*A/n: See, I followed through and posted a chapter this weekend... its
early weekend too (aka not Sunday at midnight ^_^) I probably wont get the
next chapter up till next weekend, but we never know if Ill suddenly find
myself putting it up earlier. thanks to my 2 reviewers
theophania: yes in the future the past will be told :P
SkysTheLimit: I tend to agree with you, JKR is pretty crazy to want to hint at a Hermione and Ron relationship, and make all the rest of us deal with it.*
2. And leave in my wake, a trail of fear
Hermione was sitting across from the fire downstairs now. It was morning she supposed. Not much life for the morning, but there is never that much life here. Just the warm dry heat coming off from the darkening fire and a slow wrinkle of the newspaper of the man sitting in the hard backed chair. It looks like a school chair, made so you would have immaculate posture. But instead all the kids will lean back and fall asleep just in spite of the designers. Only Hermione never did that. Neither does this man, his back like a board, and face encompassed by the print of the newspaper.
And the bartender is glaring at Hermione as well. Maybe he found out she used all the water yesterday. Or maybe he just always looks like that. Or perhaps he always looks like that but he is still angry, only no one is able to tell because he never shows any emotion. Emotion beside anger that is. Though he is always angry. Because he is stuck in the hell hole. Or at least he is convinced it is one.
But Hermione loved it.
Though her tea was colder then the air around her, and though it tasted of rust, and though she was pretty sure the teabag had more dust then leaves in it she was fine. She was happy. She let out a smile at the bartender.
Hermione threw her tea into he fire and leaned back in the chair, content.
"Would you mind?" The cold voice came from behind the paper. Hermione shuddered at its harshness.
"Mind what?" Hermione replied just as cold. Playing the game. The daily profit reader was griping the sides of the paper with a firm hold. Why was he so damn angry? Some people just had too much uncontrolled rage. She didn't do anything to him. Basterd.
"You put out the god damned fire, and I would *appreciate* it if you would light a new one." The bartender was looking over at her now. She could almost imagine it was amused gaze. Like he was waiting to see what would happen. Maybe for some action. Only you would think down here fights would break out daily. Or perhaps he was just angry with them for disturbing the nice atmosphere of dreary.
Hermione shook her head and took a sharp intake of breath. Yes he certainly was a basterd, that reader of the daily profit. Probably believed every word out of the dumb thing. Like that Harry's death was a hoax. Honest to god it was almost as bad as the Quibbler. Only they had a better group of fiction writers so the plots weren't about aliens, but of the people who actually lived in this world, or at least used to. Because it is so much more realist if at one time you seen the person with your own eyes. Like her. Your twice as likely to believe Hermione Granger was hiding the aforementioned Harry Potter in a secret underground lair that used to be a place for the followers of Voldemort, then those no good punk aliens just holding him hostage.
Only she was the one hiding in the underground lair once owned by followers of Voldemort. And she was not going to start a fire for this son of a bitch.
Hermione took out her wand and muttering gave a swift tap to the air. In which the newspaper lit afire. And Hermione stood up and turned to her room marching off. Trying to pretend to be oblivious to the consistent swearing of down below.
"Ms. Granger this is an absolute infringement on the common courteously normal so-called human beings follow for the sake of avoiding these type of interactions!" And she knew that voice. She knew she knew that voice. That yell of absolute power. Like he owned the god damned world and need to use every single word to the full affect of making you feel inferior. Now who was it?
Ah yes, Severus mother fucking Snape.
She hid behind the door. She hid for dear life. She his because this was no random angry bystander. This was angry bystander Severus Snape. She could feel her heart banging inside her chest and her brain screaming at her. He was going to kill her. Slaughter and she would just be a bloodstain on the mattress for others to wonder what happened there. To wonder if they wanted to know what happened there.
She wouldn't have wanted to know herself.
Or she would think it was just some sexually explicit activity that caused it. And at that point he would make herself not think about it. Of course that wouldn't work, and she would have this ringing in her ears, but in all truth it was jut a remnant of the blood seeping out of her when he cracked her head open.
