Hermione had known that once news about Pure Adults reached the general populace the reaction would be strong, but nothing had quite prepared her for the reality.
The speculation in the paper was annoying on principle. The Prophet had hit an all-time low, printing an edition with little pictures of each seventh-year student and inviting everyone's rampant speculation about their sex lives. All kinds of people whom they had never met were making rash and uninformed guesses, and the Prophet was tallying the results. Hermione tried not to dwell on these conclusions, which fluctuated wildly with each new crackpot theory.
Worse by far was the speculation at school. Not even the school's first Quidditch match of the year—which Hufflepuff won against Ravenclaw—shook people's new preoccupation. Rumours were rife, and the students here weren't just tallying, they were betting. A pool had sprung up overnight and she, Neville Longbottom, Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Vera Moon, and Morag MacDougal were labelled the most likely virgins.
There didn't seem to be a student in the school who wasn't trying to work out who had slept with whom, and Hermione found it extremely disturbing that she had eleven-year-olds asking her about her sexual partners. Since she was amongst those judged most likely to be Pure, she was harassed constantly and finally had to start taking away House points instead of simply threatening to do so in order to get people to leave her alone. There were plenty of sour comments about how her bad temper obviously indicated that she wasn't getting any, and she clenched her jaw and thought of all the curses she wasn't going to use on the annoying brats surrounding her.
Rumours had sprung up about every student in every House, and while it was virtually impossible to actually tell the truth from the lie, people were establishing what they thought were more or less reliable facts.
Tracey Davis had proved to be the gossip in Slytherin House, and if she were to be believed—although her veracity was by no means taken as a given—then Pansy and Draco were off the hook, as were Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey herself with Theodore Nott.
Theodore Nott, it seemed, wasn't overly picky about his choice of partners and had spent time with half of the Slytherin girls, half of the Ravenclaws girls—which would eliminate Lisa Turpin and Bronwyn Tyne from the Order's list—and even Lavender Brown, or so the rumour ran. Christopher Dempster had bashfully confessed to nights with Lisa Turpin as well as Susan Bones.
Blushing a fiery red, Seamus had been the one to reveal the news that Crabbe and Goyle were definitely not virgins. There had been copious amounts of Firewhiskey involved in an escapade in sixth year, and that was as much as Hermione had listened to.
Ginny, with that look in her eyes that said that a Bat Bogey Hex was imminent if anyone challenged or mocked her, had vouched for Neville's sexual history. Hermione didn't believe her, as it happened, but wanted to congratulate Neville on getting someone to cover for him. Whomever he had slept with was not for public consumption, evidently, and a reliable alternative was really the only way to get people to back off. Simon Slade and Morag MacDougal had dually confessed that she was not a virgin, either.
By Monday morning, Hermione, Millicent, and Vera were left in a renewed maelstrom of speculation, and Hermione was annoyed on principle that the choice had somehow been whittled down to three plain and quiet girls who didn't bloody well want to gossip about this. The three of them—all equally stubborn, apparently—were left repeating that no, they were not virgins, but it was no one's business whom they had slept with.
They repeated these words over and over again, but people kept hearing a confession of some sort, as though it was impossible that they simply wanted to retain their privacy. However, even the rabidly curious with their spotty logic recognized that it couldn't be all three of them, so everyone kept pushing.
Hermione had no idea whom Millicent had slept with, and no one else seemed to have any real idea, either. Idle gossip had linked the Slytherin with Crabbe and Goyle, but the latter two took the time on Monday to deny all involvement with her; being the people standing between the public and their desire to find the Pure Adults was not a pleasant position right now.
As for Vera, Hermione had her own suspicions which no one else seemed to share. She would never willingly be responsible for exposing a relationship when those involved in it evidently wished to keep it private, so she kept her supposition to herself.
It had been a few days after the winter term started last year. Library attendance hadn't picked up to its normal levels yet, and even Hermione had left several hours earlier. She had to go back, however, for a book she had forgotten, and in a quiet corner of the seemingly deserted library, she had glimpsed Vera and Daphne Greengrass.
They hadn't seen her, engrossed as they were in what they were reading, but Hermione had found it difficult to classify their pose as anything short of intimate. It wasn't explicit or inappropriate, but the way they were pressed together to read the shared material, Daphne's chin resting on Vera's shoulder, had spoken of great familiarity. It was possible that they were simply good friends, but Hermione had never seen them so much as acknowledge each other in the last five and a half years, so she strongly suspected a hidden romance.
Given the stigma against Slytherins consorting with Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, Hermione didn't blame them for keeping quiet. She would have liked to show her support for their making it work against all odds, but she had known such interference was unlikely to be well-received.
Instead, she'd quietly gathered up her book and hexed the door on the way out so that a loud creaking would herald anyone else's arrival and give the two girls plenty of time to separate and act appropriately.
If Daphne was the only person whom Vera had slept with at Hogwarts, there was no safe answer that she could give now that would make people back off. Millicent likely had the same problem. Of course, maybe they just genuinely didn't think it was anyone's business like Hermione did. If only that were an option.
