Snape swept in to the packed classroom and settled behind the top desk. As
he glared down on his students with his normal look of scorn and disdain,
none seemed prepare to meet his eye, except one. Seated in the first row on
the Slytherin side was Draco, waiting in anticipation and glee for his own
privately deduced show, and grinning a bit wider than usual.
Snape's cold predatorial stare moved across the length of the room, and let it settle for a second on a pallid looking Hermione, who eluded his look altogether.
"Today.. we will continue where we left off last week: your 'Fox's Clote' potion have been rising appropriately over the last few days and if you all turn to page 472 in your books, it will tell you how to add the Sicilian slug bile."
~~*~~
To Draco and Harry's amazement, the class went surprisingly well. Typical. Hermione suppressed the need to raise her hand at every question offered, but when asked about the curative properties of Arrow Root, she couldn't stop herself from waving her arm about vigorously, though she was in return ignored. Harry lost Gryffindor five points when he dropped his spoon and Longbottom another thirty when he spilled his whole supply of mashed badger lungs over Snape's leg. All in all, a very average day.
"Lets get out of here", Ron groaned once class had come to an end, and Harry had returned from putting away his mortar and pestle.
"Yea, yea", he replied indifferently, leaning towards Hermione who was packing away her supplies real slowly.
"Will you be alright?" he asked carefully. She gave him a confident smile and a nod.
"Good luck, huh?" Harry added squeezing her shoulder in passing and taking a stand beside Ron.
"Are you coming, or what?", Ron asked Hermione impatiently, watching Snape who was flipping through some papers, and still at his desk. Hermione was still clearing away her supplies, but opened her mouth to explain, when Harry interrupted her.
"Ron, lets go"
Ron looked at Harry, then Hermione, then back to Harry, unsure what to make of the situation.
"I have to have a talk with professor Snape.", she finally explained in a whisper.
"I'll meet up with you later"
"About what?", asked Ron. Harry laid a hand on his shoulder making a motion to leave.
"Head girl issues" she said in a tone that offered no further elaboration, rising now to her feet with her books cradled in her arms.
"Oh, rather you then me!" Ron answered, being dragged out of the room by Harry.
"If we are not in the common room, we are probably upstairs!", he called, and sent her a last smile and a wink.
The echo of the closed door sounded through the large stone room at their departure; she didn't know how long she stood there glaring at the old oak door, but when she turned to face Snape and his desk, she found he'd already moved away and now was standing by a side entrance, holding the door open.
"This way."
Swallowing hard and putting on a brave face, she hastily grabbed for her bag, and moved up to join him. She hesitated when having to pass him; a faint rise of the corner of his lip appeared as he sensed her discomfort, and saw her shuddering when she finally moved in to the narrow hallway leading to his office.
It was dark and confined, and she found herself hastily moving toward the second door, being trapped by the tall mass that was him, and the tiny door at the end of the cramped pathway.
"It sure is dark down here; does anybody truly know how many secret passageways there are in this castle? I am convinced that one could easily lure somebody down one of those paths, dispose of their body, and nobody would be able to find it for at least a century or so...". She was rambling, one of her many bad habits when nervous. Snape leaned in on her so that his hooked nose was just inches from her cheek, and in the faint light that escaped from the crack in the door, she could see a most vicious grin. "yes, true that!" he whispered hotly. "yes, true that!"
Already having decided that she wouldn't allow him to unnerve her, she jerked around and reached for the handle, and gave it a good yank; the door would not budge.
"Now, look at that, heh.. it's locked."
Snape did a flamboyant hand motion, uttering the words "John Wellington Wells"; with that, the green coated door flew open. She half stumbled, half fell into the room.
"John Wellington Wells?" she asked amused, once she had establish some space between herself and the potion master.
"A dealer in magic and spells, In blessings and curses, And ever-filled purses, In prophecies, witches, and knells?", she continued on, knowing the verse he had taken the name from, too well.
The Sorcerer, a muggle comedy Operetta that was written in 1877 about a couple getting a wizard to develop a love philter, which caused everyone in the village to fall in love -- with the wrong person, though.
Snape stepped in to his office, and his presence filled the whole of the room. He replied to her with a simple but chilling "yes". Hermione backed toward the two chairs that stood before his desk, remaining standing.
"Sit down", he told her curtly, shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat himself.
"I didn't know you liked Gilbert and Sullivan", she tried, laying her books and bag down on the floor
"Were you suppose to know?" he asked, having a by far more controlled tone and attitude then at their last conversation.
"No. I mean, it is very, well, muggle like!"
"Sir William was a muggle?" he challenged her
She opened her mouth, trying to remember if she had read someplace about either; this interrogation wasn't helping her much to keep her nerves settled. She surrendered, deciding it was the wisest choice.
"Gilbert and Sullivan were Wizards?" she tried instead.
