Fic: Combinatorics (Harry Potter, NC-17, various)
Title: Combinatorics
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: For those needing to know, click and highlight for pairing spoilers: (Hermione/Sirius (with sex), Remus/Sirius, Hermione/Severus, hints of others)
Summary: When wishes come true, there are always consequences that must be dealt with.
Notes: Close to 18,000 words, so I'm posting in three or four parts. Set post-War, post-OotP. I'm not a Brit, but I tried really, really hard. If anything snuck past me, please let me know. Can be read in full here
A derangement of n ordered objects, denoted !n, is a permutation in which none of the objects appear in their "natural" (i.e., ordered) place.
Hermione watched him from across the room, an empty plate and a full glass of pumpkin punch mostly forgotten in her hand. His eyes were just a little bit wild, but he smiled and nodded as he was supposed. She had socialized earlier, but now her corner was a refuge from the sea of ecstatic well-wishers, the faces from her youth crowded into the small living room. She didn't begrudge Harry the party; she could understand his desire to share his joy with the world. After all, not everyone's godfather got to come back from the dead.
Hermione sighed. It was a miracle indeed when Sirius Black had stumbled into this very room, wide-eyed and trembling, mouth gaping slightly as he appeared out of nowhere. The three of them had been laughing over a bottle of wine; Hermione tucked into the lounger while Ron and Harry shared the couch. She had probably drunk most of the wine herself (as neither of the boys had very refined tastes), which explained why her memories of the event itself were blurred and confused. Ron had knocked over his glass when he jumped up to catch Sirius as he collapsed. The edges of the stain still marked the carpet; not even a good Scourgify could completely defeat Merlot on wool.
A roar of laughter pulled her attention to the group once more. Sirius smiled jaggedly, cradling his glass of scotch, while everyone else chuckled at something Dumbledore had done. The old wizard was as resplendent as always in shimmering purple dress robes highlighted with the faintest touch of silvery green. Harry and a gaggle of Weasleys were hanging on his words, Harry occasionally glancing back at Sirius as if to make sure he was still there. Sirius hadn't aged since that day he fell through the veil, not physically anyway. He was a good looking man, though you had to look to past the lines on the face and the tightness around those pale, pale blue eyes to see it.
She'd had such a crush on him back when she was still a school girl, after his rescue and before the Department of Mysteries. Even now she could remember the heat of his strong hands across her hip bones, the barest brush of his thighs next to hers on that glorious ride on Buckbeak. That feeling had fueled her fantasies, incomplete and immature though they were, for a guilty year and a half.
That had been the first night she had ever seen him, in person anyway. His hair was longer then, filthy and ragged from being on the lam. Thinking back Hermione was amazed at how quickly her feelings had changed, how all of their feelings had changed, in that brief encounter in the shack. From hate and dread and fear of him to love and dread and fear for him. Then again, they had been very much children then, given to the fast-paced illogic of childish emotion. She smirked and reassessed; adult emotion rarely held with logic either.
Sirius seemed to be holding his own. He still nursed the small tumbler of scotch in one hand while nodding politely at the throng surrounding him. All of the remaining Order was here. Well, all except Remus Lupin. That surprised her almost as much as the fact that Severus Snape was in attendance, though not in the same room. Hermione wondered whether it was entirely Dumbledore's doing that the potions master was here. Perhaps some bit of regard for Black lurked beneath those scornful eyes? She thought it more likely that Snape had a morbid curiosity.
She scanned the rest of the room. Molly Weasley was slowly but steadily drinking herself into a stupor on the edge of the sofa. Hermione supposed she should do something about that, but she had little energy to apply to other people's problems lately. Let Harry deal with the fallout from this brilliant little party. Perhaps the task should fall to Ron, but she knew he hadn't been able to deal with his mother with more than stilted politeness since the end. Since the end, when Arthur and Percy fell to either side of Voldemort's stupid war.
Suddenly the dishes in her hands were more than annoying. She threaded her way into the kitchen, nodding politely but keeping her distance from her guests. She poured the punch down the stainless steel sink and then dumped the plastic-ware into the large rubbish bin by the back door. Harry had been fascinated by all contrivances Muggle since graduation. Hermione found this slightly disturbing considering his upbringing, but she didn't argue the practice. It was simple enough to transfigure the waste after it was in the black plastic sack as it was before. She brushed invisible crumbs off her hands as debated returning to her corner. Instead she decided that a spot of air would do her good.
She leaned against the porch railing, drawing in a deep breath of the cool night air. The smell of tobacco alerted her to another's presence. She searched the dark, but it was a heavy exhale followed by a deep chuckle that pinpointed the who and where. Severus Snape was sitting on the wide rail to her left, visible only by the pale gleam of his hands and face and the dull glow of a cigarette.
"What's the matter, Miss Granger? Smoke bothering you?"
His voice was slyly amused, hard but not caustic. Her former professor almost sounded mellow.
"Not at all," she replied primly. Try as she might to change her demeanor, everything she said came out prim. "Though it surprises me that you indulge in the habit, as it dulls the sense of smell."
