Umbrage

Disclaimer: Thank you JK Rowling for allowing us to play with your creation. I promise to make them bathe before they come home.

~ Umbrage ~

The driving rain soaked through her cloak in seconds, swallowing the flood of tears that washed down her cheeks. She clutched the wet material around her tightly as she ran, not sure if the cloak she had grabbed was her own and not caring if it wasn't. Sobbing, she fled from the flat she had called "theirs" for five years.

The heavens seemed to grieve with her, yet they harbored no sympathy. The rain froze her skin and penetrated down to the very bone as icy rivers carved paths amongst the hairs on her scalp, channeling their way down her neck and beneath her clothing. By the time it even occurred to her to cast an Impervius spell, it was too late. A drying spell would be useless until she found shelter. She shuddered with cold; if her mother could see her now, she would no doubt be predicting an illness of ominous proportions.

She didn't really care if she caught cold...or even a fever...what did it matter now? What difference would it make? In fact, it may even improve matters slightly, as she could use the illness to hide behind, keeping family and friends at bay. She did not want to see anyone. She did not want anyone to see her. All she wanted to do was crawl away and hide somewhere deep where life wouldn't bother her anymore and nurse this pain that was wringing her heart

Her feet slap-slapped in the puddles as she ran blindly to the end of the dead-end street, and she stopped, not able to go any further. There was no place to go, no place she wanted to be.

Hermione tilted her face up to stare at the dark, stormy sky, letting the raindrops break heavily upon her cheeks. She listened to them fall all around her and watched the end of their descent, as much as the darkness would allow. It was nearly impossible to keep her eyes open, and several times she had to blink away the wet. Wet. Wet was good. Wet made her numb, and numb was a state she preferred the moment.

How could he do this to her? She choked on a sob and railed at the heavens silently, cursing him, cursing her stupidity. After everything they had been through; after all the years she had put into their friendship; after sticking with him through his 'dark period' after he had vanquished Voldemort; after trying so hard to keep their relationship together, regardless of the walls he constantly threw up in her face ... How dare he do this to her!

How could she have been so blind? How could a girl with an intelligence rivaled by very few fall into a trap such as this? She bitterly let the questions cavort in the convoluted recesses of her mind. Deep down, she had known Harry would never commit to a wedding date. All he had ever done was to invent new and more exotic excuses. Half the time, she was aware that Ron had coached him, but she had chosen to ignore it. With each forged excuse, she simply dug herself deeper into denial. She had dug her grave, and now she was going to lie in it: that single thought kept coming back to haunt her.

The night sky, much like the body-numbing rain, was less than sympathetic, seeming only to mock her grief as the rain intensified. It fell in sheets, smothering her in a cold blanket that froze the pain in her heart, solidifying it. Irrationally, she stood up straight and willed the sky to send a giant bolt of lightning to strike her, wondering if lightning...if anything...could possibly be more painful than this.

Rain twisted with the blackness, and each turned upon the other, making Hermione lose her balance, not being able to discern which way was up. She fell hard on her hands and knees, and the water swirled in eddies about her wrists; the underlying current pulled at her fingers and the trailing edge of her sleeves. The ground was as black as the sky. Through her tear-blurred eyes, it looked almost as though the rain were falling up instead of down, born of the water-pregnant puddles.

Her body wrenched with the force of her sobs, and she had to forcefully push herself into an upright position. Sitting back on her heels, thick strands of hair slapped her in the face like wet noodles. Everything was dark. Her mind was falling into the blackness, becoming one with the air around her, weaving its way around her body, slowly cutting her off from the rest of the world.

Tilting her head back to stare at the sky, she realized that the fabric of the air in front of her was shifting. Her heart skipped painfully in her chest, and fear forced her backwards, gracelessly, into the quickly gathering water. Her legs sprawled ungainly before her; her hands once again submerged in the current. She tried to gain purchase, digging her heels into the ground and pushing backwards, but only succeeded in skidding and slipping, oddly reminiscent of Ron's Boggart spider. The scream caught in her throat and emerged as a mere whimper.

"Miss Granger," a voice accompanied the night-clad form. Apparently, the voice knew who she was; she deduced she probably knew who he was as well. She swallowed her fight-or-flight instinct and peered upwards into the unrelenting darkness, trying to discern who would try to fish her out of this sorry state. At least she was confident it wasn't Harry.

"Who's there?" she asked, her tone dripping with suspicion.

There was no answer, simply a shift in the fabric of night as the form bent, and a face slowly came into view. It was a very familiar face; certainly not one she would have chosen to see at this particular moment. His eyes stared with even less sympathy than the night and the rain combined.

