“beyond wandpoint” 053 by gingerbred
“11 10p Monday - Draco's Teasing”
Hermione, Severus, Draco, Luna, Dhanesh, Kiera, Lavender, Hafsa, Minerva, Misc. Students
Originally Published: 2018-01-21 on AO3
Chapter: 053
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
When Ginny leaves, Lavender pounces, siezing the opportunity, and directs a fair few questions Hermione's way. But having even less success than Ginny had in getting information from the brunette, astonishingly enough, Lavender soon throws in the towel and rejoins the others gathered softly chatting away around Kiera and Dhanesh. They're far more interesting.
Lavender naturally has no way of knowing that this realisation on her part coincides with a gentle kiss of magic that once again works its way warmly over Hermione's skin... It's wonderfully... convenient what a weak Notice-Me-Not can do. Sort of a 'Notice-Me-Not-Very-Much', Hermione quips to herself with a grin. Unless someone is determined to seek her out, they're likely to forget about her entirely. That suits her very much indeed just at the moment.
She sends another appreciative smile towards the Head Table, forgetting completely to be irritated for not thinking of it herself in her delight both with the solution and its... application. It's met by a faint nod before he turns his attention back to the Slytherins' table.
Truth be told, however, Hermione's Notice-Me-Not's are fairly binary, and wouldn't really solve this problem. Avoiding notice entirely would only postpone the inevitable. As things now stand, when her Housemates leave this table, they'll be satisfied they've gotten the information they could from her. They won't feel the need to address this again, at least not with her directly. That should save her a great deal of aggravation in the days to come. There are reasons Severus has survived this long as a spy.
The timing of that diversion naturally wasn't purely by chance. Just as Hermione began to realise that she was finding it more and more difficult to remain indifferent in the face of Lav's barrage of questions, that the potion had pretty much run its course, and it finally dawned on her that she hasn't got a good exit strategy, the Professor cast the spell and Lav shoved off.
For one thing he actually did cast a Tempus and has kept a close eye on things, and for another, even if he hadn't, the bond is transmitting her emotions all too plainly. She can think he did it for her all she likes, he considered it... expedient. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in between.
Far too late it occurs to her that she probably should have discussed with him in advance how best to extricate herself from the Hall. She isn't sure if they'll be expected... if he would wish to be seen returning to quarters with her. She should have asked. She honestly doesn't know if leaving together or separately is strategically better. But she's certain he does.
She also isn't sure if leaving too early, whenever that is, will attract more or less of the wrong kind of attention. Yet if she leaves it too long, the corridors will be full of Slytherins heading back to their dungeons, and she'd still rather like to avoid them... Well, not him, of course...
She's having a hard time balancing the desire not to be a burden, well, more of a burden, with the fact she effectively becomes still more of one yet when things aren't properly sorted. Rats. This is actually harder than she expected, and she certainly hadn't expected it to be easy.
Belatedly, and isn't that a sad commentary on his much vaunted skills, he's forced to acknowledge this would have gone far more smoothly if he'd simply spoken to her in advance and made appropriate arrangements. Pomona arrived late, postponing the announcement and throwing off his schedule, and it's rather buggered things up. Thoroughly.
The potion will soon be worn off, and Miss Granger very much needs to be elsewhere but obviously hasn't the hint of a clue how best to go about that. Perfect. This was stupid and unnecessary. And what had he gotten for it in exchange, for not explaining to the young woman how they should manage this? A few precious minutes of solitude? Was that it? Or was it the dubious pleasure of leaving her twisting for those few moments longer earlier in their quarters? Splendid. And who is twisting with her now? None other than himself.
He absolutely deserves it.
And she most likely does not.
He won't make this mistake again. Probably. That could depend on how well she follows the directions he'll give her or how irritating she proves in the process. But not taking her into his confidence, at least a little, clearly also has significant drawbacks. Marvellous. Just one more thing he needs to balance. It really never ends.
The look he gives his seventh year boys as he considers his situation is an exceedingly dark one.
Whether Hermione recognises it or not, the presence of the Devis just a few seats down also proves helpful. They are distracting people from her quite nicely. Between them and the potion...
There's very little point in repeatedly asking Hermione questions she obviously isn't answering. Derogatory comments have no apparent effect. Being reduced to whispering them probably makes them less potent anyway, as far as anyone else is concerned. For all intents and purposes, Hermione seems largely unfazed by everything, and her fellow Gryffindors are finding no purchase to burrow their way in. When even Lavender admits defeat... The table's focus soon shifts to the other bonded couple represented amongst them.
Dhanesh is a handsome young man of Indian descent, neither tall nor short, with a beautiful smile and mischievous eyes. He's frightfully rich and terribly roguish, and when Hermione considers him at all - which isn't often, their circles don't intersect - she thinks that must be what Sirius had been like in his youth before everything went so awfully wrong. At least in some respects. She's blissfully unaware of some of Sirius' more problematic traits.
Kiera, of course, is simply gorgeous. She's the kind of girl who in the Muggle world would get discovered walking her dog at age fourteen and become an international modelling sensation. The wizarding world, to its credit, seems less shallow than that, and Hermione can't think of a single witch or wizard 'discovered' walking their Crup. Although that might just be because the creatures are unruly and challenging to walk, which frankly isn't conducive to looking all that decorative really, or because house elves frequently discharge such bothersome chores.
Kiera is exceptionally tall, slightly more so than Dhanesh even, thin with just the right amount of curves, and pale with long, wavy black hair. She's also far from stupid, without the onus of being too bright. Perfect really. The kind of girl you'd almost want to hate on sight, except she's actually quite nice. Damn her eyes.
If there were no Harry Potter, had there been no Harry and Ginny... Those two probably would have been Gryffindor's golden couple instead. And they're popular in their own rights, not for the points they bring. Neither play Quidditch nor have graced the covers of the 'Prophet' or 'Quibbler'. Neither are stellar students. They're simply... well liked. It's a strange concept.
Dhanesh is only a little better than an average student, or the average Gryffindor anyway. He's taking four N.E.W.T.s, which is all Harry or Ron would be taking, really, if Professor Slughorn hadn't effectively made an exception by allowing them in Potions last year. Kiera is a bit stronger academically than he is, managing five N.E.W.T.s classes. She's the only sixth year in Gryffindor who was able to advance to N.E.W.T.s Potions this year. Hermione may be biased in reducing her assessment of their skills to that one class, although it's probably not related to the fact the Professor is her bondmate, well, not greatly, but she's not wrong in her evaluation either. There may be something to it.
It occurs to Hermione that people like the two of them for themselves and are obviously happy for them at the news of their bonding. She has a brief moment of... concern where she hopes this was actually necessary, that the bonding was for Kiera's safety and not done to provide cover for herself and the Professor. Looking at the Headmaster, she's really not sure.
She can absolutely picture him doing something like that at this point. Her view of him may have changed radically since he pressured her into taking the Oath that keeps her silent about Friday's assault. And that's despite not necessarily disagreeing with him; she simply takes exception to his methods. Greatly.
Severus picks up on her wave of distrust and disapproval and in a mixture of annoyance and some trepidation, expecting the worst, turns his gaze to her again. It's immensely satisfying when he realises she's glaring at the Headmaster. Really, blazingly satisfying, in fact. She isn't subtle, no one can accuse her of that, but he finds himself not minding in the least as things stand. On the contrary, he has to bite back an unsubtle chuckle of his own in response.