She didn't add that a good sense of smell was a necessary quality for a potions master, as that was an obvious statement. He had always been excellent at calling her out when she stated the obvious. Instead of rebuking her, he just exhaled a steady stream of smoke like a lazing dragon. She was turning back to study the stars when his deep bass caught her.
"Perhaps that's why I do it."
Her eyebrows shot up, though she was sure the light was too low for them to have an effect. The statement was an oddity anyway she looked at it: too civil, too intimate, too obscure, too revealing. She had no reply, only questions and curiosity, but she didn't think he would stand for her probing. She took a different route.
"Don't suppose you'd share a ciggie?" she asked without much hope. A slight rustling was all the warning she got before something came flying at her face. She fumbled around rather foolishly as she tried not to drop the pack. She slipped one of the cancer sticks out of the plastic wrapped box, surprised to realize it was Muggle. How strange. She stuck it between her lips and reached for her wand. Before she got it out Snape murmured something. The tip glowed cherry-orange. She tossed the package back his direction, spitefully hoping he would make as much a fool out of himself as she did. The light smack of plastic against flesh told her he had no such difficulty.
Hermione adjusted the fag to take a pull, preparing herself as she did so. It had been months since she last smoked, so the first breath burned down her throat and across her chest like acid on fingertips. She tightened her ribs and opened her throat, not giving in to her body's urge to choke. The next drag was much easier, and in moments the light bliss of nicotine enveloped her.
"I'm amazed to see you here tonight, Professor," she said before she examined the logic of trying to converse with him. She attributed such foolishness to the nicotine.
That deep chuckle confounded her again.
"I suppose you are, Miss Granger."
Snape seemed amazingly calm, especially considering that his childhood nemesis was being feted not twenty feet away. Perhaps his nasty demeanor stemmed from nicotine withdrawal. If she were feeling especially generous towards future Hogwarts students, she might introduce him to the lovely Muggle invention called the patch. The thought made her giggle a little.
"Something amusing?"
She sighed, mirth dying a merciless death.
"No, not particularly."
They shared the silence for a few minutes longer. Hermione saw the soft glow of his cigarette drop to the porch floor, then die under his boot. Her eyes narrowed; he didn't bother to pick it up. Stupid git was a Wizard after all, it didn't take much to clean up after himself.
"So why are you here?" she prodded.
Snape sighed, a deeper and wider sound than when he had exhaled smoke.
"I don't suppose that boundless curiosity will leave me alone if I say that it is none of your business. Very well, Miss Granger. I am here as a favor to someone."
Before she formed another question he was on his feet and brushing past her.
"And as that favor has been carried out, I see no further reason for my presence at this lackluster soiree. Good evening, Miss Granger."
With that he swooped out into the back yard, not pausing in his stride before he disapparated with a small pop. He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye to anyone inside. Severus Snape was still a loner, no matter that he was as much a hero as anyone in the other room. She felt a bit of empathetic solidarity before she remembered she hadn't really been alone since the troll incident in the middle of her fist year. She smiled a little at that feeling of acceptance. Despite her occasional solitary tendencies, her boys would always love her, and that was a very good thing.
She ground out the butt of her cigarette under the toes of her trainers and left it on the ground. She would have to find Snape's rubbish tomorrow; she could pick up her own then as well.
Inside the party was wrapping up. Ginny tiredly smiled at Hermione as she dumped a stack of plates into the bin. She didn't bother to say anything as Hermione passed through the kitchen. In the living room Dumbledore was shaking hands with Harry. Most of the professors and older members of the order had gone after the meal was served. Professor McGonagall was still here, edging towards the door while keeping an eye on the headmaster. Ron was fidgeting with hands tucked under his pits as he watched Fred and George approach his mother. The twins seemed to be on Molly duty tonight. Bill and Fleur were already gone by an hour, after a strained conversation that gave the impression that all was not well in that household. Charlie had begged off before that, saying he had to get back to monitor some eggs. So now the identical pair coaxed Molly off the couch, one of the two passing over a small vial. Normally Hermione would have stopped anyone from ingesting something that came from the pair, but she knew that they didn't play pranks on Molly, not anymore. Maybe they should have done.
Just then a gaggle of her former classmates got stuck in the door, but Dumbledore wandered up behind and everyone pushed through. She hoped they remembered to look for nosy neighbors before Apparating. Some of them were a bit dense when it came to Muggle civilization.
Finally the room was empty except for Hermione, the three men, and party remains. She raised her wand, and with an extended swish and flick, banished all of the plates, glasses, and silverware to the kitchen. Another sequence saw the buffet table emptied, folded, and stored in the hall closet. That was quite good enough. She would take care of the rest tomorrow.
"Well, I'm knackered. Think I'll off to bed, then," Ron said quickly, and headed up the stairs. Harry's concerned eyes followed him all the way up. She wondered if they talked about it, Ron's grief. They'd all mostly recovered from the losses from the war, but Sirius' return had brought up the emotions again. Most of the lost would never return.
The three of them stared at each other for a weighty moment, after Ron drifted out of sight. Harry finally broke the silence.
"So, did you have a good time tonight, Sirius?"
