Two: Reunions
The scarlet steam engine raced on towards Hogwarts, bringing her closer and closer to her old school. Hermione felt the swell of excitement building up in her chest. She stared out at the scenery, seeing the countryside racing by. She didn’t care that the winter sky was a drab grey, or that the wind whistled mournfully. There was just something about this day that was happy, something that couldn’t be spoiled. My God, she thought, I really am going back.
She had owled Harry and Ron just after she had gotten her invitation, and they, too, had decided to come. They had arranged to meet before getting on the train, and now the three were sharing a compartment and a stack of cauldron cakes.
"Can you believe it, ‘Mione?" asked Ron. "We’re going back to Hogwarts!"
"I know," Hermione said, looking away from the window. "Exciting, isn’t it?"
"Very," Ron said. "Though, I do wonder if Malfoy will be coming. That really could ruin it."
"True, Ron," Harry agreed.
"Oh, Harry, it’s not like he’ll still be the little prat he was in school. He’s probably grown up," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "Hopefully," she added after a moment, and they all laughed.
"Ah, nostalgia," said a voice from the doorway that sounded very familiar. "How sentimental. I haven’t been this choked up since you all bawled like babies at the end of seventh year." They all looked up. Hermione felt a sneer crawling over her features, but she tried to suppress it as much as she could. It didn’t seem right for her to sneer, especially since Ron was sneering enough for all three of them.
"Hullo, Draco," said Harry calmly, not sneering. "Cauldron cake?"
Draco stared at him for a second, seeming to weigh the possibilities. Hermione could almost imagine his thoughts… ‘Potter knows that I will say no, but still I have always wanted to prove the prick wrong. Now, here’s a dilemma. To say yes would prove Potter wrong, but would be accepting kindness from him, and to say no would only prove Potter’s point once again.’
Yes, Hermione thought, he probably was very confused.
"No, thank you," Draco said finally, his tone crisp as new, blank parchment.
All three of the friends in the compartment were surprised at the politeness, even if it was cold politeness. Malfoy had never been one to use please or thank you or anything of the sort, and probably never had in his entire life. This was more than strange. It didn’t seem to faze Ron, though.
"So, since we’re all getting nostalgic here, why don’t you add to it by insulting my family, Hermione’s heritage, and Harry’s fame?" he asked, and somehow managed to keep a straight face. Draco stood there, somehow frozen, seeming unsure of how exactly he was supposed to answer that.
"Not so proud and pompous without your goons behind you, are you?" asked Hermione. She wasn’t usually sarcastic, but couldn’t help just a little sarcasm as the memory of the hex that made her teeth grow so long popped into her head.
Draco remained in the doorway a second, standing there and looking around at them silently. Then, without a word, he walked out of the compartment, and his footsteps faded away down the corridor. For a moment, they all simply looked at each other. Then, the hilarity of this situation was suddenly apparent, and as one they all burst out laughing.
"Well, he certainly has changed!" Ron chuckled. "He didn’t used to be such a coward!"
"Oh, but the poor sod’s been through the mill," said Harry, sobering all of a sudden. "You know he had a lot of trouble with his family after he refused to join the Death Eaters. It wasn’t even what anybody else expected, for him not to join, that is."
"Yes, but we didn’t know him really personally," said Hermione. "So, we didn’t know what went on in that twisted mind of his. Maybe he had been planning to go against Voldemort all along." She shrugged, and felt a shudder go through her as she tried her best not to remember the Dark Lord and what everyone had thought Draco had done.
"Maybe," Ron said, in a vague tone that suggested he was thinking about something else. "You know, I wonder if he and Parkinson ever…"
"Oh, heavens no," said Hermione quickly, almost disgustedly. "He didn’t like her at all. Why, the very thought of them engaged or even dating makes me want to vomit."
She shuddered again, but for a completely different reason than before. That pug-nosed Parkinson had married Blaise Zabini. Then, she had gotten herself killed by the Dark Lord, so it said in the Daily Prophet. Hermione remembered thinking, on the morning that she saw Parkinson’s name among the list of the dead, that Voldemort didn’t appreciate people being idiots.
"How do you know he didn’t like her?" Harry asked.
"Well, it was quite obvious," said Hermione, and her tone also suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world. Harry and Ron stared blankly at her. "God, I hate that men can’t pick up on emotions. At all," Hermione muttered.
"You know, I don’t particularly want to talk about Malfoy’s emotions, as you call them, anyway," said Harry. "I want to know what you’ve been up to lately, Hermione."
