Hermione and Severus were led to their respective rooms and left to unpack and get settled before dinner; they headed down together and stopped in the entrance to the dining room, where a number of large round tables were set up. A fair number of wizards were already seated, talking spiritedly amongst themselves. Severus and Hermione surveyed the room for a moment.
Hermione suddenly gasped. "Is that Walter Branch?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. "The man who created the potion to delay the onset of Alzheimer's disease?"
"Oh, yes," Severus said, sounding disinterested. "He's rather dull actually."
"Oh, but he's brilliant!"
"Brilliant does not always mean interesting, Hermione."
Hermione glanced up at Severus, raising an eyebrow. He sighed.
"Alright, fine, we'll sit with Walter Branch."
Hermione beamed and the two of them walked over to Walter's table.
Walter stood as they approached, looking absolutely delighted.
"Severus, dear boy!" he exclaimed, grasping Severus's right hand in both of his own.
"Walter," Severus said, significantly more subdued.
"Boisterous as ever, I see," Walter said, laughing at his own joke. He turned his attention to Hermione and smiled. "And who is this enchanting looking young lady?"
"Hermione Granger, sir," Hermione answered, extending her hand. "I'm a huge admirer of your work."
"Ah, well, those are few and far between," Walter replied genially, shaking Hermione's hand.
"Hermione's here as my assistant," Severus added and Walter glanced up at him.
"I'm sure she could teach you a thing or two, Severus."
"Perhaps," Severus responded quietly, glancing quickly down at Hermione.
"Yes, well," Walter continued, eyeing Severus for a moment before smiling broadly and gesturing toward the table. "Sit, make yourselves comfortable. I trust dinner will be served soon."
Hermione and Severus sat and Walter immediately pulled Hermione into a conversation about his latest creation, something to do with mold and allergies.
It wasn't that Severus was jealous; he just never really liked Walter Branch.
But it was more than a disliking for Walter that made Severus glance at Hermione all throughout dinner, mild irritation swelling in his stomach as she yammered on about this, that, and the other.
He refused to acknowledge his feelings for what they truly were, even as he stood from the table after the plates had been cleared and tapped Hermione's shoulder.
"Are you finished?" he asked, knowing full well he was being rude.
"Come now, Severus," Walter said incredulously, glancing at the clock at Hermione looked up at Severus. "It can't be time for bed yet if I'm still wide awake."
"No, Walter, it's alright," Hermione said, standing. "The professor and I need to discuss our potion."
"Ah, well, very well then. Good night to you dear." Walter stood and gave Hermione a peck on the cheek. "We shall continue our conversation later on."
Hermione nodded, smiling, and Walter glanced at Severus.
"They say laughing makes you live longer. But I guess your aim is to die young with no laugh lines, eh?"
"The wit on you," Severus said wryly. Walter grinned slightly and ambled off.
"Jealousy isn't a good look for you," Hermione hissed as they left the dining room.
"Whoever said I was jealous?" Severus replied stubbornly as they began to climb the stairs.
"Oh, could it have been the sour look on your face all through dinner?"
"You noticed something other than the amazing Walter Branch? How utterly shocking."
"How old are you, twelve?" Hermione snapped. "Do you just crave my undivided attention?"
Severus didn't answer and Hermione turned to face him as they reached their rooms.
"You had better be in a better mood tomorrow. No way are you going to ruin this experience for me."
Severus watched as Hermione entered her room and shut the door firmly in his face.
Frowning slightly, he entered his own room and removed his robes, hanging them from a hook on the wall.
He supposed she was right, although he hated to admit it. He supposed he could be slightly less... Slytherin in his tendancies and allow her to maybe enjoy herself.
But as he watched her over the next week, he was amazed to discover how much it bothered him, to see her so popular among the other potion masters. He thought it could've been due to the fact that most of them were men, but even with other women, Severus felt ugly jealousy rising within him. Not that he was used to being belle of the ball, but he'd never been outright snubbed by someone as they sought out someone else, and it was a double kick in the head that the person they sought was Hermione.
Formal convention activities were ended December 23, to resume the 27, to make time for Christmas and general holiday cheer.
Hermione, obviously in high spirits, appeared in his room Christmas Eve morning.
"A bunch of us are going shopping for gifts in town. Wanna stop brooding for a while and come along?" she asked, eyeing him appraisingly.
