Ch 13 Go to Sleep You Little Babe

 

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling. I'm only playing in her world.

Thanks once again to Queenp and Keladry. Queenp graciously puts up with my pestering her while she is trying to beta. I have no patience and she indulges me and doesn't yell when I send her emails asking "Now? Is it ready now? Huh? Huh?" As for Keladry, she too puts up with my pestering and was most helpful during this chapter when the muse wouldn't shut up and kept insisting that certain scenes needed expanding. All hail the mighty betas!

I haven't heard back yet from one of my betas but I was getting impatient. So, everyone on FFN gets a treat and gets a sneak preview of this new chapter. Once I hear back from the beta I'll upload the newest version. For those who read on Ashwinder, that will have to wait until I hear back from my second beta. -CChapter 13 — "Go to Sleep, You Little Babe"

"Should we wake her up?"

Lavender peered at the her in question and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose we should. She'd freak if she missed classes."

That said, both girls continued to stare at Hermione, neither one making the move to wake up their sleeping roommate.

Hermione, oblivious to her watching roommates, never stirred. Neither the regular morning noises of the two girls getting ready, nor the bright sunlight streaming in through the cut glass windows, had stirred the young woman. She slept as if one of the dead. In fact, Lavender had been just the tiniest bit worried she was dead until she'd seen Hermione's even breathing disturbing the dark brown curls that half-obscured her face.

Finally, Pavrati nudged Lavender. "You do it."

"Me?" Lavender questioned, taking a small step backwards from the bed. "I'm the one who drew her curtains." Pointing a finger at Pavrati, she added, "I think you need to wake her up."

"What if she hexes me?" Pavrati whined.

Lavender pondered that one. It was a valid concern. Hermione had been rather wand-happy lately. Then another thought occurred to her. "What do you think will make her angrier, that we woke her up, or that we didn't wake her and she missed classes this close to exams?"

Pavrati's eyes went wide. "Good point." She was a Gryffindor after all; bravery was part of her nature. Taking a deep breath she prepared herself for possible battle — adjusting her robes and smoothing down her hair until it lay in a shining black fall. Drawing her wand, she cast one last look at Lavender. "Cover me, Lav, I'm going in."When Hermione, Lavender and Pavrati appeared at breakfast an hour later, Hermione caused quite a stir among the older Gryffindor boys, and no few of the Ravenclaws, as she passed down between the two long tables to her regular seat in the Great Hall.

It wasn't the fact that her eyes were barely open, or that she seemed to be having trouble walking in a straight line. In fact, no one commented on the fact that it was only Lavender and Pavrati, walking on either side of her that was keeping her upright and moving.

No, everyone was staring at Hermione for a completely different reason. Her normally neat enough uniform seemed to have changed a bit from yesterday. It no longer hid her form but was tailored and crisp, showing off the curve between her breasts and hips. Her hair, usually a bushy mass, had been tamed down into a sleek French braid that left escaped, curling tendrils of hair framing a remarkably delicate-featured face. The largest transformation, however, was Hermione's face. She was wearing make-up. Tasteful and natural looking, but definitely there — from her soot-black lashes and tinted cheeks to the rosy stain upon her glossed lips.

Reaching the spot where Ron and Harry sat, Hermione slid into her seat, propelled by a gentle prod from Lavender. She quirked a bemused looking half-smile at both boys before her eyes slid halfway closed. She seemed to be dozing in her seat.

Ron turned a scowl on Dean, who was eyeing Hermione with a little more interest than Ron was comfortable with. Harry, however, was scowling at Pavrati and Lavender. "What did you two do to her?"

Lavender pursued her lips into a small pout. "Really, Harry Potter, what makes you think we've done anything to Hermione?"

Ron, who had turned in his seat to block Dean's view of Hermione, pointed an outraged finger at Hermione. "Look at her!" he demanded. "You two have drugged her or put her under Imperius or . . . or . . . something." Ron suddenly leaned forward, his eyes sweeping over Hermione. "Wait a minute, that's not even her shirt. It's yours, Lavender."

Lavender gave a sly grin and batted her lashes at Ron. "You notice what I wear, Ron? That's so sweet."

Ron recoiled backwards, his face flushed and eyes wide. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Harry, seeing that Ron had been completely derailed, came to his friend's rescue. "That's not the point, Lavender. The point is that Hermione doesn't dress that way. And she doesn't braid her hair and she doesn't wear make up!"

Ron having regained his senses, jumped back into the conversation. "And she certainly doesn't sit quietly while people sit around and talk about what she's wearing."

That comment brought everyone's attention back to Hermione, who was at the moment staring with glassy-eyed fascination into her bowl of oatmeal, completely oblivious to the people around her. She only looked up when Ginny, seated next to Ron said, "Oh for Merlin's sake, all of you shut up. Somebody get some tea into her; the stronger the better."With breakfast eaten and two cups of strong black tea in her, Hermione was feeling a little more awake but could tell she wasn't in any shape to attend that Tuesday's Potions lesson. The fact that she had only vague and disjointed memories of Lavender and Pavrati getting her up, dressed, made-up, and down to breakfast was proof enough that she was in no shape to be playing with volatile ingredients. She'd also tried to perform to perform a simple "Wingardium" in the hallway and realized that her magic was almost non-existent. What little bit she could conjure up was sluggish, like thick molasses, rather than the quicksilver flash she was used to. She wasn't even sure she could create a potion.

