Ch. 3— No Strings Attached
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Having all but forced the witch to stay, Severus had expected a lot more noise, a lot more drama, a lot more of… her around the house.
What he got instead was silence, utter and profound, a moping, despondent Lucius, and only the odd occasional sighting of witch's robes as she was passing by whatever room he happened to be in, typically from the lavatory and back up the stairs.
And before he knew it, a month had passed in this way. The elf, having unearthed some more clothing for him, charmed them at Severus's insistence to be black and somewhat identical to his old robes. He had disposed of the torn white linen shirt as soon as he could once the elf had found him a suitable replacement.
From what he distantly remembered of Miss Granger back during his days spent teaching, she had been a know-it-all intent on impressing them all with her 'knowledge' of various subjects both mundane and arcane.
Severus had been unimpressed.
The verbosity of her papers alluded to a mind which lacked creativity and original thought. The hand she constantly flailed in the air an indication of an uncertain, needy child searching desperately for approval. In essence, the girl was a one-trick wonder, able to absorb information but unable to move past it to the unique perspective of original thought to synthesize what she learned.
He had quickly written the student she had been off as a waste of brain power.
But perhaps… perhaps he shouldn't have been so rash.
The adult the student had become was accommodating of their space almost to the point of non-existence.
Both he and Lucius had spent hours, both separately and together, straining their ears for a sound of her—a hint of her presence through the house. Hermione Granger was like their own, personal haunt, and that was disconcerting in and of itself for Severus had enough ghosts surrounding him. He didn't need another.
He spent his days in silent suspense, trying to read one of the books from the Potter's and Black's abysmally pedestrian collection, but all the while being unable to concentrate, unable to think of anything but her.
However, she would cook late at night while everyone else slept. And she was right in assuming everyone in the house was asleep—everyone but him.
And through the window in the courtyard, Severus watched her as she cooked, swayed, and sang along to her music; the sound itself prevented from being overheard by his own 'Muffliato' spell used against him. Wards were now also thrown up for good measure to prevent anyone, elf or wizard, from coming into the kitchen and disturbing her.
He told himself he didn't care if she saw him sitting out there watching her or not, that if she did, then it would only serve her right for forgetting to protect the window from prying eyes as well. And yet, Severus took care to hide his black-clad silhouette in the shadows each and every time he saw her thusly, so she couldn't see him, couldn't possibly make out through the warm fire-glow of the kitchen, the former 'Black Bat of the Dungeons' studying her.
It was becoming an obsession of his—and he knew for Lucius as well—this Granger-watching.
Far from wearing the revealing and enticing clothing she had been sporting when first they saw her, the witch now kept to traditional, and dowdy, witch's robes that covered her form completely. Severus told himself he didn't wish for her to change back into the tight, little muggle outfit that left so little to the imagination she had worn before.
He told himself this, but he knew it for the lie it was.
Beneath the drab robes and severely scraped-back hair, Hermione Granger had grown into an exquisite beauty: a kind-hearted, singularly stunning woman that no amount of colorless, shapeless rags could hide.
And she was from the rare and wonderful breed of female that was only going to grow more beautiful as time progressed.
Severus loathed and resented her with every fiber of his being.
Damn her sloe-eyed charms.
To Severus's ever-increasing frustration, she wouldn't cook every night. It was every third or fourth, typically after she'd gone to the muggle grocers, and she would place her leftovers in transfigured plastic containers held in stasis to be eaten later.
He watched as she ate at the kitchen table, a book on some aspect of magical law her sole companion; that and a precisely measured glass of wine. She allowed herself one glass that was all, and she magically re-corked the bottle to be taken upstairs with the leftovers.
And yet, throughout it all, until the re-packaging and clean-up, she used no magic, no cooking charms whatsoever.
He found that curious indeed.
And after she had tidied up her mess, after all the lights had been extinguished, Severus would go into the kitchen and sniff the air, smelling the wonderful concoction the kitchen-witch had made: a beggar at her feast. His mouth watering in remembrance of what she'd concocted.
A month had passed thusly, and Severus didn't see any hint of pattern changing any time soon.
Lucius, he knew, was having a difficult time as well.
His brother wanted the witch, wanted to bed her. And Lucius Malfoy was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, especially from the fairer sex.
