Unlikely Connections

Chapter Twenty-Four - The Allemande

"The Allemande - The dance is considered a gesture type - chain dance with graceful arms while moving as a chain and became very popular in 1600. It could be danced by a couple or group. The basic steps are ... gliding passes, changing partners back to back and charming turns. ... Each man holding his partner round the waist, makes her whirl round with almost inconceivable rapidity: they dance in a grand circle, seeming to pursue one another: in the course of which they execute several leaps, and some particularly pleasing steps when they turn but so very difficult as to appear such even to professed dancers themselves. When this dance is performed by a numerous company, it furnishes one of the most pleasing flights that can be imagined." From Street Swing

Hermione didn't run. Once she had gained control of her senses after flying down the stairs from Dumbledore's office, she resolved to be as calm, composed, and strong as possible. Her hands were shaking and her knees gelling beneath her, but she walked down the hall unhurried and self-possessed. She had to maintain some grip of who she was.

She started to sniffle as that particular thought occurred to her. She was wandering the corridor, not sure of where she was heading as the thoughts tumbled over and over in her head. What had happened to her? To her life? Where had it all gone wrong? She was Head Girl. She was Hermione Granger. Her path was ordered and sure; she was confident, intelligent. And while her life had never been calm or uneventful- thanks to her misadventures with Harry and Ron - it was directed, strong and at least somewhat predictable. And then came Voldemort. He had thrown everything she had ever known into the fire and nothing was sure anymore.

But even now ... this twisted hell of lies and pretending and fear that she had come to find herself living in had not always been so. Ron had briefly morphed into someone she barely knew. Harry was a man possessed with anger and bile these days. Both of the boys who had always been sure presences in her life (despite being infuriating and moody with her at times) now seemed to run from one violent state of emotion to the other. And Hermione knew that she, too, had changed. When had this all begun?

A seeming answer to her question, Hermione found herself staring at a door. A door she had not intended to visit, but, just the same, was currently staring her in the face. After a moment's misgivings, she raised her hand to knock.

"Who is it?" Severus barked loudly. She could hear him pacing the room. He had forgotten to put up his wards. Not a good sign.

"Professor," she called brokenly and then cleared her throat. "Professor it's me, please let me in."

Hermione waited for a long, agonizing moment of silence before he replied.

"I can't," he said shortly. "Please go away."

Hermione knocked again, flattening her palm against the door. "Please, sir, please ... please I need to speak to you ... see you ...." A hard lump was rising up in her throat and she was having trouble fighting the panic behind it.

"I am busy Granger; I have neither the time nor the inclination to sit and listen to your babbling. Go back to Gryffindor Tower this instant."

"Professor," she sobbed, her knees starting to buckle. "I need to come in! Please let me in, please ... I can't ... I need to ... you have to ... please, sir, please ..."

Hermione sank to the ground at his door, sickened at the tears running down her face. She was clawing at the base of the door like a cat waiting to be let in, her fingers leaving streaky prints against the polished wood. Beneath her hand, she could feel the warmth of someone pressed against the door. When his voice came again, it vibrated the wood against her skin.

He could see the shadow of her feet as his doorsill; the material of her robes crept under the door and fell across the toe of his boot. He hunkered down and placed his hand over a panel in the wood, feeling the warmth of her body pressed to the other side.

"I can't, Miss Granger. We can't ... I can't ... we can't do this any more. It is too dangerous and it is foolhardy to the extreme. There is far too much at stake to be carrying on in this manner."

Hermione started to sob. "Please, Professor ... I've lost so much... I've lost Ron, I've lost a friend ... I've lost any grip on what's going on with Harry these days ... I've lost ... I've lost something I can never get back again ... and I don't want to lose ... to lose ...you."

Severus stood and drew a deep breath. He walked across to his desk, sat down and carefully arranged his robes before he raised his voice to answer her. Even Severus himself was surprised at the cold clarity of his voice.

"Miss Granger, you never had me and you never shall. Please return to wherever you came from this instant, before I have to dock your house points it cannot afford to lose. Good afternoon."

