Ring Of Fire

Heavy rain splattered on the windows of the Hogwarts Express, the sky dark. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Luna and Neville sat quietly in their compartment: Ron munched on Chocolate Cauldrons, Ginny and Harry whispered to each other, Neville preened the Mimbulus Mimbletonia (which was now at least the size of Crookshanks), Luna was poking her hand with her wand and Hermione was gazing out the window. She pressed her palms against her eyes, digging her fingers into her scalp.

“Um, Hermione?” said Harry, concerned.

“It’s that time, Harry,” Ginny scolded.

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m just going to nip to the bathroom,” Hermione said in a strained voice.

Once inside the safety of the lavatory, she leaned against the closed door, her eyes closed. She gently tapped the back of her head against the door in frustration, and grudgingly succumbed to the nagging of her hormones.

She reached inside the pocket of her jeans and unfolded his picture. The charm on the photo was beginning to wear off; instead of moving with his usual, slinking grace, the Snape in the portrait rarely moved, and when he did it was with all the prowess of a blind chicken.

But now the portrait was still. Snape leaned against the frame, a cold, calculating glare in his eyes and a sinister sneer on his lips.
“This is just…ridiculous,” Hermione stuttered, shoving the picture back into her pants.

She turned her attention to her reflection in the mirror. She squared her shoulders and straightened her back a bit, smoothing her jumper.

Her unruly hair was tied in a pair of French braids, little whisps escaping the braids and forming a frizzy crown on her forehead.

“I am Hermione Granger. I am level-headed. I am down-to-earth. I am not considering forming a relationship with one of the most wanted men in the wizarding world,” she said to herself, staring into her own eyes. For a moment, she almost believed her pep talk worked.

Almost.

“Oh, bugger it,” she whispered angrily, pointing her wand at the pocket of her jeans. A small black dot zoomed out, and shook itself until a full-sized set of robes swished before her. She pulled the robes over her head, pulling her pressed white collar out over the robes,straightening her tie, and trying to regain a fraction of the composure that Severus Snape had taken from her.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Great Hall was considerably more somber than the year before, and rightly so, for McGonnagal could not fill the enormous hole that was the loss of Dumbledore.

The High table was the same, save for McGonnagal and Tonks. As soon as the large wooden doors closed behind them, McGonnagal stood and demanded silence, without the grace and subtlety of her predescessor. Her face was worn and weathered. She looked considerably older. After the sorting, she gave a few words of welcome and encouragement, and introduced Tonks as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Tonks?” Harry said with disbelief, once the feast had begun.

“Well, at least we know her, you know? And at least it’s not Snape,” Ron said, digging his spoon into a mountain of potatoes.

“Yeah, but Tonks in a position of authority?” Harry asked.

“Oh for goodness sake, Harry, she’ll be fine,” Hermione snapped, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she said it. “I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mione,” Harry said quietly.

“I’m just need to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. Night, “’Mione,” said Ron, followed by Neville, Harry, and Ginny.

So caught up her thoughts about Snape, Hermione didn’t even remember that she didn’t know where her room was. She walked slowly in the direction of the common room, not noticing the figure in voluminous purple robes that traveled from portrait to portrait, following her.

“Bee in your bonnet, Miss Granger?” Came the smooth, comforting voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione spun around, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. There stood Dumbledore, inside a portrait of the French countryside.

“It’s rather pleasant in here, I only wish you could come in,” he said conversationally, looking up at the painted trees billowing in a breeze.

“Professor,” she breathed, in shock.

“Quite. Minerva wanted me to show you to your new Head Girl rooms, which, of course, I will do gladly. I even took the liberty of decorating it,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Walk with me?”

Hermione nodded dumbly, walking slowly next to her dead headmaster.

“So, Miss Granger, I cannot say I am surprised at your Head Girl position. Are you planning to attend university?”

“I am, sir. I’m thinking of working in the Ministry. Mr. Weasley tells me that the British universities are the best for that.”

“Arthur is certainly correct. This way please, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, making a sweeping gesture to a stone griffin to his right.

“The password is ‘fiddlesticks’, but you may change it if you wish,” said Dumbledore, smiling gently at her.

“Fidddlesticks is fine, sir,” replied Hermione as the griffin sprang to life, hopping aside to reveal…a stone wall.

“It’s an enchantment. You’ll be able to walk right through the wall,” Dumbledore said reassuringly.

“Oh. That’s rather clever,” Hermione said, running her hand over the wall, jumping slightly at the warm buzz coursing through her hand.

“Isn’t it? I tell Minerva, but she won’t have it. Terribly humble. Shall we? I’ll meet you in the room. It’s just right up the stairs.”

The stairway was lit by torches, giving off ethereal white light. She came to a heavy wooden door with an intricate brass lion knocker. There was no doorknob.

Hermione cleared her throat, “Excuse me?”

The lion’s eyes opened, narrowing for a moment.

“You must be Miss Granger. Go on inside, Dumbledore’s waiting,” the lion rumbled as the door swung open to reveal the most elaborate and beautiful room Hermione had ever seen.

The floors were covered with thick Persian rugs, the walls painted a deep red.

The floor dipped in the middle to form a deep circle, covered with furs, pillows, and blankets. It looked like a nest. From the ceiling hung a heavy golden chandelier, glittering in the firelight that came from the large fireplace across the room. Golden mosaics adorned the ceiling, reminding Hermione of Versailles.

“Being Head Girl is amazing!” She breathed.

Dumbledore was in a painting of the countryside when she returned.

