Disclaimer: as in other chapters.
Chapter Twenty
If Ailie was anticipating Snape's searching the two of them out, she was due to be disappointed. Sickened doubly by the images she had forced on his mind and by his own reaction to it, Snape had wrapped his bad mood around himself and remained in the dungeons all day, the relative darkness and draughty rooms a solace. The gossip of two hapless students early on in the day alerted him to the fact that the two girls had returned earlier than expected, and Snape duly made certain he was as far from the classroom as possible at the time Hermione was due to tutor her fifth years in the afternoon. The half-hour of crashing about in his private store-room served to soothe him somewhat, and only a few of the bottles were irreparably damaged.
Unfortunately, it was Hermione that sought him out, straight after her tutelage. He was startled to hear her quiet call as he exited his rooms on the way to his next class.
The glare he gave her should have warned her off, but, he had to admit, it hadn't been working lately. Still, she needn't have called him a malignant vampire bat, no matter what cold curses he had thrown at her. Luckily, they were on opposite sides of the room at the time, and his urge to wrap his hands around her neck was given sufficient time to be suppressed.
When she stormed out, Snape pulled out his wand and manoeuvred the parchments she had left off his desk and on to a nearby- high-placed- shelf. He couldn't explain to himself just why he didn't want to touch them.
***
Hermione sighed as she passed the window in her sitting room for the forty- seventh time. She hated pacing. She hated people who paced. Nevertheless, if there was a more efficient way to expel restless energy, no one had told her about it, and she needed some expulsion.
She resisted the urge to pull her hands through her hair and counted her steps instead. Not that she needed to; she knew they numbered exactly thirteen. Unless, of course, her legs had lengthened in the last half-hour. It was worth a try.
Damn him! Damn that arrogant, selfish, conceited, self-satisfied git of a man. Couldn't he force a civil word, just once? She hadn't even been able to tell him that she had a lead on a cure before he had snapped at her- she had had to leave her findings on his desk with a curt order that he should look at the damned things himself.
The trouble was, every time they fought she just wanted to... well, Hermione supposed, the most appropriate word was 'attack'. After their last encounter, she had a taste for it. Seeing him so angry at her, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, just made Hermione want to feel him pressed up against her again, to feel his teeth on her skin. The mere thought made her frustration even worse. Hermione stopped pacing with a sigh. There was no way she could conquer this feeling in her rooms. With a glance at the clock, she noted it was almost time for her to be leaving anyway; she was due in the dungeons in twenty minutes. She bit her lip. Gods, what on earth had caused her to approach Snape after dinner with the suggestion that they begin the potion this evening? Probably the need for him to recognise that she had even provided him with the information.
Resisting the urge to sigh, Hermione donned her cloak and headed for the door. She would approach Snape's lair by the most circuitous route possible; outside, around the castle, and then in a side door.
The mechanics of exiting the castle out of curfew occupied her mind sufficiently for a few minutes. Out in the crisp night air, Hermione breathed deeply, hoping the frigid air would do something for her overheated senses. Everything seemed too significant today; it was one of those days when every breeze, every glow of the sun had made her body bloom and shiver. Damn it.
She had tried. She really had. The previous evening, Hermione had dressed herself up with the resolve that she was going to enjoy herself, but secretly, she knew, she had wanted an opportunity to rid herself of all the feelings and thoughts prompted by her last encounter with Snape.
It hadn't worked. Meeting Milton had given her precisely the opportunity she had been subconsciously looking for, though she hadn't planned it that way. When it became clear that the man wanted to kiss her, Hermione had rejoiced, enjoying the feeling of being wanted. The problem was, she hadn't wanted. Milton's kisses were pleasant and his embraces enjoyable, but no more could be said of it.
