Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.
Chapter Eleven: Unexpected Visitor
Diagon Alley was no less busy, despite the new regime in charge of the Wizarding World. Hermione yawned, trying to stifle the move as she pressed close to Snape's elbow in she small crowd moving down the street.
"Did you not sleep well?" Snape inquired, not bothering to look at her.
She blinked. She had been a little more than surprised when Snape had told her that she would be accompanying him on this little shopping trip, which to her understanding was just to pick up essentials. It wasn't that it wasn't nice to get out and away from Spinner's End. It was just that Snape had seemed a little… insistent on it. And now, he was addressing her in public, and it wasn't an order. Truly, today was a day for little surprises.
"Um… I slept fine. I just… had trouble falling asleep at first," she answered.
Snape wrinkled his nose a bit, in a way that was really barely noticeable, but she saw it nonetheless. She stared at him as they continued down the lane, trying to figure out what about her answer would have annoyed him.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Quiet!" he snapped under his breath. "Remember, you are not to speak unless spoken to!"
Ah, yes. That's right. The public façade. She glared at him, still wishing he'd at least answer the question. They walked a few paces further, apparently headed toward the Apothecary. Finally, pushing out a breath that sounded like it bothered him, Snape answered, "Everything's fine. If you would just remember that we have an image to uphold. We are not friends. You, are my—"
"Slave?" she muttered.
They came to a stop just outside the shop, Snape sighing.
"Unfortunately, yes. If I don't appear to be domineering over you, both of our lives end up in danger. How I wish your cleverness would allow you to recall that one simple fact."
They were standing just to the right of the shop's entrance. Hermione crossed her arms, waiting for Snape to enter before her. But, after several moments, her former teacher made no movement to enter. In fact, it looked as if he were torn between two of the hardest choices in his life. Hermione's brow furrowed.
"What is it?"
He cast an annoyed at her, and she muttered an unfeeling "oops" as she realized she had just broken his rule again. After realizing that this gaze was ineffective, he rolled his eyes.
"It might cause suspicion if you enter this shop with me. It would make certain things… too accessible to you."
"Okay," she drawled.
"Then again, it would questionable for me to leave you here, in public and in a very crowded place, alone. Honestly, I'm not sure which is preferable."
Hermione groaned. "Then why bring me along at all? Needed the extra hands carrying your shopping?"
"If you must know, I thought you might enjoy the fresh air. Or would you prefer going back to feeling like an ignored house elf?"
She huffed. "Fine. Just leave me here. I'm not a child. Beside, I'm wandless. What could I possibly do? Aparating away with nowhere to go isn't really an option either. Safety is a priority, isn't that what you've been saying?"
He eyed her, his eyes trailing up and down her figure until she was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He arched a brow.
"Very well. If you, indeed, have finally realized that, then you will remain here. I won't be a moment."
He swept into the store, and Hermione felt the sudden, childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. She suppressed it, reminding herself that she had just argued that she was, in fact, not a child. She was an adult. Something she had trouble feeling while having to obey the will of another person about not getting lost or taken or whatever the hell he was afraid would happen to her in the minutes he would be inside the shop. She leaned against the display window, arms still locked in place across her torso, and blew a breath through puckered lip, making a little raspberry noise.
She watched crowds of people pass, none of them giving her any notice. In fact, most seemed to be walking with their heads down, like they didn't want anyone on Earth to notice them. She found herself vaguely wondering if they were in the same position she was in now, if they were so-called "assigned companions" following one of the few witches or wizards that had their faces turned up, laughing and smiling like they had all the time and freedom in the world. Well, if they were pureblooded and never did anything against Voldemort, then that was exactly what they had. Hermione's heart felt like a weight in her chest, her eyes becoming heavy-lidded with sadness. She was so distracted, trying to count those she thought might be slaves and those who might be the owners, that she didn't notice at all when two familiar faces suddenly appeared in front of her.
Gregory Goyle and Vinncent Crabbe stood, two hunking slabs of meat made human, grinning wickedly at her. Goyle guffawed a bit, moving to lean on the wall off to Hermione's left. She had felt wandless—re: helpless—many times over the past month or so, but never as much as now. Now, she felt utterly trapped. But damned if she was going to let these two know it.
"What are you doing here?" she snipped at them, as if they were merely annoying flies.
"Funny," Crabbe chuckled. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Snape let you off your leash?"
Another implication that didn't go unnoticed. Hermione glared at him, her former classmate, but found her mind drifting to whatever "story" it was that Snape was spreading about their situation. She made a mental note to ask him just what that story contained, as it was the story that would be getting back to her friends.
"Actually, he's just inside the shop. He probably wouldn't like it too much if he thought you were harassing his property."
It made her sick to refer to herself as such, but any port in a storm. She couldn't possibly stop them if they decided to take her, given her size and wandlessness. Again, though, damned if she was going to show it. She made sure her words had the right about of bite to them, keeping all fear or uncertainty out.
"I don't give a damn about where Snape is," Crabbe snapped.
She looked at him with a look of mock confusion. "You don't give a damn about where your master's right hand man is? That doesn't seem like a smart way to live your life."
Goyle glanced at his friend, waiting to play off of his reaction no doubt. Crabbe seemed to have finally become independent from Malfoy, but Goyle still required a host of sorts to live his life. Hermione couldn't imagine a more parasitic relationship, and it deepened the disgust she felt for these two. Crabbe's lips seemed to contort with a list of words he knew he shouldn't say, until finally, he grinned.
