Unlikely Connections

Chapter Twenty Two - The Viennese Waltz

The Viennese Waltz - "'Waltz literally means "to turn forward from one place or to advance by turning.'

The waltz as we know it today, was the first unquestionable closed couple dance done in aristocracy with all the other dances before being open dances. The waltz was considered very 'scandalous,' for the dancers did an embrace and held each other so close that their bodies and even faces touched while they danced. The women were thrown around exuberantly, which at the time was 'Immoral and Sinful.'

The Viennese waltz was mainly a smooth, fast paced, turning dance. This speed apparently was the response to smooth wooden floors in the newer ballrooms of Vienna and better shoes for dancing."

Hermione Granger was a woman of her word. In fact, in this case, Hermione Granger was a woman of her word by being a woman of no words at all. She kept fast to the promise she had made to herself in the hospital wing: the only way to keep from speaking about what had happened to her was to keep from speaking all together.

For Hermione Granger, Resident Gryffindor Know-It-All, however, this proved to be infinitely easier said than done. But Hermione was nothing if not determined.

She was still fairly weak after her extended convalescence so, at Madam Pomfrey's orders, Hermione took several turns around the hospital wing on Harry's arm four times a day for the three remaining days that the nurse kept her confined to the infirmary. Once she was released, however, Harry was still assigned to accompany her anywhere she went, including to and from all her lessons and back to her room in Gryffindor Tower as well. He even had to accompany her to the loo; much to her chagrin, the nurse made him promise to wait outside the girls' toilet for her, lest she have a fall and need someone to call for help. It was humiliating.

Most people within Hogwarts never questioned it for an instant, though. In these delicate times after the start of the second war against Voldemort, hardly anyone even turned a hair at the decree coming straight from Dumbledore that Harry should be allowed to freely come and go from classes in order to aid Hermione. It seemed to make entirely too much sense, apparently, that Harry should be accompanying her when (it seemed) she was in danger. But what of Ron?

The school was abuzz with theories and questions regarding Ron Weasley and his ties - or lack thereof, as the case may be - to Hermione's convalescence. Where had he gone the night of the party at Three Broomsticks? Why hadn't Ron visited Hermione in the hospital wing? Was he the cause of Hermione's sickness? Or maybe was he just too much in pain at seeing her unwell?

Hermione heard the whispers, the rumors, the wild 'he-said, she-said' nonsense that had it on good authority that Harry, Hermione and Ron had actually all slipped out to fight Voldemort on Halloween and that Hermione had been the target for the brunt of the Dark Lord's attacks. These rumors were positively certain that Voldemort had made up some new, secret curse that injured Hermione by forcing the one she loves to avoid her at all costs. An inner part of her wished to cry out, to scream at these people, to tell them once and for all that what had happened to her couldn't have been anymore intrusive if Voldemort himself had done that action.

But through it all, she remained stoically tight-lipped.

This did make classes somewhat of a challenge for her, as she had expected. It had not occurred to her at the original promise, but soon after she left the hospital wing, she realized that taking a vow of silence would mean being incapable of performing even the slightest bit of magic. Hermione's heart ached for it, but she did not allow it to show. In fact, the collected public of Hogwarts seemed much more pained by it than Hermione herself was outwardly.

All the professors of Hogwarts had been summarily informed of her condition when she fell ill; now that she was reinstated as a permanent student, however, the faculty and student body was thrown into a complete state of disarray. Never had classes at Hogwarts been so silent. No waggling fingers, no scuffling books. No squeaking chair. No hissed instructions over a cauldron. No anxious voice blurting out every answer as if regurgitated directly from the textbook. Eventually, it dawned on the populace that if Hermione was mute, there would be so few right answers that the professors eventually gave up trying to ask questions and simply took to lecturing straight from their notes.

Some professors felt it more acutely than others. Professor McGonagall had learned - seeming even suspected - right away that Hermione would not be anxious to return to her academic fervor, and as such, only actually bothered to call on her once, on her first day back. When the stern professor received only a shrug to a question whose answer was contained within their fourth year textbook, McGonagall merely looked at her for a moment - the steely eyes softening - and then directed the question to Ron. Who glanced nervously at Hermione before answering.

