“beyond wandpoint” 039 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 10b Monday - Breakfast with Berks”

Hermione, Harry, Ron

---

Originally Published: 2017-12-16 on AO3
Chapter: 039

Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

---

---

There were the initial greetings, a little awkward as all of them know Ron didn't visit her in the Infirmary, or want to, and now they're stuck playing happy families. The fact she's now sitting without apparent injury across from him so quickly after... whatever it was this time, leaves him feeling vindicated in his choice. She won't soon forget he wasn't there for her. Again.

They're helped past the uncomfortable silences when Professor Dumbledore announces classes will begin half an hour late this morning to general approval. Ron seems to think they could've just cancelled the day entirely, completely failing to recognise how vital class time is seven months before N.E.W.T.s, and he really wouldn't have minded a bit of a lie in had they thought to mention it further in advance. Because it's all about his convenience, obviously.

Hermione's reasonably convinced he's already had two lie ins this weekend, perhaps as late as half eight, lazy sod. Because all teenagers dream of rising at half eight on weekends, naturally, although it follows that's probably only when they're fortunate enough to actually sleep. In Ron's case, Hermione knows with certainty, only the driving need for food pries him from bed. She's wrong; sometimes the motive is Quidditch, but she tends to forget that.

Unsurprisingly, her mood isn't improving as she suspects she knows just why classes are beginning later, and Ron might be justified finding her a bit of a shrew. Likewise, she's not completely wrong seeing in him something of an insensitive, lazy slob. Particularly as he continues to chew with his mouth open and speak with it exceedingly full.

A look at the Professor, seated at the Head Table, would seem to confirm her suspicions as to the delayed classes. And then she realises she can't actually see the tension in his face, it's just something she feels across their bond. He senses her glance and returns it. His lips pressed in a thin line, he inclines his head towards her, ever so slightly, as he stands to follow Albus and the other teachers out to the staff meeting. Silently, she wishes him luck.

"So Terry Boot told me Saturday..." Ron calls her attention back to their table.

"You mean when you were at Quidditch practice?" Hermione asks innocently. Harry just winces and concentrates on his plate, having no real Exploding Snap face to speak of. But the fruit preserves are just lovely this morning... Yes, they are.

"Uh, well, after that, I guess." In a way, Hermione feels forced to admit, it almost speaks for Ron that he is such a wretched liar. She's just not feeling all too generous at the moment. "So Terry says that Malfoy had somehow gotten himself in trouble with Dumbledore..."

"Professor Dumbledore," she corrects, half automatically, but half because she's still rather annoyed with Ron.

"Right, and so he had detention with Filch, cleaning all weekend. He must have done something really stupid. Well, and gotten caught, which I guess was stupid enough." Hermione would tend to agree, getting caught was probably his problem. She has no words. But then, she wouldn't thanks to Dumbledore's Oath. There's a tightness in her features both boys miss.

"So we went to take a look, and sure enough, Filch has got him mopping the hallways. Y'know, by hand?" Ron pretends to push an invisible mop in demonstration, as though his two Muggle-raised friends might not know what he means. Hermione suspects she's a good deal more familiar with that concept than he is. Spoilt prat.

"So Fred and George, they sent me their new Pocket Swamp for trial. They're calling it the Draught of Dirt, yeah? It's one of their new potions, because like you said, you can't get Charms past Filch, but he's pants with Potions..."

"So that you remember, but when I try to talk to you about Gamp's Law, your eyes glaze over?" She sounds more than a little indignant, and Harry goes back to studying his plate. Maybe another bap...

"Are you going to let me tell the story or what?" Ron's got his back up now, and Harry decides he might have to intervene.

"Mate, pass the currant preserves, would you? 'Mione, wouldn't you like some?" He asks hopefully. "They're really very good." It's not the greatest ploy. Food is best used as a distraction for Ron.

"Thanks, Harry, but I'll have some fruit instead." She gestures towards her grapes, still sitting on her pile of books beside her.

"Hey, where'd you get the grapes?" Ron asks as he helps himself generously to some of hers and begins to stuff his face, always on the lookout, as he is, for new food sources.

"So what about the Dirty Draught?" Hermione prompts, looking a tad annoyed at what little now remains of her healthy snack. She begins to peck at them, trying to get some while they last.

