'Constant Comment'

Disclaimer Oogie-boogie boogie!!!!!! (anti-litigation charm)

Chapter Six: 'Constant Comment'

-~-

He was in a garden with a large fountain pond in front on him. It looked a bit worse for wear, although very picturesque in its own right. There was moss blanketing the grey slate in the smell of wet leaves and cooling stones, and lilies decorated the dark water. Severus sighed and looked about him. Red and yellow maple leaves fluttered about around the edges of the clearing, the trees obscuring the darkness beyond this haven.

If only there were un-dream sanctuaries like this.

Feeling an inclination to explore the premises, he trudged across to an opening in the dense forest. He first looked, cautious from years of espionage, but then seeing nothing unusual or sinister about the place, he stepped forward.

A sword lay at the bottom of the pool. No, he thought, turning away and perching himself on the damp rock. But a nagging feeling caused him to stand up and turn to the pond again. Red rubies glinted at him as if to egg him on. He rolled his eyes in resignation and began unbuttoning his complicated vest. Disposing of all garments at his feet, he stepped up on the edge of the fountain. A breeze sent a shiver up his spine as he stood, sans clothing, in the middle of the clearing. He had a distinct feeling that someone was watching him but did not investigate, diving into the watery depths instead.

The silver blade twinkled at him tauntingly as he stroked towards it. He had the brief notion that air was becoming a necessity as he reached the beautiful weapon, but pushed it aside to grasp the hilt. And of course it would not budge from the bottom of the pool. He was unworthy; he was not true. This dream is steadily growing worse, he thought fleetingly as he gave it another tug. He pulled and pulled, using all of his weight to press his feet against the bottom, but he was running out of air. He nearly gave in to the dull feeling of failure humming against his heart and the pressure against his lungs. Frantically, he pushed against the bottom one more time. His heart pumped loudly in his ears. He could not give up...it would not let him. Soon he would die.

She was gone.

--

"Always bloody drowning!" Severus cursed as he slammed a teapot down on a communal hotplate one Sunday morning. "Ruddy sentimental dreams..." The frustration and exhaustion that he had felt when he woke up in a cold sweat early that morning were quite evident in his violent movements, although the house-elves diagnosed it as a case of miscast Babbling Curse. He glared up at a mountain of delicious and quite cheerful looking pastries that were clearly trying to irritate him, and he nearly knocked it over as he passed by the nearest group of house-elves.

"Is sir wanting something from the spice cabinet?" One of the house-elves stopped whisking an egg and turned to the Potions professor as he opened the closet with a loud yank.

Severus ignored the obnoxious elf and scanned the cupboard. If only Miss Granger decided to work her magic on these shelves. He certainly wouldn't have to hire a search party for some damned 'Constant Comment'! If he had only been out to Hogsmeade the past weekend instead of toiling away over an investigatory potion, he wouldn't have to deal with disorganized, unsystematic, incompetent servants.

"Rumkin will help, sir!" The same house-elf jumped down and pattered over to him.

"I can do it myself, thank you," Severus growled. Bumkin, or Pumpkin...whatever the hell her name was...halted and watched him with round yellow eyes as he reached haphazardly for flour, then saffron, then fennel. "Where is the bleedin' tea?" he asked aloud to himself.

Rumkin snapped her fingers and a tin box shifted forward about an arm's length above him. He looked back to glare at her before slowly retrieving the tin box and bringing his arm back to his side. Rumkin lit up the fire under his selected teapot and bowed deeply as he stood guiltily with the tin in his hands. He sat on a stool at the counter next to the stove of choice and leaned his forehead against his palms.

That nymph... thing... had made him feel utterly defeated. And helpless. And he knew her. She was so very familiar.

Severus recognized he shouldn't be dwelling on such a dream. It was manufactured of his subconscious...a manifestation of his fears and shortcomings.

But I have been having similar dreams for months. He hunched over the counter and looked out the large window. None with a rather charming sprite, though, he added mentally.

He soaked a bag of 'Constant Comment' in the heated water and waited, rubbing his temples and deciding that a fresh start without disquieting memories and disturbances would be quite delightful.

That, and those cinnamon buns over there.

