Severus slid a finger underneath his tight collar and tried to pull it away from his neck, but the slim tie prevented much movement. "A pox upon this fabric!" he snarled.
He heard a snort and speared Granger with a menacing glare. She looked utterly unrepentant. Since when had he lost his ability to instil fear and loathing in his students? He was about to make a snide comment when his previous thought settled more firmly in his brain. Hermione Granger hadn't been his student for almost thirteen years. What, exactly, did she have to fear from him? A vitriolic tongue lashing?
"Thou canst not say I did it; never shake thy gory clothes at me!" Granger quipped, pointing to the ceiling and presumably referring to Tenpenny. "Never was a child so wayward."
"Aye, no protest issues forth," he agreed. He finally managed to rip the flimsy fabric and throw the collar across the room. For the life of him, he couldn't fathom why a nine-year old would be watching… Shakespeare? "The scope of ken for the gel is questionable."
This did not sit well with Granger. Apparently he'd hit a nerve. "O, lament those whose grasp of womankind is muddled. Infinite is our range, to which man cannot follow," she said dryly.
This was becoming tedious. Of course women were intelligent, Hermione Granger the shining example of such. But Severus' control on his temper was fraying. "Thou art a currish rude-growing strumpet!"
Without hesitation, she fired back. "Thou art a mewling dismal-dreaming haggard!"
Whatever play was being enacted on the telly was evidently not proof against Severus' and Granger's bickering.
"Twitter-pated harpy!
"Villainous hedge-born scut!"
That one hit a little too close to home. "Tickle-brained wagtail!"
Granger gasped and narrowed her eyes. "Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and idiot bubble."
The argument must have bored Tenpenny, for within seconds that now familiar pull started in his stomach. He looked to Granger, her eyes widening as they reached for each other.
When they stopped spinning, Severus found himself dressed in black trousers… and a short-sleeved, white chef's coat. Though he was heartily glad to be rid of the constricting outfit, he was not sure this was much of an improvement. He heard someone clear their throat and spun round to see two groups of people: six men in chef coats, their shoulders capped in blue, and six women dressed the same but with coats capped in red. Granger stood amongst the red group, a look of panic on her features.
"Fucking hell," he muttered. A cooking contest. He pinched the bridge of this nose. It had been years since he'd indulged in any gastronomic fare more adventurous than a mere soup or nibbles on the run. Now, he was expected to give culinary orders to this questionable lot? He glanced down to the name embroidered on his uniform: Chef Ramsay.
Ramsay, where had he heard that name? He searched the surrounding area for some other clue, alighting on the plaque that said, Welcome to Hell's Kitchen. A devious smile grew on his face. Ah, yes… Gordon Ramsay. Severus was going to enjoy this.
"Excuse me, Chef, are we ready to start?"
Severus looked over his shoulder at—presumably—the maître d, who awaited his instructions. Well, he'd been thrown into the deep end of a situation often enough, why stop now? He nodded at the man and then turned to the two groups of contestants. He would treat this as a beginners Potions class… full of Neville Longbottoms. The thought made him smirk.
He knew the basics of the show—though he would never admit it to anyone, he admired the take-no-prisoners attitude of Ramsay, and indulged in watching the Muggle show when he had the rare stay at Spinner's End.
A typical episode began with a challenge between the teams. The second part was a dinner service, where each team worked in their own kitchen, attempting, under close and hypercritical supervision from Chef Ramsay (of course), to complete the service without getting kicked out before finishing for too many errors.
The usual wrap-up involved whichever team was declared the loser of the dinner service choosing two of their own to be up for elimination.
Severus clapped his hand and said, "All right, donkeys, let's get started."
He first asked them to produce a signature dish of their choice, which garnered a wild range of results.
"What... is this?" he asked a nervous-looking woman.
"It's my coconut and pomegranate root salad," she said proudly.
Severus looked at the pathetic display of what looked like limp confetti. "And which items on this plate actually required cooking?"
"The… nuts are toasted."
Severus gave her his most disdainful sneer. "The nuts are toasted?"
She nodded meekly.
"Well fuck me. You've toasted nuts for twenty-nine minutes and grated a bit of coconut." He rolled his eyes and tasted the dish. "It's passable… as far as rabbit food goes, because it's all raw and crunchy." He dumped the whole plate in the rubbish bin next to him. "Do us all a favour and spare us your next exploration of veganism."
