Thanks go out to my alpha and beta readers while I was working on this project. JuneW, DeeMichelle, Subversa, Cocoachristy, Minuet99 & Ferporcel. They are a wonderful group of friends and I appreciate the correcting, advice and hand-holding from each of them.
Chapter 4: Something There That Wasn’t There Before
November soon passed into December and Hermione found that she had even less free time than before. Her apprenticeship was passing by quickly, but Hermione reasoned that was only because she continued to work harder than a house-elf at the most tedious and menial tasks available. If there was cleaning to be done, she did it. If there was an irritable patient who needed one-on-one care, she watched them. If there was a Healer who was home ill, Hermione covered their ward while her mentor, Healer Whatever-Her-Name-Is, read books, ate and napped. And when basic potions needed to be brewed, naturally, the task fell to her.
She could brew Pepperup Potion in her sleep. And she was quite certain that she had.
Her life consisted of moving between St Mungo’s and the Weasley’s shop, working. And her free time, what there was of it, was usually spent at the library, doing research or sitting at Mrs Graham’s bedside.
Hermione had found herself another cause. This, in all honesty, prevented her from worrying about her own maltreatment.
As had been the case last year, Hermione was the only visitor who came to sit with Mrs Graham, and Hermione wished that the old woman would wake up so that she could actually converse with her. She found herself missing the tales of the older woman’s husband and son. It had been obvious to Hermione, before, how much they had meant to her, and Hermione could only imagine how lonely her life must be now without them.
The Healers were still no closer to discovering what had happened to the elderly witch to cause her to fall into the coma. The diagnostic spells revealed that she was simply in a deep sleep and could not be wakened. Initially, Hermione had thought that it had been due to the sleeping draught that had been found in her home, but analysis had determined that the potion had been complete before it had boiled over, and the counter-charms and potions for that concoction had not helped to revive the old woman.
In complete frustration, Hermione had even gone so far as to suggest that they find someone to kiss her to see if that worked. After all, it had worked for Sleeping Beauty.
The truth of the matter was that Hermione felt guilty. Perhaps, if she had done a more thorough intake, then she could’ve discovered what was wrong with Mrs Graham before she’d gone home that evening. Instead, she’d been exhausted and had not put her patient first. She’d trusted someone else and those few minutes had made all the difference.
Tonight was no different than every other Friday night. Hermione was coming off yet another thirty-six hour shift which had somehow become longer. A patient had vomited on the floor on the Potentially Perilous Potions Ward that Hermione was working on, and no matter how many times she tried to use her wand to clean up the mess, it hadn’t worked. Of course, that meant that it needed to be cleaned up by hand. And, of course, Healer Sedgwick had insisted that Hermione be the one to do it.
After all, Hermione had been the one who had greeted the patient earlier that morning when she walked through the ward to gather some patient charts. In some bizarre way, that linked Hermione to the patient ” at least, in Healer Sedgwick’s mind. Or it was highly possible that her mentor had just been looking for yet another way to torment her. Either way, it equalled another long night for Hermione.
It was a quarter after eight before Hermione was able to go up to the Spell Damage Ward to stop by and check on Mrs Graham before she left for the night. She looked at the old woman lying in the bed. For all appearances, she simply looked as if she were sleeping.
“Goodnight,” Hermione said as she squeezed the woman’s hand before she turned and left for the night.
Hermione went home and climbed the stairs to her flat. It was nearly nine, and she had to be at the Weasleys’ shop at noon the following day. She unlocked the front door and went inside, tossing her keys on the small table by the door and hanging up her cloak. Then, walking through the flat towards her bedroom, she found the kitchen table again covered in things that weren’t typically there.
“Heidi!” she called. Hermione knew that her roommate wouldn’t answer. Heidi wouldn’t be home… it was a Friday night.
She rubbed her eyes and opened them again to look at the table. With no small amount of trepidation, she walked over to inspect the items there.
Sitting prominently in front of everything was an invitation with her name on it in fine calligraphy. Picking it up, it was exactly as she had anticipated… an invitation to a ball tonight.
