The Rapier: A Fine Tension

Dear Readers,

You continue to amaze me with your acceptance of this story. Thank you for all of your kind words and helpful criticisms. I hope that I can continue to hold your interests. I’m afraid that most of you will not particularly like this chapter, but please be assured there is a reason for it.

For those who ask what Snape’s POV is, again I ask you to wait. I do not want his thoughts to ruin the flavor of Hermione’s POV, so I will most likely complete the story from her side before giving you his.

Again I remind you that I own nothing except the plot. Our heroes and their world belong to J.K. Rowling. Also, take time to thank Aly for her bravery in testing out the new chapters beforehand. I hope it isn’t proving too painful for her.

Love,

ChelleyBean

~***~

She had woken up sometime before dawn as had become her habit on Sunday mornings. Without so much as a groan of protest, she sat up in bed, swung her legs out from underneath the thick blankets and placed her feet upon the floor besides her bed. As her toes connected with plush, cool carpet, she paused. The floors in the girls’ dormitories were bare wood and stone, and so cold in the wintertime that feet were in danger of developing frost bite. She should not be digging her feet into carpet.

Her sleep fogged brain whirred into life as she recalled recent events. Of course, it was the Christmas Holiday, and she had come home to be with her family. There wasn’t to be a practice this morning, and the thought of this made her frown, her eyes still closed. Sunday no longer seemed like Sunday without sneaking off to meet Professor Snape at the end of a sword. Still, it wasn’t as though she could use magic in order to keep her usual appointment, and she was still too young to get her apparition license. Besides, what would her mother say if she simply vanished and left her Christmas guest here alone? After hearing her daughter talk about how horrid the Dursley’s were to Harry, Catherine Granger had extended an invitation to the young man to spend the holidays with them. Since every Weasley was expected to descend upon The Burrow this year, the older ones with wives and rosy faced children in tow, Harry had been happy to accept. It wasn’t as if Molly and Arthur Weasley wouldn’t have welcomed both he and Hermione, Harry just thought that there would be too many faces to keep up with as it was.

Knowing that Harry wasn’t likely to get up for at least a few more hours yet and that there would be no point in getting up, Hermione swung herself back into bed and snuggled deeply into the covers. Rare was the morning that she could indulge herself by sleeping in. She might as well make the most of it.

~***~

Was it raining? Perhaps she had left her window open, because water drops were falling onto her face. She frowned, fighting her way up from slumber before opening her eyes. There, about six inches above her face, was an unruly mop of jet back hair, still wet from the shower and being shaken by its owner so that the water fell from it. “Harry!” The boy jumped back from the bed, grinned, and then darted towards the door to the bathroom.

“Your mum said for you to get up. Your dad wants us to help move the furniture to make room for everything.” He shut the door before she could reach him. The small bathroom connected her bedroom with the guest room where he was sleeping. By the time she had opened that door and run through the steam filled bath, he had locked the door to his own room. She struck it hard with her fist and heard him laughing from the other side. “Be thankful! My first idea was to dump a whole pitcher full over you.”

She glared at the locked door, and then turned away from it. Honestly! If this is what having a brother was like, she was quite grateful to be an only child. She hoped he hadn’t used all of the hot water. Returning to her own room, she dug out a pair of knickers and a bra from her dresser, then claimed a chunky sweater and jeans from her closet. The jeans would be too large on her, so she grabbed a belt as well. The sweater would cover the waistline, hopefully enough so that her mother wouldn’t get worried again.

The day she and Harry had stepped off the train, Catherine and Joseph Granger had whisked them away to purchase clothing for The Family Dinner. The Grangers always dressed to the nines when they all got together, and both children had needed something appropriate. Though Harry tried to back out politely, her mother had firmly shoved him in the direction of Mr. Granger and ordered her husband to keep in mind that it was an evening supper. He would be spared a tux or three piece suit, but neatly pressed slacks, a button down shirt and possibly a tie would be expected. Hermione had been carted off to a hideously expensive dress shop where she was handed over to the not-so-tender mercies of Madame St. Germaine, a French modiste she secretly suspected of having originated in Wales. Madame St. Germaine was also the type of woman who had a bad habit of not minding her own business. She proved this by demanding to know if Hermione’s school ever bothered to feed her, as she was now two dress sizes smaller than she had been during the summer when she hadn’t been all that big to begin with. Her mother had been alarmed. A dentist and recovering ‘health nut’, Mother was of the opinion that a girl should be a healthy weight. She frowned at the bony, underfed models that had become the hallmark of beauty. Immediately she began checking her daughter for signs of malnourishment, even checking her teeth for any indication that the enamel was being eaten away from purging. It had taken Hermione the better part of fifteen minutes to convince her that she was eating and that she wasn’t trying to starve herself into nothingness.

