A Capacity for Love

AN: First of all, my great appreciation to everyone who reviewed and PM'd me, letting me know how much you liked this story despite its dark theme. I hope I do it, and you, justice.

Some dialogue in this chapter is copied directly from HBP, Chapter Fifteen, 'The Unbreakable Vow'.

Chapter 14

Slughorn's Christmas Party

"--wasn't actually surprised when the ol' Slug told me you were still looking for someone to go with tonight. I mean, look at what you had to choose from: Potter -- big-headed sod. Can't figure what McGonagall was thinking, naming him Captain, 'specially after he were banned for life!" McLaggen's heavy brow came down even further, practically obscuring his eyes. "The whole lot of them need to be cleared out, bloody pansies. Don't think a one of 'em's got a competitive bone in their body. That's why they shut me out, you know. Couldn't handle the competition. Thought I'd make them look bad -- well, anyone would, of course," he added matter-of-factly, "'s not entirely their fault. It's a simple fact that I've got the moves--"

Hermione gritted her teeth and stalked along the corridor beside her 'date' for the evening. Aside from a grunted "Ya look all right" when she met up with him in the Gryffindor common room, he didn't let up talking about his prowess at Quidditch, or how glad she should be that he hadn't found any girl up to standard for attending the Christmas party with him, not neglecting to mention the only reason he was going with her was as a personal favour to Slughorn.

Hogwarts' halls were nearly empty, most students spending their last evening before the winter holiday in their common rooms or dorms, partying with their friends. On the one hand, Hermione was glad for the excuse not to be in Gryffindor tower tonight; Ron already had his tongue halfway down Lavender's throat in full view of everyone on her way out. Hermione was sure he'd positioned himself so she couldn't miss them when she left with McLaggen.

The downside of her means of escape was, she was now saddled with this caveman for the evening. He tried to put his arm around her once, but she shrugged him off with a disgusted grimace and kept up a brisk pace on the way to Professor Slughorn's office.

It wouldn't have been strictly necessary for her to have an escort for the party; she could have gone alone. But she needed to assert herself; maybe even to reassure herself she could be attractive to a boy--and Cormac McLaggen did, by dint of anatomy, belong to that category, even if she herself did not find him attractive in the least. She needed to prove that he, what he did to her, would not stop her from leading a normal life. It had ruined everything between her and Ron, and she certainly wasn't looking for any sort of romantic relationship (the thought of it made her dizzy with panic), but it was the appearance of normalcy that counted. She had to appear to be engaged in her classes, including Defense; she had to appear to care about how she looked; she had to appear to be worried about nothing more than her grades.

Oonagh had managed to do so from the beginning. True, she was more combative, short-tempered, and angry than before, but that was easily chalked up by anyone who might give it a second thought to her worries about her N.E.W.T.s. No one gave her strange looks or whispered about her. Hermione wanted to be like that. She wanted everything to be normal again, where the only remarks made about her concerned her status as a Muggleborn, her unmanageable hair, and her overzealous attitude toward her studies. Those were things she could deal with. Snape's wand, Malfoy's curled lip, and rumours of her romantic involvements were, at the moment, not. But the reality was, those were the things she was confronted with daily.

When they arrived before Professor Slughorn's office, Hermione was about to knock, but McLaggen reached out and beat her to it. He looked down at her with what may have been supposed to be a chivalrous smile, but to Hermione it came off as nothing more than a condescending smirk. She stared straight ahead at the plain wooden door, readying herself for what was sure to be one of the most unpleasant evenings of the term, post-Halloween, and was taken fully by surprise when she felt Cormac grab her elbow and pull her next to him. She tried to pull away, but he only held on to her all the more firmly.

"Let go!" she cried, pushing at him.

"You're mine for the evening, so get over it already," he retorted roughly. "You'd think you'd be a little more grateful, Granger. It's not like anyone else'd have you!"

Hermione would have turned heel right then and there, had the door not been yanked open by a red-nosed and effluvient Slughorn.

"There you are, my two Gryffindors!" he boomed. "Knew you wouldn't miss it. Come in, come in..." His pudgy, liver-spotted hand grabbed McLaggen's arm and drew the couple into the hazy din. "Madam Depplethwaite's all in a tizzy over you, young man," he babbled, leading them through the crowd. "Hortense Depplethwaite, her second husband was Bertie Higgs, I'm sure your Uncle Tiberius mentioned him--"

Hermione let herself be pulled along, trying not to bump into anyone. She had to pull her chest in to avoid it dragging against the back of a tall, pale wizard standing next to a small man with glasses. The man's gaze seemed to bore into her, and she had to look away. Harry-- Where was Harry? He was supposed to be here, too. She tried to look around, but the sea of robes was too thick, and she was too short to take in more than her immediate neighbors. If only she could get away from McLaggen, try to get near Harry. Then she would feel at least a little bit safer. This had been a mistake, coming to the party. She wasn't ready. She was already feeling a panicky dizziness coming over her, and her stomach was turning.

