Okay,
long-winded-author's note time:
Super-quick reviewer
was Hand3. I know you changed your screen name but you'll always
be hand3 to me!SelenityPotter: I'm
glad you like it so far, I'll update regularly, I promise.
MooMoo-Sama: Yep, the harp is a tough cookie to crack, but at least
it sounds pretty when you mess up—take it from someone who knows!
I'm not so sure how 'Phantom' this is going to be…I'm
generally a humorous author. I hope you enjoy it anyways!
Cyrano (aka Yoda): Read
on, my child, and all questions will be answered in due time.
Matches: I based the
judges off of three of my harp teachers. I hadn't even noticed the
American Idol similarity…although I assure you that all three
teachers were always prepared to tell me that a piece sucked (and
then make me play it twenty times till they were satisfied). I'm
in the market for a harp teacher that blindly praises everything I
play…think Paula's got any suggestions?
Draccy: this and the
sequel to Normal (two more chapters!) that will go up after this
should improve your summer somewhat. I know your reviews will
improve my summer!
Okay, as always, this
is not a literary masterpiece so don't go in expecting one, and
rest assured that I still own nothing. Although my mom just bought
me a really cool red leather jacket for my birthday, so maybe I own
that.Review, please!
Oh, yeah, this chapter goes into left field a bit and doesn't really fit with the story at all, but I included it anyways. Writer's prerogative. Don't waste time telling me how it doesn't flow with the rest of the story; I already know but just don't care.
Aimes
The week was a blur for Snape. He went through classes automatically, trying to plan a strategy to take on Regina de la Gris. Just thinking about her was enough to make him sigh. On Thursday morning, Dumbledore summoned him once more. Brow furrowed irritably, he proceeded to the Headmaster's office quickly, nearly running into Hermione as she stepped off the stairs.
"Sorry, sir," she apologized quietly as she shifted her bag uncomfortably on her still bruised shoulder. She'd continued her intense practice sessions to relieve tension, alternating music with martial arts to keep her mind occupied in the small hours of the night.
"Miss Granger, if you do not stop working yourself to the point of exhaustion, I shall be forced to spike your pumpkin juice with a sedative," he growled. "Go take a nap immediately."
"I have class—"
"Are you questioning me, Hermione?" He raised an eyebrow. Hermione stiffened for a moment, studying him intently.
"No sir," she replied in a low voice. He rarely used her given name and when he did she took him seriously. However she had no intention of missing class because he thought she was tired. Then again…he had a tendency to drug her when she worked herself to the point of exhaustion and stare at her with an amused expression when she tried to yell at him for it. And the smirk he gave her when she tried to calmly explain to him why he shouldn't go about drugging other people was damned insufferable.
"I shall inform your professor that you missed class doing an errand for me," he allowed grudgingly. "Just go sleep."
"Yes sir," Hermione said with obvious relief. "Thank you, sir." He waved a hand dismissively as he stepped on the stairs to Dumbledore's office. The stairs stopped at the top and he stepped out.
"Albus?" he called out.
"Severus," Dumbledore greeted, coming down from his private chambers. "There is a matter of some importance for us to discuss."
"Funny how all the matters of great importance happen at once," Snape noted dryly.
"This is to be your Hogsmeade chaperoning weekend," Dumbledore reminded him.
"So? Tell the others I'm hunting Deatheaters."
"I would have, but it was Minerva who faced me down first…and I crumbled. Regina looks so much like her," Dumbledore sounded his age, for once.
"So what did you tell her?" Snape asked suspiciously.
"That you agreed to aid in a special seminar we're holding tomorrow on hand-to-hand combat techniques," Dumbledore replied a bit sheepishly. "And that I gave you the weekend off in return. I do apologize Severus."
"Of course you do," Snape grumbled. "How long has this seminar been planned?"
"It was suggested at the beginning of the year. I hadn't given much thought to who would teach it, but you are the only qualified professor, Severus. Minerva's hand-to-hand combat techniques require a cane." His eyes twinkled briefly.
Snape did not smile. "So am I teaching the blasted thing?"
"No, no, one of the students happens to have experience in Muggle martial arts and has graciously agreed to do the demonstration. Madam Hooch will do the lecture. You are simply to help where needed, serving as a partner to the student."
"Which student?"
"Ah, they asked that I keep it private. I did not inform the student who would be their partner. I thought it only fair that you both be on even territory."
"How nice of you to consider fairness," Snape said sarcastically. He sighed for the second time in an hour. "When and where should I show up?"
"In the Great Hall
at ten o'clock a.m. The demonstration is for seventh-years only and
attendance is optional."
"Naturally. Whose idea was
this?"
"It was Remus' idea, and a splendid one at that!" Dumbledore beamed. "It is important to know how to handle a situation in which you have lost your wand!"