Of course Snape would probably do magical slaughter, which could be slightly less bloody. And the old potions master might even find a cunning way to catch her he off guard to drink some potion in which would cause a horribly slow and malicious death. No, she was never going to so much as sniff something offered by that man. And he was banging on the door now.
It was only slightly louder then her heart beat. It was more of a knock actually. A polite respectable knock.. Ah, he thought he would get her by something this easy was he? Son of a bitch though she was a brainless idiot. Well she will show him... or maybe she'll just wimp out.
"What is it you want" She yelled her back still to the door. As though expecting him to come bursting in.
"I would like a word." The snarl came. Hermione cringed at the voice, soft and plainly poisonous. Like the soft hiss of a snake. She sighed.
"I believe you are having one."
"A face to face word, Ms. Granger." Hermione turned around and opened the door to find his face five centimeters from her own.
"Yes?" Hermione managed to breathe out though every instinct she had in her was yelling for her to run. Run for the bloody fucking hills. You can find a safer place to hide from Ron. While you're at it make sure it's a place to hide from certain ex-professors. Hell, maybe her own goddamned coffin would be the best option here.
Of course then Ron would think he could see her in heaven. Or would that be hell?
"Am I forced to believe that you just set my current issue of the daily profit afire?" Severus questioned though knowing very well the answer he would get. Or would get to hear after a bit of time staring her in the eyes. Daring her to blink or shudder, or even breath a breath that he himself did not give her consent to breath.
"Yes" He didn't have to then, did he?
"I believe you owe me an apology and a replacement then?" Hermione imagined the apology. Yes that would work. Apologizing to him, yes, I'm sorry you pissed me off so very much. I'm sorry you're a complete and utter basterd. Oh yes and I'm sorry that after I've grown up I'm not liable to put up with this shit anymore because you have no control over me.
"I might" Hermione's mouth fell dry because this was all she could say. She was at his will. Yes it all would be a perfectly empowering thing to say. She could damn well say it to Ron. But somehow this was horribly different.
"Then will you?" Different as in the term she just saw her life flash before her eyes. Because "Will you", is a threat and he damn well knows it. It was a fucking open invitation to imagine of what damage he would cause your sorry pathetic self if you said no. Say no, was all her brain could tell her.
"In due time I am considering it."
Snape scoffed and looked at the girl in front of him. Okay, so he could never exactly look away from her since she was five centimeters away. He could feel her breath blowing on his face and it was rather a bit damper and strangled then the constant humidity around him. It made him want to throw up.
"Bitch"
Severus turned and walked to the next room over. Hermione glared and slammed her door. She had no idea what she was going to do next.
...
Hermione glared at her cracked reflection in the mirror. Why did she have to freak out so damn bad. She thought she figured out her damned self and then she has to go screw up her own angry self image by feeling that beat in the pit of her stomach. It refuses to go away. Even though it is over.
Stupid, dumb, retarded. She was tired of this all. Hermione traced the cracks radiating in the mirror. Willing the sharp edges to cut her. Cut her to stop this feeling of fear. Because she can feel angry about the pain. A sharp pain dragged along her ring finger. The blood began a steady drip. Hermione bit her lip and held back the whine she wanted to let out so badly
"Damn it" she whispered to herself, knowing perfectly well that this was her own making. Of course she hated the sight of her own blood. She cringed and held her finger applying the pressure to will it to stop. But it wasn't going to work like that. It just continued its humming pain feeling hot, now she shook her hand back and forth finally letting out the moan she been holding back.
Yes this only proved she was more of a wimp. Hermione moved to the bed and laying down face first into it. She knew the blood was now sinking into the bed. It was her blood on the bed. And it wasn't even Snape who killed her that caused this little puddle. Hermione bit her lip and caught her breath in her throat, and strangled a little sniff. Hermione eyes glazed over with tears that she didn't want nor need, and she blinked it away. Feeling her cheeks slightly damp.
But at least it wasn't full tears... or at least not till now.
