Winter Wonderland
Little crystals of ice, like frozen tears, clung to her eyelashes as her large brown eyes fell to the ground, gazing at his boots as they crunched softly in the snow. It was cold but her breath was warm, floating across the bitter space and caressing his arm with the gentleness like that of doves' wings. His gloved hand reached out to her shoulder and he leaned closer, bending down to see her face…
Severus shook the image away, peering around his gardens for site of the troublesome girl in the whiteness. His traditional sneer was set in place, the stark gray sky making little contrast with his white face, with only two spots of pale pink below his eyes adding color to his otherwise dour character. The dark greens and silver, that somehow refused to remain metallic-looking and instead settled on a dull gray, did little to add cheer to his appearance.
He squinted, looking hesitantly through the gaps in the dying rose bushes and glancing up into the branches of the bare trees. The thorny ground, however, refused to thrust forward his young, annoying, headstrong charge, instead seeming to grow taller to hide her bushy hair from view. Snape's ears strained to listen for any signs of life, but all he could hear was his own heart beating and his own steady breathing. The sun was finally peeking through the heavy clouds, illuminating the thinning white flakes and brightening the snow-blanketed ground to the point of being blinding. He shielded his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. Where was the bloody chit when he needed to peg her with something?
"Hermione," he spat out through gritted teeth. "This kind of behavior is not to be toler-"
He was quickly interrupted when something cold, hard, and wet hit him squarely in the forehead. Bits of slush began to slide down his nose and he snorted from the shock, inhaling them up into his nostrils. He broke into a fit of coughing while trying to wipe the wetness from his forehead, unable to ignore the laughter from somewhere that he couldn't figure out. It was very likely than she was in front of him, right under his nose, to borrow the insulting expression, but she could have done anything to the snowball to make sure that it had hit him in the forehead…
With a deeper sneer, he swept away the rest of the slush with the back of his hand. "If you don't come out, you bloody annoyance, I promise that I will find you and hex you to pieces."
"And what will you do if I do come out?" Her voice echoed through the white emptiness.
"Most likely the very same," he answered honestly, not able to keep the growl out of his voice, and not really caring to.
"Then I might as well stay hidden. I love sonorous-"
"Quietus!" A stream from his wand grazed a rosebush next to a spindly oak tree. A tiny string of smoke lilted up into the air, quickly carried away on a chilly breeze.
"Not even close," she taunted him. Where did the girl learn to be so bold? Had he done something that made her feel that she could act like this around him? He certainly hadn't given her permission to. Plans began to form in his mind…maybe he could bind her ankles and make her clean cauldrons until her hands turned black and rough, in need of gentle treatment…
Hermione's thighs were beginning to ache, crouched down behind a hedge and leaning against the rough, unyielding wall next to the front door of the manor. Her face was rosy from the cold, her eyes gleaming mischievously, and not even caring to think what on earth she was doing. She had chucked a snowball smack into the forehead of the most feared Professor to ever walk the corridors at Hogwarts. If she had met her younger self, she was sure that she would have received a stinging smack across the face, but that Hermione, the sensible one, was currently not present. She felt like she had reverted back to the days long before that, when she had been young enough to appreciate the snow instead of loathing it for its burden of being inconvenient.
With a wicked grin, she plied snow together with her warm hands and levitated it above her with her wand. With a flick, it hurtled toward the back of Snape's head. Not losing a second, Snape spun around and caught it in an outstretched hand. The snowball shattered and spread around him, dusting his hair with white flakes.
Ron had always said that it seemed like Snape had eyes in the back of his head. Hermione no longer doubted it.
She let out a squeal and ducked down, wishing that she could Apparate to somewhere safer, and she heard his hurried footsteps rushing toward her. With an energy she never thought that he could have, he sprung over the hedge and landed squarely next to her, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a winded wheeze.
He groaned and rolled over onto his back, holding his stomach. His hair was covered in snow, giving him an aged appearance, and his frown lines were engraved even deeper into his forehead. Hermione had never seen him looking so hideous, but couldn't help allowing him a little grin as she looked down at him, shuffling away slightly.
