Chapter Forty. Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you
A/N: I again apologise for my tardiness in updating. I know how frustrating it is, but you know how it is (example: last week, I read 23 books in three days for an annotated bibliography. And they were thick ones. Don't talk to me about Shere Hite or the Kinsey reports. Ugh). My thesis is due in two months, so the bad news is I am unlikely to update any more frequently until then, probably less so, but the good news is I will need to keep my mind off my terrible grade after then and will most likely retreat into the realm of fantasy that is Snape Gets His. So there you have it.
I also wanted to issue a challenge, of a sort: this chapter contains lists of pros and cons. The number of cons ends up as 27, versus 28 pros. In each case, only one item off each list is shown. I would be very interested to see what the other 26/27 items could be- and so challenge anyone to send me their own lists via reviews. The most weirdly funny will be put in a list that I will include in the next chapter.
Disclaimer: Pas sans mon poulet.
It wouldn't be seemly for the potions master of Hogwarts school to run through the corridors, which was why the progress of Snape to Dumbledore's office will be described as being conducted in a brisk walk. It was only eight o'clock, but he had barely contained himself to arriving on the headmaster's doorstep at this hour. The hours between discovering Hermione's absence and the present had stretched to an eternity as he had paced the castle's halls, covertly looking for her.
She hadn't been in her rooms. He hadn't wanted to invade her privacy, but an hour or so of wandering the halls in the hope of bumping into her had made him so frantic that he had checked. But she hadn't been there, so he had gone wandering again.
The events of the night had left him disturbed, to say the least. While he detected some essentials of the bond he had shared with Ailie - an extra concern for her welfare, a tug that drew him to her - he didn't have the benefit this time of knowing if Hermione was okay. At least with Ailie there was some form of thought projection, but it appeared the bond worked differently with wizards.
The headmaster was already dressed when he answered Snape's knock, and didn't appear to be especially surprised to see him. The old man twinkled gently as he offered him some tea.
Snape got right to the point.
'Headmaster. Miss Granger and I- there was an accident-' *Oh, yes, Sir, I accidentally made love to her for three hours-* 'We happened to share blood. You realise the implications.'
'I certainly do, Severus,' replied Dumbledore. Snape tried to ignore the twinkle in the old man's eye. 'However, I fear you are under a misapprehension. I believe you had better sit down.'
Puzzled, Snape seated himself in the proffered chair, wondering what the old man could know.
'I am afraid, Severus, that your link to Ailie is no more. Without your knowledge, the members of Ailie's coven and the members of yours performed the necessary ritual to banish the link.'
'My coven?' asked Snape, thoroughly puzzled.
'Yes,' Dumbledore said. He smiled warmly at Snape. 'If I can presume to call myself, Minerva and Argus such.'
Snape sat back, stunned. He didn't need the old wizard to explain any further. If the ceremony had been successful, then he was no longer beleaguered with a soul-bond to Ailie. It should have been a relief. He was too stunned at the moment to confidently judge for himself if it was.
'Fortunately, the magic in Ailie's blood would not have been strong enough for the link to be shared with another person, anyway,' Dumbledore was saying, and Snape forced himself to pay attention.
'No,' he agreed, knowing that an answer was expected. The meaning of what his Headmaster had said eventually sunk in. 'You mean to say, that I no longer have a link with Ailie? That it couldn't have been soul-bonding with-' he cut himself off before he said something embarrassing.
Dumbledore's eyes again twinkled. 'I am saying, dear Severus, that even while you were soul-bonded with Ailie, it is highly unlikely that you would have, through her blood, been able to bond with another person. As the bond between yourself and Ailie has now been banished, it is safe to assume that you are not able to bond with another, non-Wiccan person.' Dumbledore idly unwrapped a sweet, popping it into his mouth with great deliberation. 'I wonder,' he said in a quiet voice, 'what made you think you had been bonded, once more?' He looked back up at Snape, his expression unreadable.
Snape summoned up his dignity, which had apparently disappeared with the loss of his self-control.
'I was mistaken,' he said sternly, and rose.
Dumbledore nodded at him. 'Very well, Severus. If ever you need a confidante...'
'I'll be sure to shoot myself in the head. Yes, thank you.' Glowering darkly, Snape swept from the room.
This was not a good development at all.
***
Hermione Granger was on the lam. She had to admit it- for perhaps the first time, she had run away from a situation like a coward. But it was justified.
She had arrived on her parents' doorstep at five o'clock that morning, exhausted and virtually unable to communicate. Luckily it was her father, the early riser, who was up and about when she arrived, and a relatively thin explanation went past his radar. By the time she rose from her slumber in the guest room, the sun was low on the horizon once more. She wandered into the kitchen and found her parents there, her mother looking slightly worried at her tired appearance. Apparently sensing her daughter's reluctance for family banter, Penelope Granger shot her husband a look and he left the room while she poured her daughter a cup of tea.
When they were both seated, the elder woman patten her daughter's hand.
'We didn't expect to see you today, darling,' she said. Hermione, uncertain of what to say, merely nodded.
Even she wasn't certain as to why she was here. All she knew was that, after her cowardly performance of running away in Snape's chambers, Hogwarts was the last place she had wanted to be. It still was. She was idly considering whether she could conduct her classes via owl mail.
It had taken very little thought to realise that her presumption about a Wiccan linkage to Snape had been wrong. In fact, she had come to the conclusion roughly three minutes after fleeing Snape's rooms. Ailie and Snape hadn't developed the same blood type after bonding, and it was a bit of a stretch to assume that the one little pinch of Wiccan blood in Snape's system- which should have been flushed out by now anyway- was powerful enough for him to forge a link with another non-Wiccan. Even the strongest potions ingredients weren't that powerful. These thoughts had travelled through her brain with her usual recourse to logic as she had made her way up to her rooms. By the time she had got to her own door, she had been forced to conclude that it was something else altogether that had provoked the reaction between herself and Snape. It had not helped her discomfiture.
The trouble was, she simply wasn't prepared to deal with this kind of outcome. Sex with Snape was supposed to have simply been sex; nice, uncomplicated and exciting, but most of all straightforward. No complicated emotions to get in the way. They would have sex, and work. Neither situation would have to interfere with the other, and when the former ceased to appeal to them, they could continue with the latter feeling nothing more than a little more well exercised.
Hermione would admit she was no expert on sexual intercourse, but she was willing to bet that the average casual roll in the hay did not leave you feeling like your soul had been ripped in half and your body permanently imprinted by the touch of another human being. Even then, there would have been room for doubt if Snape hadn't as good as said he felt exactly the same way. The fact that he had so willingly accepted her surmisal of the situation said something of his own experience.
Forgetting her mother's presence, Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. Here she was, in a huge mess and she had to analyse it like it was a lab experiment. The trouble was, that was the better option. She didn't want to think about the label people usually put on such feelings.
Her mother patted her hand, and Hermione looked up. There was such a look of concern on the older woman's face that she felt obliged to explain.
'Mum...' she began, then narrowed her eyes. How to put this? 'I slept with Professor Snape.'
To her credit, the elder Granger woman only widened her eyes slightly in reaction. 'Is that so? Recently, or when you were at school?'
'Mum!' Hermione gasped, then laughed slightly. 'Recently. Um... very recently, in fact.'
Penelope nodded slowly. 'Are you unhappy about it?'
Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure. Not really. But there's a problem.' With a sigh, she began to explain all the concerns involved in being in love with a man like Severus Snape.
Three hours later, John Granger poked his head into the kitchen to see his wife and daughter facing off each other over the kitchen table, each with a pad of paper and copious notes. He smiled at the ritual he had seen them perform ever since Hermione could pick up a pen, one woman noting the pros of a situation, the other listing the cons. From what he could see, the scales were about even. He smiled to himself and went back into the sitting room.
Hermione was not smiling. She frowned down at her list - she was minding the 'cons' - and peered up at her mother. 'Are you certain you've got twenty-seven?'
