Transitions - Chapter One

Hermione spent the remainder of the weekend weighing her decision carefully. There seemed to be an equal number of reasons to reject the offer as to accept it.  Wandering the halls of Hogwarts had been a sort of torture the past couple weeks; every room she entered or path she took reminded her of Ron.  The classrooms felt empty with him not sitting beside her, the rose bush behind which they’d first kissed tore at her heart when she passed it on her way to the greenhouses.  Only her dormitory and the library held few direct memories of Ron; the former due to a long-standing enchantment preventing boys from entering the girls dormitories, and the latter because Ron had rarely studied.  She’d given him such a hard time for not taking his courses more seriously, but in the end it hadn’t mattered.  It was probably better that he’d spent his time doing things he loved like playing chess and Quidditch.

Hermione shook her head to shake away the thoughts.  She must return to the decision at hand.  Much as being at Hogwarts without Ron tormented her, the thought of leaving and entering the ‘real world’ frightened her.  She knew in her heart that she wasn’t emotionally ready to start the programme at the University; she could barely pay attention in class here at Hogwarts, and the courses would be much tougher at Uni.  Once she’d fouled up there, she might not get another chance to redeem herself.  Additionally, she would know no one at University, whereas at Hogwarts at least there would be several familiar faces, even if they did serve as a reminder of those who were conspicuously absent. 

Monday morning came, and Hermione had by then convinced herself that staying at Hogwarts was the lesser of the two evils.  She would inform Professor McGonagall of her decision after her Advanced Transfiguration class this afternoon.  But first, she’d have to survive Potions.

Today’s Potions lecture involved the extremely tricky Potion of Vivid Recall.  This potion enabled the user to recall with perfect accuracy a specific incident or conversation.  Similar in principle to the pensieve, the Potion of Vivid Recall was most commonly used in solving mysteries and disputes, when it was imperative that details be perfectly accurate.  It differed from the pensieve in that the pensieve does not enhance the memories that are stored within it, whereas the potion reaches into the deepest recesses of the brain to extract all the original details. 

Hermione knew all this from her outside reading (she’d encountered the Potion of Vivid Recall years ago in Potions for Deduction and Investigation), and so was neglecting to pay close attention to the lecture.  She continued to chew on her decision to stay at Hogwarts another year, was she really making the correct decision or –

“Perhaps Miss Granger is unwell,” hypothesized Professor Snape with his voice of liquid silk. “I’m concerned that she has neglected to raise her hand this entire class, despite my having produced several opportunities for her to dazzle us all with her knowledge.”  He stopped in front of her desk and peered down into her shocked face.  “Tell me, Miss Granger, shall I have Miss Bones escort you to the infirmary, or have you finally decided to let the rest of the class have a turn?”

Hermione was not in the mood to tolerate his sarcasm.  That coupled with her tenuous grip on her tattered emotions led her to respond most indelicately.  She grabbed her book and quill and rose to leave, tossing an irreverent “Sod off, Snape!” at the Professor as she strode out of the room, head held high, oblivious to the shocked gasps of the other students.

Oh dear, she thought when she got outside, that was quite unbecoming of me.  But the bastard deserved it, after all.  You’d think he’d be pleased that she’d become more passive in class, seeing as how he’d continually insulted her enthusiasm for the past seven years.  Perhaps he was just incapable of being satisfied when a Gryffindor was involved.  But common decency dictates that you don’t antagonize a person when her boyfriend just died two weeks ago, no matter how much you dislike her!  And after all the times she’d defended him to Ron and Harry, insisting that he wasn’t that bad…that he was on their side.  Technically that was true, he definitely opposed Voldemort, at great personal risk.  However, she was finding that there was a big difference between being not evil and being good.  Snape may not be evil, but he was definitely not good.  What he was was an insufferable prig.

McGonagall had been pleased with her decision, Hermione recalled later that evening. “A lifesaver,” she’d called Hermione for helping her out of this fix.  Hardly.  If she’d been a lifesaver, she’d have been able to … Hermione stopped herself from dwelling yet again upon her guilt, and forced herself to focus on the task of updating the library’s inventory.

