Title: Occult
Author: HazeLavender
Rating: Overall: NC-17 (for probable language, violence, and sensuality)
Category: Drama/Angst/Romance
Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. And whatever I might feel like throwing in.
Summary: Voldermort is rising but that seems to be the least of Hermione's and Snape's concerns. A realistic view of what a relationship between the two would entail, whilst in the midst of a war.
Archive: No, thank you. It's at my website: http://freewebs.com/midnight_spiral/
Feedback: Is always appreciated. Constructive criticism and flames are both welcomed equally.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything Harry Potter related. It's all Rowling's.
Notes: I've read the fifth book, thus if you haven't, I must warn you that some spoilers (major and minor) will be included as the tale progresses. Also I'd like to say that I'm keeping all the characters very true to themselves, so if you're looking for a lovable Snape (mine is dark) or a witless Hermione (mine is smart), than stop reading ... now. The minor characters of my story will also be realistic so if you're into that (I'm assuming most are), than please continue and enjoy!
Chapter One:
It's Not Possible
Hermione Granger was a huff of angry cumulus as she walked, purposely, through the Great Hall that evening, and sat, with an audible plop, next to Harry and Ron. She was steaming from the inside out and even though she hadn't wanted to, threw a nasty glance, with a creased forehead, over to the Head Table, or more precisely Headmaster Dumbledore.
Ron being interrupted from the task at hand -- enjoying a delectable meal -- frowned slightly at Harry before inquiring , "What's wrong with you, Hermione?" with an apprehensive, dolt look on his features.
Before answering, a few sharp daggers were thrown in Ron's direction, apparently deducing his intellectual capabilities and then, almost miraculously, the look of contempt scurried away from her angular features. "Oh, Ron," she almost sobbed, "I'm not Head Girl."
This awarded her with a sharp gasp from Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and a clanging, silver twinge as Ron's fork hit the table, almost as surprised as Ron's wide eyes.
"But -- but," Ron stammered. And then fell silent because he had lost himself in his thoughts of who could possibly be more qualified than Hogwarts own, personal walking library. After all she had been a prefect. What changed?
Hermione stole a glance at her two best friends and chewed her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the very same thing. She had gotten Outstanding on all her O.W.L's and was prepared to do the same justice to the upcoming N.E.W.T's and yet now, with her dejected spirit and wounded pride, she felt that would be close to impossible.
The only person at the table with a thoughtful expression was Harry, who while had his own worries, decided he had a duty to ease Hermione's suffering. After all, he always felt compelled to help others. "Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons. Remember when he didn't make me prefect during our fifth year," he ended softly.
She looked wild at that moment, even more so her hair and cinnamon eyes. "Yes, but Harry," she started irritably, "that was the sensible course of action ... this is just -- just...." She threw up her hands in defeat and inhaled deeply. "This is just not possible."
Ron, never being one for great tact, asked suddenly, "Well, let's have it -- who's the lucky prat to get a room all to herself?"
Hermione's lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed, while her body turned in the direction of the Slytherin Table. "Pansy Parkinson," each word was spat out like poison. With a final glare, Hermione turned back to her friends. "Who would pick her?" she asked incredulously.
"Oh, no," Ron said, ignoring Hermione's question. "A Slytherin?" He lopped his head into his hands.
Harry, however, was unfazed and seemed as if the great puzzle had been solved. "There. See, it makes sense."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked exasperated. Harry once again had that mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well," he began, "I reckon that they had to pick a Slytherin..." He held up a hand when Hermione tried to interrupt him. "... Because with Voldemort rising it makes sense to keep the Gryffindor's free," he finished with a figurative pat on the shoulder and a wide grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "For, Merlin's sake, Harry ... do you ever think about anything else?"
"What, like school?" Ron piped in.
"Yes, like school," Hermione chided softly. As always their antics were making her feel better and she supposed that what Harry said was plausible, though she still thought that she could handle bossing people around and fighting the Dark. Fancy that.
She sighed deeply and pushed a loose strand of light brown tangle behind her ear before filling her plate with as much food as it could hold, and staring unseeing at the shivering first years, waiting to be sorted.
This was going to be a long year....
