beyondwandpoint

“11 12-13a Wed - Thurs - Changes”

Severus, Hermione, Slytherins: Harper Hutchinson, Sheldon Shafiq, Anneliese Burke, Sharon Shafiq, Margarethe Burke, Others: Crookshanks, Shawshank, Sunny

Mentioned briefly: Slytherins: Vincent Crabbe, Torsten Touchstone, Aaron Avery, Gryffindors: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Luna Lovegood, Others: Crankshaft, Maleficent, The Bloody Baron

Originally Published: 2019-10-13 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 114

STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!

I have it on good authority (*waves* 😉) that some of you may have missed that the last chapter (113a) was split in two (113a.1 (LJ / DW) and 113a.2 (LJ / DW)) because it exceeded the maximum character length, and then I also shuffled the Slytherin scenes earlier into the chapter order, because, hey, why not? So! It's possible you inadvertently missed some chapters. (Which would be a pity. *nods*) Before proceeding, maybe check if you have read the following:

112a (LJ / DW) (Published 23 September) Vince finally exacts his revenge on Harper for the pictures he took this morning. The other Snakes respond. Pansy stages an intervention for Millie and tries to make sure her Snakelettes are with the programme.

112b (LJ / DW) (Published 19 August) To make up for a minor faux pas, Severus presents Hermione with a Salve for her scar.

113a.1 (LJ / DW) (Published 30 September) The Slytherin boys' reactions to the events of the evening.

113a.2 (LJ / DW) (Published 30 September) The Slytherin girls' reactions to the events of the evening. Millie's intervention continues. Ella's in a bit of a mood.

113b (LJ / DW) (Published 30 August) Severus and Hermione discuss her Loyalty Vow.

Characters:

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)

Slytherins: Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Sheldon Shafiq 6S (Reserve Beater, and charm on legs), Anneliese 'Lisa' Burke 4S (Searing Sousaphone Soloist), Sharon Shafiq 1S (Shawshank's witch, Sheldon's little sister), Margarethe 'Maggie' Burke 1S (chatty), Others: Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Shawshank (the Shafiqs’ half-Kneazle), Sunny (the Snapes' house elf)

Mentioned briefly: Slytherins: Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Inferi Princess), Torsten 'Tor' Touchstone 6S (sleepyhead, heir to the Touchstone fortune), Aaron Avery 6S (Reserve Chaser), Gryffindors: Harry Potter 7G (Team Captain, Seeker, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Severus), Ron Weasley 7G (Prefect, Keeper (only in the Quidditch sense), the Boy-Who-Exists-to-Annoy-Hermione), Ginny Weasley 6G (Chaser), Ravenclaws: Luna Lovegood 6R, Others: Crankshaft 'Crank' (Harper's half-Kneazle), Maleficent 'Malley' (Millie’s Maine Coon), The Bloody Baron (Slytherin House Ghost)

Previously:

Under the influence of Vince's Lust Potion, Hermione entertains a series of fantasies about a variety of nouns (people, places and things, natch), the Potions Master who dramatically comes to her rescue certainly not least amongst them. (004 (LJ / DW), mentioned 029 (LJ / DW))

As a wedding present, Poppy gives Hermione (and Severus) a magnificent magical blanket that promotes restful sleep and good dreams. (061 LJ / DW)

While kitting out Hermione's room, in the interest of simplicity, Severus gives her his beloved desk chair. (035 LJ / DW) He almost immediately comes to regret that decision; fortunately Hermione recognises the chair is a custom job, and offers to trade with him. (111 LJ / DW) One of the other things he creates for her room is a self-warming bed by means of a charmed duvet. (037 LJ / DW)

When Hermione appears most scantily clad in their lounge Monday morning (which is just the sort of sleepwear one might might prefer in a self-warming bed after all), a shocked Severus reflexively Transfigures her clothing, much to his chagrin. And hers. (038 LJ / DW)

As she's officially no longer his student, in the absence of House points, Severus jokingly suggests he establish the bonbon system for Hermione. After he has her poison him in a rather memorable attempt to demonstrate her Loyalty Vow's shortcomings (he may not have been precisely sober at the time he conceived of that stroke of unmitigated genius), and he's forced to acknowledge such drastic measures might have been unnecessary (077b LJ / DW), he has Sunny requisition a chocolate frog for her. (081 LJ / DW)

Hermione, understandably, has had difficulty sleeping since the attack last Friday. Seeing in Severus both her rescuer and someone she deems 'safe' (not that she's always satisfied with that, but that's a different matter), she's discovered she sleeps much better in his presence. She takes advantage of his incapacitation Tuesday night to sleep on the floor next to him. (085 LJ / DW) Somehow that ends with her in his arms, and possibly a bit of snuggling, and just maybe nibbling, not that Severus remembers that part all too clearly... (086 LJ / DW)

Severus makes a series of ledges along the bookshelves for Crooks. (He wasn't exactly sober then either. Mind it was the same night; he isn't some kind of lush...) (Discovered 103a (LJ / DW)) Hermione suggests a balustrade between the lounge and reading niche (103b LJ / DW) which Severus sets about building. And as long as he's doing a spot of DIY, what the hell, he also makes a new animal carrier for Crooks which serves double duty as Hermione's nightstand. (107 LJ / DW) She's dead chuffed when she sees it.

After swearing her to secrecy, Severus teaches Hermione one of the Perception Charms, the Observation Charm that can render their front door see-through from the inside. (109 LJ / DW) He also teaches her how to control the privacy and light settings on their underwater windows, the latter a spell of his own devising. (103a LJ / DW)

Hermione has the onset of another panic attack when it finally registers that Severus is uncomfortable touching her, probably doesn't recall the events of the previous night (Tuesday 085 - 086) and may not have been in any shape to consent to them in the first place. (112b LJ / DW) Perfectly reasonable grounds for a panic attack if ever there were any, she's mostly returned to opting for denial. Why mess with success?