"No, you don’t," Hermione said. "It’s not particularly interesting. Not as interesting as you beating the Wasps again." Harry was Seeker for the Chudley Cannons, and Ron was his manager. They had defeated the Wimbourne Wasps recently, the fourth time in the past year. They hadn’t yet lost to the Wasps, who were losing their touch anyway, having not won a game in nearly six months.
"You’re right, it’s probably not nearly as interesting," said Ron. Hermione glared at him, remembering again why she didn’t like men’s disregard for feelings. Of course, she couldn’t blame him for saying what he had, for she had said it herself, but that wasn’t the point! He had had a tone.
"Ooh," she said simply, and started on another cauldron cake.
"No, really, ‘Mione," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "I’d like to know."
Hermione couldn’t help smiling at him, the understanding one. "Oh, all right," she said, after a bite of cauldron cake.
She told them the story of how she had wanted the job of Ambassador, but had been denied such a reward for her work since she had lost her papers. She then told them the rest of the story, about how Percy had allowed for another interview, and she complimented Ron on having such a wonderful brother. Ron rolled his eyes and began on his Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, a sour look on his face, and not from the beans, either, it seemed.
Harry had a cute little smile on his face, though. "That really was very nice of Percy. And poor Emma, eh, Ron?"
Ron glanced up. "Yeah, I suppose. I mean, it’s just a teddy, though, and she didn’t have to throw cake at me."
Hermione glanced at him, and laughed. "She threw cake on you?" she asked. "Well, she certainly knows right from wrong."
Harry laughed as he regaled Hermione with stories of Emma’s ‘affectionate’ tricks played on Ron, but Ron’s face only turned more sour. Hermione was regretting not going to Emma’s birthday party, now. Had she known her two best friends would be there, she would have gone. Also, she would have liked to see cake all over Ron. She patted him on the shoulder in apology, but still she had to admit that Harry’s stories were hilarious.
As the ride went on, Hermione felt distinctly as though she were going back in time, and she realised that between herself, Ron, and Harry, everything was the same. She had to wonder, though, if Hogwarts would be the same, as well.
They walked through the front doors to the Entrance Hall, the hems of their robes damp from trudging through the snow, and their feet tracking the white, wet stuff in onto the stone floor. Hermione looked around, taking in the sight of the school with a sigh of relief. No place had felt more like home than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Christmas spread over the walls in wreaths and garlands of holly, red ribbons, everlasting icicles, mistletoe, and all sorts of decorations. The faint aroma of cinnamon lingered in the air, and she breathed Christmas with each breath. It’s so perfect, she thought. The house-elves had really outdone themselves. She wondered if the suits of armour still sang carols at this time of year.
She had only a moment to gaze around at the decorations, because soon McGonagall was standing before them all, and she was smiling wider than Hermione remembered her ever having smiled.
"Welcome back, all of you," said McGonagall. "To celebrate your return, there will be a feast in the Great Hall. Now, let us go into the hall, and let the Holiday of the Class of 1997 begin!"
Everyone filed into the Great Hall, taking seats at their respective house tables that they had missed for four years. Dumbledore gave a five-second speech that went something like this: "Happy Christmas, but before we eat, I must say a few words! Tetris, marshmallow, shenanigan, gecko. Thank you." For about a second after that eccentric performance, everyone was silent, but then they applauded, and Dumbledore began the feast.
Hermione and Parvati Patil had a field day talking about how helpless and also stupid men were, and Lavender Brown added to their conversation by talking about how her now ex-boyfriend couldn’t even remember her birthday. Several men-are-jerks jokes were told, and then the conversation moved on. Somehow, though, Hermione felt better, having someone to rant to and to hear rant.
At one point during dinner, Hermione glanced up and surveyed the High Table with interest, wondering if there would be any new professors there. There was a new professor, one that had to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor –go figure, Hermione thought. She looked him over, though, and then her eyes rested on a certain Potions Master.
Good heavens, she thought. He hasn’t aged a day… Shaking her head of these thoughts, or trying to, she surveyed Professor Snape curiously. The raven wing of his hair fell against a white cheek, and his pale lips were pressed into their usual frown. Despite that frown, though, Hermione felt her heart flutter a little. She admitted to having a bit of a crush on him in school, but that was gone, now. She was sure.