When she had returned home, however, Hermione had locked Harry out of their joint bath and studied her naked form in the full length mirror. She hadn’t truly been paying attention, but she was smaller. Professor Snape was a ruthless task master, and since their sessions had begun in late September what little puppy fat left over from her childhood had been melted away. She couldn’t see her ribs or collarbones, but she could definitely feel them there, just under the skin and what little body fat she had left. She must have still had some fat, because the muscles of her abdomen, thighs and calves still looked long and smooth. She had feared that she would find them lumpy and bulging, like a ballerina who had been on Pointe for too many years. All in all, she supposed she didn’t look too bad, though she would definitely need to look into buying some smaller clothes.

Harry hadn’t taken all of the hot water, but he had only left her enough to wash her hair. By the time she was finished, the stream was cold and she finished quickly to escape it. Since she would have to come back up to get into her new dress later, she went ahead and took the time to blow dry her hair. As much as there was, and with the way it loved to hold onto water, this took her a good forty minutes. She went by sections, clipping the bulk of it onto the top of her head, taking a bit down as the under portions were finished. The amount of time and care it took to do this was why she usually didn’t bother, but once she was done most of the curl had been worked out, leaving her only soft waves. She pulled it back into a loose pony tail to keep it out of her way and dressed quickly before hurrying downstairs.

Harry and her father had already moved most of the smaller pieces. Their home was filled with a lot of heavy antiques that had been in her grandparents’ home until the time they had to move to someplace smaller and closer to a hospital. The pieces had been made to last, as furniture had been over a century ago. It showed in the amount of effort the men were putting into moving the stuff. “Mya, come over here and help Harry grab the other end of this.” She hurried over and bent down next to Harry, placing her fingers underneath the end of a beautifully carved divan. Between the three of them, they managed to move the various pieces of furniture from the den into the study, and then carry the dining room table from the dining room into the den. In its present state, it fit the original room perfectly, but it would be too long once the leaves were put back into the center. Harry and her father pulled the ends apart so that she could place the three pieces in the center, extending it so that it was long enough for the entire family. Her father then left to get some wood for the fire while she and Harry put the chairs around the table.

“How many people are coming?”

“Well, there’s Mum’s sister, Aunt Helen. You’ll like her. She completely ignores the house rule against sugar and bakes all sorts of good treats. She’ll be here in an hour or so to help Mum with dinner.” She fetched a long, heavy table cloth and tossed one end of it to Harry. “Then there’s my father’s side of the family. He has two brothers, Matthew and Jonathan. Uncle Matthew is married to Aunt Beatrice and they have two sons, George and Michael. Uncle Jonathan is married to Aunt Tiffany and they have one son, Fred, and two daughters, Alice and Elizabeth. Father’s sister is Caroline, married to Uncle Herbert and mother to William. He’s the youngest, only eight-years-old.”

Harry grinned at her as he smoothed his side of the table cloth. “You have cousins named Fred and George?”

“Yes, and all of England should be thankful that they’re cousins and not brothers. They’re only a month apart in age and when they’re together they’re almost as bad as the Weasley’s. The only thing keeping them from being worse is that the powers of creation had enough forethought not to let them be born wizards.”

Her friend chuckled. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet them.” They walked from the den to the kitchen to raid a bit of food. “All your family knows, then? About you being a witch, I mean.”

“Of course we know.” Catherine smiled as she turned from the stove, ran her fingers over Harry’s hair in a vain attempt to tame it, then motioned for them to sit down. “It was a relief to find out, actually. It explained so many things, like the time she blew out the side of the garage when we knew we hadn’t given her that chemistry set, yet. I just knew she had been snooping around and found her Christmas presents early that year. Joseph and I were furious, thinking she was lying to us when she swore she didn’t. Of course we checked later and found it still hidden away and unopened.”

