Perfection

Perfection:

Chapter 11: Gambling

Although at times it seemed to drag on forever, the days passed, almost undetected, winter melting into the mild days of spring, until Ginny was no longer counting the months until summer, but the weeks. Harry and Ron had gradually given up hope of her coming to her senses and she barely talked to them now. In fact, at times it seemed that she had become invisible. She still had the occasional conversation with Hermione, but as time wore on and the older girl became more and more involved in her project, they too began to cease. The other girls in her year had become cold and distant because of her apparent relationship with Draco Malfoy, but much to her surprise, Ginny didn't mind.

Draco was interesting and willing to listen to whatever she had to say, whether the topic was dress robes or schoolwork, and their friendship blossomed at an unexpected rate, although for the most part that was all they were. True, there had been more snogging since the night they had been found by Professor Snape and the scandalous Hogsmeade incident, but it was more because they enjoyed the reactions of whoever happened to interrupt than actual attraction.

Or so Ginny tried to convince herself.

None of the teachers attempted to intervene in the relationship, partly because they didn't want to cross the Weasley temper and the Malfoy spite and partly because, as had been commented on more than once, the change in Draco was remarkable. True, for the most part he was still unbearable and no sane Gryffindor would remain in the same room as him by choice, but he stopped deliberately seeking out victims and began keeping many of his snide remarks in check. Who would have known that the little Weasley girl could work such miracles?

What went unseen was the heaviness inside him that threatened to drag him down and made him want to stay in bed, hiding beneath the covers, the fear that kept him awake at night trembling, although he would never tell a soul, the hopelessness that was more terrifying than anything else he could dream of enduring.

Ginny was the only one around often or long enough to notice anything wrong, and asked him about it once or twice, but when his mouth tightened and he snapped at her, she stopped. They all had secrets, and she knew that sometimes it was best to keep it that way. She certainly wasn't about to mention hers, although she had considered it once or twice. At best he would pity her; at worst he would think that she was mad.

And she wasn't about to jeopardize the most important friendship of her life.

*

"Hermione, would you mind if I looked at your journal?"

Her hand froze in midair as she reached towards another ingredient.

"Can I--do you mind if I make some revisions first?" she asked, voice unnaturally high.

Each entry began with the determined purpose of discussing the potion, and only the potion, and each entry deviated more sharply from the original intention. Yes, she discussed it, but sooner or later things that she had kept bottled up inside would pour out unbidden and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't stop them.

"I don't want to read it," he assured her. "Only make sure that it has been kept up-to-date."

With a sigh of relief, she bent down and dug it out of her bag, handing it to him. He leafed to the back sheet, checked the date, then returned it before turning back to his papers.

"Severus?" she ventured after a moment.

He glanced up.

"Thanks," she told him with a small smile, which he returned.

When they had first begun to be on first name terms, Hermione wasn't completely sure. She had noticed some time in the middle of March that he was no longer calling her Miss Granger, then a few weeks later, she caught herself calling him Severus. It was only in private, of course, and he hadn't rebuked her for it, so either he didn't mind or hadn't perceived it.

She had a feeling that their late-night meetings, which were becoming more and more frequent, might have something to do with it. Sometimes, when she had worked on the potion longer than intended, he would walk her back to Gryffindor tower, always unconsciously taking the long way and being caught by Filch on more than one occasion. Other nights, they would sit in his private chambers playing card games that Hermione usually lost and drinking tea by the pot, completely unaware of how much time had passed until the sunrise shone through the window. Those times were the best, when talk penetrated the games and she learned more about him than she had ever dreamed possible.

They would exchange family stories, and Hermione began to feel grateful for the fact that her parents had managed to bear each other for as long as they had without resorting to the kind of blind venom that he had played witness to. Despite the fact that he mocked them at every opportunity, it was plain, to her, at least, that the memories still troubled him more than he would care to admit.

Eventually, the day in the coffee shop was mentioned, and they both began to assess the people she had been spending the day with.

"My childhood friends," she commented, dealing for another hand of poker. "Hard to imagine, isn't it?"

"They seemed like thoroughly pleasing company," he replied acidly.

