Disclaimer: Snape isn't mine. If he was, I would undoubtedly find something
to do to him involving silken cords and a feather that would make him
wriggle, but , alas, no. The rest of them aren't mine either, except Ailie.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A figure with light hair crested the hill and took a deep breath. It was wonderful to breathe the air again. All those months buried deep in their winter home had almost killed him; unlike the rest of his family, he had never been a child of the earth. He was of the air, of the creatures that walked the earth. That was mostly why he had got along so well with Ailie.
*Still* got along with her, he reminded himself. Most of the others had argued against his early departure from the caves, saying that he would get himself killed or lead others to their hiding place. But Under had always been able to move with the wind, hiding when he wanted to.
The first few days had been spent in impatient stalking, with soot in his hair and on his skin, crawling imperceptibly through trees, freezing into them at the slightest sound. Now that he was in the plains, there was more light and less cover. It didn't matter; he was far enough now from the others that it would be impossible to trace their hideout.
He didn't know how, but he knew Ailie was out there somewhere. The others had not felt anything, and had encouraged him to accept the possibility of the worst. They had all felt the immense pain that Ailie's parents had been put through before they had felt their spirits fly free. There was so much pain there, and confusion. While it was remotely possible that Ailie had survived, there had been too much evidence pointing the other way. After all, she was linked to them, and they couldn't feel her.
Under couldn't either, but he could feel something, and that made him never give up hope. When a link was formed between two Wiccans, they experienced almost everything the other felt. Death released the living one from the link, but the experience of death was just as intense as that of life- it left a mark in the mind, as a warm touch leaves a tingle. Under couldn't feel that tingle from Ailie, and he should have- they had been soul-bound since their fourteenth birthdays, as close or closer than two friends could ever possibly be. It felt like Ailie had simply been wiped off the earth.
That is, until he had been able to leave the sanctuary of the caves and get out into the open. He had felt it as he'd passed several small towns earlier, and it was even stronger now. It didn't feel like Ailie, but it was also something he had never felt before. It couldn't be coincidence.
Swift and silent, Under began to make his way down to the plains.
***
Snape stared at the insides of his eyelids. He had been mentally reciting the ingredients list in the back of Most Potente Potions backwards, but had got to 'Pythoria (minor enscarpment)' before admitting to himself that, while boring, the task was unlikely to send him to sleep. He knew it was not the most tactical plan, for both of them to sleep, but he didn't enjoy the prospect of sitting for hours with nothing better to do than watch Hermione sleep, his only prospect once it began to get lighter.
Except it wasn't working. He couldn't sleep, and he could tell she couldn't, either. Strange, how quickly he had adapted to her signs.
A small sigh from her side of the room made his lip twitch into a smile.
'Academic recitations are not conducive to sleep, I feel,' he said aloud, and was gratified to hear a small snort from her direction.
'You would think the list of the early goblin kings Professor Binns made us memorise in third year would work, seeing as it put most of the class to sleep in the middle of the day,' she said. Snape raised a silent eyebrow in the dark. He hadn't thought of that. 'What were you doing?' Hermione asked.
'Most Potente Potions appendix C,' he said dryly. Hermione's laugh sounded in the silence.
'I keep thinking,' she said, after a moment, 'that there's something about this that I've forgotten...'
'It will do no good to think of that now,' Snape said. 'We will talk about it in the morning.'
'But I really-'
'Go to sleep, Hermione.'
Long after the sounds of her breathing indicated that she was sleeping, Snape stared into the sightless darkness. The situation could be far worse. They had Hermione's wand if they were attacked, and it appeared that whomever had locked them in here was content to leave them alone. The lack of need for food or water was a curious thing, and it bothered him, but at least they weren't uncomfortable. They were in possession of their mental faculties, and in a position to defend themselves, if needed. It was certainly better than most situations he had been in.
But all that would be useless if he spent the night worrying about the situation. Snape decided to take his advice to Hermione to heart. He turned on his side and tried to get some sleep.
***
Hermione would never remember it, but she had a wonderful dream. It involved a potion, a fairly inconsequential, every day one. She was brewing it in the dungeons, stirring it only out of habit. Gradually, she had felt a warm presence behind her, but in her dream it hadn't seemed at all strange. A hand had slipped around her waist, and a warm breath had placed a whispered growl into her ear in a voice that reminded her always of silk. A mouth- a familiar mouth, somehow- had placed kisses gently down her neck, the hands at her waist turning her around to face the dark man who was her lover and allowing her to finally, finally bring her face up to his.