Hermione goes back to watching the other Gryffindors' interactions. She observes her Housemates with the faintest pang of envy, before deciding a little regretfully that she could hardly expect them to congratulate her given the circumstances.
Which of course is precisely when Luna hops into the seat next to her and does just that. Bless her heart.
In what will be the only positive gesture or words of the evening, at least in response to the news of her bonding, Luna gives Hermione a fierce bear hug worthy of Hagrid and the warmest congratulations. Perversely, Hermione who'd only just felt a bit envious at not having such a response now feels it's misplaced. She can be hard to help sometimes, too.
"You'll be so happy!" Luna assures her friend, her conviction matched by her verve. The cheery blonde's bubbling enthusiasm is catching, but Hermione can't help wishing, just a little, that the individual vouching for her future joy had a better track record distinguishing the real from the imaginary as she smiles in return.
She patiently covers the same ground she'd just done with Ginny. There isn't a relationship, there hasn't been an affair. The response surprises Hermione after the reaction those same asseverations drew from Ginny, although she really should know the Ravenclaw better by now. Luna believes every word, and yet her zeal is undampened.
Hermione pessimistically assumes she's been misunderstood and tries again, they are not in any sense a couple...
"Well not now, maybe," Luna answers sagely. "Anyway I don't think being a couple is a requirement for being happy."
That's... surprisingly hard to refute. Hermione eventually settles on, "Uh, thanks, Luna, that's... very kind."
There's a loud scream and a fifth year Gryffindor Hermione thinks is named Hafsa charges forward, yelling at her brother, Dhanesh, "Why didn't you invite me?"
"We didn't invite anyone," the sixth year tries to reason with her, his hands raised in what will emerge as a thoroughly useless gesture of placation. "And if I had, what would we have told our parents? Kiera's parents aren't even allowed on the castle grounds..."
His sister doesn't seem to be convinced, not one iota, but they've drawn everyone's attention for the moment, particularly when Hafsa's shouting culminates in the girl hexing a yard long mouse's tail onto Dhanesh, crying something about the mouse who roared, in some twisted form of House pride no doubt, and Hermione's just grateful to be completely forgotten. Her peace doesn't last long.
Professor McGonagall has stepped down from the Head Table, appearing unexpectedly behind them, although that's only because they're criminally careless as a House and not exactly thinking - defining characteristics of Gryffindors were Severus ever to name them. It should have been easily predictable. Their Head seems particularly displeased with the Devis, Mister and Miss that is, and beats the Headmaster to the draw by sternly deducting an impressive number of points for the shenanigans. Not even Severus can find fault with her penalty, although he's naturally inclined to try.
"Professor Dumbledore was more than clear, young lady, and I'll not have everyone else suffer for your lack of decorum. As much as it pains me, forty points, Miss Devi, for this utterly shameful display." Hafsa, if that's her name, really isn't the sharpest Diffindo, and tries to justify her actions. Sadly at a volume that still isn't anything like appropriate.
"Make that fifty points," the Transfigurations Mistress amends, her lips tightly drawn. "And if you're quite finished here, you may seek out Mr. Filch's company for the rest of the evening." Further demonstrating just how dull her Diffindo is, Hafsa then proceeds to try to explain she hasn't had her jelly yet. "That was rhetorical, Miss Devi. Go to him now." Muttering to herself, the raven-haired fifth year slumps out of the Hall.
"Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonagall continues, suddenly noticing the Ravenclaw amidst her pride of lions, "if you would be so kind, perhaps you'd return to your table?"
Luna of course is clever enough to realise no answer to that question is sought beyond her vacating her seat, and she gives Hermione another quick hug before leaving.
"Mr. Devi, shall we see to your... appendage?" The young man stands and turns so that the Professor can take a closer look. "It doesn't seem to be Transfigured from your trousers... Are you familiar with the Charm she used?" At his negative response, she sighs. "Very well, off to Madam Pomfrey with you. We'll have to see about solving this. I'll ask Professor Flitwick to stop by after his meal. Madam Devi, if you'd like to accompany him now, you are welcome to do so."
Kiera readily agrees, and thanking their Head of House the two head off for the Infirmary. They haven't gone far when Kiera pauses to pull her bondmate's tail before dashing forward with it still well in hand. The force of her momentum spins Dhanesh around, much to the general amusement, and he has little choice but to run after her, answering her antics with laughter. They do seem quite happy together, and when he catches her, he wraps his arms around his 'dark haired goddess' and they disappear from sight into the corridor as the Transfigurations Mistress smiles after them indulgently from the seat she's retaken at the Head Table.
It's a peaceful note, a cheerful note. And in the wrong key altogether for the evening's symphony. That's easily remedied.
Within moments, Draco approaches.
Draco was well aware that Severus was watching him, rather like a hawk, and he had a pretty good idea why, particularly after his bonding to the Gryffindor Princess was announced. Merlin's hairy ballsack. There's no question in the young Slytherin's mind that the bonding was a punitive measure, and he believes there's every chance the man will be after his blood in response. He can't even blame him.
A bonding. Fudge on a broomstick. No one is fool enough to bond anymore.
None of the Slytherins have the least doubt, it's highly improbable the dour Potions Master likes anyone at all, and if he should care for someone, it most certainly wouldn't be the bushy-haired Gryffindor swot. The man is proper, correct to a fault. The idea he should have something, anything going with a student is patently absurd.
Although the other snakes won't have any idea what led to this, not yet anyway, to a witch and wizard they are absolutely sure it's more of the Headmaster's fuckery. It's surprisingly accurate; the last six years have taught them well. That's a lesson that by comparison has gone unlearnt by members of a House that have certainly benefited from said fuckery often enough in the past. Perhaps they're labouring under the delusion those benefits were... earned.
It hasn't escaped Draco that the bonded witches, Granger, Perks, Kilkenny, were all Muggle-borns, and he has an all too clear idea of which Vows might have been part and parcel of the unions. It's the only explanation that makes any sense, that justifies resorting to a bond. He's spent enough time at the Manor in recent months to recognise such Vows might even be a wise precaution, and isn't that a terrifying thought, that something so drastic, so reckless, so foolish, could be... wise.
'Fidelity' is practically a given. Which means he's singlehandedly essentially guaranteed Severus will never get another leg over again. At least not with anyone he wants. No, when the man Avadas him, and it's only a question of time, he's sure, he'll know exactly why. He rather assumes he can look forward to some form of Potions induced impotency in the near future. Turnabout and all that. He can't blame him for that either.
He'll keep those thoughts very much to himself, though. No need to encourage him.
When he stops to consider the fact that Crabbe had administered that potion... That's not quite right though, is it? Crabbe had supplied it. Highly questionable, beyond any doubt, and seriously disturbing that he had brought it with him or suggested its use. But Draco had administered it himself. He should have refused. They can only thank Merlin that it was improperly brewed and that Severus had interrupted them when he did. Draco shouldn't like to imagine...