The three girls were also not the only ones receiving attention. There was growing query as to who had been Harry's first. No one seemed to believe he could be a virgin, but they wanted a name and were having trouble coming up with one. Parvati had nixed any rumour about their involvement during the Yule Ball. Several Ravenclaws had Owled Cho Chang, and she had been happy to share how inadequate a boyfriend he had been. That missive, charmingly, had been leaked to the Prophet and shown up in the morning's edition.
There were a fair few people who were betting on Ginny, but when she had followed Harry's lead and refused to say either way, the consensus finally seemed to be that given her brazenness about Neville, if she'd really slept with Harry, she'd already have declared it.
Hermione knew that she and Harry should confess their involvement sooner rather than later, but she found herself reluctant to take that last step. It wasn't even because of the mess that would follow. She really did believe that it was no one's business whom she'd slept with. She hated being stared at and assessed and questioned, and she didn't want to look as though she were giving in. If there wasn't a great deal more at stake, she would have had no qualms about telling them all to stuff it and never speaking another word about the subject.
Harry, like Hermione, was left telling everyone to mind their own business; people were almost as aggressive with him as they were with her, seeming to believe that since he was a public icon, they had some sort of right to knowledge of his love life.
The two of them stubbornly tried to retain some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos, and it helped that their training with Severus had resumed over the weekend, fit in before the Quidditch match on Saturday morning. Hermione had made sure to remain polite and respectfully distant the entire time. She thought Severus seemed distant as well, but since they made it out of the meeting without anyone losing points or screaming at one another, she thought they were doing pretty well. Harry occasionally gave them odd looks but otherwise acted as though he hadn't noticed anything amiss, and it was almost the way that it was supposed to be.
By Monday afternoon, it had occurred to Ron that he didn't know the answer that the others were seeking so assiduously. And he seemed to feel quite firmly that their standard response that it wasn't anyone else's business couldn't possibly apply to him.
"C'mon mate, you can tell me." It was now four o'clock, and they were on the third floor, heading down to dinner following Charms. He was still trying to get them to spill their secrets—and acting as though their reticence was completely unreasonable.
"I'm not saying, Ron," Harry said roughly.
He'd been cajoled this way for hours and was thoroughly annoyed; her feelings were identical.
"'Mione." He turned to her as though her answer would be different than it had been two minutes ago. "It was Krum, right? You can tell me."
Not even a recitation of the Elder Futhark helped.
"What part of 'It's none of your business' do you fail to understand?" she snapped. "I'm not going to tell you whom I've slept with no matter how many times you ask! Can you not get that through your thick skull?"
They'd passed the second floor and were nearing the ground level.
He looked wounded. The only saving grace, given their situation, was that it really never seemed to occur to him that she could, in fact, be one of the virgins; if she was, she'd've evidently said straightaway in the Order meeting like the obedient little follower he appeared to be certain she was.
Suddenly, he smirked. "It was Neville, wasn't it? That's embarrassing, but—"
If she had high blood pressure, Ronald Weasley was the sole reason. She was certain she didn't want to hear how he finished that sentence. She didn't want anybody else to hear it, either, and they were arriving in a high-traffic area now, with lots of other students arriving for dinner.
"If it was Neville, it would not be embarrassing," she ground out, wondering how hard she could clench her jaw before teeth broke. "It would continue, however, to be None Of Your Business!"
He actually had the gall to roll his eyes at her. "You're impossible." He sounded annoyed and turned away from her. "So, Harry, was it Fleur?"
Who's marrying his brother! Harry exclaimed, needing to vent but appearing to have realized that saying it aloud to Ron would still have no useful effect.
You'd understand if I killed him, right? she asked hopefully, the desperate edge to her voice only mostly feigned.
I'll bloody help, he said viciously.
"It's none of your business, Ron," Harry answered firmly.
The redhead threw up his hands. "Listen to the two of you! Anyone would think you'd shagged."
They remained silent.
Damn, she swore softly. It had needed to happen, but this was not her choice as far as method and place went. Here it comes.
Three. Harry started the countdown. Two. One.
Ron stopped in his tracks, whirling to face them. "Tell me you two haven't slept together."
They exchanged looks, and Hermione gave it her best effort: "Ron, this is not the best place to discuss this."
She might as well not have spoken. His next question was considerably louder and garnered the attention of everyone in the vicinity: "Have the two of you shagged?"
"Ron," Hermione hissed.
"Bloody fucking hell! How could the two of you have sex?"
"In the usual way, I'm sure," Harry replied stiffly.
"But how could you not have said?" Ron demanded.
"I'm not in the habit of kissing and telling."
"Oh no?" Ron's face was clashing horribly with his hair. "I seem to recall learning about Cho's kiss right after it happened!"
"It's an expression, Ron." Harry's annoyance over the entire conversation came out with a great deal of condescension. "Just because I mentioned my first kiss doesn't mean I intended to share my first time with everyone. What's got you so angry? It's not like you ever showed any interest in Hermione."
"Well, if I'd realized that I could get the milk without buying the cow—!" Ron snarled.
There was a collective intake of breath amongst those who were making no effort to hide the fact that they were listening shamelessly.
Hermione latched onto Harry's arm and dug in until her nails had surely pierced skin. Tension radiated off of him almost visibly.
