Chapter 8 - We Can't Stop

Chapter 8 - We Can't Stop

"Gather 'round, everyone!" McGonagall clapped her hands together. "I have a couple of announcements."

It was the morning of the big Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and a sense of excitement and nervous anticipation hung in the air. The sun was already blazing outside the castle walls, making the Gryffindor common room stuffy and the air still and thick.

"Firstly, tonight's game is being moved from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m. due to the heat," McGonagall began, addressing the large group of students in front of her. "We need all the manpower we can get down at the pitch, so if you have a free period before lunch, please make yourself useful."

She paused briefly. "Secondly, and this might come as a surprise to some of you, we have a new Head Girl."

The crowd immediately burst into hushed whispers. A couple of younger students even craned their necks to get a better view of Hermione, who was sitting on the armrest of one of the couches, flanked by Ron, Harry and Ginny Weasley.

"What did you do, Hermione, rob the library?" Seamus Finnigan called out from the other side of the room, causing those closest to him to break out in laughter. Ron tried to stifle a loud snort but failed miserably, earning him a well-placed elbow in the side from Harry.

"Sod off, Seamus," Hermione replied hotly, throwing him a dirty look.

"Quiet down!" McGonagall cut off sharply and the room fell silent.

"For reasons I will not discuss, we have deemed our current one unfit, and for the reminder of term, the task will go to ... Pansy Parkinson of Slytherin," McGonagall said, disdain dripping from her voice.

A collective gasp flew through the crowd, and the murmurs intensified.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, even a Flobberworm would do a better job than her," she whispered to Ginny.

"And be easier on the eye," Ginny said and sniggered, making it impossible for Hermione to hold in her own laughter. McGonagall glared in their direction and they immediately pulled themselves together.

"And thirdly," McGonagall emphasized. "Professor Palmer has reported a theft. A pack of cigarettes, a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and, oddly enough, a tumbler glass has apparently disappeared from his personal stores in his office. If I find out ...," she eyed the seventh years closest to her, "that any of you have relieved him of these items and are planning on treating yourself to a fine little evening, there's no telling what I will do, mark my words." She pursed her lips. "That's all. Off you go!"

The crowd quickly dissolved as each person either went down to the Great Hall for a spot of tea or walked to the Quidditch pitch, not daring to disobey McGonagall's command.

McGonagall strode up to Ron and Harry, a look of determination on her face. "Boys." She peered at them over her glasses. "This is your last chance to show those self-righteous goody two-shoes which house really deserves the Cup. And I'm afraid my pride might cause me to hex the smugness off Professor Sprout's face if that turns out to be Hufflepuff." She smiled a thin-lipped smile. "Break a leg. Or ten." McGonagall then whirled around and walked out the portrait hole.

Harry and Ron exchanged a terrified glance and then shook their heads in unison. "She really is getting on a bit, isn't she," Ron said with a grimace, turning to Hermione and Ginny. "We're going to get something to eat and then head on down. Are you girls coming?"

"Yeah, in a minute. I just have to talk to Hermione about something," Ginny replied.

Ron raised a questioning eyebrow but knew not to inquire further.

"Why are you in such a bad mood, Hermione? You're snapping at everything and everyone today," Ginny asked with a concerned look on her face as soon as Harry and Ron had left.

"Is it really that obvious?" Hermione sighed. "It's Christopher." Well. Part of it, anyhow.

"What's going on? You know you can tell me anything," Ginny said, petting Hermione reassuringly on the arm.

"He sent me a letter this morning, and it's ... He wants to ... " She threw her hands in the air and made a frustrated sound. "Bugger it all to hell, I'll just show you." Hermione grabbed a hold of the red-headed girl and pulled her up the stairs to her bedroom. Once inside she cast a Silencing Charm, pulled out the parchment from her trunk and handed it to Ginny.

My dear Hermione,

Christopher

Ginny's eyes widened. "Well, there's certainly no beating around the bush with this guy. It sounds like you have to either commit or get out."