"Don't over-exert yourself, old man."
"Bugger off," he wheezed, clutching the fabric of shirt tightly with softly gloved hands. "I am your professor; you have no right to speak to me in such a manner."
"I didn't force you to come out here," she said, standing and beginning to dust the snow off of her pants. She paused and tightened her scarf around her neck. "If I remember correctly, that was your own choice."
She began to walk away.
"So you're just going to bloody leave me here to die?"
"Yes," she answered with a note that was too cheerful. The door slammed shut behind her.
"Well, bugger you, then," Snape groaned, hefting himself painfully to a sitting position as he tried to catch his breath. He was beyond proper vocabulary, or anything that resembled acceptable words, at the moment. "Whoever taught you such manners?"
A begrudging, soft knock came from Hermione's floor. She sighed, staring determinedly at her book and pretending that she was paying attention. Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow, batting playfully at her bushy hair every so often, getting brave enough every once in a while to yank on it painfully so that Hermione would yowl and whack his paw away. Crookshanks settled back with a smug smile as Hermione said, "Who is it?"
"It is Beatrice, Mudblood. Beatrice has a letter for Miss Granger." Hermione could hear the house elf grinding her pointy teeth.
"Oh no…" she breathed. "Come in."
The door creaked open and the spiteful little house elf slipped in. What Hermione supposed were meant to be her eyebrows were lowered over her bulging eyes, the corners of her mouth turned down in a very Snape-like sneer.
"Did Miss Granger enjoy her supper?" she asked, shuffling hesitantly toward her, making irritating noises on the carpet.
"No, not particularly."
"Good." A letter in a pink envelope plopped onto Hermione's nightstand, slightly startling her. "Enjoy your Weazey."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You read my letter?"
Beatrice was plainly displaying false horror - her eyebrows furrowed and her bulging eyes open even wider (how that was possible, Hermione didn't know, but it was)- but the corners of her mouth were upturned slightly. "It was an accident, Miss Granger. The letter fell open and Beatrice accidentally read it."
Hermione frowned at the envelope, now able to discern little nail marks on the edges. "And accidentally sealed it, I see."
"Of course," Beatrice sniffed, turning to make her hasty exit. She spun back around, looking contemplative. "Beatrice might like Miss Granger if Miss Granger wasn't a stupid Mudblood."
"Well," Hermione replied with false sweetness. "I might like you if you weren't an insufferable, snot-nosed, cruel, and prejudiced house elf whose goal in life was to make me miserable."
Beatrice looked momentarily offended. "That is only one of the goals in Beatrice's life. Beatrice is not so stupid as to focus all of her attention on Miss Granger." With that, she turned on her tiny heels and left.
"House elves," Hermione muttered under her breath as she ran her finger underneath the flap of the envelope. "I might actually feel sorry for her if she wasn't sane."
With a pit of dread in her stomach, she could smell the overpowering scent of Ron's cologne coming from the letter as she opened it. Really, it was bad enough for Lavender and Parvati to do such things, but Ron? Not to mention that he didn't have the best taste in scents; whenever she hugged him, she couldn't get the stench of Quidditch Dreams (which smelled like a mixture of gasoline and freshly cut grass) out of her clothes for days. Crookshanks made a dissatisfied noise and crawled over to the other side of the bed, contenting himself by gazing out of the blank window.
Instead of unfolding the letter and preparing to open it, it unfurled by itself, immediately bursting out with Ron's deep, post-adolescent voice.
"Hey Hermione," he said. She could hear Italian opera music in the background, and started to wonder where he had come upon such a disgusting atrocity. "Ginny told me that she ran in to you…literally, knowing her…at Diagon Alley today. Before I continue, I just want you to know that I'm deeply sorry that you had to come in contact with such an annoying little-"
"Ron Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley's voice said from the distance, sounding frustrated but too busy to scold him properly. "You do not say such awful things about your sister!"