Professors Flitwick and Vector, however, took the loss of Hermione's mighty brain decidedly more difficultly. Professor Vector had counted for so long on Hermione's enthusiastic knowledge and participation that she found the classroom eerily quiet as Hermione sat, hands folded, eyes warily watching, at her front row desk. She had tried calling on her, asking questions far above the NEWT level because she had discussed them with Hermione not three weeks ago, just before Halloween. Hermione did not even reply; she merely stared at the professor with a flat, dead expression and said nothing.

The most jarring response to the voluntary muteness was the small, sprightly Charms Professor. For nearly a week, he tried every ploy he knew to get Hermione to answer. His questions got progressively more difficult, he waved copious amounts of House Points for answers he was certain only Hermione would know ... but through it all, she merely sat quietly with no response.

It took all of Hermione's self-control to keep from whimpering in pain as she watched a crying Professor Flitwick give her a failing grade for the first time. But she had to do it; it was the only way.

She had to keep silent. She couldn't tell them what had happened or she'd have to say that it was all her fault.

*****

Severus Snape sat at his desk, scowling out across the sea of indignant faces of his Advanced Potions class. They were damn tired. With the impromptu silence of their built-in answer box, the class had no choice but to bare the weight of his high expectations on their own; and, as it seemed, fifteen mediocre students were no match for one, Hermione Granger.

Severus had attempted what he thought best for Granger's recovery: he had tried, only once, to intimidate her into speech. And though she flinched and whimpered at his harsh remonstrances - it pleased him that this was far and away more response than any but Minerva had gotten out of her - she still made no move whatsoever to indicate that she would break her silence. She listened attentively (again, more response that in most cases), took diligent notes on every utterance he could come up with, but she made not the smallest sound. So, exhausting his possible choices, he set about ignoring her handily. This method, however, left him little to do with his lessons than to extort incorrect answers out of Malfoy and Parkinson, intimidate Longbottom, and discredit any right answers Potter may have been so lucky to have unearthed without Granger's assistance.

He delighted, however, in one small consolation that he had discovered of late: lambasting Weasley within an inch of his life. Releasing his spleen on the hapless idiot gave him more enjoyment than he had counted on; though he despised the thought of doing it for Miss Granger's sake, there was a small element of heroics in it. The major asset, however, was the complete bafflement of the rest of the students. The first time Severus had mercilessly rounded on Weasley, stripping at least 50 house points for nominal errors and giving him detention for his anger, the rest of the class sat, befuddled, as Potter - like Granger - sat in silence.

Whispers had roared through the room as to why Gryffindor's finest celebrity would not come to the aid of his brainless sidekick. And Severus had enjoyed every last one of them. Perhaps some idiot other than Potter would figure out what had happened to the poor girl and do something about it. He had considered, minutely, taking action himself, but whenever he had, something in the back of his mind shrieked with horror and he was plagued with a horrible guilt for hours afterward.

With the absence of another plan, Severus had become momentarily content with allowing the situation to choose its own course. That was, of course, until one of the school owls rapped at the window of the Potions dungeon door. With a grimace, Severus barked a few more commands at the NEWTs class and went to the door to fetch whatever it brought.

He felt a sick swoop in his stomach as he recognized the scrawling handwriting.

Severus

Please excuse Miss Granger immediately and send her to my office. Also, please report here yourself as soon as you are able.

A. P. W. B. D.

Severus sighed. Was it even worth the effort of finishing the Potions class himself? He knew what this was all about ... . After a moment's hesitation he scribbled two quick notes of his own.

Albus

Will appear directly. With Miss Granger.

S. R. S.

Filius

I would appreciate it if you would cover my Double NEWTs Potions class for the next hour. I realize this is your free time, but it is of the utmost importance.

S. Snape

Startling several of his students, Severus threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and barked, "Charms classroom!" Without any ceremony of any kind, he heaved the note through the grate and within a few seconds, the tiny Professor Flitwick had stepped through the emerald flames.

Dusting himself off, Flitwick glanced up at Severus, towering over him and scowling, his face painted with concern. "Is everything all right, Severus?"

