JKR owns the characters and world. The story is mine. The beta is divine. Thanks, Leigh-Anne!
10. REJECTED
He entered the classroom with his usual flare of cloak and banging of door and general sneer, but he wasn't feeling anything "usual."
She laughed at him.
She called him a git.
She linked him with her fucking mother!
The harridan had to be ten years, maybe fifteen, his senior.
He didn't look that old. He knew he didn't. Did he?
He glared at the empty place where she should be sitting, and wished she were there just so he could deduct fifty house points from bloody fucking Gryffindor.
Except Albus fucking Dumbledore had revoked his ability to deduct house points from her, as it wouldn't be "seemly."
He realized everyone was staring at him.
He waved at the board and the day's potion assignment appeared.
He glared at Slytherins and Gryffindors alike and dared anyone to say a word.
So, of course, Longbottom's hand rose.
"Already lost, Mr. Longbottom?" he sneered. "The words on the board are your assignment. If you can manage to read them silently with a minimum of lip-movement, it would be appreciated by all, I'm certain."
"Sir, is … is Hermione ill?" Longbottom pressed, his cheeks pink.
The Slytherins' expressions were avid, perhaps even lascivious.
The Gryffindors' expressions were wary, perhaps even threatening.
What the bloody hell did they all think, that he had her chained to his bed?
"Madam Snape will be revising for her Potions NEWT in a course of independent study," he snapped. "Miss Patil, will you please take the seat beside Mr. Longbottom?"
At least he wouldn't have to stare at her empty chair.
X
Hermione awoke with a start and leapt from the oh-so-soft bed. She'd slept through Potions, which was fine since she didn't have to attend. But it wouldn't do to sleep through Transfiguration, too.
She barely managed to enter the classroom before Professor McGonagall swept in behind her.
"Late, Madam Snape? Five points from Gryffindor," she announced crisply.
Hermione took the first empty seat and dove into her bag, trying to assemble her materials.
"Madam Snape, I do believe you have an assigned seat. Five more points from Gryffindor."
Hermione did a quick and furious Wingardium Leviosa and had her materials follow her to her regular desk. Was the old witch still angry with her? Evidently so.
She forced herself to focus on the assignment and despite her late start, finished first and best, she was pleased to note. Ordinarily she could have expected at least ten points for such a successful transfiguration from an owl feather to an adult barn owl.
McGonagall barely glanced at her preening owl before passing along to the next table and bestowing house points on the bedraggled bird Ron had produced. Even Pigwidgeon looked better than the thing on his desk, which molted feathers everywhere.
Hermione decided to let it pass, however, and turned to whisper, "Ron, Harry – we haven't had a chance to catch up since—"
"Five more points from Gryffindor." McGonagall glared from across the room.
Hermione realized all the Gryffindors were shooting her dirty looks, as if they thought she actually deserved the punishments.
Ron and Harry studiously avoided looking at her at all.
Burning with a mix of fury and shame, Hermione gathered her things and left as soon as class ended.
X
She was halfway into the Great Hall when one isolated moment from the morning popped into her head.
She hadn't. She couldn't have.
Had she?
She gulped.
She had called Professor Snape a git.
She wasn't hungry any more.
X
He stood pressed against his bathroom door and stared at the four-poster bed that dominated his quarters.
"This is exactly why I never wanted the damn thing to begin with," he said to the empty room.
When he'd decided to cover every bare wall with bookshelves, he'd condemned himself to a room with a small bed and little furniture. This had never been a problem. In fact, he preferred it. It was like living in a library.
But now, with no walls to put it against, the only way to fit Salazar Slytherin's immense bed into his quarters was to put it in the middle of the room. He'd be damned if he was going to let it block access to his books.
To add glove-slap to body-blow, someone had dumped a prissy little upholstered chair (chintz!) in here, and it didn't take a Ravenclaw to deduce that the offensive piece of furniture had to be Granger's.
And of course, she'd put it right beside his sensible leather chair, as if the two of them were destined to share cozy evenings in each other's company.
Bollocks.
Fuck.
Hell.
No matter where her chair was, they were destined to spend way too much time together, cozy or not.
With a bit of concentration and wand waving, he angled the bed in a different direction.
It still dominated the room, but the only other option was unspeakable and he absolutely refused to even consider it.
He had to draw a fucking line somewhere.
X
Oh. My.