Self-misery. The worst form of entertainment. Because you will always end up crying. Hermione knew this all too well. The pain is but too personal to ignore. And it will never end. There is no one you hate more then your self. And there is nothing you care about more then your self. And as much as the morally righteous try to deny it,
There is nothing more important.
theophania: yes in the future the past will be told :P
SkysTheLimit: I tend to agree with you, JKR is pretty crazy to want to hint at a Hermione and Ron relationship, and make all the rest of us deal with it.*
2. And leave in my wake, a trail of fear
Hermione was sitting across from the fire downstairs now. It was morning she supposed. Not much life for the morning, but there is never that much life here. Just the warm dry heat coming off from the darkening fire and a slow wrinkle of the newspaper of the man sitting in the hard backed chair. It looks like a school chair, made so you would have immaculate posture. But instead all the kids will lean back and fall asleep just in spite of the designers. Only Hermione never did that. Neither does this man, his back like a board, and face encompassed by the print of the newspaper.
And the bartender is glaring at Hermione as well. Maybe he found out she used all the water yesterday. Or maybe he just always looks like that. Or perhaps he always looks like that but he is still angry, only no one is able to tell because he never shows any emotion. Emotion beside anger that is. Though he is always angry. Because he is stuck in the hell hole. Or at least he is convinced it is one.
But Hermione loved it.
Though her tea was colder then the air around her, and though it tasted of rust, and though she was pretty sure the teabag had more dust then leaves in it she was fine. She was happy. She let out a smile at the bartender.
Hermione threw her tea into he fire and leaned back in the chair, content.
"Would you mind?" The cold voice came from behind the paper. Hermione shuddered at its harshness.
"Mind what?" Hermione replied just as cold. Playing the game. The daily profit reader was griping the sides of the paper with a firm hold. Why was he so damn angry? Some people just had too much uncontrolled rage. She didn't do anything to him. Basterd.
"You put out the god damned fire, and I would *appreciate* it if you would light a new one." The bartender was looking over at her now. She could almost imagine it was amused gaze. Like he was waiting to see what would happen. Maybe for some action. Only you would think down here fights would break out daily. Or perhaps he was just angry with them for disturbing the nice atmosphere of dreary.
Hermione shook her head and took a sharp intake of breath. Yes he certainly was a basterd, that reader of the daily profit. Probably believed every word out of the dumb thing. Like that Harry's death was a hoax. Honest to god it was almost as bad as the Quibbler. Only they had a better group of fiction writers so the plots weren't about aliens, but of the people who actually lived in this world, or at least used to. Because it is so much more realist if at one time you seen the person with your own eyes. Like her. Your twice as likely to believe Hermione Granger was hiding the aforementioned Harry Potter in a secret underground lair that used to be a place for the followers of Voldemort, then those no good punk aliens just holding him hostage.
Only she was the one hiding in the underground lair once owned by followers of Voldemort. And she was not going to start a fire for this son of a bitch.
Hermione took out her wand and muttering gave a swift tap to the air. In which the newspaper lit afire. And Hermione stood up and turned to her room marching off. Trying to pretend to be oblivious to the consistent swearing of down below.
"Ms. Granger this is an absolute infringement on the common courteously normal so-called human beings follow for the sake of avoiding these type of interactions!" And she knew that voice. She knew she knew that voice. That yell of absolute power. Like he owned the god damned world and need to use every single word to the full affect of making you feel inferior. Now who was it?
Ah yes, Severus mother fucking Snape.
She hid behind the door. She hid for dear life. She his because this was no random angry bystander. This was angry bystander Severus Snape. She could feel her heart banging inside her chest and her brain screaming at her. He was going to kill her. Slaughter and she would just be a bloodstain on the mattress for others to wonder what happened there. To wonder if they wanted to know what happened there.
She wouldn't have wanted to know herself.
Or she would think it was just some sexually explicit activity that caused it. And at that point he would make herself not think about it. Of course that wouldn't work, and she would have this ringing in her ears, but in all truth it was jut a remnant of the blood seeping out of her when he cracked her head open.
Of course Snape would probably do magical slaughter, which could be slightly less bloody. And the old potions master might even find a cunning way to catch her he off guard to drink some potion in which would cause a horribly slow and malicious death. No, she was never going to so much as sniff something offered by that man. And he was banging on the door now.
