Nine for a Kiss

Chapter 10: Nine for a Kiss

Other than the addition of new books, very little had changed in the Hogwarts library with the passage of time. The same scarred tables were arranged in the same places they'd stood when Hermione had been a student. She sat in what might well have been the same squeaky chair she'd occupied twenty years earlier and waited for Bertram Aubrey to join her. On this particular Saturday, he had suggested they meet in the library and had asked her to show him what books she'd consulted before attempting to defeat one of the most feared wizards of all time. She had arrived early and picked several volumes off the shelf, stacking them on the table before her.

Although she enjoyed Bertram's pleasant manner, she wasn't looking forward to meeting him today. Still, she supposed it was better than spending time around Snape. The memory of their encounter in the alcove several days ago still weighed heavily on her mind, and although they treated each other with solicitous distance, their relationship was definitely strained.

She had quickly decided to forego her plan of limiting the time she spent in Snape's company. After one night, she missed her comfortable, overstuffed chair by the fireplace and returned to her former routine of reading or marking papers there in the evening. Changing her pattern had felt cowardly, and she was determined to carry on with her chin held high. Their time together wasn't as companionable or comfortable as it had once been, but she was certain that with time and reason things would improve.

For his part, Snape had not altered his behaviour other than to spend more time studying her. He often seemed to be examining her as if she were a puzzle whose solution eluded him. At times he appeared wary, no doubt waiting for her to unleash whatever retribution she had concocted. And she had, in fact, amused herself by formulating several scenarios of revenge. But such plans were unnecessary: behaving with dignified insouciance seemed to disconcert him more than any attack might have. Over the past few days in particular, she had caught him watching her intently, although she had no idea as to what he hoped to ascertain from his silent analysis.

"Hermione, sorry I'm late!" Bertram said as he approached her table. "I had an owl from my folks and wanted to get a reply off quickly."

"Of course," she told him with a smile. Though the Aubreys had moved to America when Bertram was ten years old, he had told her he'd always wanted to return to Britain. The offer from Hogwarts had obviously delighted him, and his exuberance for all things British bordered on embarrassing. He might have been a Briton by birth, but he acted...and sounded...like an American. Some found this charming, others annoying. His insistence on slipping British colloquialisms into his speech was his only habit that alarmed Hermione, simply because it was rather jarring to hear the familiar phrases spoken in his heavy, Boston accent.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," he said.

She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't even realised he was late. "Not at all," she told him. "I love this library...I think I could live in this room. In fact, several of my House-mates accused me of doing just that when I was a student!"

Bertram chuckled in his easy, good-natured way and glanced around the room. "Pretty empty today," he pointed out.

"Indeed," she agreed. "But there are only a few weeks left until Christmas. I expect the students are getting ready for their holiday, and I know several of the staff were headed to Hogsmeade for shopping."

His smile fled. "Oh, dear... I hope I'm not keeping you from anything."

"No, of course not." She patted his arm to allay his fears. "My parents are abroad for the holidays, and Harry and Ginny are taking the Weasleys to Australia. I volunteered to stay here in the castle, so I have very little shopping to do."

He seemed relieved. "As long as you're sure," he said, and she nodded. "Shall we begin, then?"

They spent the next hour poring over an assortment of texts and discussing the ways the trio had prepared to leave school before embarking on the Horcrux search. Bertram spread out a complicated timeline he had created, and the next two hours passed categorising various dates and events until finally Hermione found herself relating some of the details from their capture by the Snatchers and the horrific time spent at Malfoy Manor.

To call it unpleasant would have been a gross understatement, but still, she was surprised to find tears rolling down her checks as she spoke about Dobby and how the little house-elf had given his life in the process of saving theirs. So many emotions and feelings had ebbed with the passing years, but the sacrifice of the brave little creature was difficult to communicate without sentiment.

Bertram removed a soft white handkerchief from his pocket and abandoned his seat for the one beside Hermione. She wiped her face, uncomfortable with her reaction. The faint smell of oranges and liquorice on Bertram's handkerchief made her queasy.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry." He took her free hand in both of his and rubbed the back of it. "We should have stopped sooner."