In the state she was currently in, Hermione knew herself to be a danger to her fellow classmates. She would not have anyone's injury on her conscience. Not to mention the distraction she seemed to be causing. She had no idea that a few outward changes in her appearance would make people stare so. She felt decidedly uncomfortable and was looking forward to getting herself put to rights the first chance she got. Then she would be having a nice chat with her roommates about turning her into a life-sized dress-up doll.

Feeling that in her still somewhat woozy state that it would be best to talk to Professor Snape without the rest of the class around, she'd left the others at breakfast to head for the dungeons as soon as she'd seen Professor Snape leave.

Not that Harry and Ron had let her go without a fuss. She'd have to remember to apologize to Ron later. Exhaustion did not seem to sweeten her temper. This made her think that maybe Professor Snape had the same problem, as she was well aware that he never seemed to sleep.

"Just a few more steps," she murmured, uncaring if anyone overheard her talking to herself. At this point, she was just too tired to care. What wakefulness the tea had given her seemed to have evaporated somewhere between the Great Hall and the entryway to the dungeons. All Hermione wanted to do was stop and lean against a wall for a while. She was afraid though that if she stopped moving, she wouldn't start again. That would be all she needed — to be found asleep, slumped against one of the dungeon walls.

"Finally," she said around a jaw-popping yawn, as the wooden doors that guarded the Potions classroom came into sight.

Too tired to knock, Hermione simply shouldered her way in.

Professor Snape looked up from where he was seated at his desk at her intrusion. Her appearance at his door must have truly startled him for her Professor stared at her for several long seconds before finally snapping, "What is the meaning of this, Miss Granger? Class does not begin for another thirty minutes."

Hermione blinked, wishing it wasn't so hard to think.

The timbre of his voice dropped from mildly annoyed down to decidedly annoyed. "Miss Granger, I asked you a question."

She really meant to tell him that she wouldn't be in his class that morning, she really did. What came out of her mouth, however, was something completely unexpected. "Lavender would kill to have your eyelashes."

Professor Snape's face flushed an angry red as he surged to his feet, his hands slamming down hard onto the desktop. "Ten points, Miss Granger," he snapped.

Feeling as if she was watching everything through a thick plate glass window, Hermione blinked a couple more times before nodding. "Okay." Ten points was more than fair; she would have taken twenty.

Eyes usually slitted in contempt or menace suddenly went wide. "Okay?" he repeated incredulously, as if he didn't quite believe that was her response. He was about to say something else when he stopped and stared at her assessingly. "Miss Granger, are you drunk?"

"No, sir, not drunk." Hermione plopped gracelessly down into a wooden chair at the back of the room and braced her chin on an upturned palm. "Just tired." Her words rose into a sing-song, "Very tired."

Professor Snape was still looking at her like she was insane. It was so hard to think and make the words come out, but she tried. "Too tired for class. Not much magic. Won't endanger . . . rather take the zero." She really wanted to sleep. Maybe sitting down hadn't been such a good idea. She wasn't sure when her eyes closed, but she startled awake when cool fingertips touched her cheek and chin. Hermione found herself staring into the dark eyes of her professor, words forming and spilling forth before her brain fully engaged. "You really do have pretty lashes."

Thin lips compressed into a hard line as her professor drew in a deep breath. "Miss Granger, you are clearly not in control of your faculties, so I will, for the moment, ignore your sudden fascination with my eyelashes. However, my patience extends only so far. It would behoove you to concentrate on answering my questions before Gryffindor manages to find itself in a point deficit. What did you do, Miss Granger, to bring yourself to this state? And do not lie to me. I know well the signs of magic depletion."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione might have panicked at this point, thinking that S.N.O.R.T. was about to be exposed. Complete and utter exhaustion — physical, mental and magical — came to her rescue. She was just entirely too tired to panic. So she told him the truth. "Was a Charm," she said, though the words were slurred with fatigue. She scowled, her lips momentarily moued up in displeasure. "T'was a very hard charm. Tried and tried and tried, but I couldn't get it work right." She stopped and took a deep breath before letting it out in a noisy exhale. "Then it worked," she said with a slow smile.

"Worked, indeed," Professor Snape replied with a glare. "I can see how well it worked. Imbecilic child. Your overzealousness in studying has hit new highs. I do hope that Professor Flitwick's final exam is worth the zero you will earn in my class today."

She almost corrected his assumption that the charm that had brought her to this state was for Charms class, before her sluggishly brain caught up with her mouth and silenced her. What came out instead was a very undignified huff of breath. She couldn't even work up the energy to get angry. Instead she just gave him a small nod before her eyes slid closed once again.

The light touch of his fingertips moved across her face and she felt him press two fingers lightly between her eyes. His fingers stayed there momentarily and she heard him murmur what sounded like a spell, although she missed the incantation he used.

"Even without Potter and Weasley you manage to get yourself in trouble, Miss Granger," his voice from somewhere above her said. "You and I will be having a most serious chat."

Hermione could hear him as his continued to mutter imprecations under his breath but the cool touch of his fingers felt good and she stayed where she was, to tired to protest. A moment later she felt the solid mass of his body move away. Two seconds after that, Hermione was slumped over the desk, her head pillowed on her folded arms. She was distantly aware of noise as Professor Snape moved around her but she was really to comfortable to care what he was doing and to tired to understand how strange the whole situation was.

"Sit up and open your eyes, Miss Granger."

