Unlikely Connections

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Contredanse

"Contredanse - the Contredanse is considered an English dance but originally came from France and was introduced to the rest of society about 1690. ... A Contredanse derives its name from the manner in which the dancers are arranged. In a Contredanse, as the name implies, partners stand opposite to and facing one another, all the dancers being thus termed into parallel lines. ... Contredanses have sets with some couples being 'active and some being inactive'. Contradanses have a definite beginning and end." from Street Swing

Hermione had thought she would she scream or cry. Having him right next to her as she watched the scene from the start, she had thought she would have been in pieces within the first few moments of cries and pleading. Hermione had thought that she would be broken.

But she was not.

Hermione stood stoically as she watched the arguing pair in front of her, only flinching when the shouting started. She had not known the strength of her own voice or the terrible whiteness of her own skin. But she looked on; she almost felt as if she owed it to herself, to Harry, to Snape for bringing her through it ... she owed it to them and herself to watch and be unmoved.

She threaded her hands inside the voluminous sleeves of her school robes and instinctively crossed her arms across her chest as the Ron in front of her grasped the old Hermione's breast. As her fingernails bit into the fleshy bits of skin over her elbows, Hermione lifted her chin. She was not that girl in front of her anymore. The Old Hermione had died the moment he had broken her innocence. She didn't notice when blood started to trickle lightly over her fingertips. She bit the inside of her lip hard.

Hermione, with sudden shock, noticed Ron sniffling next to her. She had nearly forgotten he was there. Ron stood next to her, looking between the scene in front of him and Hermione's resolute posture with tears streaming down his face. When he reached out a shaking hand to brush her shoulder, Hermione had to turn her whole body away in an effort to keep from retching as a fit of powerful nausea waved over her. She sidestepped away from both her attacker and her attack and stood ramrod straight in the corner by the door. And that was when she noticed it.

Looking down the hallway towards the castle, around Ron's sobbing form Hermione noticed a curious drape of strange material silhouetted against the far door frame. She was certain that she had not noticed this on Halloween ... and little wonder, given her situation. With horror etched in every plane of her face, Hermione walked slowly towards the strange fabric. The closer she got, the more certain she was that she had seen that cloth somewhere before. But where? The evening was such a blur that she had no recollection of most of it.

Hermione stretched her hand out towards the doorframe as she closed the remaining few meters of distance. But then suddenly there was a loud bang from the hall above them - something that sounded like the swing of the heavy front doors - and Hermione squealed in surprise, her head swiveling upwards to try to determine the source of the sound. But when she looked back, the curious fabric had disappeared. And shortly after, a stricken Ron with bloody hands ran past her, throwing a terrified look towards the crumpled form on the floor a few feet away. He stopped at the doorsill just near Hermione and she had a mad urge to reach out and touch this Ron that she knew could not feel her. But before she could have acted on the gesture, he had sped away in fright. Hermione returned her attention to the Ron that had brought her here.

He now crouched mere centimeters away from the Hermione who laid on the floor, rousing from a minute or two of unconsciousness, her hand absently twined around her throat. He had dropped to his knees, heaving with restrained cries as a bedraggled, torn and bawling Hermione pushed her weakened body across the floor towards the Entrance Hall and then paused at the window. The girl on the floor had started manically repeating a word over and over and over again as she crawled. For the first time since they had come, Hermione spoke.

"Filthy," she said in tandem with the girl now heaving herself up against the windowsill. "Filthy ..."

Hermione slashed at a single tear that rolled down her cheek. "No," she said to herself, and then firmer, "No."

Ron stared after her as the pale and bloody Hermione, a macabre jumble of oddly complimentary streaks of red and white and black and purple, straightened her back, lifted her chin and paraded out into the rain. Ron followed her wordlessly, never looking back towards the one he had beseeched to come; she stayed in the hall for a moment. Hermione crouched down and ran a single finger against the drops of blood on the stone floor that didn't smear as she swiped at them. Hermione got up and walked as if in a trance, once again making the trek into the Forbidden Forest, though this time not feeling the cold rain. Once again missing Severus Snape, who practically flew down the hallway just after she had quit it, swearing at the absence of the one he was looking for, and never thinking to look down at the floor as he tore off to another part of the castle in his search.