The older woman nodded. 'Yup. Twenty-seven reasons you should pursue a relationship with your Mr Snape. Think you can beat it?'
'Mum! This is not funny.' Frowning even deeper, Hermione chewed on her pen. Her list had only twenty-six cons. Her brows lifted as something occurred to her. 'I know! He always cuts his food into pieces before eating. It's really annoying.' She looked up to see her mother giving her a serious look.
'Sweetheart, I hardly think that's a reason for the man to spend the rest of his days alone. Besides, you always used to eat your food that way until your father told you it was uncultured.'
'I was only seven at the time. And besides, he was right. Cutting a meal up that way not only allows it to cool quicker but it blends the flavours. Oh, all right then,' she sighed as she gave in and crossed it off her list. Frowning again, Hermione continued to chew on her pen. What she needed... what she needed was a sugar quill. No; she shook her head at herself. She couldn't let herself be distracted. This was important. She and her mother had dealt with problems in this way since her childhood, and she knew there had to be a solution here somehow.
'Aha!' she said, scribbling away. 'He likes snakes. I hate snakes. Twenty-seven.'
'Against twenty-eight, I'm afraid,' Penelope said, and slightly sheepishly offered her list for Hermione's perusal. Hermione looked down and saw, in her mother's neat scipt, '28. Good in bed.' She blushed brightly and sent her mother an embarrassed look.
'You- you have no way of knowing that's true,' she said.
Penelope shrugged. 'You would have been rather more uncomfortable today if he wasn't, darling. Besides, there's a certain look of - *relaxation* that has only a few causes, I've found.'
Pursing her lips, Hermione laid her pen on the table. There was simply no answering that, and she couldn't think of another con. For now.
'How about leaving this, for a while?' her mother suggested. 'As much as you may want to resolve it, I think our lists aren't helping you with this particular problem. Anyway, it's almost dinner time.' Both women put their lists aside with an identical frown. John Granger, as if by some intuition, chose that moment to reenter the kitchen and suggest a cup of tea.
'The problem is,' Penelope said when the three Grangers were sitting around the table sipping tea, 'not every dilemma can be solved with a list.' Her husband became suddenly interested in the pattern of the wallpaper next to him.
Hermione frowned. 'Perhaps. But I still don't...' She frowned again. 'Perhaps you're right.' She sighed.
'Perhaps you should simply leave it to observation,' Penelope suggested. 'You both live in the same castle. Give yourself time to decide about him.' John Granger, having by now spent an inordinate time studying the kitchen wallpaper, had moved his attention to the tablecloth. On the mention of the word 'him' his lips thinned, and he returned to the wallpaper with studiousness unsurpassed by even Hermione studying for her NEWTs. Neither women noticed.
Hermione sighed again and set her cup of tea down, her movements signalling a close to the conversation. She stood.
'Must you be leaving so soon?' John ventured as the women both stood and Hermione reached for her coat. She nodded.
'Sorry, Dad. I really must get back. But I'll come for a longer visit soon, I promise.'
At the door, her mother gave her a hug. 'Darling, you could simply let things move along naturally. Try him on, so to speak.' She put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and gave her a serious look. Hermione merely gave her another hug and made her goodbyes.
As the two parents stood on the doorstep, both wearing the slightly stunned expressions they always wore after seeing their daughter disappear into thin air with barely a 'pop,' John put his arm around his wife's shoulders.
'So, who is he?' he asked.
'Just Hermione's surly ex-teacher who's only slightly younger than you, dear,' his wife answered.
John remembered why it was so important for his sanity to stay out of these mother-daughter issues, and waited calmly until his wife was inside before bashing his head against the wall.
***
Dumbledore let the pacing outside his office door continue for a few moments. He had performed the old mirror-under-the-door trick a few moments ago and so knew his early morning visitor was his esteemed potions master. Again.
At least this time the man had waited until it was merely an abnormal hour before visiting. Earlier this morning, his visit had been at a rather unreasonable hour, even if his concern over Miss Granger's whereabouts was understandable. And the visit *before* that, at which time Severus had merely tentatively inquired about the problem he and Miss Granger had encountered at some time during the night, had been completely inconsiderate of an old man's need for rest. It was a good thing, Dumbledore thought to himself as he rose to open the door, that he was only one hundred and six. An older man could never put up with the rigours of running a school such as Hogwarts.
'Ah, Severus,' he said as he opened the door. After all these years, the potions master had grown somewhat used to his headmaster's tricks, but Dumbledore was gratified to see a slight glimmer of surprise in Snape's eye when the door had opened without him even knocking.
'Albus, have you-'
'Now, now, Severus,' Dumbledore said, patting the younger man on the shoulder and gently guiding him toward the stairwell. 'Miss Granger is perfectly safe and well, and at her parents' home. Possibly having breakfast as we speak. Speaking of which...' The gentle urging toward the stairwell became less gentle as the headmaster thought longingly of blueberry pancakes and bacon.
'Are you certain that-'
'Severus,' Dumbledore said sternly. He caught the glance Snape gave him, the one of relief-tinged-with-awe that he was given every time he pulled out the psychic stops, and inwardly sighed. If only people would use their brains more often, they would see how much could be accomplished with a simple spell and logic; in this case, a locator spell and the knowledge that young things often run to their mothers in times of confusion.
As he ushered the potions master down the stairs, the door to the headmaster's office closed and locked itself silently.
***
It really was, Hermione reflected as she walked down the path from Hogsmeade, a sickeningly perfect day. The birds were singing, the flowers blooming and scenting the air with their various perfumes, and bright little fairies with shimmery wings were certain to pop out at any moment and sing to her.
If they did, she had decided, she might just go and stomp on them.
This was definitely not the kind of day she needed to indulge her present mood. What she needed was a good old gothic windstorm, the kind the Bronte sisters delighted in describing. It shouldn't be so damned sunny and happy when she needed time to brood.
She spent a good five minutes of her walk debating on the best way to make Mary Poppins pay for all those cheery bluebird associations - the damned woman had been a witch, and had managed to breed a species that went into exstacies over singing in harmony with humans, apparently, before someone had put a stop to it - before she realised how much her mind wanted to avoid thinking about the Snape Situation.
The most frustrating thing was the way logic ran away from her with this situation. The thoughts in her head were disordered, resisted categorisation. There was too much wrapped up in her head to extract any sense of the situation.
Senses... Hermione groaned and rubbed her forehead at the thought of the word. It set off too many associated thoughts. It brought thoughts of Severus' little speech at the start of every new first-year class, which led to his fascinating way with sibilants, and then to the fascinated way he had made her say his name again and again... Hermione shook her head. This was not good. She couldn't even get past his voice, let alone... other things.
And those other things were quite amazing themselves. She had run off like a frightened child the second his back was turned, and the running since then had prevented her from having time to remember the incredible sensations he had provoked in her. If the reactions she was feeling now were anything like normal for a person to feel after making love, she wondered how on earth married couples ever managed to get to work in the mornings. Here it was, almost twenty-four hours after The Event, and she still trembled at the thought of him. And she had innocently thought that making love was supposed to *satisfy* desires.
'Hmph,' Hermione said aloud. Even the memory of the man was making her... uncomfortable. How was she supposed to think in this state?
The thing was, desire wasn't the entirety of it. She remembered lying in his arms, peacefully drifting with sleepiness, and remembered how it had been the single most satisfying experience of her life, something she could have happily spent eternity doing. Sinking in their mutual warmth, breathing in the scent of him, feeling so completely wrapped up in him and he in her, had been a perfect moment, extended timelessly. She had never known what pleasure a hairy arm could bring when it was wrapped loosely around her.
Hermione sighed, and flicked her wand at a bush as she passed. It was all too difficult. What she really needed was time.
Next to her, a telltale flicker of fairy wings appeared from a bush, and a smiling little face began to open its mouth.
She stomped on it.
***
The cold damp dark of the dungeons did little to soothe the savage beast that dwelled within them, but Dumbledore had ordered him down there at about morning tea time until he calmed down, and the beast had to admit that the headmaster was probably right.