Don't you dare make this worse. Are you going to explain to Albus or Minerva why the two of you were brawling like hooligans?
He relaxed marginally, and she eased her grip.
She lifted her chin and regarded Ron icily, although she could feel the heat of her blush clear up to her forehead. "My 'milk' isn't available to just anyone." He managed, somehow, to get redder, quite obviously fully cognizant of her slur. She turned to the Gryffindor at her side and smiled. "Harry, I'd like to go to dinner now."
Since she was already clutching at him, albeit for a different purpose, it was quite easy for him to draw her arm through his and obediently lead her into the Great Hall, neither of them sparing a backward glance for Ron.
Hermione was certain the news had been communicated telepathically to every student before the two of them even sat down. Perhaps Ron's voice had just travelled that far. The other students had to have cricks in their necks from all the craning they were doing to get a view of her and Harry at the Gryffindor table. They'd seated themselves at the end nearest the High Table, as it lessened the chance that anyone—like, say, Ron—would make more of a scene in the midst of their meal.
The redhead, still rather red-eared, had taken possession of a portion of the bench at the very opposite end of the table and was glowering ferociously. As far as Hermione was concerned, he could sod off and rot down there. Now that averting the potential hallway crisis was accomplished, she felt free to be completely furious on her own account. Accusing her of "fraternising with the enemy" when she had gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor had been bad enough, but accusing her of being a worthless slag at the top of his voice in front of half the school was something else again.
Because Harry had been quite right to point out that Ron had never made an attempt with her himself. He had never asked her on a date or done more than express irritation at her choices. He had evidently felt free to spend his nights in other people's beds—such as French exchange students and Hermione's roommates—but she wasn't allowed to make her own choices without being badly insulted by him.
He'd picked those he thought she should be embarrassed about as the people she could have slept with, and when her actual—supposed—choice had clashed with his preconceived notions, he'd had the temerity to call her easy!
It really didn't help her temper or the squirming pain that insisted on manifesting that she hadn't had very many options or offers and that she was, in fact, still a virgin.
One of the very few close friends that she had in this school, and he had said she wasn't worth any effort. That he would only have thought of her if he'd known that he could fuck her and not have to have anything else to do with her.
I could poison him in his sleep.
Harry and Hermione exchanged slight smiles at this unusual suggestion from Albus's familiar.
Are phoenixes allowed to poison people? Harry asked curiously.
We may do whatever we wish, the phoenix responded haughtily. He admitted after a moment, It is not, perhaps, a frequent choice.
Thank you for the thought, Hermione said with a sigh. I'll work more on monitoring my emotions.
A mental head shake. I got that one verbatim; I didn't have to see in your head to know you'd be annoyed.
But sadly, if we poisoned everyone who annoyed me, the wizarding population would be decimated in no time. You don't want to be responsible for the destruction of the wizarding world, do you?
Harry snorted in his head. From poisoning Ron to the death of the wizarding world. I know the Weasleys are prolific, but that's a scary leap.
She made a mental moue of distaste, protesting, Harry, I positively refuse to think of him as the father of the wizarding world and may have to go wash my brain out with soap at the thought.
I'd like to see that procedure, Fawkes piped up cheerfully.
She laughed mentally. All right, mission accomplished. I feel much better now. Is dinner over yet?
It couldn't really be considered more than halfway by most people's standards, and Harry's plate was still mostly full, but he immediately confirmed for her that the meal was most certainly finished.
At least when Harry had been suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin or of being insane, plenty of the students had been too scared to look at him. Hermione was not fond of eating under a microscope.
There was a perceptible drop in the noise level as they rose. All eyes seemed to be glued to them.
Making a show? Harry asked.
Yes, please.
Harry held out his hand and she readily took it.
Looking neither to left nor to right, the two of them strolled out of the room, passing by Ron but not looking to see what his reaction was. When they crossed the threshold, it was as though a spell had been broken, the swell of noise making them very glad that they were on their way out. They didn't stop walking or holding hands until they were in the safety of their own rooms.
"Well," Harry observed, "that could have gone better."
"You think?" she said sarcastically. "Trust Ron to bring it up at the worst possible moment and not let it go."
Harry hesitated for a moment. "It is what we wanted, though, right? For the school to find out about us?"
She sighed. "For the school to find out, yes. For Ron to call me an easy cow in the middle of the corridor, not so much."
Harry made a face of mock distress, eyes widened comically large. "That wasn't what we wanted? Guess I shouldn't have scripted the evening's events quite like this, eh?"
She was a witch and one who knew wandless magic to boot, so she didn't even have to move to lob one of the decorative couch pillows at him. His shield was a little overzealous, and the pillow sizzled out of existence on contact.
She raised her eyebrows.
He shrugged defensively. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ensures that there aren't rebounding objects which might inadvertently injure someone on my side in a battle scenario."
She nodded. "Points for intent. Not sure our pillow was a big danger to me, though."
He wrinkled his nose at her before admitting, "It might have been a little much in this case. Care to go over to the other side of the room and toss some more dangerous projectiles?"
