Perfection

"I'm the onion girl. Pull back the layers of my life, and you won't find anything at the core. Just a broken child. A hollow girl."

--Jilly Coppercorn, from Charles de Lint's The Onion Girl

Perfection

Chapter 2: Hiding

When she jogged back inside, panting and dripping with sweat, there was still enough time to wash her hair before the school would begin to stir. Bundling up her clothes, she headed out of the portrait hole to the prefect baths, humming a jazz tune quietly to herself as she made her way out of the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady squinted at her briefly in astonishment as she passed, amazed that anyone would want to be up that early, then quickly dropped off to sleep again. Elated at the emptiness of the hallways, Hermione took the stairs two at a time and did a little spin as she rounded the corner, enjoying what was likely to be her only solitude that day. Her pirouette sent her flying head-on into Professor Snape, who was clearly not amused at her antics. He scowled down at her and she continued to grin foolishly for a moment before managing to straighten her face.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," he snapped, "and I'll make it more if you don't tell me what you're doing dancing in the corridors at five thirty in the morning."

"Going to take a bath," she responded, beginning to feeling slightly irritated that he had to be present to ruin her mood.

"At five thirty?" he repeated, a touch of incredulousness overriding the usual sarcasm.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

He looked half awake and his eyes were unfocused. Evidently, he was not a morning person.

"Because I feel like it." She lifted her chin slightly, defiantly. "Does it really matter?"

"It matters because you are out of bed."

"But technically, it isn't night anymore, so I can't be out in the middle of the night," she returned, taking advantage of his partially awake state. "Really, it hasn't been night time since midnight."

He was staring at her with an expression of deep annoyance, squinting slightly as he processed her words. "I don't have time for this, Miss Granger," he snarled finally. "Get out of my way and don't run into me again!"

"Yes, sir."

*

Severus massaged his temples. All he had really heard her say was something about the middle of the night, and then possibly elephantine hippogriffs. He wasn't even sure that she had been real. Probably something his headache had invented to drive him further over the edge.

It had been another one of those nights, where sleep was all but possible and memories rolled through his mind, making him feel sick to the stomach. Twice, he had barely made it to the toilet in time before his stomach heaved and bile lurched out. He hated vomiting more than anything. Hated the way it felt in his throat, when it poured out of his nose, the taste, the putrid stench--especially the stench--and the revolting, stained color that never washed out completely.

Not to mention the throbbing headache that always followed.

"The usual, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked without looking up. He had a guilty feeling that the mediwitch slept even less than he did.

"Of course. Why else would I be here?" He tried sneering, but winced instead and the effect was lost.

"Charming as ever," she muttered to her paperwork, reaching over and passing him a bottle of the potion from the corner of her desk. "I had a feeling that you would need it sometime soon."

He swallowed it in one gulp, gasping as it burned his throat and made his eyes water.

"Gods, Poppy, can't you add sugar to it or something?"

"Need I remind you that you were the one who brewed it?"

Severus glared at her, feeling himself return to normal. "I assumed that some student who deserved it would be drinking it, not me..."

She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. "You must be feeling better. Out! I have work to do. Three more victims came in last night and I need to find out what happened to them and why--"

"If there was a reason at all," he cut in bitterly.

"I'll owl you when I find out, since you're really the only one in this place adept with potions."

"Adept?" he snarled, feigning anger. "The rest of the staff has no idea what a cauldron is, let alone how to use it. Compared to you lot, I'm a lot more than adept--I'm a bloody saviour."

Rolling her eyes, she shooed him off, privately pleased that he was at least making an attempt to behave in a manner that might be construed as normal.

*

Hermione's previous good mood had vanished. Usually baths relaxed her, gave her time to think. But right now, she didn't want time to think. Thinking was dangerous--it led her mind down paths that it shouldn't wander. Sinking into the scalding water and letting her hair flow out, she sighed deeply, imagining her thoughts as bits of dirt floating out away from her as she tried to work out the kinks in her neck that came from sleeping on the hard wooden desk.

I wish... she thought, and then stopped. What good would it do her?

She slid down further into the water, submerging her head completely and stayed under as long as she could before bursting to the surface, feeling cleansed. She crawled out of the bath and towelled herself dry, taking a moment to run her hands over her ribcage and almost non-existent breasts to make sure that nothing had changed since she had last checked.