*****

Hermione was shivering now, but not from the rain that had pelted her on Halloween. She, like Ron, was standing in a clearing in the heart of the thickest, densest part of the Forbidden Forest, watching as the other Miss Granger plunked herself down in the middle of the open area and fumbled around on the ground near her as if she'd lost something.

"Where? Where? Where?" Hermione muttered as she looked. "I know you must have dropped one here somewhere ... Where?"

Her face then lit suddenly as if she'd just found a sack of galleons and her hand lifted triumphantly. The head of a crossbow arrow glinted in the moonlight, shimmering grossly from the rain. Ron twitched next to her and started mumbling something, as if he though he could stop her. But much to Ron's surprise, which was apparent as his muttering trailed to nothing, Hermione turned the head of the arrow sideways and began scraping it across her arms ... the long, lean plane of her legs ... wrenched down her corset top and scraped it across her breasts. A frenzied smile melted across her face as she scoured her skin, rubbing pieces of it away and leaving large, raw patches in her most sensitive areas. Her hair had tumbled free from its constraints and dropped forward over her shoulders, curtaining her features in lank, dripping ringlets.

"Shit!" the girl - who had ceased to feel connected to her - cursed and Hermione noticed a long bleeding slice across her palm; the bloody arrowhead dropped to the ground next to her. Hermione unconsciously clenched and released her left hand. The girl stood. Or very nearly so. As soon as she reached her feet, the girl wavered dangerously, staggering to and fro as she thrust her hands out in front of her like a blind man, searching for something to help her balance. She stumbled backwards into a small boulder that she had not noticed before and crashed to the ground with a sick thud, one leg still hooked strangely over the rock that had tripped her. Her body lay - bare to the waist and scratched all over - unmoving for what seemed like eons.

And then Hermione heard someone crashing through the trees. A wand tip was alight and bobbing through the underbrush in the forest off to their left. After a moment or two, Severus emerged from between the trees, frantically scanning from left to right. Sodden to the skin, he had to swipe the long ebony locks out of his eyes several times. He swore loudly when his eyes raked over her. Severus stood oddly still for a moment, seemingly composing himself, before he strode calmly across the clearing and bent to assess her body. Hermione watched as he sank to his knees and placed hands on her exposed skin, muttering some charms over her as she began to rouse. The moment her eyes flickered open, he delicately replaced the top of her corset over her exposed breasts.

She dimly heard him say, "Be quiet, would you?" in answer to something the girl on the ground had said. "What did you do to yourself?" he questioned her.

When no reply came, Severus looked quickly around the small open area again before swiping his hair out of his eyes and holding his lit wand tip near her face. She had passed out. He sighed heavily and then drew her body up into his arms. Hermione only realized he was embracing her out of concern or care (or something other than physical support) when Ron said, "I don't know how you dare touch her, you bloody bastard, I ought to--"

Hermione looked at him. Her mouth fell open in horror as she saw his raised fists and the fury on his face. She summoned all her courage and grasped his wrist.

"We are done here," she said firmly. In answer to his questioning look, she replied, "You have learned nothing. We are done here."

And then she felt herself rising up, up, up, until Dumbledore's office came swirling back into view.

*****

Hermione saw no one's face clearly as she emerged back into the office and marched across the room to station herself in front of the fireplace. After a few moments of silence when she could feel the eyes of the entire party on her back, she spoke.

"I want extra wards placed on my chambers," she said without looking away from the mantelpiece. "Extra wards, and some kind of voice identification that will only allow me to access it."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, "Professor McGonagall and I will arrange it immediately."

"Hermione--" Ron started.

She held up a hand behind her and the room once more fell into an uneasy silence.

"I also want to be relieved of my patrolling duties as Head Girl. Either Harry can take it up as Head Boy - I know he's never done it because I always volunteered to, but I'm sure he's more than capable - or the prefects can cover it. Except him," she spat, the venom in her voice leaving little doubt as to whom she was referring. "I don't trust him with anyone's safety but his own."

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, a pleading note to his voice.

She talked over him. "You can do whatever else with him you see fit, I have no objections."

"Hermione," Ron said again when she was quiet. "Hermione, I'm s--"

She whipped around and fixed him with a steely glare. "Do not presume that you can garner my forgiveness. Ever."

Mrs. Weasley sniffled. Dumbledore sighed; McGonagall moved around the desk and sat on its front corner, addressing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the same time.

