Chapter 4: Interruptus

Severus snarled on his way back from the second week of dating imbeciles and shallow, money seekers. He'd had to suffer the desperate pawings of everyone from the infamous black widow, Francesca Zabini to the (all-too-reminiscent of Bellatrix) Scarlett Lestrange, Lavender Brown, Brandy Hickinbottom (formerly Weasley) and even Ginevra Weasley (formerly Potter)— all of them willing to throw their previous relationships and even marriages aside, drawn in by the lure of dating royalty— even if it was Goblin. The goblin's reputation for being rich was apparently enough to bring people (even people who were supposedly already married) willing to throw their lot in at a chance.

It was disgusting.

He wasn't sure what the "official" parchment said that the Goblins put out to announce his "availability" on the market, but the results just felt utterly shallow. The glamour he used felt as artificial as the grease he massaged into his hair to keep it from looking like he'd walked into some Kabuki theatre and been assaulted by one of their wigs.

Goblin King Jareth Seeks Queen to Share His Throne!

Bah, whatever they really used as a tagline, he was sure it was quite dreadful.

Worse, he was getting a flood of owls from silly Muggleborn witches asking stupid questions. Was he the Jareth that had loved and was jilted by Sarah? Did he look like David Bowie, could he sing, and could they star in a sequel movie together?

Idiots, the lot of them.

He suddenly found himself practically in Granger's lap, having been woolgathering himself into an oblivious mess.

"Oh my gods, I am SO sorry, Professor!" a beet-red Hermione gasped, attempting to help him up.

"Nnng, it's Severus," he yawned into her very comfy lap, which smelled of warm earth, wet stone, and dew-kissed summer blackberries.

Their entanglement included a rather suspicious-looking vault lizard that looked like he was contemplating taking a bite. Hermione pushed the cheeky lizard back into her hair, wincing as the lizard in question lovingly chomped on her ring finger.

"We somehow keep meeting like this, Granger."

"I am so sorry!"

"It is not your fault, woman, " he sighed. "I was wool-gathering. Again."

"Is this, I don't know, a normal thing for you?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Only of late," he said with a huff.

"Still attempting to talk to rocks?"

"Yeah, it's a struggle."

"I might be able to help."

"Oh, I wouldn't wish to impose upon you like that."

"Believe me, it is my penance for constantly tripping over you."

Hermione managed to stand and assist Snape to his feet. He brushed himself off and dislodged a lizard that was trying to nom on his hair. The little beast gave him a death-glare before zipping off into the safety of Hermione's halo of curls.

"Protective little blighters."

Hermione gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, they really don't have any filter to speak of."

The lizards hissed at Severus.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Absolutely no filter." She pushed them back into her hair.

"Dare I even ask?" Severus raised a brow.

"I think they are confused."

"Why?"

"They said Kings have better manners, but they've never met Kingsley."

Severus' lip twitched.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Miss Granger, for Merlin's sake, please stop apologising!"

"Could you please call me Hermione so I don't feel like a gormless little eleven-year-old?"

They stared at each other.

Severus extended his hand to her. "Please let me help you— Hermione."

She shyly placed her hand and the stone in his palm. His slim fingers closed around hers, the warmth of them causing a strangely pleasant shiver to run through her body from head-to-toe.

Snape's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, his lips parting slightly and a soft hiss escaping his mouth.

He pulled her close, his body pressed against hers as he gently guided her hand up in front of them. His breath brushed lightly against the shell of her ear. "Close your eyes and feel the flow of earth magic in your hand. Feel it until it tingles— that conflict— and then calm your energy to match the pattern you feel, the vibration. You do not transform the stone. You become the stone. You must sing its song. Feel it coursing inside yourself, like the blood through your veins. You do not attempt to control the stone, you join with it and it feels what you want."

Hermione's heart seemed to beat in a wild tattoo as she attempted to do as he asked, his presence was ubiquitous and heavy, almost intoxicating. She tried to clear her mind, to feel the energy—

Her heart slowed.

Her expression softened.

She gasped as she made a sudden connection with the stone— the very first time she had ever felt the snap of a bond completing between herself and the stone— and every other stone in the vault.

