All Harry Potter characters and themes are, of course, JK Rowling's. Don't
sue me; I have very little of monetary value other than my computer, which
you'll have to pry from my cold, dead hands—that's a promise.
WARNING: This story does not end "happily ever after," per se; the hand of Fate steps in and things get switched around. For all you HG/SS shippers, you may like it, you just never know. I'm merely trying to show the other side of the coin, not make fun of you.
RATING: The pairing is rather controversial (for obvious reasons) and so I am rating this R in anticipation of that and some language. Don't worry about anything else; I'm lousy at writing love stories. However, feel free to inform me if you feel the rating needs to be altered in any way.
And finally, have mercy; it's my first solo effort.
Inescapable
Chapter One
Hermione Granger was not one to daydream. True, everyone has their momentary lapses when the brain seems incapable of coherent thought and some higher power clouds the intellectual process. But given her history, she was not taken to fantasizing quite easily, and she found herself confused when, one morning, her brain simply wouldn't work.
She was tempted to blame Parvati Patil, who had awoken with unusual gusto that morning and thrown open the drapes of the girls' dormitory to reveal the blinding sunlight when Hermione was deep in sleep. Parvati had then proceeded, most annoyingly, to jump on every single bed and wake the sleeping female inhabitant with a squeal of joy.
"Wake up!" she shrieked when she reached Hermione's bed. Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and her mind reached a state of reluctant consciousness. She moaned, the light searing her eyes, and tried to bury herself under the covers as a mole tunnels into soft earth. But Parvati would have none of it; she yanked away the covers and nearly dragged Hermione by her nightgown out of her bed.
"Hogsmeade! First weekend! It's almost time to go—come on!" Parvati was wild with anticipation of her first official "date," with Dean Thomas; he'd asked her, quite confidently, in fact, in the common room the second week of the year. The much-awaited first Saturday Hogsmeade visit had finally arrived, and on a beautiful, clear September day late in the month. Indian summer was ripe in the air and the sky was cloudless and blue. Everything seemed to be going Parvati's way.
"I don't care," Hermione mumbled, pulling away from Parvati and reaching vainly for the covers of her bed. She'd been studying late the previous evening, Friday or no, and felt like the living dead.
"You have to come," Parvati wheedled, pulling robes out of Hermione's clothes chest that rested at the foot of her bed, and stuffing them into her arms. "You should get out more, you know. Ask someone on a date!" Her eyes were fairly gleaming and Hermione groaned inwardly at what she knew was coming next.
"Yeah," Lavender piped in. "You should talk to boys more, Hermione. After all, you're seventeen!"
"Yes, but just only, and I—"
"And you can't possibly count Ron and Harry," Parvati said matter-of- factly. "They're just…them."
"You noticed." Her sarcasm was lost on the other girls; they were confident that they'd reached womanhood with all the knowledge of the male gender they required, and had resolved to tutor Hermione in the facts of life. Hermione, for her part, dreaded each day's lesson and longed to dash from the dormitory and hide herself in the deepest, darkest corner of the dungeons.
"It's going to happen, you know," Parvati told her in a motherly voice. "You can't avoid it forever."
"Says who?" Hermione was partway out the door to take care of her morning toilette. "What if I choose to be more concerned with my grades?"
"Doesn't matter. It's going to happen, and when it does, you'll get hit hard." Parvati gave her a grin Hermione could have sworn was sadistic. "You'll see."
Hermione's only reply was an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she turned her back on her dorm-mates and left for the bathroom. They were only joking with her, after all; they couldn't possibly be serious about such a thing.
* * *
But that had only been an hour earlier, and now Hermione was doubting whether or not they were wrong. Their ideas had infested her brain and prevented her from any kind of rational, intellectual thought; she was paying little attention to what Harry and Ron said and more attention to them.
They talked about Quidditch the entire walk down the road to Hogsmeade, and Hermione was characteristically silent on the subject. She did her best to study them out of the corner of her eye. Why should she be interested in boys? All they really did was…well, talk about Quidditch. Sure, Harry and Ron were attractive, but looks weren't everything. She knew she wouldn't be able to stand a relationship with either of them; she'd be bored to a state of tears in a matter of minutes.