"As we said before, we cannot formally charge him of anything if Miss Granger refuses to press. Which is extraordinarily fortunate for you, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall added to Ron, "seeing as how a crime of this nature warrants a minimum of 6 months in Azkaban upon conviction."

Ron gasped but bit down on his lip as McGonagall glared at him icily. "As such, you will serve the detentions mentioned previously," Ron's shoulders slumped and he muttered darkly, "be forthwith stripped of any and all privileges, and be on probationary status until the end of your tenure as a student here. And let me warn you, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall added, her voice taking on a biting tone Hermione had never heard before, "that you had best make sure you are on your most exemplary behavior for the remainder of your time here. Even the smallest infraction on your part will be dealt with as a capital offense against the school and will result in expulsion. Do you understand me?"

Ron waited for a moment before raising his eyes to McGonagall's and nodding.

"Very well," Dumbledore said after a moment of silence. "If you have nothing further to add, Professor," he indicated to McGonagall, who shook her head, "then I believe that you are free to go, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley, I'd like you to stay behind to fill out some paper work for me."

Hermione turned and glanced at the office. Mrs. Weasley was still sniffling lightly, Mr. Weasley bandying between patting her in a reassuring manner and throwing uneasy glances at Ron. Dumbledore was immersed in guiding Ron through paperwork, overseen by McGonagall. It was then that Hermione noticed Harry staring at her from the armchair just behind Dumbledore's desk. He rose wordlessly, laced an arm around her back, and steered her out of the office.

*****

Snape scowled down at his lamb chops. Potter, Granger, and both of the Weasleys were missing from the Gryffindor table and Dumbledore, for once, was quiet in his place at the staff table to Severus's right.

"I don't like it," Severus said, more loudly than he had intended.

Dumbledore looked up at him. "Don't you, Severus? I'm sure that if we called one of the house elves, they'd be happy to fix something else for you."

Severus growled low in his throat. "Not the lamb, Albus, for Pete's sake." His voice was harsh, but he softened as he noticed that the usual twinkle in the old man's eye was noticeably absent. "She wouldn't do it, would she?"

Dumbledore was quiet again, and then sighed. "No," he said simply.

"What in the world is wrong with that pigeon-headed little imbecile?" he said in a vicious whisper. "Does she think it will further her purpose somehow to let him bound around this school unchecked, no consequences for attacking people? That's exactly the kind of arrogance and reckless conceit I'd expect out of Potter."

Severus's voice had risen to the point where the teachers around them were looking up from their plates and side conversations.

"Severus ... first of all, Mr. Potter has been a pillar of strength and support for Miss Granger. Far beyond even what I had imagined. Censuring him so harshly is both unfair and unnecessary. Secondly, Mr. Weasley has been punished to the full extent that we can provide without legal charges." Severus started to rebut, but Dumbledore continued. "And most importantly, we cannot force Miss Granger to relive something if she is not ready to do so. Beside the fact that Miss Granger, while technically of legal consenting age and maturity, is still, for all intents and purposes, a child." Dumbledore gave him a mute but pointed look before continuing. "She has been materially damaged and is frightened. Can we really deny her the right to curl up and lick her wounds?"

"She'll lick them bloody raw if we don't watch her," Severus mumbled to himself. He had not forgotten the sight of the angry, oozing abrasions riddling her skin the night he found her and how hard he had to work to charm them away. Every word that came from his mouth was starting to cost him. "Where are the little twit and her Boy Wonder, anyhow?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Having dinner with the Weasleys in the chamber next door."

"What?" Severus asked incredulously. "Why? How could--"

"Molly and Arthur felt it best that the rest of the family found out about this in as expedient and quiet a manner as possible, allowing them to hear the story straight from the dragon's mouth, as it were. It will protect the young Miss Weasley from suffering the idle reports of gossips without having all the information possible."

"I do not understand how you could allow--"

"It was the wish of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he said simply. "And Miss Granger did not object when I asked her consent."

Snape harrumphed, but decided he had better check himself. Protesting too loudly over her treatment would arouse suspicion in the other teachers if he was overheard. He finished the rest of his meal in silence, fully aware of Dumbledore's gaze upon his face as he ate.

Just as Snape rose to head back to the Potions dungeon to complete some preparatory work for tomorrow, Dumbledore said, "By the way, Severus, I'd like you to meet me in my office in an hour. We have some things to discuss."

Severus felt his stomach flip-flop. He was certain he knew exactly what "things" they needed to discuss, and neither of the topics would give him any pleasure in the discussion.

