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Wake of War	By : sshgdifferentfan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4060 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from publishing it.

Chapter List
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3. A Gryffindor Nuisance

As she went down to breakfast the day after, Hermione once again let her mind wander to her parents and the blasted letter she had no idea how to formulate -- well, she did it mostly so she would not go looking for Malfoy and doing away with his bollocks just for the fun of it, especially after the night’s performance.

Oh, she was mad at him, madder than she’d ever been in her life -- mad enough to increase the number of ghosts at Hogwarts with a little, white ghostly ferret -- and in all honestly she had every right to be, yet the urge to kill Malfoy was absolutely nothing compared to what she was feeling towards herself. She’d been a fool -- acting like a naive Hufflepuff virgin dressed in Slytherin robes -- and all because her body decided to overpower her mind.

When did I become so weak, Hermione wondered as images of the night before tormented her, or better yet, this hormone-driven teenager that gives in to anyone for a hand down her knickers? She didn’t have answers -- what she did have was a letter needing a finish.

She’d started another one since the one she didn’t even wanted to remember as it brought back memories she wasn’t willing to dwell on anymore, early this morning actually, after Crookshanks thought it was a good idea to wake her up at five when she’d only managed to fall asleep a couple of hours before. It had come as no surprise as this one ended in flames and ash just like the rest of them had. She was slowly but surely running out of parchment to incinerate. They all seemed like the one to send for a few lines, sometimes a few paragraphs, before she wrote something completely imbecilic and she would start all over again.

And it wasn’t only the letter, but going to Australia, tracking them down and actually restoring their memories -- how could she do all that? How could she ever bring them back when she wasn’t even sure there was anything to bring back? Maybe she’d done it wrong, maybe she’d done it too wright, maybe she’d done it wright and something somehow still went terribly wrong, maybe… But there were too many ‘maybe’s and she wasn’t going to deal with ‘maybe’s and ‘what if’s right now.

Would they even understand what she'll someday finally explain in that letter? Did she? Sometimes she thought she did, others… Other times she wasn’t so sure. Everything was just so different -- she was different…

Would they still recognise the girl they had begged and threatened to leave the Wizarding World and stay home in the young woman that she was now? She sure as hell didn't! She didn't even see that girl in the mirror anymore. She, the Hermione of then, was gone, but then again that's what war does, isn’t it? That’s what you get when you have children fighting a war too big for adults never mind for them. Not one of those who fought was the same. Potter wasn't the same, his girlfriend, his best mate, Loony and all others, that had been there wand in hand and hexes flying left and right, weren’t the same -- hell, even Malfoy was different now and that was saying something.

She cringed as the bastard’s face swam before her eyes -- yeah, he was different but if he ever tried a repeat performance of the night before, he sure as hell wasn’t out of the threat of death just yet.

“Oi, Hermione!”

Hermione turned, a sneer on her face -- nobody, except for her parents, ever called her Hermione before -- when she saw Ronald Weasley striding through the morning crowd of students towards her. Many were staring at him just like a couple of weeks ago had been staring at her --they were apparently the Wizarding World's Saviours, though she had no idea why she got that title when all that she'd did was save her own arse, but she wasn’t exactly complaining about it. It had its perks.

“Ron,” she greeted with a small smile -- not small enough to be missed by Weasley and still almost invisible to the others. They were kind of friendly now -- well, he was kind of friendly towards her; she on the other hand was her usual keeping everyone at bay self. It must have been the months spent in much too close proximity with each other in a stinking tent, the fighting back to back while facing Death Eaters way older and more experienced than them and Lord Voldemort himself or maybe all the shagging they did, Merlin only knew and truth be told she wasn't really that interested in how and why it happened. She wasn't even that interested in the fact that it happened; she barely tolerated the weasel when sex or duels weren’t involved. “What are you doing here?”

She honestly hadn’t expected to see either him or Potter before the end of the year and maybe even then, as they had took the first door out of school and had gone for the Minister's honorific NEWTs -- given without actually taking the NEWTs -- as soon as they were offered. Many had taken that road, which was why there were only a handful of seventh year returnees: her and Malfoy, a couple of Hufflepuffs, almost all the Ravenclaws and no Gryffindor what so ever.

Ever the lazy sods! Brave my arse!

“Visiting Ginny,” Weasley smiled that large, all teeth smile of his -- the one that would have made her parents proud, had he been one of their patients. And there it is, the pang, the awful pang of loneliness and despair she always got when she thought of her parents former life. She managed to ignore it as Weasley went on, “and Luna and y…” he paused, swallowed loudly, and tried again, “y…you. You know… the old gang.”

“Oh, I know,” Hermione smirked, seeing Malfoy walking into the Great Hall, his eyes falling right onto Weasley and her. He didn't seem to like what he was seeing and for a small, infinitesimal second she basked in the murderous look he was sending Weasley. But it only lasted a heartbeat until a nagging little voice that always sounded like Professor Snape’s reminded her that Malfoy was a piece of scam and just like that she turned, completely tuning off anything to do with the Malfoy heir and concentrated on Weasley, “but, you do know, I've never been part of the 'ol' gang', right?”

