OK (rolling up her sleeves), as I'm a newbie in this group, consider
this my dowry ;P
But please be patient with me, English is not my first language. So
here goes:

CHAPTER 4

Hermione had always considered herself a perfectly reasonable young
woman. She thought of herself as exceptionally clever, possessing
more logic in one of her fingertips than many other wizards in their
brains, but also endowed with a very down-to-earth common sense.
During her years at Hogwarts, she had gathered enough knowledge to
rival most of her fellow wizards. That was what she had always
desired: To be outstanding, not because she craved fame, but for an
innate- or so she thought- wish to do as best she could. God or
whoever it was had given her more than a fair share of talents, and
it was her duty to use them.
When she had broken up with Viktor Krum and briefly fancied Ted
Willoughby, an exceptionally handsome Ravenclaw one year above them,
Harry had said: "But Hermione, isn't he just too good-looking? I mean
you're all brains, somehow it doesn't figure…"
In a way, that comment had hurt, more than she had wanted to admit,
but then, she thought, Harry was right: She was all brains, she
didn't even care for her appearance more than the basic rules of
hygiene required. Not even once- but for the glorious exception of
the Yule Ball in their fourth year, but that had been to spite Harry
and Ron- had she thought of "making more of herself", as Lavender and
Parvati used to say. She was average, period. Looks didn't count and
even if they did, nothing would have disgusted her more than to be
appreciated because of her beauty.
That was how Hermione Granger had seen herself before she had entered
the Forbidden Forest on this fateful evening. The male part of the
world population she had so far been in close contact with were her
relatives, her friends Harry and Ron and her teachers, none of whom
would have qualified as male to her. Men were teachers, fathers and
uncles, maybe also doctors, and boys were friends. Viktor, for all
the rumours that had been flying around, had not been more than a
friend, the one single kiss they had exchanged during her brief stay
in Bulgaria hadn't changed that in the least.
But now… now she was leaning motionlessly against the wall besides
the Portrait Hole, trying to feel her way through the upheaval of
emotions and sensations that had been forced upon her. The only thing
she could cling to was an image that had resurfaced in her mind
without her bidding, it strangely resumed the experience she had
lived only an hour ago: It had been her last day of school, how old
was she then? Seven, maybe eight years. No, it had to be eight, for
now she distinctly remembered her mother saying: "Top of her year,
for the second time!" Hermione had always loved animals, but never
been allowed to keep a pet ("Now really, darling, just think of all
the hair and the parasites!")- the only concession being the
occasional visit to the zoo, as a reward for good marks or as a
special treat when she had deserved it. And so her parents had taken
her to the zoo that very day. The felines were her favourites, for
they seemed to be merely big cats, moving with quiet grace so that
you could observe the play of their muscles under the shiny coats,
striped or flecked or simply raven black. In her joy to be back, she
had raced towards the lion's cage and the abruptness of her movements
had obviously irritated its inhabitant, for it had leapt towards the
iron bars and uttered a roar that had made her blood freeze in her
veins. Like a tidal wave, the memory swept over her: The strong,
musky smell of the animal, the look of unveiled aggression in its
eyes, the sensation of raw and overpowering strength. Lethal.
Terrifying. But fascinating nonetheless. The lioness had stared at
her with unmoving, silvery grey eyes…
No. Definitely not. That had been Lucius Malfoy, but the feeling of
helplessness and fascination had been exactly the same. Only that
this time, there had been no iron bars to protect her from the beast,
it had touched her, and she had smelled… well, what? A faint
background of lavender and lemon grass, undoubtedly Malfoy's After
Shave, but there had been something much stronger, like… well, like
the lion. And definitely male. Overwhelmingly so.
She shuddered. If Snape hadn't been there to rescue her… But to think
of him was leading her even further into dangerous speculation. His
scent was different, a little dryer, a bit of sandalwood maybe, soap,
yes certainly so, and herbs. And again, that explicit note of
masculinity, not intimidating, like Malfoy's, but reassuring.
Recognizing that she wouldn't be able to go to sleep anyway, Hermione
slowly made her way over to the fireplace where the flames were now
burning lower, but still radiating warmth, and sat down in one of the
chairs. And while she was trying to sort out her thoughts, she
consciously realized for the first time that those robes which
normally reduced the question whether you were male or female to
marginality, were all covering bodies. Brushing against skin.
Touching legs and shoulders. Billowing…
Billowing black robes. Snape. "Because she is mine." His words came
back to her in a rush. Mine. His. It wasn't an unpleasant thought.
Had Harry or Ron dared to say anything of the kind, she would have
smacked them soundly. But Snape… No smacks for him, certainly not.
Not because he was her teacher, but because it felt good to repeat
his words to herself over and over again. "Because she's mine."
Male claiming female. "Me Tarzan, you Jane." A nervous giggle was
bubbling in her throat, probably a belated reaction to the shock she
had received, but deep down she knew that it was the kind of giggle
that made her think of Parvati and Lavender as of irredeemably stupid
girls. Boys were all they had their minds on. Boys and how to attract
their attention. Well, she for one thing wasn't exactly thinking of
boys, was she? Those were grown men who wouldn't be satisfied with a
snog in an unused classroom. At least not Lucius Malfoy, for all he
was worth, and certainly not Snape. Snogging Snape, what a nice
alliteration. Hermione giggled again, she couldn't help it. The
feeling of his hand cupping her elbow, when he had led her back to
the castle hadn't been bad, not bad at all. And he hadn't even
flinched when she had called him by his first name.
Suddenly, Hermione felt very tired and more than a little
discouraged. Harbouring forbidden thoughts was all nice and fine at
three o'clock in the morning, but soon the sun would rise and in
plain daylight it would all look not only pathetic, but downright
dangerous. What had she gotten herself into? What would Dumbledore
say? She didn't doubt for a single moment that Seve-… nonsense, that
Snape had reported to the Headmaster and she was already dreading the
inevitable interview-cum-lecture she was sure to receive in the
morning. And what if- Hermione gulped- what if Snape couldn't talk
his way out of that ridiculous story? He couldn't very well put
memory spells on his fellow Death Eaters, now could he? Which meant
that they would eventually have to go through with it. What would her
parents say? What would Ron and Harry say?
"That's enough!", she said aloud, "Now go to sleep, Hermione Granger,
you've got less than three hours. Cross the bloody bridge when you're
there!" Having thus lectured herself, she got up and climbed the
stairs to her dormitory- one of the fringe benefits of being Head
Girl-, firmly decided to get some hours of badly needed sleep, before
she had to affront reality.


Hope that wasn't too boring, but evidently, today I'm more on the
analytical side of things. Go, ClariceStarlin56, the world is yours!!