Chpt13: Sketches from the Catwalk.
For a second time in less than two weeks, Hermione sat in her room, contemplating the previous night. When she tried to think about it, she didn't know whether she wanted to justify or condemn what had happened. She thought of Snape, and of everything that she had come to know about him. She thought of how gentle he could be, how. dare she say it. kind. Without knowing it, she sighed deeply, a small smile creeping onto her lips. The contrast between the two nights was an extensive one. She lifted herself out of the bed and strayed towards the window. It was a cold night, and the stars hung low in the sky, the moon vanishing behind the occasional wisp of cloud.
"Severus." she breathed into the wind, closing her eyes as she inhaled the night air.
What was it about this man? What was it about him that seemed to make her very being tingle at the thought of him? She had given her virginity to him.
The thought made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, to dance and rejoice that it had been him, and to curse herself for being so stupid as to fall for a teacher. To fall for a teacher. Is that what was happening? She pressed her hand into her gut, and felt the tight knot that had formed there. Hermione Granger was falling for a teacher, and he didn't even know who she was.
Moving away from the window, she glanced at the mirror. The ghostly form of a wispy teenage girl that looked back at her was, surely, not something that Snape would ever be able to even consider being attracted to. Self-mockingly, she stared into her own eyes, and whispered, "Mirror, mirror." she paused, "Is this who I really am?"
The mirror didn't reply. Obviously, what else had she expected? She had cast a silencing charm on that the very first day she had spent in that room, when it had refused to stop telling her what a mess her hair was.
Sighing, she ran a hand through the unruly mass of locks and shook her head. Hermione Granger. Head girl. Prefect. Academic genius. Role model and example to all. Infamous. Where did the words attractive, seductress and sensuous fit into all this? Unsolicited, the hazy tendrils of a verse crept through her mind. ~ If you had two tongues in you mouth, and lost the first one, the mother tongue, and could not really know the other, the foreign tongue. You could not use them both together even if you thought that way. ~ Her two tongues; her two different languages, her two identities. Where did she stand between them? How would her old life adjust to this New World? ~ You could not use them both together . ~ Maybe the first would be lost. Maybe her first tongue would rot. ~ Rot, rot and die in your mouth until you had to spit it out.~ She was already changed. She had already forgotten how it had been before, how she had felt. Surely she could not truly have hated him before. How she acted in Potions class? Was there ever a time when she had not worried about meeting his gaze for fear of blushing? Had there ever been a time when she had not fixed her eyes on the table in front of her, knowing the abandon that the deliberate sweeps of graceful fingers could cause? She sighed. Too much analysis is never healthy. She now felt more confused than ever, and above all, she could feel the steady drumming of a headache coming on. Back in bed, she smoothed the heavy sheets until they were rigidly pressed onto the bed, and sank into the pillows as a dull confusion settled over her mind and her dreams.
For a second time in less than two weeks, Hermione sat in her room, contemplating the previous night. When she tried to think about it, she didn't know whether she wanted to justify or condemn what had happened. She thought of Snape, and of everything that she had come to know about him. She thought of how gentle he could be, how. dare she say it. kind. Without knowing it, she sighed deeply, a small smile creeping onto her lips. The contrast between the two nights was an extensive one. She lifted herself out of the bed and strayed towards the window. It was a cold night, and the stars hung low in the sky, the moon vanishing behind the occasional wisp of cloud.
"Severus." she breathed into the wind, closing her eyes as she inhaled the night air.
What was it about this man? What was it about him that seemed to make her very being tingle at the thought of him? She had given her virginity to him.
The thought made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, to dance and rejoice that it had been him, and to curse herself for being so stupid as to fall for a teacher. To fall for a teacher. Is that what was happening? She pressed her hand into her gut, and felt the tight knot that had formed there. Hermione Granger was falling for a teacher, and he didn't even know who she was.
Moving away from the window, she glanced at the mirror. The ghostly form of a wispy teenage girl that looked back at her was, surely, not something that Snape would ever be able to even consider being attracted to. Self-mockingly, she stared into her own eyes, and whispered, "Mirror, mirror." she paused, "Is this who I really am?"
The mirror didn't reply. Obviously, what else had she expected? She had cast a silencing charm on that the very first day she had spent in that room, when it had refused to stop telling her what a mess her hair was.
Sighing, she ran a hand through the unruly mass of locks and shook her head. Hermione Granger. Head girl. Prefect. Academic genius. Role model and example to all. Infamous. Where did the words attractive, seductress and sensuous fit into all this? Unsolicited, the hazy tendrils of a verse crept through her mind. ~ If you had two tongues in you mouth, and lost the first one, the mother tongue, and could not really know the other, the foreign tongue. You could not use them both together even if you thought that way. ~ Her two tongues; her two different languages, her two identities. Where did she stand between them? How would her old life adjust to this New World? ~ You could not use them both together . ~ Maybe the first would be lost. Maybe her first tongue would rot. ~ Rot, rot and die in your mouth until you had to spit it out.~ She was already changed. She had already forgotten how it had been before, how she had felt. Surely she could not truly have hated him before. How she acted in Potions class? Was there ever a time when she had not worried about meeting his gaze for fear of blushing? Had there ever been a time when she had not fixed her eyes on the table in front of her, knowing the abandon that the deliberate sweeps of graceful fingers could cause? She sighed. Too much analysis is never healthy. She now felt more confused than ever, and above all, she could feel the steady drumming of a headache coming on. Back in bed, she smoothed the heavy sheets until they were rigidly pressed onto the bed, and sank into the pillows as a dull confusion settled over her mind and her dreams.