Chapter 6 – Conversation Is Key
Half way through the first story, Snape found himself drifting again. He was not tired. There were a few more hours to pass before he would seek out his bed. The story was not holding his attention. Perhaps it was the bland repetition the writer was employing, but it probably had more to do with the glass of cognac he had half finished.
He was looking forward to the coming year. The last five had been tedious enough. His new student was sure to keep things out of the ordinary. Miss Granger, he reminded himself. After all, she had been as good as a member of the Order and had fought along side them in the final battle. Besides, she really was no longer a student so he owed her as much to call her by name.
What was sticking in his mind was how different she seemed. He had only known her as a student--he had no idea who she really was. No matter what he thought of her friends, he could not judge her based exclusively on them. A person is the sum of their parts, not their friends he remembered for the second time that evening.
His mantle clock chimed ten, reminding him just how much evening remained. Perhaps I should just go to bed, he thought. Although, he knew he would just lie awake for hours, cursing the rest that eluded him, and turn a pleasant evening into a sleepless night. Just as he was about to give up on Eustis, there was a faint knock at the door.
Few visitors came to call anymore, especially in the years Albus had been gone. McGonagall was away, as was most of the staff. Startled and more than a little curious, Snape put down his book and his glass and crossed the room to the door. When he stood, surprised by how unbalanced he felt, he thought that perhaps he was a little drunk. Surprising him more than anything was how much he welcomed the interruption.
As he turned the knob, names were flashing through his mind as he struggled to figure out who would be stopping by at this hour. The only name he had not considered happened to belong to the welcome interruption.
He opened the door to discover Miss Granger, standing before him and looking rather awkward.
"Um…good evening Professor…I'm so sorry to bother you but I…well…"
Snape laughed. "Pity words did not fail you so this morning."
She looked bewildered. "I'm bothering you. I'll…"
Regretting his remark, he corrected himself. Some company would do no harm. "Forgive me. I was only joking. Please, if you are as bored as I am then come inside." He stepped aside from the door and raised one arm toward the fireplace.
Still looking nervous, she apparently accepted the invitation. After she stepped across the threshold, Snape closed the door behind her to go willingly into what was sure to be a remarkable encounter.
> > > > > > > > > >
Still shaken by her own bravado, Hermione stood taking in the environment. Snape's sitting room was a mirror image of her own except the furnishings were of a much finer quality. Where her table and chairs sat was a large bureau cabinet bordered by over-filled bookcases. Along the back wall, his shelves seemed to heave under the massive collection. The fireplace was still to her right, but his armchairs looked oversized and appeared to be black suede. The couch matched the chairs and looked to be big enough for six people. Fine oriental rugs covered the floor, colored in rich reds and pale creams.
A deep, sleek voice seized her attention.
"When you are finished assessing my living conditions, please feel free to find a seat."
As he walked past her toward the sitting area, she noticed he was not wearing his customary black robes. The loose fitting white shirt suited him well and made him look much less intimidating. This observation alerted her to her own attire. Whatever it was she meant to say, it was not what came out.
"Oh my, I'm not even wearing socks!"
She clapped both hands over her mouth, trying to repress the embarrassment of the situation.
> > > > > > > > > >
"Are you going somewhere?" he asked.
Snape was now standing by the farthest chair next to the fire. He met her eyes with his and laughed.
Her eyes were wide in panic. "What?" was barely audible from between her fingers.
The absurdity of the circumstances was not lost on Snape.
"Do you have to go to the dentist or, say, the market?"
A muffled "No" answered him.
This could not be any more amusing, he thought.
"Well, allow me to assure you that you are dressed more than appropriately for the occasion. If it would make you feel better, I'm sure I can find something around here you could transfigure into a parka."
Her eyes narrowed. Maybe she did not find this as funny as he did. Slowly, she lowered her hands, revealing a shy smile.
"Actually," she said, "socks seem to be all I'm worried about at the moment. You know what they say--no shoes, no socks, no visiting Professor Snape."
He was now fairly sure she'd been drinking.
"I will excuse it just this once," he said.
She answered him with a smile.
He added, "You know, one might think I bought all this furniture just to look at."
Recovering slightly from her brief humiliation, she managed a giggle. Too much wine, she told herself.