The figure's shoulder-length hair hung limply much like hers. Hers, however, was weighted by sorrow of the heavens, whereas his was miraculously dry. The lines that had lightly etched his face since the day she had first known him had sunken, making his cheeks even more sallow than she remembered. His thrice-broken nose...why he had never used magic to fix it was beyond her understanding...seemed as ominous as ever and encroached upon her personal space.

Her mind clung to the obvious: he wasn't wet. Perhaps the rain refused to touch someone so surly... Her mind rambled, shock and sorrow turning her thoughts into slush. She reproached herself for the momentary confusion; he must have used an Impervius spell. The fact that she had forgotten her own no doubt disparaged her abilities as a witch in his eyes. Suddenly, self-disapproval washed over her and was reflected back to her in his oily gaze as he looked down the length of his hooked nose.

As if sarcasm was contagious, her mind remarked on how this was the perfect end to a most perfect day. What more could one ask for? A freakishly horrible day at work for an appetizer, finding your fiancé in bed with someone else for the entrée, and coming face-to-face with an old, bad-tempered ex-professor who was undoubtedly going to rub salt in the already gaping wound for dessert. No, it didn't get better than this. She briefly wondered if the puddle in which she was sitting was deep enough to drown in.

"What the bloody fuck do you want?" she spat, hoping he'd be offended at her language, walk away and leave her to freeze alone in the rain.

The man did not even flinch. She would have expected some sort of physical reaction, a raised eyebrow at the very least. But this man was a born spy, known for his sharpness of tongue and steadiness of demeanor. A harsh word from an ex-student was probably not sufficient to rouse his ire. Nevertheless, she braced herself for the rebuke that she expected to come.

"I see you have turned into quite a lady since graduation, Miss Granger. How impressive," Snape scoffed impassively.

He stared at her intently for a few moments, as she sat frozen on the ground, impatient for him to leave. He took his time, however, calmly staring at her through the falling rain while seeming to flaunt the fact that he was dry and she was not. She didn't understand why it bothered her so much; she was the one, after all, who had resigned herself to this fate.

"Well? Are you going to stand there staring at me all night, or are you going to bugger off?" she said with a curled lip, hoping beyond all reason that he actually would leave her to drown in a rain puddle.

"Your language leaves something to be desired, Miss Granger, as does your appearance." He held out a thin hand, offering to help her to her feet.

Hermione stared at the hand, her ego battling with her common sense. To take it or not to take it. Sit here and catch her death of cold...her mum's words...or have her ex-professor have a go at her already weakened self-esteem. Her ego whispered encouragingly that a fever was quite preferable to the latter.

"You cannot very well sit in a rain puddle all night; you will catch your death of cold," he spoke down his crooked nose at her.

Really? Wasn't that the idea? And when did he become her mum? He better not be reading her mind. Fine. If he was going to force the issue, she decided that a good argument before one died might be quite stimulating. She put on her mental flak jacket.

"And what, pray tell, do you care if I die or not?" Hermione dug in her figurative heels, ready for the fight. "Why don't you take your condescending, holier-than-thou attitude, go drown it in a vat of Firewhisky, and leave ... me... the... fuck... alone?"

Snape reached down and wrapped her wrist roughly in an unrelenting fist. "Believe me, I would if I could. My conscience, however, will not allow me to permit a girl, especially an ex-student who has apparently taken leave of her senses, to commit suicide." He yanked her to her feet.

"Ouch!" Hermione complained, rubbing her wrist where his fingers bit into her skin. "I told you to leave me alone. For a professor, you sure could use a lesson or two in listening," she growled, attempting to stamp her foot in the rather deep puddle she was standing in. The water had risen, and her foot merely sloshed.

"And especially a silly little girl who still throws temper tantrums," he added, making sure to emphasize the condescending attitude of which he had been accused. Shedding that persona for one with a little more compassion, he said, "Come on, Miss Granger. Let us get you someplace nice and warm."

His grip thankfully relocated to her upper arm, and he practically dragged her from the middle of the road toward the pub at the end of the street. The blinking sign above the door slowly came into view.

"The Magic Brew? You are taking me into The Magic Brew?"

She struggled against his grip. He was not going to take her into the swill house that Harry went to every week on his "Boys' Night Out." She had no desire to step foot anywhere that Harry frequented, now or at any point in the near future.

"There is nothing wrong with The Magic Brew, Miss Granger. However, they may find something wrong with you." He paused, considering her appearance. "I know the proprietor, so I'm sure he will make an exception to the dress code...this once. The sooner you get warm and dry, the better."

She had forgotten what a vice grip the man had. By looking at him, one would never guess at his strength. He pulled open the pub door with his free hand and shoved her in before him. The few people present turned to look at the newcomers for a blurry second before turning back to their drinks. Satisfied that no one would be bothering them, Snape pushed Hermione into a booth in the far corner.

