Getting the Hang of Thursdays

Chapter 10 - Pete and Repeat Went For A Boat Ride...

By Hayseed

Day One Hundred Ninety-Five

They were drinking again. At Hermione’s request, even. Severus had decided some days ago that spending his days alone, drinking himself into oblivion over and over, was just about as futile as every other endeavor, and so he’d abandoned his attempts in that direction, content mostly to simply drift in the same aimless pattern he’d developed. Wake up, go to breakfast (or not), teach a class or two (or not), maybe mark a handful of essays. Or not. It was a rut, to be sure, but it was his rut, and he couldn’t see a way out of it, so, in the end, he’d simply told himself to get used to it.

But today, Hermione had shown up at his office door, as she sometimes did, and walked straight over to his brandy decanter and poured a glass, uninvited. As she held it out to him, he’d merely quirked an eyebrow and taken it. She’d just poured a second glass and settled herself in her usual chair. They nursed their drinks in silence for a good while, until Hermione had apparently felt the urge to justify her presence.

“It’s difficult to be around other people, isn’t it?” she asked.

Blinking, he looked up from his glass. “What?”

“They don’t know,” she explained, shrugging slightly. “It makes it harder to even talk to them. Especially when they tend to say the same things, day after day. And then you catch yourself saying the same things, and doing the same things, and it’s just...” With a neatness that did not suit her usual innocence, Hermione downed the rest of her brandy in a single gulp.

Tactfully, Severus chose not to comment on her obvious agitation. “Did you have a plan, then? Some sort of ‘perfect day’ or something?”

“I should be ashamed,” Hermione said with a little laugh. “If you’d asked me, oh, yesterday what I would do with an infinite time-loop, I probably would have said ‘read the entire Hogwarts library.’ After all, what would Madam Pince do if she caught me in the Restricted Section? Give me detention tomorrow?”

“And have you?” Severus asked, sipping at his brandy. “Read the library, that is.”

She laughed again and ran her finger along the rim of her empty glass. “Not hardly. And my current greatest ambition is far less lofty.”

With a smirk, he leaned back in his chair. “And what is that?”

Her cheeks were lightly flushed as an obvious result of her alcohol consumption, and her eyes sparkled at him. “Oh, I plan to walk up to Draco Malfoy one day in the near future and hex his bollocks off,” she said solemnly. “The sad fact that he won’t remember it is greatly overbalanced by the sheer joy of actually doing it.”

It was a pity that they could not spend the rest of their time in such a fashion -- companionably getting drunk as they awaited the end of the world. Well... the end of Hogwarts.

Severus wondered how it would happen -- if Hogwarts would just be, well, there one day and gone the next, or if it would... fade. It had eluded him, just how the time-loop operated. He knew that within it, they replayed the same day over and over, but he’d often tried to think about the outside. Had the rest of the world just gone on for the last hundred fifty days or so? Did anyone know what was happening to them?

He remembered watching his Defense professor’s teacup endlessly shattering itself. What would someone standing outside the time-loop at Hogwarts see? Were the edges blurring already?

Pushing it out of his mind as best as he could, he offered Hermione another smirk and tried to focus his attention on the conversation at hand. It was little better than prattle, really, but even prattle was infinitely preferable to thinking about the rain. And the blind spots. And her blood...

“All things considered, Granger,” he said thoughtfully, polishing off the rest of his brandy somewhat more quickly than was customary for him. “Unless I miss my guess, you’ve had far worse goals as of late.”

She sniffed and looked away, but Severus saw the blush spreading across her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean, Professor.”

As he rose and made his way over to the decanter to refill his glass, he kept his gait steady and his voice casual. “Out of curiosity, how many times did you attempt to seduce hapless young Weasley?”

The deepening red on her cheeks was probably now at least half anger. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said, suddenly cold.

“True,” he agreed with a brisk nod, frowning as the contents of the decanter only amounted to about a third of a glass.

“So you will forgive me for not answering your question, then,” she continued in that same angry tone.

With a shrug, he sat back down. “Give me some credit, at least, Granger. I would think that most of your other acquaintances would have asked how many times you were successful.”

Hermione positively glowered and Severus thought for an alarming moment that she was going to throw her brandy glass at his head. In the end, however, she simply sniffed haughtily -- he took that to mean she did not intend to reply. He kept an eye on the glass, though. While he might have described Hermione as a levelheaded, rational girl yesterday, say, he was fairly certain that she was far less stable than she used to be. Although, he supposed he did not have much of a basis for comparison. Up until quite recently, his interactions with her had been limited to the classroom for the most part. Perhaps she had always been a brandy-glass-hurling sort, and he had simply not been privy to such behavior. As it currently stood, he fully planned on taking fifty points from Gryffindor at least if she gave in to the impulse he thought he saw flash in her eye.