"Correction!" he replied coldly. "Sir William was a wizard, Sir Arthur was not! And 'The Sorcerer' is based on quite a famous tale. Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, haven't you been paying attention in History of Magic? Any first year could tell you about Robert Jonathan Wells, and his execution in 1642 for his interference with the muggle world. You must be loosing your touch."
Of course she knew the story; it was a well known warning to all magicians who felt temped to use their power for evil or good in the muggle world. It was obvious now, thinking about it; 'The Sorcerer', and the story had its similarities, but the wizard had always been referred to as 'Rob 'the muggle dealer' Wells'
"Of course I do know the story! I just never made the connection, that's all!" she replied confidently, shuffling the chair closer to his desk.
"Well, it matters not; we aren't here to discuss Victorian comedy plays".
He fished out a small round shaped bottle from the depth of his drawer, and set it down between them. He held back a grin as her face changed to a lighter shade of colour.
"Since it has been more then twenty four hours since we.." his dark eyes vanished viciously under his dark brow, and his lips curled in to a faint sneer "had our unfortunate copulation, I have developed a different potion. It will make certain you are not" he grinned awkwardly "pregnant".
He was getting too much enjoyment out of this for her liking, but at least he didn't use the word 'fornicate'. She grimaced with an expression of clear disgust, eager to show that she was not about to become unnerved by his play on words.
"Now, now, Miss Granger, you need not worry -- I am as repulsed by you, as you are of me. This situation is unfortunate indeed. I am quite certain that you spent last night contemplating our conversation and am now prepared to accept this is, as our.. mmm", his voice was silky soft and slippery, "little secret?".
She gave him a quick nod. "Yes, professor Snape!"
"Good, now do you have any questions, or should I begin to explain how to take this potion"
"I have some questions for you professor, but first.."
She reached in to her bag pulling out a minimized plastic bag with some content. Putting it on the desk and tapping it with her wand so that it returned to its rightful size, she pushed it over to him.
"What is this?", he asked.
"Your clothes. I transfigured the outfit back in to your sheets again -- your socks and boxer shorts are all there, too!" she said curtly. He took the bag, a finger curling over the white plastic, a substance he was only faintly familiar with.
"Who is Marks and Spencer?" he asked, as he read the writing on the front of the bag.
"Owners of a muggle clothes shop"
"They want the bag back then."
"No, not at all. They give them away for free".
"ah"
He dropped the bag on the floor behind him, and they stared at each other -- it was awkward, both opening their mouth to speak, but neither knowing exactly what to say next.
"So, you had some questions", he reminded her.
"Oh, um, yes, I have a few"
"Well let us have it then. Come, come, I don't have all day". He had nearly said 'night'.
She drew in a deep breath, his attentive cold black stair unnerving her almost as much as the silence of the dungeon.
"I was told that somebody added some alcohol substance in the punch; is this, why we, uhm.." she couldn't say it, try as she might. She just didn't have it in her yet to look him in the eyes and accept their situation. She brought her attention to her lap and began to fiddle with the corner of her robe.
"Yes", he finally replied, and she watched him as he moved back at his feet -- the seventh year was the last class of the day which entitled him to finally get a drink. He opened one of the cabinets, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, his fingers curling over a half full bottle of vodka. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asked jesting.
Hermione stopped herself from saying no: she thought it over, and as far as she knew she regarded herself grown up -- she was certainly the most adult student in the school, she mused, and this was definitely an adult subject, so just for some shock value, she replied "yes, please", which caught the surprised look of the man with a confident one of her own.
'Alright then' he thought, noting the irony of serving alcohol, while discussing an issue that was the result of alcohol. He fished out two glasses, and filled them both half way up with the golden liquid. He knew the risk of serving somebody under-aged, but he was certain it could not be worse than bedding a student, and she was nearly eighteen years of age. He peered back at her -- wasn't she?
He handed her a glass with a faint grin to his lips, settling behind the desk. "Yes, somebody poured Vodka in the punch: some fourth years from my house - they have been disciplined. In fact I believe they are right now, collecting the rat cadavers after Filch lay out poisons last week."
She wanted to point out that people might find it a tad bit suspicious that he was punishing people of his own house for once, but felt that it would be an unwise move.
"I do not believe there is any evidence of our escapade, and you need not worry -- if anything does come up, I'll personally take care of it." He sipped his drink, noting that she was playing with hers, but not tasting it.
Twirling the glass about in her hands, she asked, "Professor, can I ask, what exactly do you remember from that night?"
He went silent, scrutinising her, and it was clear to her showing that he was not accustomed to this, an exchange of opinions. In most situations, he did the questioning, the student having the wits to answer but not to say much more; this was a different exercise for him, and he didn't like it. Yet he replied curtly, with just a hint of a sneer to his lips.
"Scarcely more then you, I am afraid. Simply feeling rather dizzy, and nauseous, heading in to the hallway before it all went black..."
She remembered Harry prompting her to ask him about his groin.. but suppressed the notion.
"At some point I must have encountered you in the stairs, what happens from there on, I would rather not think about!" he told her in a rapid tone, sipping his drink.