Hermione doesn't flinch when Severus applies the Salve to heal her cursed scar (112b LJ / DW), unlike she had when Professor McGonagall touched her the morning before (067 LJ / DW), or Lav that very same evening (108 LJ / DW). Ichor Malus, coalesced dark magic (or magical pus, depending on whom one asks) seeps from the wound. (112b LJ / DW) Severus explains the substance's significance to her. (113b LJ / DW)

Severus still has plans and goes out for the evening, leaving Hermione alone in their quarters. (113b LJ / DW)

At Severus' request, Sunny has been... borrowing the seventh year boys' homework. That probably wouldn't be so bad if he didn't give it to Severus who in turn keeps burning their assignments. He can be vengeful that way. (Ongoing)

Shawshank may have injured herself in the cat habitat, Sharon panicked, but Sheldon rather wisely kept her from examining her half-Kneazle because he was concerned an enraged Vince was about to put in an appearance. (111 LJ / DW)

Vince hits Harper a couple of times, leaving him gasping (!) on the floor of the fitness room. (112a LJ / DW)

Luna presents Hermione with some candleholders as a wedding present. (073a LJ / DW) Ron, unsurprisingly, adjusts less well to the whole situation than Luna and begins making snide 'Bride of Slytherin' comments to Hermione. (075 LJ / DW)

Sunny throws a bit of a wobbly at lunch Wednesday, in the process extorting promises from Hermione to put him to use more often. The Baron can't believe his ears. Moggies. (098a LJ / DW)

Thanks to some intensive studying of Petkeeping texts, Hermione now knows and applies an Automagic Fur Banishing Charm to send Crooks' fur to a receptacle in their kitchen. (084 LJ / DW) (For some reason, she may still be labouring under the impression it's for Mrs. Figg to knit Kneazle fur hats...) (049 LJ / DW)

Hermione sits there for a little while, staring at the closed door to their chambers. Belatedly it occurs to her, she could have cast the Observation Charm on it and watched the Professor... What? Walk down the corridor? It wasn't much of a plan, and it hadn't even occurred to her on time to implement it. She laughs at herself and shakes the mood off, pulling her blanket tighter about her with a content sigh. It's so content, it's quite audible, and Hermione blushes a bit at the sound. But she has the place to herself - well, her and Crooks, or possibly the both of them and Sunny - and if she wants to make a bit of noise, there's no reason not to.

She looks about their chambers again, it's quite a lot of space, and she isn't entirely certain what to do with herself in it. She decides the Salve's treatment of her cursed scar has left her feeling too good to feel particularly driven, and in the absence of a concrete goal to pursue, she's a bit adrift. It's a strange sensation, most unaccustomed. Hermione invariably has plans for... just about everything, really. It's odd to not have one right at the moment.

The blanket wrapped snuggly about her like a robe and her blouse still gaping a little open - she simply doesn't want to tempt fate and risk undoing the Salve's good work - she finally gets up and walks about the room a bit. She can't help thinking it's unexpected that a room of this size wouldn't feel... cold. Impersonal. But it has something altogether cozy about it she rather likes. The rows and rows and rows of books certainly go a long ways to that end, and it helps, undoubtably, that it's very warm. Not stuffy, but toasty, and not at all what she'd have expected given the great expanse of glass into the Lake. She pauses to kneel on the window seat, applying the Curtaining Charm to the window to end the magical privacy screen and peering to both sides to see if she can spot any of the creatures living beyond. Naturally now that she's looking for them (and there's no one to see her start), none of them swim past.

How typical.

She cups her hands against the glass to see if that makes a difference, perhaps she can see further in that way... Which is when she discovers it does not, and finally notices that despite the differences in lighting, she isn't able to see her reflection in the glass; her view is undisturbed. She smiles, looking at Crooks dozing on one of his ledges. "I'll bet you anything the Professor has a Charm on the glass for that as well. Something like the one for the door, I imagine." She resets the blind, pleased to see the newly learnt Charm go off so smoothly. There's something even nicer about knowing it's a secret...

Crooks opens an eye, twitches an ear, and tries to get back to sleep, thoroughly disinterested in the magic his people do if it isn't directly related to his being. Ah, or if kippers aren't involved. He makes exceptions for kippers. Window Charms? Yawn-worthy. So much so, he yawns demonstratively, stretching one leg in front of him, and when he still fails to fall back to sleep (his witch has no respect for naps), resumes licking himself in ways Severus was only liable to take personally if present. Hermione, accustomed to her pet's ways, doesn't even register it.

"I think there's a lot of magic here," she insists on nattering on. Crooks is used to it, and continues his fur care undeterred. "The glass wasn't even cold to the touch. To a lake. In November. In Scotland. It's the same temperature as the room. And the floors are warm, have you noticed? Much warmer than they should be. Underfloor heating seems unlikely, don't you think?" As if a half-Kneazle wouldn't take notice of warm floors. The woman doesn't understand the first thing about felines, Crooks is certain. "But it's subtle magic. No ostentatious floating candles..." She turns to stare at the Professor's bedroom door and with a giggle adds, "At least not out here." There's no good explanation for the somewhat contemplative lip nibbling that follows, and she wisely doesn't even try.

"And the ice box is clearly a Charmed cupboard. In many ways, it's all rather Muggle, don't you agree? In its restraint?"

Crooks doesn't seem to have an opinion one way or another.

Hermione takes the few steps over to the new balustrade and grins like a mad dafty as she runs her hand along it. It's... nice to see her idea realised like this. It's even nicer that the Professor had been willing to listen to her like that; he'd just taken her suggestion, and there it stands. And the work he does... The thing really is exquisite. She allows her fingers to linger. And he'd made it just like that.

Well, to be fair, she doesn't really know how much work it was, she hadn't watched, but the results... There's no arguing with those. And unless there were a Time-Tuner involved, she thinks facetiously, then she knows it can't have taken too long.