Granger, however, ignored Lucius's presence completely.
Lucius would try to strike up a conversation in passing, and she would put in little muggle-made contraptions in her ears and pressing a button on her muggle cellular device, drown him out. She did this in defense, Severus knew, but her elusiveness was driving them both to distraction.
How dangerous it was for a little rabbit to be kept in such close proximity to the wolves. And it had been so long for them both!
Naturally, she had no idea, at least, no idea where he was concerned.
Severus kept to himself and studiously ignored her, all but demanding she do the same, which she did. And yet, he listened for the sound of her light foot-falls upon the stair, and at night when he observed her cooking, he was growing accustomed to the way she would dip her finger into a bowl or pot to taste it, contaminating its contents entirely.
He was even finding it somewhat endearing when she would cut her vegetables, and they were not all uniform in length or breadth, precisely circumscribed as he, himself, would have done. After all, he had taught the witch to do so if she wanted things to turn out even and most effectual whether in cooking or in a potion. However, seeing her thusly, at play in her natural element as it were, it would be a crime to critique such a thing for the woman was so obviously contented and happy in her small bit of joy.
Her spirit—her light, the essence of her being— was dancing before him, and after so long spent deprived of such sights and wonders—had he ever seen such in another human being besides Lily?— Severus was quickly becoming enchanted with the witch bordering strongly on infatuation.
His favorite part of watching her was when she would get lost in a song she was listening to, and closing her eyes, rock her hips slowly back and forth to its beat. Even the concealing robes she wore couldn't mask the enticing, hypnotic sway of her form, or the fact she had a natural, in-born rhythm few in his estimation possessed.
Yes, to say he was attracted to the witch was an understatement.
He needed to find a suitable woman to bed, perhaps even a whore, and soon.
And yet, even as he told himself this, he knew it for the fiction it was. There was only one woman living who was going to entice him… and that was Miss Hermione Granger.
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Lucius waited until the witch left her room for the kitchen and then made his way to her bedroom, exchanging her sheets and pillow for his own.
It was a desperate thing he did, he knew, but he wanted the smell of her surrounding him while he slept—that was the only way he could sleep now. And too, he got a visceral thrill thinking of her wrapped warm and snug in his bedclothes, sleeping in peaceful slumber encapsulated by his scent as well.
Perhaps she recognized it?
What he was reduced to doing was a primal claiming, but he had to do it as the witch refused any other overture—strictly platonic or otherwise from him.
However, never would he force her.
Never had he ever had to force a woman, and he wasn't going to start now.
But he was going to press every advantage he had, and for Lucius Malfoy, sensual stimulation was an artform. The right touch applied appropriately could have a woman begging to be claimed. The right look at the right time could send her into sexual heat and make her ready and wanting. The right words whispered in just the right way could have her automatically parting her thighs and awaiting his mastery over her. And yes, the right smell and subsequent taste of him could have her begging for more.
Lucius wanted to see the muggle-born minx on her knees begging for him.
He wanted to see her in a great many positions.
But the way things were looking, it was he who would be lying prostrate before her, begging for a chance to woo 'The Ice Princess of Gryffindor'.
That's what the newspapers and tabloid rags had begun calling her years ago. He had done his research as Potter, or more likely Ginevra had left a mound of old newspapers as well as ratty tabloids needing to be gone through and clipped for scrap in one of the upper rooms.
And through these, Lucius had caught up on wizarding events in the last ten years paying specific attention to the events concerning one Hermione Jean Granger.
It had started as a story in Witch Weekly innocently enough.
The young girl she had been a few months after the second Wizarding War had discontinued things with Ronald Weasley, and reporter Rita Skeeter apparently had a vendetta against the poor girl, making slanderous accusations and libelous claims about the reason for the two's dissolution owing solely to Miss Granger's frigid temperament. Personally, Lucius thought, it was because the witch had more sense than the gods gave a Pygmy-puff, but at any rate, the moniker stuck, and 'Ice Princess of Gryffindor' she became.
Portrayed by both Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet as such, she was lauded as both a heroine and a whore depending on the day and whether or not news was slow. A parade of pictures soon followed through the years with her and various wizards, both known and unknown to Lucius.
But there had been only one—one and only one—that struck him as being her lover.