*****

Severus heard her weeping against his door for several minutes before he heard her stagger to her feet and leave. He was certain that this last would rid him of any dredges of the oddly spun relationship that had developed between them. Severus was certain he had acted in the most beneficial manner; any ties that vulnerable to anyone - especially the young Miss Granger - were too perilous, too imprudent to be allowed to continue. His job as a spy depended on secrecy and stealth. On deception. He was safer and more efficient on his own.

And Granger would be well shod of him too. An inexplicable ... obsession (he knew no other way to explain it) with a teacher, especially the Head of an opposing house, was most likely damaging to her growth. She'd be better off turning to Potter in search of the comfort and affection that Severus could not give even if it was in him to give. Which it was not.

When her shadow moved away from his door, Severus picked up the goblet on his desk and toasted his heightened safety and, most of all, his regained independence. And the dark wine was bitter on his tongue.

*****

Hermione heard nothing within the office. She was dully aware that people were shuffling by, casting strange looks to her as she sat in front of Snape's door, her hand still on the bottom panel. She had to get up. She had to at least try to keep things appearing normal, for his safety and her own. It wouldn't do to have people wondering about her any more than they already did. With a firm set to her jaw, Hermione stood from the cold floor, brushed at her robes and swiped her hand across her face to rid herself of the last remnants of her tears.

With a deep, firm breath, she started down the hallway, back towards the main stairs that would take her to Gryffindor Tower. She didn't care what time it was or whatever else she was supposed to do tonight; she'd had enough for one day, certainly. With a smirk, she told herself she wasn't even going to the library to do work to try and catch up all those points she missed while silent. The work could wait another evening. She was going back to her room to bury her face against Crookshanks's belly and read a good, long book.

Just as she put foot on the bottom of the staircase to lead her back up to the seventh floor, she noticed Harry standing at the top of the stairs above her, scowling down with worry and annoyance etched across his face. She lifted her foot and turned to walk in the other direction. There were at least a hundred other staircases at Hogwarts; one of them was bound to go to the seventh floor. She kept her pace unhurried and even as she heard Harry's loping run behind her. She even shrugged his grasp off gently as he clutched at her shoulder.

"Hermione, what are you on about, dashing off in the middle of that?" Harry said, panting as he caught up with her.

"Don't touch me," she said, not able to keep the frost out of her voice.

"What?" Harry said, gobsmacked.

Hermione stopped and turned at him very slowly and deliberately. "I said, do not presume to touch me." When Harry continued to look flabbergasted, she continued. "How dare you, Harry; how dare you? You know exactly what has happened to me and why I ... and you made me show them the bruises, you made him touch me! How could you? You! The one person I thought--"

"Hermione, I had to," Harry interrupted, "they wouldn't have believed--"

"What do I care if they believe or not? Do you think I wanted to live all this over again?"

When Hermione realized how loud they had been getting, she turned and walked towards a staircase at the end of the hallway, partially obscured by a tapestry. Harry followed quickly and, once obstructed from public view, grabbed at her arm again. She shrugged him off again and continued marching up the stairs.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry called. "Hermione!"

Hermione did not wait, but felt as if she had lost control of her senses completely when an unseen force grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her so forcefully around towards Harry that she nearly toppled down the steps. Harry rushed up to catch her and Hermione found that she was cradled in Harry's arms, struggling to right herself. But even as she half-heartedly moved to regain her balance, she found that she was staring at him in disbelief.

"Harry," she whispered, "you can do wandless magic?"

A bit of fear stole across his face before he controlled it. "I ... guess so. I didn't realize I did, really." Hermione looked stunned, but Harry just shrugged it off. "So what? Even untrained wizards can do wandless magic."

She finally found her footing and allowed Harry to keep his arms about her shoulders, checking her balance. "Yes, but not controlled wandless magic, Harry. That takes a lot of strength and discipline. How long have you been able to do it?"

Harry looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Erm ... well, as soon as I found out about ... well, I went up to the dormitory and ... well, Ron got the worst end of it really. But you had to know I could do it; it happened in Dumbledore's office!"

Hermione briefly tried to sort through the memories, but most of the time was blurred in a panic-induced haze. "But ... but, Harry, that's really ... I mean, not many wizards can ..." She trailed off again, mesmerized, but after a moment seemed to realize that he still had his arms around her. And as she became aware of the fact, she was certain he had laced them around her further.