Hermione knew the Hogwarts library better than she knew anyplace else in the world.  She’d spent countless hours there the past seven years, but even so she’d only read a small fraction of the books there.  She’d only utilized books from the Restricted Section on rare occasions, usually emergencies and usually without permission.  Now, however, she was the Mistress of the library and the knowledge was all hers to absorb.  She strolled down the aisles, plucking out the out-of-place books and placing them on a push-cart for later restacking.  Her stack was short, since Madame Pince generally ran the library very capably, but she’d been away for several weeks and so some books had strayed from their proper place.

One particular book caught Hermione’s eye.  “Conquering Emotions Through Potions” lay uncomfortably between “What You Think You See: Illusions for Fun And Profit” and “Sleight of Mind, Sleight of Eye”, two tomes delineating the dark art of illusion.  “What are you doing here,” Hermione chastened the book sharply as she pulled it from the shelf.  She was just about to add it to the stack, but then the tagline on the cover caught her eye. 

“Emotions make us weak; clever use of potions enables us to overcome our weakness and accomplish great things under the worst of conditions.”

–Jocelyn Tasiterne, Retired Potions Master of the McIlveny University of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Aberdeen.

Hermione stared at the cover for a moment, as if battling with herself, and then placed the book on the cart with the others.

The days turned into weeks, and Hermione finished her schooling at Hogwarts.  She’d suffered through the week of detentions her outburst at Snape had earned her, gone through the motions, forced herself to study, and managed to pass all of her exams.  Her scores were not nearly as extraordinary as was normally expected of her, but surprisingly enough Hermione didn’t care.  She’d passed without embarrassing herself and with that completed her transition from child and student to adult with a job and responsibilities.  Or at least that’s what she told herself.  She hugged each of her friends goodbye as they’d boarded the Hogwarts Express for the last time, her heart violently protesting the upcoming separation. It was hardest with Harry who was off to begin his Auror training, Harry who was the only one who missed Ron as much as she did.  Harry’d promised to owl her as soon as he was settled, hopefully he wouldn’t be too busy to follow up on his promise. 

When the whistle blew and the train crawled away from the station, Hermione turned away and began walking down the quiet streets of Hogsmeade.  She’d apparate back to Hogwarts later, but she hesitated to return just yet.  She strolled through the streets, remembering the first time she and Ron had come to Hogsmeade.  They’d had a nice, quiet chat before Harry and his invisibility cloak joined them.  She hadn’t been in love with him back then, but she’d thought he was funny and more confident in himself when Harry wasn’t around.  Much as Ron loved Harry, he’d often felt like an accessory to The-Boy-Who-Lived. 

Hermione found herself inside the Hogs Head.  The bar had few customers this time of day, and she had no trouble taking a table in the back of the room.  After a few minutes, the grumpy old barman wandered over to her table, grumbling at the inconvenience.

“Well, what can I get you,” he scowled.

Customer service is not his forte, thought Hermione.  “Firewhiskey, please,” she replied haughtily.  Now why did I order that, she thought.  I meant to order a butterbeer.  Nonetheless, when the barman brought the drink she downed it in one choking gulp. 

“Not your usual poison, I see,” scorned the proprietor. “Perhaps you’d like some gillywater next?  That might go down easier.”

“No, thank you,” she retorted sharply, “I’d like another shot.”

The barman’s eyes rose skeptically, but he poured her another drink.  And then another.  Each drink took her troubles farther away, and blurred her vision as well.

“I think perhaps you’ve had enough, Miss Granger.”  A familiar, sardonic voice cut through her carefully focused attempt to count how many fingers she had (thirteen, at last count).

Hermione’s head flopped upwards as she turned to survey who’d dared tell her what to do.  “Look, Hermione… it’s Professor Snake…I mean Snape,“ she slurred. “How typically rude of him to interrupt this perfectly delightful afternoon I’m having.”  She wasn’t normally in the habit of referring to herself in the third person, but somehow it seemed appropriate to her befuddled mind right then.