"Abner, one Firewhisky and..." He glanced momentarily at the drenched girl on the bench. "I suppose you don't drink Firewhisky."

"I don't drink at all," she said.

"And a hot toddy for the girl," he added and tossed two Galleons onto the bar.

Abner nodded, tossed a bar towel over his shoulder, and summoned a glass.

"I said I don't drink," Hermione growled, still peeved at being rescued from her Opheliatic demise.

"You do now," Snape replied coolly as he sat across from her and adjusted his robes. "If anything, I am giving you the opportunity to drown yourself in a drink. You may be thankful for some warmth before you expire."

Abner plunked a Firewhisky on the table in front of Snape and slid the hot toddy under Hermione's nose. He walked off with a tip of his hat and a tilt of his head in the direction of the bar and Snape nodded slightly in response. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

"You come here often?" It was more of an accusation than a question, and Snape picked up on it quicker than she expected.

"As a matter of fact, I do come here often," he mimicked her accusatory tone. "It is an excellent place to relax ... and entertain friends." His eyebrow rose at the final implication.

"Yes, well ... I wouldn't know." She took a cautious sip of the hot toddy. At least it was tolerable...and warm. She started to shiver as the warmth of the drink spread throughout her body, her muscles clenching painfully with each shudder. Perhaps getting wet hadn't been such a good idea, after all. Either that, or she should have just stayed outside where warmth had already been forgotten.

Snape sipped his drink, gazing at Hermione casually as the cup in her hand shook violently. Taking pity on her, he drew his wand, pointed it at her and muttered something that she could not quite hear over the chattering of her teeth. Warm air enveloped her, and within seconds, she was dry straight down to her knickers. Amazing. Bloody impertinent, but amazing.

"I suppose I should thank you, although I did not ask you to cast a drying spell." She tried to appear miffed, but it was difficult considering she was more comfortable. Perhaps she was...just a little...thankful.

"Technically, that wasn't a drying spell. You of all people should know the difference. And I accept your gratitude."

A snort escaped her lips before she could stifle it. He accepted her gratitude? That wasn't gratitude; it was involuntarily politeness. It was her mum's incessant brainwashing when she was a little girl being squeezed out of her like a sponge! She would rather be outside, drowning herself in a puddle and would have been doing just that if he had had the decency to leave her there! She swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt. Hades would freeze over before she cried in front of this man.

Snape set his tumbler on the table and folded his hands in front of him. "Now, Miss Granger, since I was so kind as to save you from a certain death, perhaps you would return the favor and tell me exactly why you were outside in the pouring rain and, most especially, why a simple Impervius spell seemed to be beyond your capabilities."

She nearly succumbed to another internal tirade when he described himself as 'kind.' Holding back the tears was proving to be more difficult by the second. Throwing up a wall of defiance in protection, she stated, "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"Is that so?" Snape sat up a little straighter and took another...rather large...swallow of Firewhisky. "Then perhaps I shall venture a guess."

He paused, daring her to object. Her defiant glare being the only forthcoming answer, he continued.

"My theory...and, mind you, it is just a theory...is that someone broke your heart tonight. He has possibly even been breaking your heart for some time, but you undoubtedly have chosen to be blind to the situation, and your eyes have just been pried opened to the reality. In your befuddled state, you ran away, foolishly forgetting that it was raining...perhaps not even caring...and that you are indeed a witch with a wand. Perhaps, may I even dare to say that you thought the rainstorm convenient, as death would most certainly be preferable to being without a boyfriend."

He said the last bit rather snidely, trying to bait her into responding. He smiled smugly when his efforts proved fruitful.

"He wasn't just my boyfriend. He was my fiancé."

"Oh. Well, that makes all the difference, of course. Regardless of his title, I cannot believe Mister Potter is more important than your health." Snape tossed back the rest of his drink and nodded at the bartender to get him another.

Hermione looked sharply in Snape's direction, her head swimming at the sudden movement. She had to close her eyes for a second to regain her equilibrium. Not wanting Snape to know the hot toddy was already affecting her...she had only drunk half...she feigned a headache and massaged her forehead between the eyes.

"What makes you think Harry has anything to do with this?" she asked weakly. Saying his name felt like she was twisting the knife Harry had thrust into her heart. Of course, her ex-professor would be quite aware of her relationship with Harry as it had been plastered all over the newspapers after the Final Battle. However, that was nearly five years ago. The man's memory could not possibly be that long.

"Your relationship with Mister Potter is hardly a secret. Unfortunately, I have noticed of late that your Mister Potter seems to have forgotten how widespread that knowledge is."