"Brooding?" he repeated, avoiding the question. Hermione sighed.
"I'm not going to argue with you right now. Are you coming or not?"
"I think I'll pass," he muttered, turning away from her. He heard her sigh again.
"Suit yourself," she said, closing the door. He listened to her footsteps as she retreated down the hall and descended the stairs. Minutes later, the front door closed. He figured he was one of the few people left in the large house, if not the only one, and wondered how best to kill time until at least lunch.
A number of ideas popped into his head, none of them particularly appealing. He was almost starting to wish he'd gone with Hermione and the others.
Hermione. Severus glanced at the wall seperating his room from hers and another idea formed.
It was a terrible idea, but a very tempting one, and before he knew what he was doing, he had unlocked Hermione's door and slipped into her room.
He gazed around for a moment, realizing he'd never been in Hermione's room, neither here or at Hogwarts. She was very neat, which was almost to be expected. Bed made, no stray clothes anywhere. Even her trunk, which sat open at the foot of the bed, was organized. Her robes hung in the closet, but her cloak was missing, probably taken with her into town.
Almost disappointed with the less than revealing look around Hermione's room, Severus turned to go, but as he stepped towards the door, something on the desk caught his eye. A small book. He approached the desk and picked up the book. Letters he assumed were Hermione's initials were printed in gold script in the lower right corner - HJG.
He never would've thought of Hermione as one to keep a journal, but then he'd had one when he was younger, so anything was possible.
Carefully he sat in the desk chair, trying not to disturb anything and opened the journal. Hermione's neat handwriting announced the date of the first entry, September 1, and began with, A new journal for a new term.
He wondered if she did indeed have a journal for her previous terms as he began to flip through the pages. He stopped every so often when something caught his eye; there were a few entries that talked about him, mostly recently, and what they did together.
He didn't really stop until he got to the most recent entry, and it was the first sentence that caught his eye.
December 22
I think I love him. Or at least I thought I did. It's a strange feeling I get when he's around. I know it's not hate because I know how that feels; everytime I hear someone mention Lucius Malfoy, that's hate, and especially when I see him. But it's different with Severus. I used to feel comfortable around him, but over the last few days I've just felt... stressed, if that's the right word. Tense. Has the convention and being around so many brilliant, talented people so changed my perspective?
I feel almost as if Severus is pulling me back, pulling me down, and away from my dreams. I don't feel as though staying with Severus will aid me, but rather hinder me. That is, if there's anything to stay with. A fling is what this is, I think. He doesn't care about me, not like I do about him. Sex for the sake of pleasure and nothing else. No deeper feeling or meaning to it. Damn me and my girlish notions of love.
In a moment of abstract thought, Severus found it amusing that Hermione signed her entries, again with her initials, though without the middle one. HG.
And then it slowly started to sink in. She thought she loved him? He wondered what gave her such a ridiculous idea, what he could've done to make her feel that way.
He was impossible to love, as he'd been told twice in his twenties, by two different girls. After that, he just gave up.
And now Hermione thought she loved him? He'd never been overtly affectionate with her, tried to remain as he always had around her, before the affair.
She couldn't possibly love him. He'd show her that.
Feeling disgruntled, Severus laid the journal back on the desk and got up, heading back to his room.
When Hermione and the others returned, Severus didn't let on that he knew any more than he did and rather accepted Hermione's under-the-table advances at dinner, the two of them returning to his room after the meal. Nothing was different about the sex either, unless a mild thrill about the not-so-secret location counted.
It was late when Hermione left to go back to her own room, and Severus lay still, staring into the darkness of the room.
He thought back to Hermione's journal entry and wondered if she still thought she loved him. He even wondered if he might possibly love her, and when his mind didn't return an immediate no to the question, he knew he had to do something before everything spiraled completely out of control.
When Severus awoke the next morning, he was mildly surprised to see a small pile of gifts placed neatly on the desk. Allowing curiousity to get the best of him, he got out of bed, grabbing his robe from the chair by the bed and wrapping it around himself, cinching it at the waist.
He glanced over the tags on the gifts, reading the names of who they were from. Dumbledore, of course. His mother, even though he hadn't actually seen her in years; he told himself it was for her protection, but that was a lane his memory didn't want to travel down today. Nothing from his father, but he'd learned a long time ago never to expect anything from him. A couple of other small gifts from his American acquaintances, and underneath the modest pile, a card, labeled in Lucius Malfoy's handwriting. Severus felt his stomach turn as he picked it up. He slowly turned it over, sliding his finger beneath the flap to break Malfoy's seal, and extracted the card from within.