"Well, that is too bad. I was just considering giving that one a try." She pointed to the chair closest the door.
Snape grinned at her. "All right. If you must. But be careful of your feet. You know, you are not wearing any socks."
> > > > > > > > > >
"Ha-Ha," she grinned back as she walked towards the chair and sank into it. Her evaluation of the suede was correct. It was extraordinarily soft under her fingers.
He was still grinning at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Am I mistaken or have you been tapping into that whisky you mentioned earlier."
She could not help but laugh out loud.
"No. No whiskey. I did have a bit of wine with dinner…" she trailed off. Liar, she chided herself.
"In that case, might I offer you a drink? I happened to be given an exceptional bottle of cognac this evening and it would be a shame to enjoy it alone."
Hermione considered for a moment. She had only had a little wine. Okay, three glasses of wine that she remembered. A bit more drink wouldn't hurt. Realizing she was keeping Snape waiting, she answered.
"That would be nice."
"Splendid."
Snape walked over to the bureau. Watching him go, his grace swept her away for a moment. He was a head and shoulders taller than she was, but he moved so effortlessly. The delicate linen draped from his shoulders over his thin frame. As he poured the drinks, she could see the muscles working in his back. The robes she had always seen him wear did absolutely no justice to his physique. Built like a runner, he probably acquired the physique from all the walking he did about the castle. Her eyes traveled down his body to his thin hips. As she was beginning to admire his choice of trousers that clung to those hips, she suppressed a quiver.
> > > > > > > > > >
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw her give a light shiver.
"Where are my manners?" Crossing the room, he passed Hermione her drink and grabbed a soft fleece throw from the back of the couch. "Here, we don't want your feet getting cold." She took the blanket from him and spread it across her legs.
"Thank you," he heard her say a bit breathlessly, no doubt from the cold, as he crossed to his chair.
"You are welcome." His favorite chair welcomed him back as well. He watched her eye her glass apprehensively. "Is something the matter?" he asked.
"No…well…I've never had cognac. I feel like there's something I'm supposed to do," she said honestly.
"Well, cognac is intended to be a multi-sensual experience." The words had already left him when he heard how wrong they sounded.
She smiled at him, both eyebrows raised, "Excuse me?"
Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he tried to figure out the best way to explain. "What I meant is that cognac should first be enjoyed with the nose and then with the tongue." That still did not sound right.
Her eyebrows were still high and now she was starting to shake with suppressed laughter.
"You know what I meant," he said, fully understanding why she was amused.
She nodded, still shaking, smiling wider than he had ever seen her smile.
"It's not that funny," he said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Yes…it is." she managed in a strained voice between fits of giggles. Tears were welling up in here eyes. Finally, the laughter overtook her. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he laughed with her.
He could not remember a time there had been so much laughter in the room. He listened as her pleasing laugh echoed off the walls. He watched her, holding her ribs with one hand and steadying her drink with the other, thinking how pretty she was when she laughed. He chased away the thought. A bit too much drink, Severus.
> > > > > > > > > >
When Hermione realized Snape was laughing with her, she was unable to stop herself. Besides the giddiness of the alcohol, Snape's laugh was contagious. It had a booming quality that filled the room and fueled her delight.
As the laughter began to subside, Hermione noticed Snape staring at her. She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself.
"I'm sorry. That apparently struck me as terribly funny," she said.
He nodded, still smiling. "That is quite all right."
Silence replaced the laughter that had filled the room. Hermione could hear soft music coming from somewhere behind her chair. She struggled to find something clever to say. She failed.
"So, you like to read?" For some reason it came out as a question. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Is it possible you could forget I said that?" she asked.
"Did you say you had a little wine or the entire bottle?" he enquired.
"Since when do you answer a question with a question?" she teased.
"Since you appear to be enjoying it so much," he answered.
She could feel herself blush. Was he flirting with her? Certainly not. Taking her first sip of the drink Snape had given her, she blushed even more. The flavors nipped at her senses, catching her breath. It was unlike anything she had tried before. It filled her nose with flowery scents and made her feel warm from head to toe.
"This is marvelous," she said, referring to the drink.