"But you still shouldn't have," she said, her voice strong again as she shrugged off his grip. "You knew all about how I feel and you still did that to me. That makes you no better than anyone else who couldn't care less about what happened to me."

"Couldn't care less!" Harry said loudly, sure he had heard her incorrectly. "Hermione, do you have any idea what I went through when you went missing?"

Hermione wanted to retort hotly, but found herself without any angry words. She shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. "I was crazy with worry, M'inee. For hours, we couldn't find you. Hours, M'inee. I was tromping about in the rain for at least an hour, sure that I was going to catch death myself because I was so bloody scared that you .... And then when Snape brought you in," Hermione jerked a bit at the bite of venom in Harry's voice at his name, "you were so pale ..."

Harry raised a hand and brushed it over her cheek. Hermione marveled at the fact that she didn't feel compelled to move away from his touch like she did from every other man's.

"You were so pale," Harry said again. "And I couldn't leave you, Hermione, I couldn't. I don't think I slept in my own bed more than once in two weeks. I just ... couldn't." Harry winced at the tear leaking out of her eye. "And then for another whole week when you were so silent ... I've never missed anything as much as I missed your voice, Hermione. And I wanted to tell someone, make them do something. But Professor Snape--"

Hermione's head snapped up but Harry charged on as if he hadn't noticed.

"Professor Snape took it to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore said that we couldn't legally do anything about it unless you said something yourself. I guess because they couldn't prove anything. But M'inee, you have to do something about it. We can't just let him ... I can't just let him get away with doing that to you."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Why can't you just leave it be and let me try to get better on my own?"

Harry grasped her hands tightly and pulled her close to him. "Because I owe it to you, Hermione. After everything, I owe you at least that. I owe you my protection."

"Owe it to me?" Hermione repeated, dully aware that she sounded as if she didn't speak English.

Harry took a deep breath. When he began to speak, Hermione got the feeling that this was not the first time Harry had said this little speech to himself. "You've been there, Hermione. Nobody's ever been there for me before. For eleven years, I didn't have a soul in the world; and then I came here. And Ron and I were absolutely beastly to you. But you supported me anyway. You supported me when I needed it; you supported me when I didn't know I needed it. You were there for me even when you knew I was wrong and you never questioned it. I abandoned you more than once, and you stuck by me even when I wouldn't give you the same benefit of the doubt.

"I owe it to you Hermione because I've never had someone care so much before. I realized a long time ago that the reason you push so damn hard is because you want to make everyone around you better, smarter, faster, stronger." Harry pulled her close to him and put his arms around her shoulders. She looked up into his face in wonder. "You want to make me the best person I can be. And even though it annoys the bloody piss out of me sometimes, you push me to be a better wizard. And you've never left. Everyone I have has left me at some point ... my parents, Dumbledore, Sirius ... even Ron ... I've never had someone stay. And you've stayed through everything. And if I have to defend that with the last breath in my body, I will give everything I've got to make sure you're safe. Because I owe you at least that much. You're the only thing that keeps me from walking alone."

Hermione started to cry lightly and Harry pressed her in to rest her head on his chest. He laced his arms around her shoulders. "That's why I pushed, M'inee. I have to make sure that he doesn't just walk away from doing this to you. You mean too much to me to allow that to happen."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer - to say something that might thank him for that beautiful tribute - but no words left her mouth, only a small whimper. Harry clutched her tighter to his chest and leaned his head down to hers. She could feel his breath hot on her face as he drew back and placed a kiss on her cheek. Hermione stiffened slightly as he moved in, but relaxed against him as his lips lit upon her cheek.

"You've got to come back to Dumbledore's office with me, Hermione," Harry said. "They need to decide what's to be done to Ron."

"No, Harry--" she began. Hermione's voice trailed off at the steely determination on his face.

You can't put this off any longer, Hermione, she told herself and, with a heavy sigh, allowed Harry to steer her to the office where waiting for her was the one thing she didn't want to face: the truth.

*****

"So," Dumbledore said, "Miss Granger, we must ask once again if you're certain that this is the course of action you wish to take."

"I'm positive," she said firmly. "I have no wish to draw this out any longer than it already has been, especially if that means reliving the entire monstrosity in front of a court. My life has been torn apart--"

Ron's breath hitched audibly as she spoke and Molly whimpered into her husband's shoulder. Harry's grip tightened slightly on Hermione's shoulder and she continued as if the interruption had not occurred.

