Severus was used to disappointment in his life, which should have meant
that he would be able to cope with what Hermione referred to as a temporary
set-back. Unfortunately, Severus coping with disappointment tended to take
the form of pacing around his rooms shouting at people, and Hermione didn't
take being shouted at any better than anyone else.
"What do you mean it's only a temporary set-back?" he shouted. "There shouldn't have been any set-backs at all. You said that you had experience with these things, you said he'd be gone, you said you knew what you were doing, and look," he gestured sharply at his groin, "he's still here. Why should I believe you now."
Hermione pursed her lips in a manner very reminiscent of Minerva preparing to deliver a cutting retort, took a deep breath, and then made her reply. "It is only a temporary set-back you moron, although if you take that tone of voice to me again, I'm quite happy to make it permanent." She didn't quite achieve the same volume as Severus – although the difference was marginal – but she managed to snarl quite nicely all the same.
Severus drew himself up to his full height, and sneered magnificently, "I might find your protestations more convincing if Min hadn't informed me that your accent was terrible."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something equally cutting in reply, paused as she was struck by a thought, then simply said," Really?"
Severus disregarded her thoughtful tone, and continued to vent his displeasure. "Yes, really Miss Granger, or do you think that you are above making what can only be described as a tyro's error?"
"Sod off, Snape," she said, her voice utterly devoid of malice. "How do you expect me to know how to pronounce it; it is a dead language you know," she asked reasonably.
Severus was a little surprised to find that the argument appeared to be over; then he took in what she was saying. "You mean you don't know how to speak the language?" He sat down abruptly in his chair. "I'm going to be stuck like this forever?" he said brokenly.
"Don't be silly." Hermione was all brisk certainty. "The Ritual works for the Middle Kingdom princesses we tried it on; so it's simply a question of working out the semantic drift over a thousand years and correcting accordingly. It might take a couple of attempts, but I can assure you, Professor Snape, that Min will be ejected from your body."
He refused to be reassured. "It could take years to get it right, and in the meantime I'll have to put up with his comments about my technique, and your hair and the size of his quarters."
His brain caught up with his mouth and realised what he had said. How was he ever to get the girl into bed – assuming she was right about getting rid of Min – when he'd basically indicated that he had equipment that didn't measure up. There was a faint hint of colour on his cheeks as Hermione absently replied, "Well, he is used to Temple Complexes." She looked up, saw his embarrassed expression, and suddenly realised what he meant. "Oh."
Severus flinched as her gaze flicked to his groin then back to his face. "My dear Severus," she said, smiling warmly, "you have no worries on that score. From where I was sitting last night, you seemed to be more than adequately endowed. Min is just trying to wind you up."
*And she's just trying to make you feel better by laying on the flattery with a trowel. I thought she was supposed to be putty in your hands.*
'And it's working.' He smirked a little; he didn't think there was a man in the world who wouldn't be flattered by a comment like that. His warm glow wasn't dented by seeing Hermione smile indulgently at him and Min's sour comments. Even if Hermione was exaggerating to make him feel better – which was unlikely, after all, she was a Gryffindor and they weren't prone to lying and she'd assumed Min was talking about his rooms in the first place – then she was doing it because she liked him. On the whole, there wasn't a downside as far as he could see.
*Other than being wrapped round her pretty little finger.*
'There are worse fates,' Severus thought blandly; and there were. Anyway, without the added burden of Min he was fairly certain he could do some wrapping round fingers of his own. It would be a mutually finger-wrapping relationship.
"Well I'd better head off to the British Library and see if I can work out the correct pronunciation; I'll send you an Owl and keep you up to date. What are you going to do with yourself today?"
"Drown my sorrows?" he offered wryly.
She collected her things together, and then dropped a kiss on his forehead by way of farewell. "Well, don't forget to put your hangover potions out ready," she said. "I know what you boys are like!"
"Really, Hermione, I'm a mature man, not a teenager."
"In my experience, boys don't grow up, they just get older," she replied, and then closed the door behind her before he could think of a reply.
*Will you stop mooning after her; she's gone now. Now what were you saying about drowning your sorrows?*
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea.
After a couple of drinks he was feeling mellow; after several more he was feeling so mellow that, when Min suggested a *little outing to a hostelry* he didn't demur but stumbled off in search of his cloak and thence to Hogsmeade.
It was the pebble that started the avalanche.
Rosmerta was surprised to see him; he didn't usually drink in the daytime, and he certainly didn't drink to excess. She was even more surprised when he ordered a firewhiskey and a brandy - *a double* - for his friend. Who would have thought Severus Snape had a friend?
By the time she'd watch him sink both drinks she was moving from surprise into concern; you heard all sorts of rumours about the effects of Crucio on a person's mind. Perhaps Snape had finally snapped under the strain of teaching.
It was a very nervous Rosmerta that approached Severus to ask whether he wanted another drink.
"Just another firewhiskey, Rosmerta, thank you."