"Yes, it is quite an expensive variety. I am glad to have the opportunity to share it. Lord knows I don't get many visitors these days." Hermione noted a hint of surprise in his eyes as he finished.
Attempting to keep the conversation moving she said, "Yes, most of the teachers have gone home for the summer, haven't they."
He looked a bit taken back.
She tried to qualify her statement. "Not that I meant you don't have anywhere else to go. No, not at all. What I meant was that there are not many other people in the castle during the summer. It's not like I'd expect you to hang around with Dobby or anything." She realized she was rambling. Raising one hand to her temple, she continued, "And come to think of it, now would be a good time for me to stop talking. Entirely. For the rest of my life." Having managed to embarrass herself again, she shifted nervously in the chair. When she looked up at Snape, she was relieved to see him smiling.
"I know what you meant Miss Granger. However, how do you know Dobby and I do not, as you say, hang around together?"
She sniggered at the image of Snape and Dobby sitting around the fire and chatting. This relaxed her a little. Another long sip from her glass helped as well.
"In that case, please let me know when you do because I would love to hear that conversation," she said before turning her attention back to her glass.
> > > > > > > > > >
Snape had to laugh himself at the thought of socializing with Dobby. What they could talk about may well fill a cocktail napkin if they wrote large enough. Rousing from his own musings, he saw her again appraising her drink.
Her hands were small but looked nimble, probably possessing a deftness that rivaled his own. His eyes followed her index finger as it traced a line down from the rim of the goblet to the crystal base. Moving his eyes from her hands to her face, he examined her soft features. Her lips parted slightly and her cheeks flushed, most likely from the drink, the rosy hues standing out stark against the paleness of her skin. So very deep brown, her eyes glowed black and limitless in the firelight as she stared into the glass as though looking for some secret it concealed. Her chestnut hair was in a slack bun, wavy tendrils falling onto her cheeks, trailing down to her jaw and the top of her neck.
What had felt like hours of quiet analysis were only mere seconds. When he returned to his senses, he realized his heart had quickened and there were beads of sweat on his brow. What in Merlin's name was that? I think I've had more than enough to drink for one evening, Snape scolded himself. Looking back at her, he saw she still looked lost in some mystery.
"Have you found it yet?" he asked.
"What?" she responded absently.
"Whatever it is you're looking for at the bottom of your glass."
> > > > > > > > > >
"I was just thinking…" she started. She could not tell him what she had been thinking. Her thoughts had floated to how pleasant she was finding Snape's company. He seemed to expect nothing from her, asking no prying questions. Mentally scrambling for something to say, Snape saved her the trouble.
"Thinking of what?"
"Well…I was thinking that you're…well…you've been…" she hesitated.
"Less wicked than you thought I'd be?" Snape finished for her.
Hermione was mildly startled. That was not exactly right, but it was close. "Yes, something like that."
Snape sunk further into his chair. He gazed at her for an instant, long enough for her to take in his face. The years had not aged him--his distinguished features appeared untouched by time. Thick black hair, noticeably well cared for, fell to his shoulders framing his face.
Suddenly his words came into her mind, "Would you believe it's just because I am drunk?" He smiled apprehensively.
Hermione laughed, "There you go, talking in questions again."
Snape thought for a moment and then said, "Why is it that, in spite of all the mirrors in the world, no one really knows what he looks like?"
Hermione was thrown for a moment. What was he talking about? Suddenly she recognized what he'd said.
"Schopenhauer," she stated assuredly.
Again, Snape smiled at her. "I never knew, and never shall know, a worse man than myself."
"Thoreau."
"Yes, how about…" he thought for a second. "For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"
"That's from the bible, Matthew isn't it?" she asked.
"That it is. One more..." he considered for a moment, eyes focused somewhere inside the fire, the smile slowly fading from his face. She wondered if he was telling her what she thought she was beginning to understand. "As a general rule, people, even the wicked, are much more naïve and simple-hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too." As Snape spoke, he raised his head and met her eyes. She saw his were sad and beseeching, black as the night sky with all of the depth.
She recognized this quote as well. "Dostoevsky."
Whatever his eyes searched for, they must have found it. A faint smile reappeared. With a reticent sneer he said, "So Miss Granger, you like to read?"