“Much as it warms my heart to see you … enjoying yourself… I’m afraid it behooves me to escort you back to Hogwarts now.”  Her least-favorite colleague—for that is what he now was—gazed down at her with disapproval.  “The staff meeting that Minerva requested this morning that we attend starts in one half hour. Although I daresay you’d prefer to wallow where you are, you owe her the courtesy of arriving on time.”

The words “staff meeting” cut through the haze of Hermione’s intoxication. “Bloody hell,” she groaned. “I can’t show up like this!”

“By all rights I should let you show up ‘like this’, but out of respect for Minerva, who has enough to worry about already, we will remedy the situation first.”  His tone left no doubt that he would have preferred to let Hermione make a fool of herself.  He turned and began walking toward the door, then looked back towards her when he realized she had not yet moved.  “Now would be convenient, Miss Granger.”

Hermione fished through her bag, dumped several sickles on the table and staggered after Snape, bumping her hip on the table in the process. “Owww…”

Hermione struggled to keep up with Snape; he walked very quickly, making no accommodation for her inebriated state.  After a few moments Hermione realized they were heading back in the direction of the railroad station, rather than back towards Hogwarts.

“’fessor Snape…aren’t we going the wrong way?” she panted, then nearly ran into him as he turned sharply left towards the Shrieking Shack.  “Oh!  The path through the Whomping Willow!”

Snape sneered as he led her around to the back of the building.  “Always keen to announce the obvious, Miss Granger.”  He pulled out his wand, touched her shoulder and chanted Discorpus!

Hermione, who until that moment believed herself extremely drunk, now felt completely dissociated with her body.  More accurately, she couldn’t feel her body at all.  She was vaguely aware of Snape performing the same charm on himself.  The outline of his body appeared fuzzy and slightly transparent.  She watched agape as he walked right through the wall of the building.

“Are you awaiting an engraved invitation, Miss Granger?”  Snape prompted sarcastically. “I’ve discorporated your body sufficiently for you to pass through the wall.  Pray join me on the inside.”

Hermione shrugged or gave a reasonable facsimile thereof.  Kind of like getting onto Platform 9¾.  She willed herself to walk through the wall (her normal senses being somewhat out of phase) and found herself inside the shack.  The last time she’d been here, they’d taken Snape out under the influence of Mobilicorpus.  How ironic.

She’d been in the room no longer than five seconds when Snape returned her body to her with Finite Incantum. “Never remain under the influence of Discorpus longer than necessary, Miss Granger.  It can have …unpleasant side effects.”  Without another word, Snape began navigating the debris of broken furnishings toward the fireplace.  At Hermione’s puzzled expression he rolled his eyes.  “Floo powder, Miss Granger.  You are in no condition to attempt to Apparate to the edge of the grounds, the tunnel through the Whomping Willow is too slow, and thus one option remains.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Repeat after me:  Hogwarts Potions Dungeon”

Hermione repeated “Hogwarts Potions Dungeon.  But don’t we have to throw the powder first?”

“In your condition I deemed it wise to verify that you wouldn’t Floo yourself to China.  Your speech is rather slurred at present.  However, that will do well enough.”  He pointed his wand at the fireplace.  Incendio!   Then, Snape opened a small pouch and held it out to her. 

Hermione dipped her right hand carefully into the pouch and extracted a small pinch of powder.  She stepped up to the fire, tossed the powder in, and recited “Hogwarts Potions Dungeon” as carefully as she could as she stepped into the flames.  She emerged, luckily, in the familiar darkness of the Potions dungeon.  Snape emerged behind her a moment later.

“Let’s see about sobering you up, shall we?”  He strode purposefully towards his supply cabinet, and began rifling through the bottles.  He selected a short, squat bottle that contained a dark brown potion, as well as a tall bottle containing a white gel.  He measured several aliquots of the former into a vial, then one drop of the white gel.  The two liquids combined energetically, emitting a gentle cream colored smoke.  He handed the vial to Hermione.  “Inhale as much of the smoke as you can, then swallow this down quickly.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, inquisitive even in her drunken state.