She was able to kiss him just as much as she wanted, this time.
***
Some time later Snape sat, cross legged, staring at the dark point he knew would contain Hermione. It was still dark, though he had no way to ascertain exactly how much of the night had passed. There simply wasn't much else to do. Earlier, she had appeared to have some sort of bad dream, and it had woken him from his light doze. The strong impulse he had to somehow comfort her had disturbed him, and he had compromised by letting himself sit and watch over her in the pitch black. If the dream got worse, he would go over and wake her up.
It hadn't, but now he sensed that she had awoken. Like him, staring into the darkness.
'I didn't call you a mudblood whore.' The words, quiet and almost gentle, startled even him.
He heard the rustle of her sitting up. 'What?'
Snape sighed. No good deed goes unpunished. 'Do you want me to repeat it? The letter. Though I cannot assure you that no colleague of mine would ever use those words against one such as yourself, I never have and never would refer to you in those terms.'
'Oh.' The quiet little sound spoke volumes about how much the subject had been playing on her mind, and Snape softened a little.
'I doubt that anyone who ever knew you would use such vulgar phrases to describe you either, Hermione,' he added, flinching inwardly at the gentle tone his voice took.
'Oh,' she said again, her voice a whisper. 'Oh. Thank- thank you.' Snape could almost see her mouth opening and shutting silently as she searched for something to say. 'I didn't really think-'
'Yes you did,' he cut in, his voice still gentle but with a harsh undertone.
There was a pause. 'Yes, I did. It was unfair of me.' Snape was surprised by the repentance in her tone. He heard a small sigh and then, 'I did so without evidence.' There was another pause, before she continued, in a different tone, 'I should have known, really, that you could never accuse me of getting my grades by sleeping around. It would have been damned difficult, considering my highest marks were with Professor Binns, Minerva and yourself.'
Snape smiled at the joke, grimacing at the image of anyone- anything- trying to seduce the ghostly Binns. How characteristic it was of her to try to ease the situation with a joke.
'Typical Gryffindor,' he said.
***
Ailie stared worriedly at the two bodies on the beds before her. It was three o'clock in the morning, which, according to Albus, was a worrying thing. As far as Ailie could gather, they could have been in there anywhere from a day to three months. It just depended on how much they hated each other.
The fun was well and truly over now. Ailie felt more sorry about this than anything she had ever done before. It was the way everyone looked at her. Like she was a three-year-old child that had just stabbed someone. It was that, more than anything else, that caused this hot prickly feeling in her stomach.
She had never intended this. Now that she was forced to think about it, she didn't know what she had intended. She hadn't even thought about the consequences- it had just been a challenge, something complex enough to take her mind off the fact that she felt so damned alone...
Now, she looked at the two people who had, these last months, prevented her from being truly alone. One had been forced on her, and one she had been blessed with.
Strange, the way that burning sensation in your stomach made you cry.
***
The night wore on. Very, very slowly. They both took several turns at trying to sleep before finally both giving up, chatting to each other in the darkness. It wasn't long before a small amount of light began to filter into the room, growing in strength imperceptibly.
Lacking in something to do, the two of them sat and stared at the curved wall, Hermione occasionally making a remark about the hideousness of the shade. Snape was swiftly finding out that she had a strange sense of humour, as she related pranks she had performed on her former roommates in school.
Apparently, her room mates had been just the simpering girls he had always suspected them to be. Snape appreciated the moral strength Hermione must have had to get through seven years without having cursed them, but was surprised by the small ways she had found to take out her frustration. Transfiguring their underwear was one that actually made him chuckle.
It was while they were talking about the transfiguration of clothes that Hermione began to eye him thoughtfully. A sense of unease settled over Snape, although not the usual mortal fear. Knowing something now of what sort of prankster she was, Snape was worried about revenge from the ex- student who was currently the possessor of the only working wand in the room.
Hermione caught his worried look and confirmed his fears by smiling nastily, muttering a spell at him. Snape flinched, not quite trusting their apparent truce. The lack of anything happening to him soon assured him that she wasn't throwing a curse, however, and he relaxed while she finished her incantation. Feeling a difference, he looked down, startled to see that she had changed his clothes from his usual black robes into a simple shirt and trousers. He looked up at her curiously.
She shrugged. 'I always wondered what you would look like in normal clothes.' His questioning glance continued, and she looked away. 'I was bored.' This time, he shrugged.
