Sweet Moans
Hermione isn’t sure if she’s dead or alive, and that’s a very uncomfortable feeling. For a moment she considers that she might be a ghost. But she feels too … heavy. When she looks down at herself, her body is not translucent. But she is dressed in school robes now. The shabby, blood-drenched jeans and the sweater with the torn collar — she remembers fingers scrabbling, frantic, tearing at the vest — are gone.
When she looks up, she suddenly finds herself in front of the Great Hall.
Maybe she’s dreaming? Her head does feel stuffy. Everything seems vague, even her thoughts — they meander in mazy motions through her mind. [1] The flagstones beneath her feet don’t feel as hard as they should. A dream, then. Good. That beats being dead or un-dead, and also improves on approximately 80% of her waking hours over the last year.
She peers around the corner — and gapes.
Hermione can’t imagine that she’d ever dream of a ball. Just thinking of the Yuletide Ball makes her mouth go dry.
But she remembers his eyes, so bleak when he thinks no one is looking. Her heart beats faster as she recalls how he caught her watching him, how his eyes glittered — with anger? Dancing with Victor, of course. Her first kiss outside on the terrace. Snowflakes sparkling in Victor’s dark hair …
… and of course that silly argument with Ron.
No. She wouldn’t dream of a ball. But there’s no doubt about it: the Great Hall is all decked out for one. A dance floor. Walls transfigured into mirrors. Chandeliers gleaming golden-bright. Professor Flitwick directing the school’s orchestra. And the drums at the back promise a real band later on.
She turns, considering ways of escape, and almost collides with him.
In this dream, he is seventeen, she guesses. Skin sallow, eyes black, black hair slicked back, expression fierce. He clutches a Disillusioned flower. Her dream-eye sees through the Charm.
It is a white lily, streaked with vermilion. [2]
He hesitates — glances nervously around — then hurries away, hastening past the staff room and several unused classrooms. Hermione follows. At the very end of the long corridor he ducks into a door in the corner.
Someone is already inside, and Hermione is so stunned that she is too slow. She ends up staring at a locked door. Inside, she hears the muted laughter of a girl.
‘Oh, Sev! Isn’t this exciting!’
Severus’ voice sounds tense, however. ‘Lily, love, we shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous! Can you imagine what will happen if someone finds us? If my cover is blown?’
‘That’s all part of the adventure! You’d have to pretend you tried to rape me, or something.’
‘No! No!’ he exclaims. ‘I could never …’
‘Hush, silly! I know you couldn’t. But you can make love to me tonight, can you?’
The silence must mean a long, long kiss, because at last they both gasp and Lily laughs once more. ‘Oh yesss, Severusss … how sweet you moan …’[3]
[1] Textual allusion to the poem ‘Kubla Khan’ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
[2] Textual allusion to Keats “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” (=LBDSM).
[3] Textual allusion to Keats’ LBDSM.
Juno, this is lovely and heartbreaking at the same time. As usual, Fudge is an incompetent arse, and jockeying for office. I liked that he couldn’t break their wands, and I felt sorry for Kingsley because he had to.
Harry, Ginny, and Luna have proven themselves to be true friends, and Ron is Ron.
At least Hermione and Severus have each other, but seven years exile seems so unfair.
I’m off to Act Two. *in awe*
Beth
I had a lot of fun writing this. Especially Fudge actually coming up with something that is – in theory – right, and getting it all wrong. And of course, not even being man or wizard enough to actually follow it through. *snerk*
Thank you for reading! 🙂 I am happy you enjoy the story so far!