When Milton had finally had to leave, she had waved him goodbye with complete though slightly inebriated calm, and turned her attention to others. During the next three hours, Hermione had learnt how the manipulation of her body could arouse the male of the species. Not the grotesque gyrations some of the other girls in the club performed, cheaply offering their bodies up for whatever observation happened to come their way; Hermione couldn't imagine performing that way under any other influence than the Imperius curse. No, she simply learnt that a graceful shift of hips here, and gesture with an arm there could be both sensual and appetising. Hermione had learnt what it was to entice.
The down side of this was in her unguarded dreams, Hermione's awakened senses were enticed in turn. Thankfully, her dreams hadn't been as lucid as the one induced under Snape's potion, but they had been a lot more daring. Hermione blushed just thinking about them. The fact that half of them were shrouded in sleep was little help; what she could remember was enough to turn her cheeks beet red and make her breath come quicker.
She looked up at the sky in frustration. Walking was not helping at all; it was giving her too much time to think. Clenching her hands into fists, Hermione turned toward the castle. It was about time she turned up at the dungeons anyway.
She hesitated before the black wood of the door to Snape's classroom. Part of her felt like running away, but that didn't disturb her half as much as the part of her that was looking forward to another good fight with him. Not one of the boys at the club last night had excited her as much as slapping Snape had. She had to face it- that whole interlude had been so full of tension that her pulse rate picked up just thinking about it.
Biting back a growl of self-derision, Hermione raised her fist and knocked once, opening the door without an invitation and striding into the room. Her quick entry earnt her a scowl from the darkly-clad man within.
'Miss Granger,' he said, his voice low. 'On time for once, I see.'
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at his deliberate jibe. She refused to rise to his bait; her thoughts disturbed her enough without yet another fight. With a few curt words, they sorted out between them who was to prepare which ingredients, and Hermione gratefully set to work. Unfortunately, the task was too simple, leaving time for her overactive mind to wander.
Slowly, her thoughts drifted along the track of the previous evening. For the first time she had really gone out and fraternised with those her own age, it hadn't been that bad. In fact, she was tempted to regard it as a success. She hadn't done anything to embarrass herself, hadn't alienated people with the first two words out of her mouth, hadn't stumbled over her own feet while dancing. On the contrary.
A small smile crept over Hermione's face at the memory. She remembered the feeling of power she had in that nightclub. She hadn't been simple, little Hermione there; no, by the end of the evening she had felt the complete power a woman could have over a man. She had felt as though she had the power within her to make a man fall to his knees; it was a heady feeling. That what she wanted Snape to feel- she wanted to make him fall on his knees before her and beg for... well, she wasn't sure what she wanted him to beg for, but begging would be a start. The mental picture of Snape on his knees, hands clasped before him and a pleading expression on his face made her chuckle, drawing Snape's glare.
'Is there a problem, Miss Granger?'
Hermione shook her head, instantly calming. She was delusional, that had to be it; maybe she was even still drunk from the night before. She brushed off her hands stepped forward. 'How are things going?'
Snape sneered at her derisively, reaching around to gather up the ingredients she had prepared. 'You would know if you were paying attention. I am uncertain of the reason you felt the need to be here if you simply plan to stare into space. Potions, I may remind you, require constant attention.'
Hermione glared at him. He actually had the nerve to lecture her after she had done so much research for this cure. Though she had made a silent promise to herself not to argue with the man, Hermione felt a slow anger building in her chest. His continual refusal to acknowledge her skill was beyond bearing. Already irked at her own idiotic musings about him, Hermione let her anger flow.
'The reason I feel the need to be here,' she said, her voice low, 'is because I have been trying to save your a-' Not wanting to think about that particular part of the anatomy, she substituted, 'Bacon. You may not remember, but it was I who managed to find this particular cure. And I feel free to stare off into space because I am tired after several days of research, and have faith that you, this school's Potions Master, are able to make the potion by yourself.'
Snape crossed his arms. 'If you feel so incapable of doing actual work, I again question your need to be here?'