When she didn't move fast enough for the voice above her, a firm hand caught her shoulder and raised her back up into a sitting position. Hermione fought against the lead weights that seemed to hold down her eyelids. Tired or not, she was too conditioned to ignore the command in his voice. He said to open her eyes, and she would do so, although it took her a few seconds to focus her gaze on the two vials, holding an electric green potion, that were being waved in front of her nose.

Once Professor Snape was certain he had her attention, he continued. "I have excused you from classes for the rest of the day, Miss Granger. You will receive a zero in my class as well as the others you will miss today. If nothing else, that should teach you the consequences of behaving in so foolish a manner in regards to your magic. You will return to your dorm where you will drink one vial. You will set your alarm for the noon meal. You will come down to the Great Hall and you will eat the entire meal that appears before you. You will then present yourself to the Head Table for an evaluation by Madam Pomfrey and me. Upon the conclusion of that evaluation, you will return to your dorm where you will drink the second vial. You will once again sleep until the evening meal, where you will again eat the entire meal presented to you and then present yourself for a second evaluation. After which, you will return to your dorm and sleep."

Sleep? She couldn't sleep. She had studying to do.

Professor Snape seemed to read and recognize the dawning mutiny on her face for those cool fingertips returned to her chin, tipping it up so that her eyes were locked with his. "These are the consequences of your actions and you will live with them. The potion is an accelerant, but your body will require abundant rest and food in order to rebuild your magical reserves. You will not study. You will not read. You will not go to the library. You will not dally with your friends."

The same deranged part of her psyche that made the earlier comment on his eyelashes took that moment to speak again. "No passing Go an' no two hundred pounds."

"Excuse me?"

Oops. "Sorry, sir. Muggle thing."

He was staring at her like he suspected that she'd been mocking him. Hermione swallowed, hard. She was never, ever, doing this again. Finally, those eyes staring at her flicked away. "As you say, Miss Granger. You will follow my instructions to the letter. You will also report to me Thursday evening immediately after dinner for your detention."

"Detention?" Had she missed the part where he mentioned a detention? She remembered him taking points. When had detention appeared?

"Detention, Miss Granger, for the blatant disregard to your own well-being and magic, not to mention, for disturbing me with your idiocy." Professor Snape took a step back from her, giving her room to stand. "Now come."

Her mouth was still obviously disconnected from her brain, because once again words came forth that under other circumstances she never would have voiced. "Come where, sir?" she questioned.

Professor Snape had already moved and was standing by the door, waiting on her. Hermione noted that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he was developing a headache. She was fairly sure she heard him growl 'patience' in an undertone that spoke little of the word he was invoking.

"We are going to your dormitory, Miss Granger. I am responsible for your safety, and as you are now, you are in no condition to wander the walls by yourself." He let out a controlled breath and then snapped, "Now get over here!"

Tired or not, Hermione was on her feet instantly and heading towards her darkly glowering professor before she even realized it. Once again her mouth engaged sans brain control. "That's just brilliant," she said, her words running together. Flashing him a wide grin, she giggled, "One day, I wanna be able to make people snap to with just my voice." She nodded sagely. "Would do wonders for Ron and 'arry."

Professor Snape ignored both her grin and her overly familiar tone; he could not ignore her mirth. "Stop that infernal giggling, Miss Granger. Punch-drunk or no, it does not become you."

A little further down the corridor, she was still trying to contain her giggles, going so far as to clamp one hand over her mouth. It did not completely muffle the sniggers that escaped. Worse yet, she couldn't seem to control them no matter how hard she tried, especially when they left the dungeons and entered the more populated hallways of the school. The looks on the faces of her fellow students, who parted to let a scowling Professor Snape pass by being trailed by a giggling and snorting Hermione, was just too much. She would contain the giggles only to lose her composure a few steps later.

Thankfully, by the time they reached Gryffindor Tower, most of the student body were headed towards their various classrooms. Professor Snape deposited her at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who i tsk /I ed disapprovingly at her, with one final shot. "You, Miss Granger, will be the worst kind of drunk."

Feeling that she ought to be offended, but really feeling too silly to care, Hermione arched an eyebrow and attempted to look down her nose at her professor. A task was made all the more difficult since he was taller than she was. "And what kind of drunk is that, sir?"

"A happy one," he shot back, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.Hermione's first thought as she opened her eyes the next morning was that she'd had the strangest dream. Her second thought concerned the daring little spider that seemed to have taken up residence in the canopy of her bed, complete with intricately spun web. Her third thought of the morning had her sitting straight up in bed while her heart tried to escape her chest.

"Oh dear God, I told Professor Snape he had pretty eyelashes!"

Drawing her legs up beneath the comforter, Hermione buried her face in the fabric. As flashes of memory from yesterday overtook her, she groaned, covering her head with her arms. This was bad. Only the eventual need for air made her lift her head. It could not, however, make her leave the safety of her bed. Would it be possible to take her exams without ever leaving the safety of its four posters? How was she ever going to face her friends? More importantly, how was she going to face Professor Snape? Pretty eyelashes! What HAD she been thinking? There was no help for it, Gryffindor or not, she wasn't leaving the bed.

Ten minutes later, the call of nature won over Gryffindor pride. Feeling as if she was going to face a firing squad, Hermione rolled out of bed, only to be confronted with a half-dressed Pavrati on the other side of the curtains.