She stands there leaning on it for a moment, staring without really seeing into the lounge, woolgathering. Eventually it strikes her as to much of 'O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?' pose (which hardly seems fitting), and pinking once more for reasons she has no intention of exploring, she takes the steps to the lounge.

While there's something nice to having this much space to herself, certainly after sharing a room with four other girls for over six years, she's not used to it and ultimately decides against settling in again in her chair to do some reading. And it might look too much like she were waiting up for the Professor to return... From wherever he'd gone. Not that it's any of her business, of course. That would be silly.

But she doesn't want to look like she was sitting there waiting for him to reappear.

Instead, still wrapped in her blanket, she shuffles off to her room. "Crooks? Are you coming?"

He can recognise his cue. With a preliminary yawn and stretch, he leaps from his ledge to the next and then eschewing the others, chooses to sail down to the floor in an enviably graceful pounce. Tatty moggy indeed.

He 'mrawrs' and he walks past her, rubbing against her legs, his, not that any fur remains behind anymore, and then in one smooth movement jumps onto her bed with every intention of enjoying her self-warming duvet as she closes the door behind them.

Harper sorts carefully through his things and pulls out the small pot of Muscle Mending Salve he'd brewed a few weeks ago. It's cheaper to make his own than it is to buy the finished product. It's always a challenge to get all the right ingredients in and brew what he can before the end of term so he doesn't have to resort to using his father's wand at home. The results are indisputably better when he uses his own.

He rubs the Salve into his left arm, confident Vince's little show of dominance, leaving the sixth year holding the snaps for an absolute age, won't leave any perceivable trace that way. He's right. He can feel the results immediately, as his skin turns first brightly red (with an audible 'Oooo!') and then fades in garish stripes (with a slightly less flamboyant 'Aaaah!') until it's normal again. Strangely, the 'Aaaah!' sort of tickles. On consideration, he looks at the pot and decides he an afford to be a little more generous, and lifts his shirt to apply it to his stomach as well.

Tor winces at the sight, and Sheldon can guess why. That'll have been down to Vince, no doubt. What an utter arse. Sheldon makes a mental note to order more of the Inferi Princess pix from Harper when he delivers the original batch. If Sheldon does it now, it will seem too much like pity. 'Sympathy' is the more accurate term. And a desire to get back at Vince definitely plays a role.

Trog.

If only he weren't such a good Beater.

Sheldon picks up Shawshank and gives her an unabashed cuddle. He's very attached to his sister's half-Kneazle, and he frankly doesn't care what the others think about it. For their parts, they're so used to the sight, they've altogether stopped commenting on it. The first week back at school in their second year, Harper had appeared in the dungeons one evening with two tiny kittens in something like modified Bubblehead Charms he couldn't have possibly performed himself at that age, offering one up to his Housemates for sale. Sheldon still isn't sure where he got them, Harper had never said and a good Snake learns not to ask too many questions, but they were his to sell, an Oath confirmed it, and Sheldon had bought one for his little sister Sharon who was apparently missing him something dreadful back at home. It's a funny thought, really, that Crankshaft could just as easily have been his, theirs, but he'd never really looked at the ginger tom twice. Perhaps not even once. There was Shawshank, Harper apparently had the name from some Ravenclaw, and Sheldon thought she'd be the perfect fit for their family. Shawshank Shafiq.

The rest was history.

He'd bought her right then and there, and he'd meant to send her home, he really had, except as second years, they weren't even allowed the Hogsmeade weekends, and as a result the kitten had stayed with him all term. Oh, the sacrifices older brothers make. Instead he brought her home for the Christmas hols, and he'd have to admit, he'd missed the cat fiercely when he returned to Hogwarts in January. (That was probably the real sacrifice, if he's honest.) Sharon had been so pleased with the kitty, however, that he remains sure he'd done the right thing, but he also can't deny that he's really enjoyed having Shawshank back at school since she arrived with Sharon at the beginning of term.

Shawshank seems to enjoy it as well and does a good job of splitting her time between their rooms. It certainly doesn't hurt that she appreciates the opportunity to play with her brother in the sixth years' room. The other boys have gotten used to that, too, accepting the occasional mad dash of half-Kneazles from one side of the room to the other and back again and the associated chaos as all part of the disorder of things. And with the way Aaron keeps his stuff, it hadn't made all that much of a difference to their room anyhow.

"You should be getting back to Sharon," Sheldon half whispers to the black and white feline. "She'll be missing you. You know, she was really worried about you earlier. You shouldn't scare her so." A thorough ear massage predictably does absolutely nothing to encourage the pet to leave earlier, but eventually he sets her down in front of the tunnel entrance beside their bedroom windows and with a last 'mrowr'ed farewell to Crankshaft, she soon disappears for the night.

The students don't question it, just as they don't question many things about magic, but the tunnel must somehow lead under the floor to the other side of the hallways and into some of the girls' rooms. Presumably it makes its way from there to the cat habitat. The Caterwalling Charm responsible for it is applied whenever someone with Kneazle allergies lives in the House at the same time as half-Kneazles do. With some luck, once Vince graduates next year, they can do away with the restrictions on their rooms. (Of course Harper seems to think with his luck, one of the new Firsties is likely to have allergies. There's probably something to it; it's rather hard to argue with his track record.)

"Sunny," Severus calls as he removes first his robes and then his waistcoat that he then hangs from convenient hooks. The elf appears almost silently beside him.

"Master of Potions, Sir?"

"I'd like you to continue with the homework... collection tonight. Once they're asleep. Two should do nicely; we wouldn't want to be too obvious." Although how they could have missed it three days running would be anyone's guess. They'd have to be thicker than Moggies... correction, the average Moggie, to have failed to notice.

"Yes, oh, Master of Potions. Sunny is happy to serve..."