"That's the problem. I just don't know." Hermione rubbed her temples furiously. She felt a headache coming on.

"Alright. Let me ask you this. Do you like him?"

"What? Of course I do."

"When you see yourself old and wrinkly, is he there beside you?"

"I ... I don't know," Hermione admitted.

Ginny frowned. "Okay. But do you miss him, think about him, long for him when he's not around?"

"No," Hermione said reluctantly. "Not really. I mean, there's never been any real ... passion between us, no jittery feelings. But he's such a smart, sensible guy. And he likes books and art and ... Well, we're very compatible academically," she said sagely.

"Sometimes love grows over time. It isn't always thunder and lightning, you know," Ginny said, thoughtfully.

"Maybe you're right." Hermione sighed.

"Whatever you're feeling, just be honest with him. He seems like a good enough bloke to me, but if you don't want things to go any further, you really shouldn't be giving him any false hopes."

"I know." Hermione nodded distractedly. "Maybe I'm just making this harder than it actually is. It just feels like I'm about to make the biggest decision of my life, and now, when it actually matters, I don't have the bloody answer."

The redhead narrowed her eyes.

"Hermione," she said suspiciously.

"What?" Hermione replied, twirling a quill between her fingers and blowing away a strand of hair from her face.

"Have you met someone else?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping the quill on the floor.

"Aha!" Ginny pointed a finger in triumph at Hermione. "You so have, I can tell! Who is he?"

"Gin, I honestly haven't! It's just ... I don't like being pressured like this, that's all," she said, desperately.

"Fine," Ginny said slowly, obviously not convinced. "But you would tell me if you had though, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would." Hermione gave her a weak smile. When hell freezes over. 'I might have developed a crush on the oh-so-charming bat of the dungeons, Ginny. Would you and Harry fancy going on a double date with us? I can throw together some spaghetti carbonara, and then we can all talk about the good times we've shared over a bottle of wine.' Not bloody likely.

"Come on," Ginny said and jumped off the bed. "We better get our behinds down to the pitch."

When Hermione and Ginny finally made it to the Quidditch pitch, it was bustling with activity. People were putting up banners, sweeping the bleachers, raking the sand traps beneath the goal posts and trimming the grass.

"I'm just going to say hi to Harry. I'll only be a minute," Ginny said over her shoulder and immediately took off for a group of Quidditch players near the goal posts.

"But you just saw him in the..." Hermione stopped mid-sentence, shaking her head. "Go ahead. I'll see you later."

Hermione put her hand over her eyes, blocking the sun, and scouted the field, wondering absently what on earth she could be helping with. At the far end of the pitch, she suddenly spotted a familiar black-clad figure busy doing something she couldn't quite make out.

"Oi, 'Mione! Over here!"

She turned her gaze towards the voice and saw Ron in the center of the pitch, waving at her.

"Ron!" She waved back and started walking towards him.

"Hiya, 'Mione." The redhead gave her a wide grin and a sideway hug as soon as she came up to him. "Are you finding anything to do?"

"Not yet. But I bet I'll get stuck with removing gum from the bleachers, though. If Professor McGonagall gets her way at least," she said bitterly. "How are you? Nervous?"

"I try not to think about it 'cause when I do, I throw up." Ron gave her a lop-sided grin. "But then I get dizzy thinking about not thinking about it." He cast her a glance. "You looked a little down this morning in the common room," he said, switching the subject. "You shouldn't let Seamus get to you. He's like that with everyone."

Oh, Ron. You really are unbelievably clueless sometimes. I could eat that little prick Seamus Finnigan for breakfast, Hermione thought and looked at her friend fondly.

"I know ...," she replied, buying herself some time. Ron had never approved of her dating Christopher, so she usually just avoided telling him anything about that particular part of her life.

"But Pansy, Ron?" she said finally, feigning exasperation. "How can they choose her out of everyone! That's just demeaning."

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I thought what you said to McGonagall was bloody brilliant. Forget the top scores you got on your OWLs and NEWTs; that's a life time achievement, right there," he said with a wink.

