Disclaimer - all known HP-characters in this story belong J.K. Rowling without exception… I only play with them a little bit (and when I'm finished, I'll put them back into the box. Promised).
Once more, I couldn't resist… Here is my response to Molly's "Celebrate Languages Challenge" at WIKTT. Note that this is the translation of the German fic (after all, it's a 'Language Challenge', innit?), so if you want to read the original version, check out my main page here at ff.net and look for the story 'Verpackung und Inhalt'. For further details regarding the challenge, please read the notes at the end of this story.
~ Thanks again to my wonderful, wonderful beta Autumnmist/Wincey for helping me with the English part ~ Read and enjoy!-+- Wrapping and Content -+-
I open my eyes. I close them and open them again. No chance. It still isn't tomorrow and I am forced to face the truth: Today is going to be a really, really awful day.
No, it isn't because it's a Saturday today. Normally, I enjoy each and every Saturday of the year: No Longbottoms who try to destroy the furniture of my classroom, no Grangers who test my patience to the utmost and no Potters who make me boil with rage by merely being present.
But this year there are only 51 Saturdays to enjoy for me, for in my opinion the 52nd could have been cancelled from the calendar. Why?
Well, today is not just a Saturday. Today is the Saturday - respectively the day. The one day, which is different from the remaining 364 days of the year. My birthday. My 40th birthday. Growing older doesn't really bother me: It's completely normal, everybody does it. However, what makes me furious is being remembered by everybody a whole day long (24 hours or 1,440 minutes or 86,400 seconds), that I've turned a year older. As if you don't age from one second to another but from birthday to birthday.
It is exactly 7.02 a.m. and the first thing which catches my eye forces me back to reality: The presents have been spread out on the floor at the footboard of my bed - like every year - even though I have forbidden the houselves to do so - also like every year.
'Never mind' I think and get up.
*crack*
One glance down suffices to confirm that I've stepped on one of the presents, which had been positioned "by chance" away from the other ones - somewhere I couldn't "miss" it when getting out of bed. From the wrapping, the sound, the liquid leaking out of it and the hole that has instantly been burned into my carpet, it can't be anything other than the gift from my mother.
The houselves would pay for this. Tomorrow. Definitely.
I am fairly sure now that from this point on the day will go nowhere but downhill. I limp across the room towards the bathroom to clean the wound on my foot before healing it with a spell, when the mirror next to the door catches sight of me.
"Oh dear, oh dear, how do you look this morning? Mr. Grumpy himself?" it pities me. "Maybe you should listen to my suggestions on how to improve your mood for once: more sun, toothpaste and shampoo!"
I hate this mirror. However, it had been Minerva's birthday present three years ago, and I have never dared to get rid of it. My only hope is that this cursed object will commit suicide sooner or later - if I haven't made matchwood out of it yet by then.
"I'm warning you!" I threaten in a voice it knows quite well "Don't go too far!" as I enter the bathroom and bang the door shut.
After taking care of my foot and one cold shower later, dressed in my usual black and inwardly steeling myself, I head to the Great Hall.
I should have known that it would be wiser to skip the mealtimes today. No sooner do I sit down than Sirius Black calls on me and asks with a fake innocent expression: "Tell me, Severus, how many first years does it take to brew an Anti-Aging-Potion?"
He knows how to infuriate me, but I restrain myself from doing something I could regret later. I settle for glaring maliciously at him.
"Forty?" he answers his question himself and laughs aloud at his joke.
Black is and will always be an idiot - and he misses no opportunity to demonstrate this to me - like this morning. Ignoring him, I lean forward slightly and try to catch Lupin's attention, who is sitting two seats to my right: "Looks like your lap dog has forgotten his manners once again. Maybe you should remind him of them… or shall I do it?"
Lupin's cheeks turn an interesting colour, and some of the teachers sitting within earshot try in vain to keep a straight face. Minerva nearly spills her tea and coughs something that sounds suspiciously like a stifled laugh into her napkin. And the bread rolls on Poppy's plate are suddenly of enormous interest.
"Sirius, stop it and sit down!" Lupin tells Black, and like a good dog following the orders of his master, Black sits down next to him - with one last angry glare towards me. Some things never change - including the fact that Black is inferior to me when it comes to the subtleties of language; not that that means he won't try it again.
And then the feared appearance of Albus follows. I don't even want to guess what he has planned for me this year, and I act as if I'm not here, as if I haven't noticed that he is staring at me the whole time while heading to his place.
"Well, Severus? Did you like my present?" he asks curiously.