He had been an older man, a little older than the age Lucius was now himself, and he had been her instructor while at university. Handsome in a congenial sort of way, he was a wizard of varied academic accomplishment, and he'd had a wife and three children at the time the picture was taken.
The picture was not only of the two of them, but of a group of students—Miss Granger among them—who were watching the wizard as he taught.
The photograph replayed over and over again the varied reactions of the students to the charismatic and friendly instructing style of the professor. And Lucius honed in on the slight, contented smile the witch had as she watched her professor teach. The article itself, however, alluded to no misconduct, and from what Lucius could find, there had been no allegations or claims otherwise concerning the two and an affair—which apparently had been kept very discreet.
But Lucius knew.
He knew with every fiber of his being that the young witch she'd been had been bedded by that scapegrace of a man, and what's more, she'd thought herself in love with him. At least, at the time the picture was taken she had.
A particular gift of his that he shared with no one was an empathic visualization of others' emotions. He could, if he so chose, literally see the ties of emotion linking one human being to another—especially those of love and hate. That's what clued Lucius into the Dark Lord's secret—the fact no ties bound him, nothing but anger radiated from him.
His hidden talent also helped him ascertain Severus's true loyalties so long ago. Before she died, Severus had a pure white tie radiating straight from him to the muggle-born Lily Potter nee Evans.
Lucius had seen the string of white up until her death, and then a tangle of crimson, almost to the point of black, had replaced it, the red tie that had never lessened as the years wore on, had radiated like a muggle precision flashlight straight from Severus towards the Dark Lord.
The girl in the picture before him was radiating a string of pure white light straight towards her professor.
The string was not returned.
Fast-forward a few years later, a different, more jaded, aspect now appeared in Miss Hermione Granger's eyes, and her reputation as 'Ice Princess of Gryffindor' was elevated to 'Untouchable Ice Queen'.
A string of lovers of various ages, socio-economic classes, blood-statuses, and accomplishments had followed the professor, but though Lucius was certain she'd slept with them all, he could tell she hadn't let one of them get close to her, get anywhere near to piercing the flinty shell in which she'd encapsulated her heart.
The story was there waiting to be told in her eyes, in each subsequent picture that was taken of her with various men but with no strings attached.
After the newspapers reported her third consecutive refusal of marriage, this time to a high-profile wizard of the same rank, wealth, and socio-political standing as Lucius's own had once been, both the tabloids and the Prophet had begun referring to her as 'The Untouchable Ice Queen'.
Reports of her activities soon stopped thereafter, and she hadn't in the last two years, had her photograph or private activities commentated upon either through injunction, Potter's interference with the Ministry, her own avoidance, or a combination of the three.
Oh, Hermione Granger was a queen alright, but Lucius knew ice, and she was far from frigid. Their first encounter upon his stepping foot in this house proved that. No. She was guarded and armored to the teeth to protect herself, but Lucius would find a way past her defenses.
The girl deserved more from life than to spend it cold and alone.
Making certain her bedroom looked exactly as it had when first he entered it, he went back to his room and made up his own bed, laying her pillow where he would rest his head. And stripping until he was bared completely, Lucius spared a moment of sweet anticipation before sliding into the cool comfort of her sheets.
With a relaxed sigh, he lay and turned his head into her pillow, inhaling her wonderful scent, going straight to sleep.
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Study and sleep: that was all Hermione did. Morning, noon, and night.
Heavy on the former, light on the latter, and her revision would be so much easier with her journal, but she refused to even acknowledge the existence of the bastard that had it, let alone inquire after her stolen property.
She would have liked a change of scenery other than the four walls that comprised her room, but the rest of the house was off-limits to her until the wee hours of night due to her reluctant 'roommates'. Only then did she feel comfortable going into the kitchen in secret to make her allotment of meals.
Kreacher was good to her, bringing her a portion of the breakfast he made for the others which he sat outside her door, but for whatever reason, the elf now refused to come into her room. His typical stand-offish behavior was downright recalcitrant now, and while she had never expected him to clean up after her, as he did for any other guest that wasn't of muggle-born status, she had come to value their talks when he'd drop by on occasion, typically mumbling a contrived complaint about her under his breath just to gain her attention so she would talk to him.
