Understanding

Sorry it's been so long coming. Haven't not been at work for more than four non-sleeping hours a day for the past eleventybillion days or something like that. Plus, I have the flu. Big epidemic in America. I think it's Captain Trips. If you don't know what that is, be ashamed of yourself and beat yourself over the head with a hardcover copy of THE STAND.


Nothing's mine, all hers and theirs...

Understanding
Chapter Five:
Imaginary

****Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
Cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming
The goddess of imaginary light****

I lay in my bed for what seemed like hours, tossing and turning and trying to force myself into a calm I no longer felt. When no one else was around, when I was by myself, I could make myself feel. I could let myself grieve. I didn't want to. Not now. Now, I wanted to sleep. But, as it turns out, my mind is a bitch, and it wouldn't let me do anything except think of my parents and cry.

It wasn't even like I wanted to cry or felt like crying. The tears just kept coming out of my eyes. I didn't even blink them out, they just kind of ran.

No matter what I did, I could not seem to get comfortable. First, I was freezing so I trudged to my closet and grabbed an extra blanket. Five minutes later, I was too hot so I threw off the blanket. Then I was too cold again, so I put the blanket back on and took off my shirt. I had always enjoyed sleeping topless but had never imagined doing it with Dumbleore and Snape only feet away.

I'd imagined Snape much closer and much more naked.

And Dumbledore nowhere in the picture. Eew. That's all I can say. Eew.

Snuggling against my pillow, I was sure I would finally be comfortable enough to fall asleep. But now my stomach was upset and my neck hurt. One pillow was not adequate support for my head but two was too much. Consequent trials found that one regular pillow and one throw pillow was too low, but two throw pillows were too high. I found the perfect support came when I placed a pillow on my arm and laid on both. But that made my arm fall asleep. And my stomach still hurt.

Opening my eyes, I was shocked to feel how awake I still was after so much time with them closed. God, after five minutes with my eyes closed in class I'd be gone. And that was in CLASS! Sighing (I seemed to be doing that a lot lately), I sat up, at a loss of what to do with myself.

It would seem that making your parents' funeral arrangements is not an activity conducive to sleep, no matter how tired you are.

Laying in my bed, tossing and turning, I had only succeeded in making myself angry because of my mind's inability to shut down though my body was exhausted. After fifty-three minutes exactly, I decided to stop watching the clock and get up and do something. But at fifty-six minutes, I heard Snape trudge up the stairs and decided to wait for him to settle in before sneaking past him. I had absolutely no desire to talk to him and didn't want to risk getting caught out past curfew as it were.

Creeping down the stairs, I began to debate what would tire me out most. I could go downstairs into the basement and run on the treadmill, but I didn't think my body could handle that. I switched on the television in the family room but my attention wandered and I was soon flipping through channels at warp speed. Turning off the TV, I paced around the house aimlessly before stopping in the kitchen.

I will never, ever claim to be good at anything domestic, but I was suddenly and inexplicably hit with the urge to bake something. Checking the freezer, I clapped excitedly. In my mind, there was nothing better than store-bought cookie dough.

What did you expect? I just told you I suck at cooking.

And so I spent the next forty-five minutes preparing the cookies, and it helped calm my nerves considerably. However, I was now extremely hungry for chocolate chip cookies and I wasn't sure sugar would be the best remedy for that whole insomnia thing.

What the hell. My parents had just died; no one was going to question me if I looked tired tomorrow.

Oh, tomorrow. I was not looking forward to tomorrow. My parents' wake would be held tomorrow night and relations I didn't really know woue swe swarming all over me. There were only two sets of realtives I would be glad to see, my mum's sister Peggy and her family and my dad's brother Tom and his family. Aunt Peggy and her family (my uncle Brian and cousins Melissa, Kevin, Colleen, Patrick, Maura, Anne, Kelly, Connor, Colin, and Kelly) would be flying in from Ireland early tomorrow, er, *this* morning. I had never been particularly close with Aunt Peggy and Uncle Brian, but Patrick was about my age, and we had been close since we were small. Unfortunately, we had drifted apart when I went to Hogwarts since I couldn't really tell him where I went to school. My mum, it appeared, had told them all that I was going to some uppety school for gifted students or something. I guess it was better than how the Dursleys had explained away Harry's absence.