She glanced at the calendar on the wall: 17 December. There wasn’t a ball tonight. She knew that there wasn’t.
However, the invitation in her hand clearly stated otherwise.
She dropped the invitation back on the table and ran her hand over the dress robes and the small cloak. The robes were the same cut and style as before. This time, they were a deep royal blue, complete with a black cloak with a simple silver clasp.
And lying on the table next to a masquerade mask was the gold locket with her initials on the one side… again, engraved in the wrong order.
Finally, sitting in the centre of the table, was a note.
She didn’t know how long she stared at the note without touching it. Since that night in October, she’d had more dreams about balls and dances than she ever had before. None of them had felt as real as the first… as real as this felt right now.
But if this felt real, and it wasn’t, did she truly need to touch the note that no doubt held the charm to keep her awake until midnight, before she went? After all, it was all simply a dream. Then another small part of her argued that she was still exhausted, and if her subconscious mind had inserted a charm into her waking dream, then perhaps there was a reason for it… if nothing else, to reconcile the reason why she felt awake.
These were confusing thoughts.
In the end, she grabbed the scrap of parchment with a small grumble. Again, she began feeling the same tingling that started at the nerve endings in her fingers and toes. She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt the tiredness drain from her body and began to wake up and feel alive. When she opened her eyes, feeling refreshed, she looked at the words in the note:
You only have until midnight. Don’t dawdle.
“Yes, Mum,” Hermione muttered as she grabbed the new robes and went to get ready.
As she entered the ballroom underneath Wandsworth Park, the main thought running through Hermione’s mind was that it looked the same as before.
Well, not exactly identical.
This time, instead of pumpkins floating along the ceiling, there were Christmas decorations. (The holiday was barely a week away.) Trees covered in ornaments, tinsel, fairies and snow lined the walls. There were candles floating above, giving off light for the room. It was, pleasantly, brighter than it had been before.
Hermione wondered if the dream was going to take the same course as the first time. In the dreams that she’d had since the first, if she dreamed of coming to the ball, the room appeared similar to how it had the first time. She would have odd conversations with people that she knew and her robes varied from those she’d worn the first time, to her old school robes, to wearing absolutely nothing at all.
In other words… they all felt like dreams.
This one didn’t.
Her stomach was tied up in knots, and now that she was here, Hermione knew that it was in anticipation. She wanted to see him again. Severus Snape had been the one constant and familiar thing about each dream that she’d had, although he was rarely there for very long. Each time, just before he’d vanished, Hermione had felt as if she were on the cusp of something truly marvellous.
With a glass of champagne in hand, Hermione began wandering through the crowd, looking for anyone who was familiar. Of course, being a single witch walking through a large group of people, she found herself declining several dance offers as she searched out a familiar face.
Giving up, Hermione decided that she might as well enjoy herself, and the next gentleman who asked her to dance, she accepted.
~~~
It worked! Finally! This wasn’t exactly how the spell was supposed to run its course, however. The Cinderella Charm was supposed to take place over three consecutive nights, and after the third night there would be such a large amount of sexual tension between the couple that they would know they were destined to be together.
That didn't appear to be something that would actually happen with this pair, although it was unknown whether that was due to the botched potion or if it was the people involved. Hermione, it seemed, didn't give much thought to romantic flights of fancy, and the wizard that Hermione had subconsciously chosen seemed as if he would be able to spot a forced attraction through a Dementor's breeding ground. Perhaps, in this case, there were advantages to the time in between. Hermione had obviously had time to think on what had happened. That logical mind of hers was trying to solve the problem, searching for any solution that she possibly could find.
The other one ” Snape ” he seemed to have a knack for ignoring problems that were staring him in the face. He’d been fighting the dreams… and it was only now that it seemed that he had allowed himself to fall under the spell enough to be able to pull him fully into another ball. Likely, the snarky wizard was ill and a resident of the school infirmary.
Perhaps if the attraction aspect of the spell were removed, then the couple wouldn’t fight it so strongly. Although, there was no telling what sort of effect that would have on the spell. Would it even hold?