Both girls stared at each other, Hermione in embarrassment and Pavrati in curiosity. Hermione finally found her tongue. "I -," she stopped and cleared her throat before beginning again, "I want to thank you and Lavender for getting me up yesterday."

Perfect dimples framed Pavrati's answering smile. "You're welcome." She paused then and her smile turned into a sly grin. "You wouldn't be interested in letting Lav and me do you up again, would you?"

Hermione's eyes went wide and she took an involuntary step backwards until she bumped into her bed. "No thanks," she managed to get out as all the staring eyes from the day before flashed in her memory.

"Are you sure?" Pavrati continued. "You were gathering quite a bit of attention yesterday. I think Dean might have been drooling."

Hermione couldn't quite suppress her grimace of distaste. "No drooling, thanks."

Pavrati heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Oh well, I tried. Lavender will be so disappointed. We had dozens of ideas we wanted to try." Pavrati turned aside to finish dressing, then added, "But let us know if you ever change your mind."

On that note, Hermione beat a hasty retreat to the dormitory bathroom. She had a sinking feeling that today was going to be one long embarrassment after another.

When she left her room some forty-five minutes later, Hermione made sure she looked extra Hermione-like. She was wearing her loosest clothing, she'd done nothing to tame the wild curls spiraling out from her head, and she'd scrubbed at her face until the only sign of color was that of freshly cleaned skin. She hoped, but didn't quite believe, that her preparations would be enough to halt any rumors that were running rampant through the school.

Her suspicions of potential disaster were born out the minute she stepped into the common room. Every head turned in her direction and the normally boisterous room fell silent. Raising her chin slightly, Hermione walked across the room to where Ron, Ginny and Harry sat with as much dignity as she could muster. Every fear she had about the coming day was born out with Ginny's first words.

"Did you really giggle at Professor Snape?"

Hermione's fierce blush answered the question better than any words. Hermione was just thankful that there had been no one present for the eyelash comments. She would have never been able to live that down. Giggling, she was fairly certain, she could rise above.

At least, she thought that until they stepped out into the hallway and students from all the Houses, along with most of the pictures on the walls, stared at her. She was ever so grateful for the flanking protection of Ron and Harry on either side of her. With Ginny on point, they soon made their way to their regular seats in the Great Hall. With the teachers looking down on them from the High Table, few students took the risk of staring openly, though Hermione was aware of a several long, sideways glances sent in her direction.

Keeping her head down, Hermione began to fill her plate. She was famished, and suspected she would be for a few more days yet as her body tried to regenerate the stores of magic she'd used up.

"So, what really happened yesterday, Hermione?" Harry asked around a piece of bacon.

"I don't suppose you'd accept that nothing happened?" It was a long shot but she figured it wouldn't hurt to try to deny everything. From her perspective, denial was looking real good.

Ron shook his head. "Not a chance. You called me an 'interfering Molly-wannabe with delusions of ownership of your person.'"

Hermione flushed. Red, she decided, was going to be the color of the day for her. "I did?" she asked with a pained expression.

"You did," confirmed Ginny, as she leaned in closer. "Then you got up and stalked, well, more like staggered off in the direction of the dungeons."

Hermione sighed. "Sorry, Ron. I don't remember that. Actually, I really only remember bits and pieces. Everything is kind of hazy, like it was dream."

"But what did you do? You looked like hell when you came down for lunch and dinner and Madam Pomfrey hustled you off pretty quickly after making sure you ate. We weren't even allowed to talk to you while you were eating."

Figuring she'd have to tell her friends something of the truth, she settled on what she'd told Professor Snape. "I was working on a charm. It was sort of an advanced charm and I think that something might have gone wrong with it because it didn't work the way the book said it should. It almost completely drained me."

"So much for being brilliant," Ron interjected. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not that dangerous. It just drained me. After my day of rest, my magic is already coming back."

Ron remained agitated, his hands clenched in front of him. "Hermione it I was /I dangerous. There is a reason underage wizards are restricted from doing magic outside of Hogwarts."

Not seeing the connection, Hermione replied, "What does keeping wizarding children out of trouble have to do with anything?"

This time it was Ginny who chimed in. "Well, sure, part of it is to keep people like Fred and George under control, but Hermione, a growing witch's or wizard's magic is vulnerable while they are still developing. If a person's magic is stressed or drained completely before it has matured, you could lose the magic permanently. It's why we start with small spells and work our way to bigger, more powerfully magic spells as we age, rather than just jumping straight into the big stuff. That way you don't stress your power reserves and there are teachers around to monitor what you are doing."

"Everyone knows that," Ron added.

Hermione had gone white. "No, Ron, everyone doesn't know that," she said softly.The day had proved itself to be the disaster she'd predicted. Rumors were running rife through the castle. Between Hermione's early morning appearance the day before decked out as the resident Barbie doll of Hogwarts and her subsequent appearance trailing behind an obviously annoyed Professor Snape while she laughed and giggled like a complete ninny, well, the rumors had a lot of fodder to feed themselves on.

Students, especially Gryffindor students, didn't follow along behind the castle's most feared professor and laugh. Sniffling, biting of nails and crying were all acceptable, and often-seen, occurrences. Giggling was not. Not even if you were a Slytherin.

The appearances she'd made during the meals the day before only cemented her new standing as the Hogwarts topic of most interest. Hermione didn't like being the topic of most interest, which is why she was currently hiding out in her bed behind drawn curtains. It wasn't a bad thing really; she, after all, had an entire days worth of schoolwork and studying to catch up on. It did not explain, though, why she currently wasn't doing her schoolwork or studying for end-of-term exams.