My uncle Tom, however, was very close to me. He and his family lived in America where my father had originated, Cleveland to be exact. His family (my aunt Molly and cousins Amy and Jessica) had always visited us frequently over summer holidays when we were not vacationing elsewhere. Amy was several years older than I was and Jessica was only ten, but the three of us had always gotten along well together, and I hoped that they would at least be sympathetic shoulders to cry on.

They would all be here tomorrow... later today, all gathered in my home before and after the wake, I was sure, and as a last minute thing, I walked around the house for a few minutes while the cookies cooled collecting all memorabilia that connected me with the magical world. No one in my family was magical at all, and I was quite sure they wouldn't understand. I made a mental note to remove the Hogwarts banner from my door when I got back upstairs. My eyes wanted to leak as I picked up photos of lf olf on Diagon Alley and at Hogwarts.

Good God, there were a lot of them! I wondered if my parents had done this everytime any of their Muggle friends came over.

Depositing the artifacts in a box that I quickly charmed to look like a very boring magazine rack and transfiguring all the books on magic to stupid Muggle do-it-yourself home improvement guides, I looked upon my mother's piano. Smiling, I opened the piano bench and pulled out my books of music. Not the ones my mum had forced me to play- the ones I'd snuck home and hidden away under her scores and manuscripts. Fiona Apple, Tori Amos, Evanescence, Garbage, even Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera.

My mum had forced me to take piano lessons from the age of five and I had been very good at it (naturally), but I had never been really into classical music.

Shocking, I know.

No one ever expects smart people to know anythuing of music but Mozart and Beethoven.

I had excelled at piano, and so at ten, my mother had agreed to allow me to take voice lessons as well. That had been what I'd really wanted all along, but my mum said every artist needed a solid background in her art, and it wake ake a dancer learning ballet before she could dance any other form.

I told her I thanked God I wasn't a dancer.

I HATE ballet.

Sitting down on the bench, I pulled out the music books I'd had to sneak home transfigured into opera scores. Aah, angry chick rock, my best friend and confidant for so many years. Quickly flicking my wand over the books, they reverted to theirginaginal forms. Double checking that no one was around, I cast a silencing spell and began to sing and play, the cookies long forgotten.

I started off with songs that were fun to play and sing like Tori Amos' "Mr. Zebra" and Fiona Apple's "Paper Bag." And, I'm not ashamed to admit it- "Oops! I Did It Again." But I quickly moved to more depressing or angrier ones. I think I played through each of the song books at least twice, crying sometimes and sometimes screaming the lyrics. I raged at everything and everyone, completely uninhibited by the silencing spell.

But I lied.

I did not rage at everything.

I could not bring myself to mourn for my parents. There was a finality about it, an unquestionable quality that convinced me there was absolutely no reason to do anything about it. Crying wouldn't help. Being angry at God wouldn't help. Hating everything wouldn't help. My parents were dead. Nng wng would bring them back, and logical Hermione reared her head in this respect. I lied. I did not rage at everything- I raged at Snape.

I still was not over how he had treated me, and I supposed I wouldn't be until I talked him. But I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want confrontation. I didn't want rejection. I had no desire to hear that I was too young or too vulnerable or too impressionable or anything like that. I juanteanted him to want me.

It didn't help that I knew he was sitting watching me.

About two a.m. I heard a yawn. Smooth, Snape. Silencing spells only work one way, you dumbass.

I turned around at exactly the same time he yawned and rubbed his eyes. I immediately whipped back toward the piano- I didn't want him to know I knew he was there. Let him stay up all night if he was intent on doing so.

I continued singing until close to dawn when, sobbing and sniffling, I cleaned up the living room, ended the spell, and walked only about two paces behind Snape who probably thought I hadn't known he'd watched me all night.

It was six o'clock when I pretended to wake up and Snape pretended he didn't know I'd been up all night. I began to dress and was rummaging through my things for one of my favorite shirts when I suddenly realized it was still at Hogwarts- all of my stuff was still at Hogwarts. How had I not noticed that I had left all of my beloingings at school when I should have been moving home anyway? I had even left Crookshanks. I wondered vaguely if Dumbledore or Snape had brought any of my things with them. Shrugging, I pulled on another, less favorite t-shirt and left my room. I was sure it was all an oversight and I could have my things sent from Hogwarts when everything calmed down a little here.