The woman was near tears when she left, but Severus was used to such reactions. He'd dressed down multiple students over decades. Her tears moved him not one whit.
Granger approached and placed a beautiful plate before him. "This is lièvre à la royale."
He frowned. If he remembered correctly, the French dish required at least two days to make. How did she…
She gave him a knowing smile and twitched her nose. "Just a bit of magic."
His brows reached into his hairline. "Are we able to—"
"Not fully, but there's something different. Maybe she's had a change of heart? I don't know."
"Damn." He sighed and cut into the hare, then brought a forkful to his mouth. He groaned with pleasure as the rich flavours melted onto his tongue. "Hermione, I would let you cook for me any day."
There was absolute silence. Severus felt his face heat and he could see that Granger was beet red.
"I'd like the opportunity, Chef," she whispered, her gaze earnest.
He swallowed, the food nearly lodging in his throat. Was Granger trying to seduce him with food? He had to admit he would let her. But not right now. Now, they had to bide their time until they could be extracted from whatever the Tenpenny girl had done to them. Once they were back to their own lives, though? The idea had great merit.
Severus then began preparations for a full food service that would be served to actual customers and culminated in eliminating other cooks. He spied a sheet of paper on the silver counter and read over (he assumed) the dishes they were going to cook. "Pumpkin risotto with roasted mushrooms…" For the most part, everything went smoothly. Severus put Granger in charge of the pumpkin risotto, feeling she was the most competent of the ragtag group, and as the evening wore on and he had no complaints, he felt his decision was vindicated. Without the need to watch her every move he could focus on the less-competent members of the show.
"Keith! You're sweating in the fucking food! We're in danger of being closed down before we even open. Toss it in the bin and start again."
"Yes, Chef!"
Severus glared at the man. "You've stopped caring now. I can see it in your attitude."
The portly cook gave an exaggerated pout. "No, I haven't!"
"Yes, you fucking have. You've stopped caring about what you produce. So, what do you care about now?"
The man fired backed without taking stock of his words. "I care about making an arse of myself right now."
Severus snorted. "Really? Congratulations. That's exactly what you were just doing."
Keith blinked for a moment and then groaned. "Fuck!"
"Exactly!"
"Chef?"
"What?" Severus placed two finished dishes upon the hot plate and turned round to see a customer in the place where the maître d usually stood. "Let me just serve this table and I'll be right with you."
"Chef, why is there no pumpkin in my risotto?" The man showed Severus his plate, a vexed expression on his face.
Contrary to the customer's claims, there was indeed pumpkin in the dish. Severus sneered and waved him off. "Right, can you get out of my way? One spaghetti, one risotto!" he cried to the cooks behind him.
"I want the next pumpkin risotto."
Severus arched a brow. The man clearly had a death wish. "Oh? Are you always going to be that rude and interrupt when I'm trying to talk?"
The man crossed his arms and shrugged. "I just want more pumpkin. That's all I want."
"Right." He motioned for the dunderhead to come closer, then grabbed the twat's tie and pulled tight. "I'll give you more pumpkin, and I'll ram it right up your fucking arse! Would you like it whole or diced?" he shouted in the man's ear. He let go and shoved him away. "Can we get security to get Mr Knob-Head back to his seat, please?"
The man went a bit mental. "I want more pumpkin!"
Severus took the man's plate and threw it at his shoes. "You want more pumpkin? Go steal a jack-o-lantern off somebody's front porch, you pillock!"
A bowl of pumpkin risotto, topped with bits of orange squash, appeared in front of Severus. He grabbed Granger's wrist and kept her there as he showed the obnoxious customer the dish. "See this?" He handed it to the maître d. "Table seven, please." The look of outrage on the man's face was priceless. "You can fuck right off with your pithy demands."
As the man returned to his seat, grumbling all the way, Granger whispered under her breath, "Sorry, Severus. I thought I had put pumpkin in the risotto."
He squeezed her hand. "You did. That monkey's arse obviously had no taste buds."