Hermione consented, pleased at the notion of distraction, and they doffed their robes, moved across the room, and set to work. Harry's shield was excellent for destroying rocks and other physical projectiles. There was a middle ground of spells that were almost too strong for the shield; rather than dissipating, the spells would hit the shield, wobble a little, and then bounce off at odd and unpredictable angles, which made it a little dangerous to be using when friends were around to be potentially hit. When Hermione overloaded the shield with several strong spells almost at once, the spells exploded outwards in a blinding burst of light which was rather startling.
Sweaty but pleasantly energized by their fight, they flopped back onto the couch.
"It will certainly work if you're on your own or in a small group," Hermione pointed out. "Not," she hastened to assure him, "that I'm in any way advocating your running off on your own."
He smiled. "Emergencies seem to find me regardless of my intentions; I'll keep it in mind for those unplanned scenarios."
"Agreed," she said cheerfully before rising to grab up their robes.
Early on, Harry had accepted that mess was not tolerated in the common room for any longer than necessary; their belongings could be out while they were using them but the mess should be cleaned up promptly.
Hannah and Ernie were announced, and receiving a shrug from her, Harry waved open the door.
The two Hufflepuffs blinked at the two Gryffindors.
"We can come back later," Ernie said immediately.
Given that the two had just arrived, it seemed an odd opening statement.
"There's no need," Hermione said, tossing Harry's robe into his room. What he did with his own space was his business.
"We assume you came now with a reason," Harry added, and Hermione was impressed with how mildly he'd managed to express the thought.
Hannah was already backing out of the room. "No, really, it wasn't that important. We'll catch you tomorrow."
And they were gone.
"That was … odd," Hermione pronounced.
Harry looked over at her, and his face suddenly creased into a wide grin. She raised an eyebrow in query.
"You look all sweaty, 'Mione."
"And so do you," she replied, nonplussed. "Shortly, we'll both be taking showers."
"You just collected our discarded robes and put mine in my room with a great deal of familiarity."
"Uh huh."
"What do you think Ernie and Hannah thought it was we'd been doing before they arrived?" Harry was grinning fit to burst.
The dots connected, and she couldn't believe she hadn't realized why the two Hufflepuffs had been so uncomfortable. She collapsed back onto the couch next to him, still clasping her own robe.
She was a mixture of amused and appalled. "It's going to be all over the school in seconds, isn't it?"
"We don't seem to have to do much to foster the rumour of our relationship. I'd be willing to bet it's already firmly entrenched in people's minds as verifiable fact."
"It does seem perilously easy to hoodwink the masses here," Hermione agreed. "Of course, all I have to do is think 'Heir of Slytherin', and I realize that the precedent is well-established."
Harry made a face at the reminder of that episode in his academic career. "At least nobody's going to be shunned over this."
Hermione let out a short bark of laughter. "Speak for yourself. I'm going to be lambasted." Her mood softened immediately when she saw how distressed he had begun to look. "I should obviously have been giving out pointers to help all the eager girls and boys get to know you better. Possibly I should have been writing a book."
A corner of his lip curled up. "I'm sure that would have helped, yeah."
"You let me know when your life is getting too boring for you, and I'll get right on that." She hauled herself off the couch. "All right. I have to shower so I can get to work on the Wolfsbane."
"I'd hate for you to have to tell Remus that he wasn't getting his potion on time because we were chatting about our fake love life. Go ahead."
Feeling rather more cheerful than she thought the overall situation warranted, she went, showering quickly and efficiently and then moving into the lab and continuing to work on the base that she had begun this morning.
Harry had seen the lab last week after he had tentatively expressed some concern about how much time she was now spending in the bedroom. She had not considered how it would look to him and had hastened to reassure him that her habits had not changed, only the location where she indulged them.
She had been inordinately pleased that he had taken the appearance of the lab and her relocation in a stride, not asking any of the awkward questions that he had clearly been thinking. He really could be an extraordinarily good friend.
In the excitement of having her relationship with Harry outed, Hermione had failed to immediately consider the impact it would have on anyone else. As far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned, she and Harry had officially done the deed, and that left Vera and Millicent holding the bag, as was very garishly announced by the Prophet Tuesday morning.
There was an odd splintering of attention at this point. Hermione would have thought that finding the two Pure Adults would be the only news- and gossip-worthy fact. Yet a huge percentage of people found the time to talk about her and Harry and theorize about their relationship. The aspersions seemed to have begun in earnest with no regard for other important information.
Hermione was being given the cold shoulder by a fair portion of the female population of Hogwarts. The interested males had either decided that Harry liking females was not actually her fault or they were just being more discreet in their dislike. So far, Hermione had overheard multiple wild theories about her and Harry's first time: that she had been completing school work at the time and hadn't even noticed Harry's actions, that she had been reading a sex manual while they were having sex to make sure she got it exactly right, and that afterwards she had given Harry a formal grade with a step-by-step breakdown of his performance.
Fortunately, her anger at how ludicrous they were all being helped to counter the hurt that she did her best to push away. She knew their opinions of her shouldn't matter, but now not only was everyone speculating about her sex life, they still refused to see her as anything but the Gryffindor brain.