"Thank you, Ron. It all feels totally worth it now," Hermione said sarcastically.

"I mean it." He gave her another grin. "It made my day, my week, heck, maybe even my year."

He threw his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but just as his lips touched her skin, something heavy collided forcefully with the back of his head, making him pitch headlong to the ground.

"OW!" Ron yelled, clutching his head. "What the hell!"

The obvious source of the collision, a large wooden chest containing the Quaffle, the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch, lay on the grass beside Hermione.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled, holding out his wand in front of him, levitating a couple of Beater's clubs and a handful of helmets. "I did not see you there."

"Didn't see me!" Ron yelled shrilly as he rose, swaying slightly on the spot. "I'm in the middle of the bloody pitch! You'd have to be BLIND not to see me!"

"Language, Mr. Weasley." Snape gave him a bored look and pointed his wand at the stray chest, making it join the other items in mid-air. He glanced at Hermione and quirked his lips as he passed.

Shaking her head disbelievingly, she bit her lip to hide the smile that threatened to take over her face.

"Bloody git," Ron said angrily. "That really hurt!"

Hermione turned her attention to her wounded friend, carefully examining the back of his head.

"Ron, you're bleeding!" she gasped. "I think you have to see Madam Pomfrey."

Ron grunted grumpily in response, one hand still glued to his head, turned on his heel and stalked off the field. Jogging half-heartedly in the other direction, Hermione soon caught up with his assaulter.

"Ron got a big gash, you know. I had to send him up to the Infirmary," she said, slightly out of breath.

Snape stopped to put down the levitating Quidditch supplies next to the bleachers.

"Is that it? And here I was aiming for decapitation," he replied dryly.

"That's a horrible thing to say," Hermione said, reluctantly letting out a laugh.

"Can I help you with anything else, Miss Granger? Or are you merely here to watch other people work?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. This is as good as time as any, just go for it.

"Well, since you're the one bringing it up ..." She bit her lip. "I want to ask you something, Professor, if that's alright."

"That depends wholly on the question, Miss Granger," Snape said, folding his arms across his chest.

"I've decided to pursue Potions," she began, tentatively.

"Is that right?" Snape replied, clearly amused. "And how, pray tell, are you planning on accomplishing that?"

Hermione felt a familiar crimson color spreading on her face. Why do I always blush around this man?

"Well, there are a couple of summer internships at the Ministry I thought I'd apply for, and then I was hoping to get an Apprenticeship in the fall," she said hastily.

"And where, in this grand scheme of yours, do I fit in?" Snape asked.

"I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation," she replied, giving him a hopeful smile. "I'm quite certain your name would add one heck of a competitive edge to my application."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Granger," Snape said, a serious look on his face but the mirth in his eyes telling her something else. "But I'll see what I can do."

A couple of hours later, Hermione decided that there was nothing more for her to do at the pitch and began the walk back to the castle. Her stomach had been rumbling for the last half an hour, and she felt her mouth water at the prospect of a big slice of minced pie. Ginny had been nowhere to be found, and Hermione suspected that if someone would bother to look into it, they would find both Ginny and a certain Harry Potter snogging underneath the bleachers.

"Miss Granger!" A squeaky voice rang out behind her. She turned around and saw Professor Flitwick hurriedly sprinting towards her. "Just the person I was looking for," he panted, slowing down beside her.

Hermione smiled at him curiously. "What can I do for you, Professor?"

"I've actually been wanting to talk to you for a couple of days, my dear. Professor Palmer and I have been discussing various students we would like to ... help along a little, if you will, and we've now come to a conclusion."

"I'm not sure I understand ...," Hermione said, confused.

"Give me a minute and I will try to explain," he chuckled. "I happen to be very well acquainted with L'institut de Charmes in France. Have you by any chance heard of it?"

"Of course, it's one of the most renowned wizarding universities in the world," she replied.