"And how is your life going, Granger?"
"What do you mean?"
Crabbe shrugged. "I mean, how is slavery treating you? Oh, yes, I'm sorry… I mean, how is being an assigned companion treating you? Is Snape terribly strict? Is he quick to punish, like he was in school? And how does he punish? Surely he doesn't just sit you in a corner."
Hermione blinked. While she had understood the implication earlier, now she found it a bit dubious. Obviously, he was being deliberately disgusting, but there was something else there… like he was fishing. There was a gleam in his eyes that told Hermione that just this once, she shouldn't respond. And she turned out to be quite lucky, because at that precise moment, Snape exited the shop, fixing a withering stare upon his former students.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, letting the words stretch and lay weightily upon the unwanted visitors.
Goyle moved away from Hermione, stopping so that he stood just a half step behind his friend. Hermione concealed a smirk, just barely, behind her hand. Looks like she wasn't the only assigned companion in this grouping. Crabbe looked like he was ready to set things on fire with just his stare. But before he could answer Snape's inquiry, Snape continued.
"We're just leaving. If you could both, kindly, get out of our way?"
Goyle stepped instantly back, while Crabbe took barely a step. Snape gazed over at Hermione.
"Come along," he said.
He started off, with Hermione letting him just a few paces ahead just so she could openly smirk at the two impotent lumps who had ambushed her minutes earlier. Crabbe met her gaze, but she noticed something strange when he did. He seemed to be suddenly enlightened by something as he stared between Snape's departing form and Hermione's still one. She was pressing her luck, she realized, and moved quickly to catch up with the former Potions master. She dared a glance over her shoulder, seeing that Crabbe now had an eerie smile on his face, still pointed directly at her. She frowned, wondering what hot water she had gotten herself into this time, when she decide to put it out of mind.
They arrived just minutes later back at Spinner's End and entered to find that there was a faint tapping noise coming from the back of the house. Snape strode to the end of the small hall, opening the window he found there to reveal a small owl with a pile of letters. He tipped the owl—generously with a galleon—for its wait, and it flew off. Hermione made her way into the lounge, lugging the shopping with her, much to her annoyance. She sat it upon the sofa, beginning to sort through it so that it could be more easily put away. Hermione knew that Snape kept quite a horde of ingredients in his kitchen, and she had suspicions that he had quite a stash in his bedroom as well. But being as that was the one room of the house she had avoided, she couldn't confirm that.
She had stored away most of the stuff she knew had proper places, leaving the sofa mostly empty, when Snape emerged back into view, standing just over the small table by the sofa's arm. He was flipping through his mail, and Hermione took this opportunity to sit and just enjoy the quiet normality of this gesture. She listened to the almost comforting rustling of paper as he shuffled envelopes and smiled softly as she heard each one dropped onto the table. She finally heard, her eyes sliding peacefully closed, him open one of the envelopes. No sound followed for a moment. Just reading, she reasoned. But that thought was dashed when she heard an odd grunt issue from him.
Hermione opened her eyes, glancing up at him. He had look of indecision on his face as he stared at the baby blue colored parchment he held in his hand. Hermione glanced at the table to see the envelope—the same blue color, with silver decorative swirls—the parchment clearly came from lying face down on the table. She glanced back up at Snape.
"What is it?" she asked.
He looked very much the same as he had when he was trying to decide to bring her inside the shop or not. His eyes drifted above the paper, looking upon her as if factoring her into an equation. The hesitation was making her anxious. She stood, taking a step toward him and ready to snatch the paper out of his hands.
"What is it?" she repeated.
He flicked the paper toward her, allowing her to snatch it away from between two of his fingers. She flipped it around, and let her eyes scan the words scrawled onto it. She caught two names, Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley, instantly, but her mind would not let her take in the rest of the wording. Her heart seemed to stop as she sunk back down onto the sofa. The paper was scented, like baby powder, and the lettering was done in black, rather than the eye-scorching silver of the decorations on the envelope.
It was a wedding invitation. Specifically, it was Ron and Pansy's wedding invitation. And when Hermione finally forced her mind to cooperate, she realized that the date was a little over a month away.
"Granger…" Snape began, sounded just a smidge apologetic.
She didn't look at him, and she was tired of looking at this invitation. But she just couldn't put it down. She held it, like a weapon, in both of her hands, seeing and not seeing it at the same time. A small groan tore her eyes from it finally, as she looked at Snape.
He was rolling up his left sleeve, and Hermione could see the Dark Mark burning there on his flesh.
"I have to go," he said.
She nodded, but he didn't wait to see her answer him. He was out the door a moment later. She sighed, turning her attention back to the dreadfully pretty piece of parchment in her hand. Her stomach tightened and rolled in the worst way as she let her eyes rove over the decadent wording that let everyone who read these things know that soon Ron Weasley would no longer be a bachelor. Her mind kept telling her to put the paper aside, to let it go, to stop staring at Ron's name listed so close to Pansy's, but she just couldn't.
The front door opened and shut, and that was enough to finally pull her mind away. Sighing, she stood, tossing the invitation on the table above its envelope. She turned toward the threshold, shaking her head.
"For Merlin's sake, Snape, I'm fine. Just go to the meeting!" she said.
But it wasn't Snape that crossed into the lounge. It was Vincent Crabbe, and he wore the most terrible smile on his face.
"Now… isn't that a little too familiar for your master, mudblood?"