'Oh-' Hermione clenched her teeth together, unwilling to lose control in front of Snape again. It would only please him. Besides, she didn't really have a reason to be there, beside curiosity, and everyone knew about that proverbial cat.
She took a deep breath, ignoring the way Snape's eyes travelled over her. 'I wanted to be here,' she replied, 'because I wanted to see the potion work. And I don't recall you giving me any reason why my presence would bother you.' There, she thought. Answer that one.
Snape looked away briefly, and Hermione felt a brief moment of triumph, but it was quashed when he looked back at her.
'I assumed that a supposed adult would be capable of observing the makings of a potion, or perhaps even assisting, without causing interruption. Of course, I should have known that this was a high hope,' he said.
Hermione gasped. 'That's an old one, Snape. Can't you think of any new insults? When will you realise I am no child!'
Snape smiled nastily. 'When you cease to behave like one.'
'If we're to judge on behaviour, Severus, then you and I would be pretty well on par,' Hermione said, her cheeks aflame with indignation. 'I've given you no reason for your impolite behaviour- no, not just impolite, you've been downright uncivil and ungentlemanly! I know you're usually a grumpy, ogre of a man, but with me your innate nastiness seems to find new levels.' An idea dawned on her, and her eyes widened. 'You can't handle it that I found a cure for you and Ailie when you couldn't...'
Snape's expression darkened. 'I would hardly think so. That such a blatant amateur as yourself could have advantage over my experience is laughable. You couldn't even manage your year six potions final-'
'-no, Neville couldn't manage, and you took points off us both-'
'-and managed to bungle a very simple healing potion for your final assignment-'
'Only because Goyle threw a dungbomb spell into it at the last moment, not that you noticed, you never noticed anything your precious Slytherins-'
'-and frankly couldn't make a transformio potion to save your life!'
'That's a blatant lie!' Hermione yelled, stepping closer. 'You know that. I got the highest grade in my potions class, aside from Draco Malfoy, and you know you only gave it to him because he was Slytherin! I dare you to say that I don't know potions again. I dare you.' Knowing better than to approach any further, Hermione put her hands on her hips. 'You call me a child and then recount tales of my school days, holding things against me that were out of my control. Hell, when I was in school you acted far more childish than I ever have!' Snape opened his mouth to speak, his expression furious, but Hermione cut him off. 'No. You're wrong, you've always been wrong, and I just can't believe I ever-' she cut herself off before she could say anything further. 'Well, if I'm so bad at potions,' she said, leaning over the table, 'then I guess nothing will happen when I do this-' Hermione grabbed a vial full of langdria weed and poured it into the bubbling cauldron before Snape could do anything to prevent her. With a nod goodbye, she turned and walked to the door.
'Miss Granger!' Snape called furiously after her, but Hermione ignored him.
'And as I'm so bloody useless at potions I wouldn't know that a pinch of boomslang skin will nullify the itching fumes,' she yelled over her shoulder. 'But you're so damned intelligent I'm certain you'll figure it out for yourself!' Fuming, she stomped up the stairs to the main hall.
A/N: Okay, sorry this is such a short chapter. Things have just sort of got on top of me lately and I've just been too tired to write (most of you know the feeling). Luckily, holidays are almost here, I've finished the last issue of my magazine that I'll EVER edit, and I plan to spend three months solid writing.
My last note before I leave you to it is something quite sad and depressing, so ignore this paragraph if you want to. Someone at my uni yesterday went nuts in his class and shot two people dead and injured five others. I know this has been happening to lots of people, everywhere, for a while, but it has not really happened in Australia and it's just. unbelievable at the moment. I had all my family calling me yesterday to make sure I wasn't dead. Anyway, I felt the need to mark the occasion and send out a message of condolence to any other Monash students who happen to be out there feeling shaken, and indeed everyone who has had something like this happen to them in recent years. This planet really does seem to be becoming a war zone.
The next chapter will be much more interesting, I promise, and hopefully a lot longer.
