Dungeon Drama

Disclaimer: Nope, not richer than the Queen of England. (I wish!)

Chapter Five: Dungeon Drama

-~-

A horde of students queued at a door in the dungeons, awaiting their professor's permission to enter. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood quietly at the caboose, chatting about Transfiguration and McGonagall's temperament. Harry leaned against the stones of the wall and Ron stood not too far from him, his hands shoved in his pockets and his bag of books slung over one shoulder. He had been talking to her less and less as the year wore on, especially after her nineteenth when she threw Arlene Albers' Guide to Wizarding Relationships in his face. She tried to be 'normal Hermione' around him, but it became increasingly difficult when he understood her usual kindness and familiarity as "reaching out," and soon it became rather tense and uncomfortable in conversation unless Harry led the way. Previous intimacies also strained their friendship, and it was quite difficult to disregard when he was always around. An image of their clumsy, fumbling first time flashed before her eyes and she almost felt guilty. His eyes had held such reverence, then. She thought it best to forgive and forget, as the old saying went. But Ron felt differently, as he was looking at her with a mixture of distaste and pleading as Harry tried to distract them both with a joke.

To distract herself from Harry's thinly veiled attempt (and Ron's gaze), Hermione noted their distaste for the clean-cut, university-boy look...their ties were undone and hung loosely around their necks like dead snakes nailed to a wall. She smirked suddenly and hugged her Potions book closer to her, taking comfort in 'her boys'' untidiness. It was normal. Nothing was normal anymore.

"Enter!" A familiar, irritated voice called from the opposite of the door.

The Gryffindors filed in first, followed quickly by the Slytherins...a smaller group now due to certain alliances, although some had managed to avoid sentences in Azkaban. Everyone quietly settled into his or her seats, Ron sitting next to Hermione, much to her chagrin. Harry took his place at the desk across from them, Neville at his side.

The four of them had been allowed into N.E.W.T. Potions because they all had taken the O.W.L course two years ago with Slughorn, although Hermione knew Snape wished dearly that he could kick all of the 'less-than-outstanding' individuals out the door the first day of term.

She knew he wanted never to teach Potions to these imbeciles again. In fact, she was sure he didn't want to teach at all. But with his probation and current status as a 'less-than-noble' war hero (the term utterly contradicting itself), he had no choice but to stay as McGonagall saw fit. Dumbledore's portrait had insisted he return to his post as Potions master, for fear that Voldemort's curse was still active. Hermione thought it silly that a curse by a dead wizard could be effective. Hadn't Dumbledore's binding charm on Harry lifted the moment he died? But she supposed there was some sort of deep magic that could have lived on. Or the 'magic' of the Ministry's disapproval.

Snape looked downright exhausted, and he did not waste time in letting everyone know. "Acrobyl mixture, today." He rubbed his temples. "Ingredients are on the board." Waving his hand in an impressive gesture, spiky, spindly writing appeared on the board in white chalk. Hermione could see Harry shudder for just a moment in remembrance of "the Half Blood Prince".

"Sir, how do we know what to do with the..." a strawberry blonde inquired as she leaned over her desk, her green tie knocking against her cauldron. She did not have time to finish before her Head of House interrupted.

"Miss Pascal, what year are you?" He cocked an eyebrow. He looked almost charming, in a sarcastic, bitter sort of way. Hermione decided that he looked quite picturesque.

Edith Pascal stared at him.

"What year are you?"

"I...I'm a seventh year, sir."

"Must I baby a bunch of seventh years? And eighth years! Or are you all just incapable of doing anything moderately intellectual?"

"But..."

"Twenty points from Slytherin, for sheer stupidity. Use your texts if you are not already familiar with the potion!" He got up and flung open the storage. As students prepared themselves for the grubby space that was the storage closet, they were surprised when all contents were easy to find and quite pristine. Hermione smiled softly, knowing that she was the one responsible. She swore she saw the professor glance her way with what could only be assumed as a half-smirk, if she ever did see one.

She hummed her approval as she leaned on the jamb, knowing exactly where to find the ingredients (and what to do with them). Acrobyl was one of many first week concoctions that her Portuguese professors set her to, and she had excelled then. She would excel now.

She saw the determined look on Ron's face the moment she returned to her seat, and she knew she could not escape him at this point, in the middle of a N.E.W.T. Potions course. She began puncturing the Ublingatu pustules in careful pinpoints before squeezing their contents into her water-based potion. Ron cleared his throat.

"Hermione." She looked at him, and then back at her ingredients, taking powdered dragon scales in her measuring spoon and adding them every seventh turn of her wand. She lit the cauldron and let it simmer for five minutes. "Hermione, I don't get you. You wanted us. You wanted to be with me."

"We are not talking about this here," she hissed murderously.

"You said you wanted to be with me for the rest of your life. You said so the night of the battle."