Harry had remarked acerbically that for a gaggle of girls who were supposedly so upset on his behalf, they were remarkably insulting to both his discernment and his abilities. He was getting a large number of offers to Ashow him a better time" that made him roll his eyes at the cliché.
There was even a petition made to force the two of them to be moved into separate quarters. Albus had nipped that one in the bud, reminding everyone that all of age students were allowed to have consensual relationships as long as they were appropriately conducted.
Given Severus's recent mood, Hermione was surprised that the man hadn't gone to the headmaster to complain about them being found in bed together, but perhaps he was unwilling to reveal that he'd taken the time to check on Harry following the Halloween attack. Whatever the reason, he had remained silent, so their quarters were safe. It was all annoying but not insurmountably so.
The moments that the students were not thinking about Harry and Hermione were spent obsessing over their two other targets. Millicent and Vera still wouldn't say who their partners were or had been, and this was enough to convince a number of people that the girls were lying and simply trying to deflect attention.
Some students—perhaps the same gems who'd tried with her and Harry—had apparently attempted to get Millicent moved out of the dungeons, claiming worry about Voldemort getting at her if she stayed in her own House. Albus informed everyone sternly that all students in all houses were being protected. Whatever that meant. Neither Millicent nor Vera spent much time alone, and Hermione couldn't really blame them for being worried.
There was now a great deal of solicitous behaviour towards these two, as people seemed to want to cement their place in their good graces or maybe offer themselves up as possible partners. Slytherin though she was, Millicent, like Vera, wasn't taking any of it. To each query they replied that they were, in fact, not virgins, and they were not, as it happened, looking for a partner of any kind right now.
This statement was met with polite and less-than-polite incredulity from virtually everyone, but Hermione hoped that it would prevent any serious backlash once the real truth came out. So long as Millicent and Vera were always straightforward in their denial of Pure status, no one could legitimately accuse them of taking advantage of the situation or of representing themselves as something they were not.
The Prophet, faced with no exciting news about the Pure Adults since the Tuesday morning paper that had proclaimed Hermione out of the running and Millicent and Vera as the de facto winners, had dredged up the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Skeeter was more careful this time around not to say anything grossly defamatory, but the woman was still a hard-nosed reporter, and she was happy to bring up the "odd rumour" and "old news" as frequently as she could.
Overall, Hermione didn't think this could result in many more glares than she was already receiving. Letters to the editor showed that Viktor was getting his share of sympathy now, since apparently she'd really been after Harry after all and had obviously been using the International Seeker to make the Gryffindor jealous.
Since Viktor was still in Bulgaria, and they hadn't actually seen one another for more than a few minutes at a time since fourth year, he would probably laugh himself silly if anyone sent the articles his way…. She made a mental note to post them as soon as there was a sizable number, as someone should be getting a kick out of this fiasco.
Their relationship, contrary to the belief of many, had never strayed beyond that of friendship. Viktor had once hinted that he wouldn't be opposed to more, but she had been young when they first met, and he had been a gentleman. Having school girls throw themselves at him for an entire year had been a trying experience, apparently, and a sensible girl had been exactly what he was looking for; they could talk, but he didn't have to worry that she'd make a hideous fuss over him, distract him overly, or give it a couple months and then accuse him of knocking her up and abandoning her and the baby.
They had continued to keep in touch by owl, but since there was so much war-related news that she couldn't speak about, the letters were never deeply personal. She chatted about school, making sure not to get too theoretical and lose him entirely, and he did the same for her with Quidditch. If Ron had ever realized just how much Quidditch theory was in the letters, she'd probably never even have gotten to read them, let alone keep them.
While Ron had managed to get over himself long enough to ask Viktor for his autograph at the end of fourth year, this appeared to be the biggest concession the redhead could make; barring his nasty questions in the wake of the Pure Adult fuss, he had chosen never to ask about her relationship with Viktor, and she wasn't about to enlighten him. It did seem odd that she was the one of the three of them to have an international Quidditch star as a friend, but there it was.
She would remain forever grateful to Viktor because he had helped her realize, in retrospect at least, that she was attracted to Severus. She hadn't been completely impervious to Viktor's physical charms, and for several years that knowledge had continued to niggle at the back of her mind because he wasn't terribly attractive. As Quidditch hero of epic proportions, he would never want for female companions, and he was in good shape, but on his own, he really wasn't much to look at; on land, he was gloomy and awkward.
Hermione liked to think that she would base her relationships on traits that were more than skin deep, and it was there that her mind had always stalled. Viktor was by no means stupid, but he really did prefer sports over academics, so the two of them didn't have a "meeting of the minds", either. Why the attraction, then?
Seeing Severus sleeping the morning after that hideous Cruciatus torture in sixth year had finally made everything click into place. What she had been attracted to in Viktor were the physical aspects that resembled Severus, whom she hadn't consciously let herself be attracted to. As soon as she admitted that to herself, the truth had seemed so self-evident she couldn't understand why she hadn't worked it out before. Severus was dark-haired, big-nosed, pale, and often rather grim, and all these parts made up the whole—of which she was very fond. Or usually fond; it was harder to be fond when he was being a complete and utter arsehole.