Hermione approached the bed warily. She didn't mind that it was big. Big was good. Big meant plenty of room to spread out in. And it did have lots of pillows.
She didn't mind the green velvet covers. They were to be expected, and besides, she'd always liked forest green.
What she minded were the slithering serpents.
Each post actually moved.
Though carved of a dark and aged wood, the serpents coiled and slid and slithered up and down, twining together and apart, knotting and unknotting.
She took a step closer to examine them and one of them actually hissed at her.
Humph! She wasn't going to let a bed get the better of her.
She walked firmly toward it and every snake on the nearest post bared long, sharp fangs at her.
She ran to her chair and put it between her and the bed.
The bed went back to coiling and slithering and knotting.
Uneasily, she settled in to study, using the small table as a desk.
Two hours later she heard the soft sound of the wall dissolving and looked up from her parchment, distracted.
Snape entered in full billow.
"What part of 'I have questions for you at lunch' did you not understand?"
She swallowed heavily. "My Transfiguration class was rather stressful. I didn't feel like eating."
"Since when are your classes stressful for anyone other than your teachers?"
She tossed her head in frustration. "Everything has changed." Then, woefully, "Everything."
He flung himself into his leather chair, propped his feet on the footstool and glared at her from beneath his stringy hair. "The only thing surprising about that statement is that you are surprised."
She felt his narrowed eyes burning into her as she allowed her quill to doodle runes in the margin of the chart she was working on. "What happened to the other bed?"
He frowned. "I have no idea. I had it taken away."
"I think … I think I'd like to sleep in it."
The silence stretched out until she simply had to look up and see how expressionless his face was as he watched her. Finally he said, "Indeed."
"That bed—" She pointed at it with a trembling hand. "That bed scares me. Are you happy? I've admitted it. I am afraid of a stupid bed."
He still watched her without expression. "I can't imagine that you are intimidated by a charmed bed. Am I to deduce that it is the size of the bed and what you fear will happen in it that have you concerned?"
"You mean – of course not!"
He looked unconvinced, and he also looked … tense.
She summoned her courage and got to her feet. She walked slowly to the bed.
First, the hisses.
Then, as she drew closer, bared fangs, only this time they were from all four posts.
But as he'd said, it was only a charmed bed.
She suddenly felt foolish and took two more steps—
She felt him grab her from behind and yank her away a mere moment before a serpent's mouth snapped shut near her bare hand.
His arms clamped around her waist like a vice, and she felt his chest rising and falling behind her, as if he'd run a great distance or had a great scare.
"I know it's only a charmed bed… " she began, barely able to speak.
"I see." He eased her further from the bed, and then put himself between her and the four-poster.
Between soft incantations, a waving of his wand and a fierce intensity focused on the writhing bed, he reduced it in size and then made it disappear.
"It never occurred to me…." He was clearly disturbed.
She felt cold creep through her veins. "It's because I'm Muggle-born."
"I believe that would be the reason, though I'd have to research to know for certain." He turned stiffly to her and gave a very deep, disgusted sigh. "I'll have a different bed here by tonight. I've been remiss in not doing so sooner."
"If it had bitten me…?"
"I'm not certain, but I can assure you that there will be no other Slytherin artifacts in these quarters." His manner was formal, but she felt an undercurrent of embarrassment.
So she wasn't at all surprised when he went on the offensive. In fact, it was rather a relief to get back to "normal," or what passed for normal between them.
"Question one," he demanded from his spot towering over her. "Why have you perpetuated the myth that your parents are dentists?"
"Because if they sounded boring, nobody would ask difficult questions about my life." She raised her eyes to his defiantly. "And because I didn't want to be mistaken for the kind of pureblood toffs that populate the House of Slytherin."
His voice was low and silky and even more threatening because of that fact as he replied, "Do not insult my House."
She glanced at the empty spot where that dreadful bed had been just moments before. "All right, then. I didn't want to be mistaken for arrogant pureblood ponces like the Malfoys."
"Or my friends."
She sniffed.
"What kind of questions about your life?" he demanded crisply.
At first she wasn't going to answer. People were so bloody curious about what it was like to be on the long list (definitely not the short list) for Court functions. They asked questions then got put off by her answers, because no answer satisfied the listener. Pretending it was an exciting life made her sound like a snob. To proclaim the truth, that she hated it, made her sound even worse, dismissive of opportunities that most others assumed were a great honor.