The beast was, of course, one Severus Snape. The title had landed on him three minutes into breakfast when he had made what was, upon reflection, an unfortunate comment to Minerva and she had replied with a few pointed remarks of her own, of which 'beast' was the most suited to polite conversation and possibly the only justified one. Severus certainly didn't recall performing the acts with his grandmother that Minerva had insinuated, anyway.
It was just his luck to have caught the usually prim Head of Gryffindor after she had spent a restless night with Poppy tending to some particularly sensitive plants Sprout had left in their care, and also his luck that his colleague had already learned, from Dumbledore presumably, of Hermione's sudden disappearance. Several of her threats had served to inform him that she had guessed the reason for Hermione's disappearance. If not that, then Minerva had become uncharacteristically thoughtful of Snape's future romantic partners when she had warned that she would charm certain parts of his anatomy off if others didn't apparently have a use for them.
After that, Dumbledore had stepped in and - rather unfairly, Snape thought - sent him to his room. It was typical that Minerva hadn't been punished at all. Anyway, he'd barely even pointed his wand at her. He could have just been reaching for it to scratch his neck, or something. Dumbledore couldn't have known that he was about to hex the transfigurations teacher into a pair of bunny slippers. It was quite unfair.
Having had a good five hours of pacing to calm down, though, Snape had to admit that being sequestered to his rooms had been a good idea. After desperately searching for Hermione half the night - he tried, unsuccessfully, not to remember that he had spent the other half of it making love to her - he had been in quite a state by breakfast, though his usual dour demeanour had covered it. He had needed this time in his rooms, to calm his mood. And he had. He had calmed his worry and had instead got good and angry.
Oh, he hadn't slipped straight from worry to anger. Or rather, he had, but that had been a different kind of anger. He had first slipped into the anger that comes after worry, the one that emerges with the realisation that the person causing the worry would undoubtedly be all right, and that it was they who were causing all this unpleasant sensation. From there, he had slowly slipped into a sort of melancholy, spent in half an hour's staring at the empty fireplace and reflecting that the poor girl was right to run from an ugly beast like him. That mood had given way to another type of worry, this time over her state of emotional well-being (he had read that term in some Gilderoy-Lockhart-esque book titled 'Feelings.' It had been on the Malfoys' hall table one visit) and reflecting on what could have caused her to flee like that. When he had failed to come up with an acceptable reason for her leaving his mood had again turned to anger. It had pulsed a few times now, moving from a rage to a cold burn, and right now it was tinged with sadness.
The main fact of it was that she had gone. And she had not yet returned.
Severus sighed. Some primal part of him wanted to punch something, but he was far too refined for that. He had settled for a tumbler of whisky instead, but hadn't felt really like drinking it. What he felt like was yelling at Hermione, but it just wasn't as much fun when she wasn't here.
He flopped ungracefully into a chair and glared at nothing in particular. Well, he was certainly the Beast, and he, at least, could picture Hermione as Beauty. They had followed the story, in a way; poor Beauty, stuck in a remote castle with the Beast. Having their company forced on each other, they had fallen... he would settle for the word 'fallen,' for now, not particularly comfortable with the extension of that phrase. That was about as far as it went. There would be no magical transformation of the Beast, and Beauty had positively fled from the castle. Of course, if he was to examine the original story more closely (that terrible muggle firm Disney had mangled it almost beyond recognition, he knew) there was a distinct lack of fathers invading his castle first and no wicked sisters, either, but he decided to ignore that in the interest of poetic effect.
Snape shook his head. Obviously, the damp darkness of the dungeons was rotting his brain. The romantic man dwelling on fairy tales was one step away from humming cheerful tunes, and then there would be nothing for it but several years in St Mungo's, or a sledgehammer. Preferably both, in reverse order.
He spent the next few minutes gleefully ruminating on exactly how the hypothetical romantic man could be punished for his soppiness, which gave him some interesting ideas for future detentions with students before his mind was forced back on the situation at hand by a reminiscence of a particularly nasty detention he had once given Hermione. He bit back a curse and began to pace once more. He only wished he could give her detention for this little stunt. He was uncomfortable with the unfamiliar sensation of simultaneously wanting to grasp her as tightly as possible and also wanting to wipe her from his mind completely. All the feelings of the past few hours were more agonising than any physical torture, and he was in a position to know. Curse her, he finally settled on thinking, curse her for the child she was. Her immature reactions to adult occupations were not worth his time. After all --
Dumbledore walked into the room and caught him mid-sneer, and Snape was forced to quickly compose his expression into one of calm politeness. He didn't want to be stuck in the dungeons all day, after all, the familiar comfort of them melting away under his frustration and fury. The end effect settled into a rather stupid frown of confusion, but he had little time to reflect.
'Ah, Severus, I see you have had time to get over your little tantrum. I was wondering if you would care to join us for dinner.'
Snape bit back the rejoinder such a patronising statement deserved, and grimly nodded his head, following the headmaster out the door.
Dumbledore made small talk as the two of them headed for the dining hall, and Snape took his usual position of disinterested silence until a familiar word made its way into the old man's patter.
'-and now that young Hermione has returned from her little trip, we can-' the headmaster was saying.
'Hermione what?' Snape asked, snapping to attention. 'When did she return?'
'Just now,' the old man answered. 'I spotted her making her way across the grounds just as I was walking to get you, in fact.' There was an annoying twinkle in the old man's eyes that made Severus want to headbutt him, but he refrained.
'So she may have only just entered the castle?' he asked with the calm of one addressing an idiot.
'I would suppose so,' Dumbledore replied. Severus nodded his thanks and moved off down the hall. Dumbledore waited a few moments before adding, 'She was heading for the eastern door, I believe.' As Snape changed direction and passed by the old man again, whose eyes were now merry with undisguised humour, he only just managed to suppress the urge to stomp on his foot on the way past.
Hermione had indeed chosen to enter by the eastern door, but she had got as far as the central hallway before Snape was able to catch up with her. As several of the staff had gathered there on their way to dinner, Snape was forced to adjust his demeanour to something more like casual as he walked forward to address her.
'Miss Granger,' he said, ignoring Minerva's glare as he stepped forward. 'I was wondering if I could-'
'Not now, Severus.' Hermione cut him off with an apologetic but firm look, and nodded at Minerva. 'Thank you for your concern, Minerva, but I really do need to head up to my rooms. Good evening, both of you.' With that, the young witch broke away from the group and headed for the staircase leading to her rooms. Snape stared after her, dumbfounded and quite unconscious of the censorious look McGonagall sent him.
The other staff began to move in the direction of the great hall, but Snape hung back. All the cold fury he had been working up had subsided when he had actually seen her. Now the worry was back again. There was something about her small frown as she had looked at him.
Not really thinking, Snape began to follow her up the stairs.
Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you
And from a window across the lawn I watched you undress
Wearing a sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair
That rose in strangled ebony curls...
I hear your champagne laugh
You wear two ebony orchids, one in your hair and one on your hip
A string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk
Circling the lake in a slowly dipping halo
And I hear a banjo tango and you dance into the shadow of a black poplar tree
And I watch you disappear, I watch you disappear...
-Tom Waits, 'Alice'
Insanely long author's notes:
MyinnerHermione, angel-g2001, OtherHiccup, Katie102, Udomiel, snapefan, Richal, jadeey, wizardingdilemma, klinglon1701, PinkChubbyMonkey, Iarejedi, LauraJo, Igardiner, Emotional Malfoy, Valkyrie Nienna Helyanwe, uberscully, Shannon, KET, Tephra, Lindsey, Ruthia, Alexial, Joani, Heather, wrenbirdy, Ezmerelda, crystalclear8050, Lisbeth, sweeteyangeline, Neveada, Dame Niamh, steph, Charma1219, tosh, Shelob: Sorry to lump you all together, but just wanted to thank you all for reviewing and putting up with my irregular updates.
Lady Lothian: glad I made you laugh. Thanks for reading.