"I was only joking, Mum," Ron replied quietly, and Hermione could almost hear his shoulders slump down. She tried to fight off a smile but failed. "Anyway…where was I. Oh, yeah, I better keep this short, they charge by the second…
"Well, I'm just wondering how your summer is going and if you're ever going to contact me again. You know…" He was beginning to sound angry. "I haven't heard from you in a while, and you were rather distant those last weeks of school. Is something going on? Is there something that you need to tell us? Come on Hermione, we're best friends. There's no need for you to hide anything from us…" He stopped, and she heard him mutter a curse word under his breath. "Sorry, I should probably save my accusations for later, eh? Anyway…um…I was wondering when you're coming to the Burrow, you promised us you would stay, and I'm planning to hold you to that. It will be fun. George and Fred have decided to grace us with their presence for the summer, and Charlie tells me that he keeps having dreams about flesh-eating turnips that roam London by night. They like you loads, though, they'd probably help you out a bit, I think, even if you did get a little big-headed when you were a prefect."
What this supposed to be a letter in which he confessed his love for her? If it was, he wasn't doing a very good job.
"Erm…sorry, I'm tired. But Harry and Luna want to send their 'hello's, and please, Hermione, come soon. If I find Harry in Ginny's room again, I'm going to need someone to hold me back. And Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill are much worse. And Luna…well…she's Luna.
"Please come soon, Hermione. I'll be eagerly awaiting you.
"Love, Ron."
His letter was followed by an advertisement for Monsieur L'amour's Love-Grams for he had apparently gone twenty seconds over his limit. Afterwards, the envelope exploded into a shower of Quidditch Dreams-scented daisies and filled the room with the stench of Ron. The letter rolled up and nestled itself into Hermione's hand. She sighed. Crookshanks sneezed and let out an irritated meow.
"Looks as though some one has an admirer," the mirror said bitterly from Hermione's wall. "I suppose there is more to you than the hair."
"Thanks," Hermione replied with the same tone. "And he's never going to be an admirer, if he knows what's good for him."
"Ooh…I detect a hint of hostility."
"Congratulations."
The mirror let out a robust sigh as Hermione's image came into view, approaching it with hands outstretched. She flung herself at the mirror and grasped her hands tightly around the golden-gilded frame and let out a hefty grunt as she tried to tug it from the wall.
Her face was becoming red as she pulled on it with all her might, planting her feet on the wall to give herself more leverage. But the blasted thing wouldn't come off.
"Is everything in this bloody house against me?" Hermione complained, putting her feet back on the floor and giving a frustrated sigh of defeat.
The mirror chuckled. "Yes."
There was another knock at the door, and Hermione couldn't keep herself from sounding irritable. "What do you want?"
The door creaked open with a muted groan and a large, bulging eye squeezed through.
"Beatrice," Hermione said in a huff. "I would appreciate it if you just went-"
"Beatrice must not, Miss Granger," the house elf said, pushing it far enough open to allow her entrance into the room. "Beatrice must talk to Miss Granger, and it is a matter of life or death."
Thanks to: Joshua Glass (I don't think you want to know), Aindel S. Druida, Fou Fou (wow...it's amazing that people are advising people to read my stuff. What is the world coming to?), Anarane Anwamane, Zephyre (mmm...), Stellar Snape (aw, he's always charming), CassandraTheEvil (oh, it can get weird.), M'cha Araem, krisleigh, Luna Writer (would it be so cruel? I don't really think so. He's Snape :)), xmaverickf14x, Imhilien, mirandam, KnightsBallad, Ana Morales, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, MoonRunner2003, Bree Mcgregor, Sliver-Crow (um...39 blushes), kLyn (I was thinking of sicking a werewolf on them, but that would be too cliched. Also, I couldn't do that to Lupin).
You lots' friends are very kind people, and I have a feeling I disappointed you all with this chapter. Ah well, review anyway, if you please.