Hermione was staring sightlessly down at her Ancient Runes text while she puzzled over her latest run-in with Professor Snape. She'd truly had no idea the danger she'd put herself in. Even with that danger, she felt it had been worth it. Would she still have attempted the spell had she known? She was truthful enough with herself to answer that with a yes. Well, a qualified yes. She might not have put so much of herself into the spell. But the old magics had taken control of her and while it sounded silly to even think it, she suspected that those old magics would not have let her come to harm. Her intent had been good, and fear had no place in the spell she'd been weaving.

She slid a hand up under her pillow to finger the soft cloth of the sheet. No real harm had been done and it was over with. The only real thing left to do was get Rink to put the sheets on the Professor's bed.

This brought her circling mind back to the enigma that was her professor. Like many people, she'd made a profound revelation while she'd been as loopy as a sprite drunk on fermented honey. Unlike most people, she'd remembered that profound revelation when she'd regained her senses.

It was a very profound revelation indeed. Professor Severus Snape was not as mean as he pretended to be. Not that she thought for a single minute that he was all fluffy and warm beneath a crusty exterior. She wasn't that stupid. What she'd noticed yesterday though, was that while his words were every bit as sharp as a Norwegian Ridgeback's spines, his actions didn't fit with his words. In her own case, if she'd been in her right mind, she'd have been too busy being angry at the professor's deriding words to notice he'd quite possibly saved her magic. He'd taken care of her. He'd been surprisingly gentle with her. Of course, he'd also called her an imbecilic child, taken off points and given her a detention for tomorrow night.

Fingering the sheet folded beneath her pillow once again, she acknowledged a great truth of her world — she was never going to understand Severus Snape.

Giving up her musings as a futile exercise, Hermione turned back to Ancient Runes. She just had gotten to the meaning behind the Niding Pole when Rink appeared before her.

Without missing a beat, Rink launched himself at Hermione, wrapping skinny arms around her shoulders. "Rink is very happy that Hermy is well."

Hermione, finding herself with an armful of house-elf, was at a bit of a loss for what to do. "Thank you, Rink. I'm feeling much better now."

"Rink is very glad."

Hermione remembered one of the things that had puzzled her and pushed the elf gently away from her. "Rink, was it you who put me to bed and hid the sheet?"

Rink ducked his head, unsure if she was pleased with his help or not.

Hermione, having gotten better at reading the expressions and body language of her short companion, smiled gently at him. "You took very good care of me. Thank you. I appreciate it."

This was evidently the right thing to say because once again Rink flung his arms around her. The hug lasted only a second or two before Rink pulled back and sat back on his knobby knees. "Now is the time. Master is not here. Hermy must come."

"What?" she asked, having just a bit of a problem following the abrupt change of topic. "Come where?"

Rink reached around her to pull the folded sheets from beneath her pillow and then grabbed her hand. "Hermy must come to the Master."

Hermione had just enough time to note the thick calluses on the palm of Rink's hand before she disappeared.She reappeared a split second later, no longer in her rooms. From the coolness of the air around her, she highly suspected that she wasn't in the sun-warmed Gryffindor Tower either. Turning in a tight circle where she stood, Hermione took a quick look at her surroundings. The impressions she got from her circuit was a room that was darkly masculine, classically elegant, but with a decadent edge that showed itself in rich textures, leather accents and deep jewel tone colors.

Looking down into the jubilant face of Rink, Hermione had a very great fear that she knew exactly where she was.

"Hermy is pleased?"

Trying very hard not to start hyperventilating, Hermione clamped down hard on her instincts. Now was not the time to panic. If she panicked she'd start yelling and yelling would make Rink think he'd done something wrong. And a house-elf who thought they'd done something wrong was a house-elf who thought they needed punishing. Right now, she really couldn't afford to have Rink start pounding his head again the nearest wall.

"R-Rink?" She was impressed, except for the slight stutter, she sounded almost calm.

Great blinking, lantern-like eyes met hers. "Yes, Hermy?"

"Rink, are we in Professor Snape's bedroom?" Hermione tried not to wince as her voice cracked on the word 'we.'

Rink nodded enthusiastically, his mouth stretching out into a wide grin. "Oh, yes. Hermy has a gift for the Master. Hermy must be leaving gift herself." Rink reached up and thrust the sheets in her arms. "The Master of Potions is away. Hermy must leave gift now."

Hermione had never been one to curse. She considered it an uncouth habit. But if ever there was a time and place and situation were strong language was called for, this was it. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was "Bugger!" which she said. Then said it again just for good measure.

Forget expulsion; Professor Snape was going to kill her and no one was ever going to find her body. Ever. This went way beyond pretty eyelashes and giggling insanely.

On the heels of her overwhelming need to run as far and as fast as she could from this room, came the practical realization that if she was going to be killed she might as well accomplish her mission before Professor Snape put her out of . . . well, his misery, she supposed.

She was a Gryffindor after all. Time to gather her courage. Even making that resolution, it took every bit of courage Hermione possessed to take that first step towards the professor's bed. She kept expecting Professor Snape to throw open the door at any moment and find her. "Gryffindor, I'm a Gryffindor," she repeated to herself, although every so often what actually came out was "I'm a bloody stupid Gryffindor."