Slughorn deposited the pair of them in the company of a very tall, elderly witch in a purple brocade robe and her shorter companion, an even more elderly witch with a hunched back. The hunchback peered at McLaggen and Hermione with watery eyes.

"Is that Byron?" she inquired in a reedy, yet surprisingly strong voice. "Come here, boy, I can't smell you properly!"

McLaggen looked slightly revolted and pulled a face. "Not Byron!" he bellowed, apparently on the assumption that the crone's hearing was as bad as her sense of smell. "McLaggen! Cormac McLaggen!"

The short witch sniffed at the air, then wrinkled her nose. "Smells like Quidditch," she grunted.

"Excuse me," Hermione said quickly, extricating her arm from McLaggen's, "but I need to get a drink. It was nice to meet you," she tossed out toward the witches, and slipped away before anyone could protest.

She made for the nearest wall and slunk along it until she reached the bar, where she requested an egg nog. Clutching the mug with both hands, she wandered through the crowd, looking for a private spot where she could sit and gather her thoughts. She saw Melinda Bobbin, the daughter of the apothecary magnate, tossing her head back and laughing at something with a clutch of witches who looked equally moneyed. And there was Blaise Zabini, the utter prat, hanging on the edge of a group of older wizards. She quickly ducked into an archway to make sure he didn't see her. He'd given her enough funny looks in their common classes that she felt certain he knew what had happened to her.

It dawned on her that he might have been there as well that night. She'd never really thought of him as Death Eater material -- not like Draco -- but then what did she know? If even a Hogwarts professor was a Death Eater, then anyone could be. She remembered the drink in her hands and looked down at the creamy, yellowish liquid, speckled with brown. She felt sick. She was looking around for someplace to dump it, when all of a sudden someone was standing in front of her, someone big, and too close: McLaggen.

"There you are," he said. "Thought you might have given me the slip. Got your drink, have you?"

Hermione nodded and tried to back away from him, but she bumped into the archway behind her. "I... don't like it, though. Here, you can have it." She pushed the mug at him, forcing him to take it.

He sniffed the drink. "What is this?" he said, his face scrunched up in distaste.

"Egg nog," Hermione said, trying to appear cheerful. "It's really very good. I just... The excitement, you know, can't stomach anything sweet."

Cormac took a tentative sip, then nodded. "Not bad." He drank the rest, tipping his head back, and his eyes opened in surprise. When he lowered the mug, there was a thin line of milk rimming his lips, which were spreading into a grin. He licked the milk away.

"Ah, Hermione," he purred. "I don't think you realize exactly how lucky you are."

"Excuse me?" she said, feeling very nervous now. What had gotten into him? Had the drink been spiked with some potion?

Cormac pointed up with one finger. "Standing under the mistletoe, you are." He placed one hand on the wall beside her, blocking her in.

She glanced up at the top of the archway, and there was the sprig of shiny, green leaves with a cluster of white berries.

"Oh," she gulped. Right then a flash of blonde hair caught her eye. She feared at first it was Draco, but then the crowd shifted, and she saw Luna quite clearly. And with her was Harry! "Erm, right, Cormac, hold that thought, will you? Be right back," she said quickly, and ducked under his arm.

She hurried to the spot she had seen Harry standing in, but when she got there, he had already moved on. She whirled around, only to hear, to her great relief, Harry's voice calling to her: "Hermione!"

"Harry!" she exclaimed as he emerged from between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters. He was dragging Luna behind him. "There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!" She couldn't have been happier to see the two friendly faces.

"What's happened to you?" asked Harry, giving her a once-over. Her face was flushed, her hair escaping from the bun she had attempted to confine it to, and she was slightly out of breath.

"Oh, I've just escaped -- I mean, I've left Cormac. Under the mistletoe," she added pointedly.

"Serves you right for coming with him," he commented, rather coldly.