But now, he refused to even set foot inside her room, and Hermione tried not to see this as a personal slight to her but as yet another indicator of blood status. There was a Pureblood present after all, and Kreacher had been taught to defer to that legacy above all else.
The little elf honestly couldn't help calling her mud-blood, she knew, but over the years, she had thought they had built up a nice rapport.
Well, more fool then she.
More fool, indeed.
After the war, Hermione had been plagued with thoughts of suicide and crippling depression.
Harry's proposed crusade to right the wrongs of Dumbledore's falsely convicted spies had helped greatly in giving her a reason to keep fighting, but still, for a number of years, she had been on a strict regimen of muggle anti-depressant medication and talk therapy. And through this and much research on the subject of mental health, Hermione had found she didn't need medication at all as long as she kept her defenses in place—through avoidance mostly—and implemented coping strategies such as putting down the books and journeying outside once and a while, cooking for herself, singing, and dancing.
It sounded ridiculous, and if anyone were to see her at it, they would not believe, but it actually worked to help boost her levels of endorphins and serotonin as well as keep her outlook upbeat and pleasant.
She was neither a particularly good dancer, nor particularly fine singer, but dammit, did she know how to cook thanks to the Boys of Company 'B' in Gloucester.
And now, thanks to her oh so reluctant flat-mates, she hadn't truly gone outside in weeks, being confined as she'd been to her room.
Oh, she knew she was not under house-arrest.
She could leave when and if she wanted, and occasionally did when the walls were closing in and she felt that one more moment spent in her room was going to be her undoing. However, as the weeks wore on, more often than not, she spent more and more time in her room, cuddling her pillow close, reluctant to rise out of bed to face her revision each day.
Hermione knew if she let herself, how easy it would be to revert back to that old pattern of thinking, that old mold of insecurity and crippling despair. But she didn't allow herself. At least, she hadn't with her journal there to allocate her days and hours for her.
Now, without it…
Well, with the money she was saving on rent, Hermione resolved she would enroll in a muggle dance class first thing tomorrow morning. She needed something besides reading with which to help structure her days, and it might as well be something she enjoyed since life at the moment was proving depressingly bleak.
So thinking, she closed the book on the legalities and ethics of muggle fraud and grabbed her bath things as well as her ipod. She hadn't enjoyed a long soak in a while, and she figured she was more than past-due. It was time to pamper herself a bit, and if she felt like singing, well, that was what a 'Muffliato' and sound-dampening charms were for, were they not?
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The witch had been in the bathing chamber for well over an hour going nigh on two, and Lucius wondered if it was as he supposed, and she was enjoying a good, leisurely soak.
He hoped so. He dearly hoped so. Both he and Severus had found excuses to walk past, though they could hear nothing from within, hoping to catch her warm and fresh-faced, skin aglow from her bath perhaps as she opened the door.
It hadn't happened yet in the five weeks they had been living together, but both wizards, Lucius knew, were hopeful that eventually it would.
And today might be the day.
Hearing a slight, low humming noise coming from the linen cupboard adjacent to the bath, and curious, Lucius cautiously opened the door and peeked in.
The sight he found had his eyebrows shooting to his hairline.
The house-elf stood beside an exposed length of plumbers' pipe, his eyes closed and his ear pressed lovingly into it, almost wrapped around it as he listened to some unknown sound and hummed—the elf was humming— lowly along with what he heard.
He had a gods-awful, tone-deaf singing voice.
"You there!" Lucius demanded, making his way into the cupboard. "What are you about, hmm?"
The elf jumped, startled, and then blanched, shaking his head. "Nothing! Kreacher was doing nothing, Mr. Malfoy, sir."
Lucius pointed a manicured finger down at the little elf's hooked nose. "You will tell me what you were listening to, and you will do so immediately."
The elf blushed and looked down at his furry toes. "It's the mud-blood Miss, Mr. Malfoy, sir. She puts on these spells and dampening magic and things so she cannot be heard, but Kreacher can still hear her singing through the pipes." The bedraggled thing gave a small, wistful smile and said softly, "Kreacher's mud-blood friend has a truly lovely voice."
"Move," Lucius barked, ordering the elf out of the way.
However, far from leaving the cupboard, the elf only stepped aside just enough so that Lucius could get adequately close to press his ear against the pipe, and then the elf, jostled his way below him, until he once more had his ear wrapped around the pipe.