"I know," she replied, eyes sparkling. "They left me with you. But that one girl--Jean, I think--she wasn't bad. I had never met her before." Hermione shrugged. "Probably never will again. Oh well."

She picked up her hand and scowled menacingly at her cards.

"How many should we pick up?" he asked.

She studied the cards and smiled inwardly. Almost a royal flush. Of Diamonds. All that she needed was the Jack.

Keeping her face smooth and passive, she replied, "Three."

His brow furrowed slightly. She always insisted on going entirely through the deck.

"The stakes?" he asked, more out of habit than anything. She always refused to bet.

A corner of her mouth curved upward as she thought. Chances were, nothing he had would be as good as hers, but still she was reluctant to bet anything material. Gambling, she had been taught, never paid off in the end. Finally, she decided and looked at him smugly.

"A kiss."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

She laughed at his expression. "It was in a book I read once... Well, actually, I didn't read it, my mother left it lying around and I happened to pick it up and read a few pages out of curiosity... Only the stakes were somewhat higher, but I didn't think you would like that."

"And if I win?"

"It's your choice whether or not you collect," she told him, wondering exactly why her mouth was betraying her so mercilessly.

Setting down her five of spades, she picked up the next card and her eyes widened. The jack of diamonds. Triumph filled her. She knew that, no matter what, she had won. Her feeling of victory was quickly overcome by terror. She had set the stakes--he would expect her to collect.

The only thought that crossed her mind as she revealed the straight was cursing herself for not shuffling the deck properly.

Yet at the same time, a tiny part of her was very, very glad.

He was studying her closely now, wondering if she had meant what she had said, waiting. Sucking in a lungful of air, she leaned forward and awkwardly mashed her lips against his, then drew back a few inches. Dissatisfied, she tried again, and this time it was more like what it was meant to be. This time, his mouth cooperated with hers, and their lips were easing over each other's, gently at first, then more fiercely as she felt his hands slip around her waist. Abandoning all thoughts of propriety, she rested her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer until she was on the chair with him, straddling his legs in a way that might have embarrassed her if it hadn't been for the heat that began in her stomach and spread downwards.

*

Somewhere in the mess that was his mind, a thought surfaced. What did he think he was doing? One thing tended to lead to another, and although it was extremely appealing at that moment, it would only complicate things. Because, however irritating it might be, she was his student.

Reluctantly, he released her and whispered hoarsely, "I thought that the wager was for a kiss."

She blushed and replied breathlessly, "The first one was practice."

"Ah... I see. And the second?" Had that been practice, too?

"I sincerely hope that it made up for the inadequacy of the last."

He remained silent, trying to sort out his confusion.

"If you want me to put it in plain English," she continued, "if I hadn't wanted to do it, I wouldn't have, Severus."

A part of him knew that. The same part that knew that if he had wanted to prevent it, he would have.

Face it, he told himself. You more than like her. You--

He snipped off the end of the thought, but the frazzled ends came to him, nonetheless.

Before he could open his mouth to further embarrass himself, she changed the topic. "It's getting late. I should go."

"You should," he agreed, noticing that she didn't say she wanted to. "And I will escort you."

They walked silently and unsurely to the portrait hole, neither willing to break the silence and ruin the fragile understanding that they had come to.

She said the password, and the hidden door swung open. Before disappearing inside, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, leaving in her wake one very perplexed potions master.

*

As Hermione changed, careful not to awaken the two other girls in the room, and sank into bed, she smiled to herself, drawing on the memory of the evening. Of course, it would have been better had it not been because of a bet, but it would have to do.

She sighed audibly, and Lavender muttered groggily, "Where were you?"

"Nowhere. Go to sleep," Hermione ordered.

It could be assumed that the other girl obeyed because there was no more said from her end of the room, and the silence left Hermione to her fantasies, which soon wormed their way into her dreams.

*

She was running... Running... A maze of stone corridors and flagstones surrounded her; dark and dank like the Chamber, even though this was far worse. A presence that she knew far to well was there with her, hunting her, surrounding her and she knew that sooner or later she would have to surrender or die.

And then, suddenly, she was sitting in the written part of her DADA exam, trying to name the picture of a creature that she should know and it's squinty little eyes gradually turned to slits that glowed red and there were snakes everywhere. Snakes. Not just garden snakes, but pythons and rattlesnakes and cobras, snakes that would strangle you or poison you if you moved the wrong way, and they were hissing instructions...