Parvati and Dean were leading the crowd with a superior swagger. Dean looked slightly embarrassed, for Parvati was gripping his hand tightly in her own smaller one and making sure to smile sweetly at him every thirty seconds or so. Hermione thought it was disgusting. Parvati, as much interest as she'd developed in boys earlier on, viewed that particular trip as her first genuine, true date, and Dean was in for a hell of a day. He couldn't get a word in edgewise with Parvati rambling on happily about one thing or another, but he sensed her enthusiasm to be with him, and paid her obligatory attention. Sweet of him.
Hogsmeade had lost its original appeal to Hermione, but there was usually something to be gained by going into Zonko's; she couldn't imagine who spent their time coming up with the ideas for the products they carried. The Weasley twins could certainly give any professional inventors a run for their money, but they were unsure as of yet just what they were going to do. A few years out of Hogwarts already, and they had spent them helping Charlie Weasley with his work as opposed to pursuing their own individual occupations. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione knew, was deeply worried about her two eccentric sons and what would become of them.
While Harry and Ron found various projectiles to launch at one another (usually ones with loud noises as a side-effect), Hermione tried to think of Monday's classes and whether or not she was fully prepared—homework finished, notes completed, etc. Only one problem presented itself—she couldn't think! Every time a thought about a certain class entered her mind, it was pushed away by something less significant; it was a beautiful day out, for one, perfect for a walk. And she was lonely. She wished Harry and Ron would include her in the discussion.
Parvati and Dean walked by, and Parvati was careful to give Hermione a knowing little grin. Hermione returned it with an annoyed glare that she hoped would keep Parvati off her back the remainder of the day. It was enough that she'd been harassing her all year thus far, and now she'd temporarily demolished her thought process. If it was not up and fully functional by Monday, Hermione was going to make some real trouble for Parvati.
"Hermione!"
She looked over, surprised. Ron was standing a few feet to her right, flaming red hair blown sideways by Harry's last assault, looking at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
"Hmm?"
"You feel all right?"
Now it was her turn to look puzzled. She nodded. "Why shouldn't I?"
"I don't know. You're just…different today. Daydreamy."
"Daydreamy? I don't daydream." Her voice was harsh and final. Daydreaming was a dangerous state that prevented one from fully absorbing classroom material; it was not a practice she would allow herself to indulge in.
"Well, you are today. I said your name three times."
"I'm just tired." She pretended to stifle a yawn and tried to hide her concern. Was she daydreaming?
"So are we going to get butterbeers, or what?" Harry interjected. Hermione nodded absently, and the two boys exchanged a look. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the expression that passed between them, but decided it was better not to say anything; that would only concern them more.
The Three Broomsticks was unusually empty, and they comfortably seated themselves in a corner booth. It was not until a few minutes later that other customers began to file in. The three jumped considerably from shock when the door opened and Snape and Dumbledore entered. Dumbledore appeared to be his usual cheery self, though perhaps a little more lackluster than he'd been the year before; the times of Voldemort were trying ones, and nothing had come of efforts to thwart him. Snape had reached new levels of cruelty over the summer, and none of them wanted to so much as glance at him.
The two men took a table a few to the right of theirs and Snape immediately initiated a quiet but intense conversation with Dumbledore, who was more interested in gossiping with Madam Rosmerta. Rosmerta flashed both men a dazzling smile, but Snape ignored her pointedly and waited impatiently for Dumbledore's attention. He refused to order anything and was beginning to look angry.
Once again, Hermione found herself left out of Harry and Ron's conversation. She was positive now that no matter what direction her feelings for the boys might possibly take, nothing of a romantic nature could ever develop. At least, not with Harry; there was no other way to describe it but to say that he just "wasn't her type." There had been a time when she'd wondered if she might feel differently about Ron as they grew older, but as she listened to their irritating and immature conversation about Zonko's jokes, she decided that had merely been hormones.
Meanwhile, the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore was becoming acutely interesting. Snape, she knew, had thrown himself with full force into the fight against Lord Voldemort, and was no doubt trying to discuss some aspect of the wizarding world's offensive tactics. Dumbledore, like every other normal Hogwarts inhabitant, faculty or alumni, merely wanted to enjoy the beautiful September day and talk about less depressing things. Snape was frustrated; Dumbledore looked compassionate.