Sirius smiled. It looked a bit unnatural, a bit brittle, as if his lined face might crack from the movement of his lips.
"As good as you can ever have at one of these things, hey."
Harry laughed a little, and Hermione even smiled.
"Think I'm going to duck out back for a bit, catch some fresh air," he continued.
Harry's face wrinkled up in that cute little way he got whenever he was concerned. "Is everything...I mean, do you want some company?"
Sirius smiled again, more relaxed this time. "Don't worry, Harry. I just want to take a look at the stars, maybe spend some time as Snuffles."
Harry nodded slowly, and then he gave Sirius a quick hug. Hermione was somewhat surprised when one of Sirius' warm hands caught her shoulder and squeezed. Then he passed on out of the room, heading into the night.
"You okay, Harry?"
Harry nodded again. "Yeah. I just worry about him, you know? He's had such a hard life."
Hermione didn't say the things that sprang to mind, that Harry'd had a hard life also, that she was more than worried about Sirius, that they should be worried about their friend upstairs. Instead she reached out and pulled him in close. They held onto each other for minutes, neither wanting to give up the comfort of physical contact. Finally Harry pulled back. She was happy to see those pretty green eyes a little less troubled.
"I think I'll go up, too. Ron tends to take up the whole bed if I'm not there to stake my space."
She laughed at that. The boys had been sharing since Sirius arrived, Ron's small bed transfigured into a king-sized. It was a hazard to walk into the room these days, and she didn't envy having to share with Ron. His clothes were always everywhere, and he had a tendency to snore.
"All right, then. I've got a spot of light reading to finish up myself." As she had predicted, Harry groaned.
"Geez, Hermione. It's a party night, can't you give it a rest for once? Have a good time?"
She responded in her most uptight voice. "That is my idea of a good time, Mr. Potter."
Harry laughed and punched her lightly on the shoulder. They started up the stairs, Harry mimicking her in a merciless falsetto from behind. Her heart felt lighter than it had all evening. At least she still knew how to get a laugh out of her friend.
Later she lay in bed, her journal article fallen to her lap. It had only held her attention through the introductory remarks before her mind drifted back to the party. Everyone there seemed overjoyed to see Sirius. Well, except Snape, of course. She wondered again why Remus wasn't there.
Those two had seemed so close back before. Remus had been devastated after Sirius disappeared, when they thought he had died. Oh, he had hidden it, burying himself in work for the Order, always being supportive to the three of them. But Remus had looked so broken to her; his cheekbones sharper in his thin face, his hair a little more grey, the scars appearing more frequently on his face and arms. She wondered if it was because he didn't have someone to keep him company during the transformations, though he had surely gone through them alone while Sirius was in Azkaban.
She thought that must be part of the reason he hadn't come tonight. It must have been very strange to have someone that close to you back from the dead. Hermione had trouble with the concept herself, and she never knew Sirius that well in the first place. Really, just that short time the summer before fifth term, and he was often eccentric and angry then. Now she found herself wondering if he was real at the strangest times. Yesterday she had found him drinking milk from the carton while the refrigerator door stood wide open. She had been seriously contemplating whether he was a variety of boggart when he smiled cheekily and asked if everything was ok.
Hermione called off the light and tossed the journal onto her bedside table. As she snuggled under the quilt she pondered the situation. How did one ungrieve?
A few minutes of thought proved fruitless. She decided to go to the library tomorrow. Perhaps there were Muggle psychology texts that addressed the topic. After all, dead people reappeared on her mum's soap operas all the time.
A mathematical expression can also be said to be indeterminate if it is not definitively or precisely determined.
Hermione frumped down the staircase, still in nightgown and floppy slippers. She had slept in later than usual on a Sunday, due to the late party last night and the knowledge that she would have the house to herself. The boys were taking Sirius to a Quidditch match-the Cannons, she thought. She could never keep track of all of the Quidditch information that flowed through this house. Well, she could have if she wanted to, but she didn't.
She was surprised that the noise of them leaving at dawn hadn't woken her. They must have been trying especially hard not to wake her despite their typical enthusiasm. The thought gave her warm tingles. Harry in particular had been excited about the game. She thought he wanted to show off Sirius to the world, to parade around the fact that his godfather was not a murderer. Harry had fought hard after Voldemort's defeat to get Sirius pardoned posthumously. She thought he had never truly given up hope that Sirius would pass back through the veil. Maybe that was why he took to it so naturally when it actually happened.
She was walking through the kitchen doorway when she smacked into something. Hermione shrieked a little; the something was human. She fumbled for her wand even as rationality set in.
Sirius had his hands on her shoulders to steady her, a look of concern in those pretty blue eyes. "Sorry, sweets. Didn't mean to run you down like that."
She put a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race beneath it. Sirius let go of her shoulders and stepped back.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were with Harry and Ron? Are they here, too?"
Sirius smiled at her barrage of questions. He held a finger up to her lips. "One at a time, please. Harry and Ron are at the game. I decided to stay home."
He didn't explain any more, just stepped around her.
"How come?"
He shrugged without turning back towards her.