It was only slightly louder then her heart beat. It was more of a knock actually. A polite respectable knock.. Ah, he thought he would get her by something this easy was he? Son of a bitch though she was a brainless idiot. Well she will show him... or maybe she'll just wimp out.
"What is it you want" She yelled her back still to the door. As though expecting him to come bursting in.
"I would like a word." The snarl came. Hermione cringed at the voice, soft and plainly poisonous. Like the soft hiss of a snake. She sighed.
"I believe you are having one."
"A face to face word, Ms. Granger." Hermione turned around and opened the door to find his face five centimeters from her own.
"Yes?" Hermione managed to breathe out though every instinct she had in her was yelling for her to run. Run for the bloody fucking hills. You can find a safer place to hide from Ron. While you're at it make sure it's a place to hide from certain ex-professors. Hell, maybe her own goddamned coffin would be the best option here.
Of course then Ron would think he could see her in heaven. Or would that be hell?
"Am I forced to believe that you just set my current issue of the daily profit afire?" Severus questioned though knowing very well the answer he would get. Or would get to hear after a bit of time staring her in the eyes. Daring her to blink or shudder, or even breath a breath that he himself did not give her consent to breath.
"Yes" He didn't have to then, did he?
"I believe you owe me an apology and a replacement then?" Hermione imagined the apology. Yes that would work. Apologizing to him, yes, I'm sorry you pissed me off so very much. I'm sorry you're a complete and utter basterd. Oh yes and I'm sorry that after I've grown up I'm not liable to put up with this shit anymore because you have no control over me.
"I might" Hermione's mouth fell dry because this was all she could say. She was at his will. Yes it all would be a perfectly empowering thing to say. She could damn well say it to Ron. But somehow this was horribly different.
"Then will you?" Different as in the term she just saw her life flash before her eyes. Because "Will you", is a threat and he damn well knows it. It was a fucking open invitation to imagine of what damage he would cause your sorry pathetic self if you said no. Say no, was all her brain could tell her.
"In due time I am considering it."
Snape scoffed and looked at the girl in front of him. Okay, so he could never exactly look away from her since she was five centimeters away. He could feel her breath blowing on his face and it was rather a bit damper and strangled then the constant humidity around him. It made him want to throw up.
"Bitch"
Severus turned and walked to the next room over. Hermione glared and slammed her door. She had no idea what she was going to do next.
...
Hermione glared at her cracked reflection in the mirror. Why did she have to freak out so damn bad. She thought she figured out her damned self and then she has to go screw up her own angry self image by feeling that beat in the pit of her stomach. It refuses to go away. Even though it is over.
Stupid, dumb, retarded. She was tired of this all. Hermione traced the cracks radiating in the mirror. Willing the sharp edges to cut her. Cut her to stop this feeling of fear. Because she can feel angry about the pain. A sharp pain dragged along her ring finger. The blood began a steady drip. Hermione bit her lip and held back the whine she wanted to let out so badly
"Damn it" she whispered to herself, knowing perfectly well that this was her own making. Of course she hated the sight of her own blood. She cringed and held her finger applying the pressure to will it to stop. But it wasn't going to work like that. It just continued its humming pain feeling hot, now she shook her hand back and forth finally letting out the moan she been holding back.
Yes this only proved she was more of a wimp. Hermione moved to the bed and laying down face first into it. She knew the blood was now sinking into the bed. It was her blood on the bed. And it wasn't even Snape who killed her that caused this little puddle. Hermione bit her lip and caught her breath in her throat, and strangled a little sniff. Hermione eyes glazed over with tears that she didn't want nor need, and she blinked it away. Feeling her cheeks slightly damp.
But at least it wasn't full tears... or at least not till now.
Self-misery. The worst form of entertainment. Because you will always end up crying. Hermione knew this all too well. The pain is but too personal to ignore. And it will never end. There is no one you hate more then your self. And there is nothing you care about more then your self. And as much as the morally righteous try to deny it,
There is nothing more important.