"It probably would have been a bit more relevant before the war ended," Snape mumbled as he left.
Snape returned to his quarters, glad that the class he'd dismissed was his last. For a fleeting moment he thought of Hermione Granger and her obvious exhaustion and he frowned. She was definitely obsessive about her work. He sighed as he began to grade papers, knowing that the weekend would be an unequivocally bad one.
Ten a.m., Friday.
She stretched once more and shifted her shirt. She was dressed in black from head to toe; hot pink hair in a long thick braid down her back. A mask covered her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. She'd dyed her eyebrows pink as well, just in case. It would have annoyed her to no end to be harassed about the seminar later; better that no one know she'd participated. She tugged on black gloves and stepped into the Hall. It had been emptied and there were sets of mats in the middle of the room. The seventh-year students who had chosen to come—mainly boys but a considerable number of girls as well—grew silent. It seemed that most of the seventh-year class had turned out. She walked across the room toward them without comment and bowed. A moment later she turned and bowed to the man she assumed to be her sparring partner. He was taller than she, but similarly covered in head to toe black with a mask. His hair was tied back with a black silk ribbon, and streaks of lightning blue ran through it. He walked toward her and bowed to the room before turning to her and waiting. Hermione assumed he'd lengthened his hair before adding the streaks.
Hermione relaxed and assumed a fighting stance, which Snape matched: a classic jiu-jitsu starting position. She wondered who he was for a brief moment before deciding she didn't particularly care. She'd done a fair trade with Dumbledore: if she did the seminar, he would give her a free weekend to take care of personal matters.
"Begin." Her voice was neutral and low, unrecognizable as Hermione Granger with the mask distorting it.
He made first contact, darting forward for a grab, which she deflected. From there they began to shift between styles fluidly, trying to match one another to keep it cohesive, but focusing on the fight. She lunged in a kung-fu move and he caught her arm, twisting and flipping her. She landed hard on her back and her eyes flashed up at him. Snape moved to finish the series by locking his leg and bringing it straight down, heel first toward her chest. The seventh-years gasped, but Hermione merely caught the leg and yanked diagonally, throwing him halfway across the room. They were both on their feet in seconds. He favored his right leg slightly before straightening. The tiniest of bows and they had begun again.
"I wonder where she is," Harry whispered to Ron in the audience.
"Probably in the library studying as usual. Too bad, she's missing out on an awesome show!" Ron was enraptured. "I wonder if they're students here…or maybe faculty?"
Harry snorted. "Sure, the girl's McGonagall and the guy's Snape." He gave Ron a sarcastic glance and Ron shrugged.
"You're probably right," he agreed. "If anyone here could do that sort of thing, we'd know about it by now."
On the floor, Hermione narrowly dodged a punch that whistled past her ear, only to catch a solid fist in the gut. "Ibni sharmuta," she spat, sliding into a crouch. Her leg shot out to drop him and she moved back quickly to catch her breath, ribs aching.
"Language," her partner chided softly as he got to his feet, limping slightly from her earlier throw. Snape's voice was soft and amused, and Hermione could not place it. She decided that his voice was probably distorted by the mask as well.
"Malish," she replied wryly, snapping out a harsh kick in the Muay Thai style. He deflected it and moved in for an upper cut which she brushed away. They were in close quarters and switched styles almost unconsciously. He began forcing her to back up and they sped up their moves noticeably, striking and deflecting through pure instinct. The students were cheering loudly but the pair barely noticed. Snape lashed out with a back fist that Hermione ducked and twisted away from. She took a kidney shot that had opened up, following it with a sweep to the leg she'd caught earlier. Snape doubled over gasping and shoved her away from him, thrown off balance but not felled by the sweep. Neither of them noticed the window till Hermione had crashed into it. He straightened despite the pain and caught her hand before she fell, pulling her roughly back inside but overbalancing in the process. Hermione fell against him and they landed in a heap on the floor.
"Khalas," Hermione groaned. "I think I've got glass in my backside." Snape sat up a bit to look.
"No, but there's a considerable amount in your back," he responded before falling back. She half-laughed, painfully. The crowd was beginning to rumble, and Hermione and Snape hauled themselves to their feet, leaning on one another, before bowing to the crowd and each other. They exited silently, both standing tall despite being slightly bloody.
When they made it outside the Great Hall, Hermione slumped against the wall. Snape turned and watched her silently. "Sorry," she grunted. "Just need a second." Her eyebrow rose as she heard Madam Hooch begin talking. "I'd love to know what she's saying to them after our little display."
He came to her and slid an arm carefully around her waist, supporting her. He slipped his fingers into her belt loops to avoid pressing on any injuries. "Infirmary," he said softly, firmly.
