Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Truth lies open to all with open eyes	By : RiverWitch Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 2480 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and canon situations (if any) from Harry Potter. They belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I own nothing but the plot and make no profit or money from the submission of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One - "September 1st"
- 2-Chapter Two — "Black Eyes"
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Chapter Two — "Black Eyes"

~HG~

It must have been all the heavy eating she`d done at the start-of-term banquet, the abundance of whispered gossips that followed her ever since stepping foot in Hogsmeade earlier that evening, or simply the madness of the day, because that night, as Hermione`s head thrashed wildly from left to right and left again on her sweat-soaked pillow, she had the most curious dream.

She dreamed of black irises staring at her as if able to see right through her to the deepest end of her being; of black, soft sheets draped over what she knew to be her naked body; of whispered velvety voices caressing her with sounds that couldn`t have been words; of spidery-like, ghostly-white fingers peeling away black silk covers from creamy-white breasts; of touches that burned, chilled, and aroused; of feelings and sensations that scorched her inside-out.

As the dream came to an abrupt end, just as the sensations were reaching their peaks, Hermione woke with a jolt. Her body was still thrashing under wet sheets, her core pulsing violently from a release so powerful it seemed to quake her very soul, her lungs struggling to keep breathing, her legs rubbing together in sweet friction struggling to hold onto that incredible feeling. She was shaking, drenching pillow, sheets, covers, and nightclothes in cold and hot sweat, willing her heart to stop racing, though it was useless. Her heart raced like mad, her lungs burned with every forced breath she took, and her core throbbed painfully pleasurable, until the very last tendril of her climax subsided.

It was ages before Hermione came down from her high, with conscious thought slowly returning at the same time her breathing and heartbeat started to slow to a more normal pattern.

She was a right mess: hot and exhilarated from an orgasm as she had never before experienced, cold with sweat chilling her feverish body, slick and sticky between her legs, and so tired she could barely form a coherent thought, other than rolling over under the sheets, pulling the covers over her head, and going right back to sleep, that is. So without a second thought, about how cleaning herself and changing the sheets and nightclothes would be a good idea in this situation, Hermione simply rolled over, drew the blanket all the way over her head and went back to sleep.

She didn't dream again that night and by the time she woke up the following morning, much more exhausted than she`d expect to be after a full night`s sleep, every single piece of clothing around or on her body positively soaked, yet curiously sated and relaxed, she realised she had absolutely no recollection of anything that transpired the night before.

Oh, she could easily guess, make assumptions and whole scenarios about the things she'd done the night before; still she paid it no mind, deciding instead to just forget about it and take full advantage of her last free day before classes were scheduled to start and get acquainted, not to her housemates — as any other first year student would be doing — but to the five magnificent libraries Hogwarts had to offer. So without further delay — or even breakfast for that matter; books topped food every day of the week in Hermione's opinion — the first-year Gryffindor bookworm set off to explore Hogwarts`s wonders of the written word.

The first library she visited was the Main Library, down on main floor, right next to the Great Hall, where any one — students, professors and even visitors — had access to what seemed like every book ever written on the subject of medicine and pharmacy.

There were shelves upon rows upon shelves of books, with rows of study tables, armchairs, settees, and more chairs than she could count. It was by far the largest library Hermione had ever been in, and seeing as she was the biggest bookworm the south of England had ever seen, that was saying something. All around her she could see books that looked older than time itself and books so new Hermione could swear the ink had yet to start drying, and there were magazines, periodicals, journals and archives dating back all the way to the founders.

It was incredible. Every bookworm`s fantasy place and then some, and to Hermione, it was nothing less than the purest of heavens.

She barely managed to extricate herself from the multitude of tomes housed in the Main Library before deciding that she could skip lunch in the Great Hall in favour of a bag of Skips and some apple juice from the outdoor vendor and to visit the next library on her list. The Gryffindor Library, or Gryff`s Library as students called it, was, when compared to the Main Library, small and insignificant. Not that much bigger than the Great Hall, it had wall to wall bookshelves, each and every one of them bursting with books. Some of the tomes here looked so old she wondered if the paper they were written on wasn`t actually papyrus.

It is papyrus, she discovered with a rush of pleasure as her fingers caressed the rough pages of some of the older books.

There were only a handful of study desks here, each with four to six chairs gathered around, a couple of settees settled on either side of a small, yet practical, coffee table, and two armchairs that stood tall and proud in front of the only piece of wall not covered with books: the hearth.