He really can't explain what he was thinking. He refuses to even try to think that thought to its logical conclusion. That's not... him. That's never been him. They really were incredibly lucky the way it played out... But given what they had done, what they... what they might have done... Perhaps there's more than one justification for what he feels sure is to come.
And for saving them from themselves, Severus now finds himself bonded. To a student. A Gryffindor. The swottiest one imaginable at that. And a Muggle-born. There are quarters where that will doubtlessly be well received. Merlin. Just thinking of it, Draco wonders that he hasn't been Avadaed already. It borders on a miracle.
Theo was the only one of them with even a hint of sense. Or conscience, apparently. Draco will need to let Severus know. That's if he doesn't already... Considering that, it seems unlikely he wouldn't.
Draco's been studiously keeping his attention directed towards the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Quidditch players, as a thin pretext for what drew his attention. Certainly observing the Gryffindor team would make a good deal more sense, as they have the next match coming up, but then three of their key team members are now absent, and it probably hits far too close to home to look at their table.
He's too clever to look at the Head Table himself, not even via any convenient reflective surfaces, although it hadn't helped that the pitcher he'd used earlier relocated itself to Crabbe's lap, amusing though it may have been.
No, actually, it was definitely amusing, no 'may have' about it. It was the only laugh he's had in days. Possibly weeks.
He smirks, considering it. He thinks the pitcher tumbled over just a moment too late for it to have been caused by whatever spell it was that hit the table and believes one of the others took advantage of the opportunity to stick it to Vincent. He understands the impulse thoroughly and strongly suspects Blaise was behind it. Although he had seemed rather busy drying his own robes... But on the other hand, Blaise hadn't appeared to appreciate Crabbe's laughter at his predicament at all. Whoever it was was fast. And subtle. He's pretty sure Goyle didn't do it, if only because he's neither; Harper and Theo are both strong possibilities.
Theo's a good egg, all in all. He's been monitoring their Head of House covertly for Draco, waiting for a moment Professor Snape's distracted. When McGonagall moves, Severus briefly shifts his attention to follow her, Theo gives him a signal, and Draco disappears from sight.
His Notice-Me-Not is nearly as good as the one Severus had used to get Miss Granger to the Great Hall for much the same reason; Draco's intent is very strong. What he is doing is incredibly dangerous, quite probably stupid, and he has no desire whatsoever to be caught. That's not precisely accurate, he's demonstrating increasingly self-destructive tendencies of late, but the acceptable parameters, the sensible parameters, for being caught are ridiculously narrow.
Draco is positive, dead certain, that Potty and Weasel had thrown him down what amounted to a seven story drop last night. No doubt in revenge for the Slytherins' attack on Granger. Depending on how much they know of the details, he almost can't blame them. Almost. But his understanding doesn't extend to seven stories. One or two, he could probably have understood. Countenanced even. Not seven.
He can recognise a W3 product when he's forced to clean it up, and that had definitely been a Weasleys' Wheeze that went off, 'boom', shortly before he inadvertently... fell. It had all the typical hallmarks.
He was exhausted when they struck. He'd spent the whole of two days straight manually cleaning with a migraine to end all migraines, and as hard as he tried, he hadn't been able to get a Cushioning Charm up in time. He literally couldn't cast to save his life. He's not even sure that Cushioning would have been safe from that height. Had Severus not been there to catch him, he has no illusions, he'd be dead. Once again. Well not dead again, obviously, but once again, he could have died. Thanks to Potter.
That's becoming a thing.
There are limits to what he can take. And more importantly, what he is expected to be willing to tolerate, certainly from the likes of them. He's honest enough to admit it, to himself anyway, part of him, the part that isn't thoroughly beaten by the demands of the past year and a half, not that it's a large part by this stage, but still... That part of him wants revenge.
But he's extremely proficient at Wizards' Chess, and there's a chess term that applies perfectly to his situation: 'Zugzwang'. He is forced to move whether he wants to or not, and at the moment that's almost definitely to his own detriment. With the announcement of Severus' bonding, by morning certain people, all the wrong people, will know far too much. Explanations will be demanded and in due course they must be given. No one that matters will take his fall last night for an accident. Not under these conditions.
If he doesn't at least try to take revenge, and very soon, his life won't be worth a plugged sickle. He shouldn't like to have to explain to certain individuals how he hadn't even bothered trying to avenge himself. His hand drifts to the Dark Mark on his arm just at the thought. He'll be better off, far better off, trying and failing, no matter the cost of failure, than not trying at all.
That's something he learnt from last summer's experience with Nymphadora. It taught him the appearance of action buys him leniency. He's already seen as too slow to act because of his failures murdering Dumbledore. Not that anyone expects him to succeed there. He's probably just supposed to fail faster.
A very visible failure now is probably his best option here. Success couldn't be visible, or he wouldn't have actually succeeded. No, failure is probably... safer.
He'd have vastly preferred to advance on Potty or Weasel. Or even the Weaselette. That should have struck home just as effectively, all considered. And any of them would have been doubly expedient targets in light of the upcoming Slytherin-Gryffindor match. But he'd spent his day in the Infirmary with a Mediwitch who seemed curiously intent on torturing him. This is the first he's seeing any of them, the boys hadn't even bothered appearing, the Weaselette had gone, Granger's the only one left, and his Tempus is fading. He's under no delusions, when the meal is done, owls will be dispatched; he needs them to contain mention of an attempt on his part to even the score.
He has a brief twinge of something that might even be guilt at approaching Granger. He half wonders if Severus Obliviated her, as calm as she seems. Friday had certainly demonstrated she can't Occlude in the least. But he has a decided dearth of options and it probably doesn't matter all that much; he doesn't expect to get very far.
He's just unsure if the bigger threat now comes from the Gryffindor ranks, the Headmaster or his own Head of House. With a deep breath, he prepares to dig his own grave with his own two pampered hands, no Gouging Spell required.
Merlin's left nut.
Still, that twinge may be what stays his wand and unleashes his tongue. In his world, that's preferable. She would probably disagree, but they haven't remotely the same experiences.
Sliding up to the witch at the centre of the weekend's events, he casts another Notice-Me-Not to shield them both from her Housemates' attention.
"My my, Madam Snape. How quickly things change," he sing songs low so that no one else at her table overhears. She's palmed her wand before he could speak.
"Did you enjoy your weekend with Mr. Filch?" She keeps her voice low, too, trying to pretend she's unaffected by his presence. She wouldn't fool anyone who would care to notice. On the other hand, almost no one cares to watch their exchange, and those that do cannot.
"Is this how Mudbloods say 'thank you'? Spreading their thighs?"
"I'm sure you'll never have occasion to know, one way or the other. Now bugger off, Malfoy." Her tone still manages to sound artificially sweet. She considers it a real accomplishment.
"I do hope you managed to find some more appealing lingerie. I'm not sure how you people do these things, but Uncle Severus deserves better for his wedding night than what you had on display the other day."
"I had nothing on display, Malfoy. Some worthless arsewipes stole a look, quite without my permission."
"Mmh. And I'll never forget the sight."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she hisses back, her fingers twitching. After what she'd done to her parents, this... this would be a doddle.
"I guess Uncle's just lucky no other snake slithered in first." She had been bristling, no question, trying to maintain an appearance of calm was working her very last nerve. But the sheer unmitigated gall of that statement has her beyond reason, she's just seeing red.