"Draught of Dirt. So Seamus and I borrowed Harry's cloak, yeah, and we snuck up to the corridor Malfoy's scrubbing, give it a good shake, unstopper the phial and... boom, before you know it, dirt, swamp, mud, everywhere! It was mental!"

"Sounds it," Hermione responds dryly.

"Well, you probably had to be there..." Ron sounds a little disappointed. Harry and Dean had seemed far more amused when they told them the story yesterday. But then he had to tell it; he'd promised Fred to do some advertising in return for the sample. Maybe the secret was in Seamus' recounting. He's pretty good at that. Especially the 'boom'.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been, but I was stuck in the Infirmary," she snarks. Getting bonded. Crikey. She may also be becoming increasingly passive aggressive. The boys certainly have no response to her dig. Hermione takes a calming breath and tries again.

"So you made a mess, and Malfoy mopped it up?" She recaps, making sure she has the salient points.

"Well, yeah..." Ron sounds even less sure of himself now, but then picks up steam again. Harry hadn't even heard this part yet, and it's the best bit, he's certain, "So then Terry comes up to me this morning, yeah, and it turns out Malfoy was so beat by the time it was done, must've been dead tired, he's on the seventh floor by the Grand Staircase. Or anyhow that's what the Fat Friar told the Grey Lady, and she told Terry." Splendid, now they're playing Chinese whispers. "So he must've missed the Disappearing-step, or the stairs shifted, whatever, but he takes a tumble from the very top down the centre of the stairwell."

He whistles, one long descending tone, makes a spiralling downward motion with his index finger and completes his illustration with a 'splat'. "I mean, there wasn't much Filch could do but watch, right?" Ron sticks his tongue out in mock concentration and mimes a hopeless wand movement. "Must've been brilliant."

Harry's about to laugh, if only at Ron's expression, when Hermione's horrified voice cuts across their spot of fun.

"He fell seven stories?! How is that brilliant?" She's hardly Malfoy's well-wisher at this point, quite the contrary, but that sounds a lot like guaranteed death, unless the ferret suddenly sprouted wings or learned to fly, and not the least bit 'brilliant'. She wouldn't wish that on anyone, and she's more than a little appalled at Ron's glee. But that insensitivity had been half of the reason for Friday's... events, really. She's also a little nervous that she might know who had something to do with this, and that's... Well, it just makes her nervous, that's all.

"Well, somebody caught him. Arresto Whatsit."

"Momentum," she supplies automatically. He doesn't seem appreciative. "Really, Ronald? That's a second year Charm." That hardly seems to increase his appreciation. "And from that height, it was probably Duo," she adds pedantically, only making things worse. Magic is all well and good, but physics can't be completely discounted. Momentum indeed. If that Charm isn't applied properly, from that height it could be like hitting a brick wall. Or, well, floor...

Their bickering has eclipsed any reaction Harry might have had. He simply sits there, scanning the table for more pumpkin juice.

He loves them both, he truly does, but he's reaching a point where he loves them... separately more. The weekend with her in the Infirmary had certainly been... easier. He almost feels guilty for that, she'd been injured after all, but it's not like either of them feel guilty for ruining his breakfast. This can't be good for the digestion.

Slightly cross, Ron continues, "Anyroad, he's hardly dead or anything. He's just in the Infirmary. Merlin, 'Mione, relax would you? It's only Malfoy." She lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding, and feels guilty for having done the Professor an injustice. It's his own fault though really, telling her just yesterday that he's a cold-blooded murderer... What was she supposed to have thought?

Well, not that apparently. She really should know better. And he did say it was just a temporary solution with Malfoy missing class. She pinks a little in embarrassment, which the boys mistake for chagrin at Ron's rebuke.

And then out of the blue, she's suddenly rocked by pain. Pain that doesn't hurt. There's no better way to describe it. It's acute and bad, yet not, and definitely not her own. She rises hastily from her seat, grabs her books, mumbles something about having forgotten... whatever and meeting the boys in Charms class and darts from the Hall, trying to guess where her bondmate has gone.

As she passes through the doors, a large knot of Slytherins enter, complaining loudly about Peeves, until someone at their table tells them they have an extra half an hour for breakfast this morning. They can hardly believe their luck. Hermione fails to register that she hardly notices them, doesn't spare them even a single glance, and in fact has no problems whatsoever as she pushes through their midst in her hurry to get where she's going.


An hour ago, she wouldn't have thought that possible.