QueenoftheDamned3: Thanks for the heads up regarding the summary (although, technically, the word 'ass' in the English language primarily denotes a type of donkey. but that's a bit pedantic).
Marston Chicklet: Eloquent as ever, I see. Thanks for the spooky music.
Katharina Dreamer: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I didn't plan it way, if that's any consolation, it just happened.
beatrice2005: thanks for the reassurance on the sex scenes. I was a bit worried.
Jaxxine: thank you for reading and I hope your teaching goes well.
Stella by Starlight: I'm sorry, but I don't think Ailie will be making a return appearance. Not that I don't miss her, too, but part of the idea of her leaving was to emphasise the fact that sometimes people have to leave, and they can't come back. I don't know, it's just something I feel happens a lot in the wizarding world. Sorry. But I'm glad you're enjoying the story anyway.
Nikki: I'm glad I made you laugh, and I hope your mum didn't wake up. Thank you for your compliments.
Morwen: Thank you for checking up on me. I was slightly stressed when I came across your review and it was nice to read. But don't worry, I'm not the suicidal type, I'm not ill, and I always look both ways when crossing the road. As for your first review, you might find the whole soul-bonding thing clearer in this chapter. If not: they both panicked because they had such an emotional connection when they made love, and both assumed that it must be another soul-bonding, as it was a similar feeling. But, as Dumbledore gently points out and Hermione realises by herself, Ailie's blood would never have been able to do that for them. So, they're in. trouble. And Skippy the Bush Kangaroo is a kitsch, seventies Australian children's programme that was also shown in England (but obviously not America) about a kangaroo that helps people. Sort of an Australian Lassie.
Savagepumpkin: no, Snape didn't confess to DD. I think the font stuffed up- Snape just thought that comment, but made up a flimsy excuse out loud.
Belanna: It's amazing to me that someone in Germany is reading my work. I'm glad you gave the story another try. I have been told that Ailie was a bit annoying, and I understand the desire to see all SS/HG but I just couldn't write it that way (well, at least I couldn't write a story this long that way). I'm told by a friend that speaks German that Ailie would be pronounced 'ehli' (eh as in geht and li as in Juli)- I've just discovered how difficult it is to explain words for a language that has different vowel sounds (especially as Ailie is gaelic, and they have slightly different vowels to English as well!). Thanks for all your insightful comments, especially about the whole thing that some people didn't like at the start of the story (along the same line, I've stumbled into fanfics that have had a huge rape scene at the beginning, with no warning in the summary, and yet fewer people complained about that). I'm glad to hear you like Sting, too- do you know 'Moon Over Bourbon St'? It's very different to 'Russians', but it was inspired by Anne Rice's vampire chronicles and is very. shiver-y.
Simone: Wow, yet another surprise, a reader in Switzerland. Thanks for reviewing, and for your support.
Guss-Guss: Thanks for your review. I do actually write my own stories (and did a long time before I dipped into ff)- you can check some of them out on fictionpress.net if you feel like it.
Matraeia: Thank you for reviewing so prolifically! It was really nice to get your comments on each chapter. I know, the old tired plotline of setting Herm up as a teacher annoys me too, but I just couldn't think of any other way to get all my favourite characters in one story (aside from setting it while H is in school, and that kind of icks me out. Not that there haven't been excellent stories written that way, but I just can't do it).
dryade: I'm sorry you lost sleep but thank you for reading my story, and thanks for your wonderful comments.
Michelle: I'm glad my story has been a better experience for you than some fanfic. I had basically the same experience when I first started reading (I think I must have just happened across some bad archives). Thank you for refraining from nagging.
I-Love-Sevi: Thanks for the tea tip, and thanks for spending your day on my story (!). No, we do not have Tim Hortons in Australia. Doughnuts are not really that big a thing over here- just another type of cake, really. I think it would be very entertaining to see you try to charter a kangaroo- they can be moody bastards (but not nearly as nasty as koalas. Believe it, or not).
Redstrawberry900: First of all, I wanted to apologise for not sending you the new chapters like I did with everyone else- I tried, but your email is nowhere to be found! Anyway, just wanted to let you know I tried. I'm glad I made your boyfriend laugh. It brings joy to my heart to give humour to the overly serious. I hope your ankle is feeling better. My partner was very happy to have got a review on his alternate ending (he's always picking on me for my Snape obsession, example: he is sitting next to me right now doing his Alan Rickman impression, which involves putting his head back and acting with his teeth. Watch Alan Rickman, you'll see he's a teeth actor, you'll see the reason for the impression. But that was the reason for his alternate ending- he loves the stories in which Snape gets harmed in some particularly horrible way). I'm also glad you enjoyed the darker chapter- I just wanted to explore that side of Snape. The poem at the end of the chapter was actually a song, by Tom Waits. If you don't know him, check him out. That song is off one of his recent albums titled 'Alice' (another song from that album ends this chapter) which is actually the soundtrack he wrote to a play about the guy who wrote Alice in Wonderland, and his relationship with the little girl who was the basis for the character of Alice. Whew. Convoluted explanation, but do check it out (he also released an album at the same time titled 'Blood Money' which I will no doubt quote one of these days, and that one was the soundtrack for a play based on the story of Woyzeck, an old German tale of a soldier who is deliberately driven mad as an experiment). I love those albums, so I tend to enthuse about them. The comment from Sirius in chapter 38 is also a quote from 'Alice', by the way, I'm not certain if I credited it.
Sharkbait: Sorry to frustrate you. Hopefully the story will move along soon.
EvilStoryPenguins: I LOVE THAT NAME. There's just something innately funny about penguins. Did you ever catch a cartoon called Avenger Penguins? Aah, sorry, just my twisted humour.
Anamorph: I was actually inspired to make a sock comment because of all the hilarious sock jokes I've read in other fics. For instance, one had Snape bumping into Herm in DiagonAlley near christmas, and warning her not to knock his packages. She asks him why, and he replies that one of them, shrunken, contains 2000 pairs of multicoloured socks for Dumbledore. Hilarious. So yes, if I can think of anything original I will endeavour to put it in.
grashopper: Why David Duchovny: I am as obsessed with that actor as I am with Alan Rickman, and my partner takes particular pleasure in devising unpleasant ends for the two of them.
Arime Setta: I feel bad for the people who have been with me since day one, too. Thanks for reading.
crystalseviltwin: I'm sorry you missed out on work, but thanks for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.
Me, myself and Eye: You had to point out the one thing I didn't want pointed out. I wasn't going to go into detail, but there are four ways it could have happened: Hermione called a house-elf, who apparated her (as house elves can apparate around Hogwarts, that's how they get around), she did the invisibility thing or she used a rather rare spell she had found in an old book at university that allowed mirrors and paintings to be used as portals. or number four, which I particularly favour, is she used the fireplace in his bathroom to floo to her own rooms. A fireplace in a bathroom, you say dubiously? Hogwarts is a very old castle, and in the days previous to modern conveniences such as running water (or indeed bathrooms) it was necessary to have fireplaces to heat water. Also, most rooms would have had one anyway in a privileged school such as Hogwarts, and let's face it, the dungeons haven't changed much since the Founders. So, truthfully, it's likely there would be one in the room now used for Snape's bathroom. But, honestly, Hermione didn't tell me when she was busily running away.
kiki0303: Um. I hope it is clearer in this chapter, but Hermione disappeared because she was scared of what she was feeling, and basically needed to talk to her mum. Considering she just experienced a deep emotional connection, which is bloody scary anyway, if you've ever felt it, and with Snape of all people, it's an understandable reaction, hopefully.
phreakreader: This chapter's not terribly entertaining, but there will be entertainment soon enough, don't worry.
SlytherinQueen87: It's good to hear from you again. No, Herm's not mad (although she would be if she knew she'd just been called 'Herm'), just scared. See my note to kiki0303. And see the note above that for the bathroom explanation.
Sinsortia: No, sorry. Atheist. But I did look seriously into wicca at one time, and it's one of my favourite religious systems.