The glass remained in her hand, however, and she actually deigned to speak. “He was always so surprised,” she said, probably more to herself than to Severus. “If I thought about it much, I might be offended.”

“His surprise did not seem to be an impediment, if I remember correctly,” he said before he could help himself.

Head jerking up, she gave him a shocked look. “Yes, erm, well...” she stammered.

Severus tossed back his drink with a flip of his wrist and looked down at his empty snifter, debating whether or not to fetch another bottle and decant it. “It makes no difference to me,” he said. “I was -- oh, how might a Gryffindor put it? -- making conversation.”

Eyes narrowing as she studied him, Hermione’s expression was unreadable. “You have an odd notion of small talk.”

“I detest small talk,” he told his empty glass. If this was going to continue, he was definitely opening another bottle.

“So, what, you were attempting to shock me into silence, then?” she asked, only sounding the smallest bit cynical.

His shrug was miniscule. “If you like.”

Now contemplative, she leaned back in her chair. “I should laugh at you,” she said thoughtfully. “Mockingly, at that -- points be damned. And probably continue to talk, as well, if I was in a mood to prove any sort of point. But oddly enough, the only comment even remotely resembling an inanity that I can come up with at the moment is, ‘At least that particular incident was... erm, interrupted before it went too far -- the last thing I need on my mind is the knowledge that my Potions professor has seen me naked.’”

Standing abruptly, Severus ducked into his quarters and made a beeline for the brandy. “In general, Hermione,” he said as he broke the seal on the bottle, emerging into the office once again and making a concerted effort not to look at her, “the purpose of meaningless conversation is to avoid any potentially volatile or thought-provoking subject material. That statement, however, is positively incendiary.” Focusing all of his attention on pouring the brandy into the decanter, he tried to suppress a sly sort of smile and mostly failed. “Given that I have.”

Her head snapped up again. “What?”

Ignoring all of the advice on brandy that he’d ever been given, Severus poured himself a glass of the too-freshly decanted stuff. “I said,” he repeated mildly, “that I have seen you... unclothed before. Mostly.” He finally turned to face her fully.

Much to his amusement, her face was a mask of utter horror and more than a little bit of shame. “When?”

“Whenever you go to the Infirmary, Poppy usually immediately strips you down,” he said, taking a long drink and moving back to his chair. “Of course,” he continued in a marginally quieter voice as he crossed his right ankle over his left knee, “I wouldn’t necessary expect you to be cognizant of that fact.”

Hermione stood and poured herself another drink as well. “True,” she said with only a touch of bitterness in her tone. “I am usually, at that point in the day, occupied with other concerns.”

He had nothing to say to that and looked down at his hands. His nails were ragged and close to the quick -- when had he started biting them?

He wondered what looking at Hermione’s nails would reveal.

As she settled back in her seat, cradling the snifter between her palms, she made an odd sort of noise, the meaning of which Severus found himself unable to discern. “Oh, well,” she eventually said. “I’ve already gotten as used to the indignities of death as I can. What’s one or two more?” Here, a thin smile appeared and disappeared almost before he noticed it. “Besides... I seem to recall an incident involving a fireplace poker some days ago that not only involved a mostly naked party but a fair amount of additional indignity for said party as well. Might I also note that, upon further recollection, I believe that the injured party in question was --”

“You’ve made your point,” he interrupted irritably.

“Moreover,” she continued with a rather grim smile, as if he had not even spoken, “I also remember that, through the years, any references to Professor Snape’s choice of sleepwear involves often horrified recollections of a particularly unattractive grey nightshirt, which does not entirely make --”

“According to faculty rumors,” he said, cutting her off and taking a large swig of brandy nearly simultaneously, “the rule concerning staff nightwear was instituted some time during the 1960’s, before I was even a student. It was a direct result of an incident in which large parts of the faculty and student population learned that Minerva McGonagall apparently enjoys sleeping in the nude.”

He felt oddly gratified as Hermione’s eyes rounded and she fell completely silent.

“Thus,” he continued, feeling as if he’d won the battle somehow, “all staff are required to wear either a dressing gown or some form of concealing sleepwear whenever exiting their quarters. None of that ‘dashing about’ nonsense. However, staff offices are generally considered to be extensions of their quarters. What’s more, I felt a sense of... urgency upon observing an intruder in my personal space that did not necessarily permit time for... other considerations.”

Her smile was decidedly more genuine. “Black boxers are awfully unoriginal, you know, Polly.”

Severus blinked. That name. She’d used that damned name again. He’d been carrying around the mental calculation in his head for weeks now. “One thousand ninety-seven points from Gryffindor,” he pronounced with relish, smiling openly at her.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

He felt his smile widen. “Decidedly not.”

Hermione did not scream any more.