"Didn't feel like being the main attraction. Thought the crowds would be more interested in the serial killer from beyond than a little old Quidditch match."
By the time she thought of anything to say he was already in his room, the door shut behind him.
She sighed and collected a bowl of cold cereal from the kitchen. It was pink and sugary and completely bad for her, something her parents would have banned from their house. Of course it was her favorite. As she sat and chewed, she thought about Sirius. He would have caused quite a stir at the match. He was the first ever to escape from Azkaban, he was pardoned for the most shocking murders of the century after a mysterious death, and then he came back from the dead to top it all off. Yes, Sirius would create a stir wherever he went for quite some time.
Hermione didn't think he would handle the attention with the same equanimity Harry managed. She herself had wanted to hex various gossip mongers and peeping toms at times, and she didn't garner near the attention that Harry did. Knowing Sirius, he might very well shoot off several hexes before anyone could stop him.
She finished her breakfast with an inelegant slurp. Sirius might gather a lot of gawkers in the Wizarding world, but he would be just another face in the crowd in the Muggle world. She headed up to the shower with a sense of purpose. She needed to go the library today, and Sirius needed to get out of the house.
An expression is said to be ambiguous (or poorly defined) if its definition does not assign it a unique interpretation or value. An expression which is not ambiguous is said to be well defined.
The library was quiet of course, not crowded but still busy. There were mothers with young children flocking to the special programs section, while other adults of all shapes and sizes flitted about the building like heavy ghosts. The computer section was overflowing, those without the technology at home taking advantage of the end of the work week to do whatever it was they did. Hermione paid no attention to the crowded electronic card catalogues. She was used to finding things by hand. Years of wading through oddly organized volumes at Hogwarts had only sharpened her analytical senses. The smell here was a little different-less dusty leather and more stale plastic-but the rows of books felt the same.
She headed deeper into the building, pulling Sirius in her wake like an obedient puppy. His eyes were wide and his shoulders hunched, but she thought he was enjoying the experience. He had barely protested the idea earlier, simply saying he didn't know what to wear to a Muggle library. She'd rolled her eyes and pulled a few things out of his chest of drawers. He'd added the black leather jacket himself, the one Harry had bought shortly after Sirius' return. Harry said it went with the bike. It looked good on Sirius, making him look like the bad boy he had been in his youth, all dark and scruffy. Hermione bet he was very conscious of its effect.
She stopped suddenly as she realized that Sirius might have interests other than her own. He didn't quite knock into her from behind, but she could feel the brush of his heat as he was forced to a stop. She knew he liked Quidditch, and motorcycles, and that was about the extent of her Sirius knowledge. Deplorable, really.
"What would you like to see?" she asked as she spun around.
Sirius looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "Do they have something beside books?"
She opened her mouth to explain about computers and video libraries when it struck her that she simply needed to clarify her original question.
"I meant what types of books interest you? They won't have anything on Quidditch, but there's sure to be a section on Muggle sports. And periodicals if you'd prefer something up to date."
Sirius smiled, teeth showing just a little. She couldn't help but smile back.
"Oh right," he said. "Do they have fiction? I used to fancy the ones with space ships."
She laughed a little at the thought of this pure-blooded wizard enjoying scifi, but she just led him towards the stacks.
"Where'd you pick up an interest in science fiction?" she asked as they walked. Silence was the only response. She turned to make sure he was still there. He was studying the floor, but he soon looked up with a pale imitation of his earlier smile.
"Remus," he said with no further explanation.
She nodded. It must be a sore point that his friend didn't show last night. She turned back to her task; led him to the back wall. She debated instructing him on the card catalogue, but decided that browsing would suit his magic-trained mind better. She pointed out her own destination and left him to it.
Several hours later she was surrounded by psychology texts, more befuddled than before she had began. She'd skimmed through theories of Freud and Jung, Skinner and Pavlov, and it felt like she was further from understanding the human mind than she had been this morning. Penis envy, of all the mad things.
She sat back with a crack of release in her back, only to find Sirius watching her. She didn't jump, though her heart did speed up from the surprise.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked after she recovered herself.
Sirius nodded, then held up a couple of thick novels. "Can I get these?"
She held out her hand. "I'll check them out on my account. Do you want anything else?
He shook his head, so she stacked his books with the two she was planning on taking home. The psychology section had been frustratingly silent on the subject of recovered loss, but there were a couple book from the metaphysics section that looked interesting. She dropped the textbooks into the return cart, and then sped through the checkout.
Sirius quite gallantly offered to carry the books after they get outside. She suspected he just wanted to hold his books. He looked quite pleased with himself, and the feeling was shared. It might not have been the triumphant return to Wizarding society that Harry was hoping for, but it was a return to society all the same.
"What're you smiling at?"
She smiled wider at the question, enjoying the brisk air and the setting sun.
"Good books and good company, what could be better?"
Sirius smiled back, but after a moment his gaze fell to the pavement. He was quiet the rest of the way back to the house. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done wrong. She would have to puzzle it out some other time, because Harry and Ron were back. They pulled Sirius inside with laughter and exuberant tales of the match. She sighed at their antics and went to put on the kettle.