Whatever truce-like arrangement for training they had had over the weekend disappeared, and Severus took clear pleasure in every bit of pain he was able to inflict upon them during the week. Tuesday's meeting had ended when Severus simply left the room in a huff and didn't return. She and Harry had waited almost forty minutes to ascertain that he really wasn't coming back. They still didn't know what they'd done to offend him.
On Wednesday, the Head of Slytherin seemed determined to make up for the abandoned training the day before, for he attacked them relentlessly.
Finally, when Harry was knocked almost unconscious by his impact with the wall after she'd been disarmed, she threw herself in front of him and took the Skin-burning Hex Severus had cast at the downed Gryffindor. Wandless Shield Charms took a lot of energy, and at this point in the evening, she had been certain she couldn't manage it.
Severus lifted the charm—which prevented further injury but did nothing for the damage already inflicted—and glared at her with evident distaste.
"Trust a Gryffindor to come to the rescue when she is defenceless."
Hermione rose to her feet, clenching her jaw and not letting herself wince as this stretched the damaged skin across her abdomen, side, and right arm.
Her voice was cold. "There is no question of my being willing to put his life above my own."
"Hermione," Harry protested. He still sounded more than a little out of it from the knock his skull had taken against the wall. If it wasn't for her Cushioning Charm, he'd probably have been out cold. "That stupid prophecy isn't worth your life."
She smiled sadly at him as she helped him to his feet with her good arm. "You don't really think that's why I do it, do you?" He looked at her uncomprehendingly, and she fondly muttered, "Idiot. I protect you because I love you."
He blinked at her, eyes seeming impossibly green. He suddenly looked very young.
"Oh."
Apparently, none of them had ever taken the time to clarify the situation for him.
"There are, however, plenty of us whose only concern is the destruction of the Dark Lord."
She nearly growled, but Harry's lips tipped up slightly, and his voice was calm and truthful as he responded to the still-glaring professor standing a few feet away from them: "I'd be shocked to learn that was not the case, sir."
Severus's expression remained sour, and his tone was biting as he said, "Since you are both quite clearly lost causes, that will be all for the evening."
Harry Summoned her wand for her and wordlessly held it out. She smiled her thanks and tucked it back into its sheath, wincing involuntarily as this aggravated her arm. The Gryffindor's eyes narrowed.
"He got you with that curse, the last one," Harry said suspiciously.
"Of course he did." She rolled her eyes. "That was rather the point."
Harry's lips tightened. "Why didn't you say anything?"
She sighed. "I was going to take care of it once we got back to our rooms."
"Certainly if the discomfort is too much for you, Miss Granger, it should be attended to promptly."
Why did every word out of his mouth have to be snide?
"I have no doubt that I'll live until I get to my room," she answered stiffly.
Harry's expression had gone stony. "But you shouldn't have to. We can take care of it now, and it won't cast any aspersions on your pain tolerance or anything stupid like that."
Her lips quirked. "That was not my primary concern, Harry. I don't happen to have any Burn Salve on hand, so going back to our quarters is a requirement."
"But Snape is the Potions master."
"I'm aware of Professor Snape's profession, but it doesn't mean he goes around with Burn Salve in his pockets. Unless you don't trust the efficacy of the batch I brewed?"
He made a face at her. "You know I'd drink anything you gave me."
"Which would be a mistake in this case, as it's topical."
He made a face at her. "You know what I mean. Am I going to have to rip your robe off your arm to see the damage?"
"I wouldn't particularly recommend trying," she said flatly. He just continued staring at her. "Oh, very well," she conceded with bad grace and began to undo her robe.
"Since Mr Potter is determined in his efforts to get you undressed, I will go retrieve the salve."
She didn't dignify that with a verbal response, merely nodding stiffly. Severus stalked off, robes whipping furiously.
She shrugged out of the black garment and looked down at her jumper. It was light weight and relatively close-fitting. Like her robe, it was completely untouched by the curse that had injured her skin. That was the beauty of the Skin-burning Hex; it left clothing perfectly intact but burnt what was beneath it to a crisp. Being held under the curse would eventually lead to unconsciousness from the pain, internal organs would overheat and cook, and death resulted.
It was likely, Hermione realized, the source of the Muggle rumours of spontaneous human combustion. She shuddered to think of it used on defenceless Muggles especially now that she had firsthand experience of how much it hurt.
To get at all of her injuries, the jumper would have to come off. Despite what everyone thought, she didn't particularly relish getting half naked in front of Harry, let alone Severus. At least, she corrected herself mentally with wry amusement, not under these circumstances.
The jumper was staying on, then, and she'd pull up her sleeve. So long as nobody got too inquisitive, she'd be fine.
She held out the injured arm. "Can you maybe enlarge the sleeve a bit and pull it up for me? I think that would be the most painless way to do this."
Harry obliged her, carefully pulling up the material in an attempt not to make contact with any of the burnt skin. She heard the hitch in his breathing as he caught sight of the burn. The spell had mostly caught her on the front and side of her torso, but the edges of the spell-fire had washed over her arm, damaging the bottom of her triceps, across the elbow, and along her forearm. Contorting a bit and looking down, she understood Harry's distress.