She used to. As Longbottom’s Liquid Fire soaked through her robes, Hermione used to practically howl with agony. And Severus, once he had seen his melting cauldron full of the stuff all of those days ago, had understood it. There were no circumstances that could make burning to death even remotely bearable, and he was not entirely surprised that, any more, she only attended Potions class very rarely, knowing what fate awaited her.

Which is why he had been slightly surprised to see her practically saunter into the classroom and begin assembling her supplies on her workbench. He’d watched her with a quirked eyebrow, and she’d given him an odd, indescribable sort of smile, but neither of them had spoken to each other.

Class had more or less progressed in the fashion to which Severus had become accustomed, and the scuffle between Potter and Malfoy had clearly been initiated by Potter today, which was not entirely customary. Potter was brewing his potion poorly, and his frustration was visible. If it had been anyone else in the world, Severus might have attempted a bit of off-the-cuff, cauldron-side instruction, but Potter would manage to twist even the slightest attempt along that vein into a confrontation that Severus would rather avoid, so in the end, he simply let Potter stumble along.

And to be fair, Malfoy had not said a single word to the increasingly irritated Potter. Again, that was unusual -- Malfoy was generally quick to point out the other boy’s flaws in a loud, obnoxious sort of drawl that made even Severus’ hackles rise. But -- but -- he had spent the entire class smirking at Potter’s back, brewing his own potion with a casual correctness that Severus could see made the Gryffindor’s teeth grind together.

So technically, today, Potter had taken the first shot. He’d just turned to Malfoy and offhandedly lobbed a frog’s heart at him. The cold, slimy thing had thudded against the blond’s forehead, leaving a shiny trail of unspeakable things as it slithered down his face. Snarling, Malfoy retaliated in his usual way, and now, Hermione was writhing on the floor, apparently determined not to scream.

Distantly, as he crouched over her prone form, he wished she would. Just open her mouth and wail like a banshee. Her stoic expression and snuffling whimpers were difficult to see, and her muffled swearing and labored gasps damn near unbearable.

“I can’t watch this any more, Hermione,” Severus whispered, easing his hand under her head, her hair lightly tickling his fingertips.

He saw contempt in her gaze, even through the pain. “So don’t,” she gasped.

“Showing up for this class is tantamount to suicide, you know,” he said, skirting the subject and trying not to think about the expression on her face.

Her eyes slipped closed. “So is breathing, apparently.”

Frantically, he squeezed the hand he was holding and leaned over her prostrate form. “Hermione, stay with me. Open your eyes.”

“Not for much longer,” she muttered, appearing to pull her eyelids open only with great effort. Hissing with pain, her fingernails dug into the back of his hand. “Severus...”

“I’m here,” he said, his thumb rubbing against her scalp in an instinctive gesture that he dimly hoped was comforting. “I’m here.”

With another gasp, her body bucked in his arms. “Severus...” she whispered again, drawing the last syllable out in an agonized hiss that tugged relentlessly at something in his chest.

“Damn it, what?” he mumbled to her, hating the suspicious tingle in his eyes. “Tell me what to do, Hermione. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“You can’t,” she said, turning her face away -- Severus saw an angry blister forming on her neck as she did so. “No one can. It’s just...”

She did not finish her sentence, voice fading forlornly instead. A single hateful tear escaped Severus’ eye and ran down his face, dripping off his chin and landing on Hermione’s reddened cheek.

Looking up at him in surprise and with something like wonder in her eyes, Hermione reached up with a single burning hot finger and traced it down the wet trail on his cheek. “I’d always wondered if you could...” she trailed off, biting her lip in suppressed pain.

He struggled to frown at her. “I am human, after all. As a rule, we possess tear ducts.”

She sighed and her eyes closed. “Of course,” she murmured. “I just didn’t know that you used yours.”

Severus shook her again. “Granger... Hermione...”

It was, of course, no use.

Severus was going to give his second years an exam next week. He had decided this some weeks ago -- made a note of it in his syllabus and everything. Perhaps one of these todays he would even inform the second years of this fact.

Probably not, though. Severus felt that he learned more about his students’ actual grasp on the subject if they did not have a chance to prepare for their exams -- the crestfallen expressions and frantic scrambles for last minute cramming simply provided additional enjoyment on his part.

The fact remained, however, that he had yet to actually write the exam. And after endless days of marking his third year essays, he was ready for a different task. Not to mention the fact that he could now mark all of the essays in an unprecedented thirty-four minutes -- today was his personal best.

