“beyond wandpoint” 089 by gingerbred
Mar. 23rd, 2019 12:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 12b Wednesday - Rise... 2 Hermione”
Hermione, Crooks, Severus
Originally Published: 2018-10-03 on AO3
Chapter: 089
Hermione wakes refreshed, having enjoyed a good night's sleep. It's a lovely feeling; pity it doesn't hold.
She's not certain when she last slept so well. She cuddles into her duvet, Crooks purring against her as she thinks about it.
She has to admit she hasn't been, really, not for some time now. Not since she began to realise just how dangerous things were becoming out there. And certainly not since she'd Obliviated her parents. That had a way of making it hard to sleep at night.
Goodness, did it ever.
She hasn't identified it yet, which makes it all the harder to do anything about it, but her bondmate's less than stellar mood is rapidly leeching the pleasure from her morning. Without a Draught to help or the ability to Occlude... Well, correspondingly her thoughts turn darker.
And as if all of that weren't enough, then there were the events of Friday and Monday evenings which had given her understanding of 'threat' new meaning. They have affected her far more than she begins to realise, and those effects run deep.
By now the sense of peace has all but evaporated.
Monday... Monday had been horrifying and it hadn't even happened to her...
And then of course there had been all the various joys her bonding had brought...
She'd meant people's reactions, because they certainly haven't been good, as a whole, but finds herself pinking a little at the phrasing and thoughts it now calls to mind as she remembers just why she'd slept so well...
Well, it hasn't been all bad either.
And that is the advantage Hermione has. She's not pessimistic by nature. She also feels things very strongly, far more so than Severus usually allows himself to, and particularly given how often and to what extent he Occludes, it should prove difficult for his feelings to be able to completely overwhelm hers.
Next she's trying not to think too much about just what the moments when she'd actually gotten some decent rest recently had in common...
If she isn't mistaken, and she so rarely is, that... commonality is currently at home. There's an almost soft strength, a warmth to the background feeling of the wards that would seem to indicate it. That sensation within the wards isn't the same as the feeling when she crosses them, entering their chambers, it's far subtler - which is probably just as well, or it's safe to assume she'd never get anything done. But that sensation feels different now than it had when she'd returned yesterday and he'd still been in the Infirmary. It's... nicer.
Better.
Safer.
But as she lies there trying to define it, there's something else...
As she considers it, she becomes aware of the faintest... pull, the very slightest tug, and she tries... listening more closely. That attempt applies to the bond as well as the wards. She hasn't the experience yet to differentiate between them with her attention, and it's a little like listening intently and ever so faintly hearing a piece of music, without the skills required to discern a single instrument's voice. But it... seems the bond may provide information as well, beyond the emotional connection. At a guess, and she doesn't quite understand it, but if she had to guess, she feels certain he's very close by.
Yes, she feels as though she could definitively say he isn't in his laboratory or office, or - and here she blushes a little - in his bedroom. Neither left nor right, more towards her feet and... the lounge. It's a strange thing. She makes a note to test it. At the least, she'll determine if it's caused by the wards or the bond. His laboratory, office, and classroom seem to fall within the wards, to some extent or another, so she may need to wait for an opportunity... Ah. But given she has no plans to return to the Great Hall for meals, possibly ever, breakfast should do nicely.
And then she wonders if he'll be up for it after yesterday's... Well, that.
Crooks snuggles against her belly, seeking or sharing warmth, depending on which of the two one asks (or understands), intent on ignoring the light streaming in which seems positively indecent for the hour, he is sure. Still, he's just happy they're both on solid ground, well, bed, and there are no more floating blankets involved. As much as he likes the self-warming comforter their wizard had made - oh, and he does - he draws the line when elf magic makes it defy the laws of physics as he understands them. It transpires 'gravity' is a concept half-Kneazle's are capable of grasping even without formal instruction.
But Hermione isn't falling back to sleep. She stretches, taking in the light in the room, finally absorbing the fact she's back in her room, and hadn't been last she knew. And then she notices Crooks' carrier. Holy Cricket! It clarifies, absolutely (or at least she believes so), how she got back there. Undeniably the Professor had put her to bed, and doesn't she pink fantastically now... Well, it was that, or Crooks has suddenly developed the ability to Transfigure his carrier, which seems unlikely.
She sits up and turns to examine it.
It's beautiful.
All in the same style as the rest of her room, and she's quite taken with it. It's a good thing, too, because it helps make up, at least a little, for how she assumes she got to bed in the first place. She can see it all too clearly in her mind. Beyond any doubt: a Mobilicorpus, much like Sunday's, had been employed to unceremoniously dump her into her bed. Gently, unquestionably that, he'd been good about that Sunday, too, and ultimately he hadn't woken her in the process, obviously, but still. The verb she is certain applies is 'dumping'.
Frankly, the thought sort of stings.
Again, his mood makes it difficult to remain upbeat, and she adds that conclusion to thoughts of his repulsion, or yesterday's oh so flattering 'Why on earth would I wish to start with you?' Yes, that had stung even more. It doesn't leave her feeling very good about... things.
