A/N: Hey, guess what? I *still* don't actually own any of this except the
plot. Shame. Please forgive the creative license where the magical item
is concerned, I don't know if it's been mentioned before, and so I'm just
guessing.
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.
***
Two uneventful weeks passed, during which Hermione did her level best to forget what had gone on that evening. She kept herself deliberately busy, work was busy in any event with Christmas approaching and most evenings when she arrived home the only thing she was fit for was her bed and sleep. Her life began to slowly slip back into a semblance of what it had been before, and uneasy contentment settled around her like the snow that was blanketing the village on the morning of Christmas Eve.
Hermione was awake early, slipping from her bed and into a hot shower without opening the curtains and looking outside, so when she opened her front door just before eight o'clock in the morning she was surprised to see that the world had turned white overnight. The sky above her head was indigo blue, stars beginning to fade with the onset of the dawn, and the snow was as crisp beneath her booted feet as the morning air that she breathed.
It was only a short walk of fifteen minutes to the small tea shop where she worked, and Hermione was grateful for the warm interior of the kitchen as she let herself in through the back door. Everything was familiar to her here, she had been working in the same place since her move to the village all those years ago, and the environment was pleasant and easy. Waitressing was not a job which represented a huge challenge to her, but she loved it nonetheless, and it left her plenty of time to work on her correspondence degree in the evenings and at weekends. Many of her customers knew her by name, and she them, and she enjoyed the hustle and bustle when the small shop was full of happy people. As a waitress she was nothing special, and she possessed no exemplary talent, she could simply be 'Hermione'. It was an arrangement which suited her down to the ground, and she was in no hurry to change it.
She was kept busy all day by a steady stream of people who, having completed their Christmas shopping stopped by for a warming pot of tea or cup of coffee, but by four o'clock the village street outside was emptying of people and soon the shop would be closing until new year. Oddly, Hermione found herself dreading the week away from work, as she knew a week alone with her thoughts and memories would drive her to distraction. Christmas was a lonely time of year for her, and it had been ever since her time at Hogwarts had ended. She marked it in her own way, but found herself unable to feel the joy others seemed to experience, and unable to join in with the spirit of Christmas. Christmas day was a day to sleep away, waking in the evening to a small pile of presents and a glass of wine if she felt like it. There was no extravagant meal, no getting up at dawn because she could not sleep with the excitement for Hermione. If she was honest with herself, she would be glad when Christmas was over and the new year could begin.
She was alone in the shop and had her back to the door when she heard it swing open and thud shut behind what would probably be her last customer of the day.
"I'll be with you in just one minute," she called distractedly, and made a quick effort to tuck the curls of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ears and straighten her white shirt and black skirt. Turning around, her eyes searched the nearby tables, finally alighting upon the figure of a man sitting at the table furthest away from the door. Her breath caught in her throat and she approached the table cautiously, her eyes never leaving Severus Snape's face.
When she was standing in front of him, he looked up at her with mocking eyes.
"I did warn you that you would be seeing me again," he said, and if Hermione didn't know better, it was almost playful.
"What are you doing here?" She looked around anxiously. "You can't be here, professor!"
His mouth was a hard, straight line, all playfulness gone.
"Listen to me," he said in a low voice. "You are in great danger if you remain here."
"What?" She stared at him, horrified, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "That's impossible! Nobody knows that I'm here!"
He rose to his feet, one hand reaching out to grasp her wrist firmly. She did not resist.
"I must take you back to the cottage. Now. Please believe me, Hermione, staying here is not a risk that you are prepared to take. I cannot protect you while you remain in this place!"
His eyes bored into hers, leaving her in no doubt that he was speaking the truth. Freeing her wrist, she took two steps back from him, looking over her shoulder to the street outside. Nothing moved. Everything without had turned unnaturally still. Hermione made her decision.
"I must tell Mary that I have to leave . . . she won't mind . . . please stay here, she's in the kitchen."
Her farewells to her friend and boss were rushed, leaning the older woman visibly confused, but there was nothing that could be done. If Snape had demanded that they leave, it was time to leave. Pulling on her coat she swept back into the shop and found him waiting to leave. Opening the door, he ushered her out onto the snowy street and after a quick glance up and down it he was walking her in the direction of her cottage.
"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" She asked him in a low voice as they walked. He glanced sideways at her, shaking his head ever so slightly.
"Wait. I will tell you as soon as it is safe."