"Thank you, Sunny." Severus interrupts before the litany can become all too servile or too colourful. House elves have a propensity for both, and Severus little tolerance for either. "It's appreciated." The elf may just have squeaked at that. Which puts him on par with a certain bondmate of Severus', he thinks with an amused huff. "Good night. I'll see you tomorrow," he dismisses the elf who then leaves as silently as he'd appeared.

Hermione had made herself comfortable in his - her, their? - desk chair, presumably it will be the last chance she'll have to do so before he reclaims it tomorrow, and the thing truly is a wonder. How much better must it be if one were taller, longer legged and the thing were actually made to fit her? She's done the right thing, giving it back to him, she's sure, but she thinks she'll miss it nevertheless.

She's been distracted and can't focus on her work. She's too far ahead to need to do anything, and without need to drive her... She simply doesn't want to work on her schoolwork tonight. It's becoming a bit of a thing...

Well, she's entitled.

She also has no desire to read more about Kneazle... anything really. The most pressing problems were solved, anything else was simply icing on the cake. Had the topic interested her overmuch, she'd have read the books ages ago. So strangely, she had not. That says everything necessary about the subject really. If the Professor didn't need... want? Probably that. If he hadn't wanted this, she still wouldn't be looking at them now. Well, not now, obviously, but this week, say. Having Crooks doesn't mean she's particularly interested in animals as a whole, or she'd undoubtedly have lobbied against Mice to Snuffbox and Rabbit Slippers Transformations, and she'd clearly done nothing of the kind.

Instead she closes and straightens her books. Then she changes the water in her bouquet's vase, goes to the loo, brushes her teeth and removes her clothes, preparing for bed. She's about to clean them, force of habit, when she recalls Sunny's... request - yes, that sounds much better than 'tantrum', doesn't it? - from this afternoon, folding and placing her clothing in the basket the Professor had provided in the small washroom. Well, that's one promise kept, and it had cost her little enough effort. In fact, technically it had saved her effort. (If one doesn't count the effort it took to remind herself to leave the things for Sunny to manage, that is. She'll grow used to it.) She Summons the t-shirt she's fond of wearing to bed, and having developed some routine of late, two waves of her wand have it Transfigured, long and floaty with a deep V neckline that leaves the top part of her scar still uncovered, and a moment later the nightgown is the deepest emerald green. She smiles at her reflection - Ronald can go suck an Ashwinder's egg; Bride of Slytherin, indeed. She exits the bathroom with a bit of a flounce and retrieves her blanket from where she'd abandoned it on the desk chair, drapes it over her shoulders and crawls into bed, the self-warming blanket over her adding a delectable snuggliness to the arrangement.

She Summons a book to read, it's a bit more like pretending to read, really, sort of leafing through it for all of thirty seconds, and when she grows tired of that, she lets it drop to the bed and allows her eyes to roam. They alight on her new nightstand-cum-half-Kneazle carrier next to her bed and she smiles. Smiling still more as she considers the hypothetical bonbon system, she adjusts the chocolate frog slightly to the right before shifting it back again; its original position suited better. Spotting the silvered turnip and thinking of Luna, she decides it would be nice to have a bit of candlelight, probably more to make her think of her friend than for the extra light it will provide, but it strikes her as a welcome thing somehow. She checks, and the tea light from yesterday is well past using again. She Banishes it to the bin, the abandoned book soon following to the shelves.

The clothing issue having called a certain house elf to mind, as well as her various concessions to make more use of his services, and presently as decent as imaginable, thoroughly covered as she is (although Severus would almost certainly still have some objections to the low cut of her nightdress, always assuming he weren't struck dumb by the sight), she calls for Sunny.

Elves, much like half-Kneazles, care precious little about what humans are wearing. The very thought is absurd. Or at least it is when it isn't a question of sorting the wash or being freed by one's owners, matters a conscientious little elf tends to view with near equal importance.

When the elf appears beside her bed, Crooks briefly considers making a leap for him, but Hermione has already begun to scoop her pet up and deposited him between the blankets on her lap. He resigns himself to another missed opportunity - perhaps it's just as well with the witch present - and really he'd meant to curl up on her anyway. It had simply been rather difficult to persuade himself to leave the warmth of the wizard's charmed comforter. The thing is a bloody marvel. They could use more.

Perhaps self-warming half-Kneazle ledges.

Or a new cushion for his carrier...

"Sunny, do we have tea lights? Or can you get some? From somewhere?" Hermione's not altogether sure how that works. Elves, fetching things, and just where they source all the things they fetch... And now that she thinks about it, she's wondering if somewhere in that extended cupboard next door, the Professor has a bin full of candles... Perhaps with his manifold Christmas decorations, comes the amusing thought. But she hadn't wanted to take too close of a look uninvited... "I need two..." She nibbles her lip uncertainly but the elf is quick to reassure her that he'll happily acquire just such objects for her, which he's done almost before he completes the sentence.

That was easy enough.

She resolves to be less timid about asking in the future; it will almost definitely help keep him from feeling so useless. That in turn should stave off further histrionics. And then she won't have to cave. And the Baron won't have to lecture her. In a whisper. All considered, well worth it. Perhaps Sunny offers candle supply in a subscription model...

She places one of the tea lights in the candleholder on the night table, and Sunny, eager to anticipate her needs, hurries to replace the taper in the one on her desk with the other. A sweep of her wand and a 'Depulso' Banishes the half burnt candlestick to one of her desk drawers.

"Sunny lights it for the Mistress?" One of his fingers hovers over the candle.

"Please," she replies, Incendioing her own. And if that makes him feel more useful, well why not? At this rate, conceivably there won't be the need for another scene at lunch tomorrow. She really shouldn't like to tax the Baron's patience that way... She wrinkles her nose in amusement, her lower lip firmly between her teeth as she grins, but then Sunny stops in front of the bed, shuffling his feet and looking rather glum, and her grin fades. "Sunny? What's wrong?"