Idiots.
No, she had many reasons for not opening doors to these conversations.
But her traitorous brain kept thinking, and her traitorous mouth opened, and she found herself blurting even more revealing truths. Was it his eyes? His damnably black eyes? Did they pull information from her against her will? "How come you're always available summers and hols, Hermione? How come you're never with your parents?" Her voice was light in mimicry, but she rather assumed he'd pick up on the pained subtext.
"I can honestly say I have had higher priorities to consider than how you spend your holidays, Granger," he announced with clear disdain.
"I wasn't talking about you," she disdained right back at him. She dropped back into her chair. Already, its familiarity had made it her comfort and refuge. She tucked her feet beneath her.
"So, how come you were always available summers and hols, Miss Granger?" He matched her movement, taking his seat beside her and relaxing with a smirk. "How come you're never with your parents?"
How did he do that? Mimic her, mimicking them, as light and false and polite as conversation at any icy court function? He did have the most amazing voice.
She shot him an acid look. "Because their social schedule is always so full, they don't care much if I'm not around. I'm not athletic, so my mother wasn't sure what to do with me. I'm not a pretty little girl who liked to be dandled on a knee, so my father didn't know what to do with me. I was pretty much left to my own devices even before I got the letter from Hogwarts."
"Poor little rich girl," he sneered.
"Sod off," she sneered back, then added with a heavy load of snark, "Sir."
He snorted softly.
She realized she'd doodled a hole in her parchment and had splayed her quill. She tossed both aside with disgust. "They thought Hogwarts was an eccentric school but that it would eventually spit me out ready for Cambridge after my year off. They never understood that I wouldn't be back in their world when I finished my seventh year."
"Meaning, you never told them."
She shrugged again. "I never told them anything that would stop me from coming back to Hogwarts every year."
"I'll tuck away your tendencies toward passive aggression, selective honesty and ambiguous morality for future consideration."
She was getting good at ignoring him when it suited her.
"When and how did I get in bed last night?"
"When you fell asleep in your chair and I couldn't waken you. I used Mobilicorpus."
"And you slept on the floor." He spoke idly, as if the subject held little interest. But she assumed the fact that he mentioned it at all meant he was disturbed. Severus Snape was not the kind of man to indulge in idle chitchat.
"I transfigured a pallet which was remarkably comfortable when I added a Cushioning Charm," she said and then added with a modest twitch of her lips, "I am … more than adequate … at transfiguring."
"Indeed." He glared at her, then closed his eyes with a sniff. He had obviously lost interest in all things Granger. "If you don't mind, I am going to rest for seven minutes, then return to my duties."
She nibbled her lower lip. "Professor… "
"Fucking hell, what is it now?"
"I'm sorry I called you a git."
"Did you?" he asked nonchalantly. "I didn't notice."
"Well, I was overstressed, and lately I seem to be doing and saying and thinking all sorts of things that I ordinarily wouldn't do or say or think, and I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I do respect you, and I'm grateful for everything—"
"Please, Miss Granger, stop apologizing. It's growing tedious."
She wanted to curl into ball and hide. Which made it even more difficult to keep going. "I need your assistance, sir."
He opened his eyes and glowered and waited for her to continue.
"If you would please owl Harry, Ron and Ginny and summon them to your classroom at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon—"
"Surely you aren't planning my weekend activities?"
Weekend. Tomorrow was Saturday. She stopped herself from following that thought – Saturday! – and rushed on, "You wouldn't be there, of course."
"You're going to have to explain," he sighed wearily.
Hermione did not want to explain, didn't want to admit the idiocy of her friends, but had no choice. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger until it pulled at her scalp painfully. "This is the only way I can force them to talk to me. If you summon them they have to come, but then I can take it from there."
"Consider it done."
That was it? He'd agreed that easily? "Thank you."
She was glad his eyes were closed, again. She was finding it more difficult to blink back tears, and was afraid she might not make it into the bathroom to turn on the faucet before they started flowing. Again.
She was about to close the door behind her when his voice followed her, bored but demanding.
"What is your problem now, Miss Granger?"
And despite her best intentions, her dislike of all things whingeing, she found herself speaking straight from the heart. "It's just that – nobody likes me. My teachers, my friends – nobody likes me any more."
"You wanted to be a Snape," he drawled. "It seems you have succeeded. Now close the door and give me some silence."