"Yes, yes," Severus said and then turned to the class. "Professor Flitwick will be supervising the remainder of your lesson. Misbehavior will garner my extreme displeasure." Severus noted with satisfaction that many faces paled at the idea of dissatisfaction from Snape. "Miss Granger, you are to come with me."

Hermione felt herself blanch with fear but rose to her feet and packed away her gear. Not fast enough, apparently, because Severus had come to hover over her as she fumbled a few things under his glare. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, that Ron was throwing nervous glances over his shoulder between her nervous hands and Snape's scowling visage. When Hermione made to go, Harry rose to his feet to accompany her.

"I don't remember instructing you to leave, Mr. Potter."

"I go everywhere she goes," Harry stated bluntly.

"As touching as your Quixoticism is, it is grossly presumptuous. Miss Granger is quite capable of walking on her own. Sit," he spat.

With a steely glare, Harry slowly lowered himself back onto his stool. He was still glaring daggers at Severus as the man placed a firm hand between Hermione's shoulder blades and pushed her towards the dungeon doors. Much to Severus's surprise, Hermione did not ask where she was being taken. Her expression seemed so resigned, as if she had been waiting for this to happen for some time.

She walked swiftly next to Severus for several moments in complete silence. As they neared the gargoyles that led to Dumbledore's office, however, she stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, turned without a word, then dropped her bag of books and ran full tilt in the opposite direction. For a moment, Severus simply stared after her, watching her run down the hall in complete bewilderment. When he realized what was going on, he fished in his robes for his wand, fumbling a moment in his haste, and then called the first enchantment that had occurred to him.

"Petrificus Totalis!"

With panic, Hermione felt her body seize up and fall, face first, to the floor. She tried to wince in pain, but felt her whole body turn to stone. After heavy footfalls striding down the hall, Severus's face came into view as he turned her onto her back.

"What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?" he snapped before muttering the counter-curse.

Hermione merely sat up and swiped at her now-bleeding nose with the edge of her sleeve.

"Oh good lord," Snape said. "Finite Flumeninis."

Hermione couldn't help the anger in her eyes as her nose stopped bleeding, but she rose to her feet and brushed her robes off with as much dignity as she could muster. Without hesitation, she turned and walked in the exact direction she had been running in before Snape had caught her. She had only gained a few steps before Snape's grip closed, pincer-like, around her upper arm.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger," he said as he dragged her along, "but you are not free to determine whether or not you will report to the Headmaster if you've been summoned."

For a moment - however brief - Severus's heart strained with grief at the sudden panic in her eyes. But he refused to allow himself to pity her. "The Headmaster, Miss Granger," he repeated.

She tried, ineffectually, to shrug off his grip, but mostly allowed him to drag her onto the moving staircase behind the gargoyles. She couldn't fight it now, she supposed. She was foolish to think that she could escape retribution for what she had done.

A sigh worked its way out of her throat as Severus knocked heavily on Dumbledore's door. His summons to enter came quickly and Hermione allowed herself to be ushered into the office without a fight. Fear clenched her throat and her grip tightened crushingly on her bag as she looked around the room. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his face sober; Madam Pomfrey stood near the window, gazing out over the grounds and shaking her head while Professor McGonagall strode across the room in large, hurried steps, wringing her hands as she went. Hermione stopped in the doorway and closed her eyes.

Maybe it will all go away ...

"Miss Granger, please sit."

Dumbledore motioned with his wand towards a chair in front of his desk, which slid out a few inches for her to take it up. Her eyes darted around the room as she sat, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the front of her robes. After a moment of a penetrating stare from Dumbledore's bright blue eyes that were now full of a somber sadness, Hermione dropped her gaze to her lap. Snape had taken to pacing on the opposite side of the office from McGonagall - behind Dumbledore's desk - and the dual motions in her peripheral vision were making her nervous and dizzy.

"I suppose you know why you are here, Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, but said no more as he waited for her response.

Hermione stared at her lap, now picking at a small stain from Potions class.

Dumbledore sighed. "Your grades have been quickly plummeting Miss Granger. Your Head of House and professors are concerned for you."

