Story Title: Wicked

Chapter Title: Revealed (5/?)

Chapter Rating: PG- for mention of Snape's completion, nothing major.

Author's Notes: Ok, this is yet another chapter where my story veers away from the books. A lot of the "adventures" that feature Hermione will feature my Original Female Character, Tabitha Reicher. She is the "Reicher girl" that Snape refers to in this chapter. I am trying to keep everything else canon though. Enjoy.

-

I finish washing in a hurry, spraying water and soap all over the floor. I reach for my wand to cast a cleaning spell, but remember that I hadn't thought to bring my wand with me when I returned to my dormitory to retrieve my uniform.

Before I can leave to get it, a whoosh of light speeds across the tiled floor. I look over my shoulder to identify my mystery helper, but am greeted by only a pop and newly emptied space.

"House-elves," my brain tells me.

"Something else," my intuition assures me.

I dry off and dress in my school uniform with crisp precision. Nothing can be out of place, except for my unruly hair that is subbornly determined to live a life of its own. I chuckle to myself and brush a hand over my locks before I attack it with my hairbrush.

"If only it hung straighter, or was easier to tame even," I wish silently. "But it, in suit of my other faults, it is as stubborn to remain the same as always. My everlasting urge to study harder, when I could devour more than half the tests and assignments in my sleep, my need to control situations, yet seek out the comfort of others as equals, and my diasterous cravings for demented men are all signs of my stubborn willingness to go against what is most painless for me. What the hell is wrong with me?"

I prod my hair some more before finally giving up on it to head to breakfast. I consider my options for psychiatric help while my eyes roam the halls for a sighting of Harry, Ron, or him.

I am mildly disappointed when I spot him ascending the dungeons' stairwell with Catherine on his arm. There is no rational, non-sexual reason why she would be at Hogwarts looking downright orgasmic this early in the school day. She had slept over, and he was showing her off to the few students remaining in the entrance hall. He had to have known she would draw more out into the hall.

I know that he must be showing her off because Professor McGonagall told me that nearly all the fireplaces in the school were connected on the Floo network, and could be navigated in seconds. Even if she were off to Hogsmeade, or another teacher's office, she did not actually have to move through the halls themselves. Why else, then, would she be heading my direction with the falsest smile in existance plastered across her face?

"Hello, Hermione? Right?" the doll addresses me primly.

"Right," I smile, and a bit of my more predatory instinct creeps into my grin. "Caitlin, right?"

The plastic cheer does not waiver with even the slightest flinch. I am impressed.

"No, sweetie. It's Catherine. I suppose that you will have to see me around the castle more often so that we will be absolutely certain of one another's names."

I stop the snarl that fights to curl my lips, and rake my vocal cords.

As I open my mouth to reply with an equally sweet and biting remark, Professor Snape speaks up, asserting his presence, "Naturally, you shall refer to my fiancee as MIss Sullivan until the time that she becomes Mrs. Snape. Then, you shall address her as such, Miss Granger."

I watch Snape's eyes flint to Catherine in what I would normally call adoration, but I am too slow to fully capture the essence of the look before it is masked behind a cold sneer of digust directed towards me. I can feel the venom in his eyes soak into my skin.

The blonde plaything beams merrily at me once more before she turns to Snape, "If you insist Severus. I must be along to Sibyll's to consult her about that dream I had last night."

"Of course," the object of my affection, and unfairly betrothed Potions professor responds, and squeezes the Usurper's hand, to ensure that I see their obvious, deep, souful bond.

I allow my irate eyes a small roll to the ceiling in protest to the sickening display.

The chipper annoyance gives me one last wave as she heads up the marble staircase to the North Tower. He stares down his nose at me with the hint of a smirk ghosting across his mouth.

"See you at breakfast, Miss Granger," he stresses my name in a tone that makes it sound obscene and bullies me into silence.

I watch Snape's back move further away up the isle between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables to the staff table. It is only then that I finally notice the scene has had an audience from initial smile to final smirk. Every word that passed between us had been intercepted by a number of stunned students.

My mind sputtered and clawed at some form of logic. Why would he go to lengths to offend and embarass me? More importantly, why he had done it in such a public place? He surely could have waited until later to belittle me in front of his fiancee, but why other students? He must know that breakfast will not end without the entire school being aware of the incident, plus whatever details and speculation that is thrown in by the gossip feeders.

"Nothing without a reason. . . " my mind whispers to me cryptically.

I realize that it is correct as I hold my head up stiffly while passing the gawking onlookers. Let them stare.

My eyes shoot to the Gryffindor table, and catch both Ron and Harry in their gaze. They both give weak, encouraging smiles accompanied by small waves. I notice that Ginny Weasley is, however, looking at me with an wary, appraising glint in her eyes as I wave back to Harry and Ron.

I take my usual seat next to Cho and Orla Quike and begin to dig into the morning's offereings of porridge, kippers, and pumpkin juice.

"All secrets will reveal themselves in honest time. . . " my head hisses.

"That they shall," I answer confidently, spooning sugar into my bowl.

-

I waste neither time, nor backwards glance when I exit the Hall to prepare for my first class. I have a double period of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years. The newest Hufflepuffs are neurotic in attempts to complete their assignments at best, and all-out clueless neanderthals who do not possess the ability to pick out the subtle distinction between a common beetle's and cockroach's legs. Truly pathetic.

They are already showing promise of fitting example-making material. Though not as enjoyable as reprimanding a bratty bunch of Gryffindors, they are easy pickings to amuse me until the wizarding world renowned Gryffindor classes arrived for today's lesson.

