Hermione

Hermione thought that Yule Ball would never end. The Beauxbaton girls were out in force, all of them elegant and chic and a few with Veela blood. The Hogswart boys made fools of themselves over those girls, to Hermione’s disgust. The Durmstrang contingent, on the other hand, marched around the Great Hall in furs and wool, looking fierce even when they were asking the way to the bathrooms. Hermione looked in vain for Viktor Krum. At last she overheard a Durmstrang boy explaining to an eager-looking Hogwarts girl that Viktor was helping to tame dragons in his native Bulgaria.

After Neville, no one asked Hermione to dance. She watched Malfoy expertly spin Pansy Parkinson around the floor and sneer in her direction. Ron let Luna lead him through what she called a Gundy-Gnome Step, but which Hermione thought looked an awful lot like a foxtrot. Harry performed a couple stiff slow dances with Ginny. When Ginny and Harry weren’t dancing, which was often, to Ginny’s annoyance, she and Hermione chatted.

At last, Polly Juice called for a break between sets. Hermione watched her slink her way over the bar, down two quick shots of fire whiskey, and attempt flirtatious banter with Severus Snape. Snape fixed her with an unreadable look and answered her in quelling tones. Polly then took another slug of fire whiskey, pushed out one hip, thrust out a bust already in serious danger of parting company with its skimpy confines, and said something in a direct tone. Snape paused. Please, Hermione thought, don’t fancy her. You might not fancy me any more, but not her. I can’t compete with that. Snape said three words to Polly, none of which Hermione could hear. Then he added something as an aside and swept away. Polly watched him go. Then she shrugged, adjusted her top, downed her third fire whiskey, and yelled to her band mates. Hermione exhaled. Polly leaped on the stage and launched into a song that seemed to stretch time, with words about something criminally vulgar and nothing in particular.

“I’ve had enough,” Harry said, getting to his feet.

“Me, too,” said Ginny. She stifled a yawn.

Hermione noticed Albus Dumbledore deep in conversation with a handsome younger wizard. Who does Dumbledore shag anyway? she thought idly. “I’m ready to go,” she said.

The trio walked back to the guest wing, going slowly again as Hermione tried to disguise the sway of her backside and teetering height of her heels. They said good night and separated. Hermione shut the door with a sigh. It was over. But the next bit was still to come. She opened A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.

Two hours later, at 3 a.m., she teetered precariously down the corridors toward the Slytherin Dungeons. It was so late. She wasn’t sure how long the Yule Ball had been over. The Great Hall was dark. Broken streamers, abandoned drinks and canapés, and the odd piece of cake littered the room. Hermione tiptoed past. Clutching a railing, she descended the steps to the Slytherin dungeons. Her heart was hammering. At last she stood in front of the oaken door of Snape’s office. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her breathing, which was coming fast and shallow. Then she pressed her lips together and knocked. The door creaked open.

Snape turned and faced her. He was not sitting behind his desk, as usual, but seemed to have been pacing in front of the desk.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, sounding distracted.

“I’m here,” Hermione said stiffly. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart pounding, although it seemed to be banging like a bass drum in her ears.

He nodded and looked away. He looked more haggard than she remembered. At last he said, “Hermione, what I did to you was unforgivable. But I ask your forgiveness, for that one strike.”

At first, Hermione was pleased. He was begging forgiveness! She started to smile. Then his last sentence sank in. “’For that one strike?’ What about the others?”

He regarded her down his nose. “Which ones? The ones you begged for more on?”

The low buzz of anger that had hummed in her head earlier now exploded. She sliced her wand up out of her robes, dropping her shawl. “Incar--!”

He flicked the hex away. “You’re doing better than you used to,” he said. “Try concentrating a little harder.”

Helpless fury made her hand shake. He was going to lecture her while she tried to hurt him? “Petrificus--!”

He moved his wand almost lazily. “Not so good, that one.”

“Stupe—“ she began, letting him swing his wand in that bored way before gathering all her strength and yelling, “Expelliarmus!” Snape’s wand flew out of his hand. His eyes snapped open. For the first time that night he looked afraid. Satisfaction spread like salve through Hermione.

“Compello!”

She still didn’t know the counter-charm, and Snape’s wand flew back to him. They stared at each other, both breathing hard now.

“You had no right to hit me at any time that night!” Hermione shouted.

Snape exhaled hard. “You were going to throw me over! Have you forgotten that bit?” His voice dropped. “For Weasley…” He turned away. “And I didn’t hit you. I spanked you.”

Anger exploded in her again. “It amounts to the same thing! You can’t hit someone just because you can’t order them about!”

She could hear his ragged breathing. Gradually, it slowed, until he had mastered himself. She thought that was the end of their relationship then, and she couldn’t understand why the thought she make her want to cry. “You’re right, of course,” he said woodenly. “But please do me the honor of apologizing for planning to leave me without a single attempt to put things right.”