"What puzzles me, is our clothes."
"I can explain that professor!".
She hastily replied pulled out the library book from her bag, and lay it down before him.
He looked bewildered "A History of Horseradish?"
"Go on, open it.."
"I don't see how this.."
"Open it professor!"
He scowled at her; a professor taking instructions from a student?!?
"Please?"
Drawing the book over, he flipped it open, eyes settling on the plain white pair of cotton knickers, which lay nicely pressed between the pages. He cleared his throat, and said in a dry and silky voice,
"I fail to understand the significance of this!"
"They are mine!" she interrupted confidently
"well, that I gather"
"I mean, they are mine from the other night.. just look, they have my initials and everything.."
He made a faint sneer and shut the book, his long fingers fiddling over the cover.
"It is quite alright, Miss Granger. I'll take your word for it, but I still fail to understand what it has to do with a book on radishes!"
"It has nothing to do with the book, silly", she trailed off as sharp venomous eyes fell on her.
"Uhm, professor! I was in the library, when Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle came by; he said he had found this, and was asking all kinds of questions."
"Malfoy had this?" Snape gave the book cover a soft caress, seeming to be confused at how this new puzzle pieces fitted into the picture. "What exactly did Mr. Malfoy have to ask you?!"
"Well..", she shifted uncomfortable in her seat, eyes gliding across the ceiling. "He was wondering where I had gotten to last Saturday. Also, he was insinuating all sort of, uhm, things".
He leaned across the desk, his hands clasped about the book possessively, his eyes burrowing in to hers.
"Insinuating what, exactly?"
"That I have had a tryst of some sort"
"And he simply went up to you, waved this evidence in your face, and said this?"
She nodded softly, finding her throat sore and sipping her drink for the first time, wrinkling her nose at the strong flavour.
"Hmm, strange", he muttered, leaning back in his armchair, and long fingers clawing along his jaw; his attention dwelling in the mid air.
She allowed some time to pass, daring not at first to intrude as he seemed deep in thought, and wasn't one who appreciated interruption.
"Is something the matter professor?", she finally asked.
"Well, I simply find it hard to believe that, he just *gave* you these, with his formulated opinion, and with no hidden agenda."
"W.. what do you think he mean by it?"
"I am not certain. He is an overindulged and spoiled imbecile, but he is still a Slytherin, and that means he wouldn't simply throw all his cards on the table -- he has some aces up his sleeve.."
"I thought you liked Malfoy?", she stated bluntly before she could stop herself.
"What on earth makes you think I like anybody at all", he replied flatly. "I do business with his father".
She found herself temped to ask what business this was exactly, but took another sip from the whiskey instead, noticing how quickly the fluid did indeed affect her. She was as sober as ever, but felt a faint haze in the back of her cranium indicating that it wouldn't take much to tip the scale. But Snape? How much exactly would it make to have him feel even the faintest of disorientation?
Snape was situated opposite her, the deep wells that represented his pupils burying themselves into her young shape, as if trying to see past her flesh and bones -- attempting to read her mind perhaps? Ron swore that he possessed such powers.
Seated hunched, Hermione's arms wrapped about her shape as if in need of protection, her eyes focused on the whiskey, gazing into the crystal in a scrutinising manner. She had grown a fair bit, he noted; she wasn't the child that had been so blatantly over enthusiastic, waving her arm in the air in desperate need of attention and acknowledgment. He never humoured her like the rest of the teachers, and though she annoyed him (immensely) it was derived from other reasons than his annoyance for Potter.
Potter like his father never had to do more then limited efforts to gain world wide attention. They never worked for their fame, it was simply given to them on a golden plate and they took and spoiled it like a drunken teenage given a bottle of "Château La Mondotte Saint-Emilion" he thought quietly to himself.
Gritting his teeth and sipping his drink, he allowed his mind to roam, these few seconds that easily felt like hours.
Hermione was hard working and well educated, true, but far too prissy and full of herself for him to show any appreciation for her efforts. She might have had a faint respect for such treatment, if she hadn't joined the Potter club, and taken part in being a torn in his side. (Which she was once again)
"There is something else"
Her voice interrupted his train of thoughts, and his head came to a faint tilt. He observed Hermione making a hand gesture toward the book.
"Draco.. he told me where exactly he had found these"
He didn't like the way she was now staring at him, he just knew this was leading up to something unpleasant.
"He said he found them", she said, her cheeks flushed red, and added hastily, "In the owlery!", before she turned her attention to the floor.
"The Owlery?"
He couldn't help but grin at this.
"How in Marlins name did it end up there?"
"Well, I think he meant that we..."
She shifted her shoulders, and he could see her tugging lightly at her lower lip. Disgusting habit that.
"You don't imply.. no, we couldn't have.. how would we get back to my room? Marching down to the dungeon au naturel, would hardly have gone unnoticed!"
He had finished his glass and was now pouring himself another; she watched him, her mouth wide open in faint astonishment -- he truly lacked all tact on the subject.