"It's quite all right...please don't apologise." She seemed to be crying far too much lately. "I just haven't been able to sleep well for some time, and I think it's beginning to take a toll on me."

He continued to stroke her hand, his worried countenance an odd sight, as his features were almost always creased with a grin.

She took a deep breath and smiled.

"That's better," he told her. Without warning, he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Shock immobilised her. Had it been a quick, friendly peck on the lips, she might have been able to dismiss the bold move. But he continued to move his lips against hers long after she tried to retreat, until she was forced to place her hand against his chest and gently push him back. She shifted away and thought she saw movement in the corner of the library, although she'd been certain they were alone. Either she was imagining things, or they had just given some unsuspecting student a bit of a surprise.

She glanced at Bertram and slowly raised one eyebrow.

"I shouldn't have done that," he apologised quietly.

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed.

"I just ... I had to know."

"Had to know what, precisely?"

"If you felt anything for me. If you'd kiss me back."

"There are better ways to find out," she told him, stung that he would take advantage of a situation when she'd felt so vulnerable. "You shouldn't just launch yourself at someone. Especially at such a moment."

"I should have asked first," he said with a nod.

"Yes, that would have been nice. Or perhaps some indication that you..."

"But you must have guessed I was attracted to you," he interrupted. "We've been getting along so well on these little dates. And I thought ... here in the library ... you might be more receptive?"

"These haven't been dates!" She stood so quickly the papers strewn across the desk fluttered. "I've been helping you research your book."

Her stomach sank at his guilty expression. "Please tell me there is a book, Bertram."

"Well ... there could be." He waved his hand over the stacks of notes and piles of books. "I mean, I have an awful lot of information, and I could probably put something together ..."

"No, no, no." She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Her head still throbbed from the long, emotional session she'd just endured, and each growing wave of anger brought a fresh batch of pain. She opened her eyes and said, "You cannot be serious!"

"I thought this was a good way for us to get to know each other better," he said and reached for her hand.

She jerked her fingers away and thought of all the horrible memories he'd dredged up, all the sleepless nights she'd had. And all because he wanted to go out with her? He had set up this whole scene...in the library, her favourite place...apparently thinking she'd feel more amorous here. She couldn't follow whatever logic had led him to such a plan, or what he had intended to happen next. Was he really just waiting for her to break down crying, so he could rush in with his stupid handkerchief and save the day? The sick little bastard...

She glared at him. "This was twisted and offensive and wrong. You should consider yourself very lucky I haven't already hexed you into next month."

He watched her with wide eyes. "You're so beautiful when you're angry."

Having had her fill of ridiculous men, she threw his handkerchief in his face, spun on her heel, and stormed from the library.

The corridor echoed with Hermione's footsteps as she made her way back to the dungeons in a fit of temper. As upset as she was with Bertram for pulling such a stunt, she was more unsettled over how completely she had misjudged him. She had truly believed him to be so kind and caring, so courteous of her feelings. Yet the whole time he'd been using her.

The memory of his mushy lips turned her stomach. She swiped her hand over her mouth and rubbed hard, as if she could remove the encounter from her mind along with the traces of him from her lips.

Bright torches cast shadows upon the walls, and the candles had already been lighted when she entered the Potions classroom. The sight that greeted her made her stop cold. The entire classroom was in disarray: desks were overturned; the blackboard lay shattered in pieces on the floor; cauldrons were flung haphazardly about the room, and a layer of parchment blanketed everything. It looked as if a cyclone had torn through the room, and she stared in disbelief, shocked by the idea that someone would do this to school property.

Perhaps Snape had antagonised one student too many. The complete chaos seemed like such a violent act, though. Surely the young children Snape taught weren't capable of such demolition. Hurrying to the side of the class, she checked the office and storeroom, relieved to find them untouched.

She Vanished the door to the living quarters and searched for Snape. If he'd been present when the incident had occurred, he would have heard the destruction outside their door. She found him in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the breakfast table with both palms down. Although his back was towards her, she could see him labour for each breath of air.