A/N: I again apologise for my tardiness in updating. I know how frustrating it is, but you know how it is (example: last week, I read 23 books in three days for an annotated bibliography. And they were thick ones. Don't talk to me about Shere Hite or the Kinsey reports. Ugh). My thesis is due in two months, so the bad news is I am unlikely to update any more frequently until then, probably less so, but the good news is I will need to keep my mind off my terrible grade after then and will most likely retreat into the realm of fantasy that is Snape Gets His. So there you have it.
I also wanted to issue a challenge, of a sort: this chapter contains lists of pros and cons. The number of cons ends up as 27, versus 28 pros. In each case, only one item off each list is shown. I would be very interested to see what the other 26/27 items could be- and so challenge anyone to send me their own lists via reviews. The most weirdly funny will be put in a list that I will include in the next chapter.
Disclaimer: Pas sans mon poulet.
It wouldn't be seemly for the potions master of Hogwarts school to run through the corridors, which was why the progress of Snape to Dumbledore's office will be described as being conducted in a brisk walk. It was only eight o'clock, but he had barely contained himself to arriving on the headmaster's doorstep at this hour. The hours between discovering Hermione's absence and the present had stretched to an eternity as he had paced the castle's halls, covertly looking for her.
She hadn't been in her rooms. He hadn't wanted to invade her privacy, but an hour or so of wandering the halls in the hope of bumping into her had made him so frantic that he had checked. But she hadn't been there, so he had gone wandering again.
The events of the night had left him disturbed, to say the least. While he detected some essentials of the bond he had shared with Ailie - an extra concern for her welfare, a tug that drew him to her - he didn't have the benefit this time of knowing if Hermione was okay. At least with Ailie there was some form of thought projection, but it appeared the bond worked differently with wizards.
The headmaster was already dressed when he answered Snape's knock, and didn't appear to be especially surprised to see him. The old man twinkled gently as he offered him some tea.
Snape got right to the point.
'Headmaster. Miss Granger and I- there was an accident-' *Oh, yes, Sir, I accidentally made love to her for three hours-* 'We happened to share blood. You realise the implications.'
'I certainly do, Severus,' replied Dumbledore. Snape tried to ignore the twinkle in the old man's eye. 'However, I fear you are under a misapprehension. I believe you had better sit down.'
Puzzled, Snape seated himself in the proffered chair, wondering what the old man could know.
'I am afraid, Severus, that your link to Ailie is no more. Without your knowledge, the members of Ailie's coven and the members of yours performed the necessary ritual to banish the link.'
'My coven?' asked Snape, thoroughly puzzled.
'Yes,' Dumbledore said. He smiled warmly at Snape. 'If I can presume to call myself, Minerva and Argus such.'
Snape sat back, stunned. He didn't need the old wizard to explain any further. If the ceremony had been successful, then he was no longer beleaguered with a soul-bond to Ailie. It should have been a relief. He was too stunned at the moment to confidently judge for himself if it was.
'Fortunately, the magic in Ailie's blood would not have been strong enough for the link to be shared with another person, anyway,' Dumbledore was saying, and Snape forced himself to pay attention.
'No,' he agreed, knowing that an answer was expected. The meaning of what his Headmaster had said eventually sunk in. 'You mean to say, that I no longer have a link with Ailie? That it couldn't have been soul-bonding with-' he cut himself off before he said something embarrassing.
Dumbledore's eyes again twinkled. 'I am saying, dear Severus, that even while you were soul-bonded with Ailie, it is highly unlikely that you would have, through her blood, been able to bond with another person. As the bond between yourself and Ailie has now been banished, it is safe to assume that you are not able to bond with another, non-Wiccan person.' Dumbledore idly unwrapped a sweet, popping it into his mouth with great deliberation. 'I wonder,' he said in a quiet voice, 'what made you think you had been bonded, once more?' He looked back up at Snape, his expression unreadable.
Snape summoned up his dignity, which had apparently disappeared with the loss of his self-control.
'I was mistaken,' he said sternly, and rose.
Dumbledore nodded at him. 'Very well, Severus. If ever you need a confidante...'
'I'll be sure to shoot myself in the head. Yes, thank you.' Glowering darkly, Snape swept from the room.
This was not a good development at all.
***
Hermione Granger was on the lam. She had to admit it- for perhaps the first time, she had run away from a situation like a coward. But it was justified.
She had arrived on her parents' doorstep at five o'clock that morning, exhausted and virtually unable to communicate. Luckily it was her father, the early riser, who was up and about when she arrived, and a relatively thin explanation went past his radar. By the time she rose from her slumber in the guest room, the sun was low on the horizon once more. She wandered into the kitchen and found her parents there, her mother looking slightly worried at her tired appearance. Apparently sensing her daughter's reluctance for family banter, Penelope Granger shot her husband a look and he left the room while she poured her daughter a cup of tea.
When they were both seated, the elder woman patten her daughter's hand.
'We didn't expect to see you today, darling,' she said. Hermione, uncertain of what to say, merely nodded.
Even she wasn't certain as to why she was here. All she knew was that, after her cowardly performance of running away in Snape's chambers, Hogwarts was the last place she had wanted to be. It still was. She was idly considering whether she could conduct her classes via owl mail.
It had taken very little thought to realise that her presumption about a Wiccan linkage to Snape had been wrong. In fact, she had come to the conclusion roughly three minutes after fleeing Snape's rooms. Ailie and Snape hadn't developed the same blood type after bonding, and it was a bit of a stretch to assume that the one little pinch of Wiccan blood in Snape's system- which should have been flushed out by now anyway- was powerful enough for him to forge a link with another non-Wiccan. Even the strongest potions ingredients weren't that powerful. These thoughts had travelled through her brain with her usual recourse to logic as she had made her way up to her rooms. By the time she had got to her own door, she had been forced to conclude that it was something else altogether that had provoked the reaction between herself and Snape. It had not helped her discomfiture.
The trouble was, she simply wasn't prepared to deal with this kind of outcome. Sex with Snape was supposed to have simply been sex; nice, uncomplicated and exciting, but most of all straightforward. No complicated emotions to get in the way. They would have sex, and work. Neither situation would have to interfere with the other, and when the former ceased to appeal to them, they could continue with the latter feeling nothing more than a little more well exercised.
Hermione would admit she was no expert on sexual intercourse, but she was willing to bet that the average casual roll in the hay did not leave you feeling like your soul had been ripped in half and your body permanently imprinted by the touch of another human being. Even then, there would have been room for doubt if Snape hadn't as good as said he felt exactly the same way. The fact that he had so willingly accepted her surmisal of the situation said something of his own experience.
Forgetting her mother's presence, Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. Here she was, in a huge mess and she had to analyse it like it was a lab experiment. The trouble was, that was the better option. She didn't want to think about the label people usually put on such feelings.
Her mother patted her hand, and Hermione looked up. There was such a look of concern on the older woman's face that she felt obliged to explain.
'Mum...' she began, then narrowed her eyes. How to put this? 'I slept with Professor Snape.'
To her credit, the elder Granger woman only widened her eyes slightly in reaction. 'Is that so? Recently, or when you were at school?'
'Mum!' Hermione gasped, then laughed slightly. 'Recently. Um... very recently, in fact.'
Penelope nodded slowly. 'Are you unhappy about it?'
Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure. Not really. But there's a problem.' With a sigh, she began to explain all the concerns involved in being in love with a man like Severus Snape.
Three hours later, John Granger poked his head into the kitchen to see his wife and daughter facing off each other over the kitchen table, each with a pad of paper and copious notes. He smiled at the ritual he had seen them perform ever since Hermione could pick up a pen, one woman noting the pros of a situation, the other listing the cons. From what he could see, the scales were about even. He smiled to himself and went back into the sitting room.
Hermione was not smiling. She frowned down at her list - she was minding the 'cons' - and peered up at her mother. 'Are you certain you've got twenty-seven?'
