Eight

November had arrived, and Hermione was actually excited for the first Quidditch game of the season. Oliver had soon gotten over his hissy fit and apologized for closing the door in her face a week prior. Quidditch had always been his life, he'd explained, and so he'd had a hard time taking it off his priority list. When she'd told the team to take the night off, he'd felt she'd overstepped a boundary. But it was all in the past because today was the game. Everyone was garbed in his or her colors of choice, ready to support the players. Even the grounds of Hogwarts seemed to be cheering for the teams. She inhaled the crisp autumn air as she stepped out the castle doors. The dark green grass covered in frozen, silvery dew licked around her pant legs as she walked to the Quidditch pitch. As Hermione climbed the stands, the trees in the Forbidden Forest stretched out before her, exploding with brilliant reds and golden yellows.

She and Wood passed Snape as they climbed. He gave her the slightest of nods, and she tentatively returned it with a smile. He was sitting alone, and a sudden impulse steered her into the seat next to him with Oliver following behind. After all, Oliver was sure to talk nonstop about the game, and she wasn't that excited. Hopefully Snape would grace her with another delightful conversation, and she'd have the best of both worlds as she sat in the chilled morning air.

No one said anything for some time, just watched the seats fill and occasionally waved or shook hands as students and staff filed past. Not one to handle awkward silences, Hermione grasped around for something to say. Ever since her meeting with Snape about a week ago, she'd been unsure if she'd done the right thing in telling him how she had been feeling. But she'd remembered Minerva had always been right, and she had needed to get all that emotional build-up off her chest. Snape hadn't mocked her; he'd only sat and listened or asked appropriate questions. Although nothing had actually been resolved from the meeting, she'd been extremely relieved to unload her burdens. She wasn't sure if she believed him or not, but she liked to think that there was some modicum of good inside him...no matter how crusty he appeared.

And the wonderful conversation, which had followed her confession, was all could think about in her spare time. It had been far too long since she'd had an invigorating conversation. She wanted to bring it up now, but she felt like it would be wrong to invite Oliver into that world of intellect. No, she needed something else...anything else to talk about. The awkward silence was growing unbearable.

"So, Professor, a flutter on the game?" Oliver asked Snape, leaning across Hermione's lap.

Snape slowly turned his eyes on Oliver and sneered. This wasn't the kind of conversation Hermione had been looking for when she'd sat down. They were going to get thrown out of the stands for Oliver's stupidity. She braced herself for Snape's icy words as he opened his mouth.

"Twelve Galleons says Slytherin wins within an hour of the game starting," said Snape.

He gambles? Oliver's mouth dropped open, and she was sure her own did as well, although all the feeling in her face was gone. Snape's dark eyes flashed over her face briefly, and she forced her mouth shut. Oliver was still leaning over Hermione's lap, and it was getting uncomfortable.

"I am but a poor teacher, Headmaster, so I think twelve Galleons will help considerably. You're on."

They shook hands, and Oliver leaned back into his own seat. Rolanda was walking to the center of the field. The teams exited their respective locker rooms and marched onto the pitch. The crowd's roar was deafening. Hermione hollered with the rest and even saw Snape applauding out of the corner of her eye.

Rolanda brought a whistle to her lips, but the din in the stadium drowned out the whistle's blow. The two teams kicked off. A fourth-year Ravenclaw named Derek Timms was commentating.

"And they're off," said Timms. "Slytherin is in possession with Chaser Josie Wilton heading for the goal posts. Gryffindor Beater Kim Allen sends a Bludger at Wilton, and she dodges it. Gryffindor Keeper Jennings dives...and misses...Slytherin scores!"

Snape actually hooted as a wave of silver and green erupted through the crowd.

" . . . Tate Burch, Gryffindor Chaser, has the Quaffle, and he's flying down the middle. He dodges a Bludger and...OH NO...he didn't see that other one coming from behind. He drops the Quaffle, and Slytherin takes it. That would be Chaser Pip Stiles and Captain of the Slytherins. He's aiming straight for the goals, Jennings blocks but misses again...Slytherin scores! The score is now twenty to zero, Slytherin."

Snape leaned over Hermione, and she was startled by his close proximity. His hand rested gently on her knee as he sneered at Oliver.

"Still feeling lucky about our little bet?" he asked.

Hermione tore her eyes from Snape's face to look at Oliver. The poor man was sulking. She couldn't really bring herself to feel sorry for him when he had instigated the gamble, but Snape was rubbing it in a bit far.

"What is it with men?" she asked the two of them. "I bet you both bleed house colors! The world isn't divided into houses or teams. When will you two grow up?"