The stone turned into a perfect crystalline orb containing a memory of her dancing with her mum in the kitchen, her father toasting them with his teacup and laughing uproariously at his wife and daughter.

The memory was so powerful and poignant that Hermione soon had tears in her eyes, and her legs suddenly went out from under her.

Snape cradled her securely in his arms. His hair hung about his face like a curtain. His black eyes seemed to hold the stars. "I think you figured it out at last— Hermione."

"I can't seem to feel my legs," Hermione murmured.

Snape brushed her hair away from her face as Hermione's body tried to assimilate what had just happened to her. The earth magic sang in her blood as it explored her, frolicked in her body, and touched her soul. The vault lizards hummed a perfect harmony like the sound of a hundred perfect crystal wine glasses sounding off together.

Her eyes fluttered, closing, and her body snuggled closer to his in an automatic desire for comfort.

Snape closed his eyes as a heady wave of near-paralysing ecstasy rushed through his entire body. His forehead touched hers as their hair mingled. His nails lengthened, hardening. His teeth grew sharper. His hair struggled to free itself from the protective coating of oil he had painstakingly subjected it to.

Never had he felt so close to someone.

Never had someone so willingly yielded to his embrace, so easily, so naturally. She seemed to be truly accepting of him and it was like a soothing balm to his very goblin soul.

One young woman he had wooed with all the love that his confused goblin heart could muster, and she had heedlessly cast him from her mind and heart to "grow up" and embrace her own dreams. Another woman had never shown a single ounce of love for him— and she had never even pretended to tolerate his touch. That had been without her even knowing of his goblin nature— his true self.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice husky with the need to bask in her gentle acceptance— to finally hear his name spoken with tenderness.

She looked up at him, her lips parting slightly as she began to speak—her hand reaching to touch his cheek.

A shuffling footstep caught his attention, and Severus jerked his head around and snarled, "WHAT?!"

Severus' teeth were bared at the trembling offender in a fanged snarl.

The goblin page looked like he'd gone and pissed himself on the spot. "A thousand pardons— the Aurors have informed us that they are on their way to speak to you, S—"

Severus was on his feet at once, driving the terrified young goblin back out into the darkened corridor. His power flared, fangs glinted, and the very vaults seemed to shake violently even as his magic begged and pleaded for him to go back to Hermione and make her his queen right then and there. For a moment, time and space seemed to shift, and the labyrinth seemed to phase into view— the great and foreboding castle looming overhead. The coating of oil vapourised off his hair, and it promptly shot up into a wild mass of chaotic black spikes.

Severus' head snapped back just as Hermione went limp and fell to the cold stone floor, her adjustment to the earth magic she now had coursing through her having drained her body to the point of total exhaustion.

He glowered at the goblin. "I will deal with you later," he said with bared, clenched teeth.

Snape scooped Hermione up in his arms and stormed deeper into the bowels of Gringotts.

By the time he made it to Hermione's living quarters, he was calmer, but Hermione was utterly sapped of energy. He cursed inwardly. Had he remained in contact with her, he could have eased the adjustment and leant her his energy without her even realising it, but his instinctive wrathful reaction to being interrupted had botched a critical moment.

He cursed at himself. He shouldn't assume that Hermione would have simply accepted his courtship after only one act of combined magic, but the incredible intimacy of having shared earthmancy together had been so delightfully intoxicating. It had felt— right.

He passed his hand over the door lock, and it opened up to him as it registered his identity. He entered, trying hard not to stomp and only barely managing it. He placed Hermione on her settee, covering her with a soft handknit throw that had been draped across the back.

He stroked her cheek, his claws gently drawing across her silky smooth skin.

"You are truly a fool's fool, Jareth," he berated himself quietly. "The first two never loved you, and she will surely be no different."

He placed the crystal ball that held Hermione's first joyful memory preserved within it into her hand, closing her fingers securely around it.

He closed his eyes, the agony of a lifetime filled with pain and bitterness settling into his heart. Remembering the pleasurable rush, the ecstatic rightness of her pressed up against him—the need, the ache, the burning to sink his teeth into the softness of her neck and make her his.

He turned and exited her living quarters, closing and securely warding the door behind him with goblin magic as he stormed down the corridors to where the Aurors awaited him.