"Don't you want another one for you friend?" Something of her unease penetrated his stupor, and he realised that he had given rather too much away with his previous comment. It was time to recover his position before Rosmerta summoned the Aurors to take him to St Mungo's.
"Just the one this time Rosmerta, thanks. It doesn't look like my friend is going to turn up." He waved his empty glass at her. "If he does turn up, he can hardly blame me for drinking his whisky can he?"
She smiled, more than a little relieved that there was a rational explanation for at least some of Snape's behaviour, and poured him another drink.
*She's nice.*
'What?' asked Snape impatiently, too busy admiring the bottom of his glass and feeling sorry for himself to pay attention.
*I said, she's nice.*
"Oh. I suppose so. I've never really thought about her before."
*Well, maybe you should.*
There was no harm in looking, he supposed. After all, it was only looking, he and Hermione were hardly in a relationship as yet, and wouldn't be until he was rid of his interloper, and anyway she wouldn't find out about it.
That was the first rumbling of the avalanche, where the experienced mountaineer looks hard at the mountaintops and decides its time to head for safety.
Besides, she did have nice tits.
Rosmerta's initial relief at finding out that Snape wasn't going potty, was now overtaken by indignation. Snape was definitely looking at her chest, which was both uncalled for and more than a little creepy. She tugged her blouse a little higher, and shivered a little.
*I think she likes you.*
Snape didn't say anything to that; he thought that was so unlikely it wasn't worth replying to.
*No, really. Look at the way she keeps touching herself when she sees you looking at her. That's called grooming. Women do it to draw attention to their attributes, a bit like monkeys.*
'Why don't they have purple arses then?'
*That's baboons, not monkeys, you idiot.*
'Oh.'
When Rosmerta brought him his third drink, she made damned sure her blouse was covering as much of her body as possible. Professor Snape was making her feel uncomfortable, with his hot eyes running over her breasts like slugs that have seen a really attractive cabbage. If he said anything out of place, or made any move to touch, she'd hex him into the middle of next week regardless of the Order of Merlin (first class). War hero, or no hero, he wasn't going to make a pass at her without suffering the consequences.
*Look, she's doing it again.*
Severus peered blearily at Rosmerta. He wasn't used to drinking and he'd already consumed the equivalent of his average annual allowance; he was, to put it bluntly, pissed as a fart. He was therefore in no condition to notice the large mass of snow moving inexorably down the mountain and headed towards him.
"They are nice tits."
There was a brief, very crowded moment in which he thought, 'Oops, was that out loud,' and 'oh no, not again.' Then he was at the pointy end of a wand, wielded by an angry witch; there was a sudden flash of white, and then, nothing.
"What do you mean it's only a temporary set-back?" he shouted. "There shouldn't have been any set-backs at all. You said that you had experience with these things, you said he'd be gone, you said you knew what you were doing, and look," he gestured sharply at his groin, "he's still here. Why should I believe you now."
Hermione pursed her lips in a manner very reminiscent of Minerva preparing to deliver a cutting retort, took a deep breath, and then made her reply. "It is only a temporary set-back you moron, although if you take that tone of voice to me again, I'm quite happy to make it permanent." She didn't quite achieve the same volume as Severus – although the difference was marginal – but she managed to snarl quite nicely all the same.
Severus drew himself up to his full height, and sneered magnificently, "I might find your protestations more convincing if Min hadn't informed me that your accent was terrible."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something equally cutting in reply, paused as she was struck by a thought, then simply said," Really?"
Severus disregarded her thoughtful tone, and continued to vent his displeasure. "Yes, really Miss Granger, or do you think that you are above making what can only be described as a tyro's error?"
"Sod off, Snape," she said, her voice utterly devoid of malice. "How do you expect me to know how to pronounce it; it is a dead language you know," she asked reasonably.
Severus was a little surprised to find that the argument appeared to be over; then he took in what she was saying. "You mean you don't know how to speak the language?" He sat down abruptly in his chair. "I'm going to be stuck like this forever?" he said brokenly.
"Don't be silly." Hermione was all brisk certainty. "The Ritual works for the Middle Kingdom princesses we tried it on; so it's simply a question of working out the semantic drift over a thousand years and correcting accordingly. It might take a couple of attempts, but I can assure you, Professor Snape, that Min will be ejected from your body."
He refused to be reassured. "It could take years to get it right, and in the meantime I'll have to put up with his comments about my technique, and your hair and the size of his quarters."
His brain caught up with his mouth and realised what he had said. How was he ever to get the girl into bed – assuming she was right about getting rid of Min – when he'd basically indicated that he had equipment that didn't measure up. There was a faint hint of colour on his cheeks as Hermione absently replied, "Well, he is used to Temple Complexes." She looked up, saw his embarrassed expression, and suddenly realised what he meant. "Oh."
Severus flinched as her gaze flicked to his groin then back to his face. "My dear Severus," she said, smiling warmly, "you have no worries on that score. From where I was sitting last night, you seemed to be more than adequately endowed. Min is just trying to wind you up."