If the Main Library was all about practicality and academics, this library screamed comfort, intimacy, and relaxation. The room itself had no natural lighting, as opposed to the rooms in Gryffindor Dorm, the Great Hall or even the Main Library, and still it was warm — the warmest room at Hogwarts from what she`d seen so far at least — airy and bright — the direct result of electricity, good ventilation, and a ruby and gold colouring scheme.

She loved it here. The books, the warmth, the atmosphere — everything in his place called to her and she went, no questions asked.

So lost was she in her reading that it wasn't until two hours later that, roused from her reading by the giggling voices from just outside the library, Hermione realised just how late it was and setting `Mental Maladies: A Treatise on Insanity` by Jean Esquirol back on its shelve and giving the room a last, longing look she took off toward the old dungeons of Hogwarts where her next expedition into the world of books awaited her.

What she found down in the bowels of the castle was the darkest, gloomiest, and most sterile room she`d yet to see at Hogwarts: the Slytherin Library. Here emerald settees, chairs, and armchairs combined perfectly with stainless steel tables and shelves, and forest green ceiling and walls.

The room itself was not larger than the Gryffindor Library and certainly not very different in its arrangement of furniture and shelves, but while up in Gryff`s Library the brown, red, and gold colour scheme created the feeling of comfort and warmth, here everything had a cold and sinister air about it.

Not really Hermione's preferred ambient for reading, the Slytherin Library didn't distracted her for too long, before deciding to wrap it up for the day and head down to the Great Hall for yet another dose of getting acquainted — this time with living and breathing schoolmates. Oh, yes — and food.

So by the time she found her the way to the Great Hall, after going back and forth, left and right, up and down through the labyrinths that were Hogwarts`s corridors, dinner had already started and the room was filled almost to the point of overflowing with seven years of students and at least a third of the faculty. And they were so many of them…

She hadn`t really thought until now about how many young men and women were actually attending Hogwarts, though she had read about such statistics before in `Hogwarts: A History`; yet as she stood there, in the enormous doorway of the Great Hall, her eyes actually taking in the mass of students gathered around her — You really weren`t paying attention last night, were you, her inner self reproached — she suddenly realised just how small a part of the whole student body at Hogwarts she truly was. There had to be at least a thousand students present, God only knew how many were absent, and the Great Hall was buzzing with activity, chatter, and cutlery sounds from hundreds and hundreds of students as she made her way into the room and toward the Gryffindor section. It was chaos and mayhem and for whatever reason Hermione loved it. Yes, she hated the madness from the Waiting Room and she definitely didn`t like the bluster from the bus ride, but this commotion, this wonderful insanity was something else entirely. This was contained and ordered and logical and she loved every second of it.

With that thought in mind, her head held high, and a small, barely noticeable smile on her face, Hermione took one last deep breath and, ready to face the world, her house and school mates, took a seat at the end of a half filled Gryffindor table and started filling up her plate.

The food was delicious, just like the night before, and she was already on her second helping of Yorkshire pudding with roast beef filling when one of the three students sitting at her table — Or is it their table, she mussed as she washed down a fork-full of roast with a sip of Cider, they WERE here before me — cleared his throat loud enough to get her attention.

"You`re from Saint Joseph`s, right?"

Hermione`s lips twitched as if to form a smile — silently savouring the first direct verbal contact with a student since some blonde second year bimbo asked her to trade places on the bus — took another small sip of her Cider, mostly to make sure her lips and throat were lubricated enough for speech and setting down her fork and glass, lifted her head and looked at the two young men and one young woman sitting across from her.

She knew them.

Actually `knew` was a much too strong of a word to use and a ridiculous exaggeration, but still, she did know them or of them depending on how one was to look at it.

The girl, the same first year that the other night had nudged Hermione out of her nightmarish thoughts just before her Sorting, had a long mane of flaming—red hair and the warmest brown eyes Hermione had ever seen. She seemed small — She is small, she remembered noticing as she stood inches from the girl just the night before, taller than me, but still… small — but well built, with shapely arms and torso, and from what Hermione remembered, a nice slender figure. She was, if Hermione`s memory served her right, Gineverva or Ginerva Weasley from Brighton and if her intuition was anything to go by, and it usually was right on the dot, a close relative of one of the two young men sitting next to her.

The first of the two boys, the one who Hermione would bet one year`s tuition was the girl`s kin, had shoulder length red hair, the exact same colour as the girl's, forget-me-not blue eyes and the worst case of freckles she ever saw — it almost looked like the poor guy had measles or some other condition along those lines — and if his kin seemed to be more on the petite side of things, or at least petite compared to him and the other guy sitting at their table, he on the other hand was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and large hands.