Sunny isn't one to overlook an opening - on the contrary, he's quite willing to create those openings himself if need be - but given one, he runs with it. There's much theatrical humming and hawing, hand wringing and ear pulling, and Hermione struggles to remain patient, but ultimately she's relieved when he gets to the point, which is quite the frame of mind he'd been aiming for. She's far less focused on what he wants and why than on the fact he's finally voiced it. Sunny manages not to appear smug; he's not been the personal elf to the Head of the noble House of Slytherin all these years without honing a few skills of his own.

"The Master, he sleeps poorly, he does. Many, many bad dreams. Very bad dreams." Hermione has a notion of the truth of that and looks duly concerned, much to Sunny's secret delight. "Sunny hoped... The blanket," he points towards her, almost helplessly, waving a knobby finger forlornly about and indicating the Matron's gift, currently wrapped around Hermione's shoulders. "It makes very bad dreams stop."

She's certain they don't disappear entirely, but possibly he means the worst of it is mellowed. She's a little surprised he recognised that about the blanket, but then people seldom truly grasp house elves' capabilities.

"But if Mistress needs it..." He sounds absolutely dejected and Hermione is frankly a bit of a mug.

"Oh no, not at all. He's welcome to it tonight if he'd like." She had had similar thoughts about the blanket being good for him herself after all.

Sunny twists his hands some more. "Master won't ask for it," he nearly wails. "And Master doesn't understand why Master needs it." Ah. Hermione can readily believe that. "If it's there," the elf gestures towards the lounge, "Master might use it. But if it's here," he points to her again, "Master won't."

It's all quite reasonable, not at all the questionable logic she'd come to expect of elves knowing Dobby and his shenanigans.

"That's not a problem," she smiles benignly at the little creature. "We can definitely see to that," she readily agrees, but still she makes no move to hand over the blanket just yet. It's nice to sit there curled up in it after all, and it smells ever so faintly of him.

"Sunny takes it to the lounge now?" He prompts rather hopefully.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I can put it out there when I feel him coming back through the wards," she counteroffers.

The elf looks doubtful. "A warm blanket? Hoosh hoosh. Mistress' feet disappearing into Mistress' room? Mistress' door, bang! Closing! No!" Sunny is most insistent. "Master smells rat, will never use blanket then."

Yes, she can see where that might seem a little staged if the blanket were still warm from her bed. It's an odd thought, a pre-warmed blanket... This time of year, there might even be something welcome about it, sort of like the highly sought after pre-warmed spots on the squashy couches in the Gryffindor common room. And it's not all too different from the self-warming one he'd made for her... But she can see how that might strike him as strange. Honestly, considering it's the Professor and not one of her Housemates, it strikes her as a little strange, too.

That Hermione hasn't got a precision Cooling Charm for the problem isn't surprising - why would she? - but that it doesn't occur to her that an elf who is perfectly capable of plating up food at any desired temperature must is a different matter entirely. She's too used to making assumptions about others based on her own capabilities, and she still gravely underestimates the house elves as a species. He's eminently capable of sorting it, in fact, but it would thwart his plans.

"Hmm. Yes, I can see where that might not be so good." She's being silly, clinging to it. It should help him sleep better, she's positive, and really, that's almost entirely self-serving, because she's reasonably certain that will help her sleep better, too, thanks to the bond. And if it should just so happen that the blanket were to smell a little more like him in the morning, well, it can't be helped she's sure.

She certainly wouldn't object anyway.

She wriggles out from under it, and hands the blanket to the elf. Crooks mrooowrs at the disturbance, waits for her to settle and then, his indignation palpable, curls up on her lap again, kneading her legs a few extra times for good measure. Humans. Sunny still stands there in a sad little heap, and Hermione can't begin to understand why he isn't happier having just gotten his way. Elves.

She's grown used to this game and knows it will go faster if she just asks, "What else is wrong, Sunny?"

And that's all it takes. He launches into an attempted explanation, riddled with the the obligatory elven convolutions, that basically boils down to his uncertainty the Master will use the obviously beneficial blanket even if it's in the lounge when he returns. Apparently the Professor can be very hard to convince. Hermione's less than shocked to hear it. More hand and ear wringing follow, then a great deal of theatrical sighing, Sunny supposes it's the best he can do...

"Well, couldn't you bring it to him? Just tuck him in once he goes to sleep." Not that she'd ever do anything like that... Well, unless he were in the Infirmary and poorly and desperately in need of rest. Or lying inebriated and defenceless on their couch... Really, now that she thinks about it, this may just be her modus operandi. Sunny brightens immediately at her oh so brilliant idea, he'll do just that. "You can always remove it in the morning before he wakes," she suggests helpfully. She's so pleased to have fixed Sunny's problem that it doesn't occur to her just yet that this plan might render the previous one to bring the blanket out to the lounge now obsolete. His theatrics can prove very distracting.

Not that she has any way of knowing it, but Sunny won't be putting the blanket on a sleeping Severus. He just wanted her to feel a part of the plot. He's certain that's important, that she feel she's helping to take care of the Master. Instead he'll... tacitly suggest it and leave the decision to use it to Severus. It's not that Sunny is above resorting to such things, he definitely isn't, but it will be more beneficial if using the blanket were to become a regular thing and that's more likely to happen if Severus comes to recognise the blanket's worth for himself. Considering the man's character, it will be far better if he thinks the idea is his own.

Sunny wishes Hermione a good night and pops off with the blanket before she can reconsider, although she is left feeling slightly bamboozled for reasons she can't quite put her finger on.

One of the things she hasn't begun to recognise about Sunny is that he's an elf with an agenda, and one to which he's highly dedicated at that. He has his own reasons to want her to spend less time in the blanket. As much as Sunny would like Severus to use the blanket and sleep better, he genuinely would, frankly he'd prefer for the witch to be less... happy. He's quite certain she feels better as long as she's wrapped in the fluffy thing. She's no longer on the fire dulling potion which rendered her not very Mistress-like, and without the blanket, he is certain, she'll soon become sadder.