Harry laughed heartily as Mrs. Granger gave them both plates with slices of ham and scones still warm from the oven that morning. “What did happen to make her blow out the wall?”

“Some of the boys in the neighborhood were teasing her for being the cleverest girl in school. It got her angry.” Catherine smiled and kissed the top of her daughter’s head affectionately. “Always a bright one, our Mya.”

“She’s top of our class at school, too. No one’s better, not even in Potions and Professor Snape is always out to get us Gryffindors.” He beamed over at his friend, who was blushing a nice shade of burgundy. “We all expect she’ll be Head Girl next year.”

Hermione was about to say something in Professor Snape’s defense, a bit bristly that her friend pictured him in such a bad light. She stopped herself, however, not wishing to start Harry asking questions. Besides, he did have reason to dislike the Potions Master, most students did, herself included. With the exception of their time together in practice, there were no words of praise or encouragement from him to keep her going. She doubted even his Slytherins were allowed to glimpse him as she had.

“I got that impression as well, from the letters I receive from your school. Do you know if they have a proper graduation ceremony at the end of the seventh year? Joseph and I have wanted to see Hogwarts.”

“There’s something, but we’ve never seen it. It’s only for seventh years.” Harry stuck his fork into a slice of ham on Hermione’s plate and deftly swiped it. She frowned at him and then used her own fork to steal it back. He grinned, unrepentant. Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes playfully and turned her attention back to her cooking.

Aunt Helen, as promised, showed up about an hour later. She was a plump, kind faced woman with short, frizzy dark hair. Quickly commandeering the teens, she set them to bringing three pies and a towering cake in from her car. As a reward, she let Harry choose which pie he’d like to eat right then (ignoring the stern look from her sister) and cheerfully cut both he and Hermione slices of the chocolate one he selected. They enjoyed every creamy bite, licking their forks clean. Christmas pie always tasted better than any other time of the year, though this one was so good that Harry had leaned over and asked Hermione if she was sure her aunt wasn’t a witch herself.

Once they finished their pie, her mother sent them off to wrap the remainder of the gifts before the rest of the family arrived. They were waiting for them on her parents’ bed, along with paper and ribbons. Sitting cross legged on the floor, they worked together. “Why are we having dinner today? Why not tomorrow night?”

“We always have The Family Dinner on the twenty-third. Tomorrow everyone goes to their respective in-laws and on Christmas day we go visit Grandfather.”

Harry held his finger over a knot of ribbon so that Hermione could tie it into a bow. “Why isn’t your grandfather coming to dinner tonight?”

“Oh… well… he’s ill. Very ill. A cancer of the bones. You can stay here when we go see him, if you like. We can’t stay long, and he won’t even know we’re there, not with all the pain relievers they have him on.” Her fingers trembled as she completed the bow.

“Oh… sorry. I didn’t know…”

“It’s not your fault. Actually, I sort of hope it will all end for him soon. I wish…. I wish you could have met him a few years ago, before we found out he was ill. He was a very strong man, and a very proud one. It… it hurts to see him reduced to this.” She forced a brave smile and pointed to another package on the bed. Harry brought it down and helped her wrap it as well. They continued in silence until the last of the presents were wrapped. Together, they carried them by armloads down the stairs and placed them about the tree. The scent of fresh breads and roast goose permeated the air, making both of them feel hungrier than they should, and both teens checked the clock on the wall.

“You two had best change into your dinner clothes. The others will be arriving soon.” Joseph Granger grinned and shooed the pair back up the stairs to dress.

~***~

The dress that her Madame St. Germaine had helped her to choose was far more grown up than anything she had ever worn before. The simplicity of it made it grown up. A sheath of crimson velvet fell from a pair of satin spaghetti straps, and a crimson satin ribbon graced it just underneath her average sized breast. It ended with another trim of satin ribbon about one inch above her knees. She had even bullied the girl into a pair of sheer stockings with a rhinestone bow at the left ankle and a pair of matching shoes that had a one inch heel to them. There was an overjacket, but the fire and the crowd would make it too warm to wear. She left it draped over the back of her desk chair as she pinned her hair back with a set of sparkling combs.