She snorted and quickly made her way back to her station to continue cooking. Severus watched her go, musing on the fact that instead of placing the blame on Granger, he'd taken the customer to task for daring to question his service and, in turn, Granger's product. He knew she was more than competent, had proved herself invaluable on other missions. But here? He felt oddly protective of her, trapped as they were in these wildly fluctuating realities.
As the night progressed she took the others in hand, showing them how to achieve a certain temperature on the meat, how to blanch the veg. As she had done so long ago while on the run with Potter and Weasley, she became the crucial element of everyone's success.
"Excuse me, Chef?"
Severus sighed and turned to see a heavily-endowed woman leaning over the hot plate, her bosoms practically lying on the counter. "Do you know how much longer I'll have to wait for my beef?"
His lip curled. "Do you mind taking your breasts off my hot plate? Look at that. How can I serve food with those fucking things there?"
"What the hell? Fuck you!" she yelled, affronted. She reached out and toppled a plate of food that was about to go out to a table.
He rolled his eyes and continued service, until at last it was time to choose who would advance in the competition and who would be leaving. The two groups of competing chefs stood before him, bedraggled and covered in stains.
"This is quite possibly the easiest decision I've ever had to make," Severus said with a smirk. "The person leaving Hell's Kitchen tonight who will not be advancing to the final is… Keith. What I am looking for is a leader. And you're not ready. Give me your jacket."
The large man lumbered over and begrudgingly gave Severus his chef's jacket. "You're saying that Granger's a better leader than me?" he scoffed. "I've been leading the whole time. Whatever station you told me, through the line with people that didn't know anything."
"Granger is by far a better leader than you will ever be, dough-boy," Severus said snidely. "I personally don't think you're ready to lead a Girl Scout troop."
Keith gave him a salacious leer. "I personally think you would like to bend her over a counter and shag her."
The bastard. Severus narrowed his eyes and didn't dare look at Granger. "Why must you be so fucking rude?"
"Because you're rude to me."
Severus smiled nastily. "So? Welcome to life. Now I definitely know I've made the right decision—your attitude is atrocious and unacceptable. And you smell like a troll with indigestion. Get out of my sight."
He watched the wretch lumber off, glad to be rid of him, then spared a glance at Granger and he knew. He knew that she had heard the exchange. The high colour in her cheeks said it all. The only thing he could do was apologise for the lout's words, but her eyes spoke volumes. They said that things between them were far from settled. An odd sense of anticipation surrounded this wordless conversation. Before he could form another thought, though, that damnably familiar sensation began to swirl in his stomach.
They were slower to land this time, and when they did, they were clearly in some sort of period drama. Severus had a sense that someone on the outside was influencing the transition and, it now appeared, the content. Granger was dressed in a drab, grey dress, reminiscent of Edwardian governesses. He took stock of his own outfit—wool breeches, vest and coat, upturned white collar, black riding boots—and silently cursed the BBC and their love of frilly-frocked productions.
Why in Merlin's name hadn't they yet been brought out of the spell-work that Tenpenny had ensnared them in? What was taking so long? Was whoever was with her utterly incompetent? Did they have enough power to exit the scene, stage left, themselves? He withdrew his wand but it felt cumbersome, as if it was merely a stick and not a conduit of his innate magic. Granger was having the same issue, he noted, and her gutted look did things to his chest.
Avoiding her gaze, he took in the scenery around them: a twilit meadow surrounded by a shadowy forest, with felled logs dotting the landscape. In the distance a medium-sized castle, appropriately gothic and foreboding, rose above the treeline. It was clichéd, it was predictable, it was… dear Merlin, it was the perfect environment to declare oneself to one's intended. How many stories began and ended thusly? Was this Wuthering Heights, perhaps? He studied himself and Granger again. No, those were not high-born clothes she wore, nor was his own garb of meagre thread. Was it Pride and Prejudice? He cringed. Dear God, he was not Darcy, he simply wasn't. The only brooding male in these works that came even close to his own personality was…
"Thornfield is pleasant in the summer, isn't it… Hermione," Severus gritted out. Rochester. Bloody, complicated, Rochester. He refused to call Granger 'Jane', though.
She startled a bit, gave him a tremulous smile and nodded. "Yes, sir."
He noticed her faraway look. "You've become attached to the place."
Her smile faded. "Yes, sir."