Snape sighed in frustration, “There will be time for that later.  Drink up, or we’ll be late, and then I will be very annoyed.”

“Like you’re not now…” she muttered before following his instructions.  The smoke was actually quite pleasant and smelled like strong coffee.  She held the vial below her nose and breathed deeply.  She could already feel her head starting to clear as she tilted her head back to drink the potion.  It tasted like the bitterest coffee she’d ever drank, with no sugar to cut the astringency.  As promised, she felt completely lucid by the time she’d finished.

“Was that … coffee?”  she asked.

“The base is coffee, however it is the Tarfiend mucus that counteracts the alcohol in your bloodstream.  Coffee itself merely gives the illusion of sobriety by increasing the caffeine in your system.  That, and Tarfiend mucus untempered would burn right through your skin.”  He explained the potion in his best professorial tone as he replaced the bottles in the cabinet.  He closed the cabinet and walked to the door.  “After you, Miss Granger.”

They walked in silence up the stairs and through the halls that led to Professor McGonagall’s office.  The other professors were already there and appeared to have been sharing tea and cakes. 

“There you are,” Professor Sprout called out cheerfully, “we were just about to send a search party!”

“I knew they’d be here,” insisted Sibyll Trelawney.  She surveyed Miss Granger from head to toe.  “Miss Granger, I’m glad to see you’re … feeling better.”

The others turned to her, unspoken question in their eyes.  Hermione was struggling to formulate an explanation that did not involve Firewhiskey or Tarfiend mucus when Snape replied, “Miss Granger is just missing her companions.  Nothing at all to worry about.”  Hermione didn’t think she imagined a slight emphasis on at all.

Worry abolished, Professor Sprout handed Hermione a cup of tea as Professor McGonagall began to speak.  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.   I just wanted to bring everybody up to date on the plans for this summer and filling the remaining openings in our staff.”  She paused, then continued a bit sadly.  “As you know, we have four openings remaining:  Charms, Transfigurations, Defense of the Dark Arts and Keeper of Keys and Grounds.  Although it will be difficult to find people worthy of filling those posts, we are beholden to do so.  I will be visiting several Wizarding universities throughout the summer to try to recruit some worthy prospects for Charms and Transfigurations.  Pomona “ McGonagall nodded toward Professor Sprout. “ has kindly consented to take time out from her vacation to seek a qualified groundskeeper, although she will herself ensure the basic maintenance of the grounds over the summer.  Severus will be conducting the search for Defense Against the Dark Arts candidates; however, he will be conducting his search from Hogwarts so as not to interfere with his long-term potions research.”

What long-term potions research, thought Hermione as she listened.

“Miss Granger, as our new librarian, will also stay here throughout the summer to finish taking inventory in the library.  You may relocate your quarters to Madame Pince’s old rooms at your convenience.   I anticipate you, Sibyll, will choose to remain here as is your custom, however the rest of you are free to spend your holiday as you wish.”

“To those remaining, should you need anything at all please remember that I am only an owl away.  I will check back in periodically, however I anticipate my tasks will keep me away most of the summer.”  McGonagall rubbed her forehead as if massaging away a headache.  “It was a dreadful year.  A year that took many loved ones away from us.  Try to enjoy your summer and not to grieve too much; they would not have wished it.  That is what Albus would have said, had he survived to say it.”  All eyes in the room dropped at the mention of beloved Professor Dumbledore, save those of Professor Snape, who stared hard ahead.  “I’ll be leaving in the morning, but I will be available the rest of the evening if I am needed.”

The Professors wished each other farewell, some with hugs, some with handshakes, some with courteous nods.  Hermione found herself hugged by Professor Sprout, Madame Pomfrey, and to her surprise Professor McGonagall, who whispered “Thank you.” in her ear.