On to part 2.
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: For those needing to know, click and highlight for pairing spoilers: (Hermione/Sirius (with sex), Remus/Sirius, Hermione/Severus, hints of others)
Summary: When wishes come true, there are always consequences that must be dealt with.
Notes: Close to 18,000 words, so I'm posting in three or four parts. Set post-War, post-OotP. I'm not a Brit, but I tried really, really hard. If anything snuck past me, please let me know. Can be read in full here
A derangement of n ordered objects, denoted !n, is a permutation in which none of the objects appear in their "natural" (i.e., ordered) place.
Hermione watched him from across the room, an empty plate and a full glass of pumpkin punch mostly forgotten in her hand. His eyes were just a little bit wild, but he smiled and nodded as he was supposed. She had socialized earlier, but now her corner was a refuge from the sea of ecstatic well-wishers, the faces from her youth crowded into the small living room. She didn't begrudge Harry the party; she could understand his desire to share his joy with the world. After all, not everyone's godfather got to come back from the dead.
Hermione sighed. It was a miracle indeed when Sirius Black had stumbled into this very room, wide-eyed and trembling, mouth gaping slightly as he appeared out of nowhere. The three of them had been laughing over a bottle of wine; Hermione tucked into the lounger while Ron and Harry shared the couch. She had probably drunk most of the wine herself (as neither of the boys had very refined tastes), which explained why her memories of the event itself were blurred and confused. Ron had knocked over his glass when he jumped up to catch Sirius as he collapsed. The edges of the stain still marked the carpet; not even a good Scourgify could completely defeat Merlot on wool.
A roar of laughter pulled her attention to the group once more. Sirius smiled jaggedly, cradling his glass of scotch, while everyone else chuckled at something Dumbledore had done. The old wizard was as resplendent as always in shimmering purple dress robes highlighted with the faintest touch of silvery green. Harry and a gaggle of Weasleys were hanging on his words, Harry occasionally glancing back at Sirius as if to make sure he was still there. Sirius hadn't aged since that day he fell through the veil, not physically anyway. He was a good looking man, though you had to look to past the lines on the face and the tightness around those pale, pale blue eyes to see it.
She'd had such a crush on him back when she was still a school girl, after his rescue and before the Department of Mysteries. Even now she could remember the heat of his strong hands across her hip bones, the barest brush of his thighs next to hers on that glorious ride on Buckbeak. That feeling had fueled her fantasies, incomplete and immature though they were, for a guilty year and a half.
That had been the first night she had ever seen him, in person anyway. His hair was longer then, filthy and ragged from being on the lam. Thinking back Hermione was amazed at how quickly her feelings had changed, how all of their feelings had changed, in that brief encounter in the shack. From hate and dread and fear of him to love and dread and fear for him. Then again, they had been very much children then, given to the fast-paced illogic of childish emotion. She smirked and reassessed; adult emotion rarely held with logic either.
Sirius seemed to be holding his own. He still nursed the small tumbler of scotch in one hand while nodding politely at the throng surrounding him. All of the remaining Order was here. Well, all except Remus Lupin. That surprised her almost as much as the fact that Severus Snape was in attendance, though not in the same room. Hermione wondered whether it was entirely Dumbledore's doing that the potions master was here. Perhaps some bit of regard for Black lurked beneath those scornful eyes? She thought it more likely that Snape had a morbid curiosity.
She scanned the rest of the room. Molly Weasley was slowly but steadily drinking herself into a stupor on the edge of the sofa. Hermione supposed she should do something about that, but she had little energy to apply to other people's problems lately. Let Harry deal with the fallout from this brilliant little party. Perhaps the task should fall to Ron, but she knew he hadn't been able to deal with his mother with more than stilted politeness since the end. Since the end, when Arthur and Percy fell to either side of Voldemort's stupid war.
Suddenly the dishes in her hands were more than annoying. She threaded her way into the kitchen, nodding politely but keeping her distance from her guests. She poured the punch down the stainless steel sink and then dumped the plastic-ware into the large rubbish bin by the back door. Harry had been fascinated by all contrivances Muggle since graduation. Hermione found this slightly disturbing considering his upbringing, but she didn't argue the practice. It was simple enough to transfigure the waste after it was in the black plastic sack as it was before. She brushed invisible crumbs off her hands as debated returning to her corner. Instead she decided that a spot of air would do her good.
She leaned against the porch railing, drawing in a deep breath of the cool night air. The smell of tobacco alerted her to another's presence. She searched the dark, but it was a heavy exhale followed by a deep chuckle that pinpointed the who and where. Severus Snape was sitting on the wide rail to her left, visible only by the pale gleam of his hands and face and the dull glow of a cigarette.
"What's the matter, Miss Granger? Smoke bothering you?"
His voice was slyly amused, hard but not caustic. Her former professor almost sounded mellow.
"Not at all," she replied primly. Try as she might to change her demeanor, everything she said came out prim. "Though it surprises me that you indulge in the habit, as it dulls the sense of smell."