Distantly, he heard the barest scant of singing as if from very far away echoed underwater. He could barely make it out with his human ears, but the elf had no trouble at all, apparently, for the creature sighed and began humming along happily once more.
"Quiet!" Lucius barked softly and cuffed the elf on the ear, just as Severus made one of his rounds beside the bathing chamber this time headed in pretense to the kitchen.
The cupboard door was ajar, and looking up, Lucius saw Severus had very much the same look on his face as Lucius had but a moment before.
'Miss Granger', Lucius mouthed, 'singing'.
Severus's expression changed to one of interest as he, too, stepped forward into the little cupboard and put his ear up to the pipe forcing the other two to jockey around him for better position. There was much grunting and shoving as the house-elf was a determined little thing, but finally, the three of them found a semblance of comfort, and Lucius looked up to his brother to gauge his reaction.
Severus's typically scowling face instantly softened as he listened to the echo of the pipes and heard the witch sing.
And never had Lucius's fingers itched for his wand more than at this moment, for he needed an amplification charm most desperately to properly hear her for his hearing wasn't as keen, apparently, as the other two fellows in the room.
He looked down at the elf, his eyes narrowing. "Kreacher," he whispered, "I want you to perform an amplification spell on the pipe."
The elf shook his head, looking up at Lucius belligerently, "Kreacher cannot. Not part of house-elf magic. Now, quiet!" and he wrapped his ear back on the pipe.
Taken aback, but now a bit desperate, Lucius began hopefully, "Severus…"
All he got in return was an irate scowl as Severus turned his other ear to the pipe, effectively showing Lucius his back. The elf again jostled him for better position.
There had to be something…. something in this magical house he could use…
A resonance crystal might work… it amplified the user's natural magic after all enabling wandless magic to be more readily accessible when channeled through its form.
And crystals did lend themselves to sound and amplification magic especially.
He might have even recalled there being one in the study…
Shoving past them, Lucius quickly ran up the stairs and then back down again, out of breath and clutching the pointed crystal in his hand.
He closed his eyes and waited for his energies to align with it.
Crystals weren't as accurate as wands, and therefore were not used as much, but the right practitioner could wield a crystal just as skillfully pending on the type of spell and the harmonies aligned with the crystal.
Feeling his energies fall in sync, he thought of the spell he wanted to perform and held it directly to the pipe, feeling his magic stir within him.
The first two times he attempted it, the refraction of the crystal caused his spells to go awry, dissolving uselessly into a bundle of linen. However, he turned the crystal and tried again, focusing on the refraction point, and then suddenly her sweet voice was filling the little cupboard with song.
The other two removed their ears from the pipe and blinked up at him; Lucius crossed his arms in front of himself with a self-satisfied sneer, and closed his eyes, all the better to listen.
Her voice, because of the pipe's amplification, sounded a bit like Mermish when spoken underwater, and the song she was singing was haunting, lending a bit to the effect.
'I can't keep up with your turning tables;
under your thumb I can't breathe.'
Her voice was sublime.
Gritty and earthy one moment, light as a butterfly's wing the next. Hearing her sing gave Lucius chills.
And upon understanding the lyrical content of the song she sung, he opened his eyes and met Severus's as they all three continued to listen entranced.
The ballad was an ode to heartbreak; the singer would never be able to give her heart again because of her past experience with both love itself and the gentleman in question. She was, in essence, held in a castle-keep, armed to the teeth, a dragon of her own devising guarding o'er.
She might as well be singing it to them.
Miss Granger finished the song on a haunting refrain, an incidental note which left Lucius feeling quixotic and incomplete. She pulled the stopper, and the bathwater started to drain. With a turning of the crystal and a focused thought, Lucius quickly cancelled the spell, and the three of them hurriedly exiting and closing the cupboard, made a mad rush for the kitchen.
In record time, the elf had tea for both Severus and himself laid out upon the trestle table and both jostled for position in sitting to be able to look outside the door to catch a glimpse of her as she walked past.
Severus lost, and with bad grace, grabbed his cup and saucer and leaned casually against the counter, his head in profile to the open kitchen door.
"Kreacher," Lucius stated lowly, "Once she comes out, go ask her if she would like tea. Make no mention of her voice, do you hear me?"