Chapter Twenty
If Ailie was anticipating Snape's searching the two of them out, she was due to be disappointed. Sickened doubly by the images she had forced on his mind and by his own reaction to it, Snape had wrapped his bad mood around himself and remained in the dungeons all day, the relative darkness and draughty rooms a solace. The gossip of two hapless students early on in the day alerted him to the fact that the two girls had returned earlier than expected, and Snape duly made certain he was as far from the classroom as possible at the time Hermione was due to tutor her fifth years in the afternoon. The half-hour of crashing about in his private store-room served to soothe him somewhat, and only a few of the bottles were irreparably damaged.
Unfortunately, it was Hermione that sought him out, straight after her tutelage. He was startled to hear her quiet call as he exited his rooms on the way to his next class.
The glare he gave her should have warned her off, but, he had to admit, it hadn't been working lately. Still, she needn't have called him a malignant vampire bat, no matter what cold curses he had thrown at her. Luckily, they were on opposite sides of the room at the time, and his urge to wrap his hands around her neck was given sufficient time to be suppressed.
When she stormed out, Snape pulled out his wand and manoeuvred the parchments she had left off his desk and on to a nearby- high-placed- shelf. He couldn't explain to himself just why he didn't want to touch them.
***
Hermione sighed as she passed the window in her sitting room for the forty- seventh time. She hated pacing. She hated people who paced. Nevertheless, if there was a more efficient way to expel restless energy, no one had told her about it, and she needed some expulsion.
She resisted the urge to pull her hands through her hair and counted her steps instead. Not that she needed to; she knew they numbered exactly thirteen. Unless, of course, her legs had lengthened in the last half-hour. It was worth a try.
Damn him! Damn that arrogant, selfish, conceited, self-satisfied git of a man. Couldn't he force a civil word, just once? She hadn't even been able to tell him that she had a lead on a cure before he had snapped at her- she had had to leave her findings on his desk with a curt order that he should look at the damned things himself.
The trouble was, every time they fought she just wanted to... well, Hermione supposed, the most appropriate word was 'attack'. After their last encounter, she had a taste for it. Seeing him so angry at her, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, just made Hermione want to feel him pressed up against her again, to feel his teeth on her skin. The mere thought made her frustration even worse. Hermione stopped pacing with a sigh. There was no way she could conquer this feeling in her rooms. With a glance at the clock, she noted it was almost time for her to be leaving anyway; she was due in the dungeons in twenty minutes. She bit her lip. Gods, what on earth had caused her to approach Snape after dinner with the suggestion that they begin the potion this evening? Probably the need for him to recognise that she had even provided him with the information.
Resisting the urge to sigh, Hermione donned her cloak and headed for the door. She would approach Snape's lair by the most circuitous route possible; outside, around the castle, and then in a side door.
The mechanics of exiting the castle out of curfew occupied her mind sufficiently for a few minutes. Out in the crisp night air, Hermione breathed deeply, hoping the frigid air would do something for her overheated senses. Everything seemed too significant today; it was one of those days when every breeze, every glow of the sun had made her body bloom and shiver. Damn it.
She had tried. She really had. The previous evening, Hermione had dressed herself up with the resolve that she was going to enjoy herself, but secretly, she knew, she had wanted an opportunity to rid herself of all the feelings and thoughts prompted by her last encounter with Snape.
It hadn't worked. Meeting Milton had given her precisely the opportunity she had been subconsciously looking for, though she hadn't planned it that way. When it became clear that the man wanted to kiss her, Hermione had rejoiced, enjoying the feeling of being wanted. The problem was, she hadn't wanted. Milton's kisses were pleasant and his embraces enjoyable, but no more could be said of it.
