Truth or Dare

Chapter 3: Paranoia

Potions was hell to get through. Every time she would pass Snape in halls, she would hunch her shoulders more than usual and pretend to be intensely interested in something the other way. She doubted whether Snape even noticed her.

But Draco and Pansy began to whisper in her ear in and between classes, goading her, dropping suggestive hints.

"Snape's peakier than usual today. Why don't you give him his medicine?"

"Is it good for you, too?"

"What have you done for your professor today?"

"It's about time Mudbloods were put to their proper use."

"Oh, come on, you volunteer everything else."

Even Snape was making things unintentionally harder for her. Due to the overall success of the Love Potions, he made the brew them again, then again, to make sure it was branded in their memories. Seamus was watched more closely than Neville, and on the third brewing, not even Crabbe or Goyle could go wrong. On the second brewing, Seamus made his same mistake, but purposefully did not look at anyone and called for Professor Snape's assistance. And, despite Professor Snape's professed Gryffindor hatred, Snape responded immediately. The volatility of the results put even Snape on high alert. This time Seamus had a cloak thrown over his face and was thrown into the office again.

Hermione cowered to the side until class was over, mercifully finished with her own. If Snape ever observed her twitchiness, he did not bother to acknowledge it.

After brewing, he gave them lectures over it, one theory after another, gave them homework, essay after essay. No matter what, she could not escape the idea of making love. She could not forget Snape or what she had to do. Symptoms of ignoring her Dare began to make themselves known; they were subtle, of course. She was not neglecting the Dare yet, but it made some nice little reminders. Once, in the middle of Transfiguration, she made to leave the classroom, feeling dreadfully sick to her stomach, the muscles in her abdomen cramping against the organ, reminding her deeply of a specific case of the flu with which she had wrestled when she was ten years of age.

"Miss Granger, do you need something?" Professor McGonagall remarked sharply.

"May I please be excused, Professor," Hermione said weakly, clutching her stomach. "I'm going to be sick."

"Now, really, Miss Granger!" McGonagall exclaimed, very ruffled, "don't think I haven't seen those Skiving Snackboxes! But I never thought it of you, of all people. I'm extremely disappointed in you. Now, five points from Gryffindor. Sit down, take the other end of the pill, and I'll continue my lesson."

Hermione resumed her seat, now a sickly shade of green tinged with a flush of embarrassment of what was accused of her.

About ten minutes later, Hermione rose her hand in the middle of Professor McGonagall's discussion on sentient to sentient transfiguration.

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said coolly.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then vomited her breakfast in a trail down the aisle. McGonagall had to lift her skirts to avoid getting splattered.

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized weakly after a quick Evanesco. Then she sat down again, burying her head in her notes, utterly miserable.

McGonagall was surprised and bewildered by Hermione's behavior, but with another glance at Hermione, she finished her lesson.

McGonagall's was not the only disrupted class. Her Charms days were just as difficult. Flitwick was more understanding than Hermione's Head of House and allowed her to leave class at regular times: 3:00 pm on Wednesdays and 10:00 am on Fridays. He did not ask questions, but he could not ignore Hermione's grimaces of pain, faint, but evident to Flitwick's deceptively sharp perception.

Even Hagrid noticed the change. He inquired about Hermione's health almost every Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione dismissed her symptoms by saying she kept eating something that disagreed with her, but after the thirteenth time to use the excuse, it began to wear thin.

The only class in which her symptoms seemingly had no audience was, predictably, Potions. Part of this was due to the fact that Draco was experiencing similar pangs. His came in the form of headaches rather than nausea, and while Hermione's symptoms were more noticeable--she vomited consistently at the end of Potions into the washbasin, soothing her stomach with the glacial water that spouted from the gargoyle's mouth--but Draco moaned dramatically in conveniently louder whispers how much his head hurt, and oh, he just couldn't concentrate. Harry and Ron shared equally disgusted looks whenever Draco did this, then looked guiltily at Hermione.

It had been a while since she had spent time with them. They had been avoiding her as much as she was avoiding them, but lately, they had initiated a certain desire to reconcile with their old friend.

At the Gryffindor table, a few weeks before Christmas holidays, Hermione remained in her customary seat across from Harry and Ron, blocking them from view as she usually did by standing a large book on end as a visual barrier. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until a head topped with carrot-red hair popped over the book.

"Look, 'Mione, I know you're made at us--heck, we're mad at us--but, well, this won't help anything."

Hermione slouched further in her seat.