I finish setting out the ingredients for the Boil Cure potion. I pick idly at a porcupine quill while my mind drifts back to the confrontation outside the Great Hall. I know that I had to defuse any rumors or notions of impropriety between she and I, but a faint ache of guilt is thudding against my heart with every beat. The confusion and hurt that etched noticeable creases into the cervices of her attractive face gnaws at me.

I know, with more certainity than Flich knows where to find the next troublemaker, that perhaps, Minerva is correct after all. Though the mental ploys and fantasies are not affecting the efficiency with which I instruct my classes, nor does it wholly interfer with my spying duties, the unhealthy desires have already worked their way in my love life. I nearly called out Hermione's name last night, and had to bite into Catherine's shoulder to muffle the cry.

I know that I could have let Catherine Floo to Trelawney's, as is her usual method of travel to visit her delusional friend, but I insisted that she walk upstairs with me instead. I am sure she felt proud to have "gotten me" to publically showcase my fondness of her to the entire school, but she does not know that I intended for two different women to see us together.

The first, and most importantly, Minerva. I would rather avoid another one of her talks, no matter how accurate they may be. No, particularly because of how accurate they are. I do not need yet another Gryffindor poking around in my personal concerns. Dumbledore is already much more than I can stomach at times. He means well, but I do not have to value every single personal inquiry.

The second, naturally, being Granger herself. She can have her school girl infatuations all she likes, but she needs to see the type of woman I could wonsider worthy of warming my bed on a long term basis. Catherine may act like a bit of a twit sometimes, but she is also a golden strategic asset.

That is to be expected when one's uncle is the English Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge. I knew from the moment Fudge mentioned her four years ago, while here for Sirius Black's apprehension, that I had to meet her, and take advantage of her bloodline and connections within the Ministry.

Though her blood is not as pure as mine, she certainly has managed to become extremely well connected in the Ministry due to her relation with Fudge, and her own social finesse. The Order could use every foothold in the Ministry, as I could use her to exercise my own plans.

I grew close the night Sirius was to be punished properly by way of Dementor's Kiss, but Potter and that damned Reicher girl foiled my heroic efforts, somehow. I have my suspicions and theories, but I could never prove any of them.

I planned to use that Order of Merlin to polish my name. Perhaps gain increased favor in the wizarding community, but it was not to be.

Now, I have spent the better part of the last two years capturing one of wizarding England's polite Society's darlings in my grasp. Her good name, and my maneuvering, should present me with prime Defense Against the Dark Arts, or direct Dark Arts, teaching positions, openings for advancement inside the Ministry itself when I retire from teaching, and Heaven knows what else when I am through.

Not only this, I personally believe it must be driving Lucius mad that I am sleeping with his mistress. They think themselves covert, but anyone with the common sense of broccoli, and functioning eyesight, can see the secretive snatches of lust in their eyes when they are anywhere near one another.

Yes, she thinks me blind, and herself a mistress of Occlumency, but I have been delved within manipulative ministrations, and the art of Legilimency, longer than she has been in existance. I see most, if not all, that she tries to conceal, and I have every intention of using my knowledge to my advantage.

After all, there is nothing quite like the taste of a victory won through deception and careful plotting. Catherine, and her married lover, will soon learn this by my hand.

I hear the chattering of the waiting students grow louder in their anxiety. I always prefer to keep them waiting and uncertain of the day's lesson, and my mood for the day, not that I have taken to displaying anything other than distaste for them or absolute agitation at the renewed levels of stupidity they reach with each class period.

But, I must be vigilant about weeding out the imbeciles from those who may possess even the brief glimmer of hope to go on to master Potions. I feel no need to waste my talents on the unworthy.

Yes, only those who can bounce back from an upset truly deserve to be taught the graces of potion making.

Sighing deeply, and irritated that I do not have a choice in the matter of who I will, or will not, teach until after the O.W.L.s, I walk to the dungeon door and swing it open.

I notice without pause, that Annabelle Appleby is being crowded against a rough stone wall by three tomboyish female bullies from my House. The bang of the door against the wall behind it draws every students' attention to me, the way I like things to be.

"What have we here? First semester at Hogwarts, and we are already fighting Miss Appleby?" I tsk at her over the ruffled heads of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw bystanders. "That will be ten points from Hufflepuff."

She sputters to explain herself through her already hindering stutter.

"Bu. . . bu. . .but, s. . .sir! I. . . . I . . . . I. . . . wa. . . . wasn't f. . . fighting," her eyes plead mercy from mine.

A memory of her laughing and talking with Potter floats behind my gaze. She's as good as Gryffindor to me.

"Silence! Or it shall be another five points from Hufflepuff. I should report you to Professor Sprout," I turn and storm into my classroom as an indication that my students are to follow.

I pretend that I do not hear the groans of fustration, the meek protests, nor the pats of encouragement given to the shaken girl. I do, however, allow my ears the pleasure of indulging in the angry snarls behind my back that state how mean and wretched I am.

"Of course I am," I glow inwardly. "Everyone else here will coddle the entire lot of you pipsqueaks, and lull you into believing sub-par work is acceptable. Well, not Minerva, or that dreadful Umbridge woman. But Umbridge is long gone, and Minerva has been known to lay into her Gryffindors worse than I do, and that is saying something."

I walk to the chalkboard and tap my wand against it, making the day's lesson appear upon it instantly.

"Today, you will be making a Boil Cure potion. Now get to work."

I scowl at everyone for good measure as I settle at my desk at the front of the classroom. Can't having them thinking I am all too willing to be soft on them, now can I?

-

TBC