The Master needs to recognise his responsibility here, and he most certainly will if Sunny has anything to say about it.

Fourth year Anneliese Burke is just seeing the excited little Firsties to bed, rounding them up from the seventh years' room and leading them deeper into the dungeons, upwards into the girls' wing and well into the Lake to their own quarters. It's much like she imagines herding Kneazles, which only speaks to her lack of imagination as that's a simile far more aptly applied to the boys, but then she hasn't a feline of her own and probably just doesn't know any better.

She's finally gotten the girls to their sleeping chambers, their non-stop excited chatter is enough to drive her spare, her sister Margarethe's not least amongst them. Deep down Lisa has the sense she likes this chore even less because she believes this should be Prefects' work, but they'd long since established a rota, and it's her turn this week, plain and simple. No one could have known in advance about the announcement of the Head's bonding a Moggie on Monday or that there'd be two House meetings - well, not unless they were as good as Trelawney or Sapworthy - and the week is far from over. Unsurprisingly, the younger girls were very wound up after the meetings.

There's a 'mrowr' and a dichromatic streak of fur tears through the room, leaping onto Sharon's bed. It's the first chance the girl has had to see her beloved pet since Shawshank ran full throttle into the barrier to the cat habitat while chasing Maleficent (and considering Millicent, there's every chance her cat had done it on purpose, Sharon is sure), and it's a huge relief to see the half-Kneazle doing so well. This is Sharon, typically, that relief shows. The young girl greets her pet with the beginnings of a cheery exclamation of glee, and Maggie pounces, almost as quickly as the half-Kneazle, clapping a hand over her friend's mouth, imploring her to be quiet, but it's too late. Lisa's attention is drawn.

"Sharon, what did Pansy just tell you about that?"

Sharon pales but has no good ready answer. The ones that occur to her almost guarantee she'll be punished, and not entirely barmy, she rejects them immediately. Unfortunately that punishment can occur whether she answers or not.

If it isn't music, honestly it probably doesn't interest Lisa much, and she has preciously little enthusiasm for mentoring her younger sister, never mind her little dingbat friends. But a duty is a duty, and Lisa understands hers and so she draws her wand regardless of personal interest, levelling it at Sharon who is now clutching her half-Kneazle and sniffling wide-eyed into Shawshank's fur.

And then Maggie squeaks up, asking her sister to wait, and if she couldn't apply the Stinging Hex herself instead. Please. Sharon's eyes widen even further in shock; that was the last thing she'd expected from her best friend, who as a Burke was presumably born with the very good sense to not wink and give the game away. Lisa isn't overly invested and readily agrees. "Do your worst," she says, privately suspecting this will culminate in the saddest little hex the room has ever borne witness to. And then Maggie points her wand at Sharon, mouths 'Sorry' and fires.

Lisa was right, it truly is a pathetic Stinging Hex, Shawshank doesn't even hiss, and Sharon almost forgets to yelp. Then she has to wrestle with herself how loud she should be yelping if she doesn't want another Stinger... Too loud and it'll tannoy again, too quiet and perhaps the others will think it hadn't been strong enough... Things like that are what separate the Firsties from the others. Give them time, they'll learn. But for the most part, presently they're about as devious as a band of 'Puffs.

"See to it you don't do it again," Lisa admonishes Sharon with a shake of her head primarily directed at the poor performance, but a few of the others grumble it hadn't been nearly enough, and Lisa should zap her again. 'Zap'? Philistines. This is magic they're talking about, and she's a Burke, from a ridiculously long line of Burkes (pretty much by definition). They've been magical since before these things were even recorded. Burke's don't zap. But that's a discussion for another day. Or better yet, never. What would be the point? Instead the fourth year manages the voices of dissent with a barked order for everyone to be quiet and finally get to bed. She's half surprised when it works. "But if you haven't already, go brush your teeth first." It's impossible to play the Searing Sousaphone without good dentition. Someone needs to think of these things.

Long after Lisa is gone, Sharon and Maggie stay up huddled in Sharon's bed, Shawshank nestled sleeping between them, discussing the close call in hushed tones, failing to realise just how obvious the ploy had been to the older girl. If they really wish to talk about their good fortune, they should be thanking their lucky stars they'd had her to monitor them this week.

Sunny had brought the Professor to mind, although it would be fair to say he hasn't been far from her thoughts lately. It would be hard enough to forget him when there are signs of him everywhere she turns - she's in his, their, quarters, for goodness' sake - or in light of the fact they were recently married. Adding his courageous rescue Friday to the mix makes it extremely unlikely, and even if she were somehow still able to banish him from her thoughts - not that she feels so inclined, but she does feel something of a need to make excuses for that disinclination - the bond makes it an absolute impossibility.

So it's not her fault in the least that her thoughts once again turn to the man now.

Or that her left hand once again encircles the phial hanging about her neck...

Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, Hermione can tell he's in a good mood. A rapidly improving mood. He feels... energised. Vibrant. Alive. Which is strange. And new. And now she'd sort of like to know what he's doing to cause it. She's naturally curious. And ever so slightly it's bothering her that she doesn't know, and that it appears to be taking place well away from her.

Which makes perfect sense, really, for a variety of reasons, but still...

Restless, she sits up a bit and then with a sigh, flops rather heavily back onto her pillow.

She distracts herself by Transfiguring her nightclothes again. It's a strange sensation against her skin. (Crooks is inclined to agree, but it's less odd against his fur, and at any rate, he believes he's used to suffering in silence.) It's not altogether unpleasant once one's used to it. When one's expecting it anyway... It occurs to her that when the Professor had, erm, inadvertently Transfigured her knickers Monday morning (and she doesn't blush in the least at the thought), the fabric of the tracksuit had been different. The t-shirt is soft, incredibly soft, so it isn't a bad thing, but nothing she does changes that texture. Not that she'd dream of asking the Professor how he did that. There are enough other things to ask him about, if she ever works up the courage.