She found herself wondering, quite unexpectedly, just what his duties as a double agent really were. No doubt he put himself in obvious danger; years ago, she would never have given him credit for such a selfless character trait. She still didn't want to, but had begrudgingly accepted that Severus Snape might possibly—possibly—have some decent aspect to his personality. He just chose not to reveal it in the classroom.
He glanced over at her only once, and the usual sneer appeared on his face when he noticed the "Dream Team" together as usual. Their eyes met briefly and she thought for a moment, a mere moment, that perhaps a more questioning look appeared on his face when he noticed her; but he looked away immediately and she pushed the thought from her mind. She had no reason to suspect that he liked her more than Harry or Ron, or that he was driven to notice her at all.
* * *
Once dinnertime rolled around and the school was seated customarily in the Great Hall, Hermione had reached the conclusion that her entire logical thought process was disabled completely. She could not concentrate at all whatsoever on schoolwork or preparing for quizzes; instead, she found her thoughts drifting again toward the weather, her loneliness, and other things of no significant bearing over her school life.
The fact that she was lonely was not something she wore openly for others to read on her like a book. She had Harry and Ron, and they were enough to provide sufficient conversation and more than enough excitement, sometimes too much. But she pined secretly for a more intellectual companion, someone whom she could feel on par with academically. She had no competitors in her own grade, or indeed in the school at all. Only the teachers made worthy candidates, and none were about to step forward and offer to accept the position of her new "friend."
Ginny Weasley had noticed her pain, she knew, and tried her best to provide Hermione with a feminine aspect of friendship. But even Ginny was now reaching the age where she thought more of boys than schoolwork, and she was not someone with whom Hermione could talk at length about a new book or a fascinating new potion. She was staring curiously at Hermione from across the table; no doubt wondering why she was off exploring in fantasy land, something she never did.
"Hermione, are you all right?" The concerned tones in Ginny's voice ran deeper and truer than those in Ron's, and Hermione suddenly felt guilty. How did you explain to someone that a roommate's predictions about boys had completely shut down your cognitive process?
"I'm fine, really. Just a little daydreamy," she added, using Ron's coined expression. Ginny nodded slowly, sipping her pumpkin juice, but did not lose interest. Hermione was unsure how to make the girl feel any better; she did not want her concerned for her sake, for short of providing a means for a brain transplant, there was nothing Ginny could do.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Boys." It passed through her lips before Hermione could catch herself. Ginny's eyes widened considerably past what Hermione would have thought humanly possible and she nearly choked on her drink.
"What! Don't tell me you like boys now."
"No, I don't. That's what I was trying to determine."
"Why in the world don't you?" Ginny set down her fork and faced Hermione rather defiantly; even she couldn't understand her complete and utter lack of interest toward the opposite sex. "They're not all bad, you know."
"I know," Hermione sighed, "and I never said they were. I just don't like them. They're not…mature enough."
"You can't expect perfection," Ginny told her exasperatedly, sounding like an exhausted mother who had reiterated her point a few thousand times too many. "They're only boys. They'll get better when they're older."
"That's the whole point!" Hermione exclaimed, realizing it suddenly. "Why should I like them now when they're going to get better? In fact, why does any girl like them now?"
"They're still cute," Ginny pointed out, unable to keep her eyes from roving unintentionally toward Harry, who, as usual, had taken no notice of her.
"Attractive physically, yes, I suppose. But to truly be attractive, you have to be more than…oh, hell, I hate the word 'cute'!" She spat it out distastefully. "Puppies are cute; why in the world would you use it to describe a human being?"
"Because they're cute." Ginny was eyeing her unblinkingly. "That's what they are."
"Men are not supposed to be cute," Hermione retorted. "Haven't you ever read—"
"We're talking about boys," Ginny reminded her through a mouthful of vegetables, "not men. Men are different."
"You're absolutely right," Hermione agreed, her appetite returning in full force when she noticed that the shepherd's pie was finally within her reach. "And all I have to do is stop thinking about it and accept that."
Ginny giggled. "No problem," she said. "You wouldn't like a man anyway." She bent her head back to her plate and never noticed her friend's eyes flick, just for a moment, toward the teacher's table. Snape was speaking with McGonagall and did not notice her; but the same curious thoughts entered her mind again, and this time, she was unable to move them so easily.