"And you'll be sad to leave?"
For some reason, he felt they both were thinking of other things than the farce they were currently playing out. In these alternate realities, they had a certain freedom to be themselves, to disregard societal expectations. They had experienced a form of this on prior missions, but this one broke all the barriers between them and forced them to acknowledge things they had always skirted in previous interactions.
Her answer this time was slow in coming. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes growing red. She shifted and wrung her hands. "Must I leave, sir? Must I leave Thornfield?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you must." The words sat heavy upon his lips and he hated uttering them, for the moment he did, tears fringed her lashes.
She swallowed heavily. "You're to be married?"
"Exactly. Precisely. And you, with your usual acuteness, have already predicted that when I marry Adèle must go to school, and you must find a new situation."
Granger sniffed, but nodded. "Yes, sir. I will advertise immediately."
"No, you will not," Severus corrected and moved closer to her. "I've already found you a place in Ireland."
Her wounded gaze bore holes into him. "Ireland is a long way away. Sir. From Thornfield. It is a long way away from… you."
Severus gently took her elbow and led her to one of the fallen logs that lay beneath a massive oak tree, where they sat next to each other. "We have been adequate friends, have we not, Hermione?" That dreaded word left a foul taste in his mouth. "It is… difficult to part from a friend and know that you will never meet them again." He turned to watch her profile, her miserable expression tearing him apart. "And I am sorry to send my friend on such weary travels. But if I can't do better, how is it to be helped?" He searched her countenance for the answer, but she stoically stared ahead. He nudged her shoulder with his. "Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Hermione?"
She closed her eyes and let a tear fall down her cheek, but no answer was forthcoming.
He sighed. "Because I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now. It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and some two hundred miles or so of land broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly." He inhaled shakily. "As for you, I think you'd forget me."
That must have been the catalyst for Granger to speak, for she stood and faced him. "I would never forget you," she whispered harshly. "How can you imagine that?" She dashed away her tears and became rigid. "What do you think I am? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, that I am soulless and heartless?" She stamped her foot for good measure. "You think wrong! I have as much soul as you and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you."
Severus quickly stood and wrapped his arms tightly around Hermione. "I will not let you leave me, Hermione!" he ground out against her hot cheek. She stiffened and made to extricate herself. "Hermione, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation."
She reared back and glared at him. "I am no bird and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will."
His eyes roamed her face, her wild, untamed hair, her firm resolution, and he gave her a soft smile. "Yes, you will decide your own destiny. I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel."
"I am not an angel," she asserted. "And I will not be one till I die; I will be myself. Severus Snape, you must neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me—for you will not get it, any more than I shall get it of you, which I do not at all anticipate."
He barked a laugh and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely; a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart. It leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. The world may laugh, may call me absurd, selfish, but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame. I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self and best earthly companion."
She withdrew a little and took the measure of his words. "Truly?"
Yes, they were enacting the fraught scene, but in everything that he had told her there was no lie. This experience had proven that his actions spoke louder than his words. "The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter—often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter—in the eye."
A beatific smile spread upon her lips. "All my heart is yours, Sir. It belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever."
A rumble of thunder threatened the skies, and Severus took Hermione's hand and started to run towards the castle… but ran smack into a garishly coloured wall instead. They ended in a heap near a hearth, the fire blazing.
"You two have missed your calling as thespians, I dare say."
Severus glared up at the visage of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Timing, Shacklebolt. Bloody timing!"
Kingsley grinned and offered them a hand up. "It could've been worse, Severus. I immediately followed when I felt your magical signatures… disappear."
Child-like laughter filled the room as they struggled to their feet and Severus was instantly suspicious. He peered around the Minister to spy Adair Tenpenny sitting on a blue sofa, telly remote in hand, smiling a mile wide.
"You two were lots of fun. Much better than the chip shop boy who kept hanging round hoping to nick some of dad's things."
All three adults froze. "Adair, where is the chip shop boy, exactly?" Shacklebolt asked firmly.
"I left him in Bob the Builder," she said cheerfully. At their look of horror, she quickly added, "He was fine. Yesterday."
Kingsley held out his hand for the remote. "Remember what we discussed?"
"Yeeeeees..." The girl looked as if she was going to point the remote at him, but sighed heavily and turned it over.