I look at him confused, since I haven't opened the presents yet.
"Don't you know which one? The socks. The green socks. They're from me," he continues and beams at me.
I should have known that as well, since I've never received anything else from him - for my birthday, for Yule or whenever. At least this time, according to his assertion, the socks are a decent colour compared to the ones from last year (dark red and covered with golden sparkles).
But what's going to happen now? Albus stands up and clears his throat - I already fear the worst, but have once more forgotten about Minerva's attentiveness and mindfulness. She too stands up and lays her hand on Albus' arm. Apart from Minerva's whispered question ("do you really think that is appropriate to do in public?") and Albus' answer ("…don't you?… But you only turn forty once!") I can't understand anything else, but their gestures speak volumes.
As Albus sits down again I glance at Minerva, who nods slightly at me. I thank her by also lowering my head slightly for something I don't really understand or want to know more about. If she wasn't a Gryffindor I would have thanked her more appropriately, but instead I content myself with such subtle acknowledgements, though it seems to do for her. There is a connection between us that functions without words, yet we understand it.
This woman has amazed me again and makes me speculate what would have happened, had she been sorted into Slytherin House instead of Gryffindor. The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine. Even Voldemort could have learned from her, no doubt.
A prickling in my neck disrupts my thinking: somebody is watching me. I let my eye range the Great Hall discreetly, searching for the person. It is nobody from Slytherin - they know better - and I almost leave out the Gryffindors, too, when I notice something quite unusual at their table. There she sits and studies me, unaware of being discovered since her eyes have wandered down to my hands. Our precious head girl and Minerva's darling. Only when her gaze travels upwards again and our eyes lock, does she twitch in surprise and quickly turn away. I laugh silently.
Breakfast ends without further incidents and the students rush out of the Great Hall with nearly ear-splitting noise to Hogsmeade. I too stand up and leave the room - although today is a special day, there are still several essays waiting in my office to be corrected.
***
Half-time.
Only twelve hours left and this nightmarish day will find an end.
I try to turn my concentration back to the parchment of a first-year Hufflepuff and cross out paragraph after paragraph with green ink. Shaking my head I grade the paper with an "E" and lay it away, taking another parchment from the heap of essays, which doesn't seem to get smaller.
Again I check the watch. Only 11 hours and 50 minutes left and it is Sunday. 364 days of peace.
A knock at the door lets me come back to myself with a start. Who dares to bother me on a Saturday? I am tempted to ignore it, but the noise resounds once more, louder this time.
"Come in!" I call without looking up from the parchment in front of me. I hear the door open and close again, and faint steps announcing the approach of a person.
After waiting several minutes in vain for the visitor to start speaking, I look up slowly and stare directly into the same brown eyes that have already surveyed me this morning during breakfast.
She seems to be nervous, judging from her fumbling with the hem of her robe, not knowing what else to do with her hands.
"Miss Granger?" I begin the conversation.
"Professor?" she replies, and again there is an unpleasant pause.
"What do you want?" I ask cold and unfriendly, which makes her even more nervous and her gaze lowers to her hands.
"I... I have heard that today's your birthday..."
"And?" - 'What is going on here? Why should this interest her? A Gryffindor?'
"I…" she starts a new attempt and makes a step forward "I've got a present for you."
That stuns me, and apparently my surprise is clearly visible, for it seems to have encouraged her as she comes even closer, until only my desk separates us.
"Then lay it down and leave."
Her hands stop fumbling with her robe and a mysterious smile flickers over her face. I don't like this. Not at all. A few steps more and she stands on my side of the desk, looking down to me.
I hardly notice that she takes the quill out of my right hand and moves away the essays on my desk. I close my eyes, quite certain that I'm caught in a daydream, but when I open them again she is still here. Meanwhile she has seated herself on the leather pad of the desk and is lying down on it.
"Don't you want to unwrap your present?" she asks with a quiet, melodious voice and brushes the hem of her robe slowly apart, revealing the clothes underneath that have been concealed until now: Not much.
I have never seen anyone look so inviting - at least not when the invitation has been meant for me. Shall I accept this gift? Can I? Dare I?
"Miss Granger, I…" her seductive smile lets the rest of my words die away unsaid, and without being aware of it I stretch out my hand to skim over her naked belly, framed by her robe and the purple underwear she wears underneath.
I feel her laughter more than I hear it, as she sits up a bit and clasps my head with her fingers, pulling me down for a breathtaking kiss.
'What a present…' I think when her tongue slides over my lips and the blood from my brain rushes downwards between my legs. My hand glides up from her belly to cup her breast and the faint sound of pleasure I hear tells me that she hadn't expected anything else from me.