Unsettled, he began to again pace around the room. He felt as though there was something he was missing. There had to be- every spell had some mark by which it could be identified. He restlessly rolled up his sleeves as he moved the cushions on the seats, checking for any kind of flaw in the room they could use.
A quiet exclamation from Hermione made him look up, to see that she was staring at his side. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
'Your Dark Mark,' she said, her eyes set on his forearm. 'I didn't notice it before, but it's gone.'
Snape looked down incredulously. She was wrong, terribly wrong. It stood out from the pale skin of his arm like a beacon. The moment of hope that had flashed through him fizzled painfully out, and he raised haunted eyes to meet hers.
'Hermione,' he said in a hollow voice. 'That was not a very funny joke.'
He saw her eyes widen. 'I- I wouldn't do that. I'm not joking. Honestly. It's not there.'
Snape looked again at the spot, and flinched. The Mark wasn't just there, it was There. It glowed with an eldritch light, for now and forever, just as the Dark Lord had promised all those years ago. He looked up, to see Hermione moving purposely toward him.
'Show me where you think it is,' she said, nodding toward his arm. He frowned in puzzlement, then looked down to where the Mark throbbed malevolently.
'Are you blind, woman?' he asked, incredulously. She merely fixed him with a glare, and he sighed. 'It's there,' he said, pointing. 'There!'
'Where, exactly?' Hermione asked, emphasising the last word. Grimacing, Snape held out his arm and traced a finger over the outline of the tattoo, fighting back the memory of Voldemort etching the mark under his skin with a fingernail. He started when Hermione grasped his arm and leant in for a close inspection, her nose almost grazing the mark. She looked up at him with confident eyes.
'I can't see it, Severus,' she said. 'To me, this,' she wiggled his arm a little, 'is just an arm. An incredibly pale, bare arm.' She grinned at him, and dropped his arm.
Snape stared at her as she began pacing. Reflexively, he rubbed his arm. Her latent energy almost filled the room, and he was very close to grabbing her and shaking whatever she was thinking about out of her, when she turned on him again.
'There's something here, I know it!' she said, her eyes bright. 'I can't see it, but you can. That's because I never think about it, whereas I suppose you must always do.' She looked a little abashed for a moment, and Snape filed that little statement away in his mind for a later time. She began to pace again, and Snape's eyes followed her, trying to walk down the path of logic she was following. At times she stopped, to look at something in the room, or stare off into space as though uncertain.
Finally, her mind seemed to be made up, and she turned to him once more.
'Describe me,' she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled at him. 'Don't muck about, just describe me!'
Snape's eyebrow rose higher, and he began, 'Well, you have an overinflated sense of your own abilities at times, and a distinctly underinflated sense of danger, although I must admit-'
Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration. 'Physically.' Snape's eye's widened slightly. This was not a particularly familiar situation.
She noticed his hesitation, and added, 'I am trying to determine what I look like, to you. Features, not things that can change. It really does have some relevance.'
Clinically, he looked her up and down, and said, 'You have brown hair- '
'A more intricate description, please.'
'Curly brown hair. Just below shoulder-length-' Snape walked around her, brow furrowed in concentration, 'though a little longer at the back.'
'What sort of curly?'
Snape sighed imperceptibly, and looked closer. 'Curls. Ringlets, in some areas.'
'Not frizzy?'
'No.'
'Neatly brushed, would you say?'
'Yes.'
'Ah!' Her voice was bright. She swung around to look at him. 'What about my clothes?'
'A woollen jumper, dark navy. Trousers of a strange soft material, possibly some type of treated cotton, of a lighter blue, and in some style I have no doubt is muggle, as I do not picture you as a designer-'
'Okay, we've established that you see the clothes that I see. I suspected that.' Hermione frowned. 'I think I know what's happening.' She appeared to be waiting for some kind of encouragement, but Snape was unsettled enough to merely stare at her. 'I do not see your Mark because I just don't think about it in the course of a normal conversation with you, even though I know it's there. You see my hair as curly and neat because recently I have been placing a charm on my hair to make it slightly more manageable-' here, she blushed slightly, and Snape raised his eyebrows, '- and because whenever you've seen me I've been dressed- well, I've always had my hair brushed. But the thing is,' she added, seemingly pushing past her momentary embarrassment, 'I haven't brushed my hair this morning. To me, it's a complete mess- probably all knots, seeing as I've hardly had time to cast a charm on it. But we see the same clothes-' She frowned, and bit her lip. 'The clothes I'm wearing come from a piece of magic I've performed since we've been in here. We both knew it was happening, too. Oh dear.' Frowning, Hermione walked around the room. Snape could sense something about her, but wasn't quite sure what, even when she appeared again before him with a triumphant smile on her face.