She tries to reconcile that, any of it, with last night, when for a few minutes, admittedly while he was drunk out of his gourd and not particularly conscious, he'd been nearly... pleasant.
And of course the answer lies entirely in the state of him at the time. She slumps a little at the realisation. And in the back of her mind, something unfortunate poses a faintly whispered question about what that says about her for taking advantage of it. Of him...
So she tries, hard, to focus on her new bedside table (adjusting the objects on top of it a bit as she does so as the proportions are now different, and the little arrangement is currently - clearly - suboptimally distributed), and she wonders how much she'd be deluding herself to think he'd made it with the thought it might... appeal to her. She suspects it had simply offended his sense of order, having the large plastic box in his, her bespoke room. Well, she can sympathise with the sentiment and decides she needn't hold it against him. Still, she has to fight against envisioning him trying to perform the Mobilicorpus to get her into the room from the most remote corner of their chambers... That it would undoubtedly be extremely difficult if not impossible to perform the Transfigurations necessary on the pet carrier in that fashion should give her pause right there, but somehow her feelings have gotten hurt and she's no longer capable of recognising that.
Which is probably the point her thought process for the morning become unfortunately compromised.
It happens.
A little too often of late, but then she's had a lot on her plate, thank you very much.
She climbs out of bed, grabs her wand, pads into her bathroom, and lights the sconce, examining herself in front of the mirror. Well, her hair obviously needs work, that was hardly surprising, in fact, it's probably some natural law, but Holy Cricket! Her nightgown looks...
Good.
She hadn't actually looked at this version before, not in the mirror. She turns a little, back and forth to get a better view of it, and is extremely pleased with her work. This really isn't her strong suit. Fay is usually the one the girls turn to in their dorm for clothing Transfigurations; no one ever comes to 'Mione for them... Well, except Harry when someone's turned his things green again, but that application is rather limited in scope, and basically a Finite Incantatem. On balance, she thinks she's done a fine job here indeed. Well, until she turns a little further and sees the back.
She's really not sure what happened there.
Apparently she Transfigured it last night, she... vaguely recalls it, she'd been quite tired and, um, well, perhaps a bit... distracted. Right. (It transpires that blushing is worse when one is standing in front of a mirror and can fully observe the results.) She tries to focus on the fact she'd done the work wandlessly, which is a source of no little pride. All her practice with the spell had certainly paid off. That was nicely done.
Not that it in any way compensates for her fashion sense.
It seems she'd magicked away most of the back. (She remembers why in brilliant, technicolor detail; does she ever.) But in order to keep the waistline - she'd found it quite flattering - she'd apparently fashioned some sort of tie midway across her bared back. It looks... it looks pretty silly. Like a swimsuit that's broken... weird.
She's trying to recollect, she's seen backless dresses before. Dresses that had the back free and yet, um, still emphasised one's bust... (And the fact her nightgown has a few pleats of fabric across her breasts, which she knows - for a fact! - one of Ginny's Witch Weekly magazines last summer had quite plainly stated made one's, erm, bosom appear larger... Well, she might need to think a little about why she'd done that.) She's wondering what those dresses do differently until she recalls the famous picture of Marilyn Monroe in a white halter dress.
Which was clearly a far more elegant solution. Clothing really isn't her strength. (And then she tries not to think about why she might be taking an interest or trying just a little bit harder with it now...)
She's a breath away from Transfiguring her gown again, when it occurs to her she doesn't wish to appear as if she'd 'dressed' for the occasion and decides to leave it unchanged. What should have occurred to her is that formulation only makes sense if there is an occasion to have dressed for, and someone to see the results of having (or not having) done so. It escapes her completely that she's already come to a highly questionable decision.
'Why on earth would I wish to start with you?' She wants that taken back. She wants that taken back, because it was frankly insulting and who wants to be insulted? And she really, really hopes that he didn't mean it and that last night wasn't just down to her taking advantage, because she isn't like that... Is she? And maybe, just maybe, just a little tiny bit, yes, she'd like that for its own sake, that he didn't mean it. Not that she has a crush or anything... (Or at least not much of one...) But she wants it taken back.
That should be a doddle.
She goes to the bathroom and as she washes her hands notices her index finger still has a faint glow about it. She Noxes the sconce to be sure... and yes, it's definitely still glowing. By the light of a Lumos, she washes her hands more aggressively, ends the Lumos and checks again. There's no discernible change. She targets her hand with a Cleansing Charm, to no effect. A little desperately, she tries a Notice-Me-Not, which doesn't appear to help either. Next she casts a Disillusionment on her finger, not that this would be a solution, she can hardly walk around like that, but by this point she's both experimenting and grasping at straws. The finger does disappear from view, save a shimmer, but the glow... The glow remains, outlining the invisible digit.
Bugger.
Finally she decides she can't rectify it, and as it doesn't seem to have come from... physical contact with the Professor, she stops trying to sort it, ends the Spells, relights the sconce and sets about getting ready.
Although it is bothersome.