A snowy scene greeted him on the outside of the card, though there was something mildly sinister, which was to be expected from the Malfoys. Severus flipped the card open and glanced at the generic holiday greeting inside, underneath which Lucius and Narcissa had signed their names.
But it was the inscription on the other side that caught Severus's eye and he read it with some trepidation.
Severus, old friend, how are things with you and that lovely Mudblood Granger? Is the screwing the twit better than one of your own kind? We're all dying to know, Severus. Of course, that's not to say we won't all be taking turns with her before long. Young flesh and all that. Hope you're having a wonderful holiday.
Severus stared at the note, his stomach churning and his blood boiling. He knew Lucius must have written it after Narcissa had already signed it, because although Narcissa was a frigid bitch, she wasn't nearly as horrible as Lucius.
Severus scanned over the note again and then crumpled the card in his hand, slamming it angrily against the wall. Being paper, it didn't do much of anything and didn't make Severus feel any better. There was a knock at the door and then it opened. Hermione stood in the doorway, ensconced in a bathrobe, as Christmas tended to be a casual affair.
"What's wrong?" she asked, correctly reading his mood.
"Nothing," he lied.
Hermione stared at him a moment, but decided not to press the matter.
"Are you coming to breakfast?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," Severus answered, remembering that he had nothing on underneath his robe.
"Alright." Hermione smiled briefly and left, closing the door behind her. Severus found the crumpled note and destroyed it, rather than risk Hermione seeing it. He left his present unopened and pulled on what he normally slept in, covering that again with his robe and heading downstairs to the dining room.
Hermione was already deep in conversation with Walter Branch as Severus slid into the seat beside her. Glancing around the room, it was almost comical to see so many esteemed professors and potions masters sitting around in their pajamas. Severus was almost tempted to smile, but the contents of the note flooded his mind and instead he felt ill.
Breakfast soon appeared on the tables and conversation for the most part was replaced by silverware clinking on plates. Hermione, to her credit, noticed Severus was really eating and looked up at him.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly.
"I'm fine," Severus lied again. "Just not hungry."
"You look pale," Hermione pressed. "Well, more so than usual."
"It's fine. I'm fine."
Hermione frowned slightly but let it go, turning back to her breakfast.
Severus returned to his room after the meal to open his gifts and get properly dressed.
He opened the gifts from his American colleagues first, not surprised to see books revealed beneath the paper. His mother had given him the same, but this made him a little sad. He vowed, when all this was over and he didn't have to worry about Voldemort anymore, he'd go to see her.
The gift from Dumbledore remained and Severus picked it up, steeling himself for the oddity it probably contained.
Inside was a pair of socks. Severus stared at them for a moment, trying to see if there was any deeper meaning. Sighing, he pulled the socks from the box and made to toss them on his bed when a small card fell out. Severus picked it up, the headmaster's familiar script greeting him.
Actions speak louder than words.
Severus flipped the card, but there was nothing more written.
"Bloody kind of cryptic," he muttered, tossing the card on top of the socks. Unbidden, his mind wandered back to Lucius's note and he cursed himself for allowing it to get to him. Just as Albus was the king of cryptic, Lucius Malfoy was the king of all talk and very little action.
The words still plagued him, though, and so he went back downstairs so as not to be alone with his own thoughts.
He managed to distract himself for most of the afternoon and evening, but when Hermione appeared at dinner, the note again came to mind and he agonized briefly over the thought of what Lucius and the others would do to her, and more importantly, what they were actually capable of doing to her.
His only problem was how to get her to stop wanting to be with him, to stop associating with him, just to protect her.
The answer didn't come to him until the night before they were supposed to show their potion and he knew it was horrible, but he couldn't think of any other way to make her hate him.
"When do we show our potion?" Hermione asked the next morning at breakfast.
"Seven-thirty tonight," Severus answered, pouring himself another cup of coffee, drinking it straight, no cream, no sugar. If Hermione noticed, she said nothing, even though he normally took his coffee with one sugar cube and just a bit of cream. He was jittery even without the coffee.
He played the silent observer all day, trying to convince himself that what he was going to do was necessary to Hermione's safety. But he couldn't shake the horrible feeling of guilt, an idea that was almost foreign to him.