'What?' he asked in an exasperated tone, plainly knowing that she wouldn't tell him until he gave in and asked.
'You didn't just feel anything, did you?' she asked, and he shook his head. An expression of delight, mixed with something else, lit up her eyes, and he knew, whatever it was, she had it.
'Neither of us notice anything that we haven't noticed,' she said, looking up into his eyes. 'I mean- we don't notice things that we haven't observed in any way. If we haven't seen it, or maybe it's better to say haven't *expected* it-' An apology flickered over her features before Snape saw her hand, palm flattened and directed at his face, come up. It wasn't a hard slap; in fact her hand must have slowed down somewhat because it was more of a caress when it did connect. It still surprised him. Her hand was soft.
She looked shocked when his eyes came back into focus. 'I'm s-sorry. I expected you to stop me.' Her hand hovered next to his face for a few moments, in the air where it had rebounded, before she collected herself.
'You did notice that, though, didn't you?' she asked, putting on her scholarly air of inquisitiveness once more to cover up.
'Yes.'
'See? You didn't really expect it, but you still knew it was coming because the corner of your eye caught the movement. Whereas before...' She coughed, blushing slightly, but continued, 'Well, before you didn't notice anything because you neither expected nor saw it, nor in any way perceived anything.'
Snape's eyebrows raised. 'What did you do?'
'We only notice things we observe, don't you see?' she said, purposely ignoring his question. 'Doesn't that tell you something?'
'What did you do?'
'Don't you see how everything adds up?'
If anything ever had raised his suspicions, it was this. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he bent closer, placing her under his most intimidating glare. 'Miss Granger. What,' he asked, 'did you do?'
He was gratified to see her blush, but she shook her head firmly.
'Snape, just think for a second. Everything inside our minds becomes reality here.' She caught his look, and glanced away for a second. 'Well, everything our minds expect is reality here. I don't think we're actually here at all.'
The idea took a few seconds to sink in.
'Do you really believe that both of our minds would conjure this particularly delightful setting?' he asked, dryly.
Hermione shook her head. 'No, I think that's part of the spell, part of whoever cast it. I knew it was familiar.' She looked around, and then back at Snape. 'It's the set of I Dream of Jeannie. A muggle television show,' she added at Snape's blank look. His face paled, and she contributed, 'It was from the 1960s. The costumes were from it, too. They were all a part of the spell. I doubt she even knew it would do that.' With a determined eye, Hermione stared at him. 'I hate to tell you this, but we're part of a genius spell. And I think Ailie created it.'
A/N:Thank you to everyone who has reviewed- I can't describe how wonderful it is to hear your thoughts and questions. Some answers:
SlytherinQueen87: I liked the thought of him saying that, too. Aah.
Pinkey: Thank you for your wonderful compliments- they are good for my ego. Snape will not be saying the 'L' word for a while, sorry (actually, I can't picture any big declarations from a man like that). But there will be fluff coming soon. Oh, and I'm from Australia.
Marston Chicklet: I know, I know. I hate pink too. It will be over soon, I promise.
Morwen: I'm glad you twigged to the I Dream of Jeannie thing- hope the information in this chapter pleased you.
To KET: Thank you for your compliments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
To 'Huh?': I think it was Chaim Potok in My Name is Asher Lev who said that to reserve judgement is to live in eternal hope. Perhaps you should take this to heart- you seem awfully eager to jump to conclusions. For a start, Snape never did call Hermione a mudblood whore, and I am sorry if this was not clear to you in the chapter- it was his 'colleague' Lingua d'Avarro who called her that. Yes, he did begin to call her a mudblood in a former argument, but I would mostly attribute that to an ingrained response; after all, he would probably have made free with the term in his youth, and he is also a particularly nasty person who strikes out for very little reason. You forgot that Hermione has called him a murdering Death Eater bastard; yes, the term does describe him, but mudblood is a similarly unflattering way of describing Hermione. As for whether they can love each other after trading such insults: you would be AMAZED what people who supposedly love each other can call each other at times. I'm not just talking romantic relationships, although it does happen there pretty commonly. A couple of friends of mine called each other more names than I can imagine in every argument they had, and once one of them even tried to burn down their house, yet they still talk to each other. People are strange, especially when it comes to love.
To everyone else: sorry about that. I get anxious when someone leaves a review with a fairly unfounded criticism, because I want them to be able to enjoy the story. Unfortunately, this person failed to leave their real name or email, and so I was unable to try to clear it privately.