That didn’t matter. Six weeks was far too long for the spell to last with any hope of it still being effective, anyway. Clearly, attempting to manipulate Healer Granger wasn’t working, and the wizard she’d chosen was equally as stubborn. What had begun as a simple way of thanking the girl had quickly become too much to handle, and there was no telling what the long-term repercussions were going to be.
With a decision finally made, a portion of the original spell was lifted.
~~~
Severus walked through the familiar ballroom. He didn’t know what he was doing here, yet again. The first night he had dreamed of this place he had remembered falling asleep in his bed, and then suddenly found himself standing in a roomful of people while wearing his best set of dress robes. Quickly realising that he was only dreaming, Severus had begun to relax in a way that he rarely did when he was in a group of people. He’d soon found himself conversing with a young witch and had felt an odd compulsion to stay with her.
It was after waking the following morning, and then having a chance to think things through, that he had recognised the realistic dream and strong compulsion to see the woman again for what they were… a spell.
Since then, there had been several instances where he had fallen back into dreams with the same young woman, although none had felt as tangible as the first time, and as soon as he realised he was dreaming, he fought it, forcing himself to awaken. He began preparing himself for sleep with the help of various teas, whisky and sleeping draughts to also help prevent the dreams.
Naturally, Severus had also tried to find out who had placed him under a spell. After some researching, he had finally deduced that he was not outside Hogwarts often enough to be exposed to former students, so it must have been a prank played by a current student. There was always some young dunderhead each year who thought that they could truly bewitch Severus’ mind and ensnare his senses. Although, until now, no one had ever succeeded. Severus decided that whoever it was that had finally done such a thing to him must have been a Slytherin, because Severus had yet to discover how the task had been accomplished.
Since he didn’t know exactly which potion he had been slipped, he had been forced to brew one of the more generic remedies. The downside to this was that of all of the options, the generic ‘cure-alls’ took the longest to brew, and they usually had the worst flavour. After four weeks of brewing, he had imbibed the brew before retiring to bed for the evening.
And the ruddy potion hadn’t worked.
He’d fallen into a peaceful sleep and now he was, again, dressed in his best set of black dress robes, and he was standing in the middle of a bloody ballroom. To make matters worse, he couldn’t wake up. He’d tried.
Not only that, he wanted nothing more than to find the witch he had danced with before. What had been her name? For whatever reason, he found that he truly couldn’t remember. Hell, he could barely even picture her. Severus just knew that he’d recognise her when he saw her.
After several minutes of surveying the crowd, Severus finally spotted her dancing with another wizard. Her dress robes were familiar, and he decided that they were very similar to the ones she had worn before, only the colour was boldly different. Her hair was smooth and had been pulled up on top of her head, although there were a few curly tresses that framed her face. The wizard she was dancing with pulled her a bit closer and moved his hand from her waist to the small of her back, causing a sudden surge of jealousy to swell up in Severus.
Forcing himself to clamp down on the feeling, Severus inwardly cursed the strong emotions he was feeling for someone he barely knew. And then, without warning, the feeling dissipated. He no longer felt the urge to walk over and cut in on the dance; he no longer felt as if he had to even stay in the ballroom. Obviously, the potion he had taken earlier was at last beginning to work.
He relaxed and began to turn around to leave the room, while waiting for his dream to take another course. Then the music ended, and the witch on the dance floor turned her head, and Severus found her staring directly at him. Feeling as if he’d been petrified, he held her gaze as she gave him a small smile. She said something to her dance partner before she turned away and began walking towards him.
The overwhelming compulsion to act the lovesick fool was gone, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t completely captivated by this woman. When he had spoken to her before, she had carried on a pleasing conversation with him for over an hour. The way she debated and discussed things with him had truly intrigued him, and she had shown a level of intelligence that he had been hard pressed to find in most women with whom he associated.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than for the woman to be real, especially after the way she was looking at him as she made her way to him. This woman actually seemed pleased to see him. Being simply a war hero, he would have been popular and sought after… it was the other tag, of being an ex-Death Eater, that tended to only cause a particular type of woman to come on to him. Typically, they were either brainless attention-seeking bimbos or those with a penchant for certain kinks.