Stepping back to look at her handiwork, she checked again that she didn’t appear too thin. No collarbones poking out in a disgusting fashion and her neck was slender without looking bony. All in all, she felt she looked rather passable. Actually, she felt prettier than she had during the Yule Ball in her fourth year. For a brief moment she wished the other students at school could see her, even wished the teachers could see her. She wondered, briefly, what Professor Snape would say about the appearance of the young lady before him.

That dress is rather impractical, Miss Granger. The skirt would restrict your movements and those shoes would seriously impair you in a duel.

She frowned at her reflection. Yes, she feared that was exactly what Professor Snape would say. Hardly fair considering she wouldn’t look this good if he weren’t such a slave driver. She owed those rather shapely legs and flat stomach to him; though she doubted that he would ever appreciate it. What are you thinking Hermione? He’s your bloody teacher! Of course he wouldn’t appreciate you in that way. Not that you’d ever want him to! That last bit, however, felt false somehow.

Did she want him to notice that she was growing up? He was almost as old as her parents and he wasn’t a nice person. On the other hand, he was brilliant, and she did admire brilliant men. Her eyes flicked to the large black and white poster of Albert Einstein on her wall. It was the famous shot of him with his tongue sticking out and his hair pointing in a thousand different directions. He had been brilliant as well, but she doubted that she would have ever felt anything romantic towards him. Of course, he lacked some of the ‘bad boy’ image and dark mystery of her Potions Master. Perhaps she only wanted to be noticed in that way by an older man, as so many girls her age did.

Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on the professor tonight. This was a night for family and not for brooding on what could be a rather embarrassing crush in the makings. She would deal with her feelings towards her teacher later. Satisfied that she was ready, she left her room, shutting the door behind her.

A long, low whistler caught her attention. She turned around to see Harry looking her over. “Bloody Hell, Hermione. Where have you been hiding those?” His eyes fastened on her legs, the little bow glittering from its place at her ankle. She blushed, pleased by the rather inelegant compliment.

“Under heavy school robes and a stack of books. You don’t look half bad yourself, Mr. Potter.” She grinned as Harry turned around to show off his new clothes. Sure enough, he had a pair of charcoal grey slacks (crisply pressed), a pair of new leather dress shoes (highly polished), a button down shirt of scarlet cotton (also pressed and lightly starched) and a handsome tie of dark grey and red (expertly knotted, no doubt by her father). He looked more than handsome and she made a mental note to be sure and take a picture for Ginny. “The girls at Hogwarts would be green with envy.”

“Well, it’s only fitting that I look done up if I’m going to escort such a lovely lady to dinner.” She chuckled at his silliness, slipping her hand through his offered arm. “Your guests have already started to arrive and I am sure they’re anxious to see you.”

And they were, or at least a couple of them were anxious to torment her. No sooner than her foot had left the last step to settle on the first floor, then someone had grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up. “Mya-May-I! You look ravishing!” George lowered her to him and planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Good to see you, Cousin.”

“Ravishing indeed! Are you sure this is our Mya-May-I? Hand her here.” Hermione tried to protest, wishing to be back on her own feet, but was tossed, yes tossed, from George to Fred. Unlike their namesakes, her cousins were impossibly tall and built like a couple of brick walls. Her new captor shifted her weight until she was held in his arms like a toddler who had fallen asleep in front of the telly. “Blimey! It is her! Who the hell gave you permission to grow up, Cousin?”

Hermione crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the grinning face. “Put. Me. Down.”

Fred tilted his head to one side as though considering it, and then shook it. “No, I don’t think so.” Suddenly she was shifted again until he was holding her underneath one arm, resting her on his hip as he extended his now free hand towards Harry. “You must be that friend of hers she keeps going on about. Harry Potter, isn’t it? I’m Fred Granger; this is my partner in crime, George Granger. Wonderful to meet you.”