My first stop downstairs was the kitchen where I noticed Snape had found my cookies. He sat on a stool at the small island finishing the last cookie and drinking something I could only assume was coffee, but knowing Snape it was some virilty potion or something. His back was to me, and I smiled wickedly as a rather Snapey idea popped into my head.

"Good?" I asked casually as I approached him and sat opposite him. Snape nodded as he took the last bite.

"I put nightshade in them."

He choked and sputtered, and it was almost impossible to keep a serious expression on my face.

"You didn't," he challenged defiantly, but with a completely terrified timbre to his voice.

"Oh yes, I did." Quite serious- kinda morose. I was getting good at this acting thing. "Guess that's what you get for eating someone else's cookies."

"But... Where would you get nightshade?"

"I keep a stock in my room. Never know when you're going to need to kill someone and make it look like an accident." I stood there, staring at him rather stonily, and he turned a kind of delicate sage color.

"You... you poisoned me?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed as if explaining potions to Neville.

"Welot iot intentionally. They were *my* cookies, after all." Snape's eyes widened and he sat paralyzed by fear of his impending, well, paralysis.

"Quick, go into my bags and grab the vial of purple potion in the zippered compartment."

Ooh, this was too easy. May as well let the bugger squirm and have some fun for myself.

"Your bags? Do I get to see your underwear?"

"Hermione, please!" He was frantic now.

"Boxers or briefs? Black, right? Or are you a colorful kind of guy on the inside?"

"Hermione!" Damn near hysterical.

I giggled. Poor guy, I should really let him off the hook.

"Don't worry, Snape. Unless Pillsbury started making lethal cookie dough while I was at Hogwarts, you're safe. I didn't add any nightshade. I don't even have any, and I didn't even make the cookies, just baked them."

"That was not funny!" he snapped as I handed him a glass of water to help with the coughing and choking. I shrugged and hopped up to sit on the island, feet swinging merrily like a child.

"So, ready to go to the airport?" I asked in a rather giggly voice.

"After you nearly killed me, you expect me to get into a car with you?"

"I DIDN'T poison you!"

"But I almost choked to death. Besides, I thought you Muggles had to be eighteen to get a driver's license."

"You do."

"Then how do you propose to get us there?"

"You have to be eighteen to have a license. No one needs to know I don't have a license."

"And what if you get caught?"

"That's why I have a wand. A quick Obliviate and I'm on my way. Look, we discussed this yesterday. Aunt Peggy and Uncle Brian can get rental cars, but Uncle Tom and Aunt Molly need to be picked up. Uncle Tom's cracked up three rental cars forgetting to drive on the left side of the road! I've been driving since I was sixteen- my dad bought me my own car when I turned seventeen! I have never been pulled over and I consider it extremely unlikely that I will be. So, either you come with me or you can explain to Dumbledore why you let up your little 'Hermione Granger Suicide Watch.'"

Snape looked shocked for a fraction of a second before he smoothly replied.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, come off it, Snape! I saw you last night watching me. I'm distraught, not blind. Let me guess, Dumbledore traced my wand?" I glared at him, my best impression of him, and knowing he was defeated, he conceeded.

Well, kind of.

Snapes don't conceed anything.

"I never knew you sang," he drawled. I snorted.

Very unladylike, I know, but I'm quite sure I got my point across.

"You never knew I existed." Snape sized me up quickly, the nightshade incident having acclimated him to my previously unseen sense of humor.

"Oh, come now, Miss Granger," he began condescendingly. "You were far too annoying to not have been noticed." A slow, self-satisfied smirk manifested itself over his features, and at the sight of my not-too-convincing glare, the smirk became a full-fledged grin. It looked good on him, I had to admit, eveneven though I still had no idea to do with him-

Even though I still had no idea what to do ABOUT him, I felt myself smiling back.

"Come on, we've got to get to the airport."

