Mr. Snape and the Curse
"What is it?" Hermione asked, jumping to her feet. "Is something wrong? Did something happen? Is Harry okay?"
"Miss Granger must learn to shut up and listen to Beatrice," the house elf said, rushing forward and pushing Hermione back on the bed. Her little tea towel was in disarray, her ears flopping around comically. Her bulging eyes were still narrowed suspiciously.
"Well, it sounds awfully serious," Hermione said, trying to defend herself as she fell back onto the cushions, her hands folded anxiously in her lap. "Is someone in trouble?"
"Only Mr. Snape," Beatrice answered, rushing to shut the door. The mirror let out another sigh and then remained quiet. "It's bad, it's very bad…"
"Sorry," said Hermione, not feeling at all sorry. "But what are you talking about? I just saw him, and he didn't fall that hard. I didn't hurt him, did-"
"Probably. But that is not Beatrice's point." The house elf shuffled toward her with a very serious expression on her pointed face. Crookshanks growled at her and climbed up onto Hermione's pillow, burying his ginger head in the crack between the mattress and the bed frame. His tail swished irritably in the air, scattering orange hairs across the clean, white linen.
"Stupid beast," Beatrice muttered. "Makes everything dirty. Can't keep his hairs to himself."
"It's not like you clean in here."
"Miss Granger must shut her big mouth and listen to Beatrice," the house elf said stuffily, sniffing slightly.
Hermione frowned in irritation and settled back on the bed. "Did you lie to me? This doesn't at all seem very serious. And if it was, wouldn't you have already told me what's wrong? Come Beatrice, no telling fibs. What would the Master say?"
If possible, Beatrice's eyes grew even larger and her mouth rounded into an "O" shape. Her hands groped pleadingly at the bed skirt at Hermione's side, making the girl cringe.
"Oh no, Miss Granger, oh no. Beatrice never lies."
"But-"
"Mr. Snape is in trouble," she said, but instead of sounding panicked, she just sounded sulky.
"Yes, I believe we've gotten past that point."
"Shut up." She held out a knobby green hand to Hermione, whispering, "Miss Granger must swear that she won't tell him."
"Tell him what?" Hermione looked at the so-called hand as if it might sporadically explode.
"Must promise she won't tell Mr. Snape."
Hermione let out a drawn out sigh. Her muscle twitched as she lifted her arm suspiciously, wondering what on earth Beatrice wanted her to do with her hand. "Fine, I promise I won't tell him whatever you're going to tell me."
"Pinky-swear!"
"Excuse me?"
The elf hooked her stiff, odd-feeling pinky around Hermione's. Hermione cringed from the contact and a wince came over the ugly creature's face, temporarily distorting the features.
"Pinky-swear," Beatrice hissed, leaning so close to Hermione that she could smell the scent of deluded tea spilt on the elf's tea towel toga.
"All right, I pinky-swear," she replied with a slight roll of her eyes. As soon as the words escaped her lips, an odd, numbing shock traveled from the crook of her pinky to the tip of her tongue, lingering there before it faded away. Hermione just stared blankly at the elf, wondering what on earth had just happened.
An evil little smile swept under Beatrice's nose. "There," she said with resolution, wiping her hand across her toga as if the Muggle-born had soiled them. "Now Miss Granger cannot tell."
"That's not fair!" Hermione protested.
"Miss Granger pinky-sweared."
"Swore."
"Sweared," Beatrice said stubbornly, making it obvious that she would never lower herself enough to have her grammar corrected by someone that wasn't Pureblood. Or maybe she was just prejudiced against her because of her hair, like the bloody mirror. No, most likely the first reason.
Beatrice's face suddenly crinkled up in agony. "Oh, Beatrice should not be doing this, she should not-"
"What?" Hermione posed, her curiosity finally piqued. "Why shouldn't you be doing this?"
"Because!" The house elf leapt from the floor and began to pace across the room, casting longing looks at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the open nightstand drawer. "It is Master's secret. Master would not be happy if he found out, oh no…"
"So…" Hermione whispered reverently. "Is he…suicidal?"
Beatrice scoffed.
"So I suppose not then. Why don't you just tell me?"