Relief flooded into Hermione so quickly it made her woozy. She had been asked here to discuss grades! Naturally, her silence had caused her to lose much ground in class work. She would simply have to find some way to participate in class without speaking; that was all. She nodded, still not raising her eyes from her robes. Snape's pacing was eating at her nerves and she was trying desperately not to shake and betray it.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore continued, his voice soft but insistent, "you're sudden reticence worries us. You are not performing to your ability - or at all in fact - and you have not spoken a word in the last week. This is not normal behavior for someone of your academic and personal quality of character and we can't help but notice that--"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Albus!" Snape spat, stopping abruptly behind the older wizard.

"Severus!" Dumbledore admonished. "That will be quiet enough of such language. It will not help the situation."

"We know that this all started because of what happened on Halloween," Snape charged on as if Dumbledore had not spoke and leaned over the desk towards her.

"We just don't know what exactly that was," McGonagall said quietly.

Hermione jumped and squeaked as her Head of House's hands had come to her shoulders. When had she moved across the room? Madam Pomfrey was moving toward her from the window. Hermione could feel the room closing in at her and it was if they were all sucking the breath from her painfully working lungs. Her head was suddenly spinning sickly. Blurriness crowded the edge of her vision; her head felt as if it weighed nearly a thousand pounds, and she could hear the racking wheeze of her breath as she fought for steadying air.

"That is, unless you'd like to tell us," Dumbledore finished.

Hermione glanced around at each of the faces now so close to her. They were all pinched with worry. Her chest constricted painfully. She shook her head vehemently, not able to settle her vision on a comfortable face.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said simply. Her voice was heavy, thick somehow. Hermione felt another shot of panic run through her veins. "There is no doubt in my mind as to what happened to you. All the signs are present. I had simply hoped you would come out with it first."

She wouldn't look at the matronly nurse. She couldn't. Where was Harry? She needed Harry .... Harry wouldn't make her tell, would he? Would he believe that it wasn't her fault?

"Miss Granger, this is a most serious issue. I appeal to you, please, tell us what happened to you." After a moment of silence, Dumbledore added quietly, "I'd rather not have to extract it from you forcefully."

Hermione was gasping for breath audibly now as she sprang her head up to look into his eyes. She couldn't do it; she couldn't tell. She wouldn't . But in her moment of complete and abject terror, she hadn't been as guarded with her mind, and she felt a light tickling flick at the back of her mind and noticed, with dread, that Severus's face was lighting with a sinister anger.

"He did it, didn't he?" Snape's voice was cold with fury. "Weasley?"

Severus could not have had more power over her in that moment that her gaze moved from Dumbledore's face to his than if he had used a hex on her. His features were oddly shadowed in the afternoon sun; she thought he looked as if he were a demon or ghost of some kind. And it was almost as if it wasn't even under her control when she nodded back at him.

"What, Miss Granger?" McGonagall prodded gently. "What did Weasley do?"

Hermione looked from one face to the other. Madam Pomfrey hitched slightly and covered her mouth with her hand, looking as if she might have vomited had she not done so. She knew. Snape was practically vibrating with fury as he resumed his pacing. She had always suspected that he knew. Dumbledore's face was lined deeply with pain. When had he become so old?

When Hermione's voice came from her throat it sounded rusty, as if she hadn't used it in decades. "Rape," she said simply. Hermione craned her head around to look at McGonagall; a single tear ran out from under her glasses and trickled down her usually stern face.

*****

Her breathing had slowed and her heart was no longer hammering inside her ribcage. She curled her legs under her on the chair as she sat and the words tumbled out of her mouth. She told as much of the story was in her to tell as Snape returned to his pacing, Madam Pomfrey dropped into a chair, and McGonagall moved to stand behind Dumbledore and place her hand on his shoulder. Hermione noted dully when Dumbledore reached up to his shoulder and clasped McGonagall's fingers.

She told the bare facts; he had dragged her back to the castle, pinned her against the wall. Her voice frosted over as she told them how he had choked her; it was almost as if it hadn't happened to her. Because, after all, she couldn't tell them, couldn't word, how it had felt like it wasn't really him.