Yanking on her robes, she prepared herself to leave but paused in front of the mirror on her way out, examining her reflection critically. As always, her nose was a little too large and the dark circles under her eyes combined with the lack of makeup made her look like a scared little girl. Overall, nothing more than average.

Before she had gone to school, her mother had had friends over every Saturday afternoon while her dad was out golfing or restoring his latest car and, more often than not, she found herself the subject of their scrutiny. Clucking, they would admire her, telling her mother repeatedly how lucky she was to have a daughter who never cried of complained, and what and angel she was... Such a pretty little girl. For days afterward, Hermione would study her reflection, much as she was now, trying to find a glimpse of the beauty that they had gushed over, but only seeing herself.

*

Agrippa Granger drummed her fingers on the kitchen table and stared numbly at the clock. Three o'clock and he still wasn't home. She didn't need three guesses to find out where he was.

She heard the car pull up into the driveway, and stayed perfectly still, bracing herself for the inevitable.

*

Hermione's first blow of the term arrived a week later in Charms when their essays were handed back. Twenty-three out of twenty-five? What had she done wrong?

She scanned the paper frantically, trying to figure it out. Two spelling mistakes.

Shit.

Well, this one wasn't going home to her parents.

Folding it in half, she shoved it into her bag and tried to forget about it, tried to ignore that painful thumping under her rib cage that was her heart. It was only one mark. Only one, and in the course of the year, it wouldn't make a difference. But she would have to work harder than ever.

Class ended, and she headed straight to the library. Lunch was trivial.

*

Silence. Again. Merlin, she was beginning to loathe silence.

"So you made the team?" Dean asked finally.

Ginny nodded.

"Starting Seeker?"

"No. Chaser--starting."

Confusion marred his features.

"And reserve Seeker," she added, "because Harry's allowed back on the team."

"Ah." The frown disappeared and Ginny settled back in the old armchair they were sharing, resting her head on his shoulder.

Idly, she wondered how this had cooled off so suddenly, without any warnings. How had he been sending her love notes every morning and winking at her from down the breakfast table as she read them--notes urging her to blow off Charms to meet him at the lake or in the abandoned room they had discovered at the end of June that had lain forgotten in the labyrinth of Hogwarts--just last week?

She was already well used to this feeling--the ending of a relationship. Boys usually only stuck around long enough to get in a couple of good shags or else they left when it became clear that they weren't getting one right off, but some stupid little part of her had hoped Dean would be different.

His thumb gently stroked her palm--a gesture more to make sure that she was still there than one of tenderness--making Ginny consider for the first time that maybe it was Dean who was different from everyone else after all and she who was the same.

*

She was poring over a paper that she was trying to write for Potions, flipping through the pages of an ancient book, when Ron stopped over on his way across the common room.

"Hi," she said, not looking up.

"What are you doing?"

"Potions essay."

"It isn't due until next week," he commented incredulously.

"Exactly."

"Here, have some brain food."

He flipped a piece of candy from Honeydukes at her, and she watched it fly through the air, landing on her parchment.

"It's okay," she replied quickly, pushing it to the side and continuing to scribble.

"No, really, I won't miss it."

She had the feeling that he was testing her, making sure she could eat or something. Besides, what was she, anorexic or something? One little bit of sugar wouldn't hurt her.

She reached out to pick it up, then froze in mid-air. One would lead to another, and before she knew it...

She didn't see the bewildered expression on Ron's face as he watched her inner struggle--everything was between her and the food sitting on the table. Before she could stop herself, she snatched it up and shoved it in her mouth, resisting the urge to spit it out. It felt strange and coarse in her throat as she swallowed, almost sickening in its sweetness.

"Are you okay, 'Mione?" Ron asked, squinting.

She nodded. "Sorry, but I have a lot to do right now..."

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before he walked away.

*

"What I do at work is none of your goddamn business!"

"If it affects this family, it is!"

For once, Steve was home early, but it made little difference as Agrippa was rapidly finding that she missed the tense silence of being alone.

"We haven't been a family for about five years now, in case you haven't noticed. I thought you were smarter than that!"

"If I were any smarter, I never would have realised what I was getting into!"