The elf let out a high-pitched wail and Hermione cringed, slapping her hands over her ears. When the thing calmed down she removed them and, after a short pause, said, "So…"
"Master Snape is under a spell," Beatrice spat out, sounding on the verge of hyperventilating. She immediately bent forward and rammed her head into the nightstand with such force that she bounced off of it and fell to the floor, rubbing her hair with one eye closed to the pain.
"A spell?" Hermione felt the familiar thirst for knowledge tickling at the back of her mind. "What kind of spell?"
"Beatrice cannot tell Miss Granger. She must not."
"Then why are you telling me this at all?"
"Because!" Beatrice yelped as she bit forcefully down on her own finger. "Miss Granger must find someone that could love the Master in twenty-five days!"
There was a long, anxious pause. Hermione leaned forward, her attention rapt and her throat dry. She licked her lips, trying to hold back a disbelieving smile. "What?"
"The Master must find returned love by his fortieth birthday," Beatrice said with watery eyes and a great heave of a sigh.
Hermione's face remained open in shock. "Snape? Who could love Snape? Who could Snape love?"
"That's why Beatrice needs Miss Granger's help," she said. "Miss Granger must help Beatrice find her."
"Find whom?"
Beatrice shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Anyone."
"What happens if I don't?" Hermione posed with lifted brows. Crookshanks had grown bored of their bickering and had crawled onto Hermione's knees, transforming into an orange blob molding into the shape of Hermione's lap.
Beatrice looked as though she may be on the verge of tears, her great eyes swimming in them. She spoke with a shuddering gasp. "Well, Beatrice thinks…thinks that the Master might die."
"What?" Crookshanks hissed as he was rudely dumped to the floor and he dashed under her bed, tail twitching angrily.
"Beatrice thinks-"
"I heard you." Hermione gazed at the wall in blank wonder. "Who could do such a thing?"
The elf just shrugged again.
"Well, no wonder he's always been such a bastard. Must be difficult knowing you're not going to live past your fortieth birthday."
The elf looked distrustful and unsure of herself, glancing steadily at the floor. One eye was still closed and her left ear twitched back and forth. "So will Miss Granger help?" Beatrice asked hopefully, wringing her bony hands.
"It would be cruel of me not to…" Hermione eyed the elf suspiciously. She somehow, for some reason, thought that the creature might be a little…misinformed. If Snape was going to die by his fortieth birthday, wouldn't he be a bit more…eager to find a mate? He certainly wasn't doing himself any favors. Maybe he just didn't know how to be nice…
"Well…why not?"
"Beatrice thanks Miss Granger," Beatrice said, as if she had expecting her compliance, bobbing her head. "Yes. Now Miss Granger is a friend."
"Am I?"
Beatrice's closed eye twitched. "As long as she doesn't do anything stupid."
Well, Hermione thought as the elf shuffled away, pulling on her ears. At least I might finally get a decent meal.
Not so.
Hermione's new friend must have thought that, since she had divulged a "deep, dark secret" to her, she had to compensate by treating her worse than she had previously in Snape's presence.
Before Hermione's dinner appeared that night, she had been hoping for steak, fish, maybe even just a cheeseburger with a side of chips, but when the top of her plate came off, she let out a mournful sigh.
Beatrice hadn't even tried this time. Instead of giving the appearance of an actual edible dish, she had served a main course of dead leaves from the garden with a side salad of iron nails.
Hermione clamped the top down on the plate and it clanged noisily, ringing through the dining room. Snape looked up at her and raised an incredulous eyebrow.
"Oh, honestly," she huffed. "I thought you told them to start serving me real food?"
"I did," Snape answered, spooning through his chowder suspiciously. He had almost broken a tooth on a muffin earlier and was now being more careful with what he put in his mouth. "But they rarely listen to me unless my commands coincide with those of my mother."
"Your mother?" Hermione said in surprise. She was under the impression that the woman was dead.
Snape's mouth drew dangerously thin in a habit that he seemed to have picked up from McGonagall. "You would have thought that I'd have learned from the Black house, but sadly, her portrait hangs in this manor. You probably won't find it, the directions there are very complicated and hardly anyone ever comes upon it by chance."
"Your house is ruled by dead women." Hermione smirked. "How very appropriate."
"I'm not even going to pretend to understand you, Granger," he said, setting his spoon dismissively on the table. "And after your stunt today, I don't know why I haven't thrown you to the mercy of my guard troll…again. But yet I must ask whether you would care to go out to dinner rather than feast on something that could very easily kill you upon consumption. Or would you prefer a slow and painful death?"