Ginny woke up to someone shaking her. Her throat was burning and she realised that she had been screaming. She stood up and sprinted to the nearest lavatory, brushing aside whoever it was that had woken her up, and vomited, sitting next to the toilet while she continued shaking for a long time afterwards.

*

The day of the Potions exam, Hermione let herself think smug thoughts about her classmates that would have to write it. As she pointedly ignored the whipped cream in front of her while eating the waffle dry, she savored the feeling of not having to work while they did, for once.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ron asked teasingly, flicking a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "It could be fun..."

"Which is why I must find myself declining with great regret," she replied haughtily, setting down her fork and taking a sip of juice. Something didn't quite feel right. The fragments of a strange dream which she couldn't quite remember clung to the outer edges of her mind like cobwebs, making her feel somewhat queasy.

"So what are you going to do all morning?" Harry asked, rearranging the sausage on his plate before picking on up with his hands and chewing obviously.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food before eating it?" she chastised him, feeling the sudden need to look away from the table, then added in reply, "And I'll be revising for transfiguration, anyway, so you needn't be envious."

With a hurried farewell, she stood up and left the Great Hall, her small figure losing itself in the people milling around the entrance, nervously discussing exams. Her mind had already left the entranceway and was upstairs with her notes as her feet moved automatically to Gryffindor Tower.

But, as she passed the girls toilets, she turned, almost automatically, and entered one of the stalls. She stood, staring at the toilet bowl for nearly a full minute, then stuck her fingers down her throat and forced herself to empty the contents of her stomach. As she straightened, she felt a rush of euphoria and lighter than she had in months. In her mind, she mocked all of them for thinking that there was something wrong with this. There wasn't. How could anything that made her feel so... so... free... be as horrible as they had made it out to be?

With contempt, she left the washroom and continued to walk towards the Common Room, feeling something close to tranquility.

*

Ginny fidgeted slightly as her paper was picked up, waiting for the announcement that would free them. It wasn't that the test had been difficult--that was the advantage of studying with someone who was a year ahead of you--but she wanted to escape from the atmosphere of stress that hung over the room as soon as possible.

Through the window, she could see the golden light that illuminated the world and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was already basking in the sun rather than at her desk in the freezing castle, flexing her fingers to keep them from turning blue. Finally they were turned loose and she joined the herd of students all but sprinting away from their seats, to resume the constant studying that they had been doing for the past month.

Half an hour later found her reclining under a tree, an open textbook in front of her, gazing blankly across the lake.

"Hey, Gin."

She twisted to look up at him as he dumped his bag on the ground and flopped down next to her.

"Hello."

"So how was it?" he asked, grinning. "Did my superior tutoring pay off? Or did you get Granger to help you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "If I had asked, I don't think that she would have heard me. She hasn't even mentioned what she's doing, she answers all the questions really vaguely. D'you have any idea?"

He laughed, almost harshly. "I don't think she's said more than two words to me since she attacked me in January... Reckon I deserved that."

Ginny looked at him fondly. "I'd say you did too... But I'm not complaining about her, I might actually get a half-decent potions mark this year."

He patted her head teasingly. "I never had to worry about that."

*

One hundred and twenty-seven exams done, five hundred and thirteen to go. Over one seventh done. Somehow he would manage it. At least by now it was becoming automatic. He no longer had to think while marking, his pen formed the check marks and x's on its own, so he was free to let his mind wander.

In an hour, Hermione would be coming to work on her potion, and then he could stop this monotonous activity for the more satisfying one of watching her accomplish something. There was a sort of admiration for her on his part--she would go worlds farther than he ever would and watching her in the process was almost therapeutic.

But until then, there were tests to mark and anticipation would only make the time pass more slowly.

*

The afternoon was almost blissful. Life, it seemed, couldn't be more perfect. She was back, she was alive, all was the way it was suppose to be. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and there was something glorious about the light-headedness she was experiencing that made her feel like she would never be able to eat again.

Not that that was a drawback or anything.