It looked like a bad second-degree burn, the skin red, blistered, and hurting like hell. The topical Burn Salve wasn't likely to do as much good as she wished; if this was how her arm looked, her torso was going to be a lot worse. What she really needed was a Burn Potion that would work from the inside out. She ran through ingredients in her head and tried to calculate how long it would take her to make one.
At her nod, Harry unbuckled the wand sheath and eased it off her arm as gently as he possibly could, and she clenched her teeth so he wouldn't realize how much it hurt.
Severus returned, took one look at her, and said, "Remove the jumper."
So much for her stellar plan. Sadly, she wondered how many times Severus had to have seen the effects of the spell to recognize so quickly that the arm wound was only the edge of the injury.
Harry took umbrage on her behalf. "What?"
"I didn't hit her on her arm. I need to see the actual injury."
"It gets worse?" Harry demanded, sounding utterly appalled.
"The shot was across my torso," she admitted reluctantly.
"Then we can go to Poppy," Harry said belligerently. "We don't have to do it here."
"And tell her what?" Hermione demanded. "That someone accidentally hit me with a Skin-burning Hex? I'm afraid a great deal more circumspection is required."
"Well, we could—" Harry was eyeing her torso warily.
I could come down.
And waste your tears on this? Not to mention explain to Severus why Fawkes was willing to pop by for a simple burn. Don't be silly. Thank you for the thought, though.
Harry's continued frown showed that Fawkes had had the sense to make this offer only to her; Harry would have jumped at it, regardless of the consequences. It was best she moved on before the possibility occurred to him. She didn't make another attempt for her wand, just thought the spell that would divest herself of her jumper. Really, she told herself, it was just like wearing a bikini. Which, admittedly, she'd never do in this situation with these two men … who were staring at her.
She looked down at herself. When she'd got up this morning, she hadn't planned on being only half-clothed in front of anyone. Her bra was cream, plain, and completely serviceable, but that's about all that could be said about it. Under the circumstances, she supposed that that was better than something lacy and risqué. It took more twisting for her to be able to see the damage the spell had wrought. The skin here was not just red and blistered but cracked in places with little bits of charring around the broken skin.
Reaction had set in now: Harry look horrified, and Severus was completely expressionless.
"It looks worse than it feels?" she tried.
"Next time, don't you dare leap in front of me," Harry said fiercely.
"I can't turn off my urge to protect you," she protested.
"What about my urge to protect you?" he demanded. "You're running roughshod over it and don't seem to mind."
She smirked. "I guess we'll just have to duke it out each time to see who gets to save whom. Today, I won."
"And received such a spectacular prize," Severus cut in dryly.
His eyes were very intent upon the injury; she was left feeling more like a bug under a microscope than anything else, and it seemed unlikely that he'd even noticed that she was a woman standing there without a shirt on. The mixture of extreme relief and extreme embarrassment almost cancelled one another out.
The Slytherin spoke once more. "It is as I suspected."
He held out a potion bottle to her. She quaffed it with relief.
"I thought you said the salve was topical," Harry said with a frown.
"It is. The Burn Potion is for … more severe burns."
Harry rounded on Severus. "You shouldn't be using such painful spells!"
"Harry," she admonished, "it would hardly do us any good to become proficient against the Jelly-Legs Jinx. This is how we learn." Harry still looked mutinous. "Unless you think Professor Snape could go to Voldemort and request that he stick with non-lethal spells because those are the ones we're trained against, we don't have any other choice."
The Gryffindor's aggressive stance softened, finally. "And maybe we could send a request that the snake-faced bastard just up and off himself?"
She smiled faintly. "Yes, I'm sure if the professor ever has a death wish, he'll make sure to get both of those recommendations in."
The potion had already started to work its magic, and the pain was easing.
"Thank you, sir," she addressed Severus.
He handed over a second container, this one squat and round.
"To speed complete recovery. Once the burns have healed over, apply the salve." He looked between her and Harry. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting it applied to any hard-to-reach areas."
Right when she thought he was being reasonable again, he got a dig in. She had taken the Burn Potion as an apology, and that seemed to be as good as it got.
"I'm sure I'll manage," she said noncommittally.
"I'll leave you to it," he said without inflection, and before Hermione could think of a suitable reply, he was gone.
She made sure the privacy charms were still up and then conjured a chair and tried to find a comfortable position in which to sit. It seemed much easier to just let the potion do its work before she tried to put clothing back on and return to their quarters. Finally determining that anything causing her to bend hurt, she transfigured the chair into a chaise longue and … lounged. All her skin stayed relaxed and unbent, anyway, and that minimized the pain.
When Harry had still made no move after all these adjustments on her part, she conjured a more standard armchair for him and gestured him into it.
"He might at least have apologized," Harry protested as he finally sat down.
"He fed me healing potions. In this situation, that's quite welcome, I assure you."
Not that she'd have said no to a heartfelt apology, though. It would be rather reassuring to know that he didn't enjoy hurting her. Some days, it was alarmingly difficult to tell.
Harry was still staring at her torso, and she cleared her throat loudly. "Do you think you could unglue your eyes?"
He flushed crimson, eyes instantly staring everywhere but at her.