Author: HazeLavender
Rating: Overall: NC-17 (for probable language, violence, and sensuality)
Category: Drama/Angst/Romance
Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. And whatever I might feel like throwing in.
Summary: Voldermort is rising but that seems to be the least of Hermione's and Snape's concerns. A realistic view of what a relationship between the two would entail, whilst in the midst of a war.
Archive: No, thank you. It's at my website: http://freewebs.com/midnight_spiral/
Feedback: Is always appreciated. Constructive criticism and flames are both welcomed equally.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything Harry Potter related. It's all Rowling's.
Notes: I've read the fifth book, thus if you haven't, I must warn you that some spoilers (major and minor) will be included as the tale progresses. Also I'd like to say that I'm keeping all the characters very true to themselves, so if you're looking for a lovable Snape (mine is dark) or a witless Hermione (mine is smart), than stop reading ... now. The minor characters of my story will also be realistic so if you're into that (I'm assuming most are), than please continue and enjoy!
Chapter One:
It's Not Possible
Hermione Granger was a huff of angry cumulus as she walked, purposely, through the Great Hall that evening, and sat, with an audible plop, next to Harry and Ron. She was steaming from the inside out and even though she hadn't wanted to, threw a nasty glance, with a creased forehead, over to the Head Table, or more precisely Headmaster Dumbledore.
Ron being interrupted from the task at hand -- enjoying a delectable meal -- frowned slightly at Harry before inquiring , "What's wrong with you, Hermione?" with an apprehensive, dolt look on his features.
Before answering, a few sharp daggers were thrown in Ron's direction, apparently deducing his intellectual capabilities and then, almost miraculously, the look of contempt scurried away from her angular features. "Oh, Ron," she almost sobbed, "I'm not Head Girl."
This awarded her with a sharp gasp from Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and a clanging, silver twinge as Ron's fork hit the table, almost as surprised as Ron's wide eyes.
"But -- but," Ron stammered. And then fell silent because he had lost himself in his thoughts of who could possibly be more qualified than Hogwarts own, personal walking library. After all she had been a prefect. What changed?
Hermione stole a glance at her two best friends and chewed her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the very same thing. She had gotten Outstanding on all her O.W.L's and was prepared to do the same justice to the upcoming N.E.W.T's and yet now, with her dejected spirit and wounded pride, she felt that would be close to impossible.
The only person at the table with a thoughtful expression was Harry, who while had his own worries, decided he had a duty to ease Hermione's suffering. After all, he always felt compelled to help others. "Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons. Remember when he didn't make me prefect during our fifth year," he ended softly.
She looked wild at that moment, even more so her hair and cinnamon eyes. "Yes, but Harry," she started irritably, "that was the sensible course of action ... this is just -- just...." She threw up her hands in defeat and inhaled deeply. "This is just not possible."
Ron, never being one for great tact, asked suddenly, "Well, let's have it -- who's the lucky prat to get a room all to herself?"
Hermione's lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed, while her body turned in the direction of the Slytherin Table. "Pansy Parkinson," each word was spat out like poison. With a final glare, Hermione turned back to her friends. "Who would pick her?" she asked incredulously.
"Oh, no," Ron said, ignoring Hermione's question. "A Slytherin?" He lopped his head into his hands.
Harry, however, was unfazed and seemed as if the great puzzle had been solved. "There. See, it makes sense."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked exasperated. Harry once again had that mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well," he began, "I reckon that they had to pick a Slytherin..." He held up a hand when Hermione tried to interrupt him. "... Because with Voldemort rising it makes sense to keep the Gryffindor's free," he finished with a figurative pat on the shoulder and a wide grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "For, Merlin's sake, Harry ... do you ever think about anything else?"
"What, like school?" Ron piped in.
"Yes, like school," Hermione chided softly. As always their antics were making her feel better and she supposed that what Harry said was plausible, though she still thought that she could handle bossing people around and fighting the Dark. Fancy that.
She sighed deeply and pushed a loose strand of light brown tangle behind her ear before filling her plate with as much food as it could hold, and staring unseeing at the shivering first years, waiting to be sorted.
This was going to be a long year....