Snape looked at her with widened eyes. It was perturbing...his face so close to her own, but something wet dripped onto her hands, which were placed in her lap. Before she could see what it was, Oliver hollered in pain. He was bleeding profusely from his crippled hand. All the old scars had opened, and the blood spilling from the wound was a brilliant mix of scarlet and gold. Snape hissed in distress and held his hand to his neck. Between his fingers seeped drops of green and silver blood.

Without a moment's delay, Hermione whipped out her wand. But none of her medicinal spells worked...both men continued to bleed. People seated around them began to notice. She conjured two stretchers and ordered them to lie down. Snape insisted on walking, his face pale. Finally, she relented and led them down the stands, trying to help them as best she as could. But they refused to let her touch them. Both were harsh with her in their pained states. When they got to the hospital wing, Poppy ushered the men onto beds. Hermione slipped away to find somewhere to have a cry.

She made it to her chambers without letting the tears drop from her eyes. But as soon as the door was warded, she let loose. Hermione had no idea what had happened back there, and she'd only been trying to help them to the infirmary before they passed out from blood loss. It wasn't like it was her fault. Not really. Somehow, things kept happening around her. So what if she'd said something about bleeding house colors? It was just a coincidence, right? It was a common phrase. How could it contain magical properties? No, this was Snape; he had to be behind it all. Last week she'd said, "raining cats and dogs," and the sky hadn't poured anything but water. Something was missing, some important piece of information, and she didn't have it.

And they hadn't needed to snap at her when all she'd been trying to do was help them. What had she been expected to do? Stay and watch the game while they'd walked off, wounded, to the hospital wing? Well, maybe it was like trying to save Snape's life previously; her help was unwanted. Surely she could understand. All right, after Poppy found a cure, and they were on the mend, she'd go and apologize for trying to save them when they were grown adults and capable of asking for help when it was needed.

Severus lay on the infirmary cot, wishing he had another blanket. The night air was chilly, and the pillow was uneven and lumpy. Wood was snoring in the bed next to his. What was the use trying to sleep here? It wouldn't work. Quietly, he threw the blankets off, and the nip in the air attacked. He grabbed his robes and put them on, discarding the starchy hospital gown. He was almost out the door when Poppy caught him.

"I'm fine, really. The bleeding stopped before it was even noon. There's no need to keep me here. In fact, if I'm forced to stay, my work will back up. I'll overwork myself and end up here again," he defended himself.

He could barely make out the frown on her face in the darkened room. But she told him to come back in the morning for a clean bill of health. He promised and then slipped out the door.

Sleep had evaded Severus since his childhood. First, it was because his parents had fought late into the night; then, when he was at Hogwarts, he had lain awake thinking of Lily. As time had passed, his insomnia had been due to his fixation with getting even with Black and Potter. Finally, when the Dark Lord had been in power, as a double agent, Severus had been the errand boy in the dead of night. Currently, it was too late to try to sleep. The trick was to retire early in order to have a fighting chance. At this hour, it was a lost cause.

He could work, but there would always be work. What he needed was a good walk. He decided to check and see if the staff members were following his assigned patrol schedule. He met no one by the time he reached the dungeons. Not even the ghosts were out. Someone was slacking on his or her duties, tsk tsk. By now Severus' blood was pumping, and he didn't mind the nippiness. Years of stalking on the stone floors had trained his feet to make no noise. A sniffle in the distance caught his attention. He approached cautiously and heard murmuring between two voices.

" . . . But that's just it, Minerva, I did it again." Granger. She was sniffling a great deal.

"You can't help it, dear, it's who you are. There's nothing to be ashamed of," Minerva said. She was obviously in someone else's portrait.

"Even after the lesson I'd learned when he'd saved my life...I tried to act the hero. I can't leave bloody well enough alone. Do you think I should go and apologize, or would I make a fool of myself? I mean, I don't expect him to accept my apology; it would only be for my benefit. And I have a sinking feeling that I am somewhat responsible for this whole mess."

"That's a decision you're going to have to make on your own, Hermione. Although, do take care with this curse. Accidents happen. Look at Horace and myself. I'm sure he had been careless just that one time, but once was all it had taken. Watch yourself," Minerva admonished.

Granger blew her nose loudly, then bade Minerva goodnight as she went to finish her rounds. Severus pressed himself into an alcove and watched her go by. She looked terrible.

As promised, Severus went back in the morning to show Poppy how healthy he was. She always worried, though. Some nights, he'd been a wreck after the Dark Lord's rallies, and Poppy had had to nurse him back to health. He cradled a soft spot for her, as she was the only person he trusted when he couldn't depend upon himself physically.