Ugh. Long author's note. Any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A figure with light hair crested the hill and took a deep breath. It was wonderful to breathe the air again. All those months buried deep in their winter home had almost killed him; unlike the rest of his family, he had never been a child of the earth. He was of the air, of the creatures that walked the earth. That was mostly why he had got along so well with Ailie.
*Still* got along with her, he reminded himself. Most of the others had argued against his early departure from the caves, saying that he would get himself killed or lead others to their hiding place. But Under had always been able to move with the wind, hiding when he wanted to.
The first few days had been spent in impatient stalking, with soot in his hair and on his skin, crawling imperceptibly through trees, freezing into them at the slightest sound. Now that he was in the plains, there was more light and less cover. It didn't matter; he was far enough now from the others that it would be impossible to trace their hideout.
He didn't know how, but he knew Ailie was out there somewhere. The others had not felt anything, and had encouraged him to accept the possibility of the worst. They had all felt the immense pain that Ailie's parents had been put through before they had felt their spirits fly free. There was so much pain there, and confusion. While it was remotely possible that Ailie had survived, there had been too much evidence pointing the other way. After all, she was linked to them, and they couldn't feel her.
Under couldn't either, but he could feel something, and that made him never give up hope. When a link was formed between two Wiccans, they experienced almost everything the other felt. Death released the living one from the link, but the experience of death was just as intense as that of life- it left a mark in the mind, as a warm touch leaves a tingle. Under couldn't feel that tingle from Ailie, and he should have- they had been soul-bound since their fourteenth birthdays, as close or closer than two friends could ever possibly be. It felt like Ailie had simply been wiped off the earth.
That is, until he had been able to leave the sanctuary of the caves and get out into the open. He had felt it as he'd passed several small towns earlier, and it was even stronger now. It didn't feel like Ailie, but it was also something he had never felt before. It couldn't be coincidence.
Swift and silent, Under began to make his way down to the plains.
***
Snape stared at the insides of his eyelids. He had been mentally reciting the ingredients list in the back of Most Potente Potions backwards, but had got to 'Pythoria (minor enscarpment)' before admitting to himself that, while boring, the task was unlikely to send him to sleep. He knew it was not the most tactical plan, for both of them to sleep, but he didn't enjoy the prospect of sitting for hours with nothing better to do than watch Hermione sleep, his only prospect once it began to get lighter.
Except it wasn't working. He couldn't sleep, and he could tell she couldn't, either. Strange, how quickly he had adapted to her signs.
A small sigh from her side of the room made his lip twitch into a smile.
'Academic recitations are not conducive to sleep, I feel,' he said aloud, and was gratified to hear a small snort from her direction.
'You would think the list of the early goblin kings Professor Binns made us memorise in third year would work, seeing as it put most of the class to sleep in the middle of the day,' she said. Snape raised a silent eyebrow in the dark. He hadn't thought of that. 'What were you doing?' Hermione asked.
'Most Potente Potions appendix C,' he said dryly. Hermione's laugh sounded in the silence.
'I keep thinking,' she said, after a moment, 'that there's something about this that I've forgotten...'
'It will do no good to think of that now,' Snape said. 'We will talk about it in the morning.'
'But I really-'
'Go to sleep, Hermione.'
Long after the sounds of her breathing indicated that she was sleeping, Snape stared into the sightless darkness. The situation could be far worse. They had Hermione's wand if they were attacked, and it appeared that whomever had locked them in here was content to leave them alone. The lack of need for food or water was a curious thing, and it bothered him, but at least they weren't uncomfortable. They were in possession of their mental faculties, and in a position to defend themselves, if needed. It was certainly better than most situations he had been in.
But all that would be useless if he spent the night worrying about the situation. Snape decided to take his advice to Hermione to heart. He turned on his side and tried to get some sleep.
***
Hermione would never remember it, but she had a wonderful dream. It involved a potion, a fairly inconsequential, every day one. She was brewing it in the dungeons, stirring it only out of habit. Gradually, she had felt a warm presence behind her, but in her dream it hadn't seemed at all strange. A hand had slipped around her waist, and a warm breath had placed a whispered growl into her ear in a voice that reminded her always of silk. A mouth- a familiar mouth, somehow- had placed kisses gently down her neck, the hands at her waist turning her around to face the dark man who was her lover and allowing her to finally, finally bring her face up to his.
She was able to kiss him just as much as she wanted, this time.
