw her eyebrows rise in surprise. "We all do strange things in adolescence, Miss Granger. You're not the first generation to go through it."

She giggled as she sat down beside him, her back to the wall.

In spite of himself, he smiled inwardly. He found he liked the sound of her laugh. If he had to describe it, he would say 'bubbles' - but not lightweight bubbles; more the kind you would expect in a very expensive vintage champagne.

"So," she said, giving him a sly look. "what was the song called?"

He felt his insides jolt. Was she...teasing him?

"I told you, I don't remember."

"Yes you do..."

Her voice was light and playful - sing-songy even.

This should not progress.

"Miss Granger, you are overstepping the mark of familiarity..."

"I know...

"...but we could both be dead tomorrow. I just wanted to lighten the mood."

There was a heavy silence thasteasted for a long time. They both stared up at the window. It was getting dark.

"What do you suppose is happening out there?" she whispered.

"I dread to think," he replied heavily.

Another silence.

He shivered with cold and then realised with great embarrassment that he was wrapped in a cloak while she was dressed in next to nothing.

Quickly he unfastened the clasp on the cloak and took it off, placing it around her shoulders, and pulling it closed around her.

He knew he didn't need to fasten the cloak for her, but...he found he wanted to.

He was aware of her looking at his face as he adjusted the collar, making sure it stood up around her neck.

He finished and looked back at her.

"Thank you." she said into his eyes.

An unfamiliar feeling warmed him; as though for a moment her bubbly laugh had somehow got inside him.

What the hell was that?

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