Poppy was just finishing his check-up when Granger slid in through the entrance. She stood by the door, looking lost, then approached Wood's bedside. The dunderhead was reading the Daily Prophet pretending he didn't see her approach. But his eyes didn't move across the page, giving him away. Nonetheless, she patently waited for him to "finish." Finally realizing she wouldn't leave, he stiffly put the paper down. This should be good.

Severus tried to look inconspicuous as he watched their exchange. Their voices were low and indistinguishable, but by the tone, Granger sounded as if she were apologizing. Wood acted nonchalant and gave her a brief squeeze of the hand. She brusquely walked away from Wood and approached Severus himself. So here it was. She'd decided to apologize. He would have rather she'd done it in a private setting. For some reason he couldn't find it in himself to hold a grudge against her for the bleeding incident. But he didn't want to appear weak in front of Wood and Poppy by accepting the apology. If she were to do it in his office, he would have actually softened up.

"Sir, I was wondering if you'd like to go get a cup of coffee." That was not what he'd been expecting. She was looking at his knees. "My treat, down at the Three Broomsticks in, say, an hour?" She looked up, and he could see unshed tears in her eyes, obviously lingering from her conversation with Wood.

He did need to go to Hogsmeade anyway, so he might as well join her. "I am capable of purchasing my own beverages, Granger. But I'll meet you there. Don't keep me waiting."

"Of course, sir. Thank you."

She stepped out the door and was gone. Wood had been watching them over the top of his paper but quickly resumed his motionless reading.

"Can you believe her?" Wood asked through the paper. "She nearly kills me and then expects me to talk to her. After yesterday, I can't let her near me. Who knows what's going on? She thinks she's responsible somehow, but can't explain more. It's just too risky."

"Yes, a real threat, I'm sure," Severus drawled. "Oh, by the way, you do know Slytherin won the match in fifty-two minutes with a score of two hundred twenty points to ten. Would you like to pay now, or shall I deduct it from your salary?"

Wood grumbled something about getting the money soon. That should teach the dodger to make bets against a Slytherin. And if he still needed some lessons, there were plenty of games left in the season.

Granger was already sitting down in a dark booth in the back of the pub when he arrived. Bones was sitting with her, but as he approached, she kicked Bones out of the booth. Good. Granger looked tired: there were dark circles under her eyes, and they were a bit puffy from crying. But he wouldn't mention it. Maybe he was turning soft. No, he needed to remain aloof. He slid into the booth with a nod as a greeting. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Rosmerta appeared.

"Professors." Rosmerta smiled. "What can I get you two this fine Sunday morning?" She looked to Granger first.

"I'll have a 'cup o' Joe', as they said at DuPont," she said with false cheeriness.

"Coffee. Black," he said politely.

Madam Rosmerta left to get their orders. Granger was tracing the wooden grain on the table with her fingers. Without a sound, a white mug appeared on the table in front of Granger. Her fingers ran into it, and she gasped.

"What in the world . . ." she trailed off.

The mug appeared to be half empty, and there was a large lipstick mark on the rim. Granger slowly turned the mug, barely touching the handle. Once the other side was facing Severus, he saw, in bright red loopy print, the word "Jo."

"Who the hell is Jo?" he heard himself say.

"I don't know, but it appears I have her cup of coffee," Granger said with a small smirk on her lips.

Apparently, the situation cheered her up a bit. Rosmerta returned with the requested cups of coffee and, after their brief explanation, took away the mysterious mug.

After taking a few sips of her ordered coffee, she suddenly stared him right in the face and gave him a lopsided grin.

"Headmaster, I'd like to apologize for trying to help you yesterday. I had no right without your consent, and I am sorry."

"Why are you grinning? Last night you were crying over it, and now you find it amusing. Explain," he demanded.

She faltered for only a moment. "How did you know I was upset? Did Minerva tell you? No, she wouldn't do that. I know. You've been spying on me." She pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Why the mood-change from last night to today?" he persisted. He didn't want to go off on a tangent.

Never one to miss answering a question, she obediently said, "I just realized it's because I'm a Gryffindor. And although, yesterday I told you we shouldn't always be associated with our schoolhouses, we inevitably have been molded while in them and thus continue to hold those values throughout our lives. My Gryffindor brass and unabashed desire to take charge in situations takes over, and I find I cannot help myself."

"Fair enough," he said after a moment. "I'll accept your apology and your extreme emotional outbursts. So it is only fair...in a Gryffindor sense...I tell you my source of knowledge. Indeed, I was spying on you. But not intentionally," he added hastily after seeing the look on her face. "I was patrolling the corridors last night and stumbled upon your conversation with Minerva."