Hermione sputtered with fresh rage. “I went along with everything you wanted! I said yes to your order to get married, no date, no ring—“

“What’s that then?” he hissed dangerously, looking at her cleavage where the ring nestled inside her robes.

“A homing device and a bug!” she bit out.

Dead silence greeted this statement. For a moment, Hermione wasn’t sure he understood her. She had used Muggle terms. Then she remembered he was half-Muggle, a memory reinforced when he leaned back slightly and said, “Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? It’s not even a ring you got for me! It belonged to some other witch!”

She searched his face, but his expression was difficult to read. At last he said, “You need looking after. You don’t know what you’re getting into at Malfoy Manor. What’s made you decide to go there anyway?”

“You gave me the ring before I decided to go there! You just wanted to know how things were going to go with Ron!”

He arched an eyebrow at her and shrugged. “So?”

Hermione grit her teeth. “I’m sure you’re happy about how things turned out there!”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped. “And then you started these expeditions to places you shouldn’t go. You’ve no idea what’s in there. How did you ever expect to get in or out?”

Hermione wanted to show him the white square, but mulishly, she also wanted to punish him. “I just—“

“Don’t lie,” he said quietly. “You’re not good at it, you know. What’s happened? Has Dumbledore given you something?”

Hermione was so surprised, she said nothing.

After a pause, Snape said, “We need to get along, Hermione. We’re fighting for the same side. I can help you.”

“You’re not on my side,” she muttered.

He seemed at a loss, flexing his fingers at his sides. Then he stepped close and put his hand lightly on her exposed shoulder. “I am.” He was so near, almost crowding her. She felt angry tears prick her eyes.

“I don’t know how I can ever trust you again,” she said tightly, to the floor.

She thought she heard him swallow. “What happened that night will never happen again—without your consent.” He took her wrists in his hands.

Hermione looked down at their hands together and wished despairingly that she could turn time backward. “I know I should stay away,” she said in a low tone. “I tried. But I know you’re better than you pretend to be. You’re braver, kinder.” He made a disgusted noise, but her words tumbled out of her constricted throat. “This feeling just comes over me when I’m with you. I try to stop it. I know it’s trouble. But … I want you so much.”

Her words had a strange effect on him. She thought she could feel a tremor go through him. His hands tightened on her wrists, and he brought them to his forehead. He said in an odd voice, “I swear it, Hermione.” For a moment Hermione didn’t say anything, feeling the spreading warmth of elation.

“But,” she said crisply, “things will have to change.”

“Indeed,” he said with heavy irony. “In future, if you please, don’t try to leave me without airing your…dissatisfactions first.”

Hermione all but ground her teeth. “Right. My dissatisfactions. Let’s start with your ordering me about at every opportunity. Then we can move on to your making me promise to keep our—“ She groped for a word. He raised an eyebrow. “—affair secret. And then,” now she was working up another head of steam, “there’s no ring, no date, and your demand that no friends or family be at the wedding!”

He regarded her coolly. Then he said, “You’re right.”

“I—I am?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about this a long time. We can’t keep things secret any more. Secrets are made to be found. And anyway, even if we could keep things from Hogwarts, and it would be a first, there’s no way I could protect you if the Dark Lord used Legilimency on you. I thought about putting you under a spell something like an Imperio—“

“No! You can teach me Occlumency!”

“Hermione, even if you were the greatest Occlumens ever, and you’ve shown little aptitude that way, you’d be no match for the Dark Lord.”

“Little aptitude—“ Hermione seethed.

“I’m just stating facts.” His fingers brushed her shoulder.

Slightly mollified, Hermione said, “What about a Pensieve?”

“Extremely rare.”

“Dumbledore has one.”

“Dumbledore is Dumbledore. And do you want us to be padding up to his office every night to put away inconvenient thoughts? No, there’s a better way.”

“W-what?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“We could tell the truth.” She stared at him. He tilted his head back, his mouth twisting in a smile. “I’ll tell the Dark Lord that you believe me to be working for Dumbledore.” He looked away. “He’ll find that most amusing.”

“Maybe some Death Eaters will think it’s the truth.”

“Clever, as usual. But if, on that day when we face the Dark Lord, you deliver your view in the most insufferable tone you can muster, I think opinion will be on my side.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled resentfully.

“Hermione.” She looked up, trying to hide her feelings. “I like you very well, very much. No, more than that. You mean more to me than—“ He cleared his throat. “If you have some quality that makes our little story more believable to the Dark Lord, all to the better.” His eyes were full on her, black and glistening. Hermione nodded slowly. “Now,” his voice was low, “as I did order that gown to my specifications, perhaps I could see a bit more of it.”