Stupid or not, though, she had a job to do. Setting down her precious bundle of sheets, Hermione set about carefully unfolding them. She'd created both a top and bottom sheet though only the bottom sheet carried the magic sigil she'd created. It would be on this sheet that her professor would sleep.

"Rink?" she called.

"Yes, Hermy?"

Rink, she noted, was almost quivering with excitement. She directed him to the other side of the massive black-framed bed. "Can you please remove the covers and sheets on the bed the way you normally do so I can get the new sheets in place?"

As Rink headed around to the far side of the bed, Hermione studied her surroundings a little more closely. This was an opportunity that she felt sure that few, if any, students had ever had. Professor Snape's bedroom was nothing like she'd ever have guessed of the man. Closer inspection proved that her initial impression of understated, but sumptuous elegance was correct. The room engaged all of her senses. The dark woods and deep colors pleased the eyes. The textured, nubby silk of the duvet tempted her fingers to indulge in a tactile feast. She inhaled deeply and caught the scent of beeswax and some kind of smoky spice that made her want to close her eyes and just breathe deeply. There were no sounds around her except the small noises of Rink as he stripped the bed, but she could easily imagine the soft sounds of some kind of classical music playing in the background.

This room was a sensualist's fantasy. It was also a complete contrast to the image she had of her Potions master, a man who gave the impression of being a cold, calculating and emotionless bastard. The dichotomy was unsettling and something she filed away in the back of her mind for later thought. This room was a valuable clue to what made Severus Snape tick and she needed to give it, and him, the time it deserved.

For now, she turned back to the task at hand and promptly giggled softly at the sight, or actually lack of sight, of Rink. The bed was so high that from his position on the far side, she could only see the tips of his pointy, bat-like ears over the top of the mattress. That bit of levity helped and got her moving again.

Flicking the sheet with the sigil out over the bed, she watched it settle gently across the bed. "Come here, Rink," she said. "Let me show you how to make the bed up in the future." Brushing the backs of her fingers across the small bit of embroidery, she said, "Professor Snape can't see this. So you have to remember to make the bed so that the sigil is up here by his head but you must tuck the corner under the mattress." Hermione demonstrated for her accomplice, making sure that the stitches were carefully hidden from view. "Can you do that?"

Rink gave her a small bow. "Rink will take very good care of the Master and of Hermy's gift."

Hermione smiled down at the elf and gave him a pat on one bony shoulder. "Great."

Leaving Rink to finish the bed, Hermione's eyes were drawn back to the room again, noting the books and tapestries that softened the edges of the stonework. Turning slightly, she caught sight of a leather bound book resting on a green-veined, marble-topped bedside table. She brushed a finger against the tip of the raven feather that was serving as a bookmark.

It was the old-fashioned pair of spectacles that were resting on top of the book that gave Hermione pause. There was something vulnerable, and somehow intimate, in seeing those glasses there that caused a heavy tightness in her chest and sent a shiver down her spine. I don't belong here.

Feeling her panic from earlier beginning to creep back upon her, she called to Rink. "Rink, we need to go. Now."

"Rink is done." Taking hold of her hand, Rink whisked them away.Severus dropped the wards that surrounded his rooms with a wave of his hand and a muttered password. Tonight's meeting with the Dark Lord had been exhausting in both body and soul. He didn't bother with re-raising the wards. He knew Albus would be along shortly. The castle would let him know the minute Severus was back on the grounds. Until the Headmaster made his way down to the dungeon level, Severus had a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Taking the shrunken Death Eater cloak and mask from a hidden pocket in his robe, Severus resized them. Then with deliberate movements he cleaned them both until the heavy black fabric of the cloak seemed to absorb the muted lights in the room and the silver of the mask gleamed with its own sinister glow.

With every brush of his fingers, every polish, every careful fold, Severus let a little of the anger that kept him alive during his meetings with his Master slip away.

When Severus had first begun attending the discussion groups led by the man calling himself Lord Voldemort, he'd been a young man filled with frustration, rage and hate. The discussions led by a then-handsome and charismatic Voldemort had filled a void within him. Voldemort had talked confidently about both the strengths and weaknesses inherent in the wizarding world. There had been frank and open discussions of the roles of Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was a heady time. For the first time in his life, Severus found himself in a circle of powerful individuals that listened to his words, argued his points, and let him argue theirs in turn.

It didn't matter that his family was poor, or that his social skills were somewhat less polished that his companions. Severus had hung on Voldemort's every word, had believed whole-heartedly in the message that was being preached. It mattered only that he believed, that he could see the glorious future that Lord Voldemort was leading them towards; a wizarding version of Camelot and Voldemort would be their Arthur. It was to that future filled with the promise of everything that Severus wanted — position, power, recognition and justice — that Severus pledged his loyalty.

The night that Lucius Malfoy had personally introduced Severus to Lord Voldemort had been one of the happiest and most awe-inspiring nights of his young life.

Voldemort that night had seen something in him; had seen the rage and pain that lurked just beneath his surface. And when Lord Voldemort, with his handsome looks, polished air, and expensive robes had laid a warm and companionable hand on Severus' shoulder and called him 'son,' in that moment Severus would have done anything asked of him.

In the beginning, he'd been asked only for his loyalty and his faith. Then he'd been asked for his mind and his skill. He gave those with self-assured pride and basked in the approval of his chosen liege. Then one night, he was asked to give his rage and his pain. Afterwards, even as he expelled his dinner and collapsed on the bathroom floor, he believed and held to the feeling of camaraderie he'd shared with his brothers that night. They had, after all, done no permanent damage to the Muggles.

Severus would have liked to say that the night Lord Voldemort asked for his soul was the night he turned away. But even that he freely gave away, though every evening he would return to his house and expel his dinner. It was the night that he didn't throw up that scared him. It was the night he came in from an enforcement job and calmly sat in front of his fire in his favorite chair, drank a good Merlot, and ate a roast chicken half that finally opened his eyes. That was the night that Severus realized that his soul was not just tainted, but trulygone . Gone was his soul, and his ideals and his dreams. The only thing left was the rage and the hate. That was the night he turned.

In that turning he finally lifted his head and took a good long look around him. Camelot lay in ruin; the taste of ashes lay heavy on his tongue, Arthur had turned into the dragon that would destroy them all, and Severus had helped to put him on his throne.

But every story of Camelot had to have its Merlin. Severus had Albus Dumbledore. Severus had laid his sins before the old wizard and Albus had given him a chance. It amused Severus in his more contemplative moods to remember Lord Voldemort calling him son and to know that he'd been cast to play Mordred.

Albus had given him all the things that Voldemort had promised. In that giving, Albus had taught him to let go of the rage that filled him. It was a hard lesson and one he still struggled with; a struggle that was made more difficult with every meeting he attended, for the Dark Lord knew the taste of Severus' pain and hate. So with each call to his Lord, Severus pulled up the old feelings and wrapped them around himself like armor to better camouflage his true beliefs. And the more times he clothed himself, the harder it became to let the feelings go when he was done.

So he had his rituals that helped ground him. Death Eater cloak and mask clean, he sealed them away in a hidden chamber behind a stone in the wall. He stoked the fire and eased himself down into his favorite chair. Tipping his head back so it rested against the soft leather, he stared up into the shadowed recesses of the vaulted ceiling.

He waited, counting each inhalation and exhalation.

"Severus?"

Blinking, Severus came back to himself to find Albus standing across from him, eyeing him in undisguised concern. He answered the unvoiced question. "I am fine."

Shrewd blue eyes assessed him as the silence stretched between them. Albus broke first. "Severus, I . . ."

"Do not wish to send me out," Severus finished for him, the words said so often that they had become meaningless. "You don't like it. You hurt for me. You need me. You wouldn't keep sending me back if there was any other way."

The phrases were ones of comfort. The twist that Severus gave the words was anything but comforting. It was all too easy to still hear the fury simmering hotly beneath the words.

Albus flinched but did not retreat. He knew the cost Severus paid better than anyone. "I ask more of you than I do of anyone else," he said softly. "It doesn't hurt if I'm reminded of that fact on occasion."

Severus huffed out a breath but said nothing else, simply leaning his head back again. This too was part of the ritual. While Severus fought to re-center himself, Albus puttered about the room, gnarled fingers delicately tracing over the soft leather spines of books and along the elegant lines of a whiskey decanter, the edges of the cut crystal sharp beneath his fingertips.

As Albus wandered, the soft rustling of his robes filled the room. It was a comforting noise and one Severus had long associated with feelings of security and home. Bit by bit he relaxed and let more of the anger flow from him until he felt he could breathe freely. More tension fell from him as Albus gathered together his Grandmother's bone china tea set and began to manually prepare a pot of tea.

Neither wizard spoke again, Albus because long association had taught him that Severus was in no shape yet for decent conversation and Severus because he still sought to gather his equilibrium.

The rich smell of tea began to fill the room and Severus felt calmer. He would work off the last of the tension tonight as he walked his rounds. As always, though, when he shed the rage and metamorphic armor, Severus felt exposed and raw. He'd only ever been able to stand the presence of the Headmaster during this time until he could rebuild the walls that protected him, but even Albus left him feeling vulnerable.

It was, however, an indication of how far he'd come down that he only twitched when a porcelain teacup was thrust under his nose.

"Tea, contrary to popular belief, is not a cure for all of life's ills, Albus." Severus took a sniff of the steam that curled up from the cup. "And while it is appreciated, I do not believe that chamomile, mint and valerian's much vaunted properties as sleep-aids will avail me much rest this evening."

Albus settled into the chair opposite with the faint creaking and popping of old joints. Severus made a mental note to brew another batch of the arthritic potion. Perhaps if he found a way to make it candy-flavored, Albus could be induced to take it more regularly. His mental musing about using anise for its licorice flavor was cut short as Albus asked him of his night.

So he sipped his tea like a civilized man and not the soulless monster he knew himself to be and gave his report to his personal Merlin. "He is stepping up his efforts for recruitment." Severus' voice turned faintly mocking. "It was much like the early days, with open ideas and discussion all set in a genteel atmosphere of drinks and fellowship. He was also wearing a fairly sophisticated glamour this evening, obviously trying to appear more human, at least to the general followers that support him. He looked much like he did twenty years ago."

Albus drummed his fingers again his armrest for a few beats then stilled. "There were a lot of people present?"

Severus ran a hand up through his hair, pressing hard against his scalp. "There were more than I expected and not just from the traditionally Slytherin families either. Gryffindors, numerous Ravenclaws and a high percentage of Hufflepuffs." Severus pulled a slim scroll from within his robes and handed it across to his mentor. "I've written down the names of those I recognized along with notations on how receptive they seemed to the message."