The wand preemptively clutched in her hand when he approached begins to shoot up, but is arrested halfway to his throat as a deep voice booms out across the Hall, no Sonorous needed, "Malfoy, come see me after dinner." Draco has the good sense to return to his table, all too aware this won't end well for him. He had sort of hoped to avoid Severus' notice in the crowd of the Hall. It's a fatal error.
Severus had looked up briefly, ever so briefly, to see what Minerva was doing with the Gryffindors, concerned she would inadvertently draw attention to Miss Granger again. His moment of inattention was very short. He'd checked first, naturally, and Draco wasn't even looking his - or her - way. But in those mere moments he was distracted, Draco disappeared. Severus had immediately started scanning the Hall from his seat and listening very intently to the bond.
The ripple around Miss Granger vanishing her from sight coincided with the harsh spike of tension he could feel through their bond, and he knew, with absolute certainty, where Draco now was. In a first truly spectacular display of just how well the bond can convey emotion, Severus found his dinner decisively interrupted as his godson accosted... his wife. For fuck's sake. That will take getting used to.
Nothing he has felt through the bond before compares. This eclipses it all. Where before there may have been room for interpretation, uncertainty or imprecision, the feelings he can now perceive are crystal clear. Overwhelming, but... not. Not at all. And not like they had been this morning or yesterday when they almost drove him to his knees. This doesn't leave him incapacitated as it had before, quite the contrary, he feels... invigorated, with a pressing desire to... act. And the decidedly unimpeded ability to do so. In fact, given magic truly is all about intent, there's a very good chance this leaves him even better equipped to defend... their interests.
In the back of his mind he considers if this is the precursor to the Geas. He's been wondering how the fuck he was supposed to respond effectively under the laming onslaught of her emotions, and it had seemed an even more certain death sentence than he'd previously taken a Protection Vow for in the present environment. This leaves him with some hope that might not be the case after all.
He's correct that this is an indication of how the bond will not only not inhibit his ability to function, but will aid him in doing so. He is wrong in his assessment of his drive to take action, however. This has nothing whatsoever to do with the Protection Vow. It may have more than a little to do with how he thinks bondmates should behave. Subconsciously, of course. But if he had been spurred to act Friday simply at the sight of the young woman in distress, certainly the ability to feel her discomfort will prove a great deal more motivating. It definitely speaks for him if he finds that... 'pressing'. Quite a bit.
He's also been lying to himself, and by extension Miss Granger about his motives for acting Friday evening. He rarely deceives himself about such things; it's far too dangerous. In his defence, he hasn't had much time for reflection since, and he was in poor shape yesterday. But for once, he's actually better off believing his own deception.
The relevant parties know well enough, or suspect, how he feels about sexual assault. That actually helps justify his actions. But when he had chosen to come to her aid, chosen her well being over that of his charges, he hadn't the faintest idea she'd been given the Liquid Lust. The image of her there in that chair had caused a visceral response, but that response set in a good deal earlier, with far less provocation than he believes. And it had made a difference that it was her. How much of a difference is entirely unclear.
He quickly casts the counterspells, paying close attention to the bond all the while, and in no time he's broken Draco's Notice-Me-Not and sees what's transpiring. Lightning quick, he casts spells, a stronger, but still imperfect Notice-Me-Not on his bondmate, strengthening the weaker one he'd cast before, and then overriding his personal preferences and bowing, regretfully, to his better judgment, he extends it around Draco. It will ensure they both remain visible to him, as he is exceptionally... determined.
But the boy was correct that the Charm would be needed, Severus is grimly forced to agree. And not just to keep him safe from his Head of House, not that that seems to have worked. He would probably have real issues surrounded by the lions as he is without it. In which case Severus' Unbreakable Vow to aid Draco might come into play, or perhaps the Geas protecting Miss Granger where she sits in front of the blond. Severus isn't at all sure it would be remotely safe for the witch in the crossfire. Fucking hell. This will be complicated to navigate moving forward.
While he has no idea what was actually said between the two of them, those feelings of hers and their expressions would certainly be enough to provide more than a hint.
Draco's face glowed with the most malevolent grin imaginable, and Miss Granger's had clouded quite darkly. Despite the vestiges of the Draught. Still, he was surprised by the force of the anger and humiliation, with more than a hint of fear, that he felt roll over him through their bond. That it coincided with her raising of her wand, however, surprised him not the least. Had she hexed the rotter, here in front of a hall full of people, she'd doubtlessly be the one facing punishment. That's not on, for a number of reasons.
Amongst others, he means to keep the anxiety she transmits to a minimum, of course. And he's tired of the little toerag thinking he can just swan about like he owns the place. Doing as he pleases... Severus had been very clear what would happen if he saw Draco being disrespectful again. Well, apparently the boy had issues with his hearing as well as his higher cognitive functions. Not that the concussion from his Levicorpus assault will have helped...
And here Severus had thought no one would dare hassle his wife...
Best clear up any confusion soon. And send an unmistakable message.
He watches the boy return to his table. It's simply theatre. There was never any question of Draco not slinking off. He lifts the Charm from the boy once he retakes his seat.
Having sent Draco packing, his eyes linger for a moment on the young woman at the root of... everything. She hasn't stopped looking at him since he called out, she's eager to express her appreciation. Their eyes meet briefly, then she gives him a slight smile, trying hard not to be too blatant, and mouths "Thank you, Sir." It's completely unnecessary, because he can feel her gratitude now across their bond very clearly, but she's probably not as aware of that given how much he Occludes.
He folds his right hand over his left, noting that her eyes track his movement, and then very inconspicuously, casually allows his hand to slide back to his wrist, extends his long index finger, and in a gesture the vast majority in the Hall wouldn't begin to understand taps his wrist twice before shooting the doors a significant glance. That should be lost upon all but the Muggle-born or -raised. Coincidentally, there are none of those in Slytherin and nary a wristwatch either. Only then does he look back at her.
She knows he'll be occupied after the meal. Everyone in the Hall knows he'll be occupied after the meal. It is now both less difficult to justify that she's leaving without him, and even more important that she do so before anyone who might be tempted to cause... trouble leaves as well. She nods her understanding and smiles at him again.
It's gone beyond a smile, really, back to that beaming thing she sometimes does. Generally at her cat. They'll probably need to work on that, but under the Notice-Me-Not, he's very likely the only one to see it. She means well, and in the absence of risk, he decides to simply... appreciate it. It's incredibly odd to be sitting there in the Great Hall in front of the entire school with his... wife smiling at him like... that. As if being bonded weren't odd enough.
He gives her a slight nod and returns to his meal as though nothing had happened, carefully watching the reflection of her leaving on the saucière to his left through his curtain of hair. A Charm of his own devising renders the image flat to his sight and her much easier to observe. It's particularly useful as the lower concave curve of the sauce boat otherwise turns the reflection upside down.
He's relieved to see no one follows her from the Hall. Naturally only because it simplifies things. Why else?
The meal proceeds without other incident of note, and when Draco reports to him afterwards, he grabs the boy by the scruff of the neck and escorts him from the room. Beyond the requisite Slytherins, no one but Minerva and Albus take particular notice, neither of them inclined to interfere. But Minerva might have done, had she known their destination was once again her classroom.