Hermione's happiness quickly faded. That hurt. If only he knew how much agony she had gone through to even get here. And here he was, berating her for having come with McLaggen, his Quidditch rival. Or, no, she quickly reconsidered, he probably meant she should have come with someone else.... Who? Certainly not him. He'd had plenty of opportunity to ask her to come with him, and clearly, like at the Yule Ball two years previous, had not considered her enough of a 'date'. Now it all became clear: Harry thought she should have invited Ron; he still thought she should be the big one and make the first move toward repairing their friendship. It was true she and Ron had had sort of an agreement that Ron would accompany her tonight, but that had been months ago. Before Halloween. Even though she knew Harry had no idea why things had gone wrong between her and Ron, it still made her angry that he seemed to be blaming her for it.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most," Hermione retorted in a petty manner. "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole--"

"You considered Smith?" Harry gasped.

"Yes, I did," Hermione said, pleased at being able to get Harry's goat so easily, "and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him. McLaggen makes Grawp look like a gentleman." Speaking of McLaggen, she looked anxiously around; she had a feeling he would be turning up any moment. "Let's go this way," she suggested, leading Harry and Luna towards an open space before the hearth, where a roaring fire was blazing; it was already uncomfortably warm in the room, which probably explained why the others were giving that particular spot a wide berth.

When they got there, they unfortunately found Professor Trelawney regaling anyone who would listen -- and some who wouldn't -- with rambling thoughts on the quality of Slughorn's wine selections for the evening; perhaps that explained the lack of other people as well as the heat did. After a couple of minutes of uncomfortable small talk with the obviously tipsy teacher, and some more needling from Harry about her choice of escort for the evening, Hermione had had enough, and was about to launch into an angry diatribe, when Cormac McLaggen, exhibiting remarkable persistence, loomed into view. And he did not look happy. Without so much as bidding good-bye to either Harry or Luna, Hermione dashed off headlong across the room. That was it. She was leaving.

She pushed her way through the other guests, not caring now about touching anyone, muttering insincere Excuse me's as she went. She had almost reached the door when she felt a light, restraining hand on her upper arm.

"Watch where you're going, you disrespectful-- Oh." The voice stopped short.

Hermione looked up into the frowning eyes of Professor Snape. He released her arm. Neither of them said anything. She slowly backed up, and he turned equally slowly back to his conversation partner, still, she was certain, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She felt like she was suffocating. The party, everything, was swept out of her mind. There was only one thought in her mind: escape. The door. She had to get to the door. It must be right behind her-- She turned and lurched forward, scrabbling at the handle until it gave way.

Hermione stumbled out into the corridor. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and she felt prickly all over. He had touched her! she thought in horror. She could still feel the slight pressure on her upper arm where the contact had occurred. It felt as if every inch of her skin was crawling, and she wanted to scream. Just scream and rub all of the contamination away, only it was everywhere, it was on her hands, too, and she couldn't scream, or everyone would come out to see what was going on, and where could she go! She had to get away! She started running, she didn't know where to, anywhere, just away. She was almost at the end of the corridor when she heard someone coming; students, probably, from the sound of their voices, but she couldn't let anyone see her, and so she wrenched open the nearest door and stumbled into the darkened room.

She bumped into chairs, a desk, smelt old wood and dusty upholstery. She collapsed on the floor, shaking. She was shivering, but she felt hot all over. There were spots before her eyes, silver spots in the darkness, and she realized she was about to faint, so she lay down on the hard, wooden floor and put her knees up. Oh, God. When was this going to be over?

She'd been doing so well, she thought; she thought she could handle anything again. Teresa had told her she should try to take active decisions in her life, do things normal people did. 'Normal people'. That was rich. She wasn't 'normal people'. She was ugly and ruined, and she would never have a normal life. The tears coursed down her face as she tried to swallow her sobs.

A little while later, she was calm enough to sit up. Everything was so terrible. She wiped her face on her sleeve. She should drop out. She'd be going home tomorrow anyway, for the Christmas break. She didn't know how she was going to face her parents. She hadn't told them what had happened, for so many reasons: because it was so embarrassing, because she didn't want their pity, didn't want them to look at her differently, because she didn't want them to worry about her, because if she did tell them, all of it, especially the part where the perpetrator was currently one of her professors, they would never let her come back. And so she would have to go on pretending. That was also why she couldn't drop out: if she did, her parents would demand an explanation, and she didn't think 'I've changed my mind about being a witch' would cut it.

She emitted a heavy sigh and was about to get up, to go where she didn't know yet, when she heard someone at the door. With all haste, she scrambled on all fours to get behind a desk. Luckily, the room was dark, so she was fairly certain she was safely hidden before the intruder entered. Intruders, plural, as it turned out, and the last two people she wanted to see right then: Snape and Malfoy.