But he had not written this exam in todays past and was therefore having to put considerably more effort into it than his usual ventures. Despite the fact that it was thankless work, as well as being work that he was going to have to do again tomorrow, Severus found himself enjoying it a bit. Devising questions that were not immediately obvious and yet were answerable all the same -- there was a fine line between challenging and unfair and he was fond of straddling it as well as he could manage. Not to mention figuring out questions that accurately measured a student’s understanding -- not just that they’d managed to successfully memorize a textbook. It did not help to be able to rattle off the properties of beetles’ eyes in a single breath if one did not know how to properly apply that information. While there were certain elements of Potions that required a fair degree of memorization, that never had been and never would be the focus of Severus’ course.

He was very nearly done with the exam -- only a few more questions. Four at the very outside. And then he would take it himself, timing himself as he did so. He’d found through the years that multiplying his test time by a factor of five generally indicated the average time it would take his students to complete it. Severus did not give exams that didn’t fill the entire period.

“Good morning,” he heard a female voice say cheerfully in the general vicinity of his doorway.

Severus did not look up. “It is typically considered polite to knock.”

Hermione’s -- who else would it be? -- voice drifted closer. “The rain was late this morning,” she said, sounding very nearly happy. “It had been coming earlier and earlier, but it didn’t start raining until after nine today.”

“So the inevitable has been prolonged, then,” he said, still writing. “How delightful.”

He heard an exasperated sigh. “Professor --”

“In case you had not noticed, Hermione,” he told the parchment, “I am busy.”

“With what?” she asked irritably. “Essays again? Even I can practically recite their marks. They couldn’t possibly take you this long.”

“Not essays,” he replied easily enough. “So if you wouldn’t mind...”

“What, you can’t put it off until tomorrow?” she asked -- he could practically hear the grin in her voice. “What sort of Earth-shattering work have you discovered, Polly?”

Gritting his teeth -- that name -- Severus laid his quill down carefully and looked up at her, folding his hands neatly on his desktop. Hermione was indeed grinning at him, her eyes sparkling with a sort of mischievous twinkle that he would bet she’d learned from Albus Dumbledore. “Miss Granger,” he began in a calm voice, belying his internal frustration, “while we are indeed under a set of rather extenuating circumstances, do not mistake that for something it is not. I find such familiarity unacceptable.”

Slowly, the smile faded, and Hermione looked rather confused. “Pardon?”

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes -- was she being this obtuse deliberately? “Just because we have been thrown together like this, Miss Granger, does not mean that I actually like you.” Satisfied with himself, he bent his head over the exam once more. “Good day.”

The ensuing silence suggested to Severus that he had indeed accomplished his goal and driven Hermione away, leaving him to his work. However, as the silence stretched into an inexplicable sort of awkwardness, he began to suspect that was not entirely the case.

Indeed, as he glanced up once again, Hermione was staring at him, something like incredulity in her eyes. Severus opened his mouth to dismiss her for a second time and perhaps to dock points in order to drive his point home, but she beat him to it.

“What the hell did you just say?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Did you just tell me to...?” Trailing off, she made an inarticulate little noise of frustration.

Somewhat fascinated, Severus simply watched her -- she began pacing back and forth on the rug in front of his desk.

“Yesterday, you touch my face and you beg -- beg -- me to stay awake. Not to die. You make me think... and then today, you tell me to...” Hermione paused, both verbally and physically, and fixed him with a vicious glare. “Fuck you, Severus Snape!” she cried. “Just... fuck you.”

Severus blinked.

“I do not need this,” she continued, still scowling at him. “I die every day. Do you understand that? I fucking die every day at two-fucking thirty-four, and I don’t need you telling me to go away.” Her laugh verged on hysterical. “I’m going to do that soon enough.”

“I --” he began, not really knowing what he was going to say, but knowing that he needed to say something to interrupt her.

Hermione ignored him and kept speaking. “Make up your mind -- either you’re sorry or you’re not. If you’re going to tell me to... then don’t touch my face and don’t make me feel...” As she trailed off, he sensed another explosion brewing and was not disappointed. “God damn it, Severus, you cried! How can you weep over my dead body and then say...?” Throwing back her head, she let out a short, wordless cry of what was looking more and more like sheer rage.

As he watched her face contort, he thought about it and found that he was absolutely enraged. How dare she talk to him like this?

Dimly, Severus heard his chair scrape against the stone floor as he stood. His hands worked themselves into fists as he walked around his desk to face Hermione properly. He was either going to throttle her or hit her, but either way, he was going to yell significantly as he went about it.

“Don’t --” he began.

But Severus found himself completely and utterly silent as Hermione’s lips pressed furiously against his in a kiss that was at least as irate as it was shocking. His fists relaxed by his sides.

Before it could even occur to him to push her away, the kiss ended, Hermione recoiling away from him as if struck. Owing to the lack of a mirror in his office, Severus could not have said who looked more surprised by the incident, but she appeared at least as shocked as he felt.

As Hermione practically ran out of the room, Severus realized that he was quite unable to formulate a single coherent thought, let alone speech.

What the hell had just happened?