“You could be,” he smiled again giving her the sweetest look she'd ever seen -- she thought she might be sick. “They all like you…”

“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “Look Weasley -- you're fun and everything, so is Scarhead, who by the looks of Gryffindor table is off somewhere doing your sister,” she almost laughed at the sick look the boy shoot the Gryffindor table, where sure enough there was no sign of Ginevra Weasley or Boy-Wonder. “but we're not BFFs,” she went on, ignoring Weasley’s reaction and Malfoy’s approaching -- okay so she couldn’t tune him off completely, but it was nothing really, just your standard Slytherin defence mechanism. “We're school mates,” she went on as she tried even harder to ignore the blonde figure and his rage filled eyes, “and at one point we worked together for a while -- mutual need and all that shite -- and then we went back to being not at distant as before, but not exactly --” She paused, willing herself not to spit the word as she so much wanted to, but it was no use. “-- friends --“ She said the word as if it was personally offending.

The Gryffindor cringed and took a step back as if afraid either she or the word would physically harm him and Hermione had to scold her features fast enough to hide her own cringe. She was too good at this -- too good at driving them all as far away as it was physically possible.

“I thought you'll say something like that,” whispered Weasley dejectedly, turning once more towards the Gryffindor table, though Hermione suspected that this time it wasn’t so he could search for his baby sister. He did had a ... well something for her and she was being a bitch.

“Good!” she offered with a nod as a different kind of pang from the one she felt earlier started bothering her. She was truly sorry for the boy; not that Weasley was that much younger than she was -- well, actually he was about two years younger from all her time-travelling third, fourth and fifth year -- but she usually saw him as a boy, a scared little boy trying to play the part of a man he hadn’t yet become.

“So, how's school?” Weasley asked -- way too obvious in changing the subject -- his eyes darting at the High Table. He seemed to scan it for a second before settling his gaze on the yet empty chair of the Potions Master, Severus Snape.

Fuck, Weasley, she thought with a sigh, if that's the Aurors idea of stealth we're doomed.

“Come on,” she said taking his arm and directing him towards the Slytherin table, “let's sit and I'll tell you all about it.”

“What,” Weasley cried, jerking his arm a bit, but not enough to get out of her grip, “…there?”

“Yes, well it doesn't bite, you know?”

“Let's go to Gryffindor's instead,” he offered a half smile on his lips that unfortunately had no effect what so ever with his eyes looking but not really looking at her.

I actually hurt him, Hermione realized with a sigh, Tough it out Weasley!

“Right,” she drawled, “and then I can go snog McGonagall, while I’m at it… Should I give Hagrid a head too?”

“What… it won't bite,” he smirked, but again the effect was minimum, “and I definitely think Hagrid would love it.”

“Very funny… but I’m not sitting next to a bunch of baboons, thank you very much.”

“Oi, that's my friends you're talking about,” he protested, finally snatching his eyes and looking at her -- truly looking -- with burning blue orbs. And there it was… just like that, the hurt was gone -- though she was positive it would come back sooner rather than later -- and anger was replacing it.

“Quod erat demonstrandum!”

Weasley yanked his arm out of her barely there grip and stared at Hermione as if she somehow during the last few seconds grew another head. “What?”

“Latin,” drawled Malfoy as if with just that one word he explained everything and coming around Hermione he positioned himself between the two. She had to stop herself from flinching away from him and she barely managed it. “Now, if you don't mind,” he said taking Hermione's arm -- this time she did flinch and cringe, but apparently Weasley was too angry to notice and Malfoy… well Malfoy simply didn’t give a crap -- and draping it over his elbow, “we'll be having our breakfast… here, at the: oh, so horrible Slytherin table.”

“You're with him?” asked Weasley incredulously as he took another step back away from the Slytherin table and towards his old house's.

“Bugger off, Weasley!” Malfoy growled just as Weasley’s cheeks were starting to match his hair.

“You're… I can't believe you're fucking that…”

“Language Mister Weasley,” said Professor Severus Snape as he entered the Great Hall, not far from where she, Malfoy and Weasley were standing. He made his way towards them, giving his two Slytherins a nod each and a sneer to Weasley.

“Snape,” the red-head said, sneering at his former professor with equal distain though the two sneers couldn’t be more different, “still terrifying first years I see. Getting off on tears and screams?”

“Ron,” snapped Hermione jerking herself away from Malfoy -- both actions beneficial mostly to her sanity.

“What,” asked Weasley with one of those ‘holier than thou’ smiles plastered on his face. He didn’t even believe it, never mind everyone else. “that’s what he does, right? It’s not like there’re women queuing to have a go at him…”

“Weasley,” warned Malfoy, but the redhead idiot was on a roll.