They were going out? Snape didn't seem like the type that would enjoy the clamor of a busy restaurant. However, she was overwhelmed with a sense of extreme pity. Perhaps he could meet a woman there…
He just sat there, sneering at his soup, unaware of the smirk playing across Hermione's face and the evil plan hatching in her mind.
"Yes, Professor," she said finally, climbing to her feet and throwing her white linen napkin on the chair. "I would love to go out to eat."
"Good," he said, taking the napkin from his lap and placing it with a sigh next to his unfinished meal. "But don't expect me to pay."
"Since when would you even offer?" Hermione asked, biting her tongue before she turned and started to walk toward the door. He would pay, he wasn't that selfish. She didn't think. "All right, then I'll go change."
If the house elves kept doing this, Snape would either be broke or they would both starve to death by the end of the week.
By the time Hermione had come down from her room in a knee-length skirt and a sleeveless jumper, Snape stood in trousers and a button-down shirt - all in black, of course, with a wool jacket slipped over his shoulders that flattered his lean frame quite nicely. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck ("Muggles always insist that you keep your hair tidy," he had told her. "If I don't, they hand me scraps of leftover food and direct me to the nearest homeless shelter"), and Hermione couldn't keep herself from thinking that he looked rather dashing…for a man that was almost old enough to be her father. Or for a greasy man with bad teeth and that must suffer from a mild case of senility.
Good, she thought. Some chit at the restaurant must think that he's attractive.
"How do you feel about Italian?" he asked as they stood in front of the fireplace in the Reynold house, Floo Powder held tightly in their hands. The fire jumped quickly about in the fireplace, making Hermione sweat under her jumper. Wherever they were going, she hoped they were leaving soon.
"I love it," she said. "Pasta is one of my favorites."
He nodded stiffly. "Very well then." He flung his arm around Hermione's shoulder, shouted out something that she couldn't understand crushed against his side, and they stepped into the fireplace.
When they emerged, Hermione blushed as she bent to pick up her purse, feeling as though she had just had a very intimate encounter with him as they spun through fireplaces, and she was beginning to feel a bit sick. Snape just stood there with lowered eyebrows, apparently unflustered.
"You cannot handle Floo travel well, Granger?" Snape asked as he waited for her to gather her things, arms crossed stubbornly. "I never thought that spinning could be so very difficult. I suppose that you prefer to concoct the most difficult solution to every problem, and if it doesn't involve pain or effort, it cannot possibly be the correct way?"
At least I don't take the easy way out of every problem, like Slytherins do, thought Hermione, but she didn't answer and just shook her head, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder and shaking the dizziness away. She had never traveled in the Floo with another person before…she had never even thought that it was possible. Apparently, it was. But why people would want to travel that way, she had no clue. Especially with Snape…that had not been the most appealing experience to ever grace the surface of her life. At least she hadn't eaten yet, otherwise she would have felt inclined to lose her meal.
"How incredibly pessimistic," he sniffed, barely waiting for her long enough to leave the small parlor that they had landed in. The door closed quickly behind the passing of his dark frame, blackening out the promise of a beautiful outdoor restaurant with candlelight lining the walkways and faint music in a different language in the background. Wondering why there would be a Floo-accessible fireplace adjacent to a seemingly Muggle restaurant, she wandered quickly after him.
He surprised her by standing directly outside the door, so close that she almost ran into him when she pushed through. Instead of a startled grunt of surprise, he said in a hushed voice, "A favorite among…us and them. It was built to accommodate both."
"Where are we?" Hermione asked, looking around in self-contained awe. The place was so…romantic. It was like one of the places she stumbled into in her nightmares, when, in her sleep, Ron would take her there night after night and propose before dessert was served, proceeding to stick his tongue down her throat. It made her slightly uneasy, but knowing that Ron was most likely not present made her feel a bit better.
"London," Snape answered as a thin woman with short blond hair wearing a red bowtie and an apron moved toward them, menus in hand. He must have sensed her apprehension, but felt that it was for a different reason entirely. "Don't worry, we won't see any of my former or current…acquaintances here. Purebloods don't tend to frequent Muggle populated areas."