She tames her hair and brushes her teeth the Muggle ways, then performs the Cleansing and Cleaning Charms Madam Pomfrey had taught her, sees just what the former does to her hair (it's nowhere near as bad as the Refreshing Charm, floof, thank goodness, but still...) and immediately reaches for her hairbrush once more. Heavens. Next she makes use of the Mediwitch's Hair Styling Charm, and turns again in front of the mirror, evaluating the results.
She thinks it's not bad given what she had to work with, which is all too typical of her. She never doubts her capabilities for an instant, well except for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and... well, examinations in general probably. But she doesn't think very highly of her other qualities, seriously calling her appeal into question. In addition to being a teenaged girl (even if the Ministry is right about her age, she's still only a teen), for which that opinion is practically a defining characteristic, the response to date of her male counterparts at school has only reinforced that view. She neglects to consider that her intelligence, swotiness and indisputable social awkwardness may simply outweigh her attractiveness in their estimations. In her opinion, it wouldn't make any difference, as those qualities are very much a part of the final packaged product. Of course, she'd be neglecting to consider that not everyone views those aspects as drawbacks.
Hermione is capable of a hundred thoughts in the time some people of her acquaintance seem to manage just the one. About Quidditch. Or food. Or maybe nothing at all. Her brain has always been her greatest asset, she is so very thoroughly and completely convinced of that. But every once in a while, not often, but far too much so for her comfort, there's a cognitive... hiccough that leaves her at a complete loss to explain herself. At least after the fact.
The most worrisome thing, naturally, is it usually seems like a perfectly good idea at the time.
This, she will come to realise in a short time, is just such a moment.
In her defence, not that it will help much, but things have been quite a muddle lately, and she's suddenly found herself with what feels like a dozen new things to prove. She's not exactly the master of her own feelings these days. That becomes so much harder when other's are added to the mix.
Next, she's imitating a gesture she's never actually felt the need to try before, but has seen Lavender, Fay, Ginny and occasionally Parvati do. (That probably should have been a sign. In neon. But signs really only help when noticed.) Cupping a hand under each of the... girls, she grabs her breasts and plumps them a little higher in her nightgown, assessing her décolletage and adjusting the fit of her gown's top. Satisfied with the result, it really isn't going to get any better, she returns to her bedroom.
Still feeling guilty for leaving the bed making to poor Sunny Monday morning, she twitches her wand in the direction of the bed, and trying out an experiment she'd noted for herself, yes, the Freshening Charm does indeed make the bed without a patient lying in it.
The bed, however, hadn't been completely empty, and a rather loud 'MROOOOWrrrrrrrrr' that climbs and then descends several scales alerts her to the fact she'd just effectively made the bed on top of her poor half-Kneazle. Ah. The half-Kneazle who is now apparently scampering about beneath the covers rather comically. Guilt, naturally, dampens any potential amusement, her loss, and it leads to a flurry of action.
"Crooks!" She cries, leaping towards the bed and digging him free. The look he gives her could put an end to global warming without anyone ever having to lift a single paw, but Hermione doesn't notice as she clutches him to her and apologises profusely. As Crooks has come to associate those words with - yes, here it comes - his favourite cat treats, he's quick to forgive. She naturally takes that more for the result of her abundant apologies and affection, delusional humanoid that she is, and keeps pouring on both as she gives him his next Kneazle treat. Humans.
Once his body language suggests he's no longer particularly put out, well, not more so than usual anyway, she stands, still holding the diminutive lion, waves the wand to make the bed again, and then sets him down lovingly on the centre of it.
It will do.
Deciding he appears sufficiently... mollified, she gives him an experimental twirl to show off her work and asks, "Well, Crooks, what do you think?"
Crooks, for his part, really can't help thinking her get-up looks nothing like the regulation uniform as he drifts back to sleep with a yawn.
As responses go, it's a bit thin, but Hermione unfortunately isn't to be daunted, and without further ado, she emerges from the room.
If the vast emptiness she can feel across the bond is anything to go by, and it probably is, the Professor isn't pleased by her... appearance.
A/N:
I'm experimenting with shorter chapters again (because: why not? and this one turned into a 14.6k monster and sorta demanded truncating). There should be three within the next week. What can I say, I'm a little random. (That's probably just a nicer way of saying 'erratic'. ;-)) If it matters to you when you get the update, just hit the 'subscribe' button in the lower middle-ish (it's a word if I say so?) of the menu.
And as long as I'm writing a note... I neglected to mark a couple of benchmarks; it's time to rectify that. Over 25k hits, over 2000 comments (and extra-special 'thank you's to Trickster32 (;-*), Grooot, FrancineHibiscus, MyWitch, LostAngelSoul, Goldenbassets, Madameslytherin, Beestung2025, Calket and so, so many others for your continued support. <3. Just <3.), and over 1100 Kudos. All of which puts a super massive smile on my face. That's all down to you guys.
Thank you so much to everyone who has commented, kudoed, bookmarked, or just plain read (believe me, that counts).
You keep me writing. <3