“Sir, this room is astounding!” She exclaimed, her face pink from excitement. He chuckled.

"I decorated it myself. With some help from Dobby, of course."

Hermione bit her lip, her mind wandering. Images of Snape flooding her mind.

“Sir…I had a question. Well, actually, I have thousands, but only one that needs to be answered right now,” She said hurredly.

Dumbledore laced his long fingers together under his nose, his eyes no longer twinkling.

“I need to know…about Snape. I need to know if he—”

“There is no need to say any more. The unfortunate thing about being a portrait is that I cannot lie. But if you don’t ask me the full question, than there is nothing to lie about. However, you are lucky that I have retained much of my former self’s intuition. Let us talk now, not as professor and student, but rather as a portrait and an inquisitive mind. I cannot reveal to you, or anyone the events surrounding my death. Those are secrets between Severus and myself. What I can tell you, however, is that Severus is an incredibly talented wizard. And while we cannot always trust incredibly talented wizards, we can always trust ourselves, and know that our hearts are the most powerful tools we possess.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. Was he really feeding her this nonsense? Asking her to trust her gut instinct?

“I know that this must seem to be the foolish ramblings of an old man. But you will understand in time. And now, Miss Granger, I will leave you. I smell hot chocolate coming from the portrait of the Fat Lady,” he said, looking down his crooked nose at her as he disappeared from sight.

Hermione continued her exploration of her rooms. It was an apartment, really. Her bedroom had a large four-poster bed, outfitted in heavy red and gold sheets and blankets. Her trunks sat in her room, and Crookshanks was already making himself at home on her pillows.

“Trust my insticts?” She asked aloud, scratching the underside of his chin. He purred loudly, his eyes closed in contentment.

“Leave it to Dumbledore to be cryptic when it matters,” she mumbled angrily.

Hermione pulled her robes off, hanging them in the handsome cherry wood wardrobe. She walked into her living room and pulled up the soft fur blanket of some unknown animal in front of the fire. Kicking off her shoes and socks, she lay on her stomach and opened her new copy of "Nordic Runes and Their Uses in Charms". She glanced out the giant windows at the lake, eerily illuminated by moonlight reflecting off the chilly fog that had settled.

Hermione tried valiantly to keep her mind on the chapter, but her thoughts kept wandering from the advantages of Nordic runes to a certain hook-nosed individual.

"What does my instinct tell me?" She asked herself.

As soon as she asked herself that question, there was a tapping at her window. Hermione checked the grandfather clock in the room. It was much too late for mail of any sort. With a groan, she got up and went to the window. No sign of any owl. She opened the window, peering out across the Hogwarts grounds.

Suddenly, something black darted inside her room. It flitted around the ceiling, before disappearing into the nest in the middle of her floor.

Curiously, it didn’t even enter into Hermione’s head that it might be Snape.

She ran into her room, grabbing her wand. As she spun around to run back to the living room, she crashed into a rather solid form in black robes.

Immedeatly, she knew it was him. Not because she saw him, but because of the near electric jolt that ran right to her stomach. She looked up into the face of Severus Snape.

“Miss Granger,” he said formally, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“Sir,” she breathed, her eyes darting from his lips to his eyes.

His black eyes surveyed the room, lingering on the bed.

“Rather luxurious, Miss Granger. I envy you.”

Hermione was at a loss for words, gaping at him like a dead fish.

He stood before her, an image of all that was forbidden and wrong, and yet her mouth was suddenly dry and her face flushed.

He stood there, arms crossed, staring down his hooked nose at her.

Hermione suddenly felt very self-conscious. She certainly didn’t look glamorous, or seductive, even mildly attractive. Her frizzy hair was coming out of its braids, her pale and unshaven legs felt large and ugly in her school skirt.

“I wish you would have warned me that you were coming,” Hermione said.

“Whatever for?”

“Well, um, so that I could…straighten things up a bit,” she said unconvincingly.
He raised an eyebrow at her.

“ I see. What were you reading before my…unexpected arrival?” He asked, turning from her and walking over to the fire, swooping down to pick up her forgotten book.

“Nordic Runes and Their Uses In Charms.” He purred, causing Hermione to close her eyes in bliss. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open.

“Are you ill?”

“Um, no, it’s been a long day…” she trailed off as he tossed the book on the couch, drawing near to her.

He wasn’t stopping, only coming closer.

Hermione stepped back, trying to avoid any contact that would give away her absurd inexperience.

She felt her heel hit the wall.

His face was calm, smug even. He drew one arm up to rest beside her head. Before Hermione could escape gracefully, his left arm shot out to stop her. Her blood was roaring in her ears.

She felt dizzy. She felt much too hot in between her legs.

His face drew nearer to hers, and for tantalizingly slow moments she was sure he was going to kiss her, but instead his mouth found her ear, his lips grazing her earlobe. His breath was hot against her neck.

“You were the one who instigated this visitation, Miss Granger. Are you so afraid of me without the Veritaserum? Afraid of what I am? What I can do? Or are you afraid of what I will think of you?” He said lowly, his voice traveling through her like tremors of liquid velvet.

“I suggest you think on it, Miss Granger, and remember why it was you wanted to form a relationship with me in the first place. That is what you wanted, am I correct?” he purred, his breath tickling her neck.

Hermione bit her lip, stifling a moan.

"It’s what you wanted too, you git," she thought.

“I will contact you before my next arrival,” he said curtly before disappearing out the window.

Giving a shuddering breath, Hermione collapsed onto her couch, her eyebrows furrowed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“This is going to be a very, very long year,” she groaned.