Hermione could not have predicted what was to happen next. Snape's head moved sharply off to his left, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat, pushing her firmly off to one side and into a dark, narrow alleyway between what were two of the smaller village streets. Strong hands pressed her into the wall where there was no light at all, and then he was pressed right up against her, using his coat to cover them both.
"Be silent!" He hissed into her ear, and Hermione was far too frightened to argue. He looked down at her, his face alive and intense, his body pressed against hers. She was at first uncomfortably aware of the warmth that was being generated where they touched, but as long minutes passed she gradually became grateful for it. The alleyway was dark and cold, and he was warm. Without realizing what it was she was doing, Hermione had lowered her head into his chest and put her arms around him in order to snuggle a little closer. He uttered what sounded like a little moan and held her close, lowering his face to her hair, his hands rubbing her back soothingly. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps crunching in the snow, but they were always distant, and always growing fainter. She had heard nothing for a long time when Snape finally decided that it was safe to move again.
The remainder of the walk back to the cottage was conducted almost at a run, but no further incidents took place to frighten Hermione further. She was visibly shaken as Snape closed and locked the door behind them, but still found her voice.
"Please tell me what is going on," she pleaded, leaning against the wall. In the dark, she could not see him, but could hear his harsh breathing.
"If I am correct," his voice floated to her from not so far away. "If I am correct, I have just saved both our lives. Now Miss Granger, where is your wand?"
Hermione froze, staring at the place where the voice had spoken from. A minute, and then two ticked past before her eyes adjusted sufficiently for her to be able to make him out. He was looking at her, and waiting patiently.
"I don't have a wand," she said quietly, looking down at her snow encrusted boots. She heard him sigh heavily.
"Do not lie to me. You have more to lose than your pride in this. I will ask you again. Where is your wand?"
"I don't have a . . ."
"Hermione!"
"Upstairs. In . . ." she looked at him, hesitated. "In my bedroom."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned miserably away from him and climbed the narrow, steep stairs that led to the first floor and a tiny hallway. She stopped here, and when Snape was standing behind her the small space seemed very claustrophobic. Ignoring this, and pushing open a pine door to her left, Hermione walked into her bedroom without looking back.
The small room, lit only by moonlight, contained only the things Hermione needed to survive and nothing more. The bed was a double, neatly made and covered by a duvet cover in a white waffled material. The curtains which hung at the low cottage window were in a heavy calico, designed to block out the light when required. Moving to a neat pine bedside table with a lamp sitting upon it, Hermione switched it on. Warm light filled the room. A pine chest of drawers and a tall pine wardrobe were the only other items of furniture in the room, and Hermione now approached the latter. Even on her tiptoes it was obvious that she had no hope of reaching any of the boxes carefully stacked on top of it, and so with an impatient growl he reached up for her. She pointed, almost timidly, to a narrow black box, underneath all of the others. Snape pulled it down and held out to her. They both looked down at the box. It was dusty, with seven years worth of dust to be exact, and battered around the edges. When he ran a finger across the top of the box to remove the dust, the word 'Ollivanders' could just about be made out underneath.
Hermione looked from the box to Snape, and then back to the box again. He stretched it out towards her and she shook her head. Holding her wand again meant something, she sensed. It would take her down a path she had promised herself she would never travel again. It would mean acknowledging once more what she really and truly was, and embracing her lost heritage.
She would not.
"I won't touch it," she whispered harshly.
"Why not?" He asked. She would not look at him.
"Please don't make me." Her voice was small.
She could feel his gaze on the top of her head, heavy and loaded with meaning, but he did not argue with her this time. Instead, pale white hands slid the lid of the box off and discarded it on top of the bed, which Hermione now sat heavily upon.
Her wand sat nestled amongst several folds of velvet, as shiny and well cared for as the day she had first bought it. As she watched, Snape lifted it out with gentle reverence and cradled it in his palms.
"Eleven inches," he muttered, almost to himself. "Rosewood and . . . ?"
Dark eyes met brown ones. Both blinked.
"Unicorn tail hair," she whispered.
"Take it," he insisted. "You might be needing it before the night is out."
"But I won't remember how . . ."
Too late. The wand was pushed into her open hands and Snape carefully closed her fingers over it. Instantly, Hermione felt a rush of warmth and light, identical to her experience the first time she had held it. Tears, a strange mixture of joy and despair, filled her eyes.