****
I have never been a fan of Muggle transportation, but I must admit that, true to her word, Hermione was an excellent driver. Entering her garage, I noticed a black sports car, very obviously seldom used which Hermione pointed out as her own. I blanched for a moment, quite sure I wouldn't fit in the thing, let alone her aunt, uncle, and two cousins, but she quickly showed me to a minivan which she assured me held seven people.

Settling in, the first several minutes of the trip were spent in silence except for the radio. At one point, I had quite enjoyed Muggle music, but the stuff she had on now was entirely insufferable. Some girl who sounded as mature as a batch of first years comparing a boy to candy...

Soon, though, the silence became uncomfortable, and I made small talk until I saw her soften and warm up to me. But I knew we had more important things to discuss than the complexity of precipitation patterns and the similarities between Quidditch and Muggle sports.

"Hermione. We need to talk," I began slowly. I noticed her attention to the road became an obsession as she tried desperately not to look anywhere near me.

"I know."

"What happened should never have escalated as far as it did."

"Please, not now."

"Hermione-"

"Please, NOT NOW." It was strange to hear know-it-all Granger use so many monosyllabic words.

"Hermione, please-"

"Professor Snape," she snapped, the use of my formal title shattering every hope I'd dare to have. "Can we please wait until my parents' bodies have cooled before we discuss my misguided attempt to make out with you?"

"Of course, Hermione. But I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." She physically winced at the words and new tears made themselves present in the corners of her eyes. I had no idea why an apology would prompt such a response. The female psyche will forever be a mystery to me.

"Sorry for what? Kissing me?" she asked softly, the tears thickening her voice.

"No, for what came after." My voice was becoming softer as well, and it seemed I had no control over it. Not that I wanted to intimidate her now, but, still, it was unusual for me.

"When you stopped me from grabbing your dick?"

"No! Yes!" God, she always shocked me somehow. Who would have guessed she could be blunt when discussing things of this nature.

"Hermione, I was..."

Scared, I thought, but I could not finish my thoughts. Instead, I sat sputtering like an imbecile.

"I couldn't..."

Imagine why you would want me.

"You are..."

The most beautiful woman in the world.

"I... I'm..."

"I know- sorry," she finished for me, her voice dead and hollow. "Keep your eyes peeled. We need to find a parking space."

And so ended the kamakazi effort that had been my apology to Hermione. I had hoped that, even had she rejected me, the air between us may have been cleared, but at seeing the pain on her face, I knew we were a long way from squared.

Thankfully, we pulled into a parking space almost immediately after the spat and were allowed the convenience of neglecting each other as we each focused on other tasks. First, we met her aunt and uncle from Ireland and her ten cousins at the Aer Lingus gate. I had been vaguely paying attention as she had rattled off their names, but, Good God, seeing the lot of them made me anxious. Between husbands, wives, fiances, and children there were roughly twenty-five of them.

Moving to the American Airlines gate, I was glad her other side of the family consisted only of four people, but as I would quickly learn, I would rather have been stuck with the Irish brood than in the confined space of the van with Hermione's cousin Amy.

"Oh my God! Are you alright? How have been doing? Have you seen them? Are you okay? Do you have anything to wear? I brought some extras in case you didn't. Oh my God, Hermione, I am SO sorry!" All of this said through tears, in about five seconds. And in that grating accent. It was not merely an American accent, but there was something slightly off about it. Hermione would later explain that it was what her relations called their "Cleveland accent," and that it was not commonplace even fifty miles outside the city.

And she never stopped talking the entire way back to Hermione's house.

Loudly, with arms flailing and animated facial expressions.

That stupid girl never stopped talking.

Never, that is, except when she was singing off-key. Trying to get Hermione to laugh, she explained loudly. When she failed, she rummaged through her bag and retrieved a cassette. The resulting song was sung by a male in a very obviously put-on falsetto. He had questionable vocal abilities, and I failed to see why Hermione seemed to be smiling. Amy was singing again, and I was almost tempted to laugh along with all of the rest of them. But then I heard a snatch of the lyrics and wasediaediately sobered.

"I know what you want
And I know what you need
But I'm gonna screw it up
'Cause I'm an idiot"

It would have been funny if it wasn't so fitting.


***********A/N************
"Idiot Boyfriend" belongs to the incomparable Jimmy Fallon.

Don't know what the real properties of nightshade are, but I do know that that's what Sally uses to poison the doctor in "The Nightmare Before Christmas" (which belongs to Tim Burton).

