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Enjoy Chapter 3!
~Creelluka
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
(edited as of 10-3-2015)
July 3, 1997 (very early morning)
After portkeying to the Australian Ministry of Magic, which was indeed underneath the Great Barrier Reef, the three employed a variety of magical transportation, including Floo, Apparation, Brooms, more portkeys, a flying car much like the one Mr. Wesley had charmed in Hermione's second year, and yet more Apparation, before they arrived at their final destination, Prince Manor. Severus Snape's matrimonial, ancestral home, just outside of Cokeworth.
"You have a house?" Hermione blurted before she could stop herself. Her eyes grew wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she said could be considered rude. Snape glared at her before doing an impressive bit of wandless magic and opening the front door.
As she passed him when entering what would be her temporary new home, he hissed, "Of course I have a house, I am not a bat to hang in the Owlery during the summer."
Of course you wouldn't be a bat in the Owlery, the school owls would have a nice variation to their supper if you were. Hermione thought snidely as she crossed the threshold. Snape, with his Legilimency, saw the mental image of a bat with his own head on it, greasy hair and all, being chased and eaten by owls, from Miss Granger's thoughts, and despite himself, had to stifle a chuckle. He didn't quite succeed in muffling it, and a small noise was heard by Remus, who looked at him strangely. Snape ignored the werewolf, and Remus wandered off to the main Library.
"Remy!" He called, and a house-elf appeared with a CRACK!
The creature had to be the strangest looking house-elf Hermione had ever seen, it had ears like one of those Madagascan lemurs, tiny and rounded, with large, tennis ball-like eyes and a curved beak of a nose, not unlike Professor Snape's. The elf was also wearing a strange ensemble of 'clothing', it was wearing what looked to be a small, black, bathrobe, and on its feet was something that could pass as crude moccasins, cut and sewn from an old turnip sack.
"Remy, take Miss Granger to the Red Room, please, she will be staying as a guest," Hermione didn't miss the slight exaggeration of the word 'guest'. "With us for a while."
"Yes, Master Snape." That was another thing, of all the house-elves Hermione had met before, all had squeaky, high-pitched voices, but Remy had a lower register.
Though it made sense, Hermione reasoned, that her professor, who on a daily basis had to deal with eleven through seventeen-year-olds, would want a house-elf that didn't talk like a Screech Owl.
"This way, Miss Granger, Red Room is this way!" Remy led Hermione through the house, giving her a quick tour on the way. They climbed two sets of stairs before the house-elf directed Hermione to a cherry-wood door halfway down the hall, Remy pointed out which rooms were whose, Remus' being two to the left of Hermione, closest to the stairs, and Snape across the hall and three doors to the right, which was barred from entry by not only several spells, but by thick metal bolts, too.
When Hermione opened the door to 'her room', she was surprised to see that it looked similar to what her own room had looked like, back in London. Large bed with red sheets, a few drawings stuck to the walls, music sheets on the desk, a comfortable looking chair seated beneath a large window. The only difference was the fireplace and the bookshelf. A floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bookshelf containing more books than Hermione herself owned. Just skimming it, Hermione saw books that she had never heard of, Muggle and magical both.
Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Hermione decided to go to sleep, it was quite late, or early depending on how you look at it, as it was 1:14 in the morning. She placed her small, beaded purse on the floor next to her trainers and climbed into the soft bed, still dressed.
Hermione was lying comfortably and drowsily in her bed, in the type of limbo sleep where you are not quite asleep, yet deep asleep and it feels as if you are floating, unable to discern which way you are facing or what is up or down, when the door cracked open, light spilling from the hallway. Hermione blinked stupidly at the light spilling into her room, two figures stood in the doorway and Hermione could not tell who they were until they spoke.
"You killed us, Hermione." Her mum said.
"No!" She cried. "I didn't! I didn't mean for this to happen!"
"Hermione Jean Granger," Her father said sternly. "You erased our memory of you and sent us to Australia so you could live your magical life without us telling you what to do."
"I didn't! I didn't! I did it to save you!" Hermione sobbed. Her mother and father stepped further into the room, closer to Hermione. She could see their faces now, their bloody faces, eye sockets black with blood, cheeks slashed and caked with blood, sliced throats. Hermione screamed. And screamed.
When she felt hands on her, restraining her, Hermione was awake in an instant, kicking and screaming even more when she saw a figure in black leaning over her, restraining her arms.
"Shut up you idiot girl," The figure hissed angrily. "I'm trying to help!" The realization of who the voice most likely belonged to, shocked Hermione enough to stop thrashing.
"Professor?" She croaked, unsure if he was really there.
"Miss Granger," His deep timbre both soothed and ruffled her.
"Er, can you let me go?" she asked, he had still not released her wrists. He let go as if he had been burned by an open flame.
"I have a bottle of Dreamless Sleep and a Calming Draught for you," Snape said, gesturing to two glass bottles on her nightstand, one green, and one red.
"Th-thank you, sir," Hermione stuttered, surprised that he would have thought to give her two potions that took time and materials to make. And deliver them himself, no less.
Snape grunted and left her room.
Swigging down the sweet Calming Drought and downing the Dreamless Sleep potion, Hermione fell back asleep, this time not bothered by her dead parents.
Her last coherent thought was that Professor Snape had nice hands.
In his own bedroom, Snape was irritated. Why had he gone into her room? He could have just requested Remy to do it, Snape had safely trained the house-elf on how to safely handle bottled potions, so why did he bring the Granger girl the potions?
Snape dismissed these thoughts with a swig from his own bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion.
His last coherent thought came unbidden: Miss Granger had pleasant wrists, even if her shrieks were comparable to those of a Mandrake.