Disclaimer: Unfortunately, it's not mine, no matter how much I wish…
Doe-eyed Gryffindors and Black-hearted Bats
"Miss Granger," Professor Snape's icy tones cut across the dilapidate library of Grimmauld Place, dragging Hermione away from her book on the third goblin war. She looked up reluctantly, trying not to compare the black bat of the dungeons in front of her with the man she'd seen only a week before, when he'd arrived at the house as a crumpled heap of bloodied bones on the front stoop.
"Yes, sir," she replied just as coldly as he, wishing he would just go away. Unfortunately, his supposed skill at Legilimency failed to pick up on her current distaste for his company.
"I wished," he began, and then paused, eyeing the book in her lap critically. "Miss Granger, kindly lend me your full attention when I'm speaking to you. Your book can wait." He waited while she marked her page and closed the book, putting it on the side table next to her with an exaggerated motion, then looking back to him with a faux expression of interest plastered on her face.
"What was it you wanted, Professor Snape?" she asked sweetly.
He visibly reconsidered whatever it was he wanted to ask her, before continuing on with a calm that would have deceived her if she hadn't noticed the slight muscle twitching in his jaw. "I wished," he repeated, "to enquire if you would be willing to assist with brewing some of the medical stock the Order is sure to require."
Having braced herself to hear an insul in some form or other, Hermione felt her expression of calculated indifference slide away to leave one of shock.
"You want me to help you brew potions?" she asked confusedly, and watched his nostrils flare slightly at her wording. He hated sounding like he needed help, and she knew it.
"There's an abundance of more tedious preparatory work which I do not wish to waste my increasingly valuable time on," he sneered arrogantly, but Hermione caught the glimmer of insecurity hidden in his dark eyes and decided against dragging this particular encounter out any longer. She would say yes in the end, anyway.
"I'd be glad to be of any assistance I could, Professor," she said quietly, and looked for the mild expression of surprise that flicked across his face before he hid it under a scowl.
"Very well, then. If you would accompany me downstairs; the sooner we start, the sooner we'll dispense with the need to tolerate each other." With that last sharp remark he spun on his heel and swept out of the room without looking to see if she would follow.
Wondering what she could possibly have gotten herself into, Hermione stood and straightened her wrinkled red skirt, casting a last wistful glance at her book before following the black bat down to the basement.
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Striding through the halls of Grimmauld Place, Snape slowed his steps only until he could hear Granger hurrying behind him. Portraits threw little sideways glances at him when he glared at them before scooting out of their frames.
As fast as Snape's boots were clicking across the grey, dirty floor, his mind was spinning even more furiously. Despite what he'd predicted, Granger had actually agreed to assist. Little know-it-all probably couldn't resist, he thought with a smirk. Some nagging little part of his head protested, though, remind him of the queer look on her face when she'd agreed. He wasn't quite sure how to interpret that look; it'd been oddly close to pitying. The mere thought that he'd won Granger's pity vote was infuriating, though, and he ripped open the door to the downstairs with rather more force than necessary, grabbing it once it had rebounded off the other wall with a satisfying slam. Granger gave him another one of her looks as he held the door open for her, which he ignored with ease. He'd faced people far more terrifying than this bushy-haired teenager.
"Touch nothing," he warned darkly as she passed him, too preoccupied with his thoughts to say much else.
Stupid bleeding-heart Gryffindor. As if her doe-eyed sympathy could help anything; he'd returned to Voldemort for Dumbledore two years ago, and had by then endured far worse punishments than what she'd witnessed last week. He'd teach her to keep her pity for someone who wanted it, he thought savagely, fueling his anger to block out the darker memories that threated to swallow him.
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Having always been discouraged from exploring the house, Hermione still knew little of the many rooms in Grimmauld Place, even though it was her third, and hopefully last, summer there. When Snape finally swirled to an abrupt halt, she couldn't even have said what part of the house they were in, much less how to get back to the library.
When Snape opened the door with a slight creak, she hesitated a moment before it became apparent that he intended for her to go down first. She murmured a response when he directed her to touch nothing, and then placed one hand against the damp wall for support, wishing she could actually see where she was putting her feet.
Conscious of the dark eyes boring impatiently into the back of her head, Hermione lit her wand with a short "Lumos," and, keeping her palm firmly pressed against the wall, took a few steps down the rickety wooden stairs that creaked against the nails keeping them down with only the slightest pressure. She peered down between the boards of the staircase, but to her dismay saw nothing but inky blackness and falling dust, along with yet another set of stairs.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I'm playing around with a few plot ideas, and want to know what you guys think! Give me a review if you think I should continue…
Dovetails and dragonclaws,
Mad A. Hatter