“…I mean -- I get it. You have needs, Professor,” The venom Weasley put in that word alone seemed enough to poison the whole of Hogwarts and Hermione sounded almost begging -- something that Slytherins definitely didn’t do -- when she said his name yet again and still he wouldn’t stop talking. “It’s only normal -- and if this gets you off…”

Weasley didn’t get to finish is acceptance speech, because before she even had time to consider it, Hermione was dogging Malfoy -- who got wind of what she was doing even before her mind did -- and striding towards Weasley, a murderous look on her face.

Somewhere in the background she could hear the professor’s voice -- the low, dangerous voice he saved for Gryffindors and Slytherins with death wishes -- saying something, probably eviscerating Weasley or herself for acting like an idiotic Gryffindor, but she couldn’t hear it. Not when she felt one step away from shouting at least one Unforgivable at the arsehole.

“You fucking shite eater! I've stayed with you for months in a bloody tent…”

“Weasley you bastard…” growled Malfoy and from the sound of shifting coming from behind her Hermione was more than sure he was going to throw himself at the wanker.

“Draco… Miss Granger!” warned the professor and this time she registered his words not just his voice as background noise. The rustling of fabric -- the one that surely was coming from Malfoy’s attempt to probably beat Weasley to a pulp -- died and for a second Hermione wondered if the one word had been enough or if the professor had to somehow physical or magical restrain the Slytherin too.

“Sorry sir!” Hermione puffed taking a deep breath before continuing in a lower voice though it wasn’t really needed, she noticed, as air filled her lungs that apparently somebody -- and she was betting on the professor -- had managed to cast Muffliato before she started screaming because nobody was giving them any real attention; nobody except the Head table where Hermione could clearly see McGonagall frowning at them and some of the other teaches throwing worried glances. “Did you ever -- in all that time -- hear me disrespect your Head of House?”

“No, but that's McGonagall, nobody…”

“Then don't you bloody well do it either,” shirked Hermione fisting chunks of her robe -- it was the only thing she could think of to not let the temptation to fist her wand overpower her, “you… you…”

“Miss Granger,” again the Professor's voice warned her off, deflating her anger even more. It was now at a controllable level though she still barely ignored the need to hex the living daylights out of the fucker.

“… you bastard,” she said barely louder than a whisper, before throwing the boy one of her famous 'speak and die' look, turning and making her way towards the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy only a couple of steps behind -- at least that answered that: there weren’t magical restrains involved.

***

She had just took her seat, the one farthest away from all the others, when Malfoy perched himself across from her laughing. “Why Granger,” he drawled, yet it was clearly forced as his own anger hadn’t yet subsided, while filling up his plate, “didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Fuck off,” hissed Hermione as she started piling food on the empty plate before her. She was ready to hex somebody and only the fact that she would probably get expelled for killing the fucker stopped her form doing it.

“It’s a compliment,” Malfoy said adding a spoon full of baked beans next to the steaming link sausage and bacon. “Never saw you this this feisty.”

Hermione ignored him in favour of buttering her toast and then of shoving a forkful of beans into her mouth. She chewed slower than she’d ever do in her life, keeping her mouth as busy as she could, not wanting to even acknowledge the one sided conversation Malfoy was having, never mind participating.

She was on her second toast, when she noticed their Head of House standing a foot or so behind Malfoy, a nasty sneer on his face. The Potions Master's darker than dark eyes were watching her with an odd expression. It was something between mirth and disappointment, Hermione noticed and she hated it. She didn't want to disappoint Professor Snape; of all people he was the one she liked best -- in a couple of different ways that would make a Muggle Psychiatrist bring out the Oedipus complex without a second thought -- and at this particular time in her life, the only one she really cared for.

“That’s the last we’ll be hearing of that foul mouth of yours, is it not Miss Granger?” asked the Professor, the mirth all gone from his eyes, yet so was the disappointment. His eyes and face were simply devoid of all expression as if he couldn’t have cared less for what he said or for the answer he demanded.

Hermione swallowed with some difficult the piece of buttered toast stuck in her throat, lowered her head and whispered, “Yes sir! Sorry!”

“Now,” Professor Snape drawled in a way that made Hermione lift her eyes to him, only to --shocking -- find the man smirking, “do try and control your temper if nothing else. As entertaining as I find it, my colleagues do not share my views and I would hate to see you expelled for killing a Gryffindor.”

“Yes sir,” she answered a little more loudly and a lot more enthusiastically.

“You have brains, Miss Granger, do use them next time. As for you,” his gaze felt to Malfoy's platinum blonde head, forcing the boy to turn around and look up at the Professor, “I suggest you stop acting the fool every time a Gryffindor does or says something imbecilic. They can't help it, it's in their blood, but the Malfoys don't need any more negative publicity, do they?”

“No sir… I mean, yes sir. I'll get a grip on it.”

“Very well…” said Professor Snape and with that he was off towards the Head Table, his voluminous robes fluttering in his wake.

The bat of the dungeons is back, thought Hermione as she took another bite from her toast, good! I’ve missed him!
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Wake of War