***
Some time later Snape sat, cross legged, staring at the dark point he knew would contain Hermione. It was still dark, though he had no way to ascertain exactly how much of the night had passed. There simply wasn't much else to do. Earlier, she had appeared to have some sort of bad dream, and it had woken him from his light doze. The strong impulse he had to somehow comfort her had disturbed him, and he had compromised by letting himself sit and watch over her in the pitch black. If the dream got worse, he would go over and wake her up.
It hadn't, but now he sensed that she had awoken. Like him, staring into the darkness.
'I didn't call you a mudblood whore.' The words, quiet and almost gentle, startled even him.
He heard the rustle of her sitting up. 'What?'
Snape sighed. No good deed goes unpunished. 'Do you want me to repeat it? The letter. Though I cannot assure you that no colleague of mine would ever use those words against one such as yourself, I never have and never would refer to you in those terms.'
'Oh.' The quiet little sound spoke volumes about how much the subject had been playing on her mind, and Snape softened a little.
'I doubt that anyone who ever knew you would use such vulgar phrases to describe you either, Hermione,' he added, flinching inwardly at the gentle tone his voice took.
'Oh,' she said again, her voice a whisper. 'Oh. Thank- thank you.' Snape could almost see her mouth opening and shutting silently as she searched for something to say. 'I didn't really think-'
'Yes you did,' he cut in, his voice still gentle but with a harsh undertone.
There was a pause. 'Yes, I did. It was unfair of me.' Snape was surprised by the repentance in her tone. He heard a small sigh and then, 'I did so without evidence.' There was another pause, before she continued, in a different tone, 'I should have known, really, that you could never accuse me of getting my grades by sleeping around. It would have been damned difficult, considering my highest marks were with Professor Binns, Minerva and yourself.'
Snape smiled at the joke, grimacing at the image of anyone- anything- trying to seduce the ghostly Binns. How characteristic it was of her to try to ease the situation with a joke.
'Typical Gryffindor,' he said.
***
Ailie stared worriedly at the two bodies on the beds before her. It was three o'clock in the morning, which, according to Albus, was a worrying thing. As far as Ailie could gather, they could have been in there anywhere from a day to three months. It just depended on how much they hated each other.
The fun was well and truly over now. Ailie felt more sorry about this than anything she had ever done before. It was the way everyone looked at her. Like she was a three-year-old child that had just stabbed someone. It was that, more than anything else, that caused this hot prickly feeling in her stomach.
She had never intended this. Now that she was forced to think about it, she didn't know what she had intended. She hadn't even thought about the consequences- it had just been a challenge, something complex enough to take her mind off the fact that she felt so damned alone...
Now, she looked at the two people who had, these last months, prevented her from being truly alone. One had been forced on her, and one she had been blessed with.
Strange, the way that burning sensation in your stomach made you cry.
***
The night wore on. Very, very slowly. They both took several turns at trying to sleep before finally both giving up, chatting to each other in the darkness. It wasn't long before a small amount of light began to filter into the room, growing in strength imperceptibly.
Lacking in something to do, the two of them sat and stared at the curved wall, Hermione occasionally making a remark about the hideousness of the shade. Snape was swiftly finding out that she had a strange sense of humour, as she related pranks she had performed on her former roommates in school.
Apparently, her room mates had been just the simpering girls he had always suspected them to be. Snape appreciated the moral strength Hermione must have had to get through seven years without having cursed them, but was surprised by the small ways she had found to take out her frustration. Transfiguring their underwear was one that actually made him chuckle.
It was while they were talking about the transfiguration of clothes that Hermione began to eye him thoughtfully. A sense of unease settled over Snape, although not the usual mortal fear. Knowing something now of what sort of prankster she was, Snape was worried about revenge from the ex- student who was currently the possessor of the only working wand in the room.
Hermione caught his worried look and confirmed his fears by smiling nastily, muttering a spell at him. Snape flinched, not quite trusting their apparent truce. The lack of anything happening to him soon assured him that she wasn't throwing a curse, however, and he relaxed while she finished her incantation. Feeling a difference, he looked down, startled to see that she had changed his clothes from his usual black robes into a simple shirt and trousers. He looked up at her curiously.
She shrugged. 'I always wondered what you would look like in normal clothes.' His questioning glance continued, and she looked away. 'I was bored.' This time, he shrugged.
Unsettled, he began to again pace around the room. He felt as though there was something he was missing. There had to be- every spell had some mark by which it could be identified. He restlessly rolled up his sleeves as he moved the cushions on the seats, checking for any kind of flaw in the room they could use.