She imagines mentioning the knickers Transfiguration would make him even less inclined to teach her how to go about it anyway. And really, he'd been quite clear about not wanting to teach her anymore to begin with. Which made it all the nicer that they'd had that talk about the Ichor Malus...

Her wand still captured between two fingers, she rubs her left shoulder almost reflexively at the thought.

He'd been remarkably patient. Quite forthcoming. Hopefully he hadn't done it just because he wanted the rest of the Ichor if it forms...

Putting her wand down now, she tries the Transfiguration on her top once more. All the practice has paid off. The bit of wandless magic goes rather well, but not quite as well as last night. Just the thought has a smirk on her face and leaves her feeling rather audacious.

And a little mortified.

But it had been nice, being held, and in some ways, it's a bit comforting to think that he might not be thoroughly antipathetic to... her. It's a good sign for the future.

Not now, naturally.

Later.

Someday, perhaps...

Well unless he doesn't remember it.

Of course he remembers it... He has to.

That way lies madness and she grabs her wand again and distracts herself with some more Transfigurations.

Not that she notices, but then that's the point, the fact she feels pressed to worry about the issue of consent neatly distracts her from any embarrassment she might otherwise have been prone to feel about entertaining thoughts of a potential future where being held might be a more regular occurrence, never mind an explicitly desirable one.

It's just as well, as her embarrassment has a way of ruining Severus' mood quite thoroughly.

As she works, her thoughts drift to the moment earlier when things had become rather awkward, really it was probably just shy of a panic attack, and how it had started when she became nervous about teasing the Professor. She has no desire to revisit the core issues, preferring to stay to the safer (much safer) edges of the problem, what had set her off, where it all went sideways... It might not solve her issues, but for the moment she'll be happy not to exacerbate them.

She was doing fine, she thinks - more or less, anyway - until she she stumbled. Things seem to get worse between them when she loses confidence.

She imagines she'll need to get over that sense of awe, whatever it is that keeps her from treating him like she would anyone else. She shifts about a bit in frustration. It doesn't help, of course, that he's not at all like anyone else she knows... (And she doesn't just picture him, for maybe the millionth time, swooping in to her rescue Friday... Fine, she does, but only fleetingly.) But in the long run, if she keeps feeling like she needs to treat him differently, it will just continue to make things difficult. If he lets her, as long as there are no objections, she probably needs to behave more... normally.

If he's allowing her to tease him, for goodness sake, she should just... go for it and stop worrying about things. Purely as an example. It isn't as though he isn't eminently capable of voicing any objections he may have, she's known him long enough to be certain of that. The situation almost definitely doesn't need her to worry about his sensibilities.

Possibly.

But it isn't as though the bond wouldn't tell her when she's gone too far...

Except then she has to wonder about his Occluding. It makes this rather more difficult than it needs to be...

She wriggles some more, feeling like she can't get comfortable. Crooks wonders what he's done in some previous life to deserve this. There he was, just trying to keep her warm, and the witch can't sit still for a moment. It's like she'd sat on an anthill the way the woman fidgets...

She's trying to think it through, where she went wrong, and how she could have handled it better - the immediate feedback is quite a help, really, even if he is hard to understand... Her amusement before had been a mistake. That almost makes sense, she supposes. Through the bond, that must feel like she was laughing at him. He can't possibly trust her enough for that to always work smoothly. She hasn't really given him reason to yet...

It would be nice to be able to speak to someone about this. To have someone to talk with, to help reason it through... Harry? Ron? Don't make her laugh! Their brains would explode. ('Objection!' she can just hear Ella say. 'It presupposes the existence of brains not presently in evidence,' she hears Hunter reply. The thought makes her smile a little despite the topic.) Luna, bless, but she doesn't seem quite the person to confide in about one's love life. (And Hermione immediately pretends that wasn't at all the term she used, of course not, except what other term really applies to a bonding? It's probably best not to think about that in any detail... Moving on!) But to the best of her knowledge, Luna has never had a romantic interest. In anyone. (And, no, she didn't just frame the matter in terms of a 'romantic interest' either; that's clearly putting the cart before the Thestral.) Ginny...

Ginny.

Hmm.

She can't help remembering how Ginny had run right off - well, perhaps not right off - but she'd certainly been quick to betray Hermione's confidence about Victor's kiss. As soon as it had been remotely in Ginny's interest, she'd spilt all - well, the most salient bits - and just as things looked like they might be... promising with Ron, too. And everyone knows how that ended. Absolutely everyone. Ron and Lav had been far from circumspect, and Hermione has no game face worth the mention.

Hermione has always wondered about that... slip. It wasn't as though Ron's reaction couldn't be anticipated or Ginny didn't claim to know her brother only too well. But Hermione holds that single moment responsible for the two of them never coming together and ultimately sees it as the turning point that led to their current estrangement. Was Ginny simply that much of a hothead, that indifferent, that treacherous, selling a friend out just for the sake of a dig at her brother, or merely that much of an idiot... Either way, even taking it in the most generous light, she was clearly untrustworthy. What Hermione had learnt from the experience was that if she wanted a secret kept, she needed to keep her own counsel.

These are the times she really misses her mum.

That's not entirely true. She misses her mum quite a lot. Each and every day...

It's odd, Hermione's been away from home for the vast majority of the time for the last half a dozen years, often not even going home for the hols, and she hadn't missed her parents at all then, but now, now that she doesn't have the option of returning home, now suddenly she misses them like never before. But her mum would have been able to help.

Hermione laughs at the thought.

That's if she ever told her what was going on... Well, she might have told her mum about the Professor; she'd probably have had some good advice to give, judging by the stories she used to tell... But then Hermione can't see how she could explain the need for the bonding without revealing a great many things she'd never have told her parents about. She shivers as her thoughts skirt the events of Friday and she resolutely steers them back to her mother.

It's telling when that's the more comforting thought.

