Unlikely Connections

Chapter Twenty-Six - The Mazourka

"Mazourka - The Mazurka is said to be a interpreted dance, meaning that the basic steps are taught, but it is up to the dancer to interpret it as they see fit. ... "The real dancer of the mazurka not only varies his steps, but more frequently invents them, creating new ones that belong only to himself..." The "Melancholy" Mazourka is said to be the most beautiful dance of all time when executed correctly and was hailed as the "Queen of Social Dances." It seems to express sentiments of sweetness and tenderness. It is full of elegance--of an indolent elegance; it is not a vulgar dance; its slowness has something aristocratic about it, even a little haughtiness. The waltz has more passion, but there is grace also in the undulating and gliding Mazurka." from Street Swing's Dance History Archives

She could feel their eyes on her; everywhere on her. She walked down the hall, nose buried in a book just to regain some semblance of normality. Everything in Hogwarts seemed to have settled back to as easy a time as there was to be had since Voldemort's reemergence and the beginning of the war, but Hermione could feel the eyes upon her as if the heat in their gaze - their questions - was tangible.

The story would have spread like wildfire even if matters hadn't been helped along. Within hours of her dinner with the Weasleys, she could hear mutterings and whispered assurances that truth lurked within the rumors surrounding the Halloween Ball. Harry had taken to shadowing her step even more fervently than before, as it seemed - to Hermione's great consternation - that he feared her going to pieces at every possible provocation. Though, if she had to examine the evidence fairly, there certainly seemed to be reason for him to think so. There had been some time since her last hysterical fit of crying (though they did still come), but she couldn't seem to hold onto her composure when anyone but Harry touched her. Even, at times, touching Ginny felt far too foreign and dangerous. Hermione knew it to be silly, but the danger crept into her throat so real that she could barely swallow some days. Sometimes she could barely even stand to look at Severus.

The issues piling up in her mind and heart seemed to be stifling her slowly. Each stare magnified all her insecurities. At times, it seemed her life might not go on at all; she would be doomed to roam the halls of her beloved school forever, haunted by the unseen eyes.

Classes, for Hermione, had become little better than during her period of self-enforced silence. While she did choose to return to answering questions in class, she answered now only when called on. She could almost hear Severus's chastisements about being a Know-It-All every time she opened her mouth, so much so that many times she would close it again without answering. Harry had taken to having her recite whispered answers to him, which he would dictate to the teachers, who could do nothing but nod sadly and watch her. The students weren't the only ones with questioning eyes.

Since the evening of her dinner with the Weasleys, Ron had become one miniscule step away from bullied out of Hogwarts. The appearance of Dumbledore and McGonagall in Gryffindor Tower that evening - a rare enough occurrence separately, especially in regards to Dumbledore, but certainly unheard of together - had caused a nearly visual ripple of buzzing chatter to thread through common room and dormitory alike; when the Headmaster and his deputy were seen to be casting wards of surprising strength and specificity against Hermione's door and hanging a new portrait a few meters down the corridor from the Fat Lady, rumors roared to fever pitch. Hermione had stayed in her room for nearly two days afterwards, except to attend class. The eyes of Gryffindors had never quite caught her coming and going from her room in those days, though, and common knowledge had it that Dumbledore had taught her how to walk through solid walls for her own protection.

This left little doubt in the minds of any student, no matter what House, that the falling out between Granger and Weasley was true, and that somehow, things had come to blows. The stony silence from Harry and Hermione had left people confused but interested, however, the final nail in Ron's casket surfaced when his own sister had utilized her privilege as Prefect to deduct 100 points from her own brother, at the expense of her own house, and set Bat Bogey Hexes on anyone who ventured the courage to inquire as to why she had done so. Doubt was removed from all students; Ron Weasley had somehow taken advantage of Hermione, and at their age, no student was without a strong suspicion.