"We're sorry we made you come," Ron said desperately. "Don't let this be like third year. We missed you then and we miss you now. Please, 'Mione. We're sorry."

Hermione spared Ron one glance, then barked a mirthless laugh. "You think that spending time with you two again will help me find a way to avoid this?" She was careful not to reveal too much. Parvati's and Lavender's conversation had ceased and they watched the conflict keenly. "I tried to tell you. I told you that you could ignore him and walk away. Your... trials are over, but mine are just going to keep coming and coming, even after the event."

"But, Hermione," Harry said quietly, "do you really want to go through it alone? And what if we can find a loophole?"

"No, Harry, he was quite clear on the point. And if I recall correctly, I was not alone that night. You two have obviously gotten me into enough trouble." Hermione's mouth was set.

"We've been through trouble before. We've fought Death Eaters, for Pete's sake." Ron appropriated the book, put it on his seat, and sat on it. "Now we're not going to leave you alone until you give us a good reason."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Then she abruptly stood up, her bushy hair bouncing irritably.

Harry got up with her and followed her progress to the Great Hall doors on the other side of the table. When they reached the other end, Harry grabbed her arm. Hermione jerked away like he had cursed her.

"Hermione, stop being unreasonable. You once accused me of being unreasonable, but you're worse than I ever was." Harry was slightly chagrined from touching her, but Hermione's stubbornness was difficult to endure, even for him.

"I'll be unreasonable if I bloody well feel like it!" Hermione shouted. "I think I'm entitled to be bloody unreasonable, considering the circumstances." She pushed open the great doors.

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded.

"Where do you think?" Hermione said. "The library. To do Professor Snape's Love Potion essay!"

Then she slammed the door--no small feat for someone her size--almost directly in Harry's face, barely missing his nose.

Hermione stalked down the corridor, fury blinding her view. How dare they accuse her of unreasonableness when they had for years been just as or more unreasonable than she! Beginning from their first year: their first encounter with Fluffy; the flying car; their big quarrel in third year that had resulted the deepest depression she had ever encountered; Divination; then the fight between Harry and Ron and having to split her diplomatic time with them; Ron's prejudices and Harry's short temper; their immaturity; Harry's hormones going hyper in fifth year.... The list went on and on. Years of being the peacemaker and voice of reason... about time to turn the tables.

Hermione stormed on through the halls, glaring at the noisy portraits.

Then again, there were those times where they had surpassed themselves in heroic gestures. These far outnumbered their bad characteristics and made Hermione slow in pleasant remembrance. She recalled all the times Ron sacrificed himself for her sake and all the times Harry set his own personal life aside to save the whole world. She thought of the way their eyes used to light up when she came into a room, the way their faces relaxed when she agreed to correct their homework--this brought a smile to her lips.

Maybe they do have some usefulness after all, she thought sheepishly. It would certainly be easier with their support.

She turned to return to the Great Hall in order to apologize to her friends and collided with a large, black-clothed someone. This someone was considerably heavier than she, and as they overbalanced, he fell on top of her. His hands flew to the sides to break the fall, but Hermione toppled backwards, unable to cushion herself on the hard floor, and she cried out as her tailbone, then her head, was bruised against the stone.

She shut her eyes tight to dam the flood of pain-induced tears. The back of her head sent out fluid tendrils of laced fire down her spine and to her eyes. As the person on top of her fell with his full weight, the breath was stolen from her lungs, and she gasped vainly for air, red dots suffusing the cool darkness of her eyelids.

The person's hands and legs fumbled for a firm planting, and his hands accidentally brushed her breasts. The contact did not seem to faze the man, but Hermione's eyes flew open, her lungs expanding with their first breath.

She beheld the unlovely, sallow face of her Potions professor. A stifled scream escaped her mouth.

Snape did not seem to care about her reaction. Rather, he calmly found his footing and stood. Hermione sat up as best she could.

"Why were you following me?" Hermione rasped in horror, crossing her arms over her breasts.

Snape was occupied with putting his attire in proper order and did not see the smart flush on her cheeks.

"Silly girl," Snape sneered derisively, brushing dirt from his sleeve. "I was doing nothing of the kind. Next time, watch where you are going. Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention."

"I wasn't watching where I was going?" Hermione squawked indignantly, tucking her knees up as far as possible with her bruised tailbone.

"Another five points for talking back," Snape said easily, not even looking at Hermione as he left.
Hermione stayed in her position for a few minutes, attempting to draw her mind from the memory of Snape's hands grazing her breasts.

Then, gingerly, she stood and went to the hospital wing.