The older woman nodded. 'Yup. Twenty-seven reasons you should pursue a relationship with your Mr Snape. Think you can beat it?'
'Mum! This is not funny.' Frowning even deeper, Hermione chewed on her pen. Her list had only twenty-six cons. Her brows lifted as something occurred to her. 'I know! He always cuts his food into pieces before eating. It's really annoying.' She looked up to see her mother giving her a serious look.
'Sweetheart, I hardly think that's a reason for the man to spend the rest of his days alone. Besides, you always used to eat your food that way until your father told you it was uncultured.'
'I was only seven at the time. And besides, he was right. Cutting a meal up that way not only allows it to cool quicker but it blends the flavours. Oh, all right then,' she sighed as she gave in and crossed it off her list. Frowning again, Hermione continued to chew on her pen. What she needed... what she needed was a sugar quill. No; she shook her head at herself. She couldn't let herself be distracted. This was important. She and her mother had dealt with problems in this way since her childhood, and she knew there had to be a solution here somehow.
'Aha!' she said, scribbling away. 'He likes snakes. I hate snakes. Twenty-seven.'
'Against twenty-eight, I'm afraid,' Penelope said, and slightly sheepishly offered her list for Hermione's perusal. Hermione looked down and saw, in her mother's neat scipt, '28. Good in bed.' She blushed brightly and sent her mother an embarrassed look.
'You- you have no way of knowing that's true,' she said.
Penelope shrugged. 'You would have been rather more uncomfortable today if he wasn't, darling. Besides, there's a certain look of - *relaxation* that has only a few causes, I've found.'
Pursing her lips, Hermione laid her pen on the table. There was simply no answering that, and she couldn't think of another con. For now.
'How about leaving this, for a while?' her mother suggested. 'As much as you may want to resolve it, I think our lists aren't helping you with this particular problem. Anyway, it's almost dinner time.' Both women put their lists aside with an identical frown. John Granger, as if by some intuition, chose that moment to reenter the kitchen and suggest a cup of tea.
'The problem is,' Penelope said when the three Grangers were sitting around the table sipping tea, 'not every dilemma can be solved with a list.' Her husband became suddenly interested in the pattern of the wallpaper next to him.
Hermione frowned. 'Perhaps. But I still don't...' She frowned again. 'Perhaps you're right.' She sighed.
'Perhaps you should simply leave it to observation,' Penelope suggested. 'You both live in the same castle. Give yourself time to decide about him.' John Granger, having by now spent an inordinate time studying the kitchen wallpaper, had moved his attention to the tablecloth. On the mention of the word 'him' his lips thinned, and he returned to the wallpaper with studiousness unsurpassed by even Hermione studying for her NEWTs. Neither women noticed.
Hermione sighed again and set her cup of tea down, her movements signalling a close to the conversation. She stood.
'Must you be leaving so soon?' John ventured as the women both stood and Hermione reached for her coat. She nodded.
'Sorry, Dad. I really must get back. But I'll come for a longer visit soon, I promise.'
At the door, her mother gave her a hug. 'Darling, you could simply let things move along naturally. Try him on, so to speak.' She put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and gave her a serious look. Hermione merely gave her another hug and made her goodbyes.
As the two parents stood on the doorstep, both wearing the slightly stunned expressions they always wore after seeing their daughter disappear into thin air with barely a 'pop,' John put his arm around his wife's shoulders.
'So, who is he?' he asked.
'Just Hermione's surly ex-teacher who's only slightly younger than you, dear,' his wife answered.
John remembered why it was so important for his sanity to stay out of these mother-daughter issues, and waited calmly until his wife was inside before bashing his head against the wall.
***
Dumbledore let the pacing outside his office door continue for a few moments. He had performed the old mirror-under-the-door trick a few moments ago and so knew his early morning visitor was his esteemed potions master. Again.
At least this time the man had waited until it was merely an abnormal hour before visiting. Earlier this morning, his visit had been at a rather unreasonable hour, even if his concern over Miss Granger's whereabouts was understandable. And the visit *before* that, at which time Severus had merely tentatively inquired about the problem he and Miss Granger had encountered at some time during the night, had been completely inconsiderate of an old man's need for rest. It was a good thing, Dumbledore thought to himself as he rose to open the door, that he was only one hundred and six. An older man could never put up with the rigours of running a school such as Hogwarts.
'Ah, Severus,' he said as he opened the door. After all these years, the potions master had grown somewhat used to his headmaster's tricks, but Dumbledore was gratified to see a slight glimmer of surprise in Snape's eye when the door had opened without him even knocking.
'Albus, have you-'
'Now, now, Severus,' Dumbledore said, patting the younger man on the shoulder and gently guiding him toward the stairwell. 'Miss Granger is perfectly safe and well, and at her parents' home. Possibly having breakfast as we speak. Speaking of which...' The gentle urging toward the stairwell became less gentle as the headmaster thought longingly of blueberry pancakes and bacon.
'Are you certain that-'
'Severus,' Dumbledore said sternly. He caught the glance Snape gave him, the one of relief-tinged-with-awe that he was given every time he pulled out the psychic stops, and inwardly sighed. If only people would use their brains more often, they would see how much could be accomplished with a simple spell and logic; in this case, a locator spell and the knowledge that young things often run to their mothers in times of confusion.
As he ushered the potions master down the stairs, the door to the headmaster's office closed and locked itself silently.
***
It really was, Hermione reflected as she walked down the path from Hogsmeade, a sickeningly perfect day. The birds were singing, the flowers blooming and scenting the air with their various perfumes, and bright little fairies with shimmery wings were certain to pop out at any moment and sing to her.
If they did, she had decided, she might just go and stomp on them.
This was definitely not the kind of day she needed to indulge her present mood. What she needed was a good old gothic windstorm, the kind the Bronte sisters delighted in describing. It shouldn't be so damned sunny and happy when she needed time to brood.
She spent a good five minutes of her walk debating on the best way to make Mary Poppins pay for all those cheery bluebird associations - the damned woman had been a witch, and had managed to breed a species that went into exstacies over singing in harmony with humans, apparently, before someone had put a stop to it - before she realised how much her mind wanted to avoid thinking about the Snape Situation.
The most frustrating thing was the way logic ran away from her with this situation. The thoughts in her head were disordered, resisted categorisation. There was too much wrapped up in her head to extract any sense of the situation.
Senses... Hermione groaned and rubbed her forehead at the thought of the word. It set off too many associated thoughts. It brought thoughts of Severus' little speech at the start of every new first-year class, which led to his fascinating way with sibilants, and then to the fascinated way he had made her say his name again and again... Hermione shook her head. This was not good. She couldn't even get past his voice, let alone... other things.
And those other things were quite amazing themselves. She had run off like a frightened child the second his back was turned, and the running since then had prevented her from having time to remember the incredible sensations he had provoked in her. If the reactions she was feeling now were anything like normal for a person to feel after making love, she wondered how on earth married couples ever managed to get to work in the mornings. Here it was, almost twenty-four hours after The Event, and she still trembled at the thought of him. And she had innocently thought that making love was supposed to *satisfy* desires.
'Hmph,' Hermione said aloud. Even the memory of the man was making her... uncomfortable. How was she supposed to think in this state?
The thing was, desire wasn't the entirety of it. She remembered lying in his arms, peacefully drifting with sleepiness, and remembered how it had been the single most satisfying experience of her life, something she could have happily spent eternity doing. Sinking in their mutual warmth, breathing in the scent of him, feeling so completely wrapped up in him and he in her, had been a perfect moment, extended timelessly. She had never known what pleasure a hairy arm could bring when it was wrapped loosely around her.
Hermione sighed, and flicked her wand at a bush as she passed. It was all too difficult. What she really needed was time.
Next to her, a telltale flicker of fairy wings appeared from a bush, and a smiling little face began to open its mouth.
She stomped on it.
***
The cold damp dark of the dungeons did little to soothe the savage beast that dwelled within them, but Dumbledore had ordered him down there at about morning tea time until he calmed down, and the beast had to admit that the headmaster was probably right.
