Biding Time

Disclaimer: Things of the Hogwart's realm are, unfortunately, not of my creation, and I am not making any money from this.

A/N - Thanks for the lovely reviews so far. Reviews (especially nice ones) are always welcome! As mentioned before, this story will be a tad slow going at the start. Just a short-ish chapter to tide the tale over for the time being.


Chapter 3: Passivity

The owl hurtled through the open window, the roll of parchment fluttering wildly by its foot. Its feathers were in complete disarray, its eyes wide and frightened. It looked as if it had been chased by the hounds of hell. It swooped down to perch on the rail of a chair, stuck out its leg, and waited for the hand to pluck away the yellowed scroll. The parchment was pulled away and unfurled with a flourish. Silence held for but a moment before a fist slammed down on the table, clattering silverware and dishes.

“What?!” The single word echoed throughout the room as the hand crumpled up the parchment and threw it across the room. It ignited in mid-flight.

The bird hopped to the window sill and prepared for a hasty take off. He did not wish to be roasting on a spit over an open fire. They always did take bad news out on the messenger. As he sailed off, he could hear the explosion of that word again.
“What?!”

********

Hermione’s seventh year had been miserable. Though she had not been specifically sworn to secrecy by the Headmistress, Hermione did not breathe a word of her betrothal to anyone, especially Harry and Ron. She suspected how they would react – accuse her of fraternizing with the enemy, accuse her of betraying Dumbledore’s memory and all he stood for. They would not understand that it was Dumbledore’s plan. They would just say that Snape was an evil, greasy git and that he was better off dead. So, she kept her mouth shut, holding her secret close. It felt like a weight pressing down on her chest every time she thought about it.

And it seemed to have been in vain. She didn’t feel any different – no sense of kinship with the Professor, no sudden insight into his character, no great revelation as to where he would be hiding She didn’t think any differently – no dark thoughts, no dark spells rising unbidden to her mind, no snarky, bitter words sliding from her tongue. So much for being bonded to him. The silver chain was hidden beneath her robes but every time she felt its weight, its pull on her neck, she cringed inside. So she bit her tongue and kept her silence for that final year. She became more like a ghost, slipping from class to class, finding excuses to not be in the Gryffindor common room. She found that she couldn’t quite meet Ron or Harry’s eyes when they talked. She was afraid that they would catch some flicker of apprehension in her gaze and ask about it. If they asked, she was afraid that it would all come out – the words spilling from her lips like water in a fountain.

The only difference she noticed was the strange dreams she began to have, from the first night the ring had dangled from around her throat. In one, an inky raven had flown through her window to perch on the end of her bed. It had tilted its glossy little head, hopped about on the bed, and then opened its beak. Instead of squawking or trilling or making other bird-like sounds, it had said in Snape’s voice quite matter of factly “Miss Granger, I said chopped flobberworm not minced flibbertigibbet.” Then, the raven’s head changed into Snape’s head, with his beaky nose instead of a beak and the wings folded to the sides like the curtains of his hair. Then, the raven flew out the window reciting and half-squawking “Catch me if you can. Catch me if you can.” She had chalked that dream up to having read too much Edgar Allan Poe. It was another dream which had disturbed her the most.

In that dream, she had been lying in bed, sheets twined around her body, the room in complete darkness. She looked up and could see a shape, a shadow, at the side of the bed looming over her. Suddenly, a thin beam of moonlight fell through the window, casting the figure in a half light. He was all in black, as if garbed by the shadows themselves, with dark hair half obscuring his face. The gleam of his teeth in a jubilant smile. It was Snape – she knew that even if she couldn’t distinctly recall ever having seen Snape smile. His smile shone like silver, and she felt a shiver travel down her spine. The smile was a little cruel looking, and yet it held her there, wrapped in the sheets and shadows. She felt afraid, but she felt something else too. Anticipation. She liked it. With a gasp, she had awoken, breathing hard, gleaming with perspiration.