*****

Hermione felt as if the room itself were sucking out her breath. Silence reigned, but for the clatter of utensils against plates and uncomfortable coughs and clearing of throats. Even though she had enforced voluntary reticence upon herself for nearly a week, Hermione now damned the very idea. And worse than the silence were the stares. She was conscious of the eyes alternating to her from their plates and though she returned no one's glance but Harry's, she felt positive that they had worked out some sort of plan that ensured that they take turns so she never found herself without a staring pair of eyes. Eventually, after much clearing of throats and uncomfortable 'pass the salt' sort of exchanges, Ginny worked up the pluck to speak.

"So, erm ... what's going on?" she said uneasily. "I mean, why're we all here? Did someone die? I mean, you wouldn't call Charlie all the way in from Romania for something stupid, right?"

Hermione had never seen Ginny nervous to the point of babbling before and it unnerved her. Mr. Weasley sighed, set down his fork and knife, and looked down the table at his family, both his blood and 'adopted' children.

"Well, there's something rather important that needs to be discussed and we felt that ... that it would be better if you heard the story from ... before things got out of hand and people start talking ... We wanted to make sure you have all the information."

Mr. Weasley looked to his wife for support, but she merely clenched her jaw, threw a fleeting, timid glance to Hermione, and then continued eating. Ginny immediately looked between Hermione and Ron. Hermione knew that she must have heard stories - so many had flown around in the days following her revival from convalescence - but she was unsure how much the girl knew. From the tense and worried look on the youngest Weasley's face, Hermione had a feeling that Ginny knew nothing of the truth. Knowing the girl's temperament, if she did know the truth, Hermione surmised that Ron would have been on the floor writhing in pain the instant she had first laid eyes upon him.

Despite Ginny's question, no one seemed keen to talk. Harry finally piped up. "Well, go ahead," he said to Ron, his voice cool and pointed, "tell her what's going on."

Ron looked helplessly around the table. Ginny's face was beginning to show signs of some kind of comprehension, Bill and Charlie looked politely attentive, the twins skeptical and Percy bored. Mrs. Weasley sniffed and continued eating.

"I ... well ... Hermione and I ... I mean, I ... on Halloween ..." Ron fumbled.

He looked to Harry. Hermione suspected that he had banked on Harry's frustration to goad his friend into getting angry and blurting out the whole scandal, but a frosty calm glazed Harry's sparkling eyes. His face was drawn into an uncharacteristic grimace. He waited. And everyone else waited.

"I ..." Ron started again. He stopped and took a deep breath. Against her will, Hermione felt a tiny squeeze of pity for him. Telling his family would be the hardest part for him. Ron took another slow, steady breath and closed his eyes. "I raped Hermione on Halloween."

Bill's fork clinked to the tabletop and then, unchecked, to the floor; Charlie stared at Ron as if he'd never seen him before. Hermione jumped in surprise as Ginny made to leap across the table at Ron, hands outstretched as if they were claws. The twins had to forcibly restrain her.

"Bastard," she spat. "You unbelievable bastard! How could you ... how you could ... how could you even--?"

She was fighting so spectacularly against the grip of the twins on either side that Bill rose from the table, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her out of the room, Ginny struggling and cussing the whole way. The room was silent once more in their absence. Hermione merely stared around at each face. The twins mutely rose from their places, moved to Hermione's chair and bent to give her simultaneous, gentle hugs. She jumped a bit and looked away, cringing, as they squeezed her from both sides and she was grateful when they released her. She cowered against Harry, who stiffly put an arm around her shoulders.

Mrs. Weasley was now crying, but eating determinedly, as if it would break her to stop. Eventually, Charlie reached over and took the fork from her hand, at which she jerked once and dissolved into sobs against Mr. Weasley's shoulder. He cradled her gently. Charlie rose and crossed to give her another hug, as the twins had. But he noticed her flinch.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said quietly.

She drew away from him, panic clear on her features, but she did her best to graciously receive his apology and she nodded. Bill returned from a small door off to the left of the table, Ginny following behind with a sullen face and red, puffy eyes.

"I don't ..." Charlie started again once Bill and Ginny had resumed their seats, "I don't want you to think that," he cast an indecisive look towards Ron, "that we all - men I mean - that we all would treat you that way."