"Shut your mouth girl, gasping at people is an incredibly rude habit!" he snapped, and she shut it, frowning his way, which he picked up on, but in turn didn't comment.
"Well! He didn't mention finding any other garments!" she replied, her tone a tad more bitter sounding then planned.
"I'll have a talk with him", he replied indifferently, corking his bottle and setting it aside. His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall.
"Is that all? I have things that need doing, so if there is nothing else you have to tell me.."
He stopped, and she shook her head, trying to remember if there was anything else.
"Good, now. The potion."
She was to take half of the contents before bedtime, as it had a tendency to make people dozy; if she began bleeding somewhere through the night or felt any form of pain in her lower regions (or the cervix, as he had put it), she was to report to him immediately. If not, she should just go about what she usually did in the morning, and take the last of it the next evening.
Simple, she thought, finding herself swallowing down the last of the whiskey with an embarrassingly distorted expression on her face.
"It would seem it wouldn't take too much to get you intoxicated.." he replied mockingly; she fired back with a controlled answer:
"Perhaps, but what surprises me is you. After all, what is watered out vodka to a man such as yourself?"
He cocked a brow, but couldn't answer. He had thought about it, but been unable to understand this part also, and he told her simply what he had told himself.
"I didn't eat much that day!"
In truth he had speculated that it might have been the gasses of some brewing he had done earlier, that with the effect of the alcohol could have.. but no, he was making excuses. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't about to think of it anymore, simply just to accept and let go.
"Well, I should head back now.."
She excused herself, moving back to her feet and stuffing the potion bottle and her books in to the bag.
"Yes. I'll have a talk with Malfoy, and if nothing goes wrong with the potion.. I think this is the last time we will have to mention any of this!"
She nodded curtly, pulling the bag up to her shoulder. He got up also, setting the whiskey bottle back in the cabinet, and shutting it before sweeping over to the exit, holding the door open for her.
She approached it hesitantly; something was stirring in the back of her mind: questions, suggestions, but something else as well, something rather new. She stopped before him, her brown eyes focusing on the aged face of the man.
"Professor.."
He made a faint head motion to indicate he was listening
"I just want to say thank you"
His brows came to a puzzled arch, but he said nothing
"Thank you for not humiliating me! I.. I just had to say that."
His nose wrinkled passively at her remark, and he replied flatly.
"I believe we have both been embarrassed sufficiently enough!"
The corner of her mouth twisted in a smile at that, and she suppressed a chuckle.
"Yes, Professor Snape."
She left out the door feeling strangely better, if it were possible, at their talk, vanishing up the stairs. Snape stood in the door, and when she was at a appropriate distance, he took a glance after her before shutting the door.
It could have been worse he mused, he could have awoke next to Lavender or Parvatil, or, Merlin forbid, Pansy Parkinson!. He gave a faint shudder; the last he would need was some whiny over-dramatic and hormonal teenage girl, bawling in his office threatening to tell every living thing about their night of disaster. Hermione might be a pain the arse he noted, returning to his desk, but she was mature and resourceful, occasionally. He picked up her empty glass of whiskey and grinned viciously to himself.
"Occasionally"
*******************
ann no aku: Hey, that is nifty to hear, I know my humour is very dark, and very personal so I wonder sometimes if people still catches the very subtle humour or of it has become Drama/angst. I am glad there are people out there who still find it amusing, I am having a laugh writing it *smiles*
Liesel: I made chapter 7 a few days after chapter 6 and I sent it off to my beta reader, assuming she got it. A week went by and she didn't reply back so I got curious of what had happened to it, then I found out that she had never gotten my email, so I sent it again, and she beta it the same day and I posted it. The idea was, shorter chapter, would make me update it more often.
And for Pride and Prejudice, yes, I added that sentence in purposely, and I planned to ask people if they could recognise where I had taken the quote from, but I was to happy to update the chapter to have time to write any notes at the bottom. What do you mean with My Fair lady?
Kerbi: You are not the only one to say that. I am glad you like it *smiles*
AppleJuiceMaster: Updating, updating *smiles* I have nothing bad to say about my very impressive beta reader that makes a really good job of it, but she does use a week to correct it, so wile I send her a new chapter about two days after last time I updated, she return it five to seven days later.
Bre: *blush*
Marston Chicklet: ho ho ho
Trixooo: Tadaa, it is here
The great sex god: Well, it is a Snape Hermione pairing, so don't worry *laughs* I just like to think that most men are capable of getting laid, if they really want to. I know a lot of people write Snape as this virgin, and some make good stories of it, interesting concept, but I like to think Snape capable of at least getting a one night stand when making the effort.
He is a sneaky Slythin after all
I got this wonderful email from Lionora, and I just want to say thank you for it really cheered me up. Sometimes I am not sure about my story and I feel like quitting and then I get lovely comments like hers, and I get all happy, and I smile all day, and I get really creative and starts writing like mad.