After dinner, they returned to their rooms to get ready for the presentation. Severus quietly slipped out at seven, potion and notes in hand.
Hermione left her own room just before 7:30, assuming Severus had gone down to set up.
She walked into the presentation area, her robes half on and half off, and stopped when she heard Severus's voice, droning on in a very familiar tone. She looked up and saw him in the middle of the room, each convention attendee clustered around him, listening closely.
Hermione stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. He couldn't possibly be presenting the potion without her. Her fear was answered, however, when one of the potions masters spoke up.
"Did Miss Granger contribute to the potion any?"
"Miss Granger assisted me, but so far as conception and brewing, everything else was my idea."
He looked up as he said this and made eye contact with Hermione.
"Where is Miss Granger now?" someone else asked.
"I didn't think her services were needed," Severus answered, still looking at Hermione. A small murmur swept through the assembled group.
Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly as she stood, frozen in place, her robes still not completely on, angry tears forming in her eyes.
Severus finally looked away and Hermione turned, rushing from the room.
He found her in her room five minutes later, throwing things haphazardly into her trunk.
"What're you doing?" he asked. She glared at him with red rimmed eyes.
"I'm leaving, since obviously my being here is a complete and utter joke."
"Hermione-"
"How could you do that to me?" she cried, fresh tears springing forth. "I just spent three months working on that potion. A potion that was my bloody idea!"
"Hermione, you don't understand."
"You're damn right I don't understand," Hermione shouted, throwing clothes in her trunk. "And I don't want to hear whatever stupid excuse you have, because there is nothing you could say that would justify what you did."
"Hermione, just calm down, the others will hear you," Severus tried again, taking a step towards Hermione.
"I don't care if they hear me," Hermione snapped, slamming some books down on top of the clothes. "They should know how utterly selfish and what a lying bastard you are. Was this your plan all along? To string me along and make me think I was actually important to this? Important to you, even?"
"No," Severus said quietly, watching tears track paths down Hermione's cheeks.
"It was only after we got here, wasn't it." Hermione nodded and resumed her feverish packing. "You just couldn't stand that everyoine wanted to hear my thoughts and my opinions and ideas and not yours."
"That's not true, Hermione," Severus replied, his voice rising slightly.
"Stop lying!" Hermione shouted. "You've been jealous from the moment I introduced myself to Walter Branch."
"Okay, fine," Severus finally yelled. Hermione stared at him, surprised.
"Maybe I was jealous. Alright? Are you happy?"
"And so you decided to crush my dreams by taking all the credit for the potion?"
"Your dreams?" Severus laughed incredulously. "It was one potion. One stupid, worthless potion!"
"Maybe to you it was, but not to me. You humiliated me, Severus. Down there, when you said that I was just your assistant? You basically relegated me to some worthless teenage girl with silly ideas."
"To most of those pepople down there, Hermione, that is all you are."
Hermione blinked, looking as thought she'd been slapped.
"That's what you think too, isn't it," she finally whispered. "I'm just a worthless little girl, a Mudblood not worth a second thought."
Severus didn't reply, which in itself was his answer.
"And what about us? The past two months. What was I to you? A thrill? Fucking a student, a Muggleborn witch. Just something to brag to your Death Eater pals about, how easily swayed Potter's friend was."
Severus winced inwardly at the harsh word that had escaped Hermione's lips, but he looked at her directly.
"You were never anything more," he said very clearly. Fresh tears again filled Hermione's eyes and it seemed as though someone had let the air out of her; she sagged visibly, placing her hand on the foot of the bed.
"I can't... I can't believe I ever thought I loved you," she whispered, her tears flowing now.
"I never asked you to love me, Miss Granger," Severus said snidely and Hermione flinched again at the second blow.
"Of course not," she snapped back, sniffing hard. "You're impossible to love. I should've realized."
"Perhaps you'll think next time before you just lay down from someone."
"You bastard," Hermione hissed, straightening and pulling out her wand. "Get out. Get out before I do something else I'll regret."
Severus was more than happy to oblige, slamming the door behind him as he left.
Hermione stared at the closed door a moment before dropping her wand and sinking to the floor, leaning against the bed and bringing her knees up, wrapping her arms around her torso. She felt like she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She'd never cried so hard or hurt so much in her life, and at the moment, it felt like she'd never stop.