When Milton had finally had to leave, she had waved him goodbye with complete though slightly inebriated calm, and turned her attention to others. During the next three hours, Hermione had learnt how the manipulation of her body could arouse the male of the species. Not the grotesque gyrations some of the other girls in the club performed, cheaply offering their bodies up for whatever observation happened to come their way; Hermione couldn't imagine performing that way under any other influence than the Imperius curse. No, she simply learnt that a graceful shift of hips here, and gesture with an arm there could be both sensual and appetising. Hermione had learnt what it was to entice.
The down side of this was in her unguarded dreams, Hermione's awakened senses were enticed in turn. Thankfully, her dreams hadn't been as lucid as the one induced under Snape's potion, but they had been a lot more daring. Hermione blushed just thinking about them. The fact that half of them were shrouded in sleep was little help; what she could remember was enough to turn her cheeks beet red and make her breath come quicker.
She looked up at the sky in frustration. Walking was not helping at all; it was giving her too much time to think. Clenching her hands into fists, Hermione turned toward the castle. It was about time she turned up at the dungeons anyway.
She hesitated before the black wood of the door to Snape's classroom. Part of her felt like running away, but that didn't disturb her half as much as the part of her that was looking forward to another good fight with him. Not one of the boys at the club last night had excited her as much as slapping Snape had. She had to face it- that whole interlude had been so full of tension that her pulse rate picked up just thinking about it.
Biting back a growl of self-derision, Hermione raised her fist and knocked once, opening the door without an invitation and striding into the room. Her quick entry earnt her a scowl from the darkly-clad man within.
'Miss Granger,' he said, his voice low. 'On time for once, I see.'
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at his deliberate jibe. She refused to rise to his bait; her thoughts disturbed her enough without yet another fight. With a few curt words, they sorted out between them who was to prepare which ingredients, and Hermione gratefully set to work. Unfortunately, the task was too simple, leaving time for her overactive mind to wander.
Slowly, her thoughts drifted along the track of the previous evening. For the first time she had really gone out and fraternised with those her own age, it hadn't been that bad. In fact, she was tempted to regard it as a success. She hadn't done anything to embarrass herself, hadn't alienated people with the first two words out of her mouth, hadn't stumbled over her own feet while dancing. On the contrary.
A small smile crept over Hermione's face at the memory. She remembered the feeling of power she had in that nightclub. She hadn't been simple, little Hermione there; no, by the end of the evening she had felt the complete power a woman could have over a man. She had felt as though she had the power within her to make a man fall to his knees; it was a heady feeling. That what she wanted Snape to feel- she wanted to make him fall on his knees before her and beg for... well, she wasn't sure what she wanted him to beg for, but begging would be a start. The mental picture of Snape on his knees, hands clasped before him and a pleading expression on his face made her chuckle, drawing Snape's glare.
'Is there a problem, Miss Granger?'
Hermione shook her head, instantly calming. She was delusional, that had to be it; maybe she was even still drunk from the night before. She brushed off her hands stepped forward. 'How are things going?'
Snape sneered at her derisively, reaching around to gather up the ingredients she had prepared. 'You would know if you were paying attention. I am uncertain of the reason you felt the need to be here if you simply plan to stare into space. Potions, I may remind you, require constant attention.'
Hermione glared at him. He actually had the nerve to lecture her after she had done so much research for this cure. Though she had made a silent promise to herself not to argue with the man, Hermione felt a slow anger building in her chest. His continual refusal to acknowledge her skill was beyond bearing. Already irked at her own idiotic musings about him, Hermione let her anger flow.
'The reason I feel the need to be here,' she said, her voice low, 'is because I have been trying to save your a-' Not wanting to think about that particular part of the anatomy, she substituted, 'Bacon. You may not remember, but it was I who managed to find this particular cure. And I feel free to stare off into space because I am tired after several days of research, and have faith that you, this school's Potions Master, are able to make the potion by yourself.'
Snape crossed his arms. 'If you feel so incapable of doing actual work, I again question your need to be here?'