--

Hermione waltzed down the corridor at 6:45 on a Sunday morning, a ritual she had consecrated as the weeks progressed towards the extravagant Halloween Ball. She was quite stressed, and she thought a thorough study of her experiment in the robe-closet off the common room, after her morning tea in the kitchens, would do wonders for her nerves. She and Blaise had been working on music selections until the wee hours of the morning, along with last minute decoration designs and minute details.

She went down several flights to the dungeons, passing the Potions classroom with reluctance. It seemed like every time she passed that place since the fight with Ron a week ago, she could no longer concentrate. Her mind kept replaying the scene over and over again, torturing her through her classes as well as her early morning journeys to the still life of a pear along the walls of a lone hallway. What was worse, he...not to mention half the grade...had seen the outburst and now gave her curious looks whenever they were near, as if he was scanning her, hoping she wouldn't have a meltdown in his presence again.

But he had shown an uncharacteristic bit of gratitude and kindness, which was something, wasn't it? She so dearly wanted acceptance...understanding...from someone right now. No one her age was capable of appreciating this sort of problem, even if they vaguely comprehended the impact it would have.

She floated in a trance all the way to the pear, but shook herself out of it when it did not just give way to her presence.

"Twit," Hermione chastised herself as she reached out and tickled the underside of the two-dimensional painting. It released a set of giggles as a door formed behind it, clicking and clanging into place before her eyes. "I love magic," she said to the pear as she reached for the handle.

Quickly making her way down the isle to the spice cupboard, she looked for the tin in its usual place. But, she soon became discouraged and very distressed as the weight of the day began to press down on her temples. A migraine was soon to arrive and she would not welcome it, thanks. She had to read through at least four of her History chapters along with her Arithmancy homework and a one-and-a-half foot essay for Transfiguration. She looked pleadingly at the group of house-elves now baking a series of quiches and one shuffled over to her.

"What is your name?" She bent down as one often does toward a child.

"I is Aldwon, Miss. What does Miss need this morning?" The miniscule elf twisted his knobby fingers in his tattered pillow-case-of-a-toga, not daring to look her in the eye.

"I would love some tea, Aldwon. It doesn't seem to be in its proper place this morning."

"Aldwon must punish himself for not serving the miss!" He sought out a frying pan.

"No, no!" She grabbed his tiny wrist. "It would be a... better punishment for you to help me find it." She smiled apologetically. Aldwon smiled toothily at her and retreated to the group of elves, conversing with a she-elf about said punishment.

Hermione stood up straight, a bit peeved about her lack of caffeine in the morning. She scanned the large expanse of the room, an exact mirror of the Great Hall above, and as she unconsciously twisted her waist-length curls into a braid down one side of her shoulder, she spotted him. He was hunched over a counter, copper kettle in hand, pouring what looked like tea into a cup. He appeared to be deep in thought...unconsciously chewing on a bit of a cinnamon bun with his eyes focused on the surface in front of him. She now felt extremely self-conscious in her nightgown.

What had only been the effects of caffeine deficiency was now pure anxiety as she looked back towards the elves still in discussion...about tea anymore, she could not tell. She pointed questioningly to the man and another elf, Rumkin, nodded. She gathered her strength and walked briskly up to none other than Severus Snape, preparing to duel him for the tea tin if it was the last thing she did.

--

The stirring of his spoon reminded him vividly of a certain struggle at the bottom of a certain pool, and so he stopped, placing the utensil on the saucer and lifting the orange-spice aroma to his lips. He drank, lifting his eyes to see none other than Hermione Bloody Granger weaving in between the other counters toward him. Sputtering, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and regained composure before she came to stand in front of him.

So much for a fresh start.

"Sir." She nodded, and grabbed the tea tin in front of him as if he had stolen it from her. He watched and drank as she filed through the dozens of tea bags, murmuring to herself as her eyes passed over each title. As she came to the end, she stopped, looking up at him, and then back down to restart her search. Her impassive expression gradually knit into a scowl as she neared the end of the row again. She sighed dejectedly at her hands and whispered, "No more 'Constant Comment.'"

He looked down at his teapot and then returned his eyes to her.