"Get in here," Snape hissed, and flung Malfoy bodily into the room before raising the light level with a command. The sconces on the walls flared to life around her. Hermione didn't dare to move a muscle, not even to crouch down further. She hardly even dared to breathe.

"What do you mean by showing up like this?" Snape demanded of Draco, livid. "And do not try and tell me you were interested in that party!"

"How do you know? Maybe I was," Draco said insolently.

"You are clever enough to have wormed an invitation out of someone, had you truly wanted to be there. Mr. Filch said you were skulking about in a corridor upstairs."

"What I am up to is my own business. He obviously has enough faith in me. You'd think you'd trust his judgment enough to let me get on with it in my own way."

Despite her panicked state, Hermione couldn't help but be intrigued by the conversation. Who were they talking about? Hermione wondered. Mr. Filch? Why should Snape trust Filch's judgment when it came to Draco?

"Your own way is on the best course to exposing yourself, and myself."

"Exposing you," Draco mimicked derisively. "I hardly need to do that. You're doing a good job of it yourself. Only it's not being exposed as a Death Eater you need to be worried about; it's being exposed as a weakling, an old man gone soft, maybe even as a traitor to the cause!"

There was the sound of a chair being pushed aside, and then Hermione heard Snape, in a voice quivering with rage: "Never question my loyalty!"

"I'm not the only one," Draco continued, rather audaciously, in Hermione's opinion.

"There are things, Draco, things you do not understand."

"Try me."

That was exactly what Hermione wanted to say, and she hoped Snape would continue, that Draco would draw him out. However...

"I do not need to justify myself to you. Suffice it to say I know what I am doing. You, however, do not. You are sloppy, impatient, and imprudent. That stunt with the necklace-- You are simply lucky it got derailed when it did. You cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled--"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?" Draco burst out.

"I hope you are telling the truth," Snape said in a dangerous voice, "because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me?" said Malfoy angrily. "For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no one knows about -- don't look at me like that! I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work -- I can stop you!"

Hermione's thoughts were whirling, trying to place all the references. The necklace? The Bell girl? Did Draco have something to do with Katie being cursed?

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, "Ah ... Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"

"I'm not trying to conceal anything from him, I simply don't want you butting in!" Draco's voice sounded slightly hysterical.

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference?" Snape mocked. "You realise, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco --"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" Malfoy retorted.

There was another pause. Then Snape said, "You know perfectly well I do not wish to do either of those things."

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office, then!"

Snape lowered his voice to a whisper, so Hermione had to strain to hear. "Listen to me. I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco--"

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it. I've got a plan and it's going to work, only it's taking a bit longer than I thought it would!"

Once again this mysterious 'he'. Although Hermione now thought she had a pretty good idea of who it was: Voldemort.

"What is your plan?" Snape demanded.

"It's none of your business!" Draco shouted.

Snape changed tactics, now sounding almost caring. "If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you--"

"I've got all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!" Draco snapped.

Snape's voice quickly became cold and superior again. "You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup. Those are elementary mistakes--"

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!"

"Keep your voice down!" Snape warned him. "If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres--"

"What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defence Against the Dark Arts - it's nothing more than a joke, isn't it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts --"

"It is an act which is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance on assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--"

"They're not the only ones," he said defensively. "I've got other people on my side, better people!"

"Then why not confide in me, and I can--"

"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"

There was another pause, and then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Quite abruptly, Hermione heard the sound of boots against the wood floor, and the door being flung open.

"Damn," muttered Snape, and then a second set of footsteps distanced themselves from her, but not as quickly as the first. They paused, and Hermione thought Snape would extinguish the lights, but instead he simply closed the door behind himself, carefully.

Hermione didn't move for several more minutes, afraid that Snape, or Malfoy, would return. That had been a very strange conversation. Katie and the necklace... Death Eaters... the Unbreakable Vow... Snape's loyalty. She really did not want to think about it all right now. She only wanted to sleep. And to wake up tomorrow with it all having been a dream.

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AN: This excerpt from HBP is the nucleus of the plot bunny which spurred me to write this fic in the first place. Why was Hermione absent from the party when Harry returned, and why did Harry have no more contact with her from then until after the Christmas break? And "what had happened to make Malfoy speak to Snape like this, Snape, towards whom he had always shown respect, even liking?" This story is one attempt to answer those questions. We'll find out more in the next part.