Her limbs turned to lead when he drew a ragged breath and hung his head, as if in pain. She imagined him surprising the vandal, and the thought of him injured by the resulting duel spurred her forward. But before she could cross the soft carpet to reach him, he straightened and swiped a bottle of what appeared to be Firewhisky from the table. Although an empty glass stood before him, he brought the bottle to his lips and took several long swallows.

Relief for the fact he wasn't injured was short-lived.

"Someone trashed our classroom," she told him. He spun around so fast his robes wrapped around his hips in a tight spiral before falling into place. His eyes looked wild, unfocused, and he seemed to struggle for breath even more than when she'd first found him. He offered no reply but stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"Did you hear me?" she asked. "Someone vandalised the Potions classroom. The office and storeroom are fine, luckily. Did you hear anything or see anyone?"

"I ... I was looking for something." His tone sounded unnaturally cautious.

She watched him, puzzled by his reply. When his gaze flicked to where the classroom lay wrecked on the other side of the wall, she gaped at him in dawning comprehension.

"You did that?" she asked.

"I was looking for something," he repeated through clenched teeth.

She glanced down at his hands. "Was it a bottle of whisky?"

He ignored her question.

"I was about to repair the damage when you interrupted me." He slammed the bottle down onto the table and strode past her.

She followed him to the classroom, still reeling. "Is this a hobby of yours? Trash the classroom and then clean it up while I'm away?"

Once again, he ignored her questions. He raised his wand and swept it around the perimeter of the room, casting his spells in silence. There was a great cacophony of noise when all at once the room seemed to right itself. Pieces of blackboard flew together and sealed themselves onto the wall; desks and chairs were turned upright; pieces of parchment danced around the room like white bats, and cauldrons clanked and thudded as they returned to their proper shelves.

Hermione watched in awe, too impressed by the level of magical strength required for such powerful, simultaneous spells to remember he had created the destruction in the first place. Then he marched past her and returned to the kitchen, and she trailed after him once more, determined to finish their conversation.

"Satisfied?" he asked before picking up the bottle for another long drink.

"Hardly."

"Why have you returned so soon, anyway?"

"What do you mean, 'so soon'? I've been gone hours."

"Yes. And no doubt you've been very busy." He stared at her lips, still swollen and puffy from the frantic scrubbing she'd given them earlier.

"We can't all pass the time by amusing ourselves with temper tantrums."

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he purred suddenly, standing so close she could smell the whisky on his breath, "are you simply working your way through the castle?"

She bristled at his use of her schoolgirl title. He had consumed at least half the bottle of whisky, so it was little wonder he had ceased to make sense. "What are you on about now?"

"Let's review, shall we?" he asked. "I had you in the dungeons, then Draco in the Tower, and now Bertram in the Library. You only need someone to fuck you on the third floor, but that shouldn't prove too difficult. Perhaps dear Neville could..."

His speech ceased the instant her hand slapped hard across his face. She watched his shocked expression and thought it must be mirrored in her own eyes. She had responded automatically...she hadn't even been aware of hitting him until she stood facing him with her palm stinging, her whole body shaking. A perfect red handprint bloomed across the pale skin of his cheek while she searched for words to capture how utterly ugly his accusations had been.

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours. When she could no longer stand the sight of him, she turned to walk away.

"Wait," he pleaded. He reached his hand towards her arm and frowned when she recoiled from his touch. "Please wait."

In the coming months, she would often think back to this moment, to how much might have changed if he hadn't asked her to wait, or if she had simply ignored him and walked away.

She turned back with her hands upon her hips. "What?"

He seemed to struggle with his reply, his lips pursed so tight they were barely visible. "I'm sorry," he said at last. Although he spoke softly, there was more feeling in his voice than if he'd shouted.

She closed her eyes and drew a long, slow breath. "It's just not enough."

"You're right." He shook his head. "But it was never my intention to hurt you."

She looked away, surprised when her thoughts turned to the evening he'd walked her back from the Three Broomsticks. He had seemed so offended when she'd told him she believed in his capacity for goodness, and indeed, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to prove her wrong. But why? Had he been so hurt by Lily's rejection that he was somehow compelled to test her, to push her away, to hurt her until she, too, rejected him as Lily had?