"That would be the effects of the impending doom talking, Ronald," she said below a whisper, looking up at him so he was sure he was not being ignored.

"Liar." He threw the dragon scales into the potion without moderation, and the mixture turned a sickly yellow. He swore under his breath as she squinted with disapproval.

"Well, after careful consideration, I figured out that you weren't my type." She couldn't help but point her eyes towards his botched potion.

He sneered. "Your type?" He glared at his potion and lit the underbelly of the cauldron, making sure he could at least pass.

"It's not at all about your intelligence," she apologised. "Ron, you want a family, you want to be taken care of, you want lots of things that I'm not willing or able to give to you immediately."

"What? Is that so much to ask? I want a life with no more complications. You could stay home with the children like a norm..."

"You made it very clear that you wouldn't wait for me if I went to do other things." She wiped a stray tear away and cut savagely into a dried root with her silver knife. "Just... stop harassing me!"

"Complete bullocks, Hermione!" he whispered loudly. Some Slytherins turned around on their stools, steam appearing in little droplets around their hairlines. Their concern was not recognised though, for Hermione and Ron were not paying them mind. "You left me! You left me to go study how to stir bloody potions properly! You chickened out after we... and then you left because we got into a bleedin' row."

"Ron, leave her alone." Harry said out of the corner of his mouth, looking straight on at Snape while adding wichety bark to his teal liquid.

I left because of what you said to me, Ron! And this isn't making matters any better.

--

In response to the words of the 'Boy Who Breathed', Granger quickly returned to her potion, moving through the steps with deft precision, given the circumstances. "Harry, it's fine. I think he's finished." Severus had looked up long ago. This was approaching disaster and he did not want it in his classroom. Sheer annoyance quickly fell into a bout of anger as he saw the curly-haired witch wipe at her cheek to remove a salty tear. What could he possibly be saying to hurt her that badly?

"I am not finished!" Weasley glared at the obviously distressed girl and folded his arms; an arrogant posture that would have beaten out Malfoy now framed his form. Hermione's lip trembled and she turned to him.

"Ron, this is NOT about commitment issues..." Ron laughed out loud cutting off her defence. A frown set across Severus' brow, and he looked about the class to see who was listening. Everyone.

"Of course it's not!" The sarcasm was evident, and he continued, "We just had sex and then you screamed at me for wanting you to stay home when we get..."

"MARRIED?" Hermione whispered with a tone that could only mean trouble. Severus looked down at this, shocked and unbearably uncomfortable that this type of discussion was occurring in not only his classroom but in his presence. He really had no bloody idea what to do.

"Yeah, you freaked out. You're supposed to be my girlfriend. You don't want kids; you don't want to get married; OH, but you are willing to have a casual fuck every now and then!" The Potions professor tensed, his fists curled into tight knots, and he nearly leapt across the room to hex the boy's balls off.

"Oh, you are grossly exaggerating! It was once, Ron! And we are still in school! We were forced into adulthood because of Voldemort, Ronald." Everyone now was tensed because of her word usage, and many even hunched their shoulders at the name. "We don't need to grow up that fast..." She huffed, "'Casual', indeed. Ron, you want to know why I left?" Tears were falling regularly now, and she did not bother to hide them. She shook her head and added another ingredient. Ron exhaled in frustration. "You can't just expect me to let everything that I have ever wanted fall behind some warped version of carpe diem! And as for kids..."

Severus could almost hear her thoughts scream, 'I am not Molly Weasley, you...'

"Oh, shut it! You probably went down to Portugal to fraternise with foreign wizards, for all I know. I know nothing about you anymore, Hermione! And you know what? I've figured it out. You are too preoccupied with stupid books and... and ancient runes and bloody potions..." his voice rose significantly at this. "And you're hiding behind them! You don't want to EVER settle down."

"Ron, I..."

"You wanted me, but not all the things it might bring? What a load of..."

"I CAN'T HAVE CHILDREN, RON!" He did not register her words, or maybe he just thought she was making something up to get him off her back. That was neither here nor there, for the next few minutes occupied her for the time being.

Everyone else, however, widened their eyes and looked at one another in shock as if to say, 'Well, that was unexpected.'

The boy rose up to his full height and exclaimed, "I don't believe one word of that, you lying little..."

"WEASLEY!" An angered voice rang out and silenced the young man, and it was nearly a second before Severus realised the voice was his own. Severus was surprised by the harshness of his timbre that echoed around the room. He was unaware that he had even stood until Hermione looked into his eyes, her chest heaving with anger and embarrassment. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she gasped uncontrollably for air. Ron glared in the direction of the voice and was surprised that the man standing with fists clenched and very clear emotions writ across his sharp features was the 'bat of the dungeons'. "APOLOGIZE TO MISS GRANGER, THIS INSTANT!"