"Now," Severus Snape breathed. "Tell me you are not a witch, Hermione."
TBC . . .
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.
***
Two uneventful weeks passed, during which Hermione did her level best to forget what had gone on that evening. She kept herself deliberately busy, work was busy in any event with Christmas approaching and most evenings when she arrived home the only thing she was fit for was her bed and sleep. Her life began to slowly slip back into a semblance of what it had been before, and uneasy contentment settled around her like the snow that was blanketing the village on the morning of Christmas Eve.
Hermione was awake early, slipping from her bed and into a hot shower without opening the curtains and looking outside, so when she opened her front door just before eight o'clock in the morning she was surprised to see that the world had turned white overnight. The sky above her head was indigo blue, stars beginning to fade with the onset of the dawn, and the snow was as crisp beneath her booted feet as the morning air that she breathed.
It was only a short walk of fifteen minutes to the small tea shop where she worked, and Hermione was grateful for the warm interior of the kitchen as she let herself in through the back door. Everything was familiar to her here, she had been working in the same place since her move to the village all those years ago, and the environment was pleasant and easy. Waitressing was not a job which represented a huge challenge to her, but she loved it nonetheless, and it left her plenty of time to work on her correspondence degree in the evenings and at weekends. Many of her customers knew her by name, and she them, and she enjoyed the hustle and bustle when the small shop was full of happy people. As a waitress she was nothing special, and she possessed no exemplary talent, she could simply be 'Hermione'. It was an arrangement which suited her down to the ground, and she was in no hurry to change it.
She was kept busy all day by a steady stream of people who, having completed their Christmas shopping stopped by for a warming pot of tea or cup of coffee, but by four o'clock the village street outside was emptying of people and soon the shop would be closing until new year. Oddly, Hermione found herself dreading the week away from work, as she knew a week alone with her thoughts and memories would drive her to distraction. Christmas was a lonely time of year for her, and it had been ever since her time at Hogwarts had ended. She marked it in her own way, but found herself unable to feel the joy others seemed to experience, and unable to join in with the spirit of Christmas. Christmas day was a day to sleep away, waking in the evening to a small pile of presents and a glass of wine if she felt like it. There was no extravagant meal, no getting up at dawn because she could not sleep with the excitement for Hermione. If she was honest with herself, she would be glad when Christmas was over and the new year could begin.
She was alone in the shop and had her back to the door when she heard it swing open and thud shut behind what would probably be her last customer of the day.
"I'll be with you in just one minute," she called distractedly, and made a quick effort to tuck the curls of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ears and straighten her white shirt and black skirt. Turning around, her eyes searched the nearby tables, finally alighting upon the figure of a man sitting at the table furthest away from the door. Her breath caught in her throat and she approached the table cautiously, her eyes never leaving Severus Snape's face.
When she was standing in front of him, he looked up at her with mocking eyes.
"I did warn you that you would be seeing me again," he said, and if Hermione didn't know better, it was almost playful.
"What are you doing here?" She looked around anxiously. "You can't be here, professor!"
His mouth was a hard, straight line, all playfulness gone.
"Listen to me," he said in a low voice. "You are in great danger if you remain here."
"What?" She stared at him, horrified, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "That's impossible! Nobody knows that I'm here!"
He rose to his feet, one hand reaching out to grasp her wrist firmly. She did not resist.
"I must take you back to the cottage. Now. Please believe me, Hermione, staying here is not a risk that you are prepared to take. I cannot protect you while you remain in this place!"
His eyes bored into hers, leaving her in no doubt that he was speaking the truth. Freeing her wrist, she took two steps back from him, looking over her shoulder to the street outside. Nothing moved. Everything without had turned unnaturally still. Hermione made her decision.
"I must tell Mary that I have to leave . . . she won't mind . . . please stay here, she's in the kitchen."
Her farewells to her friend and boss were rushed, leaning the older woman visibly confused, but there was nothing that could be done. If Snape had demanded that they leave, it was time to leave. Pulling on her coat she swept back into the shop and found him waiting to leave. Opening the door, he ushered her out onto the snowy street and after a quick glance up and down it he was walking her in the direction of her cottage.
"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" She asked him in a low voice as they walked. He glanced sideways at her, shaking his head ever so slightly.
"Wait. I will tell you as soon as it is safe."
