A Victorious Draw

As always, much thanks to Wildcatcdc and Sc010f. You ladies rock!

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Hermione spent the rest of the day in shock. Too much was happening, too quickly. How has this happened? she wondered.

In her sitting room, reclining on her couch with Crooks in her lap and a cuppa in her hand, Hermione let her mind wander. Her mind traveled back to her school days; not the easiest of times, certainly, when she felt she had to be better than those with magical backgrounds. All her life she’d felt she’d had to swim upstream, to prove herself to everyone around her. To purebloods like the Malfoys and Parkinsons, and the Weasleys, too, if she were honest with herself, that she had to prove she was just as magical, just as powerful, as they. She supposed she was leading the way for other Muggle-borns as well, to show them that they were just as good as everyone else. That it didn’t matter what your background was, you either were or you were not magical.

Her first year at school had been difficult to navigate, but not for reasons most imagine. Contrary to what most of the students believed, the Headmaster and her Head of House had been made aware of her higher-than-average intelligence. She had asked for, and had been granted permission to, perform magic before attending her first year at Hogwarts. Due to her high marks and upper-level math and science classes before attending Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore not only delivered her letter at the beginning of summer, but other magical books as well, including her beloved Hogwarts, A History.

Accepting that she was, in fact, a witch had been difficult, but with the Headmaster’s guidance, she performed some simple spells during his visit. It was then that she looked into the rather surprised face of Professor Dumbledore and asked if she might practice at home before the term began. His missive three days letter told her of her special dispensation to perform the magic found in her first-year texts and any found in the additional books the Headmaster had given her. She was to only practice her craft at home, indoors, where she and her magic could be monitored. Mum and Dad had groused, of course, and the phrases “Big Brother” and “surveillance” were mumbled under their breaths for week.

As Hermione made her way to the kitchen to place her dirty cup in the sink, her thoughts continued to dwell on school. The magic had always been easy, much in the same way that her upper-level courses had been easy. Calculus and Arithmancy, Chemistry and Potions, Physics and Transfiguration; the transition from Muggle courses to magical ones was smooth, leaving Hermione with entirely too much time to dwell on the fact that making friends in the magical world was just as difficult as making ones in the Muggle world.

How much easier Hogwarts might have been if she’s been allowed to articulate classes as she had in her Muggle school, Hermione thought as she washed the few dishes in her sink before rinsing and setting them in the drain to dry. The older students would have thought her odd, but would have ignored her and continued on with their work.

And so it went. By the start of each new school term, Hermione was well-versed in what her courses would cover and could perform all of the spell work involved, perhaps not perfectly but at least well enough to pass finals with an ‘E.’ It worked out well that she was as clever as she was, or she, Harry and Ron would have been killed well before leaving. Looking back now, a shudder ran along her spine at the thought of what could have happened, had she not stayed in her class and become friends with Harry and Ron.

Thinking of Ron brought an ache to her chest.

Knowing she would have a hard time sleeping, she reached for her emergency bottle of Ogden’s Firewhisky and a glass. Pouring a mouthful, she swallowed the whisky and clutched the sink ledge as her throat and stomach burned. When she was finally able to draw a breath, she blinked back the tears in her eyes and made her way to her bedroom.

She dreamed of the men in her life: Harry, with his incredibly green eyes and sweet smile; Ron, whose freckles make his looks as boyish as his charm, and now Severus, with his brooding frown and eyes as black and shiny as obsidian. Severus, in whose arms she felt safe and secure.

She dreamed she and Harry were having tea in the library of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Surrounded by dust and moldy books, they sat on the carpeted floor in front of the cold fireplace.

“Harry,” Hermione asked, “do you like living here?” She looked around at the dilapidated room and was saddened by the waste and neglect.

“I love it here, Hermione,” Harry answered enthusiastically, “it’s my home. People I loved once lived here. I’ve friends over for tea, and I feel safe and secure here. It’s where I belong.”

Hermione looked around again. “I don’t know if I could feel comfortable here, Harry. There are so many sad memories, so much destruction. It’s a lot to put back together, isn’t it? Don’t you just want to find someplace new? Someplace that doesn’t require so much work?”

Harry looked puzzled. “I’ve my entire life to make this place into what I want it to be. Its foundations are good and solid. I can fix what needs to be fixed, and if I don’t know how, well, I’ve lots of friends, don’t I?” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Hermione looked around for her copy of Hogwarts, A History. “Things keep getting lost or misplaced when I come for a visit; it’s very distracting, isn’t it?”

“Everything I want is here. Even if I can’t find it right now, I know it’s here. If I look hard enough, I find it.”

Harry fixed her another cup of tea and as he set it down, he knocked over her book, sending up dust. It tickled her nose and she sneezed, sending even more dust motes into the thick air. With a gentle wave of his wand, Harry rearranged the floating bits of dust into musical notes, and she began to sing the tune. He laughed, free and easy, and she leaned forward and kissed him, lightly and gently, brushing her lips across his before withdrawing. It was a kiss of love and friendship. They looked at each other and laughed at their silliness.

Hermione slipped into consciousness. She could still feel the softness of Harry’s lips, their warmth and texture, and her heart beat slow and even in her chest. With a soft sigh, she drifted back asleep and once more dipped into dreamland.