"But that's not what-"
"Two?" the waitress asked, gesturing to them with the menus. Snape nodded and the girl commanded for them to follow, a tiny smile on her lips. They followed her down the winding sidewalk, past couples holding hands and old friends bent over goblets of wine, until they reached an area somewhat secluded by flourishing plants and flooded with soft candlelight. A knot was forming in Hermione's stomach…everything was like it was in her dream…except it was Snape and not Ron. That, however, was not much better at all. Something just didn't feel right.
"Don't worry, Miss Granger," Snape said as soon as the waitress had left with the promise that she'd come back to take their orders soon. "I have about as much romantic interest in you as I do in a pair of Dumbledore's old socks. I simply enjoy the atmosphere here."
"I never thought…" Hermione said, trailing off as she looked around at her surroundings. Glancing up, she saw that the moon was just a thumbnail, but impossibly bright for being in the middle of London. The stars twinkled merrily as if they were being viewed from the countryside. "You never seemed like a person that would enjoy dining in the outdoors."
Snape made an indistinct grunt and looked the menu over, finger trailing down the wine list. Hermione took this opportunity to peer over the plants and look for any female in the vicinity, hoping that they could give her some ideas. She was on a mission that she must fulfill, and if she didn't take advantage of this setting, the opportunity might not come up again.
A woman was sitting alone at a table nearby, wearing a short red dress with dark hair piled elegantly on her head. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and seemed just the type that the Professor might find attractive.
She was just about to say something when a man came up to the woman's table and sat down. Their hands reached out to each other, displaying two matching bands of gold on the ring fingers of their left hands. Married. That wouldn't do, unless Snape was the type that didn't mind stealing other people's wives. But, from having known him for a fair share of her life, Hermione was quite certain that he was not.
"What do you want to drink, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, still glancing at his wine list. "Their red wines are particularly nice…you are eighteen, aren't you?"
"Yes," she answered, looking over the menu with disdain. She was no longer one that cared for alcohol. Bad things always seemed to happen when she drank…and not even when she drank that much. Ginny would always tease her for being horrible at holding her drink.
"I think I'll just have lemonade," she said hurriedly.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"
She nodded.
He let out a sigh and said, "As you wish."
The waitress returned and took their orders for drinks (Hermione could have sworn that the woman laughed when she asked for her soda), and Hermione decided to jump at the opportunity before her chance vanished.
"Do you think she's pretty?" she asked as soon as the waitress (who's nametag read "Amy") was out of sight.
Snape looked taken aback and let out a snort of surprise. If he had had his wine yet, Hermione would have bet that he would have choked on it. "Excuse me? Do I think who, exactly, is pretty?"
"Amy…"
He looked confused.
"The waitress."
"Oh." He tapped the table impatiently, looking at her with curious eyes. "Not particularly. I usually prefer darker hair to blond…" He glanced over in the direction of the bar where Amy was standing, preparing various drinks. "And she's too skinny. She looks as though she could impale herself on…herself. How on earth could a woman do that to herself? It can't be healthy."
"What about her?" Hermione posed, nodding at the married woman that she had been contemplating earlier.
"What about her? She doesn't seem to be anyone spectacular."
Hermione let out a frustrated groan. "What do you find attractive?"
"Frankly, Miss Granger," he snapped. "I do not think that that is any of your business."
"Fine, I'll tell you what I find attractive then," she replied, sitting high in her chair and pausing long enough for Amy to set her lemonade down in front of her plate. She was informed that her dish would be ready soon, as well would Snape's three-cheese ravioli. Hermione had tried hard not to laugh when he had ordered…he never struck her as a ravioli type of man. When he had seen her smile, he had an expression that mirrored that which he would have before he deducted points from Gryffindor. Quiet amusement mixed with strong disdain.
"Miss Granger…" he said, his tone suddenly taking on a tone of warning.
"I'm just making conversation," she sniffed. "No offense, Professor, but you are not exactly the easiest person to have a conversation with."
"Thank you," he said wryly, drinking deeply from his goblet of wine. "Fine, continue if you must. But I cannot promise that I will listen."
"I wouldn't even dream that you would." She said this with a slight roll of her eyes. She crept closer in her chair, leaning over her empty space and taking a breadstick, rolling it between her fingers. "Well, I prefer intelligence over looks. Though looks do hold some importance…I have to be attracted to them, otherwise it would just be like snogging a brother…do you understand?"
"Oh yes. Completely."