"I want to pick up the pieces and move on as best I can. You can punish him in any manner you think fits the crime," she added hastily, almost an afterthought.

Dumbledore sighed heavily and looked to McGonagall. She rose from the chair she had conjured next to Dumbledore's desk and addressed Ron, who remained at the windowsill, but was now focusing on McGonagall, crouched as if waiting for a blow.

"As we cannot expel him without formal charge from Miss Granger, we will have to modify the normal punishments for a perpetration of this nature."

Molly let out a heavy breath and Arthur nodded.

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, addressing Ron directly, "you shall have all privileges revoked forthwith. This includes any trips to Hogsmeade and any and all Quidditch functions."

For a moment, Ron looked horrified, but then nodded shortly.

"Furthermore," she continued, "you will serve detention three times a week until the end of the academic year in June, to be served with Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Ron questioned angrily. "What's he got to do with it? Why to I have to serve with him?"

McGonagall strode across the room swiftly, and Ron blanched under the frosty, stern glance from his Head of House. "If it were not for Professor Snape, Weasley," she said acidly, "we would be presently reporting you to the Wizengamot under charges of rape and neglectful homicide! Professor Snape is the main reason why Miss Granger is still alive! You will take care to show more respect in the future, when you serve your detentions with him."

Ron's eyes still burned with a dull hatred of man in question, but he bit down on his annoyance, seeing that it was obviously wise to create as little tension while McGonagall doled out his punishments. The stern woman then turned to Hermione, where her expression softened somewhat.

"Now, Miss Granger, is there anything you'd like to request to ensure that you are satisfied with the results of this matter?"

Hermione thought quietly for a moment, looking at her lap, and then glanced at Dumbledore. "My chambers, sir. Is there a way to make them more secure?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We will discuss options for your safety after we are finished here."

"But ... but ..." Harry stammered a moment before finding his words. "That's it? Detention, no Quidditch and a slap on the hands? That's all he gets for ruining Hermione's life?"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said quietly, though her patience was obviously wearing thin, "without a formal charge from Miss Granger," to which Hermione again shook her head, "there's little we can do that's harsher than that."

"But ... I don't think he even really understands--" Harry said angrily, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"You don't remember, do you?" she said directly to Ron. Harry started to retort hotly - obviously wondering at the tenor of her statement - but Ron remained quiet, a deep flush rising to his cheeks.

"That's why you didn't visit me in the hospital, isn't it? You don't remember what happened and you didn't want to have your fears confirmed," Hermione said. When he didn't answer, she question again. "That's it, isn't it?"

For the first time since she had returned, Ron raised his eyes to Hermione. He opened his mouth once and closed it again before he worked up his answer. "It's so fuzzy," he said. "It's so hazy ... all of it. I remember going and dancing and seeing ... seeing you the way you were dressed and seeing you ---"

He stopped momentarily and Hermione looked away from his eyes. She knew he had been about to say, "seeing you kissing Snape," but for reasons she couldn't quite name, he had not said it.

"Seeing you act so different," he continued, "it just made me angry. And after that ... after that I don't remember anything. I just remember being angry. I remember being angry until ... until I ... woke up, I guess, and you ... you were bleeding and I ... I didn't know ..."

Ron's voice trailed off because Hermione had begun to sob without actual tears. Harry placed his hand on her shoulder, but it was obvious that Hermione did not feel it. She stared at Ron for a moment and then looked to McGonagall.

"See," she said, "he needs to see. He needs to know ... how can he understand if he doesn't know ... if he doesn't remember?"

McGonagall stood still for a moment, clearly floundering as to what to do before Harry piped up suddenly.

"A pensieve," he said.

"What?" Molly squeaked.

"A pensieve," Harry repeated. His voice picked up speed as he thought through his idea out loud. "It would allow Ron to see and understand what he's done, and it would let Hermione let go of the memory. She would get the rest she needs and Ron would understand."

"Harry, isn't that just a bit barbaric? I mean," Molly stammered, "is it really necessary for him to watch something like that when---"

"When Hermione had to live through it?" Harry bit back angrily. "He was there, you know, it's not like it's anything new to him."