She didn't add that a good sense of smell was a necessary quality for a potions master, as that was an obvious statement. He had always been excellent at calling her out when she stated the obvious. Instead of rebuking her, he just exhaled a steady stream of smoke like a lazing dragon. She was turning back to study the stars when his deep bass caught her.
"Perhaps that's why I do it."
Her eyebrows shot up, though she was sure the light was too low for them to have an effect. The statement was an oddity anyway she looked at it: too civil, too intimate, too obscure, too revealing. She had no reply, only questions and curiosity, but she didn't think he would stand for her probing. She took a different route.
"Don't suppose you'd share a ciggie?" she asked without much hope. A slight rustling was all the warning she got before something came flying at her face. She fumbled around rather foolishly as she tried not to drop the pack. She slipped one of the cancer sticks out of the plastic wrapped box, surprised to realize it was Muggle. How strange. She stuck it between her lips and reached for her wand. Before she got it out Snape murmured something. The tip glowed cherry-orange. She tossed the package back his direction, spitefully hoping he would make as much a fool out of himself as she did. The light smack of plastic against flesh told her he had no such difficulty.
Hermione adjusted the fag to take a pull, preparing herself as she did so. It had been months since she last smoked, so the first breath burned down her throat and across her chest like acid on fingertips. She tightened her ribs and opened her throat, not giving in to her body's urge to choke. The next drag was much easier, and in moments the light bliss of nicotine enveloped her.
"I'm amazed to see you here tonight, Professor," she said before she examined the logic of trying to converse with him. She attributed such foolishness to the nicotine.
That deep chuckle confounded her again.
"I suppose you are, Miss Granger."
Snape seemed amazingly calm, especially considering that his childhood nemesis was being feted not twenty feet away. Perhaps his nasty demeanor stemmed from nicotine withdrawal. If she were feeling especially generous towards future Hogwarts students, she might introduce him to the lovely Muggle invention called the patch. The thought made her giggle a little.
"Something amusing?"
She sighed, mirth dying a merciless death.
"No, not particularly."
They shared the silence for a few minutes longer. Hermione saw the soft glow of his cigarette drop to the porch floor, then die under his boot. Her eyes narrowed; he didn't bother to pick it up. Stupid git was a Wizard after all, it didn't take much to clean up after himself.
"So why are you here?" she prodded.
Snape sighed, a deeper and wider sound than when he had exhaled smoke.
"I don't suppose that boundless curiosity will leave me alone if I say that it is none of your business. Very well, Miss Granger. I am here as a favor to someone."
Before she formed another question he was on his feet and brushing past her.
"And as that favor has been carried out, I see no further reason for my presence at this lackluster soiree. Good evening, Miss Granger."
With that he swooped out into the back yard, not pausing in his stride before he disapparated with a small pop. He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye to anyone inside. Severus Snape was still a loner, no matter that he was as much a hero as anyone in the other room. She felt a bit of empathetic solidarity before she remembered she hadn't really been alone since the troll incident in the middle of her fist year. She smiled a little at that feeling of acceptance. Despite her occasional solitary tendencies, her boys would always love her, and that was a very good thing.
She ground out the butt of her cigarette under the toes of her trainers and left it on the ground. She would have to find Snape's rubbish tomorrow; she could pick up her own then as well.
Inside the party was wrapping up. Ginny tiredly smiled at Hermione as she dumped a stack of plates into the bin. She didn't bother to say anything as Hermione passed through the kitchen. In the living room Dumbledore was shaking hands with Harry. Most of the professors and older members of the order had gone after the meal was served. Professor McGonagall was still here, edging towards the door while keeping an eye on the headmaster. Ron was fidgeting with hands tucked under his pits as he watched Fred and George approach his mother. The twins seemed to be on Molly duty tonight. Bill and Fleur were already gone by an hour, after a strained conversation that gave the impression that all was not well in that household. Charlie had begged off before that, saying he had to get back to monitor some eggs. So now the identical pair coaxed Molly off the couch, one of the two passing over a small vial. Normally Hermione would have stopped anyone from ingesting something that came from the pair, but she knew that they didn't play pranks on Molly, not anymore. Maybe they should have done.
Just then a gaggle of her former classmates got stuck in the door, but Dumbledore wandered up behind and everyone pushed through. She hoped they remembered to look for nosy neighbors before Apparating. Some of them were a bit dense when it came to Muggle civilization.
Finally the room was empty except for Hermione, the three men, and party remains. She raised her wand, and with an extended swish and flick, banished all of the plates, glasses, and silverware to the kitchen. Another sequence saw the buffet table emptied, folded, and stored in the hall closet. That was quite good enough. She would take care of the rest tomorrow.
"Well, I'm knackered. Think I'll off to bed, then," Ron said quickly, and headed up the stairs. Harry's concerned eyes followed him all the way up. She wondered if they talked about it, Ron's grief. They'd all mostly recovered from the losses from the war, but Sirius' return had brought up the emotions again. Most of the lost would never return.
The three of them stared at each other for a weighty moment, after Ron drifted out of sight. Harry finally broke the silence.
"So, did you have a good time tonight, Sirius?"