So Hermione kept to herself in those days whittling down to the winter holidays. She caught teachers and students alike staring at her often, but if she had ever even thought to acknowledge them - which she hadn't; it would draw only more unfavorable attention - the thought would have been removed quickly by the frosty glare favored to the inquirer by her ever-present watchdog, Harry. He had become silent these days as well. Harry had taken to venturing to the library with her quite often, pouring over numerous tomes from the Restricted Section, dusty great things that looked as if they hadn't been touched in centuries, and straining his eyes until she was sure they would bleed from the low light. In many cases, he would growl to himself while reading, muttering almost unintelligible phrases such as "--protected me then ... stands to reason, doesn't it? Maybe it could--" only to fall silent before Hermione could make out what he was referring to inside his own head. And it was often only her hand at his arm or shoulder that would rouse him from his reverie at the end of the night when the library was closing. He had become a harder shell, these days; dedicated and passionate, as she had always seen, but his manner was granite.

He always softened for Hermione. His only warmth, these days, surfaced for Hermione: a delicate hand at the small of her back working her path through a crowd of staring whisperers, a warmer smile after a near avoidance of breakdown in a class or at a meal in the Great Hall. Harry's eyes were velvet when he looked at her, and for him only, she found herself venturing genuine smiles. Harry stood, as stone, and allowed her to break upon him, rough water, eroding away the tougher shell if only for a moment. And she broke upon him, and was staid.

*****

It was going to be a good day, Hermione was sure of it. It was encouraging, too, as Hermione had not had what she could rightly call a good day for over a month now. Since before the "thing" on Halloween. She could not rightly name it yet, even in her own head. The closest she could come was "attack," and even that seemed to slather filth across her tongue in the saying of it. But today, she felt different. Her window was poked open just the tiniest bit, the smell of late autumn flooding her room, even if there was a miniscule bite to it that spoke of winter coming hard on the heels of today's unseasonably mild weather. She could feel whatever stirred in the wind today stirring her blood, and she was warmed by that feeling, whatever it was.

Heading out of her room was easy today, as she quickly spoke the complex wards on her door; so easy, in fact, that she decided to journey through the door in the common room, using the Fat Lady's portrait hole just like everyone else. It had been at least a week since Hermione last felt up to being seen by her classmates of a morning instead of slinking off through the portrait Dumbledore had installed as an easy exit to her room that circumvented any contact with her classmates. Her monthly had passed a few days ago, the bruises from the attack faded nearly into nothingness now, and she had not had a "lapse" (as Harry so tactfully called the sudden hysterics she had melted into every now and then when someone touched her unexpectedly) in two days. She was feeling so well today that she even smiled at Parvati in the common room before allowing Harry to walk her to breakfast. A good day indeed.

She struggled through her first lesson, forcing herself to answer questions in Transfiguration without Harry as a proxy, but felt better for it in the long run. She had quivered in nervousness for a few minutes afterward, but Harry's hand on the small of her back in the halls and her free time slot spent relaxing in the library had done the job of calming her. Everyone was whispering at her transformation today, and Hermione greeted it all with a somewhat drawn but calm smile.

Even Severus had seemed pleasantly stunned at her sudden animation in Potions that day. He had even insulted her openly in front of the class. With a smirk, Hermione realized it was the most gratifying "Welcome back!" she'd received yet. Despite a slight and unfortunate quake at the nearness of Ron at her table - Snape had firmly insisted on placing him there, much to her horror - she seemed to be doing well even in close quarters and with marked scrutiny from the rest of the class. Harry murmured words of encouragement to her throughout the class and even chuckled roundly when she began correcting his form of stirring.

"Nice to see you so chipper and back to yourself, M'inee," Harry whispered under a heavy glare from Snape, who'd taken to fixing his hawk-like gaze at their table. When she smiled back at him, his face hardened a bit and his eyes were flooded with a sort of quiet determination. "Maybe you'll feel up to taking a walk around the grounds with me later? There's something I'd like to speak to you about."

An amused grin painted her face as she watched Harry blush under her eye. But as he was now avoiding looking at her and blushing profusely, she decided not to needle him; something had him quite flustered. "I'd love to take a walk later. Maybe out to Hagrid's hut, eh? I haven't seen him in quite a few weeks; he must think me positively rude."