Ron looked at her, disgust etched in his freckled face as the girl sank into her chair, cupping her face in her hands and finally giving in to the sobs.

"Apologise." Severus clenched his jaw, willing the insults paired with various dark hexes to stay on the tip of his tongue and not on the very giving end of his wand.

"I have nothing to say, Professor." He looked back at Snape, defiant and ready for a challenge.

"Then, as you have done an absolutely smashing job of disturbing my class, leave, Mr. Weasley." Severus put his hand to his temple and closed his eyes as Ron swung his backpack over his shoulders and stormed from the class, leaving the stricken and humiliated witch to hug her shoulders in defeat, trying to school her expression and compose herself. "Bottle your unfinished potions. Class dismissed." Everyone shuffled frantically to clean up and deliver the left over ingredients to their proper places, and then fled the discomfort of the room. "Miss Granger, please stay back a few moments..." He could see the apprehension flit across her features, but the numb expression from before returned as she looked into her cauldron.

Oh, how alike we are.

--

Hermione bottled her ruined potion, feeling failure at impressing her professor, while the other thoughts of disappointment flooded the back of her mind. The war had changed them all, and this was just one of the many repercussions of it. She wondered if he was just curious.

There was no way that she could guard her mind if he chose to take a dip. But for some reason, she knew he wouldn't. Not now. He had protected her. Or, at least, he had made a valiant attempt.

She waited for the rest of the class to leave, Harry looking apologetically into her eyes and then turning to follow a shaken Neville out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered as she shifted her feet and looked to the ground. Gods, this was a catastrophe.

--

"Do not make apologies, Miss Granger." He conjured a handkerchief and held it out to her to take. "You, of all people, have the least to apologise for." There was ambiguity in his words, but he was sure she didn't catch it as she took the soft fabric from his outstretched hand. After all, she was not her usual quick self when faced with yelling matches in Potions class.

"Well, then... I suppose I should thank you. For stopping it."

"No thanks are in order. A man should never treat a woman the way Mr. Weasley has treated you, especially when she is such an intelligent witch who knows that there is more to life than millions of ginger-haired toddlers." He spoke bitterly, his words sharp in his mouth and fast as daggers as he enunciated every word. He leaned back on the front of his desk, folded his arms, and peered into the girl's watery eyes. Hermione sniffed with a small smile that quickly spread. She didn't know that the sulky Potions master was capable of jokes, did she? He thought back to her fight, rolling the dialogue over and over in his mind. As she smiled vaguely at him, he couldn't push one particular sentence from his mind:

"I CAN'T HAVE CHILDREN, RON!"

His chest constricted painfully as he realised the weight of her predicament. Only nineteen, and her future has been decided for her by the forces of nature... or magic, for that matter. Whether she wanted children...however far in the future that would be (sodding Weasleys)...or not, she no longer had the choice. He shifted, realising his break in character, and sat up a bit. "Now, I would appreciate that you refrain from personal discussions during my class the next time you are in the dungeons, however interesting the rest of your peers may find them."

--

Way to ruin the moment. She saw him smirk and hold his hand out again to her. She was confused for a moment (he didn't really want the handkerchief back, did he?), but realised he was asking for her potion. She made sure not to touch him as the crystal phial passed between them.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry for not completing the Acrobyl mixture. I would have finished..."

"I know." His irritation returned. "Every class should be rather blasé for you, considering that you've already completed this course in another country. Better for you. Practice."

"..."

He looked at her questioningly, knowing that she wanted to ask him something.

"Professor... Could you perhaps..."

"What? Make it harder for you?" he asked. When she nodded, he tilted his head back and let out a deep laugh that startled the already shaken witch in front of him. He actually laughed. She blinked at him, but then grinned, seeing his facial features relax and soften in her presence. He quickly contained himself, but acquiesced.

She nearly shrieked with joy, giddy from her sudden mood swings and an unfamiliar swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought she might toss up, but at the same time, she felt better than she had in a while. Especially in the past fifteen minutes. "Thank you, Professor," she breathed and turned towards the door, hugging her potions book close to her in anticipation of a challenge.

"Miss Granger." She stopped, turning to him. "He will be receiving detention until I feel 'Chivalry' has been permanently branded into his empty skull." She turned around in satisfaction and was nearly at the door when she heard a throat clearing, and a gentler voice follow it: "I also wanted to... ah, thank you for cleaning my stores. It was... unnecessary, but very welcome."

She blinked, then, realising she was gaping like a Imobulused grindylow, nodded and shot from the room, fast as a Firebolt.

--

"Apparently, I need to work on those," he muttered to himself, turning back to face an empty room.

A/N: I make Ron such an effing prat in this story (I do love his character in canon, though)!

We'll find out more, next chapter! Thanks for your reviews!