Sirius smiled. It looked a bit unnatural, a bit brittle, as if his lined face might crack from the movement of his lips.
"As good as you can ever have at one of these things, hey."
Harry laughed a little, and Hermione even smiled.
"Think I'm going to duck out back for a bit, catch some fresh air," he continued.
Harry's face wrinkled up in that cute little way he got whenever he was concerned. "Is everything...I mean, do you want some company?"
Sirius smiled again, more relaxed this time. "Don't worry, Harry. I just want to take a look at the stars, maybe spend some time as Snuffles."
Harry nodded slowly, and then he gave Sirius a quick hug. Hermione was somewhat surprised when one of Sirius' warm hands caught her shoulder and squeezed. Then he passed on out of the room, heading into the night.
"You okay, Harry?"
Harry nodded again. "Yeah. I just worry about him, you know? He's had such a hard life."
Hermione didn't say the things that sprang to mind, that Harry'd had a hard life also, that she was more than worried about Sirius, that they should be worried about their friend upstairs. Instead she reached out and pulled him in close. They held onto each other for minutes, neither wanting to give up the comfort of physical contact. Finally Harry pulled back. She was happy to see those pretty green eyes a little less troubled.
"I think I'll go up, too. Ron tends to take up the whole bed if I'm not there to stake my space."
She laughed at that. The boys had been sharing since Sirius arrived, Ron's small bed transfigured into a king-sized. It was a hazard to walk into the room these days, and she didn't envy having to share with Ron. His clothes were always everywhere, and he had a tendency to snore.
"All right, then. I've got a spot of light reading to finish up myself." As she had predicted, Harry groaned.
"Geez, Hermione. It's a party night, can't you give it a rest for once? Have a good time?"
She responded in her most uptight voice. "That is my idea of a good time, Mr. Potter."
Harry laughed and punched her lightly on the shoulder. They started up the stairs, Harry mimicking her in a merciless falsetto from behind. Her heart felt lighter than it had all evening. At least she still knew how to get a laugh out of her friend.
Later she lay in bed, her journal article fallen to her lap. It had only held her attention through the introductory remarks before her mind drifted back to the party. Everyone there seemed overjoyed to see Sirius. Well, except Snape, of course. She wondered again why Remus wasn't there.
Those two had seemed so close back before. Remus had been devastated after Sirius disappeared, when they thought he had died. Oh, he had hidden it, burying himself in work for the Order, always being supportive to the three of them. But Remus had looked so broken to her; his cheekbones sharper in his thin face, his hair a little more grey, the scars appearing more frequently on his face and arms. She wondered if it was because he didn't have someone to keep him company during the transformations, though he had surely gone through them alone while Sirius was in Azkaban.
She thought that must be part of the reason he hadn't come tonight. It must have been very strange to have someone that close to you back from the dead. Hermione had trouble with the concept herself, and she never knew Sirius that well in the first place. Really, just that short time the summer before fifth term, and he was often eccentric and angry then. Now she found herself wondering if he was real at the strangest times. Yesterday she had found him drinking milk from the carton while the refrigerator door stood wide open. She had been seriously contemplating whether he was a variety of boggart when he smiled cheekily and asked if everything was ok.
Hermione called off the light and tossed the journal onto her bedside table. As she snuggled under the quilt she pondered the situation. How did one ungrieve?
A few minutes of thought proved fruitless. She decided to go to the library tomorrow. Perhaps there were Muggle psychology texts that addressed the topic. After all, dead people reappeared on her mum's soap operas all the time.
A mathematical expression can also be said to be indeterminate if it is not definitively or precisely determined.
Hermione frumped down the staircase, still in nightgown and floppy slippers. She had slept in later than usual on a Sunday, due to the late party last night and the knowledge that she would have the house to herself. The boys were taking Sirius to a Quidditch match-the Cannons, she thought. She could never keep track of all of the Quidditch information that flowed through this house. Well, she could have if she wanted to, but she didn't.
She was surprised that the noise of them leaving at dawn hadn't woken her. They must have been trying especially hard not to wake her despite their typical enthusiasm. The thought gave her warm tingles. Harry in particular had been excited about the game. She thought he wanted to show off Sirius to the world, to parade around the fact that his godfather was not a murderer. Harry had fought hard after Voldemort's defeat to get Sirius pardoned posthumously. She thought he had never truly given up hope that Sirius would pass back through the veil. Maybe that was why he took to it so naturally when it actually happened.
She was walking through the kitchen doorway when she smacked into something. Hermione shrieked a little; the something was human. She fumbled for her wand even as rationality set in.
Sirius had his hands on her shoulders to steady her, a look of concern in those pretty blue eyes. "Sorry, sweets. Didn't mean to run you down like that."
She put a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race beneath it. Sirius let go of her shoulders and stepped back.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were with Harry and Ron? Are they here, too?"
Sirius smiled at her barrage of questions. He held a finger up to her lips. "One at a time, please. Harry and Ron are at the game. I decided to stay home."
He didn't explain any more, just stepped around her.
"How come?"
He shrugged without turning back towards her.
"Didn't feel like being the main attraction. Thought the crowds would be more interested in the serial killer from beyond than a little old Quidditch match."