WARNING: This story does not end "happily ever after," per se; the hand of Fate steps in and things get switched around. For all you HG/SS shippers, you may like it, you just never know. I'm merely trying to show the other side of the coin, not make fun of you.
RATING: The pairing is rather controversial (for obvious reasons) and so I am rating this R in anticipation of that and some language. Don't worry about anything else; I'm lousy at writing love stories. However, feel free to inform me if you feel the rating needs to be altered in any way.
And finally, have mercy; it's my first solo effort.
Inescapable
Chapter One
Hermione Granger was not one to daydream. True, everyone has their momentary lapses when the brain seems incapable of coherent thought and some higher power clouds the intellectual process. But given her history, she was not taken to fantasizing quite easily, and she found herself confused when, one morning, her brain simply wouldn't work.
She was tempted to blame Parvati Patil, who had awoken with unusual gusto that morning and thrown open the drapes of the girls' dormitory to reveal the blinding sunlight when Hermione was deep in sleep. Parvati had then proceeded, most annoyingly, to jump on every single bed and wake the sleeping female inhabitant with a squeal of joy.
"Wake up!" she shrieked when she reached Hermione's bed. Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and her mind reached a state of reluctant consciousness. She moaned, the light searing her eyes, and tried to bury herself under the covers as a mole tunnels into soft earth. But Parvati would have none of it; she yanked away the covers and nearly dragged Hermione by her nightgown out of her bed.
"Hogsmeade! First weekend! It's almost time to go—come on!" Parvati was wild with anticipation of her first official "date," with Dean Thomas; he'd asked her, quite confidently, in fact, in the common room the second week of the year. The much-awaited first Saturday Hogsmeade visit had finally arrived, and on a beautiful, clear September day late in the month. Indian summer was ripe in the air and the sky was cloudless and blue. Everything seemed to be going Parvati's way.
"I don't care," Hermione mumbled, pulling away from Parvati and reaching vainly for the covers of her bed. She'd been studying late the previous evening, Friday or no, and felt like the living dead.
"You have to come," Parvati wheedled, pulling robes out of Hermione's clothes chest that rested at the foot of her bed, and stuffing them into her arms. "You should get out more, you know. Ask someone on a date!" Her eyes were fairly gleaming and Hermione groaned inwardly at what she knew was coming next.
"Yeah," Lavender piped in. "You should talk to boys more, Hermione. After all, you're seventeen!"
"Yes, but just only, and I—"
"And you can't possibly count Ron and Harry," Parvati said matter-of- factly. "They're just…them."
"You noticed." Her sarcasm was lost on the other girls; they were confident that they'd reached womanhood with all the knowledge of the male gender they required, and had resolved to tutor Hermione in the facts of life. Hermione, for her part, dreaded each day's lesson and longed to dash from the dormitory and hide herself in the deepest, darkest corner of the dungeons.
"It's going to happen, you know," Parvati told her in a motherly voice. "You can't avoid it forever."
"Says who?" Hermione was partway out the door to take care of her morning toilette. "What if I choose to be more concerned with my grades?"
"Doesn't matter. It's going to happen, and when it does, you'll get hit hard." Parvati gave her a grin Hermione could have sworn was sadistic. "You'll see."
Hermione's only reply was an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she turned her back on her dorm-mates and left for the bathroom. They were only joking with her, after all; they couldn't possibly be serious about such a thing.
* * *
But that had only been an hour earlier, and now Hermione was doubting whether or not they were wrong. Their ideas had infested her brain and prevented her from any kind of rational, intellectual thought; she was paying little attention to what Harry and Ron said and more attention to them.
They talked about Quidditch the entire walk down the road to Hogsmeade, and Hermione was characteristically silent on the subject. She did her best to study them out of the corner of her eye. Why should she be interested in boys? All they really did was…well, talk about Quidditch. Sure, Harry and Ron were attractive, but looks weren't everything. She knew she wouldn't be able to stand a relationship with either of them; she'd be bored to a state of tears in a matter of minutes.