She choked on her coffee, spraying it all over him. "So you already knew why I asked you here?" Granger wordlessly removed the spit-up coffee from his person with her wand.

"Yes, but I'm actually glad I came," he said. She looked pleased. That had come out wrong. "I think your coffee incident has given me a lead. I might know what's going on with this curse. I'll have to research it, but I'll let you know if I find anything."

Granger's smile only faltered slightly, but still, she looked happy that he had some idea as to what was going on.

Back in his office, Sunday evening, Severus transferred a few strands of wispy memories into the Pensieve. Without waiting for the contents to settle, he pressed his face into the swirl of silvery blue. He was falling gently and landed in the Great Hall during mealtime.

"Professor Snape, I am curious as to why my eating utensils aren't clean? It's been like this all day." Severus turned to see Granger talking to his memory-self, who was sitting at the table. She showed him the plate.

"I'll take care of it, Granger," his other self said.

"Thank you, sir." She started to turn back but added, "Oh, and my chambers aren't being cleaned either. Not that I mind; if the house-elves don't want to clean the rooms, I don't want to force them. Well, you know how I feel."

He raised his eyebrow but said, "I will speak to them regarding their conduct towards you as soon as I'm done with my meal."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed. Thank you, sir."

She sat down next to Longbottom, and Severus followed her.

"What was that about, Hermione?" Longbottom asked.

"Oh, my plate keeps coming up dirty." She tried to clean it magically, but her fingers stuck together. Longbottom noticed and laughed with his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

"Very funny, Neville. Did you do this?"

"No. But it's a hoot. Here." He also tried to fix it. Nothing happened.

Her first and middle finger were crossed over and stuck fast. Nothing she did worked. She shook her hand in desperation. Finally, Longbottom cleaned her plate and piled it with food.

The memory faded, and he found himself in the dungeons. His former self was just Disillusioning himself. Severus heard Granger and Wood talking as he escorted her to her chambers. This was back in the first week of October.

The idiot Wood said, "So you had fun, right?"

"Yes, I did. Thanks for the great idea. I haven't been bowling in a long time. I didn't even know you knew about Muggle entertainment."

"I had a friend when I played Quidditch who was Muggle-born, and we used to go bowling all the time."

"I still can't believe you're afraid of horses. That blows my mind. But everyone has to have a fear, right?" She stifled a yawn. "Well, I'm bushed. I could probably sleep for a week. I don't usually stay up this late."

She'd said she could 'sleep for a week,' and then he'd found her on the following Monday asleep. Nothing had worked to revive her until Friday night...one week later.

The memory faded as Wood leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, and Severus felt the same surge of satisfaction as before when Wood ended up only kissing her cheek. His own emotions were irksome.

Now he was behind his former self as he walked back from Hogsmeade. The wind was blowing erratically, and there were several kites flying in the wind. Wood was dragging Granger off into the woods. He sprinted after them, leaving his original self to catch up in due time. Granger was pressed up against a tree, Wood was leaning into her. Only this time she didn't turn her head. They kissed passionately, and Severus was jealous...was that what he was feeling? The kiss deepened and kept going. He thought it was a bit much, really.

Mercifully, they pulled apart, and the prat said, "Pretty good, huh?"

Granger's eyes were half-lidded. "Yes, I'm as high as a kite right now."

He recognized the phrasing she'd used. Proof enough: she was causing her own destruction. And within the minute, she was ripped away from the tree straight into the sky. He saw the memory-Severus drop his bags and swear as he leapt into the air.

Next came the memory of the recent staff meeting. Granger was upset...he could see that plainly enough on her face. His memory-self was giving assignments to the staff. He shuffled his way through the crowded room so he was behind Granger and Bones.

"All the staff are bending over backwards to help him. I can't believe it. He should have asked us if we could afford to help him with his workload before assigning it to us," Granger whispered to Bones.

Then everyone in the staff room jerked backwards and stayed that way. So, Granger's big mouth was the culprit. Just as he'd suspected: she didn't know she was doing it...that much was obvious, but it made her even more dangerous. There was no telling when the bomb would go off. Every time Granger uttered certain phrases, they would actually happen. The last memory faded, and he landed back in his chair. Well, he found himself in an interesting situation.

"Winky," he called out.

She appeared with a crack. "Master Snape is wanting his tea?" she asked.

"No, Winky. What did you do to Professor Ganger?"

"Winky is not understanding. I is not even to be seeing Miss Granger for some time." She cowered back as if he would strike her for such a statement.