Suddenly, the two glittering onyxes of his eyes were turned on her, and the breath caught in her throat. Meeting his eyes quite on accident, she couldn’t look away, feeling herself falling into the twin black pools. His eyes had always distracted her, for she had never seen eyes so beautiful, and didn’t expect she would anywhere else. Biting her lip, she turned away finally, ignoring the cool tingling that was pulsing in her blood because of his burning gaze. Gods, she thought, I didn’t see that coming.
There’s nothing there, though, she reminded herself. Just because I think he has pretty eyes doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly attracted to him again. She shrugged it off, ignoring it, and turned back to her friends, to help Harry and Ron tell Seamus and Dean about how they had ‘defeated’ Draco Malfoy earlier. She didn’t think about Snape again that evening, though that did not mean that her former professor didn’t think about her.
Severus Snape held a goblet of chilled orange juice in his hand, staring contemplatively into the liquid, seeming to be looking for the meaning of life. He wasn’t actually thinking about anything in particular, but vaguely he realised that this stuff was more yellow than orange. Not that it mattered, anyway.
With another unenthusiastic poke at his sausage, he looked up and suppressed an exasperated sigh. He couldn’t believe that this lot had returned, even if it was just for a week. Dumbledore had probably decided to do this to torture him. Not only did Snape hate Potter and Weasley, but also Granger was something to him. She wasn’t anything he understood, but she was… something.
Of course, he wouldn’t admit it, but every time he saw her picture along with those of the other Head Boys and Head Girls of Hogwarts, he couldn’t not think of her. It didn’t help that even without seeing her picture that often he had thought of her every day for the last four years, ever since she had left.
Her mind was a diamond, priceless, and she was a daisy in the middle of a snowy field, in that she was so happy, even in bleak times. She boasted an aura of something like cheer, warmth, when even the darkest day came. He knew that for a fact, having lived through the darkest day along with her, and heard her reassuring words on that day. She never lost hope.
She, beauteous Hermione, was perfect, and he, the wretched bastard, was imperfect, and that most of all was what made him too sick for words. Still, what made him even more ill was that he could never have her because of his imperfection; he could never experience love, period, let alone hers. But that didn’t matter. Pah. He didn’t need love, anyway.
He looked up as the doors to the Great Hall opened and she and Potter and Weasley entered. Weasley’s arm was around her waist. Frowning, Severus returned to his breakfast, and failed to taste his food as he ate it. McGonagall was talking about something, but he easily managed not to pay attention.
Mid-meal, he looked up and by chance his eyes landed on Hermione. He hated that fact, but it couldn’t be changed, especially when he decided to indulge in his wishes to look on her again. She had changed a lot, grown more beautiful. Actually, she hadn’t been extremely pretty in her school days, but he had had an emotional affair with her mind. Now, she was a goddess in entirety, with the same intelligence, but now beauty, as well.
His eyes trailed over her features, catching the flutter of long, dark lashes, following the trail of a curled, brown lock across her soft cheek, and feasting upon the sight of her full, rosy lips. She speared a sausage with her fork, and her lips closed around the end of it as she lifted the sausage to her mouth. Snape had to look away then, at the many indecent and frankly lascivious ideas that had surfaced in his mind totally unbidden.
Fighting slightly for breath, he gripped the edge of the table. He had to get out of here.
"Severus, are you all right? You look out of sorts," said McGonagall.
"What?" asked Severus, looking up suddenly. "Oh… excuse me. I must go."
He swept out of the room, ignoring the others’ questions, and in his haste he didn’t even notice Hermione’s gaze flit up to him as he left.
In the dungeons later that morning, he bent over a cauldron of blue liquid that bubbled gently and spouted a good deal of clean, white steam. There was only a slight smell of petrol in the air, and the steam caused the air to be warm and muggy around the pensive professor, who was looking quite the chemist with protective goggles over his eyes and gloves on his hands.
He added a bezoar to the mix, and it suddenly calmed. The bubbling ceased and the steam cleared away to only a small, nearly non-existent cloud. The color of the potion had altered to a sky blue, and soon it would be complete. Severus had only to let it simmer for five minutes.
Suddenly, he realized that he was not alone. He looked up, and couldn’t stop the faint frown from appearing on his features when he saw who had entered his classroom. He only fleetingly let his eyes glance over her curvaceous figure, but then looked irritably away. Not only was she unannounced, but she was unwelcome.
"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said evenly, unwilling to let his emotions show. He removed his goggles and set them on his desk.