Parvati and Dean were leading the crowd with a superior swagger. Dean looked slightly embarrassed, for Parvati was gripping his hand tightly in her own smaller one and making sure to smile sweetly at him every thirty seconds or so. Hermione thought it was disgusting. Parvati, as much interest as she'd developed in boys earlier on, viewed that particular trip as her first genuine, true date, and Dean was in for a hell of a day. He couldn't get a word in edgewise with Parvati rambling on happily about one thing or another, but he sensed her enthusiasm to be with him, and paid her obligatory attention. Sweet of him.
Hogsmeade had lost its original appeal to Hermione, but there was usually something to be gained by going into Zonko's; she couldn't imagine who spent their time coming up with the ideas for the products they carried. The Weasley twins could certainly give any professional inventors a run for their money, but they were unsure as of yet just what they were going to do. A few years out of Hogwarts already, and they had spent them helping Charlie Weasley with his work as opposed to pursuing their own individual occupations. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione knew, was deeply worried about her two eccentric sons and what would become of them.
While Harry and Ron found various projectiles to launch at one another (usually ones with loud noises as a side-effect), Hermione tried to think of Monday's classes and whether or not she was fully prepared—homework finished, notes completed, etc. Only one problem presented itself—she couldn't think! Every time a thought about a certain class entered her mind, it was pushed away by something less significant; it was a beautiful day out, for one, perfect for a walk. And she was lonely. She wished Harry and Ron would include her in the discussion.
Parvati and Dean walked by, and Parvati was careful to give Hermione a knowing little grin. Hermione returned it with an annoyed glare that she hoped would keep Parvati off her back the remainder of the day. It was enough that she'd been harassing her all year thus far, and now she'd temporarily demolished her thought process. If it was not up and fully functional by Monday, Hermione was going to make some real trouble for Parvati.
"Hermione!"
She looked over, surprised. Ron was standing a few feet to her right, flaming red hair blown sideways by Harry's last assault, looking at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
"Hmm?"
"You feel all right?"
Now it was her turn to look puzzled. She nodded. "Why shouldn't I?"
"I don't know. You're just…different today. Daydreamy."
"Daydreamy? I don't daydream." Her voice was harsh and final. Daydreaming was a dangerous state that prevented one from fully absorbing classroom material; it was not a practice she would allow herself to indulge in.
"Well, you are today. I said your name three times."
"I'm just tired." She pretended to stifle a yawn and tried to hide her concern. Was she daydreaming?
"So are we going to get butterbeers, or what?" Harry interjected. Hermione nodded absently, and the two boys exchanged a look. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the expression that passed between them, but decided it was better not to say anything; that would only concern them more.
The Three Broomsticks was unusually empty, and they comfortably seated themselves in a corner booth. It was not until a few minutes later that other customers began to file in. The three jumped considerably from shock when the door opened and Snape and Dumbledore entered. Dumbledore appeared to be his usual cheery self, though perhaps a little more lackluster than he'd been the year before; the times of Voldemort were trying ones, and nothing had come of efforts to thwart him. Snape had reached new levels of cruelty over the summer, and none of them wanted to so much as glance at him.
The two men took a table a few to the right of theirs and Snape immediately initiated a quiet but intense conversation with Dumbledore, who was more interested in gossiping with Madam Rosmerta. Rosmerta flashed both men a dazzling smile, but Snape ignored her pointedly and waited impatiently for Dumbledore's attention. He refused to order anything and was beginning to look angry.
Once again, Hermione found herself left out of Harry and Ron's conversation. She was positive now that no matter what direction her feelings for the boys might possibly take, nothing of a romantic nature could ever develop. At least, not with Harry; there was no other way to describe it but to say that he just "wasn't her type." There had been a time when she'd wondered if she might feel differently about Ron as they grew older, but as she listened to their irritating and immature conversation about Zonko's jokes, she decided that had merely been hormones.
Meanwhile, the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore was becoming acutely interesting. Snape, she knew, had thrown himself with full force into the fight against Lord Voldemort, and was no doubt trying to discuss some aspect of the wizarding world's offensive tactics. Dumbledore, like every other normal Hogwarts inhabitant, faculty or alumni, merely wanted to enjoy the beautiful September day and talk about less depressing things. Snape was frustrated; Dumbledore looked compassionate.