Probably an athlete, she thought, and a well-built one at that.

He was older too. The attitude of superiority being her second clue, the `knowledgeable` advices he kept bestowing his two friends, the third, and the information, which actually was nothing more than school gossip, he seemed to have on all professors, the forth. The first clue had been the fact that on the bus the day before he sang `Good to be a second year` all the way from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts from just one row behind her — when he wasn`t too busy giving oral exams to the same blonde who asked her to change seats, that is.

I bet he doesn`t know about the bimbo`s oral exam in the dungeons this afternoon, though, she thought just before realising it was none of her business and letting the matter drop.

So she turned her attention toward the third person sitting at their table and looked into the face of the guy who addressed her. He had shoulder length black hair, bright emerald-green eyes, and a warm, pleasant smile that seemed to bright up the room. She already knew a great many things about him. Sure, it was mostly rubbish, ridiculous rumours that no one in their right mind should, could or would believe, but even rubbish had to have a bit of truth to it and the talk around the school, the one she believed in anyway, was that he was Harry Potter, formerly Harry Snape, biological son of the renowned, yet feared Chemistry and Pharmacy Professor, Severus Snape, adopted son of world`s famous plastic surgeon and former Hogwarts professor, James Potter, and something of a young genius.

The part she didn`t quite believe was the abuse people gossiped about, the beatings and attempted murder, the whore versus saint stamp on Mrs Snape`s – or Potter - reputation and the horrible, horrible things they said about Professor Snape.

Sure, the man appeared to be a nasty piece of work, but he was a professor for crying out loud, he couldn`t be as bad as they said. No, she refused to believe it. Professor Snape was an educator and a damn good one if `Hogwarts: A History` was to be believed and a man who`s profession was shaping young minds and imparting knowledge couldn`t — wouldn`t — be guilty of the atrocities everybody seemed to think he was — at least not in her world he couldn`t — wouldn`t.

Then again, maybe he could, would and did all of those things and she was still too much of a naïve dreamer who hadn`t stopped putting people up on pedestals without knowing a single thing about them. It wouldn`t be the first time she`d done it. It wouldn`t even be the worst — Headmaster Fudge and her ineptitude to see beyond his façade still held that title, but try as she might, she couldn`t shake the felling she was right about this one. He seemed to be completely different from all the others she`d thought the world of, only to have her illusions crush and burn `till they were nothing but ashes.

And why the hell does it matter, she snarled angrily at her thoughts.

It wasn`t like she was here to idolise the man. As if anybody really needed Professor Snape up on a pedestal — from what she heard, the man already had an overinflated ego. Hell, she didn`t even have to interact with him that much. All she needed and wanted was for the sullen man to impart his knowledge and experience with her and to grade her fairly — though from what Hogwarts`s rumour mill said, there was absolutely no chance in hell for fair when talking about grading. The man was notoriously unfair and thrived on students` misery when under-graded.

Argh! Stop overanalysing you twit!

The fact of the matter was Professor Snape didn`t actually matter. He could be God`s gift to humanity, the lowest scumbag and even the selfish—pervert—cheating—beating—murdering basted that everyone here seemed to think he was and it made no difference to her.

…or should make no difference.

And it would too, no difference at all, if only that nagging feeling that they were all wrong about him would stop popping up at every turn.

Potter, her brain suddenly reminded her of the three people staring at her, still waiting for her answer.

She lifted the glass of Cider to her lips. Took a sip and said from behind the smoky rim, "Saint Joseph`s — right — four long years of Biology and Chemistry."

There was almost a full minute of silence, in which time Hermione sipped her drink a few more times and even contemplated going back to the delicious Yorkshire pudding in spite of how rude of a gesture that would be, while her three companions simply stared at her — Was I silent for that long? — before the young man she knew to be Harry Potter smiled, picked up his fork and between shoving food in his mouth — her cue to start eating as well — and taking a gulp of his Cider started talking in relaxed and friendly tones.

"Me Salford, Peel Park — undergrad in General Medicine and Pharmacy — and by the way—" He shifted the fork from right to left and offered his hand over the table for Hermione to shake. "—I`m Harry Sna… I mean Potter — Harry Potter."

"Read Ian Fleming, much," laughed the girl — the young woman from beside him.

Hermione smiled at the jibe, completely ignoring the Snape versus Potter slip, shook Potter`s hand, "Hermione Granger—", and shifting her eyes to the other two occupants of the table — first the young woman and then her kin — added, "—nice to meet you!