“I wish he’d warned me,” Hermione groaned to her mirror the next morning, “that the infernal Tarfiend mucus concoction would not prevent hangover!”  Her head was pounding and her joints were stiff.  So much for her career as an alcoholic, she thought.  It was pleasant while it lasted.

She fumbled through the assortment of bottles and jars searching for the bottle of muggle aspirin.  Although no doubt Snape could whip her up something more potent, she had no intention of inviting his scorn by requesting he do so.  She gulped down several pills with a glass of water and stepped into the shower.  The hot water did little for her throbbing head but it did help ease the soreness in her joints and muscles.  She stretched and massaged her scalp as she washed her hair, vowing never to get that drunk again.  She thought back to how she felt after downing all those shots of Firewhiskey… surreal was the word that came to mind.  Her thoughts had been occupied with trivial things like how many scratches were on the table or the funny sound her fingernails made when they tapped the glass.  Important things, the things that tormented her, were blessedly absent.  Unfortunately, Tarfiend mucus or no, drowning her sorrows in Firewhiskey was not a viable long term solution to her depression.  She had a job to do and she could hardly do it inebriated, and besides, her health would eventually suffer.  If only she could find a way to block out the pain that would not interfere with her ability to think and perform her day-to-day functions.  She had all summer to organize the library, which was probably more time than she needed, but she still needed to be lucent to do it.  Making the pain go away was a secondary consideration.

Two weeks later, making the pain go away was rising in Hermione’s list of priorities.  She’d had minimal human contact with anyone.  Trelawney rarely left her tower, and besides her conversation was hardly intelligent.  Professor Sprout had dropped in several times to take care of the lawns and the garden, but rarely stayed longer than necessary.  She saw more of Professor Snape than anyone, but that was only because he occasionally required a book from the library.  He spent most of the time in his dungeon or in his quarters.  Hermione had attempted to make conversation with several of the house-elves, but they distrusted her motives, forever associating her with S.P.E.W. and her previous attempts to free them against their will.  She was left with nothing to distract her from her sadness besides the library.

She’d made great progress in the library, however she spent as much time reading as she did working.  She found that study was a somewhat effective distraction for as long as she could concentrate.  Unfortunately, her concentration was greatly reduced from its previous state.  Inevitably she found herself with nothing but her thoughts when evening came.  She cried herself to sleep every night, and woke up crying from her nightmares in the morning.

One nightmare recurred persistently.  This dream would not have seemed a nightmare to any but Hermione, but torment her it did.  In her nightmare, she and Ron were in his dorm room, alone.  They lay on his bed, kissing one another gently.  After a time, their kissing became more heated, and their hands began to wander.  Ron cupped her breast through her blouse with one hand, stroking the nipple with his thumb as he sucked gently on her earlobe.  Hermione moaned with pleasure and leaned into his hand as she ran her hands through his hair.  Their legs entangled as they pressed closer together, his hips pressed against hers. 

“I want you so badly…” whispered Ron against her ear. “Can you feel what you do to me?”  Hermione moaned in response and pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, then began unbuttoning his shirt, pressing kisses against the skin she revealed.  Ron shrugged out of his shirt then began working on Hermione’s.  His action mimicked hers; as he undid each button, he licked and nuzzled the skin, moving downwards to her belly.  She leaned forward to help him slide her blouse off, then lay back on the bed and pulled his head back to her.  He reached into her bra to release her breasts, one at a time, leaving the bra on but cups pressed underneath each breast.  He cupped her right breast with his hand and took the left in his mouth, tentatively at first, then sucking harder as Hermione’s sighs and gasps of pleasure became louder.  Her fingers pulled at his hair as she held him to her, his tongue flicking back and forth across the aroused nipple as he sucked.  Although he wasn’t touching her down there, she began to throb as if each suck on her breast was triggering a gentle stroke against her clit.  Her hips ground against him, trying to bring the contact closer, and Ron was happy to oblige.  The fingers of his left hand walked down her side, across her belly and finally, down between her legs.  He pressed gently against her and even through her pants the pleasure was intense.  She groaned and moaned his name, and dragged his head up to hers so that she could again bury her mouth in his. 