She was wearing a white summer dress and a crown of flowers in her hair while standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She felt the soft breeze coming in through the opened windows. She caught his scent in the breeze. She could smell him, that unique, indescribable scent that belonged to only Ron. It had been this she had noticed about him, that first day on the train to school. The carriage he and Harry had been riding in smelled of stale sandwiches and chocolate and licorice and something vaguely resembling woods. She’d thought it had been either the frog or the jelly babies they’d been eating, but she later learned it was him, just him.

Ronald walked up behind her and gently took her hand. “It’s time to leave, Hermione. Time to start our life together.” She peered down at their joined hands and saw their simple gold rings, symbolizing their love and commitment to share their lives with each other.

She was afraid, suddenly. Not of him, not of their love, but of what lay beyond the walls of the school. “Do we have to leave right now? Couldn’t we stay for dinner, at least?”

Ron shook his head, sadly. “No, sorry. That would be great, though, wouldn’t it? I bet the elves would make anything we asked of them! But nah. They’ve worked long and hard enough, don’t you think? They deserve a break, just like the rest of us.”

Hermione took another look around the empty Hall. It saddened her to think that everyone was gone, that they wouldn’t be coming back.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave yet, Ronald,” Hermione whispered as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Ron put his arm around her and led her to their place at the Gryffindor table. He sat down and pulled her down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close.

“Sure you are, ‘Mione. You’ve been ready to leave longer than most of us. This school can’t teach you more than you already know.”

“But there are still classes that I haven’t taken, books I haven’t read in the library,” Hermione explained impatiently.

“But there is so much more knowledge waiting for you out there.” Ron nodded to the open windows across the Hall. “And we’ll be together. You’ll still get to tell me what to do,” he cajoled and gave her a little squeeze.

Hermione looked down at the gold band on her finger. Looking up, her voice quivered when she admitted, “I don’t think I’m ready for this, either,” twisting the ring.

He kissed her shoulder. “That just means we’ll always love each other and support each other. Can you imagine us not doing that? Beyond that” Ron shrugged, “that ring can mean whatever you want it to mean. Harry wears his next to his heart. He loved you first, you know.” Ron whispered that last admission.

Abruptly, Ron stood, picking her up along the way and depositing her next to him. “Let’s go, love. Where ever we end up, we’ll always be together, no matter what.”

The dream drifted off, and Hermione rolled in her bed. A contented sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. Snuggling further into her feather pillow, she raced into dreamland once more.

She stood in the doorway, looking into the large ballroom, gazing in wonder at the opulence. The parquet floors were polished to a high gloss, reflecting the glittering gowns and robes, jewels the guests wore as they twirled across the room. She looked down at her dress. While the other women in attendance wore satin and tulle, she was in silk, a rich, cinnamon-colored sheath that clung and skimmed over her body, revealing the contours of her body with its swells and dips. She smiled and nodded to the guests that passed by, content to stand where she was and observe. She felt a presence behind her, large and solid. Then, warm breath on her exposed neck and a low whisper in her ear, “Have you been waiting for me, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione felt a shiver race up her spine. That voice, the one that had always reminded her of melted dark chocolate, thick and rich and deep. It blanketed her, surrounded her in luxury, and she felt herself immersed in the aura of this man, this one man she’d been waiting for.

She turned her check and lifted her chin, allowing her to gaze into the obsidian eyes of Severus Snape.

“Severus,” she whispered, slightly breathless.

His hand found its place on her hip and pulled her up against him, against the hard plane of his body, including his semi-aroused member.

A sweet purr emanated from her throat, and she heard his deep chuckle.

“We’ve only just arrived, kitten. We are not permitted to take our leave just yet.” His hand left its perch on her hip and he took his place at her side. He offered her his arm, and together they entered the Grand Ballroom. The guests on the floor parted as Severus led her to the middle of the room. He lifted his chin towards the band, and the slow, lilting sounds of a waltz filled the air.

They moved effortlessly around the room, lost in each other’s arms, sinking further into each other’s eyes. His arms tightened, and her fingers answered by clenching his muscled shoulder. Their movements were precise, so attuned were they to each other. They were a pleasure to watch, and the crowd took to the edges of the dance floor, better able to see the couple dancing, oblivious to everyone else.

Hermione felt as if she were flying, high and unencumbered by the restraints that had held her tethered for so long. In his arms she felt safe and secure, yet free. She never wanted this feeling, this lightness to end. But the final chords of the music drifted away, and she was pulled into the present, noticing once again the guests pressing in on her, demanding her attention, begging to be noticed. She looked for Severus, but he was gone, no longer by her side, and her panic set in once more. The weight on her chest was enormous, and she struggled to breathe, to catch her breath. Her knees grew weak, and she knew she had to escape, to get away. And then, he was by her side once more.

“You left me,” Hermione gritted harshly. “ I had to deal with this,” jutting her chin to indicate the swarming masses closing in, “by myself.”

“No, love,” Severus whispered in her ear, “I’ve always been here, close by, should you need me. Your vision was clouded, however, and you lost sight of me for a moment.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she rolled over in her bed. He had always been close, she realized. She had just lost sight of him.