"Just how long have you been here?" Granger asked the Minister, still holding on to Severus' hand.
Kingsley smirked. "Oh, I'd say about Dipsy and Tinky Winky." He chuckled at their look of embarrassment. "You really did look like an aubergine."
Both Severus and Hermione stared at Shacklebolt. "Why on earth did you not get us out sooner?"
"He said he wanted you two to work together more, that maybe you would realise what you had and stop dancing around each other, not that I saw much dancing," Adair offered.
"Traitor," Kingsley said, good-naturedly.
"Did you plan this?" Severus accused. It was unthinkable that the Minister would stoop so low as to conceive of a plan to in order to bring him and Granger together.
Kingsley held up his hands and shook his head. "Not in the slightest." He looked at the girl. "According to Adair, her father was made redundant last week and he fell into a depression. She became worried and stressed that something would happen to the only parent she'd ever had. So, any perceived threat was summarily dealt with the only way she knew how: magic." He gave Severus a wink. "I just took advantage of the situation."
"If I didn't know you were a Ravenclaw, I would've have sworn you were a covert Slytherin," Severus admitted.
"The church bells…" Granger posed.
"My dad got headaches easily. So, I stopped the ringing."
"Clever girl," Severus reiterated his earlier assessment.
Adair grinned. "Mr Shacklebolt told me Miss Granger will help me learn how to control my power if I ask her nicely, and when I'm old enough I'll get a wand and it will help me to focus, but I won't get one if I continue to make people disappear," she recited.
"And?"
"Ugh," she pouted. "I have to bring back all the people I left in the telly." At Kingsley's raised brow, she huffed again. "And I have to apologise to Miss Granger and Mr Snake about making them go through all that stuff because I thought they were here to steal me."
"Mr Snake?" Hermione snickered. "He is rather snake-like, isn't he?" she whispered conspiratorially.
This earned a giggle from the girl and a sneer from Severus. "Potter has, by far, more serpentine qualities than I, seeing as he speaks Parseltongue."
"What's Parsleytongue?" Adair asked excitedly.
Dear Merlin, the girl was definitely going to be in Slytherin. "Snake language. Very few wizard folk have the gift."
Adair bit her lip and bounced on the cushion. "Can I speak it?"
"Adair…"
She looked at Kingsley and rolled her eyes. "Fine. When I'm eleven." She gave them a mischievous grin. "I'm going to love Hogwarts!"
Kingsley smiled indulgently and handed Severus the remote. "She enchanted it to capture persons she felt were a threat to her or her father. By accident, of course."
Severus wasn't so sure, but he didn't contradict the Minister. Kingsley, ignoring his glare, asked Adair to show him around her house, and to rouse her father so that arrangements could be made for her magical education. When they left the room, silence hovered between himself and Hermione until it was unbearable.
"Did you mean it—"
"Do you regret it—"
Both paused and then laughed lightly. Severus motioned for her to continue.
"I know we were playing our parts in order to get home, but…" She wrapped her arms around herself, looking very unsure.
"Do you regret your answers?" he asked quietly, braced for rejection now that they were in the real world.
She frowned. "No! Severus, I've been trying to pull you out of your basement for almost three years. If anything, I should ask if you truly meant to ask me to marry you."
They had been colleagues for eight years, had worked closely together in the last three. Had she been trying to draw him out of his shell for that long? How obtuse had he become? Was he that oblivious?
"I think marriage is a bit hasty, don't you?"
Her expression became neutral. "Ah. I understand."
He grimaced as he reviewed his words. "I don't think you do. I only mean to say that I would actually like to take you out to dinner before we start writing our nuptials."
She laughed in relief and nodded. "If marriage happens, it's because I've realised I want to annoy you for the rest of your life."
He snorted and took her hand. "I shall endeavour to return the favour."
So, in case anyone was wondering what shows I mentioned, they are as follows (in order of appearance):
Bargain Hunt
Teletubbies
Top Gear
Hamlet (the David Tennant version)
Hell's Kitchen (with Gordon Ramsay)
Jane Eyre (2006 version with Toby Stephens - I highly recommend this version)
Again, I do not own any of these programs, and therefore make no money mentioning them. They belong to their creators and the BBC.