I have watched my weekly dose of WWE Raw and have drunk my so-big-you've-got-to-piss-your-pants-in-the-middle-of-the-movie size Mountain Dew Code Red and am feeling somewhat less flu-y, so I MAY have another chapter up before Xmas, but I'm not sure. Don't hate me! I have three days off next week and I'm a dork and don't party, so definitely next week if not sooner.

Thanks:

Talene: Thank you so much for your reviews. I am so sorry for your losses and my thoughts and prayers are with you, especially this time of year. I'm so glad you identify. I began writing as a way to copselfself, and I'm sick of hearing people say "Everyone grieves in their own way." I'm glad at least SOMEONE grieves the way I do. Not that I want you to grieve, but I'm glad I wrote it convincingly enough for someone else to identify with. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Michelle: Thank you for your review. I'm glad you liked the bit about the nod. That one hit me one night while I was trying to fall asleep and I started giggling. I hope I can continue to keep Snap bas bastard-y as possible! Thanks again!

deblovesdragon: Okay, if you insist, I won't kill anyone else for at least another chapter ;) Just kidding- you're right- no one left to kill. Thanks!

Deb: I will always be happy to compliment and thank people who are nice enough to compliment me! I'm glad you like my Severus. Yes, MY Severus! Hope you liked chapter 7!

star no star: Hope you liked the whole Return of the King thing. I'm not into that. But my asshole boyfriend who works at a theater told me that the new HP trailer was running before the movie, so we sat through 3 sets of previews for LOR and it was never on! I was gonna kill him! Thanks for taking the time to review!

GrrArrg: Oh, what can I say? You rock. You have pegged me entirely by accusing me of expressing my "inner Hermione," but you forgot that I'm expressing my "inner Snape" too! Except that my Snapey side isn't quite inner. If I could treat people like Snape does, I probably would. Well, at least my more hated associates...
I will always admit to things I've done, even if those things include calling you evil =).
You deserved it.
Admit it.
Wow! I'm a recommended fic! My life has new meaning. I'm seriously not being sarcastic! You can't know how much that means!
Yes, I have a split personality, and right now I'm talking to myself so leave us alone! =)
Actually, if you tried to hex me with a cigarette, you'd probably suceed. I have a paralyzing fear of being burned. It's why I don't dance at clubs. All those ashes falling everywhere...
Wow (again, I say it)! I am an evil wench? Damn, I'm good!
Glad you liked the Claire's comment. It was prompted by the fact that the American Department of Magical Affairs had my wand after I had an illicit ffair with MY potions master when I was 16, and now I have to work retail. Actually, I work for The Icing by Claire's which is like Claire's red-headed stepchild. And I actually had a dream that Voldemort was the head of Claire's and my district manager was a Death Eater. The scary thing- the only thing I could say was "I knew it!"
No, no, no! Save the visions of the Dirrty video. I'm sure we'll need them later when they involve someone a tad more youthf And And hopefully a bit more reminiscent of Trent Reznor...
Oh, do not bow before me, mortal one. You are truly worthy. But you can grovel some more if you like... Noblesse oblige and all that.
I was excited to receive so many reviews from you. If you will remember, I seemed to have inundated you with several repetative reviews in the past... And you can write an essay on my brilliance anytime you like.
God, aren't you glad I'm not cocky?
Yes, this will be a long one.
Extra big kisses for you, too, my new fiancee!

HERMIONEANDSEVERUS4EVA!: Thanks for your reviews! I wish I could take credit for the inscription on the frame, but I copied it from one I bought on impulse the week my dad died. The sales girl thought I was fucking nuts, all crying and trying to pay at the same time. I'm glad I wrote Hermione's feelings realistically- I thank you heartily for that comment!

Flick: I missed you! Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad I could make you cry. Well, you know, not that I made you cry, but that I... AAAAAH! You know what I mean!

Lady Anne: Thank you! Reviews mean so much to me, and I'm so glad you liked it! Hope I didn't disappoint!

Thank you all! If I don't see you again before, Merry Christmas! Hope Santa brings you everything you want! But he can't bring you Severus- I already claimed him!