"And of course you know all the particulars of the situation," Molly responded acidly, clearly rankled at the charges leveled against her son, whatever the truth may be.

"That's enough," Dumbledore said. Harry and Molly both flinched, as if they'd forgotten his presence. Arthur reached over and laid a hand on Molly's arm, which she jerked off her arm before realizing whom it was and then reached into his lap and clutched his hand. Hermione sighed and curled farther into her chair.

"Though it does seem somewhat extreme for Mr. Weasley to watch something brutal," Dumbledore began, raising his hand to stem the angry flow waiting to leap from Harry's lips, "I do agree that he is in need of reminding of the events of the evening."

"Albus, I don't think--" McGonagall began, just as Molly and Arthur began speaking at the same time.

"This is outrageous, Ron can't--"

"Well, Dumbledore, if you think---"

After a moment of silence, Molly glared at Arthur.

"Think, dear," he said quietly, "think of what you would want if you were in her position."

Molly's gaze dropped to her lap and a single tear escaped her eye. She brushed it away silently before nodding. Without further ado, Dumbledore rose from his chair, strode to a locked cupboard against the wall and mumbled a charm that caused the doors to creak open. He returned to his desk lit eerily by a bluish light that streamed upward from the carved stone basin in his hands. He set in gently against the smooth service of his desk and peered in for a moment before looking back to Hermione.

"Miss Granger?"

She rose from the chair and moved to Dumbledore's desk mutely.

"Raise your wand to your temple," he said, demonstrating with his own, "and concentrate on the memory you wish to be free of ... and only that memory."

Hermione raised her hand and felt the cool tip of her wand prod gently at her temple. The rush of emotion at the recall of the memory made her waver slightly.

"Once you are certain of the memory you wish to release, the charm ... Exonare!" Dumbledore said. He then drew his wand away from his forehead gently, reminding her of the bubble 'wands' they used to play with as children that would create great strings of rainbow colored orbs of soap. He drew the silvery strand away from his forehead and gestured towards the bowl, where the string swirled into the mass of colors already waiting there.

Breaking the silence, Harry spoke. "Wait a minute," he started, "I've never heard you use a charm when you used the Pensieve. Or Snape either."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I am a bit more practiced at this than Miss Granger. I have been using this particular Pensieve so long I no longer need to speak the incantation aloud. It's become somewhat routine."

Hermione smile and then took a deep breath, closed her eyes and thought of that night. "Exonare," she whispered.

Almost immediately, she felt a strange sliding sensation, as if someone were running dental floss through her brain. And with a slight pop inside her head, it was gone. She pulled her wand away from her head and with it, she was astonished to see, was a silvery thread attached to its tip. As she studied the strand curiously in the firelight, she noticed that it was humming slightly. When she realized that she was staring, lost in thought, she jerked slightly and lowered her wand to the surface of the basin, releasing the memory into the bowl. Hermione was slightly unnerved that, now free of the memory, she had no recollection of the incident whatsoever. She remembered that it had happened, but the particulars were fuzzy and distant.

"That is common," Dumbledore said. When she appeared startled, he elaborated in a gentle voice, his eyes warm and relaxing. "The look of consternation on your face indicated that you are experiencing the disorientation that most people feel their first time using a pensieve. Do not worry; it is commonly felt."

Hermione nodded and returned to her chair.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, motioning for him to step up to the desk.

He moved across the room slowly, gazing from person to person before stepping up to the desk. Just before he had made to lower his head to the surface of the swirling memory, he snapped up rigid and looked to Hermione.

"Come with me," he said.

"What?"

"Come with me. I want you to be there when I see ... what happened. I need you to ... be with me ..."

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall started.

"That is not entirely wise, Ron," Arthur responded.

Ron looked only to Hermione. "Please," he said and held out a hand to her.

She looked to Harry, who looked on the verge of bursting. He shook his head violently. But it was the "please" that had caught her attention, and now that she had heard it, she wasn't certain she could dismiss it. She rose from her chair and walked to the desk, but pointedly ignored the hand he had offered her.

"All right," she said quietly. "You first."

Ron looked quickly around the office before leaning in and putting his face to the surface of the pensieve. Hermione couldn't bear to look back at the disapproval she was sure was clouding the entire office. She bent down and allowed the swirling mass to tug her in.