She had breezed through her notes, relishing how there had been no need to stop for a lunch break, and now she was relaxing in an arm chair, skimming over them once more before going down to work on her potion. When everyone else began coming back from supper, she would leave.

Soon, the unmistakably loud chatter began to filter through the portrait hole, and she closed her books, packing them away before standing to leave. But as she did so, a sudden image of Severus flashed across her eyelids, and she knew that, without a doubt, he would think that she was weak. For a moment, self-disgust filled her, before she became angry.

What did he know about it? He had never felt the sickening feeling that came after consuming food, nor had he ever experienced the repulsive sensation of forcing the terrifying substance down his throat. He couldn't understand. The anger was enough to make her move forward and give her the courage to face him, but deep down she knew that she wouldn't let him know. His good opinion of her was still one of the most important things in her life.

*

Luckily, he seemed not to notice. He had spent most of his day marking, it seemed, and the only thing he felt was relief at being freed, however briefly.

"Better you than me," she laughed when she saw the stack of papers he had to go through.

He narrowed his eyes and told her to get to work.

As she added ingredients, they carried on one of their teasing conversations, light-hearted, albeit somewhat forced on Hermione's side. But eventually, he asked the inevitable question.

"So, how was supper?"

She froze momentarily, and he caught it, as she knew he would.

"Is everything all right?" he asked with uncharacteristic concern.

"Yes," she snapped, far too quickly and keeping her eyes averted.

"You didn't go, did you?" he pressed. "And lunch?"

"What's it to you?" she replied, shrinking away from him slightly, but the anger in her eyes was far from receding.

"A good deal, as a matter of fact," he replied, barely keeping his tone normal. "I won't let you throw your life away."

"I'm not throwing it away!"

"By depriving yourself of something you need to survive?" he challenged. "It's practically suicide!"

"What do you know about it? It's not like I woke up one morning and decided, today I'm going to fuck myself up, hey, maybe I'll stop eating... Or instead just puke up everything I do eat instead! It doesn't work like that."

"Intentional or not, it's self-destruction!"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"Try me."

She froze, their shouts still echoing off of the walls, suddenly realising precisely who she was talking to. This was a man who had been to hell and was still working his way back. Maybe he did understand.

Quietly, she replied, "Okay. I will."

He swallowed hard. "Put away the Shield. You can work on it later. If you come to my rooms, I'll explain."

Had it been a less serious situation, she might have teased him or tried to relieve some of the tension, but something in his face told her not to push him, so without a fuss, she obeyed.

Once they were settled into his quarters, sitting opposite each other in the living room, he began.

*

It had been a long time since he had spoken this long without interruptions. At first, he had meant it only to show Hermione how one thing could lead to another, but soon he was pouring out things that had remained unspoken and buried under the layers of years. After a while, he began to almost enjoy telling his story and tried to make the words that told it more captivating, making his world come alive for her.

He spoke of his school days, how he had been an outcast, shunned by the world, how even his own parents seemed to reject him, too immersed in the unhappiness that an early marriage had created to have time for their only son, and how he had turned the pain in on himself. He showed her the faded scars on his arms where he used to scorch himself with the tip of his wand, as if it were some sort of retribution for being Severus Snape. He told her about why he had joined the Death Eaters in the first place--the falsely created sense of belonging, the idea that maybe it would make his father proud--and how the illusion began to fade as the life became more and more vicious and empty, and the harder he tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong the harder it became, until the night that he had watched a fellow Death Eater be tortured to death. The following day, he had come to Dumbledore, after hours of vomiting in horror, and begged to be forgiven. That was when he began to see that trust with many of them would have to be earned.

When he stopped talking, he looked up and was surprised to see the tears that were pouring down her face. Without a word, she walked around the coffee table, sat down beside him, and wrapped her arms around him.

"You're the bravest person I know," she whispered to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

He laughed somewhat dryly. "How you arrived at that conclusion, I don't know."

"You were strong enough to change, which is more than most people who were there did."

He shook his head and sighed, smiling slightly. "I suppose that I won't be able to convince you otherwise."

"No, you won't. But instead of trying to sway me, could you try and get me something to eat. Not too much, mind."

A wave of satisfaction washed over him as he sent an order to the house elves.