a watery smile.
Once Toolip had collected the empty mug and left, Hermione alternated between sitting on the edge of the bed and pacing. The silent tears didn't start for another forty minutes.
After three hours however, she finally gave in to the lure of the plush, silk duvet, pushing aside the nagging voice in the back of her head that berated her for accepting any comforts offered by Lucius Malfoy.
Sleep might have allowed her a brief reprieve from the stresses of real life, but Hermione was still painfully aware that the next two weeks were going to be very long indeed.
Particularly if she told the boys.
Chapter Six
Severus Snape was a chronic insomniac. On the odd occasion when he did manage to still the incessant whirring of his mind, his slumber was brief, fitful and plagued with the type of dreams that would have had normal people catatonic and incoherent for hours.
Restful sleep was something he craved. It seemed ironic that as a Potions Master, was unable or rather unwilling to brew a potion that would have allowed him a few hours of blessed reprieve.
Oh, there were potions of course; dark, simmering, sinister draughts that would have robbed him of all conscious thought for as long as he wanted. But he never brewed them, never for himself. It all came down to his inner sadist, he reasoned.
There were probably only a few people on the planet truly deserving of that kind of sleep, and he was quite certain he was not one of them. Despite the futility of it, Snape had retired early to his bed that evening, ignoring the teetering stack of chicken scratchings his students attempted to pass off as homework.
Age was catching up with him and lately he found that he could no longer slash away with his quill into the early hours of the morning, without the inevitable fatigue setting in.
The cold of the dungeons seeped into his bones more easily these days. And the dungeons were cold, no mistake. It was as if all the good humour, warm thoughts, sweet, fluffy good-naturedness in the castle was like hot air, rising to coddle and smother the inhabitants of the upper levels in a calming slumber. He'd give an arm and a leg to sleep like a first-year Hufflepuff.
The soft swoosh from the fireplace beyond his bedchamber caused Snape to sit up in bed. With a furrowed brow, he pushed aside the thick bedcovers and reached for his wand from his bedside table to cast Lumos. It was past midnight, but from the sounds of it, he was about to receive a Floo transmission.
By the time Snape ventured out into his study, the late night caller was waiting, suspended in the cool green flames of the fireplace.
Lucius Malfoy's mercurial eyes swept the length of Snape's person, from his velvet slippers to his dressing gown, to the slightly mussed look of his lank hair.
"You don't usually turn in this early," said Lucius, by way of greeting.
Snape's lips thinned as the bitter tang of dread coated his tongue. So. It was going to be one those nights.
"In addition to overseeing the tedious, swill-fest that is my junior potions class, I was required to substitute for Lupin this afternoon," Snape replied. He decided to give in to weakness and fortify himself with a cup of strong, black coffee. Sleep that evening was fast becoming a hopeless endeavour.
"Ah," Lucius smiled, his head turning to the side, ostensibly to look out a nearby window. "I wasn' t aware that the prodigal werewolf had returned. Is it a full moon tonight?" Lucius asked, in a conversational manner. "I hadn't noticed."
Snape busied himself in the small portion of his kitchen that hadn't been completely taken over by his ever-expanding laboratory. He liked his coffee strong enough to burn a whole through the stone and he preferred to brew it sans magic.
"Last night was a full moon. He's recovering today."
"You look like hell Severus."
"Thank you, Lucius." Snape massaged his jaw. He had a habit of grinding his teeth whenever he tried to force sleep to come. "I see your imprisonment has done nothing to improve your manners."
Lucius quirked a white-blond eyebrow. If one were to squint, one could almost be forgiven into mistaking Lucius for his son. Snape had certainly seen the same gesture on Draco's face on many occasions. The resemblance, as always, was eerie. "Should it?"
"No. I don' t suppose it should," Snape sighed. "Idle banter was never one of your strong points,