"I'm sorry," he repeated when she offered no reply. "That was an unconscionable thing to say. I know that you and Draco ... that your relationship is one of friendship and respect. And it's hardly any of my business what you and Aubrey are doing..."

"I'm not doing anything with Bertram!" she said, stunned by how shrill her voice sounded.

"I saw you kiss him in the library!" His jaw clenched as he stepped nearer, and he seemed torn as to whether he should accuse or apologise.

She remembered the movement she'd seen after Bertram had kissed her.

"So, you witnessed a kiss and instantly assume I'm sleeping with him?" she asked. "That's hardly a logical conclusion."

His brows drew together. "My logic seems to fail me where you're concerned," he admitted with obvious reluctance.

His statement couldn't have surprised her more. Surely very few things had ever caused Snape to question his logic.

"I'm sorry ... I didn't quite catch that." She folded her arms across her chest and raised her brows.

With teeth bared, he said, "You appear to elicit responses wherein my reason abandons me and I act without regard to consequence."

"I see," she said. She watched his hand tighten around the whisky bottle.

He had obviously seen Bertram's clumsy attempt to kiss her, but he had returned to the dungeons too soon. He must have just finished wrecking the classroom when she'd found him panting at the table.

She shivered at the sheer fury he'd unleashed on the room outside. Had she really caused such a powerful outburst in the same man who had proved just days before what exquisite control he had over his reactions? The thought of so much raw passion was alarming, yet somehow it was a bit exciting, as well.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked.

She hadn't realised she had smiled. "No, but I do find it curious," she replied and tilted her head. "Were you upset because it was Bertram ... or because it wasn't you?"

"Both!" he said instantly, then quickly amended, "No ... neither." He closed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. His sigh echoed through the kitchen. "I merely find him untrustworthy."

"You couldn't have mentioned that sooner?"

"Would you have listened?"

Probably not. "So I'm to assume you're merely looking out for my best interests, then? Making sure I don't go around kissing untrustworthy men?" She smirked. "How very noble of you."

He grimaced. "I suppose you will not be satisfied until I say it?" he asked. "Very well. I admit I found the sight of you kissing him a bit ... disturbing."

She pictured the havoc he'd wrought upon the classroom and thought 'disturbing' seemed rather tame, given the outcome. "What you saw was Bertram attempting to kiss me," she told him. "If you had bothered to stick around, you would have also seen me pushing him away and telling him to stuff it."

Surprise crossed his face, then doubt. Both were replaced by something else, but she didn't quite trust herself to speculate on it. She strolled nearer, emboldened by a power she hadn't known she possessed until tonight, and pulled the bottle from his fingers.

"It seems Mr Aubrey is a rather classic example of a wolf in sheep's clothing," she told him. "Of course, those of us in the scientific field prefer the term 'worthless, lying prick,' but there you have it." She lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until her body shuddered.

After returning the bottle to his hands, she stood on her toes and brushed her lips over the red mark on his cheek where she'd slapped him.

"Goodnight, Severus," she said and walked away.

Although subtle, she felt certain a shift had just taken place in their relationship. She could sense its presence as surely as she felt his gaze on her back while she walked to her bedroom. She couldn't quite define how it had happened, but as she slowly closed her door, the thought of exploring it further filled her with anticipation.

She changed into thick flannel pyjamas and snuggled beneath a heavy, down-filled duvet, rubbing her feet together for warmth. The flames leaping inside the fireplace went unnoticed while her thoughts journeyed abroad, bravely scouting this new, undiscovered territory, tromping through fields of possibilities previously off-limits to her imagination. Sleep proved elusive for many hours. She stared into the fire until all that remained of the sturdy logs were piles of glowing embers, crusting into ashes. Her brow creased as she recalled the strange events of the evening. She pondered the future until sleep finally carried her into a world where nothing made sense, yet everything was perfectly clear.

My betas and Brit-picker are lovely women ... Thanks so much Karelia, little_beloved, and lettybird!! Thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave a review...I love receiving feedback, and the diversity of opinions has been truly enlightening!