Hermione, Severus, Draco, Luna, Dhanesh, Kiera, Lavender, Hafsa, Minerva, Misc. Students
Originally Published: 2018-01-21 on AO3
Chapter: 053
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
When Ginny leaves, Lavender pounces, siezing the opportunity, and directs a fair few questions Hermione's way. But having even less success than Ginny had in getting information from the brunette, astonishingly enough, Lavender soon throws in the towel and rejoins the others gathered softly chatting away around Kiera and Dhanesh. They're far more interesting.
Lavender naturally has no way of knowing that this realisation on her part coincides with a gentle kiss of magic that once again works its way warmly over Hermione's skin... It's wonderfully... convenient what a weak Notice-Me-Not can do. Sort of a 'Notice-Me-Not-Very-Much', Hermione quips to herself with a grin. Unless someone is determined to seek her out, they're likely to forget about her entirely. That suits her very much indeed just at the moment.
She sends another appreciative smile towards the Head Table, forgetting completely to be irritated for not thinking of it herself in her delight both with the solution and its... application. It's met by a faint nod before he turns his attention back to the Slytherins' table.
Truth be told, however, Hermione's Notice-Me-Not's are fairly binary, and wouldn't really solve this problem. Avoiding notice entirely would only postpone the inevitable. As things now stand, when her Housemates leave this table, they'll be satisfied they've gotten the information they could from her. They won't feel the need to address this again, at least not with her directly. That should save her a great deal of aggravation in the days to come. There are reasons Severus has survived this long as a spy.
The timing of that diversion naturally wasn't purely by chance. Just as Hermione began to realise that she was finding it more and more difficult to remain indifferent in the face of Lav's barrage of questions, that the potion had pretty much run its course, and it finally dawned on her that she hasn't got a good exit strategy, the Professor cast the spell and Lav shoved off.
For one thing he actually did cast a Tempus and has kept a close eye on things, and for another, even if he hadn't, the bond is transmitting her emotions all too plainly. She can think he did it for her all she likes, he considered it... expedient. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in between.
Far too late it occurs to her that she probably should have discussed with him in advance how best to extricate herself from the Hall. She isn't sure if they'll be expected... if he would wish to be seen returning to quarters with her. She should have asked. She honestly doesn't know if leaving together or separately is strategically better. But she's certain he does.
She also isn't sure if leaving too early, whenever that is, will attract more or less of the wrong kind of attention. Yet if she leaves it too long, the corridors will be full of Slytherins heading back to their dungeons, and she'd still rather like to avoid them... Well, not him, of course...
She's having a hard time balancing the desire not to be a burden, well, more of a burden, with the fact she effectively becomes still more of one yet when things aren't properly sorted. Rats. This is actually harder than she expected, and she certainly hadn't expected it to be easy.
Belatedly, and isn't that a sad commentary on his much vaunted skills, he's forced to acknowledge this would have gone far more smoothly if he'd simply spoken to her in advance and made appropriate arrangements. Pomona arrived late, postponing the announcement and throwing off his schedule, and it's rather buggered things up. Thoroughly.
The potion will soon be worn off, and Miss Granger very much needs to be elsewhere but obviously hasn't the hint of a clue how best to go about that. Perfect. This was stupid and unnecessary. And what had he gotten for it in exchange, for not explaining to the young woman how they should manage this? A few precious minutes of solitude? Was that it? Or was it the dubious pleasure of leaving her twisting for those few moments longer earlier in their quarters? Splendid. And who is twisting with her now? None other than himself.
He absolutely deserves it.
And she most likely does not.
He won't make this mistake again. Probably. That could depend on how well she follows the directions he'll give her or how irritating she proves in the process. But not taking her into his confidence, at least a little, clearly also has significant drawbacks. Marvellous. Just one more thing he needs to balance. It really never ends.
The look he gives his seventh year boys as he considers his situation is an exceedingly dark one.
Whether Hermione recognises it or not, the presence of the Devis just a few seats down also proves helpful. They are distracting people from her quite nicely. Between them and the potion...
There's very little point in repeatedly asking Hermione questions she obviously isn't answering. Derogatory comments have no apparent effect. Being reduced to whispering them probably makes them less potent anyway, as far as anyone else is concerned. For all intents and purposes, Hermione seems largely unfazed by everything, and her fellow Gryffindors are finding no purchase to burrow their way in. When even Lavender admits defeat... The table's focus soon shifts to the other bonded couple represented amongst them.
Dhanesh is a handsome young man of Indian descent, neither tall nor short, with a beautiful smile and mischievous eyes. He's frightfully rich and terribly roguish, and when Hermione considers him at all - which isn't often, their circles don't intersect - she thinks that must be what Sirius had been like in his youth before everything went so awfully wrong. At least in some respects. She's blissfully unaware of some of Sirius' more problematic traits.
Kiera, of course, is simply gorgeous. She's the kind of girl who in the Muggle world would get discovered walking her dog at age fourteen and become an international modelling sensation. The wizarding world, to its credit, seems less shallow than that, and Hermione can't think of a single witch or wizard 'discovered' walking their Crup. Although that might just be because the creatures are unruly and challenging to walk, which frankly isn't conducive to looking all that decorative really, or because house elves frequently discharge such bothersome chores.
Kiera is exceptionally tall, slightly more so than Dhanesh even, thin with just the right amount of curves, and pale with long, wavy black hair. She's also far from stupid, without the onus of being too bright. Perfect really. The kind of girl you'd almost want to hate on sight, except she's actually quite nice. Damn her eyes.
If there were no Harry Potter, had there been no Harry and Ginny... Those two probably would have been Gryffindor's golden couple instead. And they're popular in their own rights, not for the points they bring. Neither play Quidditch nor have graced the covers of the 'Prophet' or 'Quibbler'. Neither are stellar students. They're simply... well liked. It's a strange concept.
Dhanesh is only a little better than an average student, or the average Gryffindor anyway. He's taking four N.E.W.T.s, which is all Harry or Ron would be taking, really, if Professor Slughorn hadn't effectively made an exception by allowing them in Potions last year. Kiera is a bit stronger academically than he is, managing five N.E.W.T.s classes. She's the only sixth year in Gryffindor who was able to advance to N.E.W.T.s Potions this year. Hermione may be biased in reducing her assessment of their skills to that one class, although it's probably not related to the fact the Professor is her bondmate, well, not greatly, but she's not wrong in her evaluation either. There may be something to it.
It occurs to Hermione that people like the two of them for themselves and are obviously happy for them at the news of their bonding. She has a brief moment of... concern where she hopes this was actually necessary, that the bonding was for Kiera's safety and not done to provide cover for herself and the Professor. Looking at the Headmaster, she's really not sure.
She can absolutely picture him doing something like that at this point. Her view of him may have changed radically since he pressured her into taking the Oath that keeps her silent about Friday's assault. And that's despite not necessarily disagreeing with him; she simply takes exception to his methods. Greatly.
Severus picks up on her wave of distrust and disapproval and in a mixture of annoyance and some trepidation, expecting the worst, turns his gaze to her again. It's immensely satisfying when he realises she's glaring at the Headmaster. Really, blazingly satisfying, in fact. She isn't subtle, no one can accuse her of that, but he finds himself not minding in the least as things stand. On the contrary, he has to bite back an unsubtle chuckle of his own in response.