Harry smiled and went back to his stirring. Another blush sprang up on his face when Hermione laid a hand atop his, gentling guiding him in a better pattern of motion for that particular potion. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to out with whatever was making him so flighty when she gained an unsettling view around Harry's profile. Ron had obviously been staring at her, his face pained, for quite some time. She hadn't felt the heat of his gaze until just then, but he leaned forward and back, trying to meet her eyes despite her swift efforts to the contrary.

"Be right back," Harry muttered and patted her hand as he moved towards the store cupboard for a shared ingredient that she had finished.

Ron took this opportunity as a God-send and stepped in towards her. The wonderful feeling that had buoyed her all day was sliding so quickly from her hands that she could feel it rushing away with the blood draining from her face. Her heart was racing as he slowly reached a hand over towards her. Panic set in. Her blood was pounding; her brain screaming. Get away! Run! Scratch! Bite! Anything! Her feet seemed rooted to the floor; her fingernails were scratching trails across the table top, ripping small shards from her textbook. Her voice only came out in a petrified squeak.

"Could I--?" was all he managed to get out. Ron's hand closed around one of the wooden stir spoons laid out between them, but her mind was shrieking, unaware of any intent of Ron's except to close the distance between them. When his fingers brushed her wrist, Ron gaped down at her in horror; only then did she realize that her mind was not producing the only screaming.

Her voice had fallen to incoherent screeches as Harry dashed back from the store cupboard. Hermione had fallen from her stool in a mad dash to escape what her heart insisted was an attack, and she crab-walked backwards on her hands and rear end, curling frantically into a ball underneath the work table of the Hufflepuffs adjacent to her. The room exploded into cacophony.

She was aware of little except that she was still hollering for all she was worth, huddled and crying for Harry, gripping the leg of the table as if her knuckles might crack under the strain. Hannah Abbott rushed from her station at the far side of the table and scrambled down to throw arms around Hermione, shushing as soothingly as she could while Hermione fought mindlessly for freedom. Harry stalked over to Ron and loudly demanded an explanation. Before any words could leave the redhead's throat, Harry had cocked back a fist and let it fly, staggering Ron back into the nearest table before he could recover from the shock of the blow. As Ron reddened in anger and dove at Harry to retaliate, Hermione was reduced again to wordless sobs. She buried her head in Hannah's robes to wipe the scene from her eyes.

Silence settled in strange waves over the room as Severus glided from his desk where he'd been watching the entire scene with a disgusted and disdainful eye. When the situation had degraded to fisticuffs, Severus had sighed and realized an intervention was necessary. Wordlessly, he flicked his wand at the two quarreling boys, who were hoisted, still struggling, into the air and separated. His eyes blazed fury, but his manner was cold. His wand still pointed at the dangling pair, he bent, seized Hermione around her upper arm with a grip like a vice, and hauled her to her feet, seemingly unaware or unconcerned by her wordless howling.

"An explanation, this instant," he demanded of her.

She could barely force her mouth around words. His iron grip still banded around her bicep, Severus shook her until she nearly swallowed her tongue. "Now, Miss Granger!"

She pointed a shaking finger towards Ron and muttered, "Touched me." Her heart still thundered within her chest.

"Touched you? He touched you?" Severus said incredulously. "My classroom reduced to insanity and fighting, precious equipment shattered and all because he touched you?! Courage of Gryffindor House, indeed. You are all spineless!"

Hermione thought she had swallowed her tongue just then. She barely believed she recognized the man who stared back at her from under those cold, ruthless black pools. Not two days ago, his lips had lain against hers, humming with something warm and softer than he had ever shown her, and now there was this. A wall that had started with the day he had not opened his door to her. She sobbed in horror.

Harry's reaction, as well as Ron's, was not quite so favorable. Both boys began shouting in an indistinguishable mutter of curse words and insults, Ron's a furious stream of complaints as to his House bias, Harry's a roiling tirade against his insensitivity to Hermione. Snape merely glared between the pair still suspended a few feet off the ground, struggling against their invisible bonds, and Hermione's still-shaking form locked in his grip. The remaining students of the class visibly took a step away from Snape when his cold glare swept the room at large.