'Oh-' Hermione clenched her teeth together, unwilling to lose control in front of Snape again. It would only please him. Besides, she didn't really have a reason to be there, beside curiosity, and everyone knew about that proverbial cat.
She took a deep breath, ignoring the way Snape's eyes travelled over her. 'I wanted to be here,' she replied, 'because I wanted to see the potion work. And I don't recall you giving me any reason why my presence would bother you.' There, she thought. Answer that one.
Snape looked away briefly, and Hermione felt a brief moment of triumph, but it was quashed when he looked back at her.
'I assumed that a supposed adult would be capable of observing the makings of a potion, or perhaps even assisting, without causing interruption. Of course, I should have known that this was a high hope,' he said.
Hermione gasped. 'That's an old one, Snape. Can't you think of any new insults? When will you realise I am no child!'
Snape smiled nastily. 'When you cease to behave like one.'
'If we're to judge on behaviour, Severus, then you and I would be pretty well on par,' Hermione said, her cheeks aflame with indignation. 'I've given you no reason for your impolite behaviour- no, not just impolite, you've been downright uncivil and ungentlemanly! I know you're usually a grumpy, ogre of a man, but with me your innate nastiness seems to find new levels.' An idea dawned on her, and her eyes widened. 'You can't handle it that I found a cure for you and Ailie when you couldn't...'
Snape's expression darkened. 'I would hardly think so. That such a blatant amateur as yourself could have advantage over my experience is laughable. You couldn't even manage your year six potions final-'
'-no, Neville couldn't manage, and you took points off us both-'
'-and managed to bungle a very simple healing potion for your final assignment-'
'Only because Goyle threw a dungbomb spell into it at the last moment, not that you noticed, you never noticed anything your precious Slytherins-'
'-and frankly couldn't make a transformio potion to save your life!'
'That's a blatant lie!' Hermione yelled, stepping closer. 'You know that. I got the highest grade in my potions class, aside from Draco Malfoy, and you know you only gave it to him because he was Slytherin! I dare you to say that I don't know potions again. I dare you.' Knowing better than to approach any further, Hermione put her hands on her hips. 'You call me a child and then recount tales of my school days, holding things against me that were out of my control. Hell, when I was in school you acted far more childish than I ever have!' Snape opened his mouth to speak, his expression furious, but Hermione cut him off. 'No. You're wrong, you've always been wrong, and I just can't believe I ever-' she cut herself off before she could say anything further. 'Well, if I'm so bad at potions,' she said, leaning over the table, 'then I guess nothing will happen when I do this-' Hermione grabbed a vial full of langdria weed and poured it into the bubbling cauldron before Snape could do anything to prevent her. With a nod goodbye, she turned and walked to the door.
'Miss Granger!' Snape called furiously after her, but Hermione ignored him.
'And as I'm so bloody useless at potions I wouldn't know that a pinch of boomslang skin will nullify the itching fumes,' she yelled over her shoulder. 'But you're so damned intelligent I'm certain you'll figure it out for yourself!' Fuming, she stomped up the stairs to the main hall.
A/N: Okay, sorry this is such a short chapter. Things have just sort of got on top of me lately and I've just been too tired to write (most of you know the feeling). Luckily, holidays are almost here, I've finished the last issue of my magazine that I'll EVER edit, and I plan to spend three months solid writing.
My last note before I leave you to it is something quite sad and depressing, so ignore this paragraph if you want to. Someone at my uni yesterday went nuts in his class and shot two people dead and injured five others. I know this has been happening to lots of people, everywhere, for a while, but it has not really happened in Australia and it's just. unbelievable at the moment. I had all my family calling me yesterday to make sure I wasn't dead. Anyway, I felt the need to mark the occasion and send out a message of condolence to any other Monash students who happen to be out there feeling shaken, and indeed everyone who has had something like this happen to them in recent years. This planet really does seem to be becoming a war zone.
The next chapter will be much more interesting, I promise, and hopefully a lot longer.