But even as she shrieked the words, Agrippa knew that she would have. No matter how much he hurt her, she still loved him.

"So go on, divorce me! I don't give a shit!"

"We have a daughter to think about," she hissed. "It isn't all about you. Believe me, if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have stayed around for half of the time we've been married."

Her hand lashed out and caught him on the cheek before she stormed away, locking herself in the washroom and stuffing a towel in the cracks in the doorway so he wouldn't hear the sobs.

No matter how hot Hell really was, chances were it wouldn't be scorching enough for him, she told herself bitterly, reaching for a Kleenex only to find that the box was already empty.

*

Catch. Dodge. Pass. Catch.

She wove through the green mass, clutching the Quaffle to her chest with her shock of red hair streaming behind her.

"Shoot, Gin!"

She wasn't sure whose voice it was, but the advice seemed good enough for her to follow. The Keeper's eyes darting frantically as she prepared to shoot, trying to judge where she was aiming. He guessed wrong and the Quaffle sailed through the far left goalpost amidst wild cheers. She looped a victory lap around the pitch, wheeling just in time to dodge a bludger and barely noticing when the cheers turned into a collective gasp.

The only part of Harry's fall that she saw was the very end, when he hit the mud.

"Right, Gillian fill in for Ginny--she'll play Seeker," Harry shouted, fighting off Madam Pomfrey, who was trying to take him away on a stretcher. "Beaters, take out anyone who gets near the net--no offence Ron--because we have to make sure they don't get a lead on us. Gin, take my broom--you've flown it enough times to know what you're doing. It'll give you an edge. Try and end the game as quickly as you can. And keep up the scoring--Burgess is weak on the left..."

Madam Pomfrey finally succeeded in getting him out of earshot, thereby ending the time out, but they could still see his mouth moving. Without a second thought, Ginny hopped onto the Firebolt, relishing the way it flew smoothly, and shot up in a blur of red to join the rest of her team.

"Ready to lose, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered and she looped around him recklessly with a laugh.

"I'm ready for anything, lard boy," she shot back, gesturing to his slicked-back hair. "What about you? Ready to get your arse whipped by a girl?"

"Didn't know you had a dominatrix side."

"You're a pig," she informed him, unable to hide a grin.

Her team--Harry especially--hated when she taunted their opponents. They had chastised her frequently last year for losing focus whenever the verbal battles began and no matter how often she explained, none of them--except maybe Fred and George--could grasp the process. It was a hunt of sorts, her way of bringing all of her energy into the game. First you toyed with one another, then, when the moment was right, you darted in for the kill.

Leaving Malfoy to stew for a bit, she rose above the play, keeping a sharp eye for the Snitch. There--over by the teachers... Never mind, only the sun on Dumbledore's glasses. Below her, Slytherin scored and she rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Ron," she muttered, glad they were still in the lead.

Gillian had the Quaffle now, giving Ginny a chance to appraise her fully for the first time since tryouts. She might shape up to be a good player, she mused, if she learned to give in to instinct. She was too hesitant, too unsure of herself, which made it easy to read what she was about to do. Slytherin intercepted one of her passes and Ginny moaned in frustration before turning her attention to finding the Snitch. If Gryffindor was going to have a chance, she would need to catch it soon.

From beneath her, Malfoy shot a smirk and she replied with a coquettish wave, pretending to preen, much to the disgust of many players. Her eye caught the Snitch, hiding by the Gryffindor goalpost, but Malfoy was much closer. It was only pure dumb luck that she had seen it first.

Looking away before he could notice the direction of her gaze, she lowered into a steep dive, praying that he would follow. A quick glance behind her showed that he did. With a grin, she continued to drop, feeling no fear as the ground grew closer and closer. Two feet before collision, she pulled up and accelerated into the direction she had last seen the Snitch. She could hear a dull thud behind her followed by cursing, but she didn't dare look now. The glint of gold was on the move, flitting its way this way and that. She urged the Firebolt forward and clasped her hand over it, grinning when Madam Hooch blew the whistle. Looking down, she could see Malfoy picking himself off of the grass below with a considerable slouch.

She plummeted, pausing at his eye level briefly, and said, "Good game. Stay on your broom next time and maybe you'll have a chance."

Glaring at her with something like hatred, he snarled and lunged. She reversed and laughed as he fell again.