A quiet exclamation from Hermione made him look up, to see that she was staring at his side. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
'Your Dark Mark,' she said, her eyes set on his forearm. 'I didn't notice it before, but it's gone.'
Snape looked down incredulously. She was wrong, terribly wrong. It stood out from the pale skin of his arm like a beacon. The moment of hope that had flashed through him fizzled painfully out, and he raised haunted eyes to meet hers.
'Hermione,' he said in a hollow voice. 'That was not a very funny joke.'
He saw her eyes widen. 'I- I wouldn't do that. I'm not joking. Honestly. It's not there.'
Snape looked again at the spot, and flinched. The Mark wasn't just there, it was There. It glowed with an eldritch light, for now and forever, just as the Dark Lord had promised all those years ago. He looked up, to see Hermione moving purposely toward him.
'Show me where you think it is,' she said, nodding toward his arm. He frowned in puzzlement, then looked down to where the Mark throbbed malevolently.
'Are you blind, woman?' he asked, incredulously. She merely fixed him with a glare, and he sighed. 'It's there,' he said, pointing. 'There!'
'Where, exactly?' Hermione asked, emphasising the last word. Grimacing, Snape held out his arm and traced a finger over the outline of the tattoo, fighting back the memory of Voldemort etching the mark under his skin with a fingernail. He started when Hermione grasped his arm and leant in for a close inspection, her nose almost grazing the mark. She looked up at him with confident eyes.
'I can't see it, Severus,' she said. 'To me, this,' she wiggled his arm a little, 'is just an arm. An incredibly pale, bare arm.' She grinned at him, and dropped his arm.
Snape stared at her as she began pacing. Reflexively, he rubbed his arm. Her latent energy almost filled the room, and he was very close to grabbing her and shaking whatever she was thinking about out of her, when she turned on him again.
'There's something here, I know it!' she said, her eyes bright. 'I can't see it, but you can. That's because I never think about it, whereas I suppose you must always do.' She looked a little abashed for a moment, and Snape filed that little statement away in his mind for a later time. She began to pace again, and Snape's eyes followed her, trying to walk down the path of logic she was following. At times she stopped, to look at something in the room, or stare off into space as though uncertain.
Finally, her mind seemed to be made up, and she turned to him once more.
'Describe me,' she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled at him. 'Don't muck about, just describe me!'
Snape's eyebrow rose higher, and he began, 'Well, you have an overinflated sense of your own abilities at times, and a distinctly underinflated sense of danger, although I must admit-'
Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration. 'Physically.' Snape's eye's widened slightly. This was not a particularly familiar situation.
She noticed his hesitation, and added, 'I am trying to determine what I look like, to you. Features, not things that can change. It really does have some relevance.'
Clinically, he looked her up and down, and said, 'You have brown hair- '
'A more intricate description, please.'
'Curly brown hair. Just below shoulder-length-' Snape walked around her, brow furrowed in concentration, 'though a little longer at the back.'
'What sort of curly?'
Snape sighed imperceptibly, and looked closer. 'Curls. Ringlets, in some areas.'
'Not frizzy?'
'No.'
'Neatly brushed, would you say?'
'Yes.'
'Ah!' Her voice was bright. She swung around to look at him. 'What about my clothes?'
'A woollen jumper, dark navy. Trousers of a strange soft material, possibly some type of treated cotton, of a lighter blue, and in some style I have no doubt is muggle, as I do not picture you as a designer-'
'Okay, we've established that you see the clothes that I see. I suspected that.' Hermione frowned. 'I think I know what's happening.' She appeared to be waiting for some kind of encouragement, but Snape was unsettled enough to merely stare at her. 'I do not see your Mark because I just don't think about it in the course of a normal conversation with you, even though I know it's there. You see my hair as curly and neat because recently I have been placing a charm on my hair to make it slightly more manageable-' here, she blushed slightly, and Snape raised his eyebrows, '- and because whenever you've seen me I've been dressed- well, I've always had my hair brushed. But the thing is,' she added, seemingly pushing past her momentary embarrassment, 'I haven't brushed my hair this morning. To me, it's a complete mess- probably all knots, seeing as I've hardly had time to cast a charm on it. But we see the same clothes-' She frowned, and bit her lip. 'The clothes I'm wearing come from a piece of magic I've performed since we've been in here. We both knew it was happening, too. Oh dear.' Frowning, Hermione walked around the room. Snape could sense something about her, but wasn't quite sure what, even when she appeared again before him with a triumphant smile on her face.