"I'm so sorry," he gabbled. "I wasn't staring at you, just at the burn, you know. I'd never want to invade your privacy, and I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I—"
She laughed. "It's all right, Harry. I'm sure we were getting equally little enjoyment out of it. You did look as though you were getting an eyeful, though."
Now that he realized she had been teasing, he recovered enough to say, "If I were less gay, I'm sure it would be a marvellous opportunity to ogle to good purpose."
"Oh, the lost opportunities," she lamented.
They grinned at one another and lapsed into silence that was comfortable, but Harry broke it a few minutes later with a question she would have preferred he didn't ask.
"How are you holding up? I notice people have been … a little harsh."
She thought she'd hidden it better than that.
"Par for the course," she said, shrugging. "I always knew people weren't going to be happy about it, and they're finding some sort of comfort in making up ridiculous stories. This makes me the easy target, but I know I can handle their scorn, and this way we don't have to worry about any innocent targets getting attacked."
"But you are innocent, remember?" Harry reminded her.
"I was forewarned, and the opinion of people I don't know has never meant that much to me." Mostly true. "This keeps us both safe, and that's the important part."
"I seem to be getting a much better deal, that's all," he said with difficulty.
"People were hardly lining up to shag me, Harry." She didn't roll her eyes only with an effort. "Of course nobody's annoyed that you're sleeping with me."
"Trust me when I tell you that you don't want my lot of annoyed groupies. I guess we're both stuck having fallen for idiots if your bloke isn't upset. Draco doesn't give a damn about you and me, either, and he's the one bloody person I'd feel pleased about if he was disturbed by the news."
She tilted her head a little to the side in concession. "Maybe we could make that the basis for the reason we're both Pure Adults: the people we care about are idiots."
Harry smirked. "I'm sure you could write a really persuasive paper. We could mail it anonymously to Draco and … whoever it is you like. You are going to tell me one day, right?"
"When we're old and grey, sure," she agreed before turning the subject. "It is pretty funny that it's the two of us who are Pure Adults."
He raised his eyebrow in query.
"Think of all the so-called pure-bloods who go on and on about their blood purity. It's not actually an official designation, and if you look at it logically, they've all intermarried at some point or they'd've died out. We're the two who get officially labelled 'Pure', and we're half-blood and Muggle-born."
He smiled. "If it's ever safe to do so, Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort are the first people we tell."
Hermione grinned. "Agreed."
By this point in their discussion, her burn had healed sufficiently that there was no more broken skin, and they were able to apply the Burn Salve. She actually got most of it on herself, but Harry sat down next to her and applied the unguent to the bit of the burn that had stretched towards her back and made sure she hadn't missed any spots on her torso and arm.
They watched the damage from the burn fade away completely. Harry was frowning. He reached out his hand and traced a finger across the pinkish scar that was still there.
"Why hasn't this healed?"
It had faded a lot since it was first inflicted and was now no more than a faint pink line of scar tissue which transected her torso, widest in the middle where it passed just above her bellybutton and tapering off on either end as it reached her sides. It was almost eight inches long but only a few centimetres thick at worst.
"It's not a burn." He looked at her questioningly, and she gave up. "It's from Dolohov's Cutting Curse in the Department of Mysteries."
The look on his face showed that he hadn't realized she had any lasting scars.
"Hermione…." he breathed penitently.
She shook her head. "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't get in my way. I wouldn't trade it for not being there that night."
It didn't exactly make her feel better about her body, but there was no way she was going to say that to Harry.
"But it's my fault!" he exclaimed, anguish in his voice.
"Each of us made a choice to go that night," she overrode him. "We protected the prophecy. We all suffered losses, and we're all dealing with them."
His face was shadowed, and she had to use two fingers under his chin to force him to meet her eyes.
"That's why we're training," she added gently. "That's why Professor Snape uses tough spells against us."
Harry was frowning again, but it turned out she'd successfully distracted him, because what he said next was, "Does he normally go easy on us?"
"I'm not sure. These last two sessions were … difficult. But he must be working us harder as we become more adept. Maybe he just upped the ante sooner than we're used to this time around."
He watched as she rose and pulled her robe back on without bothering to conjure a shirt.
"I guess so. It just…. Today seemed a little personal, and I don't think I've done anything particularly annoying recently."
She smiled. "Professor Snape's behaviour is hard to anticipate. We have been getting a lot of media attention."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Like we've ever wanted that, but you're right. It always has annoyed him, hasn't it?"
They were both remembering fourth year. Suddenly, Harry grinned.
"Do you think I could successfully get a rumour going that one of those scrolls is his, and there's just a really big time delay?"
She snorted with laughter. "I somehow doubt that would work, but it's a glorious idea. He could get all the attention, and we could disappear into obscurity."
Harry sighed happily. "That would be lovely, wouldn't it?"
She hauled him up before Vanishing both chairs. "Lovely and unattainable. Come on. I've got to finish the Wolfsbane; Remus will be coming to pick it up tomorrow evening."
They Masked themselves and returned to their quarters, where Hermione bid Harry goodnight before disappearing into her lab. Once she finished with the Wolfsbane, she was going to see about brewing some Burn Potion, as it appeared to be quite handy to have around.