Unable to tear his eyes away from the enchantress who was approaching him, Severus found himself bereft of all urges to leave the room and try to fall into a different dream.
~~~
Hermione made her way over to the man the moment she saw him. She could tell who he was by the very way that he stood. Even in her dreams, Severus Snape had a presence about him that was hard to miss. Although, as she was walking towards him, she suddenly began questioning exactly how much she was drawn to the man and why. Her thoughts over these last weeks had frequently been about him, but now she wasn’t sure why that was.
But the fact of the matter was, even without that odd compulsion, she still was greatly intrigued by him. Much of what she did now was a direct result of the things that she had learned from his classes, both in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was an intelligent and intriguing man, and their conversation before had been enough to prove that.
If only it had been real.
She approached him and smiled. “Hello.”
Severus nodded his head slightly in greeting and then asked her to dance.
Hermione had the distinct impression that he was feeling just as confused about this as she was.
He placed one hand on her waist and grasped her hand with his other, and began to lead her onto the floor.
It was the moment that his hand touched hers when she felt the same spark she had before, causing her heart to skip a beat as the sensation of warmth, familiarity and desire enveloped her. It all reminded her very much of the true love fables that she’d heard growing up.
A spark when his hand brushed against hers.
Love’s first kiss.
Not just any kiss… the kiss of True Love.
When was it that level-headed Hermione Granger had become such a romantic?
Oh, she really needed to stop having such fanciful and childish thoughts. None of this was practical, but…. He felt so real, and Hermione found herself wanting nothing more than to have someone pinch her and prove she was awake so that she could believe the fantasy.
“Why am I not able to get you out of my dreams?”
Hermione looked up at him with a slight bit of surprise. “What?”
“I keep dreaming about you, but for some reason I can never remember who you are. Why is that?” he asked in a tone unlike anything she had ever heard her former professor use.
“I don’t know,” she answered carefully. “But when you find out, would you please let me know? My dreams are equally plagued.”
This is my mind’s way of wishful thinking… of pulling me through the scenario and actually allowing me to fulfill the my dream of again dancing in his arms, she told herself.
He gave her a questioning look, as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Hermione felt his once fluid movements begin to stiffen as the distance between them widened slightly. “What’s wrong?” she couldn’t help but ask.
He blinked, followed by a small shake of his head. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying,” she said after studying him a moment. “I can tell. You get a small crease above your eyes when you lie.”
He looked at her indignantly. “I do no such thing.”
“Yes, you do. It’s a calculated look, almost as if you’re trying to decide if you can slither your way out of it with a version of the truth,” she continued as she studied him.
“If I ever did such a thing I would never have survived as a spy for so many years.”
Hermione smiled slightly. “Ah, but how often did you actually lie? Not often, I’d wager. I think that you probably bent the truth or withheld information. There is a bit of a difference, you know.”
Her dance partner didn’t respond, but Hermione’s smile grew as the gap between them lessened.
They didn’t speak much through their dances, but Hermione had the distinct impression that Severus did not want to let her go. She could understand this, of course; she hadn’t wanted for him to release her either. There was an odd sense of foreboding, as if they both knew that the dream would soon end, and it would be hard to find their way back to one another again.
Fine, admittedly it was her own desire not to let him go, but she could easily imagine her fantasy-Snape feeling the same way.
He was holding her close, and they were moving along the floor together as if they inhabited a single body. With smooth, fluid motions they continued to move together for nearly an hour. Words were few, but she could tell by his firm grip that he did not want to release her. Most attempts at conversation had been short, and Hermione wondered why her mind refused to fill in any blanks or to romanticise the man whose arms were encompassing her.
He’d told her small bits about his work, but oddly enough, each time she pressed him for more information he refused to take the bait and enter into a livelier conversation. She’d even made mention of some of the forms she’d filled with the Magical Experimentation Board; although he stiffened at the mention, he didn’t even rant about being sent on wild errands by former bossy students. Perhaps I am romanticising him a bit, she conceded. That was surely something that the real Severus Snape, Snark Master Extraordinaire, would instantly attack.