*And she's just trying to make you feel better by laying on the flattery with a trowel. I thought she was supposed to be putty in your hands.*
'And it's working.' He smirked a little; he didn't think there was a man in the world who wouldn't be flattered by a comment like that. His warm glow wasn't dented by seeing Hermione smile indulgently at him and Min's sour comments. Even if Hermione was exaggerating to make him feel better – which was unlikely, after all, she was a Gryffindor and they weren't prone to lying and she'd assumed Min was talking about his rooms in the first place – then she was doing it because she liked him. On the whole, there wasn't a downside as far as he could see.
*Other than being wrapped round her pretty little finger.*
'There are worse fates,' Severus thought blandly; and there were. Anyway, without the added burden of Min he was fairly certain he could do some wrapping round fingers of his own. It would be a mutually finger-wrapping relationship.
"Well I'd better head off to the British Library and see if I can work out the correct pronunciation; I'll send you an Owl and keep you up to date. What are you going to do with yourself today?"
"Drown my sorrows?" he offered wryly.
She collected her things together, and then dropped a kiss on his forehead by way of farewell. "Well, don't forget to put your hangover potions out ready," she said. "I know what you boys are like!"
"Really, Hermione, I'm a mature man, not a teenager."
"In my experience, boys don't grow up, they just get older," she replied, and then closed the door behind her before he could think of a reply.
*Will you stop mooning after her; she's gone now. Now what were you saying about drowning your sorrows?*
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea.
After a couple of drinks he was feeling mellow; after several more he was feeling so mellow that, when Min suggested a *little outing to a hostelry* he didn't demur but stumbled off in search of his cloak and thence to Hogsmeade.
It was the pebble that started the avalanche.
Rosmerta was surprised to see him; he didn't usually drink in the daytime, and he certainly didn't drink to excess. She was even more surprised when he ordered a firewhiskey and a brandy - *a double* - for his friend. Who would have thought Severus Snape had a friend?
By the time she'd watch him sink both drinks she was moving from surprise into concern; you heard all sorts of rumours about the effects of Crucio on a person's mind. Perhaps Snape had finally snapped under the strain of teaching.
It was a very nervous Rosmerta that approached Severus to ask whether he wanted another drink.
"Just another firewhiskey, Rosmerta, thank you."
"Don't you want another one for you friend?" Something of her unease penetrated his stupor, and he realised that he had given rather too much away with his previous comment. It was time to recover his position before Rosmerta summoned the Aurors to take him to St Mungo's.
"Just the one this time Rosmerta, thanks. It doesn't look like my friend is going to turn up." He waved his empty glass at her. "If he does turn up, he can hardly blame me for drinking his whisky can he?"
She smiled, more than a little relieved that there was a rational explanation for at least some of Snape's behaviour, and poured him another drink.
*She's nice.*
'What?' asked Snape impatiently, too busy admiring the bottom of his glass and feeling sorry for himself to pay attention.
*I said, she's nice.*
"Oh. I suppose so. I've never really thought about her before."
*Well, maybe you should.*
There was no harm in looking, he supposed. After all, it was only looking, he and Hermione were hardly in a relationship as yet, and wouldn't be until he was rid of his interloper, and anyway she wouldn't find out about it.
That was the first rumbling of the avalanche, where the experienced mountaineer looks hard at the mountaintops and decides its time to head for safety.
Besides, she did have nice tits.
Rosmerta's initial relief at finding out that Snape wasn't going potty, was now overtaken by indignation. Snape was definitely looking at her chest, which was both uncalled for and more than a little creepy. She tugged her blouse a little higher, and shivered a little.
*I think she likes you.*
Snape didn't say anything to that; he thought that was so unlikely it wasn't worth replying to.
*No, really. Look at the way she keeps touching herself when she sees you looking at her. That's called grooming. Women do it to draw attention to their attributes, a bit like monkeys.*
'Why don't they have purple arses then?'
*That's baboons, not monkeys, you idiot.*
'Oh.'
When Rosmerta brought him his third drink, she made damned sure her blouse was covering as much of her body as possible. Professor Snape was making her feel uncomfortable, with his hot eyes running over her breasts like slugs that have seen a really attractive cabbage. If he said anything out of place, or made any move to touch, she'd hex him into the middle of next week regardless of the Order of Merlin (first class). War hero, or no hero, he wasn't going to make a pass at her without suffering the consequences.
*Look, she's doing it again.*
Severus peered blearily at Rosmerta. He wasn't used to drinking and he'd already consumed the equivalent of his average annual allowance; he was, to put it bluntly, pissed as a fart. He was therefore in no condition to notice the large mass of snow moving inexorably down the mountain and headed towards him.
"They are nice tits."
There was a brief, very crowded moment in which he thought, 'Oops, was that out loud,' and 'oh no, not again.' Then he was at the pointy end of a wand, wielded by an angry witch; there was a sudden flash of white, and then, nothing.