Flitwick nodded at her. "Well, my good friend Gerhard Dupont is the Headmaster there, and seeing as you are incredibly talented, both practically and academically in the subject, I thought I would offer you my good word. If you would like."

Hermione frowned, her thoughts racing. France?

"Initially Professor Palmer wanted to try to persuade you into trying for the Aurory, but seeing that he has Potter in his class, and although that young man hardly needs anyone vouching for his abilities, something in print will always be welcomed by the Ministry," Flitwick continued. "They're still very much a bureaucratic organization, I'm afraid."

He gave her a sideways glance. "Miss Granger? You're awfully quiet."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor," she said, snapping out of her thoughts. "I really, truly, appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid I have to decline," she said awkwardly. "I've decided to try my luck in the world of Potions."

"Potions?" Flitwick said, unable to mask his disappointment. "Are you quite sure about that? You're such a natural at Charms, and I've never seen anyone with such an instinctive hand movement as yours."

"Thank you, but yes, my mind's made up. I've already asked Professor Snape to write me a letter of recommendation."

"Really? And he agreed?" Flitwick asked.

"Yes," she said firmly, trying hard not to let her annoyance show. "He said he would look into it."

"I wouldn't count on it, my dear. That man hasn't written a single letter of recommendation to anyone outside his own house since he started teaching here," Flitwick said and frowned. "Oh, well. All the best of luck to you, Miss Granger. I am sure you will excel no matter what field of study you choose to pursue."

The rest of the day rushed by in a blur. Hermione found it hard to focus on anything, a thousand thoughts swirling around in her head. The letter from Christopher, the upcoming graduation, Flitwick's generous offer and the sudden possibility of enrolling at the esteemed L'institut de Charmes in Marseille. And then there was Snape. Snape.

When it finally was time for the game, Hermione was fast asleep on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, an untouched book on her chest.

She woke up with a start to somebody shouting her name. Confused, she bolted upright, shaking her head groggily. Where am I?

"Come on, Hermione, let's go! If you don't get a move on we'll get lousy seats," Ginny called out from the portrait hole, one foot on either side of the door. "Hurry up!"

Right, the game. "I'm coming. I'll be right there!" she called back.

"You better make up your mind, young lady," the Fat Lady huffed at Ginny. "This is getting quite drafty."

"Oh, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," Ginny replied angrily. "I'll see you down there, Hermione!" she yelled as the portrait swung shut.

I can honestly think of at least a dozen other things I'd rather be doing right now, Hermione thought tiredly, stifling a yawn. She frowned and turned her head towards the closed door. Making up her mind in a split second, she heaved her back pack up on one shoulder and then headed out.

The top of the Astronomy tower was empty. Hermione's steps echoed across the stone tiles as she walked towards one of the large arched windows, perching herself in one of them.

The heat of the day had settled into a snug warmth, and the air was filled with a soft flowery scent. From her spot in the window, she had a magnificent view over the grounds, and in the distance she could hear shouts, cheers and the occasional whistle blowing.

Hermione had been sitting there for quite some time when she suddenly heard somebody clear a throat behind her.

Who would come up here now? Hermione thought, her heart skipping a beat.

Dressed in a black pair of dress pants and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, Severus Snape emerged from the shadows.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Good evening, Mr. Snape," she said slowly.

Snape bowed slightly and then quirked a brow at her.

"Well, you're hardly my professor anymore. I had my last Potions class ages ago."

"Ah." He moved closer, putting his hands in his pockets. "And yet you insist on calling Dumbledore 'professor' despite the fact that he hasn't taught a class in over forty years."

"That's different." She smiled. "He's the most powerful wizard in the world. I wouldn't dare do anything else."

"And what am I?" Snape said inquiringly.

"Slightly above average, I suppose," she smirked. "I would probably place you somewhere in between ... " She paused for a moment, feigning thoughtfulness. "Neville Longbottom and Professor Slughorn."

Snape let out a sound of protest, his expression turning to mock-hurt. "Are you drunk, Miss Granger? There's no other reasonable explanation for that preposterous statement."

