18: Rung Eight - Him

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18: Rung Eight – Him

June 30th, 7:35 pm

Standing at the bottom of the interior staircase of Grimmauld Place, I see Hermione leave the drawing room and disappear towards the first floor hallway with Weasley trailing like an over-eager pup. Neither notices me.

Why should she need to be alone with him?

I forego removing my frock coat and climb quickly to the landing to hesitate at the entrance to the teeming drawing room, contemplating following the pair to determine their actions. Minerva’s greeting makes the decision for me.

“Severus, there you are! I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

“Minerva.” I nod.

“So, how are you, Severus? Looking forward to the start of term?”

The relaxation of a month away from Hogwarts, a month away from certain memories, evaporates as my shoulders tense and spine stiffens. I do not deign to answer beyond a disdainful curl of lip.

“Severus,” her voice drops to quiet concern, and she reaches out to lay a hand on my forearm. “Severus, you have to face this at some point in time.”

“Minvera, I –”

“No, I won’t listen to any more of your clever excuses. You were back a full school year and never once set foot in my office. It’s time, Severus.” She pauses to give me one of her sternest glares, which are typically guaranteed to generate capitulation in the stoutest opponent. “He wants to see you.”

Albus! Albus, I cannot.

My arm trembles under her hand, and she pats it gently before raising her voice to a more normal tone. “Now, how goes the research?”

The shift in topic recalls me to myself, and I attempt to cover any previous lapses of composure with a lingering smoothness of manner. “Quite well. In fact, Professor Granger and I had a very productive meeting earlier today.”

“She is something, our Hermione.”

“Indeed. Collaborating with her has … exceeded my expectations, so to speak.”

Minerva laughs. “Oh, Severus, you needn’t be so droll. She’s simply the most promising young researcher we’ve seen in ages.”

“On this, I will have to agree with you, as much as it pains me.” My smirk dissolves as I continue. “We would not be nearly as successful if not for her brilliant idea of substituting various ingredients with similar properties. Indeed, she has proven to me that she is no longer simply able to memorize large amounts of information but also able to apply said knowledge in innovative ways. Such is the mark of a true researcher.”

“Why, Severus, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you praise someone so highly before.”

I have tipped my hand and must distract her from realizing the depth of my regard. “My dear, Minerva. That is simply because you do not eavesdrop when I speak of you.”

Her laugh is quite loud this time. It appears a certain red-headed mischief-maker has once again seen fit to spike the punch – such would explain her loquaciousness. “Nonetheless, it’s perfect that Hermione should succeed, if only to make a strong statement.”

“And what statement would that be?” I punctuate my question with a slight quirk of brow.

“Why, she simultaneously proves that women and Muggleborn are by no means inferior. With you, a half-blood, on the project as well – a project, I might add, for the betterment of the lives of werewolves – I couldn’t ask for better proof of my ideology. You simply must publish soon.”

“We may very well have an initial paper ready by the end of the year.”

“That’s perfect, Severus.” Her eyes move to track someone behind me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must discuss Ministry job listings with Arthur. None of the Auror recruitment brochures mention witches at all – can you imagine?”

“Of course, Minerva.”

She strides determinedly past me, and I move seemingly randomly across the room. Yet I am nonetheless certain to situate myself so that I am able to stare down the hallway towards where Hermione disappeared with Weasley.

Various people swirl past my line of sight, but my years as a spy have taught me how to ignore unimportant distractions. I vaguely notice the multiple shocks of ginger hair, the laughter of inebriated young men, the din of multiple conversations competing to be louder than the execrable music.

I am successful in blocking my awareness of the other party goers until a forlorn Creevey halts directly in front of me to make ridiculous mooncalf eyes at the youngest Weasley, who cavorts with a boisterous Jordan.

Creevey is soon engulfed by the unsurprisingly intoxicated Thomas and Macmillan, the latter of which cajoles, “Come on mate, you know we’re just taking the piss, yeah. Tell you what. We’ll go out tomorrow night to that new club, yeah, Fantasia, on Knockturn Alley, yeah, and pull some birds.”

His answer is half-hearted at best, and Ms. Weasley’s enthusiastic attempt to probe the integrity of Jordan’s tonsils using only her tongue does little for Creevey’s demeanor. The hearty slaps of his friends hardly seem to cheer him but at least serve to propel him out of my way.

Gormless twits!

My continued contemplation of the empty hallway is soon interrupted by an overly cheerful voice. “Severus!”

I greet Tonks neutrally. “Nymphadora.”

A grimace crosses her features, but she banishes it quickly. They are, at least, her features, even if her violet dress and hair are as outlandish as ever.

“I am surprised you were able to leave Shacklebolt’s side for long enough to greet me.”

“Yes, well, I told him I was coming over to confirm that you’ve moved on to a new love interest.” She looks over at him and waves.

His answering smile transforms into something harder as his eyes move from her to me. I prevent myself from smirking at his discomfort.

Gryffindors! Baiting them would be much more rewarding if they were not so obvious at every turn.

Turning a stern countenance on Tonks’s cheeky grin, I reply coolly to the focal point of her sentence. “Love interest?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh, please, Severus. I do know you at least somewhat.” She glances down the hallway and back to me as if to prove a point. “So, tell all. How long have you fancied Hermione?”

“I refuse to grace such an absurd question with an answer.”

“Absurd, eh? So you probably don’t care that she looked miserable from the time they came through the door this evening. That she’s looked miserable for a while – months actually.”

Miserable?

My heart speeds its syncopated beating as triumph washes over me.

She is miserable with him – thank Merlin!

Said joy is immediately tempered by another realization.

Hermione, beautiful, intelligent Hermione, has been miserable for months.

My stomach clenches in protest.

Why did I not see it?

“Severus.” Tonks’s voice barely registers as I make a vain attempt to sort through emotions both novel and unwontedly complex.

I refocus on my surroundings when a flash of red appears at the end of the hallway.

“Severus, go to her.”

There is no telling what Tonks has seen cross my countenance these last few moments – I have been uncharacteristically unguarded. But she observes me with such empathy that I decide this is one unintentional divulgence that need not be camouflaged.

“Go to her.”

Nodding quickly in acquiescence, I brush past Tonks and quietly follow Hermione down the stairs and out the front door.

It is time to see if my patience has been for aught.