“Oh yes,” he encouraged against her lips as he stroked her.  He made a trail of kisses down her face and neck and back down to her breast, taking the nipple fully in his mouth.  He slathered his tongue over the whole of it as he sucked, and Hermione felt as if she would burst.  She could not pull his hand close enough, so she reached down and unzipped her pants to give him better access, then lifted her hips to slip them and her panties down past her knees. He moaned into her breast as he slipped his hand inside and felt her wet against his fingers for the first time.  He slid two fingers between her folds and began to rhythmically stroke. 

“Bite me,” Hermione moaned, and Ron tentatively obliged her, nipping the nipple gently with his teeth, then moving aside to bite the side of her breast more fully, all the while cupping and caressing her other breast with his free hand.  He paused for a moment, licked his fingers, then rubbed his wet thumb and forefinger against her right nipple as he took the left into his mouth again, biting and sucking as she demanded.

Hermione’s fever pitch rose and she grabbed onto Ron’s shoulders as she cried out in pleasure.  She felt the waves of her orgasm hit as she bucked against his hand again and again, then collapsed back against the bed in exhaustion.  

Ron’s hand stilled and he brought his lips back to hers. “I love you, Hermione…” he whispered as he kissed her gently and stroked her hair with his other hand.

“I love you, too,” Hermione sighed contentedly.  They lay like that for several minutes, then Hermione realized that Ron was still hard against her.  She reached down to cup his erection through his pants. “We should do something about this.”

His eyes rolled around in his head and he grinned back at her, “We should, shouldn’t we?”  Hermione unsnapped the snap and peeled the zipper down, enjoying the ragged moan Ron gave in response.  He lifted his hips so she could ease his pants down, and then his undershorts.  She cupped him boldly, saying in her best Sorting Hat voice “I know just what to do with you…”  Ron either giggled or groaned, she couldn’t tell which.  She pushed at Ron’s shoulder, and he rolled onto his back in response.  She brought her hands to her mouth and licked them both seductively before reaching back down to grasp him again.  She watched his face as she began to stroke, tentatively at first, then harder and faster.  Ron was biting his lip and had the most delightful expression, eyes closed and head thrashing back and forth. 

Experimenting, Hermione kept her left hand firmly clasped around him while her right moved down lower to cup his balls.  Ron’s eyes shot opened and he exclaimed, “Wow!” She continued with her ministrations until Ron apparently could take no more and pushed her onto her back, grabbing her hands away and holding them above her.  He spread her legs with his knee, then positioned himself between them, his cock pressing gently against her cunt.

“Wait…” said Hermione, suddenly afraid. “We can’t do that.”

“Of course we can,” whispered Ron into her neck, “I want to be inside of you.”

“No, Ron, I’m … I’m not ready to go all the way yet.  I’m sorry,” Hermione was becoming frantic now, her wrists straining against his hands.

Ron collapsed against her as he struggled to regain his composure.  “No, Hermione, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have pushed this on you.”

“It’s not your fault,” began Hermione.

“Yes, it is.” said Ron.  “Even though I don’t understand the significance that muggles place on sex and virginity and all that, I should have respected how you were raised and not let things get so out of hand.”  He released her hands and rolled off her and began readjusting his clothing.  “I’m sorry.”

Hermione reached out for him, “Don’t go…”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I have to.  You’re not ready for this, and I’m feeling a little uncomfortable now, so I’ve got to leave before I do something stupid.”  He pulled his shirt on and began buttoning it, skipping buttons here and there.

Hermione began to cry, “I feel awful…”

“Don’t, please, Hermione.  I love you, and you love me, and someday it will feel right for you the way it does for me now and then it will be just amazing for both of us.”  He bent down to kiss her one last time, hard on the mouth.  “I love you…” And then he left the room.

“Come back! Come back!”  The dream always ended the same way.  Just as it had when it had actually happened less than a month ago.  But now Ron was dead, and that “someday” would never come.

Hermione turned off the water and began to towel off and tried to forget the dream.  Again.