Albus gave a weary nod of his head. "Yes, that makes sense. Those Hufflepuff families that gave their loyalty during Tom's first rise to power would feel compelled to honor those vows even now."

That statement drew a soft grunt of agreement. "Save us from the loyalty of lemmings."

"Severus," Albus chastised gently.

Severus ignored the rebuke and continued as if he hadn't heard. "From what I saw from my vantage point, most of the crowd was receptive to the message being preached. He stayed away from talk of violent conquest and stuck to the topics that fuel most wizards' fears — Muggles, the influences of the Muggle-borns on our society, our isolation and the general disquiet that many feel at the restrictions that the Ministry places upon us."

"These are restless and uneasy times," Albus sighed. "People are afraid."

"People are fools." Severus made no attempt to hide the contempt in his words. Nor was it any secret that he included himself in the ranks of those fools.

As always, Albus turned a gentle smile in his direction. "People are human. They look for leaders in troubled times. Tom has always been a charismatic leader. He offers them the promise that he can provide answers and security."

"The cost of his security is too high."

"It is a rare man that can see the cost and consequences of his actions. That you see with eyes wide open, Severus, is but one reason why I value your council and insight."

Severus snorted. "Don't flatter me, old man."

Silence once again fell between them as they sipped their tea and pondered the inevitability of the war they were engaged in. It was Albus who once again broke the silence. "There is one last thing. I want you to be careful, Severus, especially of anyone new you meet."

One raven-black brow rose in silent question.

"I don't have specifics," Albus answered, with a shake of his head. "Another Order member had been running some Arithmantic equations for me. They know of you only as my spy, so your identify is secure, but there is a danger coming towards you that we can't pinpoint."

Sitting forward in his chair, Severus braced his elbows on his knees, the fragile teacup resting lightly in his palms. His considerable concentration was now focused only on the man seating across from him. "I can not withdraw from the Dark Lord now, Albus, too much is coming to a head. With him stepping up the recruitment efforts, I feel certain that his next step will be deliberate strikes against the targets he feels are most dangerous to him." Shadowed eyes turned away briefly before coming back to rest squarely against faded blue. "You know as well as I that the Death Eaters are his private enforcement squad. It will be to our ranks that he turns when it comes the time for direct action." Severus sat back and set his teacup aside. "I need to stay where I am."

Albus, in turn, set his own empty cup aside. "Your life . . . "

"Is mine to risk," Severus finished for him. "As you have just noted, I take the risks I do knowing full well what the consequences of my actions are."

Albus fell silent for a moment, his expression pensive and sad. "Very well, Severus, but please be careful. Beware of those who cross your path in unexpected ways."

Severus inclined his head, acknowledging that he both heard and understood the warning that was being given. Then he quirked a small smile. "It is late, Albus, and we are both tired. Go to bed. I will see you at breakfast."

Shaking his head, Albus climbed to his feet. "Very well, though I hope that tonight you too will get some rest." Touching Severus lightly on the shoulder, he went to exit the sitting room. Opening the door on silent hinges, he turned back. "On a different topic, I wanted to commend you on your handling of Miss Granger." He gave a wry smile. "While I think the additional detention is a mite excessive, you did very well by the girl. She is most fortunate that you recognized her state. Without your intervention, she could have done herself a grave harm."

Severus groaned softly and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He'd forgotten about Miss Granger. Her detention was tomorrow — glancing at the clock on his mantel, he corrected himself — her detention was tonight. "For a charm, Albus. She exhausted herself studying for a bloody charm."

Albus chuckled. "Then I'm sure that she too will now recognize theconsequences of her actions."

"No, I don't think she will. I suspect that she had no idea of the danger she was placing herself in with her foolishness."

"Then you have my permission to enlighten her, as you see fit, Severus." Albus paused, and then said, "There is one thing I am curious about though." He trailed off and waited on Severus' response.

"As if I could ever keep you from asking. What puzzles you?"

Albus smiled into his beard. "You were most" — Albus paused as he searched for the word he wanted — "polite yesterday during Miss Granger's check ups."

Severus made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Polite for my own sanity. In the state she was in, everything was funny to her. There is no point in making a Gryffindor tremble when they are so out of it that they do not even realize the efforts I am putting forth."

Albus attempted to keep his face straight, but the grin showed anyway. "Lack of fear does tend to take the fun out of it, doesn't it?"

Severus shot back, "I have a reputation to maintain, as you well know."

The twinkle that had been lost at the beginning of the conversation returned to Albus' eyes. "Goodnight, Severus." With that, Albus left in a soft rustle of robes and Severus was left in the silence of his rooms.

He felt surprisingly peaceful at the moment. It had felt good to respond to the headmaster's gentle teasing in regards to the Granger girl. Polite. He'd show the old man polite. He had been given permission to use any means necessary to explain the consequences. An idea began to form. Yes, that would do nicely.

Amused with his plans for Miss Granger's detention, he rose from the chair. Maybe he would lie down for a little while. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but rest would be beneficial. Rising from his chair, he made his way down the darkened hallway to his bedroom. Knowing he would be getting back up in a little while, he only removed his heavy dragon-hide boots and his coat. Throwing back the comforter, he lay down in pants and shirtsleeves, letting his body relax into the softness of the mattress.

To sleep, he thought, as gentle warmth seemed to enfold him, yes, to sleep and perchance to dream beautiful dreams

 

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