I release her mouth and ignoring her weak protest, I follow the line from her cheek to her ear and further down to her throat, where I remain for a moment. Through her delicate skin I feel her vocal bands beginning to vibrate, and it takes a moment for me to realize that she has started to sing 'Happy Birthday' in a low voice.
The corners of my mouth twitch and I'm surprised that her singing doesn't annoy me - more the opposite. Curious as to how long she will be able to keep up the song, I continue my exploration of her body. Lowering my head even further, I let my tongue replace my hand on the still-covered breast. As I expected, her singing falters.
With a husky voice she begins anew and her trembling fingers glide over my chest. This time it's my turn to nearly forget to breathe as she touches my nipples. But her hands don't stop until they reach the collar of my shirt and start to open it - button after button.
At this moment, Doomsday could be announced and I wouldn't notice it.
I hear the knocking at the door perfectly clear nevertheless. It runs through my aroused nerves like thunder and I jump up startled.
"Miss Granger! We should --" I break off and look around in bewilderment. Where did she go?
I look down at my desk and stare at the essay on which I was working before – now sporting a large, green ink-blot. I'm still holding the quill in my hand, the tip of which is completely dry. A quick check of my collar confirms my suspicion, since my shirt is still closed up to the last button.
A dream. Nothing more but a dream.
Only now do I notice that I've held my breath and I release it partly relieved and partly frustrated when I hear the knock again. Louder this time.
"Come in!" I call, inwardly still aroused.
The door opens, and in shock I stare at the person entering, who is fumbling nervously with the hem of her robe and looking at me with brown eyes - the same brown eyes that have already surveyed me this morning during breakfast.
The strange feeling of a déja vu prickles my skin and sends a shiver through my body.
"Miss Granger?" I try to break the silence and focus my thoughts on reality.
Professor?" she replies.
"What do you want?" I ask in return and as her nervous gaze drops to her hands, the faint echo of recognition flows through me again.
"I... I have heard that today's your birthday..."
"And?" - 'Please, no.... please, yes!'
"I…" she starts a new attempt and makes a step forward "I've got a present for you."
"Then lay it down and leave."
Hastily she steps towards my desk and her hands release the hem of her robe. Expectantly my eyes wander downwards… and I watch as she takes a small package out of her pocket and lays it down onto my desk.
Surprise (or disappointment?) certainly visible on my face, I look up from the gift, to her, and back down again. Not what I have expected (or hoped?).
"Don't you want to unwrap your present?" she asks carefully, resuming her fumbling with the hem of her robe.
I try hard not to grin and bring my eyes to the same level as hers by leaning forward over the desk. Raising my eyebrow, I ask with a low voice: "Which one first?"
*** The End ***
Read it? Liked it? Please review :-)) Thanks
----------------------- Notes ------------------------------
Celebrate Languages Challenge
Hi everyone! I think it is time to get WIKTT a bit more cultured. As we all know, romance is not limited to the English language. WIKTT is a diverse group made of members from all parts of the world and I believe the writing should reflect that.
The Challenge: Write an original Hermione/Severus story in a language other than English. Length, rating, genre, and main plot line are up to the author. Also, it would be nice if the entire fic were in that language but as long as a majority of it happens in something other than English, I'll be satisfied.
Requirements: Must be written in a language other than English
- Must
include use/mention of the following:
green socks
purple underwear
a raised eyebrow (ala Spock)
toothpaste
someone singing
leather (in any form)
- Lines
that must be used:
"Is that appropriate to do in public?"
"How many first years does it take to brew…" (fill in the
blank)
"I never saw anyone look so…" (fill in the blank)
"Why don't you owl someone who cares?" (optional)
Include an English translation/summary for those of us who cannot read Polish or Russian or Japanese or German or Spanish or whatever.
Place all replies in the challenge folder or provide a link to another source. If your English summary/translation is a seperate file, create a folder in the challenge folder for your entry and place both files in it.
You may enter as many times as you like.
Deadline: November 17, 2002 (to give me something to read while I am supposed to be studying for my finals.)
Other than that, no further requirements. So, stretch your language abilities and write about Severus and Hermione in your mother tongue (or second language or third (whichever it may be)).
Remember also that many people do not have foreign alphabet decoding on their computer, so if possible use the Roman alphabet (so it looks like 'arigato' instead of !~@#]?.§)
Note: This one is especially for those who feel their English writing is not up to snuff. This is your chance to shine in a language familiar to you.