Harry looked shocked. Not even he and Ron would consider manhandling her in such a fashion, would pummel anyone who tried. Still, these two were family and they didn’t seem to want to harm her. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh at his friend’s disgruntled expression or dare to stand up to the boys, both of whom had a good two years on him and probably each weighed twice what he did. “Good to meet you, too. Uhm… don’t you think you should put her down?”

“Who?” Fred frowned, and then looked down. “Oh! Mya-May-I! How long have you been down there?” His face broke out into a devilish grin.

“Fred, I’m warning you. Put me down or you’ll wake up tomorrow with polka-dotted skin!”

“I’d be truly frightened by that, really I would, if I didn’t know you can’t do magic outside of school.” He looked back up at Harry. “So, Harry, the little dictator here tells us you’re some sort of sports star at school. She’s hopeless when it comes to sports, thinks they’re a waste of time. We tried to get her to explain Quidditch to us but she was absolutely hopeless.”

“FRED GRANGER! YOU PUT HER DOWN THIS INSTANT!” Hermione sighed in relief as Aunt Tiffany came into the room. Her voice was very easy to recognize, sharp and sweet all at once, and able to rattle windows if she needed it to do so.

“Oh, hello, Mum.” Fred passed Hermione back to George, who tucked her underneath his own arm. “We were just introducing ourselves to Mya’s friend here and I was holding onto her for George.”

“He was, Aunt Tiff. You see, I’ve decided to tell the lawmakers of this country what they could go do with themselves and marry Hermione. I know it’s likely to raise a few eyebrows, her being my cousin and all, but I’m not likely to find anyone better. I mean, just look at her.” He shifted his weight so that Hermione could give a rather pleading look to her aunt. Harry finally lost it and doubled over in laughter.

“George Granger…” Aunt Tiffany’s voice took on a dangerous edge. The older boy sighed and gently set Hermione back onto her feet.

“The grown ups are getting harder and harder to charm, Fred.”

“Some harder than most, George.”

Hermione was smoothing out the crushed velvet of her gown, muttering something about potions not being detectable by the Ministry. She straightened up, smoothed her hair and turned to her guest. “Harry Potter, my family.” She spread her hands wide to encompass not only the three Grangers in the room, but the others just visible through the doorway leading into the den.

Dinner was everything the Grangers were used to. Cold slices of ham and succulent roast goose. Vegetable dishes and creamy sauces. Everyone had brought their specialty, though Hermione confided in Harry that she was hopeless in the kitchen herself. Harry found this hard to believe, considering he had seen her in Potions, and that had to be far more difficult than cooking. He helped himself to a freshly baked roll smeared with sweet butter, answering Fred and George’s questions between bites.

Hermione ignored her cousins, still miffed at their earlier antics. She heard them tell Harry why they called her “Mya-May-I”. She was always so bossy, we always felt as though we needed to ask her permission before doing anything. Is she like that at school, too? They grilled him about Quidditch and complained about how she hadn’t gotten the Weasley’s to secure them tickets to the World Cup as well. She said something about not wanting us to meet our counterparts, whatever that meant. They asked him about school and what sort of classes they took. Hermione loves them all, except for something called Divination. Of course, she’s such a brain herself, it’s hard to get an unbiased opinion about academics from her. By the end of dinner, she was actually grateful they had found Harry so interesting. It kept them from pestering her.

After dinner, the children, Harry and Hermione included, cleaned up the table and dishes. Once that was accomplished, the family gathered about the tree to exchange presents. Harry had gotten Hermione to help him pick something out for her parents, so they got books on medicine in the wizarding world. He had bought Hermione an ornately carved box that contained six crystal phials for potions and she had given him a leather storage case for his wand, embossed with his initials. Afterwards, however, she knew her friend felt guilty that he only bought presents for her and her parents. Every unit of the Granger family had bought him something. Apparently, once they had determined his size, her parents had told them all. Hermione supposed she had mentioned the fact that, when he returned from the summer holiday each year, Harry had only his obese cousin Dudley’s cast offs to wear, twice his own slender size and hardly able to stay up. For Christmas, the Grangers seemed intent on clothing him in proper garments that fit him as they should. He received trousers, socks, shoes and thick, warm sweaters. There were tee shirts for warmer weather, as well. He was awestruck and humbled. She could have showered each and every one of them with kisses.