I know the story is running a bit dry right now, but something different and exciting is coming up, I just have to get through this little Passover stage, please don't give up on my story, something unexpected is coming, and a new storyline will appear.
I promise *smiles*
Snape's cold predatorial stare moved across the length of the room, and let it settle for a second on a pallid looking Hermione, who eluded his look altogether.
"Today.. we will continue where we left off last week: your 'Fox's Clote' potion have been rising appropriately over the last few days and if you all turn to page 472 in your books, it will tell you how to add the Sicilian slug bile."
~~*~~
To Draco and Harry's amazement, the class went surprisingly well. Typical. Hermione suppressed the need to raise her hand at every question offered, but when asked about the curative properties of Arrow Root, she couldn't stop herself from waving her arm about vigorously, though she was in return ignored. Harry lost Gryffindor five points when he dropped his spoon and Longbottom another thirty when he spilled his whole supply of mashed badger lungs over Snape's leg. All in all, a very average day.
"Lets get out of here", Ron groaned once class had come to an end, and Harry had returned from putting away his mortar and pestle.
"Yea, yea", he replied indifferently, leaning towards Hermione who was packing away her supplies real slowly.
"Will you be alright?" he asked carefully. She gave him a confident smile and a nod.
"Good luck, huh?" Harry added squeezing her shoulder in passing and taking a stand beside Ron.
"Are you coming, or what?", Ron asked Hermione impatiently, watching Snape who was flipping through some papers, and still at his desk. Hermione was still clearing away her supplies, but opened her mouth to explain, when Harry interrupted her.
"Ron, lets go"
Ron looked at Harry, then Hermione, then back to Harry, unsure what to make of the situation.
"I have to have a talk with professor Snape.", she finally explained in a whisper.
"I'll meet up with you later"
"About what?", asked Ron. Harry laid a hand on his shoulder making a motion to leave.
"Head girl issues" she said in a tone that offered no further elaboration, rising now to her feet with her books cradled in her arms.
"Oh, rather you then me!" Ron answered, being dragged out of the room by Harry.
"If we are not in the common room, we are probably upstairs!", he called, and sent her a last smile and a wink.
The echo of the closed door sounded through the large stone room at their departure; she didn't know how long she stood there glaring at the old oak door, but when she turned to face Snape and his desk, she found he'd already moved away and now was standing by a side entrance, holding the door open.
"This way."
Swallowing hard and putting on a brave face, she hastily grabbed for her bag, and moved up to join him. She hesitated when having to pass him; a faint rise of the corner of his lip appeared as he sensed her discomfort, and saw her shuddering when she finally moved in to the narrow hallway leading to his office.
It was dark and confined, and she found herself hastily moving toward the second door, being trapped by the tall mass that was him, and the tiny door at the end of the cramped pathway.
"It sure is dark down here; does anybody truly know how many secret passageways there are in this castle? I am convinced that one could easily lure somebody down one of those paths, dispose of their body, and nobody would be able to find it for at least a century or so...". She was rambling, one of her many bad habits when nervous. Snape leaned in on her so that his hooked nose was just inches from her cheek, and in the faint light that escaped from the crack in the door, she could see a most vicious grin. "yes, true that!" he whispered hotly. "yes, true that!"
Already having decided that she wouldn't allow him to unnerve her, she jerked around and reached for the handle, and gave it a good yank; the door would not budge.
"Now, look at that, heh.. it's locked."
Snape did a flamboyant hand motion, uttering the words "John Wellington Wells"; with that, the green coated door flew open. She half stumbled, half fell into the room.
"John Wellington Wells?" she asked amused, once she had establish some space between herself and the potion master.
"A dealer in magic and spells, In blessings and curses, And ever-filled purses, In prophecies, witches, and knells?", she continued on, knowing the verse he had taken the name from, too well.
The Sorcerer, a muggle comedy Operetta that was written in 1877 about a couple getting a wizard to develop a love philter, which caused everyone in the village to fall in love -- with the wrong person, though.
Snape stepped in to his office, and his presence filled the whole of the room. He replied to her with a simple but chilling "yes". Hermione backed toward the two chairs that stood before his desk, remaining standing.
"Sit down", he told her curtly, shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat himself.
"I didn't know you liked Gilbert and Sullivan", she tried, laying her books and bag down on the floor
"Were you suppose to know?" he asked, having a by far more controlled tone and attitude then at their last conversation.
"No. I mean, it is very, well, muggle like!"
"Sir William was a muggle?" he challenged her
She opened her mouth, trying to remember if she had read someplace about either; this interrogation wasn't helping her much to keep her nerves settled. She surrendered, deciding it was the wisest choice.
"Gilbert and Sullivan were Wizards?" she tried instead.
"Correction!" he replied coldly. "Sir William was a wizard, Sir Arthur was not! And 'The Sorcerer' is based on quite a famous tale. Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, haven't you been paying attention in History of Magic? Any first year could tell you about Robert Jonathan Wells, and his execution in 1642 for his interference with the muggle world. You must be loosing your touch."