Ginny started crying, but when Bill mumbled, "absolutely," in response, she furiously began wiping at her tears and nodding. Hermione shook her head a little bit and looked away from him. Harry dropped his hand to her lap and took hold of Hermione's.

"Certainly not!" said Percy. "I mean, honestly ... such a horrible way to go about things! I can't say I'm surprised though," he said, casting Ron a darkly appraising look, "he always did have a bit of a rough streak to him. Filthy temper."

"Percy!" Mr. Weasley said.

"Well, it is just awful, Father, really," Percy continued, unaware of the horrified and angry looks coming from the rest of the table. "Great way to thoroughly ruin our reputation as a family, that; not that our reputation was that much to start with ..."

Percy continued much in this vein for a few more seconds, unaware that Ginny had become so angry she was actually growling. He proceeded to pontificate for another moment or two, causing Ron to sink so low in his chair that his chest nearly disappeared beneath the table top and Hermione had started crying softly.

"... That is to say that one can't just go around manhandling women ... totally jeopardizes our positions in the Ministry and--"

"Percy, if you don't shut up this instant," Ginny said, brandishing her fork at him like the sword of Gryffindor, "I'm going to use this to pin your lips to the table."

After emitting a soft, "Well, really!" Percy fell silent again. They all seemed to unanimously agree to continue with the meal, taking up their utensils without another word. As soon as Ginny had wolfed down her dinner, she leapt up from the table without being excused and bolted for the door. Bill and Charlie looked at each other with uncertainty. Percy looked at Mr. Weasley with light indignance. Mr. Weasley looked at his wife who looked at her nervous fingers. The twins looked at Harry who looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at her plate. And no one looked at Ron.

*****

Severus paced Dumbledore's office, as usual. For some reason, the instant he walked into the man's office he seemed to lose all aspects of the sense of quietude and ruthless control that kept his students petrified of him. Probably because he remembered the first and only time he was in Dumbledore's office before becoming a teacher. He had been 17 years old, just barely conscious, and freshly graduated from Hogwarts. He had been a Death Eater for just under a year at that point. And he had been brought down at a Dark Revel when some rogue Death Eaters had thought they could corner Albus Dumbledore. The fools, Snape thought, as he did every time the memory happened upon him. He had tried to stop their attack on the old man (more out of pragmaticism than any particular loyalty) and they had Stunned him. Dumbledore had brought him back here, where he had - upon awakening Severus - softly asked for an explanation. Under the surprisingly calm and judgment-free eyes of the man he now looked at nearly as a father, Severus split in two and gushed his story. A few months after that, Dumbledore offered him a job as a spy. And not long after that, a job as a teacher.

Severus only allowed this little meander down Memory Lane because it gave him a method in which to defer thinking about the topics that he had been called here to discuss. But he knew that the silence would not last long.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, "I'm certain you know why you are here."

"The felicitous pleasure of my warm and witty company? Or do you have some other fatal job errand for me to run?" Severus said acerbically.

The old man sighed. "Severus--"

Severus relented and matched his sigh. "Yes, Albus, I know why I'm here."

Dumbledore sat quietly in his chair, observing the back-and-forth strides of the long, lean man young enough to be his grandchild several times over. He waited, knowing that he would choose which topic he cared to discuss first.

"The silence is making me ... jumpy," Snape said at length. "I haven't heard from Voldemort since before the Halloween gaffe, and I'm sure that can mean no good. No good at all."

Albus nodded. "I had a feeling you'd choose this first."

Severus couldn't help the rankle of his nerves; he swung abruptly to face the man. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Dumbledore spread his hands in a yielding gesture. "Merely that I felt this topic to be of the greatest sense of urgency to you. As well as your hesitance to discuss the other topic," he added quietly when Severus had calmed slightly.

Severus growled low in his throat but ignored the comment. There would be plenty of time to discuss the other topic later. "There should have been some kind of response from the Dark Lord after Halloween. Whether he blamed me or not, he does tend to vent his frustrations in a rather public and ostentatious manner when he is thwarted. The fact that he hasn't so much as crawled out of the basement dungeons of Malfoy Manner makes me ... uneasy."

Dumbledore was quiet a moment. "Have you considered the possibility that he may have done so without summoning you?"

"Naturally," Severus said hurriedly, pacing again, "but if that were the case, then it would indicate he was aware of the duality of my loyalties. And if that were the case, I wouldn't be alive to speak to you at the moment. Voldemort does not suffer fools, let alone allow them to bash about, ruining his plans. He'd have just cut me off to save himself the trouble."