She found herself wondering, quite unexpectedly, just what his duties as a double agent really were. No doubt he put himself in obvious danger; years ago, she would never have given him credit for such a selfless character trait. She still didn't want to, but had begrudgingly accepted that Severus Snape might possibly—possibly—have some decent aspect to his personality. He just chose not to reveal it in the classroom.
He glanced over at her only once, and the usual sneer appeared on his face when he noticed the "Dream Team" together as usual. Their eyes met briefly and she thought for a moment, a mere moment, that perhaps a more questioning look appeared on his face when he noticed her; but he looked away immediately and she pushed the thought from her mind. She had no reason to suspect that he liked her more than Harry or Ron, or that he was driven to notice her at all.
* * *
Once dinnertime rolled around and the school was seated customarily in the Great Hall, Hermione had reached the conclusion that her entire logical thought process was disabled completely. She could not concentrate at all whatsoever on schoolwork or preparing for quizzes; instead, she found her thoughts drifting again toward the weather, her loneliness, and other things of no significant bearing over her school life.
The fact that she was lonely was not something she wore openly for others to read on her like a book. She had Harry and Ron, and they were enough to provide sufficient conversation and more than enough excitement, sometimes too much. But she pined secretly for a more intellectual companion, someone whom she could feel on par with academically. She had no competitors in her own grade, or indeed in the school at all. Only the teachers made worthy candidates, and none were about to step forward and offer to accept the position of her new "friend."
Ginny Weasley had noticed her pain, she knew, and tried her best to provide Hermione with a feminine aspect of friendship. But even Ginny was now reaching the age where she thought more of boys than schoolwork, and she was not someone with whom Hermione could talk at length about a new book or a fascinating new potion. She was staring curiously at Hermione from across the table; no doubt wondering why she was off exploring in fantasy land, something she never did.
"Hermione, are you all right?" The concerned tones in Ginny's voice ran deeper and truer than those in Ron's, and Hermione suddenly felt guilty. How did you explain to someone that a roommate's predictions about boys had completely shut down your cognitive process?
"I'm fine, really. Just a little daydreamy," she added, using Ron's coined expression. Ginny nodded slowly, sipping her pumpkin juice, but did not lose interest. Hermione was unsure how to make the girl feel any better; she did not want her concerned for her sake, for short of providing a means for a brain transplant, there was nothing Ginny could do.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Boys." It passed through her lips before Hermione could catch herself. Ginny's eyes widened considerably past what Hermione would have thought humanly possible and she nearly choked on her drink.
"What! Don't tell me you like boys now."
"No, I don't. That's what I was trying to determine."
"Why in the world don't you?" Ginny set down her fork and faced Hermione rather defiantly; even she couldn't understand her complete and utter lack of interest toward the opposite sex. "They're not all bad, you know."
"I know," Hermione sighed, "and I never said they were. I just don't like them. They're not…mature enough."
"You can't expect perfection," Ginny told her exasperatedly, sounding like an exhausted mother who had reiterated her point a few thousand times too many. "They're only boys. They'll get better when they're older."
"That's the whole point!" Hermione exclaimed, realizing it suddenly. "Why should I like them now when they're going to get better? In fact, why does any girl like them now?"
"They're still cute," Ginny pointed out, unable to keep her eyes from roving unintentionally toward Harry, who, as usual, had taken no notice of her.
"Attractive physically, yes, I suppose. But to truly be attractive, you have to be more than…oh, hell, I hate the word 'cute'!" She spat it out distastefully. "Puppies are cute; why in the world would you use it to describe a human being?"
"Because they're cute." Ginny was eyeing her unblinkingly. "That's what they are."
"Men are not supposed to be cute," Hermione retorted. "Haven't you ever read—"
"We're talking about boys," Ginny reminded her through a mouthful of vegetables, "not men. Men are different."
"You're absolutely right," Hermione agreed, her appetite returning in full force when she noticed that the shepherd's pie was finally within her reach. "And all I have to do is stop thinking about it and accept that."
Ginny giggled. "No problem," she said. "You wouldn't like a man anyway." She bent her head back to her plate and never noticed her friend's eyes flick, just for a moment, toward the teacher's table. Snape was speaking with McGonagall and did not notice her; but the same curious thoughts entered her mind again, and this time, she was unable to move them so easily.