'What?' he asked in an exasperated tone, plainly knowing that she wouldn't tell him until he gave in and asked.
'You didn't just feel anything, did you?' she asked, and he shook his head. An expression of delight, mixed with something else, lit up her eyes, and he knew, whatever it was, she had it.
'Neither of us notice anything that we haven't noticed,' she said, looking up into his eyes. 'I mean- we don't notice things that we haven't observed in any way. If we haven't seen it, or maybe it's better to say haven't *expected* it-' An apology flickered over her features before Snape saw her hand, palm flattened and directed at his face, come up. It wasn't a hard slap; in fact her hand must have slowed down somewhat because it was more of a caress when it did connect. It still surprised him. Her hand was soft.
She looked shocked when his eyes came back into focus. 'I'm s-sorry. I expected you to stop me.' Her hand hovered next to his face for a few moments, in the air where it had rebounded, before she collected herself.
'You did notice that, though, didn't you?' she asked, putting on her scholarly air of inquisitiveness once more to cover up.
'Yes.'
'See? You didn't really expect it, but you still knew it was coming because the corner of your eye caught the movement. Whereas before...' She coughed, blushing slightly, but continued, 'Well, before you didn't notice anything because you neither expected nor saw it, nor in any way perceived anything.'
Snape's eyebrows raised. 'What did you do?'
'We only notice things we observe, don't you see?' she said, purposely ignoring his question. 'Doesn't that tell you something?'
'What did you do?'
'Don't you see how everything adds up?'
If anything ever had raised his suspicions, it was this. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he bent closer, placing her under his most intimidating glare. 'Miss Granger. What,' he asked, 'did you do?'
He was gratified to see her blush, but she shook her head firmly.
'Snape, just think for a second. Everything inside our minds becomes reality here.' She caught his look, and glanced away for a second. 'Well, everything our minds expect is reality here. I don't think we're actually here at all.'
The idea took a few seconds to sink in.
'Do you really believe that both of our minds would conjure this particularly delightful setting?' he asked, dryly.
Hermione shook her head. 'No, I think that's part of the spell, part of whoever cast it. I knew it was familiar.' She looked around, and then back at Snape. 'It's the set of I Dream of Jeannie. A muggle television show,' she added at Snape's blank look. His face paled, and she contributed, 'It was from the 1960s. The costumes were from it, too. They were all a part of the spell. I doubt she even knew it would do that.' With a determined eye, Hermione stared at him. 'I hate to tell you this, but we're part of a genius spell. And I think Ailie created it.'
A/N:Thank you to everyone who has reviewed- I can't describe how wonderful it is to hear your thoughts and questions. Some answers:
SlytherinQueen87: I liked the thought of him saying that, too. Aah.
Pinkey: Thank you for your wonderful compliments- they are good for my ego. Snape will not be saying the 'L' word for a while, sorry (actually, I can't picture any big declarations from a man like that). But there will be fluff coming soon. Oh, and I'm from Australia.
Marston Chicklet: I know, I know. I hate pink too. It will be over soon, I promise.
Morwen: I'm glad you twigged to the I Dream of Jeannie thing- hope the information in this chapter pleased you.
To KET: Thank you for your compliments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
To 'Huh?': I think it was Chaim Potok in My Name is Asher Lev who said that to reserve judgement is to live in eternal hope. Perhaps you should take this to heart- you seem awfully eager to jump to conclusions. For a start, Snape never did call Hermione a mudblood whore, and I am sorry if this was not clear to you in the chapter- it was his 'colleague' Lingua d'Avarro who called her that. Yes, he did begin to call her a mudblood in a former argument, but I would mostly attribute that to an ingrained response; after all, he would probably have made free with the term in his youth, and he is also a particularly nasty person who strikes out for very little reason. You forgot that Hermione has called him a murdering Death Eater bastard; yes, the term does describe him, but mudblood is a similarly unflattering way of describing Hermione. As for whether they can love each other after trading such insults: you would be AMAZED what people who supposedly love each other can call each other at times. I'm not just talking romantic relationships, although it does happen there pretty commonly. A couple of friends of mine called each other more names than I can imagine in every argument they had, and once one of them even tried to burn down their house, yet they still talk to each other. People are strange, especially when it comes to love.
To everyone else: sorry about that. I get anxious when someone leaves a review with a fairly unfounded criticism, because I want them to be able to enjoy the story. Unfortunately, this person failed to leave their real name or email, and so I was unable to try to clear it privately.
Ugh. Long author's note. Any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me!