The beast was, of course, one Severus Snape. The title had landed on him three minutes into breakfast when he had made what was, upon reflection, an unfortunate comment to Minerva and she had replied with a few pointed remarks of her own, of which 'beast' was the most suited to polite conversation and possibly the only justified one. Severus certainly didn't recall performing the acts with his grandmother that Minerva had insinuated, anyway.
It was just his luck to have caught the usually prim Head of Gryffindor after she had spent a restless night with Poppy tending to some particularly sensitive plants Sprout had left in their care, and also his luck that his colleague had already learned, from Dumbledore presumably, of Hermione's sudden disappearance. Several of her threats had served to inform him that she had guessed the reason for Hermione's disappearance. If not that, then Minerva had become uncharacteristically thoughtful of Snape's future romantic partners when she had warned that she would charm certain parts of his anatomy off if others didn't apparently have a use for them.
After that, Dumbledore had stepped in and - rather unfairly, Snape thought - sent him to his room. It was typical that Minerva hadn't been punished at all. Anyway, he'd barely even pointed his wand at her. He could have just been reaching for it to scratch his neck, or something. Dumbledore couldn't have known that he was about to hex the transfigurations teacher into a pair of bunny slippers. It was quite unfair.
Having had a good five hours of pacing to calm down, though, Snape had to admit that being sequestered to his rooms had been a good idea. After desperately searching for Hermione half the night - he tried, unsuccessfully, not to remember that he had spent the other half of it making love to her - he had been in quite a state by breakfast, though his usual dour demeanour had covered it. He had needed this time in his rooms, to calm his mood. And he had. He had calmed his worry and had instead got good and angry.
Oh, he hadn't slipped straight from worry to anger. Or rather, he had, but that had been a different kind of anger. He had first slipped into the anger that comes after worry, the one that emerges with the realisation that the person causing the worry would undoubtedly be all right, and that it was they who were causing all this unpleasant sensation. From there, he had slowly slipped into a sort of melancholy, spent in half an hour's staring at the empty fireplace and reflecting that the poor girl was right to run from an ugly beast like him. That mood had given way to another type of worry, this time over her state of emotional well-being (he had read that term in some Gilderoy-Lockhart-esque book titled 'Feelings.' It had been on the Malfoys' hall table one visit) and reflecting on what could have caused her to flee like that. When he had failed to come up with an acceptable reason for her leaving his mood had again turned to anger. It had pulsed a few times now, moving from a rage to a cold burn, and right now it was tinged with sadness.
The main fact of it was that she had gone. And she had not yet returned.
Severus sighed. Some primal part of him wanted to punch something, but he was far too refined for that. He had settled for a tumbler of whisky instead, but hadn't felt really like drinking it. What he felt like was yelling at Hermione, but it just wasn't as much fun when she wasn't here.
He flopped ungracefully into a chair and glared at nothing in particular. Well, he was certainly the Beast, and he, at least, could picture Hermione as Beauty. They had followed the story, in a way; poor Beauty, stuck in a remote castle with the Beast. Having their company forced on each other, they had fallen... he would settle for the word 'fallen,' for now, not particularly comfortable with the extension of that phrase. That was about as far as it went. There would be no magical transformation of the Beast, and Beauty had positively fled from the castle. Of course, if he was to examine the original story more closely (that terrible muggle firm Disney had mangled it almost beyond recognition, he knew) there was a distinct lack of fathers invading his castle first and no wicked sisters, either, but he decided to ignore that in the interest of poetic effect.
Snape shook his head. Obviously, the damp darkness of the dungeons was rotting his brain. The romantic man dwelling on fairy tales was one step away from humming cheerful tunes, and then there would be nothing for it but several years in St Mungo's, or a sledgehammer. Preferably both, in reverse order.
He spent the next few minutes gleefully ruminating on exactly how the hypothetical romantic man could be punished for his soppiness, which gave him some interesting ideas for future detentions with students before his mind was forced back on the situation at hand by a reminiscence of a particularly nasty detention he had once given Hermione. He bit back a curse and began to pace once more. He only wished he could give her detention for this little stunt. He was uncomfortable with the unfamiliar sensation of simultaneously wanting to grasp her as tightly as possible and also wanting to wipe her from his mind completely. All the feelings of the past few hours were more agonising than any physical torture, and he was in a position to know. Curse her, he finally settled on thinking, curse her for the child she was. Her immature reactions to adult occupations were not worth his time. After all --
Dumbledore walked into the room and caught him mid-sneer, and Snape was forced to quickly compose his expression into one of calm politeness. He didn't want to be stuck in the dungeons all day, after all, the familiar comfort of them melting away under his frustration and fury. The end effect settled into a rather stupid frown of confusion, but he had little time to reflect.
'Ah, Severus, I see you have had time to get over your little tantrum. I was wondering if you would care to join us for dinner.'
Snape bit back the rejoinder such a patronising statement deserved, and grimly nodded his head, following the headmaster out the door.
Dumbledore made small talk as the two of them headed for the dining hall, and Snape took his usual position of disinterested silence until a familiar word made its way into the old man's patter.
'-and now that young Hermione has returned from her little trip, we can-' the headmaster was saying.
'Hermione what?' Snape asked, snapping to attention. 'When did she return?'
'Just now,' the old man answered. 'I spotted her making her way across the grounds just as I was walking to get you, in fact.' There was an annoying twinkle in the old man's eyes that made Severus want to headbutt him, but he refrained.
'So she may have only just entered the castle?' he asked with the calm of one addressing an idiot.
'I would suppose so,' Dumbledore replied. Severus nodded his thanks and moved off down the hall. Dumbledore waited a few moments before adding, 'She was heading for the eastern door, I believe.' As Snape changed direction and passed by the old man again, whose eyes were now merry with undisguised humour, he only just managed to suppress the urge to stomp on his foot on the way past.
Hermione had indeed chosen to enter by the eastern door, but she had got as far as the central hallway before Snape was able to catch up with her. As several of the staff had gathered there on their way to dinner, Snape was forced to adjust his demeanour to something more like casual as he walked forward to address her.
'Miss Granger,' he said, ignoring Minerva's glare as he stepped forward. 'I was wondering if I could-'
'Not now, Severus.' Hermione cut him off with an apologetic but firm look, and nodded at Minerva. 'Thank you for your concern, Minerva, but I really do need to head up to my rooms. Good evening, both of you.' With that, the young witch broke away from the group and headed for the staircase leading to her rooms. Snape stared after her, dumbfounded and quite unconscious of the censorious look McGonagall sent him.
The other staff began to move in the direction of the great hall, but Snape hung back. All the cold fury he had been working up had subsided when he had actually seen her. Now the worry was back again. There was something about her small frown as she had looked at him.
Not really thinking, Snape began to follow her up the stairs.
Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you
And from a window across the lawn I watched you undress
Wearing a sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair
That rose in strangled ebony curls...
I hear your champagne laugh
You wear two ebony orchids, one in your hair and one on your hip
A string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk
Circling the lake in a slowly dipping halo
And I hear a banjo tango and you dance into the shadow of a black poplar tree
And I watch you disappear, I watch you disappear...
-Tom Waits, 'Alice'
Insanely long author's notes:
MyinnerHermione, angel-g2001, OtherHiccup, Katie102, Udomiel, snapefan, Richal, jadeey, wizardingdilemma, klinglon1701, PinkChubbyMonkey, Iarejedi, LauraJo, Igardiner, Emotional Malfoy, Valkyrie Nienna Helyanwe, uberscully, Shannon, KET, Tephra, Lindsey, Ruthia, Alexial, Joani, Heather, wrenbirdy, Ezmerelda, crystalclear8050, Lisbeth, sweeteyangeline, Neveada, Dame Niamh, steph, Charma1219, tosh, Shelob: Sorry to lump you all together, but just wanted to thank you all for reviewing and putting up with my irregular updates.
Lady Lothian: glad I made you laugh. Thanks for reading.