The little elf—a natural Slytherin if there ever was one—cottoned onto what Lucius wanted immediately, and nodded wisely.
The three of them heard the latch to the bathroom open and Lucius relaxed completely, bringing the cup he was holding casually aloft as he held it up to his lips. From his periphery, Lucius looked to find Severus doing the same; his brother's curtain of hair, for once, swept back behind his shoulder facing the door so he could clearly see her in his periphery as she walked past.
All three heard her soft footfalls on the carpet, and the elf—Merlin bless him!—stepped out of the kitchen and stopped her right outside the doorway.
Cautioning himself not to look at her too keenly or with too much intensity, Lucius perused her quickly from head to toe over the top of his cup with a relaxed interest. He then casually sat the cup and saucer he was holding down.
Thank Merlin, he could look fast and recount what he saw down to the most minute detail; a trait Albus Dumbledore had prized highly.
She wore another set of shapeless witch's robes—this one puce green. But her hair was still damp and wet, golden curls caught the glimmer of candlelight in a feminine hairclip behind her. And small tendrils of curl surrounded her flushed and rosy face, still dewy from her bath. He noticed her pinky toe peeking out from beneath the shapeless garment and smiled softly to himself.
Beneath the puce green potato sacking, the witch was barefoot.
"Thank you, Kreacher, for offering. Tea would be lovely," she said softly to the elf and made to move past him.
"But wouldn't Mud-blood Miss prefer to have it in the kitchen with Master's other guests?"
Lucius loudly cleared his throat in hopes of prompting the little elf to cease this tack immediately or to prompt Miss Granger to look his way, either would do.
"No, thank you. You can leave it outside my room if you'd like," she finally skirted past, "or if that's too much trouble, there's no need to bother," she ended on a whisper.
And the three of them heard her light footfalls pad softly up the stairs once more.
The elf came back into the kitchen, a frowning scowl on his face as he said sourly, "It hurts Kreacher to see Mud-blooded Miss so alone. Accomplished as she is, she should be married with a passel of younglings to see to," he tutted and shook his head as he went over to prepare the things for her tea.
Severus, however, none-too-gently shoved the elf out of the way and began preparing it himself.
The elf continued talking as if he hadn't just been ousted out of the way, and amused, Lucius turned to watch Severus as he worked. "The mud-blood Miss needs a husband is what she needs. Someone to take care of her, remind her to eat, and make her tea."
Lucius's lips twitched at that, and he murmured, "Well Severus is working on the latter, elf.
"Mud-blooded Miss is stubborn," the elf tutted, shaking his head.
Severus's hand suddenly shot out and encompassed the elf's throat, squeezing tightly.
Lucius was on his feet in an instant, darting around the table and putting himself between the two, trying to break Severus's unrelenting hold. "Severus…" Lucius said softly facing him, "Good help is hard to come by at the moment. And the girl is fond of the elf… release him."
Far from doing so, the dark wizard turned and bent down until his eyes were on level with the frightened elf's bulbous and now blood-shot eyes. Severus grit through clenched teeth, "You will never… call her 'mud-blood' again. Do you understand? Make no mistake, you do, and I will kill you."
His typical ashen-gray pallor turning blue now, the little elf nodded weakly, desperately clawing at the hand that held him by the throat.
Severus released him to the elf's choking, gasping relief.
Sucking in air, the elf bowed low on his knees before Severus, breathing raggedly, "Krea-cher is… sorry, Ma-Master Sn-Snape. K-Kreacher meant no off-ense."
"Your continued existence offends me," Severus hissed lowly, turning away from the prostrate elf and back towards the half-finished tea service. "Leave."
With a 'pop', the thing was gone and Lucius looked up at Severus, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes.
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"To the victor go the spoils then Severus?" Lucius asked him questioningly.
Severus shook his head as he finished making her tea, knowing he was rising to the blond wizard's baiting. "She is not a prize to be won, Lucius," he rasped and turned to face his old friend, saying via Legilimency, 'Hermione Granger is a grown woman capable of deciding for herself who the better wizard among the two of us shall be. Although truthfully, if she had any sense at all, she'd run from this house and not look back.'
Lucius gave him a droll smile. "She tried doing that, Severus, and you barred the door."