And she certainly couldn't tell them it was all her fault.

*****

She looked so small.

It kept beating at the inside of his brain until he could barely stand it anymore. With her feet drawn up under her, buried beneath the folds of her skirt and robe, she looked as if she would simply curl up into herself and never be heard from again. It irritated him extremely. Which, of course, absolutely vexed him that he was irritated. As a result, he could do nothing to halt his anxious pacing to and fro across the back of Dumbledore's office as she mumbled out a few words on what had happened to her. But she was leaving a lot of the story out; he had no doubt of that.

These were the basics. A long, wet walk back to the castle ... a heated argument against the cold stone that went horribly awry ... choking ... an act of sexual mishap ... and then she walked out into the rain. But there were pieces missing. He knew there must be more to explain the silence, the guilt, and the haunted - no, hunted - look in her eyes.

And he had the feeling that the 'more' was all him.

*****

"Well, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, brokenly, "I'll want to ...er ..."

Hermione looked up, startled. She had thought that the competent medi-witch had no qualms about any kind of injury. What could be sticking her tongue?

"I'll need to run a test on you," she said finally, seemingly still struggling over the words.

"What sort of test?"

Madam Pomfrey glanced quickly to Minerva before answering. "Well, dear, a ... a pregnancy test. If you've been--"

"I'm not pregnant," Hermione broke in, not able to hear her word the rest of the sentence. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment as she was suddenly much more aware of the distinctly male presence of Snape and Dumbledore.

"My dear, I know you're distraught, but it is a real concern that you need to be aware of if Mr. We--" McGonagall began.

"He ... that is, I wasn't ... I," Hermione stuttered, feeling tears spring to her eyes. She wanted to crawl under the chair with the humiliation of it all. She could feel Dumbledore's eyes on her - sad though they may be, they still were male - and Snape was now emitting low growls from behind the desk. "He didn't ..."

Hermione chanced a look up to Dumbledore, who merely nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "He didn't ... finish."

McGonagall moved to stand behind Hermione, her hands curling protectively around the girl's shoulders. "Albus, I'm sure this would be easier for her if--"

Before Minerva could conclude, Dumbledore nodded her head. "Severus, I believe we should leave Miss Granger in Minerva and Poppy's capable hands."

Snape looked for a brief moment as if he might protest, but in the end, scowled heavily and swept out the door without a word. Dumbledore, however, moved around his desk gracefully and stood in front of Hermione's chair. She felt herself draw up even further as he came close; she was almost unaware of her legs drawing close to her chest, the way her arms wrapped protectively around her knees. Hermione jumped as Dumbledore bent and laced his arms around her. She chided herself for the reaction, but couldn't help herself as she struggled against him; an alarm was wailing inside her head that she just couldn't control. Even though the reaction disgusted her, her mind kept shrieking that if Ron was capable of this violence, any man was capable.

Hermione had no doubt that Dumbledore had felt her resistance to the action; in fact, she was almost certain he had tightened his arms further when she began to jerk beneath him. When he pulled away and headed to the door, however, Hermione saw nothing but a mournfully knowing glance and then the back of his head as he walked away.

"Now, Miss Granger--" Madam Pomfrey began, but Hermione intercepted the question.

"I'm positive, Madam Pomfrey, he didn't ... finish."

"Regardless, I'd still like to test you," she said, doubtfully, "and we're going to have to go over exactly what happened from the top, to make sure there was no other damage."

Hermione's cheeks burned. She had no desire to give the exact details of what had happened. But she could see no way of avoiding it.

"Perhaps we should move to the hospital wing, Poppy," McGonagall said with a sigh. Poppy gave a short, firm nod before offering her hand to Hermione to help her out of the chair.

Hermione started to take Madam Pomfrey's hand but stopped short when she noticed her own palm. There were deep, half-moon circles where her nails had dug into the fleshy part of each hand. She hadn't even realized she'd been clutching them so tightly. Her right hand even had a tiny crust of dried blood.

Hermione quickly retracted the hand she'd held out and leapt up from the chair, whisking by McGonagall and heading out the door before the two women could see the tears in her eyes.