Azael's Chains

Not Quite

"Antonin." She settled her bone china teacup on its matching saucer with the gentlest of clatters, bright umber eyes glancing at him askew.

"Yes, kitten?" He lowered The Prophet to meet her gaze.

She had to approach this delicately or it would be dangerous for her. "Professor Snape mentioned something a while back. He said they had a need for a new librarian at Hogwarts."

Dark brows tugged down to shadow his eyes as he considered her.

"I would not want to take the position full time if it bothered you," she rushed placatingly. "I only wondered if I might be allowed to assist in the reorganization and recategorization of it, what since the new school year is approaching and all."

"So you would be leaving me temporarily, and that is something you wish me to approve?" he scoffed.

Hermione shook her head. "Not at all. You could be there with me if you liked, and I would still come here in the evenings." She schooled her countenance to one properly scolded. "I would like to feel useful, and I have always loved the Hogwarts library. It would mean a great deal to me."

She could feel his eyes and she stared at her lap, hands folded delicately against the pale pink of her skirt.

"I will consider it."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled brightly, kissing his cheek before she disappeared into his own library.

She had thought it would require more persuasion before they reached that point and her heart fluttered lightly in her chest as she trailed the books with loving fingertips. It was a slow game she was playing, and too long she'd felt more pawn than rook.

An absent, bittersweet smile unfurled at the memory of stepping onto the giant chess board. Ron had truly been at his best that day, directing her and Harry which pieces to replace, where to go next, how to play the game. Game strategy was where he shone brightest; he'd have made a formidable general.

Hermione settled into her preferred chair, paging through the title page, the table of contents, the single blank page, all the while she imagined Ron holding tight to a stone mount.

No, she would no longer play pawn for Severus Snape and the remnant of the Order. She was Hermione Granger; she may not know chess, but she knew the players of this game and she would position herself somewhere she could make moves and countermoves of her own. Antonin would eventually decide she could be trusted in the library and under the watchful eyes of all the Death Eaters there. Or so she hoped.

Hogwarts was and had always been at the center of this war, thus it was where she needed to be. If she had to convince Dolohov of her devotion to him, she would. Harry sacrificed his life, as had Ron. Tonks, Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevy.

She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes as faces of the dead flooded her mind, years of laughter and tears and ridiculous fights that she wished she could go back to. A giggle bubbled from her as she thought of watching Ron and Lavender snogging. It had cut her to the quick then, but now she would give anything for it to be possible again. The laughter shook the book from her hands, frothing from her lips down to her chest, shattering her until not even the leather binding of the book hitting the floor could pull her from her grief as tears spilled down her cheeks and incredulous joy became bottomless grief.

Snape arrived at nine on the dot, heavy boots thudding out from cool green flame. Hermione stood from her seat while Antonin looked on with sickle-bright eyes.

"Miss Granger, Antonin."

"Good evening, Professor." Her fingers interlocked against her body. "It's good to see you."