So, she tried another tactic and asked him if he’d take her out on the terrace. There truly was a terrace off of the ballroom. Of course, it was all enchanted. They were underground, after all, but the large balcony appeared to overlook a lake with a clear night sky full of glittering stars above them. The benefit of this one, though, was that since it was still part of the illusion, it felt pleasantly warm, instead of the biting December air that was really above them.
The terrace was empty, but the music could still be heard clearly through the doors. Severus put his arm over her shoulder, pulling her against him as they looked over the stone railing at the calm, glassy lake.
Hermione took advantage and rested her head against his shoulder. After several minutes of peaceful silence, she decided to take advantage of her fantasy and asked Severus to tell her about his childhood. If she was going to dream about this man, then she certainly wanted to get to know him better.
The other part of her mind argued that as long as she was only dreaming about the man, why didn't she just kiss him. She stopped by reminding herself that she was already enjoying this too much, and strangely enough, she envisioned that it would be easier to convince the real Severus Snape to snog her than it would be to get him to talk about his past. (Providing, of course, that he didn't know that it was Hermione Granger who was kissing him.)
Severus pulled her closer still, and in doing so, brought his hand down along her arm. The moment his fingers touched her flesh, she once again felt magical recognition of their souls merging, and she could have sworn that the magic itself gave the sound of a contented sigh. It was only because of this that Hermione wasn’t surprised when Severus’ began speaking in a soft, gentle voice.
“I was born in a small town in Lancashire,” he began. It seemed that after he’d cautiously spoken the first few words that a dam had broken and this discussion now became a necessary way to cleanse his soul. Severus told her of his parents, how life had been at home before his acceptance letter to Hogwarts came, when his father had learned of his mother’s lie “ that she was a witch “ which had led him to throw both mother and son out in the streets. It was then that he went to stay with his mother’s family, who were pleased to have their only daughter home, but who were not as pleased with the son-of-a-Muggle she had in tow.
Hermione’s heart ached for that eleven-year-old boy who, after being rejected by so many, then went on to Hogwarts, where he fit in even less. She only briefly wondered how it was that her mind was filling in so much detail for Severus’ background as it was truly nothing to which she’d ever given much thought.
It was as he was telling her of his falling out with his closest friend in school that Hermione realised that she was feeling increasingly exhausted.
Panic gripped her as she tried to figure out how long she’d been talking with this man and what time it now was.
It’s not real, it’s only a dream, she reminded herself, but the panic turned to dread as she realised that it was, indeed, the alertness charm wearing off.
Severus was in the middle of telling her about what she knew as the “Shrieking Shack incident” when she began to hear the chimes of the clock off in the distance. Unsure what to say, but knowing that she had to leave, she pushed herself away from Severus, startling him.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
If looks could kill, she surely would’ve died on the spot. The calm, almost caring gentleman whom she had just been with had morphed into the man that she had only seen once, on the battlefield, the day that Voldemort had been defeated.
“Did you get all of the information that you needed, then?” he sneered. “Was it worth it to invade my life, my dreams and my privacy for”what?”something like an article? Or are you planning on writing a novel on the life of the loathsome Death Eater who was Albus Dumbledore’s murderer?” He began to circle her as if she were his prey. “Or is this just a way to gain blackmail material? Should I be expecting your owl first thing tomorrow morning? Perhaps you’re with the Ministry and just looking for new evidence so you can bring me to trial. Let me assure you that it will never work.” His last words were spoken so softly that Hermione never would have heard them if his face had not been mere inches away from her own.
“Is that what this is?” he asked as his hand reached for the chain around her neck. “One of those Charmed devices that records the words of everyone to whom you speak?”
“No,” she insisted, brushing his hand away and stepping out of his reach. It was then that she swayed slightly, and she saw a brief flash of concern cross his face.
Sheer exhaustion was to blame for the tears she now felt forming in her eyes. She was not one prone to crying, but to see how much her inattention to the time and then her hurried words had hurt him…
Off in the distance, she heard the last of the chimes and the exhaustion took a firm hold. “I’m sorry,” she said again, forcing herself to look at him. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I have to leave right now.”
She took a step and barely felt herself fall as she slipped into unconsciousness.