She did, and turned on the hot water and stared at herself in the mirror until it steamed over.
Oddly enough, the tears didn't come.
And when she left the bathroom, he was gone.
X
"What a delightful surprise!"
"Really, Albus? And here I thought I was responding to your summons." Snape sank into the chair opposite the Headmaster's desk with a shortage of goodwill. He waved away the sherbet lemons before they were even offered.
Albus leaned back in his own chair and dispensed with the twinkles. "I'm assuming you've had time to consider the unusual behaviour of the Room of Requirement at your … wedding."
Albus had barely managed to keep his displeasure at the marriage from seeping into his tone of voice. Interesting. Snape ignored it. "I have."
"And have you drawn any conclusions?"
"None." Which was true. He had no fucking idea how a transfiguration could actually have transported them to Winchester Cathedral. It was impossible.
"Well. That's hardly helpful."
"And your point is?" Snape idly watched a miniature spinning wheel behind Albus's head spin a thread of crystal. "New toy?"
Albus cleared his throat. "Have you noticed anything else odd or unexpected regarding Miss Granger—"
"Madam Snape."
"—or your relationship?"
Snape glared at him. Kisses. Those bloody fucking kisses.
"Ah, so you have."
"Nothing that I'd care to discuss."
Albus gave up all efforts at diplomacy. "You didn't have to marry her. If you'd given me time, I'd have come up with another way to protect her."
"Of course you would, Albus. She's one of your fucking precious Gryffindors."
The old man still had enough blood in his veins to show a bit of pink in his cheeks at the insult. "I protect all of our students, as you well know."
Snape folded his hands across his belly, resigned to being on the receiving end of a long one-sided discussion, because he'd be bloody damned if he was going to join it.
"Well." Evidently Albus recognized as much. He spread his hands in defeat. "Give my regards to the lovely Madam Snape."
Snape had almost passed into the corridor when Albus added, "Do be gentle with her, Severus. She's so young, you know."
He made his getaway before his anger spilled over into words he dare not speak.
X
The new bed was almost as big as the previous one, but nowhere near as intimidating. It was a simple four-poster with similar green velvet covers and drapes pulled back at the corners with silver tassels. Hermione inspected it carefully from a safe distance and could detect nothing untoward.
Her experience with the charmed bed still made her heart stop just thinking about it.
She held the small jade serpent in the palm of her hand and felt the odd sensation of its eyes blinking against her skin. For the first time, she was nervous about bedtime. But of course, this was the first time Professor Snape was fully awake and aware at bedtime, and the first time they would actually share a bed.
And this was the first time Crookshanks was present.
She sat in her (his) white shirt with her half-Kneazle in her lap, his deep, vibrating purrs a comfort she'd missed.
She wouldn't let Crookshanks near the bed, either.
When Professor Snape entered, he stopped and stared at her bare legs. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen them before, but she suddenly felt very exposed.
"You never said a word about a cat."
Oh. Not her legs. She supposed she felt better. "Half-Kneazle," she corrected.
"That's hardly an improvement."
She clutched Crookshanks to her breasts. "You have a nasty temper but I haven't asked you to change it. I think you can put up with Crookshanks."
"Insulting me is not the way to gain my approval of your fucking cat, Miss Granger," he snapped.
She arched her eyebrows at him.
"And I never said you couldn't have it. I merely commented that you didn't mention you possessed a cat." He shrugged out of his robe and she saw the weary slope of his shoulders, the strain in his eyes. "Impertinent chit."
"Yes, I am," she agreed with him. "But I won't apologize because that would be tedious." She snuggled her face into Crookshanks' fur to hide her relief. She didn't think she could bear to lose Crookshanks in addition to everything else. He was just about the only one who didn't hold her marriage against her. Yet.
She cautiously let him go.
Crookshanks idly licked the inside of his rear haunch and ignored Professor Snape completely.
Things could be worse.
"I won't allow him on my bed."
"That's all right. He sleeps by the fire." She nibbled her lower lip. Usually. Unless he chose to sleep on her bed.
"Good."
"Will you please check the bed? I didn't want to—"
He paced around the bed, wand held high. "This appears to be a very normal Hogwarts-issue bed. Which means normal by Hogwarts standards," he added wryly. "If it has any idiosyncrasies, they should be mildly annoying rather than dangerous."