"No, I'm actually just getting started," she said, holding up a tumbler glass, half-full with an amber liquid.

Snape frowned as he sat down opposite her in the window. "Is that by any chance Ogden's Old Firewhisky?"

"Is it?" she asked sarcastically, bringing up the glass for a better look. "And here I was wondering why my pumpkin juice tasted off."

He eyed her quizzically. "What are you doing up here, Miss Granger? Everyone else is at the game."

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied.

"A game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff hardly requires my attendance," he scoffed. "You, however, deemed it more important to sneak off and break at least five school rules regarding alcohol consumption than to be present at the most vital sports event of the year for your house."

Hermione only shrugged in response.

"But in your favor ...," Snape nodded his head towards her crystal glass, "it seems you're doing it with class."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting there are other ways of consuming this fine vintage liquor?"

"Straight from the bottle?" he said, a sudden teasing note in his voice.

Hermione snorted. "What am I, a farmer?"

"No." He quirked his lips. "You're certainly not a farmer."

Hermione reached into her robes with her free hand and fished up a pack of cigarettes. She flicked the lid open and brought one to her lips, then continued rummaging around.

Snape stared at her disbelievingly. "What exactly do you think you are doing?"

"Isn't it kind of obvious? I'm looking for a lighter," she said in a muffled voice.

He leaned forward and gingerly plucked the unlit cigarette from her mouth. "Don't be ridiculous," he said softly. "You don't smoke." Snape examined the cigarette closely before he tossed it out the window. "You do, however, steal on occasion. I know this for a fact."

This caught Hermione's attention, and she narrowed her eyes at him, challenging him to continue.

"Am I wrong to assume that these items ..." He gestured towards the cigarettes and the whiskey. "Actually belong to Professor Palmer?" he asked, mouth twitching.

Hermione sighed defeatedly. "No. That would be a very accurate deduction, indeed." She looked down on the glass in her hand. "I don't know what I was thinking. The opportunity arose and I just ... well, seized it. I'm not a thief, not really." She gave Snape a small smile. "I'll buy him a new bottle. But he really shouldn't be smoking as much as he does."

"You were doing him a favor, is that what you are saying?"

"No," she replied. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately. I guess I thought this would buy me a brief break from it."

Snape leaned back against the stone arch. "Does, what's his name ... the dreadfully dull Mr. Collins, have anything to do with this?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "I had a letter from him today actually, telling me to decide whether or not I want to continue with ... whatever it is we're doing."

She was surprised to hear Snape inhale sharply.

"And what have you decided?"

She watched him carefully. "I haven't."

He slowly reached out and took the glass from her hand, putting it to his lips and taking a sip. Thoughtfully, he gave her the glass back, touching her hand briefly as he did so.

"Maybe I can help you out."

Suddenly the Quidditch stadium erupted with cheers and applause, causing them to jump apart. The match was obviously over.

"I wonder who won," Hermione muttered, forcing her gaze away from his.

She hardly had time to finish the sentence before the sky lit up with magnificent black and yellow fireworks.

"Hufflepuff, it seems," Snape replied absently as he rose. "I really should get back to my quarters. The whole school will be back shortly, and Merlin knows what would happen if I was found sharing a stolen bottle of whiskey with the Gryffindor maverick at the top of the Astronomy tower," he said, giving her a small smile.

"I suppose so," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Unless ..."

Her heart began hammering against her chest. "Unless what?" she asked.

Snape looked at her hesitantly. Then he slowly bent down, placing his lips a mere breath away from hers. Just before he gently closed the gap between them, he whispered, "Unless you would like to join me."

Christopher, the stolen cigarettes and whiskey, the Quidditch game, France, Pansy Parkinson and the lost Head Girl badge, it all disappeared in an instant.

When they broke apart, the loaded question, forbidden and exhilarating, still hung unanswered in the air.

But as Hermione's warm brown eyes met Snape's obsidian ones, she knew she had never been more certain of anything in her entire life.

"Lead the way."

We Can't Stop – Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox