Chpt11: Through the Secret Passageway.
The journey into the further parts of Hogsmeade was a short one, and soon, Hermione found herself standing behind Snape as he muttered "The bane of mankind" at the wall of a deserted alley, causing it to transform into the passageway that would lead them into Hogwarts.
Inside, the Duke and Duchess at the entrance looked up from their conversation.
"Oh, hello there!" the Duke smiled, spotting Hermione. "Feeling better?"
Not knowing what to say, Hermione merely blushed, and mumbled a quiet "Yes, thank-you", before following Snape down the path.
"What is this place?" she asked him, eagerly inspecting the many statues and paintings that watched them continue towards Snape's apartment. He replied with a look that clearly said "Don't ask questions", and a curt "Ignore them, they are merely ornaments." Taking the hint, Hermione nodded, and followed in silence. When they approached the two gargoyles, Snape swept to a stop, and said "La vie est mort."
Obviously, he had not changed the password since her last visit. Pushing the door, he held it open for her, a grim parody of etiquette. Uncertain, Hermione took a step forward, and looked back at him questioningly. He was impassive, and she stepped into the room. As soon as she was inside, he followed, closing the door, and slamming her into it. Gripping her throat tightly, he lowered his voice to a deadly tone that seemed to freeze her blood. "Now listen to me," he growled, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, or who you think you are pretending to be, but I tell you this, a man such myself does not take kindly to being messed around with."
Hermione squirmed against the wood, clawing desperately at his hand as she tried to release his grip. "I can't breathe!" she gasped, feeling his fist tighten.
"Then don't!" he shouted at her, his face twisted with fury. For a moment there was silence, before he released her and turned away.
Hermione sank to the floor, massaging her throat as she gasped to fill her lungs with air. After a while, she looked up, trying to locate the masses of black cloth that were Snape.
"I'm sorry." she implored, her bottom lip trembling. "I-I." He turned around to face her from the shadows, daring her to continue.
How do you explain to a person that you have spent half your life loathing with a sort of grudging respect, that every time you see them - no matter at what distance - you feel a dangerous spark of attraction flare within yourself? How do you explain the sensation of losing control to something that you didn't know you had within you? "I was scared." She began, kicking herself mentally as her voice broke, and she buried her head in her hands. Over the past week, she had promised herself that she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't acknowledge it, but now, in front of Snape, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally reciting phrases from Muggle films didn't seem to work.
She felt, rather than heard, his approach, and hastily wiping her eyes, she looked up. "You're not going to hex me, are you?" she asked weakly, and he looked down at her sympathetically.
Kneeling down on the floor beside her, Snape stared at her for a long moment.
"It is I who must apologise." He took a deep breath. "I am far too brusque."
Hermione could not repress a laugh. "I shouldn't expect any less. You are, after all, Professor Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are you not?" His mouth seemed to twist amusedly. "I am." A slight nod. "You're not so bad, though." Hermione said thoughtfully, earning a sincere look of surprise.
"I find that hard to believe, after I have almost succeeded in strangling to death you no more than ten minutes beforehand." Like Hermione, Snape had grown accustomed to having total control over his own being. Many years in the service of the Dark Lord had taught him to sustain his own feelings and thoughts, and following his return to the light, he had never felt that he would ever deserve to indulge his own pathetic wants or desires. Seeming to read his thoughts, Hermione said, "Everyone has a right to freak out every now and then.it's perfectly natural."
He eyed her wryly. "And when you.er.'freak out', do you attack the people around you?" Hermione smiled. "You wouldn't believe the number of times that I've bitten Harry and R-" she backtracked, "Harry and Rachel's heads off for some totally stupid reason."
Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione tried to cover up for her error.
"Harriet is a co-worker," she told him, secretly impressed at how easily she was making amends, "and Rachel Taylor is a friend." If Snape was suspicious, he didn't show it, as he simply nodded, and stood, taking her hand to pull her to her feet.
"Do you read, Miss Gates?" he inquired abruptly as she stood.
A huge smile spread itself across Hermione's face. "Do I ever!" "Perhaps you would be interested in one of my latest additions."
He guided her towards the side of the room where he had stood earlier, and guided her through a narrow door. Every wall was covered in book-filled shelves from the floor to the ceiling.
"Wow!" she gasped, her heart racing at the sight.
"Quite a splendid collection, wouldn't you agree?" He looked across at her, somewhat pompously, and waved her towards the central shelf.
Tentatively stepping forward, Hermione reached out towards the book that he had indicated, and pulled it out. "Mastering the Analysis of Hybrid Pursuits," she read aloud, glancing at him questioningly. "You mentioned that you were composing a study about differences between Wizard and Muggle behavioural patterns.I thought that this could come in useful to you."
Hermione smiled at the unexpected act of kindness from Snape, and thanked him, unable to suppress her grin. Directing her back towards the main room, Snape invited her to sit down as he poured her a glass of some liquor or another.
Looking around, Hermione located the only source of light in the room - the large hearth that flared and flickered, casting eerie shadows onto their faces. Remembering the enchanted ceiling, she glanced upwards. The sky was foggy and foreboding, although, thankfully, there was no sign of rain.
Snape returned, and offered her one of the glasses, whilst accommodating himself across from her with his own. They were silent for a moment, and Hermione sipped at her drink, its strong flavour burning the back of her throat as she gulped it down.
"So," she began, wondering how to lighten the mood, "Do you come here often?" Snape's expression remained impassive as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I live here." Feigning surprise, she continued. "Really?!"
Finally, his lips began to quirk, and he nodded. "Indeed, I do." He raised an eyebrow. "You?" "Oh, I'm just passing.but I simply had to visit this positively delightful little space!" "Fascinating, isn't it?" Hermione stood up, and walked towards the fireplace, jokingly swiping a finger over the mantelpiece and sniffing it. "There's not much that can be said about the cleaning though." Returning, she stopped behind Snape's chair, and squeezed his shoulders. "And you," she cooed, "the honourable host, how on earth do you do it?!" Snape tilted his head slightly to see her, and quickly replied "With a few well placed anti-ageing charms and a clone of myself to do all the work." Hermione paused, leaning over him to see his face. "Really?" "Of course not!" he laughed, sending chills down her spine. "Well, I think you do a good job, none the less." Once again, she kneaded at his shoulders, muttering something about how tense he was. "Alertness is imperative when you have a history like mine."
She pushed away his hair, working at his neck, and getting a perverse thrill out of the warmth of his skin. "Now, now," she teased, "you don't want to be labelled a nut-case like Alastor Moody just because you can't tell the difference between being alert and being paranoid." "Much as I hate to admit it, your logic is impeccable." Weaving her hands through his hair, Hermione continued to gently rub into his skin, moving forwards, across to his throat, sweeping cautiously over his chest, and back around to his shoulders. Seemingly oblivious to their jesting, the room had turned very serious. In truth, Hermione had spent the week refusing to acknowledge the number of times that she had replayed the whole of that night's events, and now, refusing to think of the consequences, she had quite literally taken things into her own hands. Stroking a finger down his cheek, she stepped around the chair, and sat on his lap, staring straight into his beetle black eyes.
"If you knew who I was," she whispered, tracing a light circle around his clavicle, "Do you think that you would care?" Snape reached down to his left arm, and pulled up his sleeve. "You don't have one of these. that's justification enough for me." Hermione stroked her lips over the mark, a mimic of the first night, and looked back at him. "Promise that you won't ask." He nodded, and she leaned forward to plant a hungry kiss on his lips.
The journey into the further parts of Hogsmeade was a short one, and soon, Hermione found herself standing behind Snape as he muttered "The bane of mankind" at the wall of a deserted alley, causing it to transform into the passageway that would lead them into Hogwarts.
Inside, the Duke and Duchess at the entrance looked up from their conversation.
"Oh, hello there!" the Duke smiled, spotting Hermione. "Feeling better?"
Not knowing what to say, Hermione merely blushed, and mumbled a quiet "Yes, thank-you", before following Snape down the path.
"What is this place?" she asked him, eagerly inspecting the many statues and paintings that watched them continue towards Snape's apartment. He replied with a look that clearly said "Don't ask questions", and a curt "Ignore them, they are merely ornaments." Taking the hint, Hermione nodded, and followed in silence. When they approached the two gargoyles, Snape swept to a stop, and said "La vie est mort."
Obviously, he had not changed the password since her last visit. Pushing the door, he held it open for her, a grim parody of etiquette. Uncertain, Hermione took a step forward, and looked back at him questioningly. He was impassive, and she stepped into the room. As soon as she was inside, he followed, closing the door, and slamming her into it. Gripping her throat tightly, he lowered his voice to a deadly tone that seemed to freeze her blood. "Now listen to me," he growled, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, or who you think you are pretending to be, but I tell you this, a man such myself does not take kindly to being messed around with."
Hermione squirmed against the wood, clawing desperately at his hand as she tried to release his grip. "I can't breathe!" she gasped, feeling his fist tighten.
"Then don't!" he shouted at her, his face twisted with fury. For a moment there was silence, before he released her and turned away.
Hermione sank to the floor, massaging her throat as she gasped to fill her lungs with air. After a while, she looked up, trying to locate the masses of black cloth that were Snape.
"I'm sorry." she implored, her bottom lip trembling. "I-I." He turned around to face her from the shadows, daring her to continue.
How do you explain to a person that you have spent half your life loathing with a sort of grudging respect, that every time you see them - no matter at what distance - you feel a dangerous spark of attraction flare within yourself? How do you explain the sensation of losing control to something that you didn't know you had within you? "I was scared." She began, kicking herself mentally as her voice broke, and she buried her head in her hands. Over the past week, she had promised herself that she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't acknowledge it, but now, in front of Snape, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally reciting phrases from Muggle films didn't seem to work.
She felt, rather than heard, his approach, and hastily wiping her eyes, she looked up. "You're not going to hex me, are you?" she asked weakly, and he looked down at her sympathetically.
Kneeling down on the floor beside her, Snape stared at her for a long moment.
"It is I who must apologise." He took a deep breath. "I am far too brusque."
Hermione could not repress a laugh. "I shouldn't expect any less. You are, after all, Professor Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are you not?" His mouth seemed to twist amusedly. "I am." A slight nod. "You're not so bad, though." Hermione said thoughtfully, earning a sincere look of surprise.
"I find that hard to believe, after I have almost succeeded in strangling to death you no more than ten minutes beforehand." Like Hermione, Snape had grown accustomed to having total control over his own being. Many years in the service of the Dark Lord had taught him to sustain his own feelings and thoughts, and following his return to the light, he had never felt that he would ever deserve to indulge his own pathetic wants or desires. Seeming to read his thoughts, Hermione said, "Everyone has a right to freak out every now and then.it's perfectly natural."
He eyed her wryly. "And when you.er.'freak out', do you attack the people around you?" Hermione smiled. "You wouldn't believe the number of times that I've bitten Harry and R-" she backtracked, "Harry and Rachel's heads off for some totally stupid reason."
Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione tried to cover up for her error.
"Harriet is a co-worker," she told him, secretly impressed at how easily she was making amends, "and Rachel Taylor is a friend." If Snape was suspicious, he didn't show it, as he simply nodded, and stood, taking her hand to pull her to her feet.
"Do you read, Miss Gates?" he inquired abruptly as she stood.
A huge smile spread itself across Hermione's face. "Do I ever!" "Perhaps you would be interested in one of my latest additions."
He guided her towards the side of the room where he had stood earlier, and guided her through a narrow door. Every wall was covered in book-filled shelves from the floor to the ceiling.
"Wow!" she gasped, her heart racing at the sight.
"Quite a splendid collection, wouldn't you agree?" He looked across at her, somewhat pompously, and waved her towards the central shelf.
Tentatively stepping forward, Hermione reached out towards the book that he had indicated, and pulled it out. "Mastering the Analysis of Hybrid Pursuits," she read aloud, glancing at him questioningly. "You mentioned that you were composing a study about differences between Wizard and Muggle behavioural patterns.I thought that this could come in useful to you."
Hermione smiled at the unexpected act of kindness from Snape, and thanked him, unable to suppress her grin. Directing her back towards the main room, Snape invited her to sit down as he poured her a glass of some liquor or another.
Looking around, Hermione located the only source of light in the room - the large hearth that flared and flickered, casting eerie shadows onto their faces. Remembering the enchanted ceiling, she glanced upwards. The sky was foggy and foreboding, although, thankfully, there was no sign of rain.
Snape returned, and offered her one of the glasses, whilst accommodating himself across from her with his own. They were silent for a moment, and Hermione sipped at her drink, its strong flavour burning the back of her throat as she gulped it down.
"So," she began, wondering how to lighten the mood, "Do you come here often?" Snape's expression remained impassive as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I live here." Feigning surprise, she continued. "Really?!"
Finally, his lips began to quirk, and he nodded. "Indeed, I do." He raised an eyebrow. "You?" "Oh, I'm just passing.but I simply had to visit this positively delightful little space!" "Fascinating, isn't it?" Hermione stood up, and walked towards the fireplace, jokingly swiping a finger over the mantelpiece and sniffing it. "There's not much that can be said about the cleaning though." Returning, she stopped behind Snape's chair, and squeezed his shoulders. "And you," she cooed, "the honourable host, how on earth do you do it?!" Snape tilted his head slightly to see her, and quickly replied "With a few well placed anti-ageing charms and a clone of myself to do all the work." Hermione paused, leaning over him to see his face. "Really?" "Of course not!" he laughed, sending chills down her spine. "Well, I think you do a good job, none the less." Once again, she kneaded at his shoulders, muttering something about how tense he was. "Alertness is imperative when you have a history like mine."
She pushed away his hair, working at his neck, and getting a perverse thrill out of the warmth of his skin. "Now, now," she teased, "you don't want to be labelled a nut-case like Alastor Moody just because you can't tell the difference between being alert and being paranoid." "Much as I hate to admit it, your logic is impeccable." Weaving her hands through his hair, Hermione continued to gently rub into his skin, moving forwards, across to his throat, sweeping cautiously over his chest, and back around to his shoulders. Seemingly oblivious to their jesting, the room had turned very serious. In truth, Hermione had spent the week refusing to acknowledge the number of times that she had replayed the whole of that night's events, and now, refusing to think of the consequences, she had quite literally taken things into her own hands. Stroking a finger down his cheek, she stepped around the chair, and sat on his lap, staring straight into his beetle black eyes.
"If you knew who I was," she whispered, tracing a light circle around his clavicle, "Do you think that you would care?" Snape reached down to his left arm, and pulled up his sleeve. "You don't have one of these. that's justification enough for me." Hermione stroked her lips over the mark, a mimic of the first night, and looked back at him. "Promise that you won't ask." He nodded, and she leaned forward to plant a hungry kiss on his lips.