By the time she thought of anything to say he was already in his room, the door shut behind him.
She sighed and collected a bowl of cold cereal from the kitchen. It was pink and sugary and completely bad for her, something her parents would have banned from their house. Of course it was her favorite. As she sat and chewed, she thought about Sirius. He would have caused quite a stir at the match. He was the first ever to escape from Azkaban, he was pardoned for the most shocking murders of the century after a mysterious death, and then he came back from the dead to top it all off. Yes, Sirius would create a stir wherever he went for quite some time.
Hermione didn't think he would handle the attention with the same equanimity Harry managed. She herself had wanted to hex various gossip mongers and peeping toms at times, and she didn't garner near the attention that Harry did. Knowing Sirius, he might very well shoot off several hexes before anyone could stop him.
She finished her breakfast with an inelegant slurp. Sirius might gather a lot of gawkers in the Wizarding world, but he would be just another face in the crowd in the Muggle world. She headed up to the shower with a sense of purpose. She needed to go the library today, and Sirius needed to get out of the house.
An expression is said to be ambiguous (or poorly defined) if its definition does not assign it a unique interpretation or value. An expression which is not ambiguous is said to be well defined.
The library was quiet of course, not crowded but still busy. There were mothers with young children flocking to the special programs section, while other adults of all shapes and sizes flitted about the building like heavy ghosts. The computer section was overflowing, those without the technology at home taking advantage of the end of the work week to do whatever it was they did. Hermione paid no attention to the crowded electronic card catalogues. She was used to finding things by hand. Years of wading through oddly organized volumes at Hogwarts had only sharpened her analytical senses. The smell here was a little different-less dusty leather and more stale plastic-but the rows of books felt the same.
She headed deeper into the building, pulling Sirius in her wake like an obedient puppy. His eyes were wide and his shoulders hunched, but she thought he was enjoying the experience. He had barely protested the idea earlier, simply saying he didn't know what to wear to a Muggle library. She'd rolled her eyes and pulled a few things out of his chest of drawers. He'd added the black leather jacket himself, the one Harry had bought shortly after Sirius' return. Harry said it went with the bike. It looked good on Sirius, making him look like the bad boy he had been in his youth, all dark and scruffy. Hermione bet he was very conscious of its effect.
She stopped suddenly as she realized that Sirius might have interests other than her own. He didn't quite knock into her from behind, but she could feel the brush of his heat as he was forced to a stop. She knew he liked Quidditch, and motorcycles, and that was about the extent of her Sirius knowledge. Deplorable, really.
"What would you like to see?" she asked as she spun around.
Sirius looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "Do they have something beside books?"
She opened her mouth to explain about computers and video libraries when it struck her that she simply needed to clarify her original question.
"I meant what types of books interest you? They won't have anything on Quidditch, but there's sure to be a section on Muggle sports. And periodicals if you'd prefer something up to date."
Sirius smiled, teeth showing just a little. She couldn't help but smile back.
"Oh right," he said. "Do they have fiction? I used to fancy the ones with space ships."
She laughed a little at the thought of this pure-blooded wizard enjoying scifi, but she just led him towards the stacks.
"Where'd you pick up an interest in science fiction?" she asked as they walked. Silence was the only response. She turned to make sure he was still there. He was studying the floor, but he soon looked up with a pale imitation of his earlier smile.
"Remus," he said with no further explanation.
She nodded. It must be a sore point that his friend didn't show last night. She turned back to her task; led him to the back wall. She debated instructing him on the card catalogue, but decided that browsing would suit his magic-trained mind better. She pointed out her own destination and left him to it.
Several hours later she was surrounded by psychology texts, more befuddled than before she had began. She'd skimmed through theories of Freud and Jung, Skinner and Pavlov, and it felt like she was further from understanding the human mind than she had been this morning. Penis envy, of all the mad things.
She sat back with a crack of release in her back, only to find Sirius watching her. She didn't jump, though her heart did speed up from the surprise.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked after she recovered herself.
Sirius nodded, then held up a couple of thick novels. "Can I get these?"
She held out her hand. "I'll check them out on my account. Do you want anything else?
He shook his head, so she stacked his books with the two she was planning on taking home. The psychology section had been frustratingly silent on the subject of recovered loss, but there were a couple book from the metaphysics section that looked interesting. She dropped the textbooks into the return cart, and then sped through the checkout.
Sirius quite gallantly offered to carry the books after they get outside. She suspected he just wanted to hold his books. He looked quite pleased with himself, and the feeling was shared. It might not have been the triumphant return to Wizarding society that Harry was hoping for, but it was a return to society all the same.
"What're you smiling at?"
She smiled wider at the question, enjoying the brisk air and the setting sun.
"Good books and good company, what could be better?"
Sirius smiled back, but after a moment his gaze fell to the pavement. He was quiet the rest of the way back to the house. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done wrong. She would have to puzzle it out some other time, because Harry and Ron were back. They pulled Sirius inside with laughter and exuberant tales of the match. She sighed at their antics and went to put on the kettle.
On to part 2.