"Oh, no, I think not," she shot back. "You think I want everyone in this bloody school knowing who I am? I'd like to avoid drawing quite that much attention to myself, thanks. I'll take care of this on my own." She pulled away from him but his arm tightened.
"Understandable," he admitted. "I'll handle it, then. Last I checked you can't pull glass out of your own back."
Hermione sighed and nodded. "Where should we go?"
"Follow me," he replied mildly. He pressed on a section of the wall, revealing steps downward. They proceeded carefully, with Snape attempting to take pressure off his damaged knee. They ended up in a dead end. Hermione furrowed her brow, but Snape simply murmured something and the wall disappeared. They entered a large sitting room with a fire burning cheerfully. The décor was mainly black leather, with several more colorful pieces splashed in various places. Hermione took a moment to admire a framed copy of Raphael's 'School of Athens', while Snape grabbed supplies.
"Where are we?" she asked curiously
"Sit on the ottoman," he directed, ignoring her question, "and lean forward a bit if you can." She did as he asked, and he carefully cut away her shirt, leaving her torso clad only in her sports bra.
"Hey, I liked that shirt," she protested jokingly.
"Don't laugh," he warned shortly. "It'll hurt like hell." Hermione stilled herself.
"Good thing it's warm in here. Shivering would probably hurt like hell too," she said wryly.
Snape sat on the armchair behind her and gently rinsed her back with a disinfecting potion laced with a local anesthetic.
"This is going to be incredibly painful despite the anesthetic," he told her honestly. "Feel free to scream in agonizing pain, I won't think less of you."
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, gasping as he pulled the first sliver of glass out of her back. "Isn't there some sort of magic that would be easier?"
"I'm sure if there is, Madam Pomfrey knows it. I, however, am not a trained healer. Thus we're doing it the old-fashioned way." He carefully, gently removed a large piece of glass embedded in one of her muscles and she released a guttural groan. "Care to rethink your position on the infirmary?"
"No," she growled. "Just keep going."
An hour or so later, he'd finished pulling the glass out and was casting healing spells on the wounds. She sighed in relief and her muscles began to relax.
"It's sad that a healing spell feels this good." He did not reply, but took a muscle relaxing cream and began to rub it in to the muscles that were obviously knotted, focusing on those that had been pierced by glass. She groaned and leaned backwards against his legs, her respiration slowing and her eyes drifting shut. He massaged the cream into her neck and shoulders, eliciting a soft moan from her. Her head slumped forward slightly as he worked out a knot. He noticed a fading bruise on her right shoulder and frowned slightly. It had not happened today. For the first time he began to wonder who she was as more than a passing thought. He had his suspicions, but… The cloth mask completely covered the front of her face but for her eyes, much like his did. It laced tightly at the back of her head, revealing only her hair. He could only assume that hot pink was not its natural color. He had streaked his own raven hair with electric blue, using a cosmetic spell, just to lower the odds of recognition. He'd made his irises a similar color, though he could feel the spell beginning to wear off. The spell that masked his unmistakable voice, making it bland and average, had already dissipated.
Hermione shifted and inadvertently pushed against his knee. Snape grunted in pain, hands gripping her shoulders reflexively. Her eyes shot opened and she turned to look at him.
"Shit, your knee's swollen to twice its size! Why didn't you tell me?" She shot him a glare as she pulled out her wand and began murmuring healing spells. The knee relaxed and began to reduce in size. She grabbed the cream he'd been using on her and knelt in front of him, rolling up his pant leg. Her fingers worked the cream into the muscles surrounding his knee, focusing on tension points. Snape slumped backward in his armchair and closed his eyes.
Hermione paused for a moment to check her watch and Snape opened his eyes to look at her. She glanced up at him and stiffened. "You were masking your eye color." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Wish I'd thought of it." Hermione stood. "I've got to go or risk being missed. Thank you for helping me."
Snape stood as well, and they were inches apart. She watched him curiously. Slowly, giving her time to move away if she wished, he reached behind her head and unlaced the mask. As it fell away, he nodded. "I thought so. Rather full of surprises, aren't you, Miss Granger?"
"The same could be said of you," she countered, raising an eyebrow as his normal voice washed over her.
"Granted," he replied, inclining his head slightly.
"Good day, Professor," she murmured. "Thank you again." She turned to leave.
"Miss Granger," he called after her. She turned and he held up one of his own black button down shirts and a robe. She smiled wryly, looking down at her half naked torso and caught them in midair. The sports bra covered mostly everything but the bare midriff would probably create a bit of a stir.
"Thanks," she laughed. She shrugged into the shirt, buttoning it as she left. He watched her go, lips half-quirked in a bemused smile. He quashed the smile as soon as he realized it was on his face.