Hermione goes back to watching the other Gryffindors' interactions. She observes her Housemates with the faintest pang of envy, before deciding a little regretfully that she could hardly expect them to congratulate her given the circumstances.
Which of course is precisely when Luna hops into the seat next to her and does just that. Bless her heart.
In what will be the only positive gesture or words of the evening, at least in response to the news of her bonding, Luna gives Hermione a fierce bear hug worthy of Hagrid and the warmest congratulations. Perversely, Hermione who'd only just felt a bit envious at not having such a response now feels it's misplaced. She can be hard to help sometimes, too.
"You'll be so happy!" Luna assures her friend, her conviction matched by her verve. The cheery blonde's bubbling enthusiasm is catching, but Hermione can't help wishing, just a little, that the individual vouching for her future joy had a better track record distinguishing the real from the imaginary as she smiles in return.
She patiently covers the same ground she'd just done with Ginny. There isn't a relationship, there hasn't been an affair. The response surprises Hermione after the reaction those same asseverations drew from Ginny, although she really should know the Ravenclaw better by now. Luna believes every word, and yet her zeal is undampened.
Hermione pessimistically assumes she's been misunderstood and tries again, they are not in any sense a couple...
"Well not now, maybe," Luna answers sagely. "Anyway I don't think being a couple is a requirement for being happy."
That's... surprisingly hard to refute. Hermione eventually settles on, "Uh, thanks, Luna, that's... very kind."
There's a loud scream and a fifth year Gryffindor Hermione thinks is named Hafsa charges forward, yelling at her brother, Dhanesh, "Why didn't you invite me?"
"We didn't invite anyone," the sixth year tries to reason with her, his hands raised in what will emerge as a thoroughly useless gesture of placation. "And if I had, what would we have told our parents? Kiera's parents aren't even allowed on the castle grounds..."
His sister doesn't seem to be convinced, not one iota, but they've drawn everyone's attention for the moment, particularly when Hafsa's shouting culminates in the girl hexing a yard long mouse's tail onto Dhanesh, crying something about the mouse who roared, in some twisted form of House pride no doubt, and Hermione's just grateful to be completely forgotten. Her peace doesn't last long.
Professor McGonagall has stepped down from the Head Table, appearing unexpectedly behind them, although that's only because they're criminally careless as a House and not exactly thinking - defining characteristics of Gryffindors were Severus ever to name them. It should have been easily predictable. Their Head seems particularly displeased with the Devis, Mister and Miss that is, and beats the Headmaster to the draw by sternly deducting an impressive number of points for the shenanigans. Not even Severus can find fault with her penalty, although he's naturally inclined to try.
"Professor Dumbledore was more than clear, young lady, and I'll not have everyone else suffer for your lack of decorum. As much as it pains me, forty points, Miss Devi, for this utterly shameful display." Hafsa, if that's her name, really isn't the sharpest Diffindo, and tries to justify her actions. Sadly at a volume that still isn't anything like appropriate.
"Make that fifty points," the Transfigurations Mistress amends, her lips tightly drawn. "And if you're quite finished here, you may seek out Mr. Filch's company for the rest of the evening." Further demonstrating just how dull her Diffindo is, Hafsa then proceeds to try to explain she hasn't had her jelly yet. "That was rhetorical, Miss Devi. Go to him now." Muttering to herself, the raven-haired fifth year slumps out of the Hall.
"Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonagall continues, suddenly noticing the Ravenclaw amidst her pride of lions, "if you would be so kind, perhaps you'd return to your table?"
Luna of course is clever enough to realise no answer to that question is sought beyond her vacating her seat, and she gives Hermione another quick hug before leaving.
"Mr. Devi, shall we see to your... appendage?" The young man stands and turns so that the Professor can take a closer look. "It doesn't seem to be Transfigured from your trousers... Are you familiar with the Charm she used?" At his negative response, she sighs. "Very well, off to Madam Pomfrey with you. We'll have to see about solving this. I'll ask Professor Flitwick to stop by after his meal. Madam Devi, if you'd like to accompany him now, you are welcome to do so."
Kiera readily agrees, and thanking their Head of House the two head off for the Infirmary. They haven't gone far when Kiera pauses to pull her bondmate's tail before dashing forward with it still well in hand. The force of her momentum spins Dhanesh around, much to the general amusement, and he has little choice but to run after her, answering her antics with laughter. They do seem quite happy together, and when he catches her, he wraps his arms around his 'dark haired goddess' and they disappear from sight into the corridor as the Transfigurations Mistress smiles after them indulgently from the seat she's retaken at the Head Table.
It's a peaceful note, a cheerful note. And in the wrong key altogether for the evening's symphony. That's easily remedied.
Within moments, Draco approaches.
Draco was well aware that Severus was watching him, rather like a hawk, and he had a pretty good idea why, particularly after his bonding to the Gryffindor Princess was announced. Merlin's hairy ballsack. There's no question in the young Slytherin's mind that the bonding was a punitive measure, and he believes there's every chance the man will be after his blood in response. He can't even blame him.
A bonding. Fudge on a broomstick. No one is fool enough to bond anymore.
None of the Slytherins have the least doubt, it's highly improbable the dour Potions Master likes anyone at all, and if he should care for someone, it most certainly wouldn't be the bushy-haired Gryffindor swot. The man is proper, correct to a fault. The idea he should have something, anything going with a student is patently absurd.
Although the other snakes won't have any idea what led to this, not yet anyway, to a witch and wizard they are absolutely sure it's more of the Headmaster's fuckery. It's surprisingly accurate; the last six years have taught them well. That's a lesson that by comparison has gone unlearnt by members of a House that have certainly benefited from said fuckery often enough in the past. Perhaps they're labouring under the delusion those benefits were... earned.
It hasn't escaped Draco that the bonded witches, Granger, Perks, Kilkenny, were all Muggle-borns, and he has an all too clear idea of which Vows might have been part and parcel of the unions. It's the only explanation that makes any sense, that justifies resorting to a bond. He's spent enough time at the Manor in recent months to recognise such Vows might even be a wise precaution, and isn't that a terrifying thought, that something so drastic, so reckless, so foolish, could be... wise.
'Fidelity' is practically a given. Which means he's singlehandedly essentially guaranteed Severus will never get another leg over again. At least not with anyone he wants. No, when the man Avadas him, and it's only a question of time, he's sure, he'll know exactly why. He rather assumes he can look forward to some form of Potions induced impotency in the near future. Turnabout and all that. He can't blame him for that either.
He'll keep those thoughts very much to himself, though. No need to encourage him.
When he stops to consider the fact that Crabbe had administered that potion... That's not quite right though, is it? Crabbe had supplied it. Highly questionable, beyond any doubt, and seriously disturbing that he had brought it with him or suggested its use. But Draco had administered it himself. He should have refused. They can only thank Merlin that it was improperly brewed and that Severus had interrupted them when he did. Draco shouldn't like to imagine...
He really can't explain what he was thinking. He refuses to even try to think that thought to its logical conclusion. That's not... him. That's never been him. They really were incredibly lucky the way it played out... But given what they had done, what they... what they might have done... Perhaps there's more than one justification for what he feels sure is to come.