"Yeah, you too… I`m Ginny Weasley," the young red-head girl said, trusting her hand over the table and shaking Hermione`s vigorously. Hermione was almost tempted to complement her on it, then thought better of it and stuck to a pleasant nice-to-know-you smile. "Ginerva actually, but everybody calls me Ginny — or Gin — whichever… And this—" Ginerva — Ginny — draped a hand over the other red-head`s shoulders, squeezing him lightly. "—is my brother, Ronald—"

"—Ron," the man in question supplied, beating Ginny`s arm away and blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, "Ron Weasley."

"Who`s apparently been reading Harry`s books," the red-head laughed and, as Hermione joined her, winked mischievously. "Anyway we`ve both been to Brighton College," Ginny went on, pointing at her brother and herself, "He was one year above me, studied Biology and—"

"—and `he` can also speak for himself," the red-head — Ron — growled.

Ginny turned, looked at her brother for a second, stuck her tongue out at him and then turned back to Hermione. "As I was saying — I studied Biology too, for two years and hated it, and then Chemistry for my final two years."

"You left out giving mum a heart attack when you transferred without anybody knowing a thing," said Ron.

"Yeah — well — not everybody's as perfect as Ickle Ronniekins," she sneered at her brother before focusing her attention back on Hermione. "If you haven't noticed, Hermione, my brother's also a major prat, but what can you do… You know what they say about brothers, right?"

"No, not really. I`m — I`m an only child."

"Really," frowned Ginny, the jealousy clear in her tone, though why would she be jealous Hermione couldn`t understand. She would give her right arm — okay, maybe just her left; the right she needed for notes and stuff — for a brother or sister.

Nothing you can do about it, Granger, her inner self scolded her, so stop obsessing.

"Good for you," Ginny went on, her smile back in place and the jealousy all but gone from her voice, "I`m the last of seven—" She groaned.

"Seven?" Hermione gasped.

"Yeah — seven — and let me tell you, the `You can`t stand `em, can`t kill `em, and can`t get somebody else to do it for you` saying couldn`t be more true than in the Weasley household."

"Yeah — well — right back at you, sis," snarled Ron, "Through I`m still hopeful I`ll find somebody to do you in eventually."

"Keep on dreamin`, bro," the girl laughed, "plenty tried — and I'm still standin`."

The two red-heads growled at one another and Hermione took the opportunity to address Harry, who`d kept quiet after introducing himself and only smiled or laughed from time to time at Ron and Ginny`s antics.

"What about you Harry — any siblings?"

"Nah… Same as you," he answered twirling his fork to point in Ron`s direction. "Nancy-boy over here usually fills that spot in all but blood."

"Oi," Ron shrieked indignantly, his growling contest with Ginny all but forgotten as his sister started laughing. Hermione, herself, barely managed to keep her features straight with only a slight smile visible. "Who you callin` nancy-boy you — you — you—"

"Stud—" offered Harry with a shite-eating grin and an eyebrow waggle.

"Fag. You fag—"

"Love one."

"Oh, fuck you, Potter!"

"Anytime, any—"

"Cut it out you guys," interjected Ginny, "You`re both tossers and Hermione doesn`t want to hear this shite."

"You`re right, I don`t, but I don`t mind," said Hermione with a smile, "they`re fun."

"Well, I do mind and they`re not fun, they're idiots!" Ginny leaned over the table, shooting both boys murderous looks, which they took in stride even appearing remorseful, though their eyes still had the happy twinkle they had since their banter started, and smiled at Hermione. "They`ve been going at it since we left the Borrow — that's our house — and I can`t stand it much longer. Now, what`d you say to a quieter place and a cuppa?"

"Great idea," said Harry getting up, "Why the hell did I break up with you?"

"That`s my sis and her bloody fantastic plans," laughed Ron as he too got up from the table.

"Okay," said Hermione, taking a last sip of her Cider and getting up from the table.

"I broke up with you, Potter, and it`s girls only, right Hermione?" asked Ginny, completely ignoring her brother, his friend and their growls. "Romilda," she went on saying, "that`s my flatmate; she`ll be game for a glass or ten of somethin` and if you`d like, we can ask your flatmate to join."

"Oh — I don`t think Alicia… eh… She doesn`t do alcohol," said Hermione and after seeing Ginny`s frown added, "Her words, not mine. But yeah — sure, I`m in."

"Good," said Ginny and getting up too took Hermione by her arm and started to lead her away from the table and the two scolding males.