Of course she knew the story; it was a well known warning to all magicians who felt temped to use their power for evil or good in the muggle world. It was obvious now, thinking about it; 'The Sorcerer', and the story had its similarities, but the wizard had always been referred to as 'Rob 'the muggle dealer' Wells'
"Of course I do know the story! I just never made the connection, that's all!" she replied confidently, shuffling the chair closer to his desk.
"Well, it matters not; we aren't here to discuss Victorian comedy plays".
He fished out a small round shaped bottle from the depth of his drawer, and set it down between them. He held back a grin as her face changed to a lighter shade of colour.
"Since it has been more then twenty four hours since we.." his dark eyes vanished viciously under his dark brow, and his lips curled in to a faint sneer "had our unfortunate copulation, I have developed a different potion. It will make certain you are not" he grinned awkwardly "pregnant".
He was getting too much enjoyment out of this for her liking, but at least he didn't use the word 'fornicate'. She grimaced with an expression of clear disgust, eager to show that she was not about to become unnerved by his play on words.
"Now, now, Miss Granger, you need not worry -- I am as repulsed by you, as you are of me. This situation is unfortunate indeed. I am quite certain that you spent last night contemplating our conversation and am now prepared to accept this is, as our.. mmm", his voice was silky soft and slippery, "little secret?".
She gave him a quick nod. "Yes, professor Snape!"
"Good, now do you have any questions, or should I begin to explain how to take this potion"
"I have some questions for you professor, but first.."
She reached in to her bag pulling out a minimized plastic bag with some content. Putting it on the desk and tapping it with her wand so that it returned to its rightful size, she pushed it over to him.
"What is this?", he asked.
"Your clothes. I transfigured the outfit back in to your sheets again -- your socks and boxer shorts are all there, too!" she said curtly. He took the bag, a finger curling over the white plastic, a substance he was only faintly familiar with.
"Who is Marks and Spencer?" he asked, as he read the writing on the front of the bag.
"Owners of a muggle clothes shop"
"They want the bag back then."
"No, not at all. They give them away for free".
"ah"
He dropped the bag on the floor behind him, and they stared at each other -- it was awkward, both opening their mouth to speak, but neither knowing exactly what to say next.
"So, you had some questions", he reminded her.
"Oh, um, yes, I have a few"
"Well let us have it then. Come, come, I don't have all day". He had nearly said 'night'.
She drew in a deep breath, his attentive cold black stair unnerving her almost as much as the silence of the dungeon.
"I was told that somebody added some alcohol substance in the punch; is this, why we, uhm.." she couldn't say it, try as she might. She just didn't have it in her yet to look him in the eyes and accept their situation. She brought her attention to her lap and began to fiddle with the corner of her robe.
"Yes", he finally replied, and she watched him as he moved back at his feet -- the seventh year was the last class of the day which entitled him to finally get a drink. He opened one of the cabinets, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, his fingers curling over a half full bottle of vodka. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asked jesting.
Hermione stopped herself from saying no: she thought it over, and as far as she knew she regarded herself grown up -- she was certainly the most adult student in the school, she mused, and this was definitely an adult subject, so just for some shock value, she replied "yes, please", which caught the surprised look of the man with a confident one of her own.
'Alright then' he thought, noting the irony of serving alcohol, while discussing an issue that was the result of alcohol. He fished out two glasses, and filled them both half way up with the golden liquid. He knew the risk of serving somebody under-aged, but he was certain it could not be worse than bedding a student, and she was nearly eighteen years of age. He peered back at her -- wasn't she?
He handed her a glass with a faint grin to his lips, settling behind the desk. "Yes, somebody poured Vodka in the punch: some fourth years from my house - they have been disciplined. In fact I believe they are right now, collecting the rat cadavers after Filch lay out poisons last week."
She wanted to point out that people might find it a tad bit suspicious that he was punishing people of his own house for once, but felt that it would be an unwise move.
"I do not believe there is any evidence of our escapade, and you need not worry -- if anything does come up, I'll personally take care of it." He sipped his drink, noting that she was playing with hers, but not tasting it.
Twirling the glass about in her hands, she asked, "Professor, can I ask, what exactly do you remember from that night?"
He went silent, scrutinising her, and it was clear to her showing that he was not accustomed to this, an exchange of opinions. In most situations, he did the questioning, the student having the wits to answer but not to say much more; this was a different exercise for him, and he didn't like it. Yet he replied curtly, with just a hint of a sneer to his lips.
"Scarcely more then you, I am afraid. Simply feeling rather dizzy, and nauseous, heading in to the hallway before it all went black..."
She remembered Harry prompting her to ask him about his groin.. but suppressed the notion.
"At some point I must have encountered you in the stairs, what happens from there on, I would rather not think about!" he told her in a rapid tone, sipping his drink.
"What puzzles me, is our clothes."
"I can explain that professor!".
She hastily replied pulled out the library book from her bag, and lay it down before him.