And for saving them from themselves, Severus now finds himself bonded. To a student. A Gryffindor. The swottiest one imaginable at that. And a Muggle-born. There are quarters where that will doubtlessly be well received. Merlin. Just thinking of it, Draco wonders that he hasn't been Avadaed already. It borders on a miracle.
Theo was the only one of them with even a hint of sense. Or conscience, apparently. Draco will need to let Severus know. That's if he doesn't already... Considering that, it seems unlikely he wouldn't.
Draco's been studiously keeping his attention directed towards the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Quidditch players, as a thin pretext for what drew his attention. Certainly observing the Gryffindor team would make a good deal more sense, as they have the next match coming up, but then three of their key team members are now absent, and it probably hits far too close to home to look at their table.
He's too clever to look at the Head Table himself, not even via any convenient reflective surfaces, although it hadn't helped that the pitcher he'd used earlier relocated itself to Crabbe's lap, amusing though it may have been.
No, actually, it was definitely amusing, no 'may have' about it. It was the only laugh he's had in days. Possibly weeks.
He smirks, considering it. He thinks the pitcher tumbled over just a moment too late for it to have been caused by whatever spell it was that hit the table and believes one of the others took advantage of the opportunity to stick it to Vincent. He understands the impulse thoroughly and strongly suspects Blaise was behind it. Although he had seemed rather busy drying his own robes... But on the other hand, Blaise hadn't appeared to appreciate Crabbe's laughter at his predicament at all. Whoever it was was fast. And subtle. He's pretty sure Goyle didn't do it, if only because he's neither; Harper and Theo are both strong possibilities.
Theo's a good egg, all in all. He's been monitoring their Head of House covertly for Draco, waiting for a moment Professor Snape's distracted. When McGonagall moves, Severus briefly shifts his attention to follow her, Theo gives him a signal, and Draco disappears from sight.
His Notice-Me-Not is nearly as good as the one Severus had used to get Miss Granger to the Great Hall for much the same reason; Draco's intent is very strong. What he is doing is incredibly dangerous, quite probably stupid, and he has no desire whatsoever to be caught. That's not precisely accurate, he's demonstrating increasingly self-destructive tendencies of late, but the acceptable parameters, the sensible parameters, for being caught are ridiculously narrow.
Draco is positive, dead certain, that Potty and Weasel had thrown him down what amounted to a seven story drop last night. No doubt in revenge for the Slytherins' attack on Granger. Depending on how much they know of the details, he almost can't blame them. Almost. But his understanding doesn't extend to seven stories. One or two, he could probably have understood. Countenanced even. Not seven.
He can recognise a W3 product when he's forced to clean it up, and that had definitely been a Weasleys' Wheeze that went off, 'boom', shortly before he inadvertently... fell. It had all the typical hallmarks.
He was exhausted when they struck. He'd spent the whole of two days straight manually cleaning with a migraine to end all migraines, and as hard as he tried, he hadn't been able to get a Cushioning Charm up in time. He literally couldn't cast to save his life. He's not even sure that Cushioning would have been safe from that height. Had Severus not been there to catch him, he has no illusions, he'd be dead. Once again. Well not dead again, obviously, but once again, he could have died. Thanks to Potter.
That's becoming a thing.
There are limits to what he can take. And more importantly, what he is expected to be willing to tolerate, certainly from the likes of them. He's honest enough to admit it, to himself anyway, part of him, the part that isn't thoroughly beaten by the demands of the past year and a half, not that it's a large part by this stage, but still... That part of him wants revenge.
But he's extremely proficient at Wizards' Chess, and there's a chess term that applies perfectly to his situation: 'Zugzwang'. He is forced to move whether he wants to or not, and at the moment that's almost definitely to his own detriment. With the announcement of Severus' bonding, by morning certain people, all the wrong people, will know far too much. Explanations will be demanded and in due course they must be given. No one that matters will take his fall last night for an accident. Not under these conditions.
If he doesn't at least try to take revenge, and very soon, his life won't be worth a plugged sickle. He shouldn't like to have to explain to certain individuals how he hadn't even bothered trying to avenge himself. His hand drifts to the Dark Mark on his arm just at the thought. He'll be better off, far better off, trying and failing, no matter the cost of failure, than not trying at all.
That's something he learnt from last summer's experience with Nymphadora. It taught him the appearance of action buys him leniency. He's already seen as too slow to act because of his failures murdering Dumbledore. Not that anyone expects him to succeed there. He's probably just supposed to fail faster.
A very visible failure now is probably his best option here. Success couldn't be visible, or he wouldn't have actually succeeded. No, failure is probably... safer.
He'd have vastly preferred to advance on Potty or Weasel. Or even the Weaselette. That should have struck home just as effectively, all considered. And any of them would have been doubly expedient targets in light of the upcoming Slytherin-Gryffindor match. But he'd spent his day in the Infirmary with a Mediwitch who seemed curiously intent on torturing him. This is the first he's seeing any of them, the boys hadn't even bothered appearing, the Weaselette had gone, Granger's the only one left, and his Tempus is fading. He's under no delusions, when the meal is done, owls will be dispatched; he needs them to contain mention of an attempt on his part to even the score.
He has a brief twinge of something that might even be guilt at approaching Granger. He half wonders if Severus Obliviated her, as calm as she seems. Friday had certainly demonstrated she can't Occlude in the least. But he has a decided dearth of options and it probably doesn't matter all that much; he doesn't expect to get very far.
He's just unsure if the bigger threat now comes from the Gryffindor ranks, the Headmaster or his own Head of House. With a deep breath, he prepares to dig his own grave with his own two pampered hands, no Gouging Spell required.
Merlin's left nut.
Still, that twinge may be what stays his wand and unleashes his tongue. In his world, that's preferable. She would probably disagree, but they haven't remotely the same experiences.
Sliding up to the witch at the centre of the weekend's events, he casts another Notice-Me-Not to shield them both from her Housemates' attention.
"My my, Madam Snape. How quickly things change," he sing songs low so that no one else at her table overhears. She's palmed her wand before he could speak.
"Did you enjoy your weekend with Mr. Filch?" She keeps her voice low, too, trying to pretend she's unaffected by his presence. She wouldn't fool anyone who would care to notice. On the other hand, almost no one cares to watch their exchange, and those that do cannot.
"Is this how Mudbloods say 'thank you'? Spreading their thighs?"
"I'm sure you'll never have occasion to know, one way or the other. Now bugger off, Malfoy." Her tone still manages to sound artificially sweet. She considers it a real accomplishment.
"I do hope you managed to find some more appealing lingerie. I'm not sure how you people do these things, but Uncle Severus deserves better for his wedding night than what you had on display the other day."
"I had nothing on display, Malfoy. Some worthless arsewipes stole a look, quite without my permission."
"Mmh. And I'll never forget the sight."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she hisses back, her fingers twitching. After what she'd done to her parents, this... this would be a doddle.
"I guess Uncle's just lucky no other snake slithered in first." She had been bristling, no question, trying to maintain an appearance of calm was working her very last nerve. But the sheer unmitigated gall of that statement has her beyond reason, she's just seeing red.
