10 Things I Hate About S.P.E.W

Summary: Sarah Williams has a flatmate: Hermione Granger. Together they embark on an adventure where Hermione discovers that Snape is not dead. Sarah discovers that Jareth is still a bit of a jerk. Snape discovers that Hermione tests him in ways that he doesn't really appreciate. Jareth discovers that Sarah really struggles to think of 10 things she hates about him. And why would she? He is wonderful and a legit gift to the magic and non-magic kind.

Chapter One:

Sarah is fae-touched. That's what all her research leads her to believe, anyway. She always seems to stumble upon magic. Whether they are magical items or magical creatures or human beings that wield arcane arts like she draws in oxygen. None of them ever take her back to the Labyrinth. Or to Him. Oh, she certainly contemplates that each meeting or discovery of a person or an object would be Him in disguise. It appears that hasn't been the case as the years creep by.

Sarah also barely seems to age. She no longer looks like a teenager; she owns a woman's body now, with curves and angles in the right places, but she is well into her forties and she doesn't look like it. She doesn't look younger per se. She looks ageless. She looks simultaneously young and old at the same time. When people are asked to guess her age, they simply can't.

Well, that's what her new flatmate tells her anyway. A woman nine years her junior who she was pretty sure is magic but keeps up the pretence that she is not. She tells her constantly that she looks like an old soul trapped in a young body on some days and like a young soul trapped in the body of a mature older woman on others.

Her name is Hermione Granger and she is a British…well, actually, Sarah doesn't know what she is in terms of her job title. She is barely home and when she asks her once the answer is vague and noncommittal. All Sarah knows is that it must be a high-up job as she earns a pretty packet to afford the house in London where they live.

Sarah is also well-off, having lost her entire family and earning her inheritance prematurely. This grief and the fact she is adamant she is fae-touched makes her life rather nomadic as if every fibre of her being has wanderlust. That's why she is currently in London but already she can feel the magic telling her she needs to be somewhere else.

It is one drizzly Sunday when that innate calling summons her to move on. Except, she has grown exceedingly fond of her flatmate in a purely platonic way and that is anchoring her rather wayward body.

"Let's go for a walk," Sarah suggests, throwing the fluffy blanket she's wrapped in onto the floor.

"In the rain?" Hermione asks, one eyebrow raises as she glances pointedly at the window. She doesn't bother to lower her book, returning to it instantly.

"It's barely spitting."

"I'm not in the mood for a walk today," Hermione replies, turning a page.

"Use some of your magic to repel water and you won't get wet."

Hermione lowers her book this time and rolls her eyes. "Magic!" she scoffs. Her deniability is getting harder to pull off.

"Yes, magic." Sarah plants herself directly in front of Hermione's armchair. "If you come for a walk with me, I will make dinner. Something with pesto. Fresh homemade pesto. Made by me."

Hermione wavers. "Fish?"

"I can make fish with pesto sauce, salad and chips." Food is Hermione's weakness. She hates cooking and Sarah enjoys it. It comes in handy when she wants to get her own way.

Hermione licks her lips and then nods. "Deal."

They both march down the road, tucked into their wet weather gear and bracing against the gentle onslaught of the drizzle. They're not talking much except to point out vaguely interesting sights. Eventually, they reach a park and that's when everything shifts for the pair.

Hermione's hair is suddenly battered by a vicious updraft originating from a stone and iron arch half obscured by trees. The trees have a prehistoric, almost preternatural feel to them. This place is old. Sarah watches as Hermione tries to fight her hair back into submission but it is a lost cause when the pendant she always wears flies out of her clothing and smacks her in the face.

"Honestly!" Hermione says ripping the necklace from her visage and trying to shove it back into the safety of her layers of clothing. "Whose idea was this?"

"Mine!" Sarah answers cheerfully. "Let's head through that arch." It's calling to her. She needs to walk through it more than anything. She should stop and think about this. She doesn't ignore Hermione who is muttering about people who are reckless and impulsive. She's right, of course. But still, her trainers scuff against rocks and her hair whips madly around her face, blurring her vision as she heads down the short incline to the arch. "Come on, Hermione."

Hermione follows. Even her footsteps denote her reluctance and how much she blames her for this. Sarah accepts Hermione's censure and carries on down the track.

They reach it and her feet are still. Her breath catches as she feels the hum of magic. She smells the scent of the arcane around her. It reminds her of the Labyrinth. Of Him. It should be a warning sign. She should step away; far away. But she does not.

"It's a gateway but we need a key," Hermione says quietly.

"Hmm?" Sarah turns to her friend who is pale and wringing her hands in agitation. The rain is attempting to plaster her curls to her scalp but even now they are defying nature as they whip around her head as if caught in a tornado. Sarah's hair remains smooth and sleek in a low ponytail and she is grateful for her conventional hair for a change.

"The Latin inscribed on the rocks." Hermione points to a sentence etched into an iron plaque that Sarah had missed. "Those without the key will pass by unseeing. Those with the key will truly learn to see."

"What's the key?" Sarah asks, tracing a spiral shape in one of the rocks. She knows her friend understands Latin but it still makes her feel momentarily inadequate in comparison.

"Who knows?" Hermione huffs with annoyance. "But nothing will happen if we walk through as neither one of us has the key and it's just iron and rock and mortar."

"Why do you insist on pretending there is no magic in this world?" Sarah asks for the umpteenth time. "Is there some law that says you can't reveal it, even to others who have seen magic?"

Hermione doesn't reply. Her eyes scan the archway and her teeth sink into her lip. Sarah feels a kinship with the woman who, like her, spends far too much time reading, but also has a sense of adventure. It may be buried underneath sensible clothing and an overabundance of common sense, but it's there. She knows it.

"Hermione." She takes her hand. "Let's go through without the key. What's the harm? If there is no magic, then this is just a mundane arch." Sarah knows she is testing her and her reluctance to pass anywhere near the arch is showing her hand.

Hermione shifts from foot to foot, her eyes flitting from the arch to Sarah to the woods on the other side. She must feel the magic too, otherwise, there would be no reluctance. She knows her friend well enough that her pragmatism would carry her through her arch if there was truly no risk. Sarah smiles.

The compulsion to move closer is getting stronger the longer they stand there. Hermione is wavering. She takes a step back, shaking her head.

"There is something wrong with this arch," Hermione mutters.

"Magic," Sarah reiterates, feeling excitement fizz up inside her.

"If you believe it is magic, then all the more reason to avoid it," Hermione reptiles, primly.

Sarah chuckles as she steps closer, feeling the magic wash over her in calming waves. "It feels like home, Hermione. What does it feel like to you?"

"Love…" Hermione answers, before clapping her hand over her mouth.

"There, you see…magic."

"We need to go home." Hermione removes her hand from her mouth and takes another step back.

It's then that another cruel breeze stirs up the leaves and other debris in the archway and snaps at their hair and clothes. Hermione gasps as her necklace escapes its enclosure and rises towards the arch as if pulled there. She is now moving towards the arch instead of away; her eyes wide as she tries to dig her heels into the path. Sarah lunges for her friend, wrapping her hand tight around Hermione's hand.

Hermione squeezes Sarah's hand tight and together they are pulled up to the archway and with deep breaths, they step through.