"Don't take it too badly. I'm only the reserve Seeker--you won't have to worry about me next time you play us."

*

Months passed, a space of time when Hermione had never felt so distant. She had received a letter from her mother practically commanding her to come home for Christmas holidays. Christmas was a time for family, after all.

Yeah, some family we are.

She floated through the days, never feeling much, never allowing herself to concentrate on anything but school. If she was good enough, maybe some supreme being would decide to intervene in her life, make everything better, even though she had long since learned that magic didn't work that way.

But as long as she was dreaming, a knight in shining armour would be nice.

*

Severus woke up one morning after the first night of proper sleep in a while, and realized that it was almost Christmas. Well, technically, there was still a month, but it was close enough for Dumbledore to be in exceedingly high spirits, even for him.

He couldn't believe that he had completely missed Hallowe'en. He supposed that he had realized subconsciously, but he couldn't help but feel that he was being cheated out of life.

This is your life. Nothing stays long enough to be noticed.

Preferable this way, really.

At breakfast, he sipped his coffee, even more withdrawn than usual. The full moon was coming up, which meant...

He shuddered involuntarily.

"Good morning, Severus," the headmaster practically chirruped.

"Wonderful to be alive, isn't it," he replied, the sarcasm almost visible it was laid on so thickly.

"We had a frost last night. I always feel more... alive... after a frost, don't you?"

"Oh, the difference is shocking."

That would explain why his rooms had been freezing.

The older wizard studied him for a moment, his piercing blue eyes boring into Severus, who was left with the impression that the aged man could see into his very soul. Albus Dumbledore shook his head sadly as he turned away, making Severus smile grimly. Apparently his soul looked just as bleak as the rest of his life.

Lovely.

*

He was old. No one, not even himself, could deny that. Despite the fact that he was reputed to be good-natured, Albus could feel the years dragging on him. True, he delighted in the simple things life had to offer, but that was because he had learned him that you wouldn't always be able to enjoy them later. Harmony, peace, even love, were more often than not short-lived. Watching them die was more painful than a thousand Cruciatus Curses.

But to see someone who had never experienced any of it was the hardest thing of all.

*

"Miss Granger."

The voice was hard, unyielding. She snapped to attention, noticing suddenly that there was no one left in the potions class except for her and Professor Snape.

"Yes, sir?"

"Unless you so enjoy my company that you cannot bear to leave my side, you may now leave."

She stared at him for a moment, thoughts still clouded by her daydreams.

"As in, now."

She stood up quickly, coming to her senses. "Yes, sir."

She hurried out the room, stopping only once she was in a deserted corridor and leaned against the stone wall to stop herself from blacking out.

What had just happened in there? She couldn't remember any of the class, and she couldn't afford those lapses in concentration, especially after that essay mark, two months ago, now. She hadn't had any other marks like that, but she didn't want to risk it.

It was all becoming too much, this need to be perfect...

She could imagine the look on her parents' faces if she told them that. No one ever got anywhere by giving up because of a touch of laziness, they would tell her. Just because you're tired doesn't mean you stop trying.

So this would just have to be another thing she kept to herself. Besides, what imaginary Mum and Dad told her was the truth. Slacking off was the thing that would kill her.

Brushing the hair that had fallen into her face away, she squared her shoulders and straightened her tiny frame before walking away, thankful that no one had witnessed her moment of weakness.

*

The words he hurled at her stung more than the pain of a thousand beatings, she didn't think she could take it anymore. She wanted to crumple to the floor crying, but she wouldn't.

He can't win, Agrippa thought, screaming something that she barely hear back. I can't let him have this victory, or any other.

Her husband stormed away and she could hear the door slam behind him as he left the house. When she heard the car drive out, she collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and let the tears fall in a hot and silent flood.

*

The pain was blinding, it was taking over, he couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but what coursed through him, could only hear the sound of his own screams. He wouldn't betray them, though. That was the one sane thought that he held onto throughout the torture, throughout the ordeal...

And then, peace.

"Severus."

"Yes, my lord."

"I trust that you are loyal to me."

"And always will be, my lord."

"Do not lie to me again."

Severus remained kneeling, wishing that his hands would stop trembling. "I will not."