He looked bewildered "A History of Horseradish?"
"Go on, open it.."
"I don't see how this.."
"Open it professor!"
He scowled at her; a professor taking instructions from a student?!?
"Please?"
Drawing the book over, he flipped it open, eyes settling on the plain white pair of cotton knickers, which lay nicely pressed between the pages. He cleared his throat, and said in a dry and silky voice,
"I fail to understand the significance of this!"
"They are mine!" she interrupted confidently
"well, that I gather"
"I mean, they are mine from the other night.. just look, they have my initials and everything.."
He made a faint sneer and shut the book, his long fingers fiddling over the cover.
"It is quite alright, Miss Granger. I'll take your word for it, but I still fail to understand what it has to do with a book on radishes!"
"It has nothing to do with the book, silly", she trailed off as sharp venomous eyes fell on her.
"Uhm, professor! I was in the library, when Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle came by; he said he had found this, and was asking all kinds of questions."
"Malfoy had this?" Snape gave the book cover a soft caress, seeming to be confused at how this new puzzle pieces fitted into the picture. "What exactly did Mr. Malfoy have to ask you?!"
"Well..", she shifted uncomfortable in her seat, eyes gliding across the ceiling. "He was wondering where I had gotten to last Saturday. Also, he was insinuating all sort of, uhm, things".
He leaned across the desk, his hands clasped about the book possessively, his eyes burrowing in to hers.
"Insinuating what, exactly?"
"That I have had a tryst of some sort"
"And he simply went up to you, waved this evidence in your face, and said this?"
She nodded softly, finding her throat sore and sipping her drink for the first time, wrinkling her nose at the strong flavour.
"Hmm, strange", he muttered, leaning back in his armchair, and long fingers clawing along his jaw; his attention dwelling in the mid air.
She allowed some time to pass, daring not at first to intrude as he seemed deep in thought, and wasn't one who appreciated interruption.
"Is something the matter professor?", she finally asked.
"Well, I simply find it hard to believe that, he just *gave* you these, with his formulated opinion, and with no hidden agenda."
"W.. what do you think he mean by it?"
"I am not certain. He is an overindulged and spoiled imbecile, but he is still a Slytherin, and that means he wouldn't simply throw all his cards on the table -- he has some aces up his sleeve.."
"I thought you liked Malfoy?", she stated bluntly before she could stop herself.
"What on earth makes you think I like anybody at all", he replied flatly. "I do business with his father".
She found herself temped to ask what business this was exactly, but took another sip from the whiskey instead, noticing how quickly the fluid did indeed affect her. She was as sober as ever, but felt a faint haze in the back of her cranium indicating that it wouldn't take much to tip the scale. But Snape? How much exactly would it make to have him feel even the faintest of disorientation?
Snape was situated opposite her, the deep wells that represented his pupils burying themselves into her young shape, as if trying to see past her flesh and bones -- attempting to read her mind perhaps? Ron swore that he possessed such powers.
Seated hunched, Hermione's arms wrapped about her shape as if in need of protection, her eyes focused on the whiskey, gazing into the crystal in a scrutinising manner. She had grown a fair bit, he noted; she wasn't the child that had been so blatantly over enthusiastic, waving her arm in the air in desperate need of attention and acknowledgment. He never humoured her like the rest of the teachers, and though she annoyed him (immensely) it was derived from other reasons than his annoyance for Potter.
Potter like his father never had to do more then limited efforts to gain world wide attention. They never worked for their fame, it was simply given to them on a golden plate and they took and spoiled it like a drunken teenage given a bottle of "Château La Mondotte Saint-Emilion" he thought quietly to himself.
Gritting his teeth and sipping his drink, he allowed his mind to roam, these few seconds that easily felt like hours.
Hermione was hard working and well educated, true, but far too prissy and full of herself for him to show any appreciation for her efforts. She might have had a faint respect for such treatment, if she hadn't joined the Potter club, and taken part in being a torn in his side. (Which she was once again)
"There is something else"
Her voice interrupted his train of thoughts, and his head came to a faint tilt. He observed Hermione making a hand gesture toward the book.
"Draco.. he told me where exactly he had found these"
He didn't like the way she was now staring at him, he just knew this was leading up to something unpleasant.
"He said he found them", she said, her cheeks flushed red, and added hastily, "In the owlery!", before she turned her attention to the floor.
"The Owlery?"
He couldn't help but grin at this.
"How in Marlins name did it end up there?"
"Well, I think he meant that we..."
She shifted her shoulders, and he could see her tugging lightly at her lower lip. Disgusting habit that.
"You don't imply.. no, we couldn't have.. how would we get back to my room? Marching down to the dungeon au naturel, would hardly have gone unnoticed!"
He had finished his glass and was now pouring himself another; she watched him, her mouth wide open in faint astonishment -- he truly lacked all tact on the subject.
"Shut your mouth girl, gasping at people is an incredibly rude habit!" he snapped, and she shut it, frowning his way, which he picked up on, but in turn didn't comment.