Hermione could not have predicted what was to happen next. Snape's head moved sharply off to his left, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat, pushing her firmly off to one side and into a dark, narrow alleyway between what were two of the smaller village streets. Strong hands pressed her into the wall where there was no light at all, and then he was pressed right up against her, using his coat to cover them both.
"Be silent!" He hissed into her ear, and Hermione was far too frightened to argue. He looked down at her, his face alive and intense, his body pressed against hers. She was at first uncomfortably aware of the warmth that was being generated where they touched, but as long minutes passed she gradually became grateful for it. The alleyway was dark and cold, and he was warm. Without realizing what it was she was doing, Hermione had lowered her head into his chest and put her arms around him in order to snuggle a little closer. He uttered what sounded like a little moan and held her close, lowering his face to her hair, his hands rubbing her back soothingly. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps crunching in the snow, but they were always distant, and always growing fainter. She had heard nothing for a long time when Snape finally decided that it was safe to move again.
The remainder of the walk back to the cottage was conducted almost at a run, but no further incidents took place to frighten Hermione further. She was visibly shaken as Snape closed and locked the door behind them, but still found her voice.
"Please tell me what is going on," she pleaded, leaning against the wall. In the dark, she could not see him, but could hear his harsh breathing.
"If I am correct," his voice floated to her from not so far away. "If I am correct, I have just saved both our lives. Now Miss Granger, where is your wand?"
Hermione froze, staring at the place where the voice had spoken from. A minute, and then two ticked past before her eyes adjusted sufficiently for her to be able to make him out. He was looking at her, and waiting patiently.
"I don't have a wand," she said quietly, looking down at her snow encrusted boots. She heard him sigh heavily.
"Do not lie to me. You have more to lose than your pride in this. I will ask you again. Where is your wand?"
"I don't have a . . ."
"Hermione!"
"Upstairs. In . . ." she looked at him, hesitated. "In my bedroom."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned miserably away from him and climbed the narrow, steep stairs that led to the first floor and a tiny hallway. She stopped here, and when Snape was standing behind her the small space seemed very claustrophobic. Ignoring this, and pushing open a pine door to her left, Hermione walked into her bedroom without looking back.
The small room, lit only by moonlight, contained only the things Hermione needed to survive and nothing more. The bed was a double, neatly made and covered by a duvet cover in a white waffled material. The curtains which hung at the low cottage window were in a heavy calico, designed to block out the light when required. Moving to a neat pine bedside table with a lamp sitting upon it, Hermione switched it on. Warm light filled the room. A pine chest of drawers and a tall pine wardrobe were the only other items of furniture in the room, and Hermione now approached the latter. Even on her tiptoes it was obvious that she had no hope of reaching any of the boxes carefully stacked on top of it, and so with an impatient growl he reached up for her. She pointed, almost timidly, to a narrow black box, underneath all of the others. Snape pulled it down and held out to her. They both looked down at the box. It was dusty, with seven years worth of dust to be exact, and battered around the edges. When he ran a finger across the top of the box to remove the dust, the word 'Ollivanders' could just about be made out underneath.
Hermione looked from the box to Snape, and then back to the box again. He stretched it out towards her and she shook her head. Holding her wand again meant something, she sensed. It would take her down a path she had promised herself she would never travel again. It would mean acknowledging once more what she really and truly was, and embracing her lost heritage.
She would not.
"I won't touch it," she whispered harshly.
"Why not?" He asked. She would not look at him.
"Please don't make me." Her voice was small.
She could feel his gaze on the top of her head, heavy and loaded with meaning, but he did not argue with her this time. Instead, pale white hands slid the lid of the box off and discarded it on top of the bed, which Hermione now sat heavily upon.
Her wand sat nestled amongst several folds of velvet, as shiny and well cared for as the day she had first bought it. As she watched, Snape lifted it out with gentle reverence and cradled it in his palms.
"Eleven inches," he muttered, almost to himself. "Rosewood and . . . ?"
Dark eyes met brown ones. Both blinked.
"Unicorn tail hair," she whispered.
"Take it," he insisted. "You might be needing it before the night is out."
"But I won't remember how . . ."
Too late. The wand was pushed into her open hands and Snape carefully closed her fingers over it. Instantly, Hermione felt a rush of warmth and light, identical to her experience the first time she had held it. Tears, a strange mixture of joy and despair, filled her eyes.
"Now," Severus Snape breathed. "Tell me you are not a witch, Hermione."
TBC . . .