Perhaps sensing that they had made the boy a trifle uncomfortable in their efforts to help make up for sixteen years of torment and neglect, her mother had asked that she and Harry take a basket of food to Widow Holmes down the street. A sweet lady, she was blind and not in the best of health. She had outlived both of her own children and couldn’t leave the house very easily, so every year they made sure that she at least had a holiday dinner. Wrapped up in their winter coats (Harry had gotten a new one of those as well) and armed with a basket of delicious food, they set out in the cold, night air.

“Your family is amazing! Absolutely wonderful! Do you think your dad will show me that chemistry set he has in the basement?”

“He’d love to. He’s rather fond of sharing his hobbies. If had didn’t enjoy his work so much, he’d be a teacher.” In truth, she felt better than she had in a long time. There was a simple joy to be found in watching her friend celebrate the chance to have a proper Christmas. He needed to get used to them, because if he did eventually manage to marry Ginny, he was going to have many more in the future.

“And those cousins of yours.” He laughed into the night sky. “It’s like spending Christmas with the Weasleys, only you don’t have to worry that the pudding will explode in your face.”

“That’s because I have enough sense not to let them have any Filibuster Fireworks.”

Harry stopped suddenly. “Uhm… ooops.”

She stopped and looked at him, jaw open. “You didn’t give them any, did you?”

He looked very serious, and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Then, he grinned. “Just kidding. I don’t have any to give.”

She rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder lightly. “Idiot.” He seemed unashamed as he shifted the heavy weight of the basket, walking along beside her as she resumed their journey.

Widow Holmes was nearly blind from old age and was happy to have any company whatsoever. Though one might expect it, she didn’t have an army of cats. Her only pet was a parrot in one corner that could curse like a sailor and knew a couple of dirty limericks. Harry managed to keep from laughing too hard every time it started up, instead focusing on yet more stories about Hermione as a child.

“Girl used to end up in the oddest places. Why, one morning we found her sitting atop the church with no way to get down. She kept insisting that she just woke up there. Her parents were so afraid she was going to hurt herself, sleepwalking like that. They were strapping her into bed for a time.” Hermione blushed scarlet at the reminder, but knew that Harry would recognize it for the budding proof of magic it had been.

They stayed until the chiming of the clock told them it was half past ten. They had been there for over two hours and it was past Widow Holmes’ usual bed time. Storing the food away in her kitchen where she could find it in the morning, they bid her good night and hurried out, both grateful they had possessed the forethought to change out of the dinner clothes and shoes prior to coming here. It would make the trip easier.

They hurried down the street, their breath making white clouds in the air. “I hope your mum and dad won’t be too worried.”

“Of course not, they know how hard it is to get away from her once she’s started. Besides, she’s so lonely.” The magic of the season was in the air about them, keeping them from feeling fear or worry. The only things missing were Ron and Ginny to make their little group complete.

They rounded one of the two corners they needed to turn on the way to her house. The first odd thing she noted as that the street lights were only on for the first half of the street, the others seeming to have burnt out. Was there a power failure? She hoped her father had remembered to plug in the flashlight so that the batteries could charge. Still hurrying, her eyes adjusted to the lack of light and something caught her attention above the roofline. Looking up she noted that there was a sickly green glow that seemed to be coming from her street. Something about that glow tugged at a memory in her head, her feet starting to move more quickly of their own accord.

As they grew closer to the corner, she would occasionally look up. Now the top of whatever it was could be seen, a half dozen brilliant green stars. From off to her side she heard Harry whisper, “Oh…. No…” and they both broke into a run. They reached the corner and the glow could be seen completely. Hermione gave a stifled cry and pressed on harder, only to be tackled from behind and knocked to the ground. Harry’s hands clamped around her mouth as he kept her pinned to the side lawn of one of the neighbors’ house. “No!” he whispered furiously, “Stay down! You can’t help them now!”

The neighbors had all left their houses and were crowded around her burning home, a few trying to get close enough to try and help. From a distance sirens could be heard as the emergency vehicles made their way. Soon enough the Ministry wizards would arrive and begin the task of modifying memories and getting rid of that… that thing.

The Dark Mark continued to quietly hover over what had been, for the entirety of her life, Hermione Granger’s home.