Severus rolled his eyes and gave a last discriminating look at the tray. He'd chosen mild peppermint infused tea with honey and lemon, a balm for her throat. When he got his wand back, he would be able to make her some lozenges to carry around with her to ease the effects and strain of a tired voice. He had spent part of his stay at Azkaban mentally crafting one of many such formulas he believed would work wonders for his voice.
The potion at a fifth the strength he planned for himself presented via lozenge should work just as well for her.
Merlin, but her voice!
The elf was right. How the hell was the witch not married yet? It made no sense, no logical sense whatsoever for her to be as alone as she was with as much beauty, as much talent and intelligence!
But gods!
As broken and scarred as he was, Severus Snape wanted to be her wizard, her match…. but did he honestly have what it would take to do so?
Intellectually? yes.
Spiritually? he wanted to learn.
Sexually? Gods, yes, please!
Physically? Not a bloody chance in hell.
She was a witch just entering the prime of womanhood, and he was a washed-up, has-been spy with more blood on his hands and grease in his hair than the woman could shake a bar of soap at.
And, lest he forget, Hermione Granger thought he hated her.
Well… that was before he'd heard the witch sing.
Even as he'd watched her dance and cook, as happy as she'd been, Severus had resented her, resented what he felt towards her. Now, he just wanted her for his own with a covetousness that astounded him.
"Have you listened to a word I've said? Lost in thoughts of her, aren't you?" Lucius said knowingly from beside him.
"What are your intentions?" Severus rasped, looking over at his brother with narrowed eyes.
"Oh, same as yours I suspect." A gleam of merry devilment danced in Lucius's eyes, and Severus probed, looking for a chink in his brother's occlumency shield.
The bastard was occluding very well.
Summoning the elf, Severus foisted upon him the tray and bid he take it to her. The thing was still trembling and wheezing slightly, but Severus couldn't feel sorry for what he had done. He was only sorry it took him so long to do it.
The thing had been disparaging her and those like her for years. And if there was one thing Severus hated most, it was that word…
For it was a reminder of what it had cost him so very long ago.
Severus turned to Lucius and studied him seriously, asking quietly, "Will you marry her?"
"Miss Granger doesn't strike me as the marrying kind, Severus," Lucius replied softly, the smile dimming in his eyes.
"She is only the marrying kind," Severus ground as he stepped up toe to toe to his brother, staring him down.
Lucius smirked. "My, but you do have a lot to learn about our Miss Granger, do you not? The girl is the girl that 'can't be caught', the 'Untouchable Ice Queen'; far better men than you or I have tried to nab her by the heart and place a ring on her finger, and none have, thus far, succeeded, Severus." Lucius's pale blue eyes glinted in challenge.
Severus said via Legilimency, 'So, is that it then? The first wizard to make her fall in love with him, wins her love? And the other will forfeit pursuit of her?'
Lucius smiled sadly, his face tight with resolution. "Yes; I suppose it is, brother."
Was this what tore them apart?
A woman?
Severus didn't think anything could after the hell they'd been through together.
But my gods, what a woman she was!
Severus abruptly jerked away from the counter and began walking away. He hadn't a chance with her.
She hated him.
She had been attracted to Lucius; even as pitiful as both he and Lucius had looked back then, she had been. And Severus had intimidated the hell out of her. After all, he'd made it an artform from childhood to do so, and no woman of her worth and esteem would want to be associated with a man like him.
Not when she was everything—everything a wizard could dream of having in a witch.
Could Severus concede and let Lucius have her for however long the blond wizard took to fancying her?
He knew of Lucius's past, his marriage and his mistresses. Infidelity had never sat right with Severus, but Lucius and Narcissa hadn't had that kind of marriage he would want to offer Miss Granger.
If he offered for her.
Merlin! What the hell was he thinking?! Thinking of competing with Lucius to acquire a wife? A wife he hadn't even begun to love! It was ludicrous.
No.
He would go with things as planned and forget he'd ever seen her. He'd get his stipend from the Ministry, he would get his wand, and then he would fade away into the shadows, the background of things.
Alone after all.
.
.
.
A/N: If you're enjoying my little tale, let this little authoress know, won't you? Things are beginning to heat up, and oh! What a catch our little Gryffindor is turning out to be for her two snakes. I wonder which she will choose if a choice she does make? ;0)
Until next time,
-k