QueenoftheDamned3: Thanks for the heads up regarding the summary (although, technically, the word 'ass' in the English language primarily denotes a type of donkey. but that's a bit pedantic).
Marston Chicklet: Eloquent as ever, I see. Thanks for the spooky music.
Katharina Dreamer: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I didn't plan it way, if that's any consolation, it just happened.
beatrice2005: thanks for the reassurance on the sex scenes. I was a bit worried.
Jaxxine: thank you for reading and I hope your teaching goes well.
Stella by Starlight: I'm sorry, but I don't think Ailie will be making a return appearance. Not that I don't miss her, too, but part of the idea of her leaving was to emphasise the fact that sometimes people have to leave, and they can't come back. I don't know, it's just something I feel happens a lot in the wizarding world. Sorry. But I'm glad you're enjoying the story anyway.
Nikki: I'm glad I made you laugh, and I hope your mum didn't wake up. Thank you for your compliments.
Morwen: Thank you for checking up on me. I was slightly stressed when I came across your review and it was nice to read. But don't worry, I'm not the suicidal type, I'm not ill, and I always look both ways when crossing the road. As for your first review, you might find the whole soul-bonding thing clearer in this chapter. If not: they both panicked because they had such an emotional connection when they made love, and both assumed that it must be another soul-bonding, as it was a similar feeling. But, as Dumbledore gently points out and Hermione realises by herself, Ailie's blood would never have been able to do that for them. So, they're in. trouble. And Skippy the Bush Kangaroo is a kitsch, seventies Australian children's programme that was also shown in England (but obviously not America) about a kangaroo that helps people. Sort of an Australian Lassie.
Savagepumpkin: no, Snape didn't confess to DD. I think the font stuffed up- Snape just thought that comment, but made up a flimsy excuse out loud.
Belanna: It's amazing to me that someone in Germany is reading my work. I'm glad you gave the story another try. I have been told that Ailie was a bit annoying, and I understand the desire to see all SS/HG but I just couldn't write it that way (well, at least I couldn't write a story this long that way). I'm told by a friend that speaks German that Ailie would be pronounced 'ehli' (eh as in geht and li as in Juli)- I've just discovered how difficult it is to explain words for a language that has different vowel sounds (especially as Ailie is gaelic, and they have slightly different vowels to English as well!). Thanks for all your insightful comments, especially about the whole thing that some people didn't like at the start of the story (along the same line, I've stumbled into fanfics that have had a huge rape scene at the beginning, with no warning in the summary, and yet fewer people complained about that). I'm glad to hear you like Sting, too- do you know 'Moon Over Bourbon St'? It's very different to 'Russians', but it was inspired by Anne Rice's vampire chronicles and is very. shiver-y.
Simone: Wow, yet another surprise, a reader in Switzerland. Thanks for reviewing, and for your support.
Guss-Guss: Thanks for your review. I do actually write my own stories (and did a long time before I dipped into ff)- you can check some of them out on fictionpress.net if you feel like it.
Matraeia: Thank you for reviewing so prolifically! It was really nice to get your comments on each chapter. I know, the old tired plotline of setting Herm up as a teacher annoys me too, but I just couldn't think of any other way to get all my favourite characters in one story (aside from setting it while H is in school, and that kind of icks me out. Not that there haven't been excellent stories written that way, but I just can't do it).
dryade: I'm sorry you lost sleep but thank you for reading my story, and thanks for your wonderful comments.
Michelle: I'm glad my story has been a better experience for you than some fanfic. I had basically the same experience when I first started reading (I think I must have just happened across some bad archives). Thank you for refraining from nagging.
I-Love-Sevi: Thanks for the tea tip, and thanks for spending your day on my story (!). No, we do not have Tim Hortons in Australia. Doughnuts are not really that big a thing over here- just another type of cake, really. I think it would be very entertaining to see you try to charter a kangaroo- they can be moody bastards (but not nearly as nasty as koalas. Believe it, or not).
Redstrawberry900: First of all, I wanted to apologise for not sending you the new chapters like I did with everyone else- I tried, but your email is nowhere to be found! Anyway, just wanted to let you know I tried. I'm glad I made your boyfriend laugh. It brings joy to my heart to give humour to the overly serious. I hope your ankle is feeling better. My partner was very happy to have got a review on his alternate ending (he's always picking on me for my Snape obsession, example: he is sitting next to me right now doing his Alan Rickman impression, which involves putting his head back and acting with his teeth. Watch Alan Rickman, you'll see he's a teeth actor, you'll see the reason for the impression. But that was the reason for his alternate ending- he loves the stories in which Snape gets harmed in some particularly horrible way). I'm also glad you enjoyed the darker chapter- I just wanted to explore that side of Snape. The poem at the end of the chapter was actually a song, by Tom Waits. If you don't know him, check him out. That song is off one of his recent albums titled 'Alice' (another song from that album ends this chapter) which is actually the soundtrack he wrote to a play about the guy who wrote Alice in Wonderland, and his relationship with the little girl who was the basis for the character of Alice. Whew. Convoluted explanation, but do check it out (he also released an album at the same time titled 'Blood Money' which I will no doubt quote one of these days, and that one was the soundtrack for a play based on the story of Woyzeck, an old German tale of a soldier who is deliberately driven mad as an experiment). I love those albums, so I tend to enthuse about them. The comment from Sirius in chapter 38 is also a quote from 'Alice', by the way, I'm not certain if I credited it.
Sharkbait: Sorry to frustrate you. Hopefully the story will move along soon.
EvilStoryPenguins: I LOVE THAT NAME. There's just something innately funny about penguins. Did you ever catch a cartoon called Avenger Penguins? Aah, sorry, just my twisted humour.
Anamorph: I was actually inspired to make a sock comment because of all the hilarious sock jokes I've read in other fics. For instance, one had Snape bumping into Herm in DiagonAlley near christmas, and warning her not to knock his packages. She asks him why, and he replies that one of them, shrunken, contains 2000 pairs of multicoloured socks for Dumbledore. Hilarious. So yes, if I can think of anything original I will endeavour to put it in.
grashopper: Why David Duchovny: I am as obsessed with that actor as I am with Alan Rickman, and my partner takes particular pleasure in devising unpleasant ends for the two of them.
Arime Setta: I feel bad for the people who have been with me since day one, too. Thanks for reading.
crystalseviltwin: I'm sorry you missed out on work, but thanks for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.
Me, myself and Eye: You had to point out the one thing I didn't want pointed out. I wasn't going to go into detail, but there are four ways it could have happened: Hermione called a house-elf, who apparated her (as house elves can apparate around Hogwarts, that's how they get around), she did the invisibility thing or she used a rather rare spell she had found in an old book at university that allowed mirrors and paintings to be used as portals. or number four, which I particularly favour, is she used the fireplace in his bathroom to floo to her own rooms. A fireplace in a bathroom, you say dubiously? Hogwarts is a very old castle, and in the days previous to modern conveniences such as running water (or indeed bathrooms) it was necessary to have fireplaces to heat water. Also, most rooms would have had one anyway in a privileged school such as Hogwarts, and let's face it, the dungeons haven't changed much since the Founders. So, truthfully, it's likely there would be one in the room now used for Snape's bathroom. But, honestly, Hermione didn't tell me when she was busily running away.
kiki0303: Um. I hope it is clearer in this chapter, but Hermione disappeared because she was scared of what she was feeling, and basically needed to talk to her mum. Considering she just experienced a deep emotional connection, which is bloody scary anyway, if you've ever felt it, and with Snape of all people, it's an understandable reaction, hopefully.
phreakreader: This chapter's not terribly entertaining, but there will be entertainment soon enough, don't worry.
SlytherinQueen87: It's good to hear from you again. No, Herm's not mad (although she would be if she knew she'd just been called 'Herm'), just scared. See my note to kiki0303. And see the note above that for the bathroom explanation.
Sinsortia: No, sorry. Atheist. But I did look seriously into wicca at one time, and it's one of my favourite religious systems.