"You don't need to be sarcastic," she shot back. "But most of all, he has to respect me for who I am, and not force me to do what I don't want. One or two children would be nice, but not-" She shuddered. "Multitudes."
"The Weasleys?" he said blandly, looking as though he was either barely holding on to consciousness or trying to feign extreme boredom.
"Who else? But honestly, I don't like the fact that most men seem to think that the responsibility of repopulating the wizarding world lies solely on my shoulders."
"I see."
"He needs to respect my boundaries, and not try to change me." She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and took a bite out of her breadstick. "Because I don't like to be changed, unless I am willing to correct a fault. And that's not very common"
"Ah."
They fell silent and remained that way until dinner was served, and while they were eating, Hermione tried to pressure him more and more to see what he found attractive in a woman. But he wasn't answering and instead insisted that she not fowl up her delicious alfredo by badgering him and truly appreciate its unique taste. When the bill came, Hermione turned deep red as he asked Amy to divide it between them. Hermione was only thankful that she had brought her purse, but also angry that he had taken her to a rather expensive restaurant with no intent of paying for her meal.
As she was about to get up and walk back to the door marked "Boiler Room" (through which they had made their entrance), Snape spoke suddenly, halting her and sending her bum crashing back down on the seat cushion.
"Hermione…" His voice held the tone that she had been waiting for…he sounded as though he was ready to divulge a secret. Though she wouldn't know if it truly was his type of tone…he had never necessarily divulged a secret to her before. He had called her by her first name, though, that meant something good must be coming.
"Yes?" She was trying to act innocent, but the wavering sweetness in her voice was giving her away. He must have noticed that something was going on by now, something besides curiosity taking place…what was he thinking? The blank look on his dark face gave away nothing.
"I would appreciate it…" he murmured. He bent so close that Hermione could smell the wine on his breath, and she shivered with the whisper of his voice. This might have even been a sensual experience if he wasn't Severus Snape: feared, rude, callous, and appallingly slimy Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Yes…" Hermione prompted him, trying very hard to melt her voice into a purr, in hopes of egging him on.
Snape took another careful sip of wine, buying his time. "I would appreciate it," he said again. "If you would keep your nose the hell out of my business."
They returned home at ten o'clock, and Hermione yawned deeply as they walked through the entryway. Without a further word, Snape began to climb the stairs and begin to the assent to his room.
He suddenly stopped.
"To answer your question, Miss Granger…personally," he said from the landing, looking down at her above his hooked nose and from a contemplative countenance. Dark shadows softened the harsh lines of his face, sinking his eyes into deep black pools. "I prefer someone that doesn't try to change who I am, either." With that, he swept up the stairs and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Hermione to stare at the portraits, who gaped at her and quickly went back to their respective activities, muttering new gossip among themselves.
"Don't worry, dear," a particularly sleepy witch with a pinched face said from the nearest portrait, her eyelids drooping heavily over large pupils. "He never was one for 'good night's."
A/N: Sorry for the wait, at least this chapter is extra long. And before I get any questions about sodas/lemonades (if anyone was actually paying attention enough to notice), lemonade in Britain is the equivalent of Sierra Mist or Sprite. At least, that's what it was when I was there.
Thanks to: Satern Mya, Lana Manckir, Ana Morales, c[R]ud[E]dly, Snapegirl51606 (hopefully I'll have more time to, now, since school is over. But I'm leaving, so I can't make any promises), xmaverickf14x, Joshua Glass, wackoramaco87 (I think you'll just have to see...), Anarane Anwamane, Gin, Sara Lily Potter, CassandraTheEvil (If Beatrice is still whole and alive at the end of this fic, I will be more than happy to hand her over to my fans), Aindel S. Druida (yes...probably), angerfish, Katrina Stardust (Yes, I don't plan on following it exactly. I'm really starting to get off the typical path, now), Zephyre, pickles87, Ansem Snape (yes, he is, but I still love him), DeLiRiOuS aka CAPTAIN obvious, M'cha Araem, Fou Fou (respect? Maybe. A good meal? Probably not), Luna Writer, Stellar Snape, Zvezdana (erm...sorry), Akasha Ravensong (That was just Beatrice. Bulging eyes have many talents), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Kris Leigh, Anna K, TiffanyKozlowski , kLyn, snape81 (ball scene...hmm...).
Phew.