Dumbledore was quiet, nodding his head in seeming agreement, but his eyes were still troubled. "Hmmm," he muttered. Seeming to come to no concrete opinion, he raised his eyes and looked once again upon Severus. "Well, we will simply have to ensure that you are made as safe as possible until such time as we hear from him again."

Severus scoffed. "I can take care of myself, Albus."

"I do not doubt it. But what about those whose lives are now hanging in the balance due to your actions?"

There was more bite in the man's voice than Severus had heard in quite a while, and he looked up at Albus in surprise before the glaze of his hardened exterior was in place again. "Potter can take care of himself as well, Albus; haven't you heard? He's practically invincible."

Dumbledore ignored the acid in Severus's voice and continued to frown at him. "I wasn't referring to Harry."

Severus grumbled. Of course, he had known that Dumbledore was not referring to the Boy-Who-Fibbed-Constantly, but had hoped that his rude and acerbic comment would distract him. Severus laughed at himself; after nearly 20 years, he still thought he could fool the man.

"I cannot protect her if you do not use common sense, Severus," Albus said. "We none of us can. You have to be more careful."

"I cannot discourage her any more than I currently strive towards," Severus bit back, his nerves up. "I cannot help her throwing herself at me."

"Forgive me for an old Muggle saying," Albus continued, "but 'it takes two to tango.' I do not recall your resistance in the hospital wing. Miss Granger is already a target of the Dark Lord due to her relationship with Harry; any activity pointing towards romance makes her even more so. I expected you to realize the danger of the game you are playing with her."

"It's not a game!" Severus snapped before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore did not speak, but raised an eyebrow and regarded him carefully. "Isn't it?" When Severus didn't respond, he continued. "Do you care for Miss Granger, Severus?"

"She is an innocent; an intelligent and vibrant young lady who does not deserve to get fried up and served to the Dark Lord on a platter. Of course I care about her," he said. Every word out of his mouth stung like hurt pride.

"I did not ask if you cared about her, Severus," Dumbledore responded patiently. "I asked if you cared for her. If you do, it changes everything."

Severus remained quiet. In truth, he hadn't the foggiest idea what he felt for the girl. She flared his anger with an aptitude of few on the planet; but she also brought light to something else in him ... a hasty stir of feelings and fire that hadn't been awake in nearly two decades.

"I don't know," Severus said.

Dumbledore nodded. "I have not seen this particular brand of behavior in you since you were barely more than an adolescent, Severus; and I'm sure I need not remind you of what happened the last time."

"That is low, Albus," Severus said with distaste, feeling as if his chest was caving in. "A decidedly below-the-belt remark and I cannot believe you made it. I spent years trying to remove my own blame for her death."

"I know, Severus, and I am sorry for that. But I do not wish to see Miss Granger arrive at the same fate." Dumbledore sighed and looked around at the portraits milling about their frames.

"Strange," the old man said after a few moments of silence. "Strange, isn't it, how history repeats itself?"

"You mean how bright, promising witches seem to have to choose between death because of a Potter and death because of me?" Severus answered, his mind burning with jumbled images of both of the round, warm faces of the witches to whom he was referring.

"How history forces bright, promising witches to choose between the two men they love and never seems to offer them any good consequences from it," Albus finished.

A tear slipped from the corner of Severus's eye. He slashed at it in horror. "There was never a question of who she loved, Albus. Then or now. Nothing can ever come of it; you and I both know that. Miss Granger will see it too, if she doesn't already. She will get over it."

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "but will you?"

Because he felt too weak, too close to allowing his knees to buckle under and sink him to the floor sobbing like a child into his mentor's lap ... because he felt too close - far too close - to allowing his mouth to reveal exactly how that inner part of him (whatever it was) felt about Miss Granger, Severus turned upon his heel swiftly and strode out of Albus's office. When he reached the end of the staircase, he kept walking until the end of the corridor. At the end of the corridor, his feet kept moving until they found another corridor. And another. And another; until he had walked out of the castle, down the green and across the far side of the lake, into the Forbidden Forest to thrash through the underbrush and plunk onto the rock where he had seen her sprawled that night. His head reeled, his breath heaved and his body shook with paroxysms of unknown origin. And he wished he had not destroyed the arrowhead that had marred her skin.