The cold, inhuman voice sent shudders down him, and he had to fight to keep his hands from trembling.

"You may join in the revel."

"Thank you, my lord."

The shadow swept away, leaving the pale and shaking man crouched on the flagstones.

You chose this life, a tiny voice reminded him.

Don't I know it.

But the thought was unnecessary--the sick feeling that was rising in his stomach was enough to remind him.

*

When Ginny finally found him, he was lying on his bed in the dormitory staring numbly at his packed luggage. He raised a hand in greeting without looking over and she flopped down next to him. They lay in silence for a while, but it wasn't the awkward silence that had filled the space between them for the last few weeks. It was an accepting silence, the silence of realisation.

"I came to say goodbye," she murmured, wishing that there was some way to avoid the words.

He nodded. "I know."

"Goodbye for good," she clarified, and he nodded again. "It's not that I don't like you or anything. You're a great guy, really. I'm just not ready for you yet."

He pushed a strand of hair out of her face and smiled distantly. "I'm glad you realised that."

She tried to reply, but only seemed to be able to choke on the tears that she didn't want to release, taking comfort in the fact that it could only go up from here.

*

"Merry Christmas, Hermione! Have a good time!" Harry called after her.

Likely, very likely.

"You too! 'Bye!"

She hurried out of the school, not wanting anyone to read the expression on her face, not wanting them to know. On the train, she sat in her own compartment, hugging her knees to her chest, and refusing the lady with the food trolley harshly when she stopped by.

Please, please, please...

Her thoughts matched the rhythm of the train as it chugged its way to London. To London and everything she had tried to forget.

*

"Severus."

He whirled around, wand ready to attack. The headmaster gently pried it out of fingers that had gone white with clenching it.

"I--"

"I understand, Severus."

He tried not to flinch under Albus Dumbledore's assessing gaze.

"But there is a matter of some importance that I would like to speak with you about."

"So talk to me about it."

"Come into my office," the older man suggested in a tone that told Severus he wasn't about to like this "matter of importance" at all.

*

Once again, her father wasn't at King's Cross when Hermione pushed through the barrier. Her mother was, though, and if her face was any more pinched, Hermione thought that it would turn into a raisin.

"Mum!" she called, pasting a smile on her face.

"Darling!" The raisin look was replaced by a look of happiness even more false than Hermione's.

Agrippa rushed over to her daughter and gave her a showy hug, no longer having to bend over because her daughter was only a few inches shorter now, kissing her on the cheek.

"I missed you so much."

"Yeah." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her mother's embrace. Pulling away, she asked, "Where's Dad?" and instantly regretted the question.

Her mother stiffened, regaining the raisin look, and replied in a cold voice, "He had to work. He'll be home for supper."

There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation.

"So..." Hermione began. "What's for dinner?"

She only half listened as Agrippa rattled off the ingredients of a casserole, praying that she could come up with some excuse not to eat it. As they reached the car, she suddenly changed topic.

"I thought I told you not to wear so much make-up. If anything, you're wearing more." "Did you?" Hermione replied vaguely, really not able to recall.

"You know that your father doesn't like it."

Why does everything lead back to him?

"Oh, well that's his problem, isn't it?"

"I don't like your attitude!"

All traces of motherly affection were gone now, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that the past few months hadn't been easy on her mother. There were new lines around her mouth and eyes that hadn't been there during the summer. The sleek chestnut hair had no more grey in it than it had in August, but Hermione knew that her mother dyed it, so that meant nothing.

*

Severus apparated into the street in front of the hotel, trying to mask his annoyance. He hated it when other people decided what was best for him, and a holiday away from the magical world did not sound appealing at all. He hated London. There was no space to think, what with too many people crammed into too little space, all jostling and pushing and not realizing that there was anything but their own empty lives.

But he hadn't exactly been given a choice. The reservation had been made, and now he was walking up the front steps, looking forward to what would probably be the worst vacation of his life.

Some impertinent kid tried to take his bags, but backed off at the glare he received. This was not his idea of a break.

*

Well, her father was home, and Hermione found herself wishing that he wasn't. She understood her mother's coldness toward him now. The screaming downstairs was even worse than it had been over the summer on those rare occasions when he had opted to make an appearance.

Rolling over, she turned up her music to full blast in hopes of drowning it out.