Anyway, the net result is it probably doesn't really make much of a difference, practically speaking, that her mum isn't... available, it's just that it feels like it does.

Hermione's next cast is terribly off, and the shift to her top goes very wrong, which takes her mind off the questions of how to... handle her bondmate and the problems a lack of a confidant creates for a few moments. The empire waist is much too high and completely crooked, and presently badly squishing one of her breasts. Apparently that's a risk inherent in Transfiguring things on one's person. And here it had been going so well, too. She squirms some more as she sets things back to rights; Crooks finally has enough and withdraws to the safety of the comforter. The witch clearly doesn't want his help.

She's tiring. It's harder to cast when exhausted... Maybe she's been overdoing it? And yet she can't seem to stop; it's like a nervous release...

Maybe it's the Transfiguration, the thought of how much easier, better a similar attempt had been the night before... Wandlessly, no less. How that had led to her back pressed to a certain bondmate's bare chest. Perhaps that's what conjures the memory of the feel of it just now, and quite viscerally, too... But for whatever reason, she finds herself thinking about it... Always pretending (or at least for the moment) that he had been a willing partner last night, he might - conceivably - not be completely averse to...

Well.

By logical extension, if she were to just allow things to take their course, or, really, feel free to act until the Professor puts a stop to it... That was how she thought she should be approaching this, wasn't it? She wonders if that doesn't ultimately include the possibility - quite logically, of course - of pursuing a... physical relationship? At some point?

Actively?

Now she does find that thought a little embarrassing.

It soon pails in comparison to the memories from Friday, an array of fantasies she'd had of the man that come flooding back to mind the moment she gives them the slightest toehold. Which was probably to be expected, alone, late in the evening in bed, thinking about these sorts of things...

Holy Cricket.

She tries not to blame herself for them with middling success.

She had been given a potion. It and it alone was solely to blame for her physiological response, it was involuntary and she should think no more of it. She had that from the best of authorities. But she'd imagined rather a lot of things that seem to be coming back to haunt her now. (The better half of the Kama Sutra, from the look of it, and it is physically and magically impossible to Geminio a person, she is quite certain... Polyjuice? A Time-Turner? The fantasies hadn't exactly come with explanations.) And now she knows how it feels to have his arms around her, to be pressed to his naked chest. How he smells. The feel of his lips, no matter how faintly, against her own, against her flesh... She's presently able to give those fantasies a great deal more detail than they had had.

They become far more realistic, and the struggle not to blame herself for that adds to the overall guilt. There's no way she can reconcile thoughts like those with her friendships with Harry and Ron. They'd never forgive her if they knew. There'd be no way back for them.

And yet it makes her think about how she hadn't flinched (not that she has any reason to do so, of course not...) when he applied the Salve earlier. She tries not to read too much into it, but it's an anomalous thing that keeps nudging it's way to the forefront of her thoughts... Whether or not she has reason to flinch when touched (she absolutely doesn't), it doesn't change the fact she has indeed been doing so lately... She's trying to work out if it's a question of trust, implicit, or somehow conveyed through the bond, that made that possible, or if it could be (a truly mortifying) question of wanting his touch, some residual thing from those fantasies from Friday...

Just the thought sort of sucks the air from her lungs, and not in an entirely good way... It's a bit dizzying.

Severus would reluctantly find her blush becoming, assuming he didn't know the reasons for it; she'd sink into the floor from embarrassment if anyone ever saw her that way.

She stops playing with the phial hanging from her neck long enough to look at her ring, her bonding so very much on her mind, which is when she sees it. Or thinks she sees it.

Holy Cricket!

She bolts up, suddenly sitting upright in her bed; a flame-shaped wave of her hand soon has all the sconces in the room blazing. Crooks, accustomed to this sort of behaviour, assumes she just remembered six extra inches worth of material on some topic due the following day she'll now feel the pressing need to document. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

Hermione stares at her ring in horror. The thing is larger, she is sure of it. Not much larger, but larger nevertheless. She turns her hand back and forth, this way and that way in the light and she could swear - swear! - the thing is a little lighter in colour, too.

She can hear her heart racing in her chest, the pounding loud in her ears, the rush of blood becoming just as audible... If she thought she felt dizzy before, she's reevaluating the term now.

She holds her hand up to examine the ring more closely, and no she isn't imagining things. Holy Cricket...

What will she do now?

What will she tell people?

Was that all it took to cause it? Do people know it responds to absolutely nothing? That that's all it takes? Nothing!

Thinking - even fleetingly - of a few fantasies? Gods! She couldn't even help them! Not that she'd ever be able to explain that... Or was it thinking of a future? That was only sensible, wasn't it? Or had it been his touch, the application of the Salve? Or the fact she enjoyed it?

She sinks into her bed in despair.

Whatever it was, she hadn't done much. And still it shifted. How was any of that more significant than sleeping in his arms last night? It's like the thing has no sense of priorities...

Oh, gods! And what will happen when people notice? She can just picture Bulstrode...

Ginny! Holy Cricket! Ginny! She'd notice for sure. And she apparently knew the significance of the ring, not that she'd explained it in any useful way, the stupid bint. How long would it take before she told Harry and Ron this time?

They'll never speak to her again.

She is never running into Ginny ever again. Not if she can help it.

Sure, because plans like that usually work...

She is so screwed...

What was that Bulstrode had told her? The rings were always the same... Oh goodness gracious! What will she do when the Professor notices??

And then a horrible thought strikes her. It hadn't been different this morning. If nothing she did now strikes her as more significant than worming her way into his embrace last night, and the bloody rings are apparently this sensitive to... events to cause them to change... then doesn't that prove, definitively, that last night couldn't possibly have been consensual?

She's about to be ill.

Which probably makes it all the more fortuitous that a voice then well and truly startles her out of her spiral, even if it does half scare her to death with its unexpectedness.

A/N: Squishes to

grooot and

erexen. 😊❤️