"Get a cup," he muttered, pushing the kettle in her direction. She looked up, equally nonplussed, and turned quickly to get one. He sipped and regarded her as she fumbled nervously in the porcelain cabinet, searching for a good-sized mug. She was obviously not expecting to see civilized folk about, for she had left on her silky nightgown, which, although it was long-sleeved and buttoned up to her neck, hugged her curves quite nicely. The fabric was a greenish-blue and rustled about as she reached up for her select cup. He shuddered as the image of a dryad maiden rushed to the forefront of his mind.

As she neared the counter again, averting her eyes and placing the cup down, Severus lifted the pot of steaming hot liquid and poured her a nice portion. He pushed the mysterious maiden's image to the back of his mind again and returned his attention to his own cup. He drank, noticing the girl scanning expectantly over the counter.

"No sugar?" she asked quietly.

He needed dearly to ask her how she was, if the Weasley boy had still been bothering her, if she was coping with the whispers in the hallways, if she wasn't about to kill herself as she was consistently eroded down by her coursework and her waning friendships. He very much wanted to reach over and tuck that stray curl behind her ear. To take all her obvious pain away. But he did not.

That's it, he thought after a rather ridiculous image of the sour professor tenderly brushing a lock away from the Head Girl's face materialized in his mind's eye, I've officially gone barmy.

"No sugar." He gripped his cup, knuckles turning white.

She rolled her eyes as if to say, 'Typical,' and made her way back to the spice closet, summoning the sugar and carrying it back to their makeshift tea party. She seemed to gather up some courage with each sweet spoonful and decided to unleash her bothersome inquiries on him. "So, Professor," he looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "what brings you to the kitchens at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning?"

"The crack of dawn, Miss Granger, was an hour ago, at about 6:07 to be exact. You would have to wait for mid-December until the sunrise is at seven."

She shrugged, "All the same..."

"I couldn't sleep, if you must know."

"Why?" she asked reflexively.

He glared at her.

"Sorry, sir."

"I should be asking the same about you, Granger."

"Oh, I'm always here on Sundays. I like to get a fresh tea brewing before I...er...study. It's been earlier lately, though, because of the ball and everything."

Severus exhaled in annoyance.

"It's going to be a masquerade."

"Really." His sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

"Yes." She sipped and smiled as the fumes filled her nostrils. "I imagine you regret volunteering for chaperone."

"Do I ever," he said, laying his empty cup down on the saucer and leaning his elbows on the table.

"It is much appreciated, I'm sure."

"What? My current vexation? Or my volunteering?"

She laughed, "Perhaps both. Professor McGonagall does like to aggravate the hell out of people." She flinched after her words, but Severus shrugged. "She always manages to make you feel inexplicably guilty."

"Here, here," he said emphatically, provoking a surprised expression from the witch across from him. They sat in silence for a while, while he gave her covert glances over the top of his cup as she sipped pensively. She apparently did not realize that he was waiting for her to finish. "Well, Miss Granger," he spoke when she finally set down her cup, "Good luck with your masquerade, and whatever other ridiculous schemes you and Mr. Zabini have conjured up." He stood, smirking at her, and then turned to deliver his used teacup to the mountain of suds that was the wash bin.

He did not stop when he heard her give a quiet "Thank you..."

--

Hermione watched the man retreat, his robes billowing behind him as they usually did. She couldn't help but sigh and lean her cheek against her palm as his distinct form disappeared in the shadow of the doorway.

They liked the same tea.

A/N: Oh, teenage girls! Well, what do you think? I know the dreams are a bit much, but my case is that for Severus to understand that he needs lurrrrrve (or, at least, friendship) in his life and needs to stop wallowing in self-hatred, the message must be blatantly obvious! For such a clever wizard, he is certainly hard-headed sometimes! And THAT, my friends, is why our heroes belong "togezzerrr" (Fleur-speak, with an exaggerated hhhhh at the end, just to butcher it a bit more). Alright, I've officially lost it. Snape and I will see you all in the crazy house once this is over ;) Toodle-oo!

PS - I haven't decided what the song that Hermione was singing is... I'm thinking some folk song. Soft, like a lullaby. *shrugs* Tell me what you think!