"Well! He didn't mention finding any other garments!" she replied, her tone a tad more bitter sounding then planned.
"I'll have a talk with him", he replied indifferently, corking his bottle and setting it aside. His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall.
"Is that all? I have things that need doing, so if there is nothing else you have to tell me.."
He stopped, and she shook her head, trying to remember if there was anything else.
"Good, now. The potion."
She was to take half of the contents before bedtime, as it had a tendency to make people dozy; if she began bleeding somewhere through the night or felt any form of pain in her lower regions (or the cervix, as he had put it), she was to report to him immediately. If not, she should just go about what she usually did in the morning, and take the last of it the next evening.
Simple, she thought, finding herself swallowing down the last of the whiskey with an embarrassingly distorted expression on her face.
"It would seem it wouldn't take too much to get you intoxicated.." he replied mockingly; she fired back with a controlled answer:
"Perhaps, but what surprises me is you. After all, what is watered out vodka to a man such as yourself?"
He cocked a brow, but couldn't answer. He had thought about it, but been unable to understand this part also, and he told her simply what he had told himself.
"I didn't eat much that day!"
In truth he had speculated that it might have been the gasses of some brewing he had done earlier, that with the effect of the alcohol could have.. but no, he was making excuses. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't about to think of it anymore, simply just to accept and let go.
"Well, I should head back now.."
She excused herself, moving back to her feet and stuffing the potion bottle and her books in to the bag.
"Yes. I'll have a talk with Malfoy, and if nothing goes wrong with the potion.. I think this is the last time we will have to mention any of this!"
She nodded curtly, pulling the bag up to her shoulder. He got up also, setting the whiskey bottle back in the cabinet, and shutting it before sweeping over to the exit, holding the door open for her.
She approached it hesitantly; something was stirring in the back of her mind: questions, suggestions, but something else as well, something rather new. She stopped before him, her brown eyes focusing on the aged face of the man.
"Professor.."
He made a faint head motion to indicate he was listening
"I just want to say thank you"
His brows came to a puzzled arch, but he said nothing
"Thank you for not humiliating me! I.. I just had to say that."
His nose wrinkled passively at her remark, and he replied flatly.
"I believe we have both been embarrassed sufficiently enough!"
The corner of her mouth twisted in a smile at that, and she suppressed a chuckle.
"Yes, Professor Snape."
She left out the door feeling strangely better, if it were possible, at their talk, vanishing up the stairs. Snape stood in the door, and when she was at a appropriate distance, he took a glance after her before shutting the door.
It could have been worse he mused, he could have awoke next to Lavender or Parvatil, or, Merlin forbid, Pansy Parkinson!. He gave a faint shudder; the last he would need was some whiny over-dramatic and hormonal teenage girl, bawling in his office threatening to tell every living thing about their night of disaster. Hermione might be a pain the arse he noted, returning to his desk, but she was mature and resourceful, occasionally. He picked up her empty glass of whiskey and grinned viciously to himself.
"Occasionally"
*******************
ann no aku: Hey, that is nifty to hear, I know my humour is very dark, and very personal so I wonder sometimes if people still catches the very subtle humour or of it has become Drama/angst. I am glad there are people out there who still find it amusing, I am having a laugh writing it *smiles*
Liesel: I made chapter 7 a few days after chapter 6 and I sent it off to my beta reader, assuming she got it. A week went by and she didn't reply back so I got curious of what had happened to it, then I found out that she had never gotten my email, so I sent it again, and she beta it the same day and I posted it. The idea was, shorter chapter, would make me update it more often.
And for Pride and Prejudice, yes, I added that sentence in purposely, and I planned to ask people if they could recognise where I had taken the quote from, but I was to happy to update the chapter to have time to write any notes at the bottom. What do you mean with My Fair lady?
Kerbi: You are not the only one to say that. I am glad you like it *smiles*
AppleJuiceMaster: Updating, updating *smiles* I have nothing bad to say about my very impressive beta reader that makes a really good job of it, but she does use a week to correct it, so wile I send her a new chapter about two days after last time I updated, she return it five to seven days later.
Bre: *blush*
Marston Chicklet: ho ho ho
Trixooo: Tadaa, it is here
The great sex god: Well, it is a Snape Hermione pairing, so don't worry *laughs* I just like to think that most men are capable of getting laid, if they really want to. I know a lot of people write Snape as this virgin, and some make good stories of it, interesting concept, but I like to think Snape capable of at least getting a one night stand when making the effort.
He is a sneaky Slythin after all
I got this wonderful email from Lionora, and I just want to say thank you for it really cheered me up. Sometimes I am not sure about my story and I feel like quitting and then I get lovely comments like hers, and I get all happy, and I smile all day, and I get really creative and starts writing like mad.
I know the story is running a bit dry right now, but something different and exciting is coming up, I just have to get through this little Passover stage, please don't give up on my story, something unexpected is coming, and a new storyline will appear.
I promise *smiles*