Hermione sighed with relief and crossed to it. "I've never shared a bed before. Which side do you prefer?"
He looked surprised. "I've never shared a bed, either. I'm not sure."
"We could flip a Galleon?"
He indicated the side nearest the door. "Don't be absurd. I'll take that one."
She plopped Crookshanks onto a cushion by the fireplace and climbed into the bed, which she noted had her blood red sheets (transfigured to a larger size, of course) under the green velvet. She supposed this was meant to be a compromise, as she snuggled deeper into them.
She expected it to be awkward, waiting for him to climb into bed beside her, wondering if he would decide not to wait until the next day (the next day!) to claim his conjugal rights.
But long before the water stopped running in the bathroom, she was asleep.
X
A familiar voice called sharply. "Miss Granger!"
But sleep was so delicious … this bed was so delicious … she clung to her floaty, dreamy somnambulant state despite the annoying voice.
Hard fingers grabbed her shoulder and gave her a rough shake.
"Miss Granger!"
She yawned and opened her eyes to darkness. To black eyes glittering over her in the darkness.
To his demanding voice.
"Miss Granger, you're snoring!"
She felt her entire body suffuse with a blush. "I am not!"
"Roll over," he demanded.
She rolled over and sank back into blissfully soft sleep.
X
He was drifting … in a punt, on a cloud of pillows, soft breezes drifting over his face. Merlin, he didn't recall sleep this sweet in his entire life. He stretched – his long legs and arms had room to stretch to their full length and – he should have gotten a larger bed and soft sheets years before.
He flopped over on his stomach and sank deeper into bliss.
"Professor!"
Good god, what did the harpy want now? He tried to growl but found his mouth full of pillow. Adjusted his head and sank deeper into it, deeper into sleep…
"Professor!"
"What the fuck is it, now," he tried to growl, but only managed a garble of nonsense.
"You're on my side of the bed! You just rolled over on top of me!"
He felt himself get shoved aside with a rough elbow and a hard kick.
He waved the cloud of frizzy hair away from his face, realized he had indeed been quite improperly on top of Miss Granger, and was about to apologize profusely when his eyes adjusted to the dark.
"You," he snapped, "are on my side of the bed." He flicked his hand at her, watched her glide to her own pillow, and sank back into the warm spot where she had been.
X
What … a … magnificent … bed.
Something tickled her neck.
Oh, sweet Merlin's breath, it sent curls of pleasure skittering through her body. She arched her neck to give better access and felt something rough nuzzle her.
Oh god, so wonderful…
X
No … He didn't want to wake up yet.
But that cloud of hair in his face … so soft, he didn't remember it being so soft … he moved his cheek against it and allowed himself a sigh of contentment …
X
Professor Snape. Breathing on her. Nuzzling her.
Every fibre in her arched in languor as she gave him more of her neck and sighed, and reached back to cup his face with her hand, and felt the rough swipe of his tongue on her fingers – and brushed another set of fingers –
And rolled over, wide awake, to stare into Professor Snape's shocked black eyes –
And at the quite satisfied Crookshanks, idly licking both of their fingers where they met and joined over the cat's soft belly.
Hermione burst into giggles and pulled Crooks into her arms. She yawned and spoke without thinking. "I – I thought that was you licking my neck!"
Professor Snape looked quite startled and then growled, "Well, I should have known your hair was never that soft."
"Oh!" She inhaled deeply and strained closer to him. "How do you do that? Your breath smells so sweet…" She arched and yawned and covered her own mouth in embarrassment. And couldn't help herself. She angled her face up to his and closed her eyes and inhaled again.
Damn.
She wanted to kiss that mouth.
"It's – it's a potion I developed." His voice was rough with sleep. What an odd concept. Rough velvet…
She rubbed her palm over Crookshanks' fur and sighed drowsily. "Very sweet… "
She felt him roll away from her and knew a moment's distress, but only a moment's. She should apologize for snoring. And for Crookshanks. And oh yes, for not staying on her own side of the bed.
But that would be tedious….
When she awoke an hour later, she was alone in the bed and in their quarters.
Crookshanks was curled up asleep in the professor's club chair.
And it was Saturday.
She felt herself clench in anticipation, and the soreness was still there, but it was hardly noticeable any more, and it was Saturday….
Anticipation curled through her.
She was ready for Saturday.
Very. Ready.
Indeed.