"At the beginning of term, you cursed her, didn't you? You told me it was a charm."

"Winky is bound by the elf-code. I is not to be revealing the spell even to master."

"Then nod your head to my questions: Does the curse present itself when she speaks?"

Winky hesitated for a moment, then gave the slightest of nods.

What phrases had she said? She would keep her fingers crossed; she was tired enough to sleep a week, something about her being as high as a kite and lastly the bending over backwards bit. The first was an idiom, and the last three were hyperboles. So why those modes of expression? Was he missing something? At least it gave him some sort of guideline to work with.

"Another question, Winky. How much longer will this curse last?"

She admitted, "Winky is not knowing the length of the spell. I is saying no more."

"But, Winky, she almost fell to her death. I had to save her. Wand magic is useless against this curse. Someone could die if we don't undo the enchantment soon. Is there any way around the curse once it's been activated?"

For the longest time, Winky stood there trying to answer with a choking noise, but instead, grabbed a paperweight and stared bashing her head. Little squeaks of pain punctuated the act. Severus was about to stop her, but her squeals were words.

"Once. Curse. Activated. It is. Staying. Until. It is. Fulfilled."

"So let me get this straight," Severus said to the tiny elf, now lying on the floor next to the paperweight. "If Granger says a certain type of phrase, it will actually happen? And it has to be fulfilled each time?

She nodded warily.

"Merlin's saggy balls! You do realize the chit never shuts up? We'll all be maimed by the end of the week."

"I is sorry, sir."

"But what if she activates the curse with a phrase like, 'Over my dead body'?"

"Do not make Winky answer, sir. I is not allowed to answer any more questions." She cowered on the floor.

"You don't know or you cannot answer?" he questioned.

"Winky knows but is not allowed to answer," she said.

Severus dismissed her after that. There was much to think about.

He should probably tell Granger that her silly phrases were setting off the incidents, but he would have to be near her whenever she said something. If he distanced himself, she wouldn't have any hyperboles literally happen. But then, where would be the fun in that? He could milk this for all it was worth without any serious repercussions . . . if he were careful.

He'd have to bait Granger a bit, and things should turn out quite enjoyable. This could be his retribution, watching her say hyperbole after hyperbole and seeing the mass chaos ensue. Severus convinced himself that if anyone were hurt, it would only be minimal. Hell, he had been bleeding out of his neck wounds yesterday, and that hadn't been too bad. Others could suffer at his expense for a while: he'd certainly suffered at their expense for years without so much as a "thank you" amongst the whole lot of them. Besides, no one would know it was intentional. What was the worst that could happen?

In mid-November, Granger showed up for tea one Sunday afternoon. It turned out Minerva had invited her. Granger asked how his progress was in regards to her curse. He lied and told her he was still in the research stage. Minerva glared. Damn. He'd forgotten she'd heard his entire conversation with Winky. Oh well, she was bound to the will of the current Headmaster, and she knew he didn't want to reveal his information to Granger.

They quickly dropped the subject in order to debate various topics of mutual interest. Halfway through the conversation, Minerva reminded him of an invitation he'd received from the International Potions Convention. It was held every five years, and all members of the Potions Institution were invited. This year it was in Turku, Finland. Granger had already received her own invitation and had made reservations to attend. He said he was going too, so she offered to add him into her reservations as most everywhere was booked in the general vicinity of the conference. The convention wouldn't be until New Years Day, but it only happened twice a decade. Every witch and wizard with a Potions interest across Europe was going to be in attendance.

With their plans set, they went down to dinner in the Great Hall. He found it comfortable talking with Granger; she was proficient in many of the subjects he enjoyed as well. And if there were any uncomfortable moments, Minerva stepped in to save the situation. He wanted the girl to become accustomed to his presence, so he encouraged the Sunday tea times. If she were comfortable, she'd be more likely to slip up and say a tainted phrase. It was a matter of waiting, and Severus was excellent with patience.

On the next Sunday, Granger appeared for tea again. She accidentally called him "Severus," and he didn't bother to correct her. He relished hearing his first name from her lips; she was already beginning to trust him. She blushed a little when she said it but continued to use it throughout the debate. He thought he should return the formality, but once he did she corrected him.

"Could you call me 'Granger' still? I hope you don't think it terribly rude. I use to hate it when you spoke to me using just my last name and never my title, but it's grown on me. Everyone calls me Hermione or Professor Granger. But you're different, and so it fits when you call me something different."

"Then I shall continue with the old standby," he said. He was getting in over his head, but he didn't fight it off.