"Get out," he said, chilly. "Class is dismissed, get out this instant!"

As the students hurried to pack up and heed the obviously irate-- and, more than likely, vindictive-- Potions Master, Snape flicked his wand again and Harry and Ron both dropped to a heap on the floor with a sudden crash. Snape flung Hermione away from him as he crossed the distance between his position and the pair of boys rising from the floor. Snape's eyes swept the room quickly to check for any straggles before walking straight past Harry to thrust a long-fingered hand to Ron's throat, slamming him against the nearest wall and, despite Ron's equal match in height, hoisting him several inches off the floor. Ron sputtered against the chokehold that Snape used to lift him but couldn't form words. From the manner in which Snape's fingernails dug into Ron's throat and his icy gaze, the lack of speech was most certainly in Ron's favor at the moment.

"You will not disrupt my classroom again," Snape said.

Ron tried to rebut, clawing uselessly at Snape's grip and kicking his feet, but the Potion Master's grip clenched still tighter, causing only a wheezing cough to lose his throat.

"You will not disrupt my classroom again," Snape repeated slowly. "Furthermore, you will not be the cause of such havoc upon another student or I will make certain that whatever hour that it occurs will be your last at Hogwarts."

Ron kicked and gasped, seemingly unaware that Snape was even speaking. Hermione began to shake and look to Harry for his reaction; Ron was starting to turn slightly blue at the lips and Hermione could already see welts rising upon his throat where Snape's fingernails bit half-moons into his skin. Snape let Ron tumble to the floor, removing his hand so swiftly that it barely ruffled his robes as his arm returned to his side. Hermione began to sob quietly.

Severus bent over Ron as he lay on the cold stone floor, huddled, gasping for breath and rubbing at his throat. "And," Snape said so quietly that his whisper never reached the other two people in the room, "if you ever so much as consider speaking to her again without her permission, I will fully enjoy dismembering you with my bare hands." Snape straightened and began to walk to where Harry had moved to comfort Hermione. "You will wait, Mr. Weasley, while I speak to Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, after which I will deliver the three of you to your Head of House to await her judgment on punishment."

Harry's glare was heated as he looked back up from Hermione's profile, and for a moment, Severus saw in his eyes the wizard that would defeat the Dark Lord. A fleeting glance, true, but for barely a second, Severus saw the power there and knew just a twinge of fear. He sneered down at the boy.

"You, Mr. Potter, have an increasingly obnoxious talent for incurring my wrath and I will certainly not have it anymore. Whether or not I have to extract it out of you with my bare hands, I will have the respect due to me, and I will not tolerate any more of this nonsense that you have the nerve to think that you are entitled to dole out. You are hereby suspended from my Advanced Potions class until further notice. If Professor McGonagall has anything further to add, we will assign other punishment accordingly." As if the idea had been an afterthought, Snape turned back to Ron. "Weasley, you are expelled from my class permanently. I will have peace in this classroom. And you," Snape said, advancing on Hermione, "will learn to conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to the Head Girl and as a respectful student of Potions. Regardless of your unfortunate personal situations," even Hermione's mouth worked in rage at that blatant understatement, "you will learn some self-control before you leave this school. I have tired thoroughly of the ridiculous spectacle you insist upon making yourself at every possible opportunity! You will not do so in my class any more, no matter the excuse! Do you all understand this?"

Snape's voice was no louder at the end of his little speech than at the beginning, but for all the strength Hermione had in her at the end, he could have been shouting. She stared back at him, wordless and baffled by the lack of any kind of feeling in his eyes. She barely heard or saw anything as Harry took her arm and steered her through the door towards McGonagall's office, Snape looming large behind them as the three Gryffindors walked towards their punishment. Hermione had retreated into her head, wondering where the man had gone who had told her so recently in the past admitted that he had desired her kiss. His heart seemed to have cooled as soon as the heat of her kiss had left his lips.