Hermione looked up, head wavering slightly along with her voice. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

She did not really want to know what he meant. Wasn't ignorance bliss? She wasn't sure she could handle anything else tonight. Surprisingly, Snape looked anything but comfortable at the prospect of having to divulge what he knew.

Calmly, he placed his drink upon the table and brushed his hair away from his face, letting it fall behind his shoulder. She fixated on his hand, something small, something normal, determined to keep calm at any cost. The fluidity of his movements seemed odd, so unlike the sharp gestures she remembered. It was odd that she would pick this particular moment to notice something like that, but then again, she was feeling rather odd herself.

"What I mean, Miss Granger, is that Mister Potter has been anything but discreet when he is out in public."

He paused again, making her wonder if bad news was best in small portions or given in one giant dose. She reached shakily for her cup and drained the remainder of its contents in one giant swallow. The cup met the table a little quicker than it should have, and Abner, quite familiar with the sound of an empty glass upon a table, was quick to provide a replacement.

"It seems I have guessed correctly then," Snape drawled flatly, abandoning his usual derisive tone. He was older than her by close to twenty years; no doubt he had experienced a thing or two in his life, perhaps not the same, but similar. Could it be memory that softened his tone, albeit slightly? "May I reiterate, Miss Granger: Mister Potter is not worth risking your health for."

The second hot toddy made her even warmer than the first. Perhaps she had been a little hasty to run out into the rain. Perhaps Professor Snape was right. Why should she let Harry get the better of her? It suddenly occurred to her that he was being nice to her. Why was he being nice? Perhaps he thought she finally came to her senses and realized Harry was as much of a prat as he had always thought?

Her tongue felt slightly larger than normal when she spoke, and her breath definitely felt heavy in her chest, but it did not deter her from asking: "What exactly did you mean when you said Harry has been anything but discreet?"

The twisting knife-pain that had accompanied the mention of his name earlier felt more like a dull throb, thanks to the alcohol. She swallowed any apprehension she may have had with another draught of her hot toddy. The drink was actually pleasant. It was sweet and caused her to flush from the inside out, making her cheeks glow as though in a state of perpetual blush.

It was obvious that she was getting drunk. After all, she had said that she did not drink and yet had almost finished her second toddy in less than an hour. Professor Snape hesitated before motioning Abner to refill her cup. Perhaps he was curious as to what his ex-student was like completely pissed. Or perhaps it was just kindness on his part, knowing that what she had been put through today would be more easily weathered with a little more alcohol. Either way, he had certainly provided another way to drown herself.

She sat across the table, looking at him expectantly with watery eyes, waiting for his answer. His hesitance was almost endearing. She could almost believe that Professor Snape actually cared how deeply his next words would cut. Her hand wandered back to her drink, clinging onto it for dear life, thankful for its comfort.

Snape sighed and stared into his own cup. Here was a man who was used to taking pleasure from delivering bad news and watching its recipient fall apart at the seams, but he did not seem to be taking any pleasure from this at all.

Another swallow of Firewhisky seemed to strengthen his resolve. Hermione noticed the grimace and was sure it was not the result of the drink. He looked irritated, though not at her. It did nothing to quell the anxiety she felt at his impending answer.

"Very simply, Miss Granger, your fiancé has been seen at this bar on more than one occasion, blatantly enjoying the company of another whom you call 'friend.'"

What he said was vague, but Hermione knew exactly who he meant. His words opened the dam on the memories of earlier that evening. They hit with such force, it was all she could do to hold onto her sanity. She fought to maintain control as her memories dragged her downward ...

... coming home from work early, completely exhausted from a harrowing day at the office, wanting more than anything to soak in the bath ... hearing odd noises coming from the bedroom she and Harry shared ... a rhythmical sound, one that her subconscious recognized, but refused to share with her conscious mind ... opening the door to their bedroom, her smile slowly transforming into a sick grimace as she watched the scene play out before her ... feeling as though she wanted to be sick on the spot ...

It had taken them a while to notice she was there. Her mind had screamed at her to leave, but her feet felt rooted to the spot, stuck in time, in disbelief. Her traitorous body wouldn't even allow her to close her eyes, effectively burning the image onto her brain. They grunted with the effort of their coupling, hair disheveled, bodies sweating profusely. Harry and...no, she couldn't bring herself to put the two of them together. It was too much for her to even think about. Not only was Harry fucking someone else in her bed, he had to add insult to injury by fucking the only other friend she had in the world that meant anything to her.

Feeling empty and friendless, she finished off her toddy and let the mug clatter to the table. Hugging herself to ward off the unpleasantness of the memories, she felt the emotions welling up inside of her and knew that she was about to confide everything to the man in front of her.