The wand preemptively clutched in her hand when he approached begins to shoot up, but is arrested halfway to his throat as a deep voice booms out across the Hall, no Sonorous needed, "Malfoy, come see me after dinner." Draco has the good sense to return to his table, all too aware this won't end well for him. He had sort of hoped to avoid Severus' notice in the crowd of the Hall. It's a fatal error.
Severus had looked up briefly, ever so briefly, to see what Minerva was doing with the Gryffindors, concerned she would inadvertently draw attention to Miss Granger again. His moment of inattention was very short. He'd checked first, naturally, and Draco wasn't even looking his - or her - way. But in those mere moments he was distracted, Draco disappeared. Severus had immediately started scanning the Hall from his seat and listening very intently to the bond.
The ripple around Miss Granger vanishing her from sight coincided with the harsh spike of tension he could feel through their bond, and he knew, with absolute certainty, where Draco now was. In a first truly spectacular display of just how well the bond can convey emotion, Severus found his dinner decisively interrupted as his godson accosted... his wife. For fuck's sake. That will take getting used to.
Nothing he has felt through the bond before compares. This eclipses it all. Where before there may have been room for interpretation, uncertainty or imprecision, the feelings he can now perceive are crystal clear. Overwhelming, but... not. Not at all. And not like they had been this morning or yesterday when they almost drove him to his knees. This doesn't leave him incapacitated as it had before, quite the contrary, he feels... invigorated, with a pressing desire to... act. And the decidedly unimpeded ability to do so. In fact, given magic truly is all about intent, there's a very good chance this leaves him even better equipped to defend... their interests.
In the back of his mind he considers if this is the precursor to the Geas. He's been wondering how the fuck he was supposed to respond effectively under the laming onslaught of her emotions, and it had seemed an even more certain death sentence than he'd previously taken a Protection Vow for in the present environment. This leaves him with some hope that might not be the case after all.
He's correct that this is an indication of how the bond will not only not inhibit his ability to function, but will aid him in doing so. He is wrong in his assessment of his drive to take action, however. This has nothing whatsoever to do with the Protection Vow. It may have more than a little to do with how he thinks bondmates should behave. Subconsciously, of course. But if he had been spurred to act Friday simply at the sight of the young woman in distress, certainly the ability to feel her discomfort will prove a great deal more motivating. It definitely speaks for him if he finds that... 'pressing'. Quite a bit.
He's also been lying to himself, and by extension Miss Granger about his motives for acting Friday evening. He rarely deceives himself about such things; it's far too dangerous. In his defence, he hasn't had much time for reflection since, and he was in poor shape yesterday. But for once, he's actually better off believing his own deception.
The relevant parties know well enough, or suspect, how he feels about sexual assault. That actually helps justify his actions. But when he had chosen to come to her aid, chosen her well being over that of his charges, he hadn't the faintest idea she'd been given the Liquid Lust. The image of her there in that chair had caused a visceral response, but that response set in a good deal earlier, with far less provocation than he believes. And it had made a difference that it was her. How much of a difference is entirely unclear.
He quickly casts the counterspells, paying close attention to the bond all the while, and in no time he's broken Draco's Notice-Me-Not and sees what's transpiring. Lightning quick, he casts spells, a stronger, but still imperfect Notice-Me-Not on his bondmate, strengthening the weaker one he'd cast before, and then overriding his personal preferences and bowing, regretfully, to his better judgment, he extends it around Draco. It will ensure they both remain visible to him, as he is exceptionally... determined.
But the boy was correct that the Charm would be needed, Severus is grimly forced to agree. And not just to keep him safe from his Head of House, not that that seems to have worked. He would probably have real issues surrounded by the lions as he is without it. In which case Severus' Unbreakable Vow to aid Draco might come into play, or perhaps the Geas protecting Miss Granger where she sits in front of the blond. Severus isn't at all sure it would be remotely safe for the witch in the crossfire. Fucking hell. This will be complicated to navigate moving forward.
While he has no idea what was actually said between the two of them, those feelings of hers and their expressions would certainly be enough to provide more than a hint.
Draco's face glowed with the most malevolent grin imaginable, and Miss Granger's had clouded quite darkly. Despite the vestiges of the Draught. Still, he was surprised by the force of the anger and humiliation, with more than a hint of fear, that he felt roll over him through their bond. That it coincided with her raising of her wand, however, surprised him not the least. Had she hexed the rotter, here in front of a hall full of people, she'd doubtlessly be the one facing punishment. That's not on, for a number of reasons.
Amongst others, he means to keep the anxiety she transmits to a minimum, of course. And he's tired of the little toerag thinking he can just swan about like he owns the place. Doing as he pleases... Severus had been very clear what would happen if he saw Draco being disrespectful again. Well, apparently the boy had issues with his hearing as well as his higher cognitive functions. Not that the concussion from his Levicorpus assault will have helped...
And here Severus had thought no one would dare hassle his wife...
Best clear up any confusion soon. And send an unmistakable message.
He watches the boy return to his table. It's simply theatre. There was never any question of Draco not slinking off. He lifts the Charm from the boy once he retakes his seat.
Having sent Draco packing, his eyes linger for a moment on the young woman at the root of... everything. She hasn't stopped looking at him since he called out, she's eager to express her appreciation. Their eyes meet briefly, then she gives him a slight smile, trying hard not to be too blatant, and mouths "Thank you, Sir." It's completely unnecessary, because he can feel her gratitude now across their bond very clearly, but she's probably not as aware of that given how much he Occludes.
He folds his right hand over his left, noting that her eyes track his movement, and then very inconspicuously, casually allows his hand to slide back to his wrist, extends his long index finger, and in a gesture the vast majority in the Hall wouldn't begin to understand taps his wrist twice before shooting the doors a significant glance. That should be lost upon all but the Muggle-born or -raised. Coincidentally, there are none of those in Slytherin and nary a wristwatch either. Only then does he look back at her.
She knows he'll be occupied after the meal. Everyone in the Hall knows he'll be occupied after the meal. It is now both less difficult to justify that she's leaving without him, and even more important that she do so before anyone who might be tempted to cause... trouble leaves as well. She nods her understanding and smiles at him again.
It's gone beyond a smile, really, back to that beaming thing she sometimes does. Generally at her cat. They'll probably need to work on that, but under the Notice-Me-Not, he's very likely the only one to see it. She means well, and in the absence of risk, he decides to simply... appreciate it. It's incredibly odd to be sitting there in the Great Hall in front of the entire school with his... wife smiling at him like... that. As if being bonded weren't odd enough.
He gives her a slight nod and returns to his meal as though nothing had happened, carefully watching the reflection of her leaving on the saucière to his left through his curtain of hair. A Charm of his own devising renders the image flat to his sight and her much easier to observe. It's particularly useful as the lower concave curve of the sauce boat otherwise turns the reflection upside down.
He's relieved to see no one follows her from the Hall. Naturally only because it simplifies things. Why else?
The meal proceeds without other incident of note, and when Draco reports to him afterwards, he grabs the boy by the scruff of the neck and escorts him from the room. Beyond the requisite Slytherins, no one but Minerva and Albus take particular notice, neither of them inclined to interfere. But Minerva might have done, had she known their destination was once again her classroom.