"Oi — that`s not fair, I wanna come too," shouted Ron, almost immediately followed by Harry`s, "Remember, if there`s any girl on girl action, I`m just one text away," as the girls walked out the Great Hall and toward Gryffindor Dorm. They didn`t talk all the way out the hall, but giggled as one or twenty heads — male heads all of them — jerk up to stare at them with an almost predatory look after Harry`s remark.

By the time they got to Ginny`s flat in Gryffindor Dorm it was almost two hours later. They had made three stops on the way — two to buy the liquor and snacks Ginny insisted were mandatory for a girl-talk-cuppa, and one to Hermione`s flat to try convincing Alicia to accompany them. Only two were successful though, as Alicia said `no` from the start and refused to even listen to their attempted persuasion.

So when midnight rolled in, it was to find three well and truly sloshed Gryffindors, spread over beds, floors and chairs, pouring their hearts out over shandies and crackers.

"Are ye bleedin' serious?" shrieked Romilda from where she was laying belly down and legs up on Ginny`s bed. She turned, her shandy sloshing dangerously, and looked at Ginny. "I can`t believe he did that. I mean — bleedin 'ell — that brother of ye`rs is either brave or dense. I can`t make up me mind whaich."

"My money's on dense," Ginny laughed, taking another mouth-full of ale, "It`s more his style."

"Or courageous," said Hermione, always ready to defend the underdog. "He needed guts to just go to her like that."

"Yeah — well — you say guts, I say stupidity," laughed Ginny. "And besides, you weren't there to see it. I'm amazed he didn't crap his trousers actually. The guy was terrified."

"Being brave means to overcome your fears not to not have any."

"Ooooh, somebody`s in luuuuve," squeaked Romilda.

"I am not—"

"You know what, Rom? I think she is."

"No, I`m not—"

"Love at first sight, ye tink?"

"Could be—"

"I. Am. Not. In love with your brother," Hermione shot back darkly, though by that point in the conversation neither of the other two girls was listening to her.

"We shud set dees two up—"

"Can`t, he`s still dating Lavender—"

"Den we shud break'em up—"

"Yeah, right," said Ginny, "If mum couldn`t do it, we`ve got no chance in hell and besides, the bint cheats on his sorry arse once a day and twice on Sundays, he knows about it and still he `luuuves her`. It`s disgusting really."

"Yisser brah'der shud leave 'er —"

"Could — should — not gonna happen. Trust me, everybody tried yakking sense into him — me, Harry, mum, everybody. He doesn`t listen or doesn`t care."

"That`s why 'Ermione`s perfect for 'im. She cud make 'im listen. She cud make 'im leave de wagon an' den, ye nu, git together. Roi, 'Ermione?"

"Oh, no you don`t," shrieked Hermione, making as if to get up the floor and then deciding against it. The floor was better — it didn`t move when she was still attached to it with more than just the soles of her shoes. "Leave me out of this. It`s his life, his girlfriend, and his problems. And besides, I`m NOT interested in Ron bloody Weasley – no offence. Gin."

"None taken — but why not?" Ginny asked, "What`s wrong with him? Again, no offence taken, but I need to know, you know, reference for future hook ups and stuff."

Hermione took another sip of her drink, grabbed a couple of crackers from the bowl next to her and thought. What WAS wrong with him? Nothing really — well, except maybe for him already having a girlfriend and being a little immature from what Ginny said. But hey, he was young, she was young, they were all young and she wasn`t really that mature either, so no problem there.

You don`t know him, her inner mind supplied and she had to admit it was true. She knew nothing about Ronald Weasley — well, except for what Ginny had told them, but that was nowhere near enough. She could spend more time with him — get to know him—

Oi, dumbbell, you`re here for learning not romance — and if you`re even considering romance with Ronald Weasley after meeting him just hours ago you`re also way too plastered to be doing any kind of considering anyway. Go home, Granger. Classes start tomorrow and the last thing you need is a hangover on your first day. Go to bed.

And on that drunken, yet completely logical and rational note, Hermione struggled and managed to get up, ignoring the floor tilting, the head spinning, and the headache, said her good byes and went home. God knows how she managed it, but she did, and that night as she lay in bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead — drunken dead — she dreamed of soft-brown, bright-blue, and emerald-green eyes, of pleasant smiles; of deep rich laughter and drunken singing. And just as the night`s dream came to a close, the images shifted, and for no more than one second, she dreamed of deep pitch-black eyes gazing into her very soul.

She smiled, rolled over and soon her sleep was filled with dreams of books, family and friends, and when she finally woke up the following day she could remember everything about her dreams — everything, except the pitch-black eyes.
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Truth lies open to all with open eyes