"Um… good morning, Professor Snape," Hermione said, not sounding quite sure of herself. She stepped away from the door, closer to him. "I’m saying hello to all of my old teachers."
"Well, then," said Snape, glad that she was still across the room from him. "Hello. Do you require anything else?"
"Some conversation following a greeting is usually normal, but knowing you, there’s no possible way you would spend more than a few minutes on a visitor," said Hermione, and it didn’t seem as though anyone like her would purposely be cold, but her tone was slightly frigid. She placed a hand on her hip in what was probably irritation.
"Knowing me," Snape repeated, making a sound a little like a sarcastic laugh. He took off his gloves, and looked darkly at her. "You don’t know me."
Hermione hardly flinched at the harshness of his words. "I’d like to," she said. Both of them were surprised at that, and Severus hesitated a moment, silently laying his brown dragon hide gloves on the desk beside his goggles. He looked her over calculatingly, before finally making a decision.
"No," he said, shaking his head slightly.
"No…" Hermione’s confusion drew lines in the pale flesh of her brow, and twisted her lips to a slight frown.
"No, you wouldn’t like to know me. Believe me," said Severus. "Now, I gave you what you came for. I said ‘Hello.’ So, leave. I have work to do."
Hermione stayed there for a moment, and then bowed her head in defeat. "As you wish," she murmured, and then she was gone.
After dinner, which had been after a active and very giggly snowball fight, Hermione sat next to Ron on the sofa in Gryffindor Common Room, laughing with the rest of the old crowd. Life, at that moment, was blissful, all friends and Christmas and butterbeer. She took another sip of hers, and laughed as she received a kiss on the cheek from a slightly befuddled Ron.
"Ron, I think you’ve had enough," Hermione said, giggling as she took the bottle of butterbeer out of his hand.
"Oh, come on, Hermione, that stuff’s not potent at all," Ron protested, almost whined. He reached for the bottle, but Hermione held it out of his reach, far away from his extended hand. She rolled her eyes and laughed a little as Ron reached fruitlessly for the butterbeer.
"Well, not usually, except you’ve had seventeen," she said. "Anyway, it’s a wonder you aren’t running as fast as you can to the loo."
It was as though Hermione was clairvoyant, for only a moment later Ron suddenly sprang up and ran from the room. All of those who remained before the fire threw back their heads in laughter.
"Now, that’s funny," Seamus said, still chuckling. "Harry," he added, "tell us about the Wasps. Are they really that easy to beat? Because you sure made it look like it."
"Well, I’d hate to sound conceited, but it’s the truth that, yes, it was that easy to win," said Harry. Some of those in the circle looked unbelieving, but Harry went on, "I’m not lying to you! They must truly be out of practice or something. I actually feel sorry for them, you know, I mean, I’d hate to be on a team that was doing as bad as they are."
"Ah, Harry, you are too kind for your own good," said Dean, and he shook his head. "Sympathy isn’t going to give them their ability to win back."
"True," said Seamus. "Only rigorous practice and training would give them that back, and Gregory Fulaire hasn’t seen a day of that in his life."
Hermione’s eyes moved between the three as they argued about the Wasps’ seeker’s ability to play Quidditch. Ron soon came back, and sat down, draping his arm around Hermione and joining the conversation about Quidditch. Hermione tried to follow the conversation, but ended up simply starting a new one with Parvati and Lavender about how none of them could really understand what the boys were talking about.
Eventually, the clock on the mantel of the huge fireplace tolled midnight, and they decided it was time for bed. They had all week to talk. Everyone filed up the stairs, but Ron and Hermione stayed behind a moment.
He gathered her against him in his arms, and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. She let him, though somehow the feelings she had felt in sixth year when he kissed her had faded, and were barely tangible now. When he broke the kiss, she smiled at him, and bid him goodnight as he climbed the stairs up to the dormitory. Then she went to the couch and sat down, morosely staring into the fire.
Sitting there, she thought about a lot of things. This wasn’t right, all of this with Ron. It just didn’t… feel right. There wasn’t a way to explain it, but she wanted more than something that she had been expecting. She wanted a spontaneous love, something she wouldn’t be waiting for, someone who would sweep her off her feet. Of course, she couldn’t possibly find that in this place called reality. Oh, if life were like the movies.
She sat there a long while, gazing into the leaping flames, and her thoughts centralized around a certain man. But no, she told herself, that’s just a girlish fantasy. She shook her head of the betraying musings, and slowly climbed the stairs to her old dormitory, unready for the dreams that came to her in the night.