Disclaimer: Ok, so here's the deal. J.K. Rowling drank some coffee and BOOM this boy walked out of her head and she wrote on napkins for eight years and then the boy had a book and then another book and another and a movie deal and my undying devotion and I'm not JKR.
C H A P T E R / T H R E E
Have you ever had something rip you out of sleep? Not a sudden noise or fire but just a thought that jerks you awake. However, that thought dis-a-fucking-pears as soon as you awake?
Annoys the bloody hell out of me. And it is what woke me up the next day.
Or, I should say, that night.
I literally slept from the time I went back to bed, at about ten, until half-eleven at night. Then, something stuck a stick in the spokes of the wheel that is my dream and said 'WAKE UP!!!!' which is a MUCH more effective waking-up strategy than an alarm clock.
So, I stared into the darkness for a bit, with a slight bit of panicking, since, I'm not used to waking up at night. Then, I slid out of bed and . . .
Why am I telling you this? It isn't relevant.
I went to the loo ok? It doesn't matter. In fact, that night doesn't matter. Because like the sleep-whore I've randomly become, I went back to bed.
8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8
Next Day
This time, I KNEW what woke me up.
I realised I didn't know if I still taught the same class! What if I taught Flying or something? What if that was the decision I made.
Dear me . . . there were so many different possibilities of what could have been different . . . it sent my mind spinning.
I knew I had to do that first. I had to discover who I was. I mean, like Dumbledore said, if I changed the course of anything, I could completely mess up my chances of returning. I didn't know why . . . but if I was going to doubt anything, I would still play it safe.
Wait. Where was I?
Ok, so I had to find who I was. But also, I realised, I couldn't tell anyone else that I was from another dimension.
One, I would sound like a total loon. And I was beginning to wonder if I really had gone insane.
Two, it would change the course of this Hermione's life, definitely. I mean, people would act differently if they knew I wasn't who they were used to. Or not used to since, from what Dumbledore said, this really didn't have any matter without me in it. So all these people are conjured on my arriving?
Oooh . . . I need to go back to bed.
Stop.
I'm going to warn you: I sleep a lot during this story. Now you see why.
Go.
And three . . . wait! Did I have a three? I could have sworn I did.
Anyway, so I couldn't really tell anyone about my predicament. So how would I find out what I did differently? I'd have to scour old journals, ask Dumbledore. And the rest? Find out from my friends . . . and Snape I guess, using cunning and cleverness.
Not even bothering to eat, I flew about my flat, searching for any sign of my occupation. I found it, thankfully. My notes, off which I instruct. And they were all Arthrimacy notes.
Good.
However, me. What am I like? I dug into my box of books.
I found this box at a garage sale in Ron's neighbourhood. It's larger on the inside, about three and a half square metres. I put a few shelves in there and I can stand in there. (it is about a metre and a half deep) and get the books. It helps a lot. Without the 2 galleon box, I'd have stacks of book lying about.
Anyway, I went into there and got out a few old notebooks that I used as journals throughout my educational career.
I spent hours looking through those things. I mean, I would basically glance over it but I'd stop here and there to reminisce.
Yeah, I did this until noon. Did it help? Well, I realised that none of them were different. So anything I did differently in this dimension, was more recent, as in the past four years. Unfortunately, I hadn't been keeping a journal. So after Uni, I had nothing. It was all grey. But so far, I had enough to get by pretty much unsuspecting.
I'm getting around to how good this is. See, about one thirty, Minerva flooed me wanting to go to Hogsmeade and have lunch together. Since I hadn't eaten, the creature in my stomach growled hopefully and my answer given non-verbally.
I'm not going to bore you with details of this lunch. Why? Because I didn't find anything out. Every now and then, I'd swing the conversation around to my recent past.
For example:
'Hermione, you need to slow down! The food isn't alive anymore and thus, isn't going anywhere.'
I stop scooping potatoes unto my mouth.
'Sorry. I love potatoes. I've been craving them.'
Her eyebrows went up. 'Oh?' Then she leant forward. 'Are you . . .'
I stared blankly at her like the prude I am. 'Am I what?'
Whispering, she elaborated (I wish she hadn't), 'Are you pregnant?'
I've accused Ron of this and it's horribly impolite, not to mention embarrassing but I went through
Cliché #5: spitting out the contents of one's mouth
But! I mean, come on! Look what she accused me of! Ok, admittedly, it's not the most horrible thing that could happen. But it was Snape!
'No!'
Then something hit me that made me nearly spit up the contents of my stomach.
Ok, pause here. A bit of a lesson. How would one get pregnant?
If you don't know the answer, go ask mummy and daddy where babies come from.
I DO know the answer but I want you to see it the same way I did.
How would one get pregnant? By a sperm permeating an egg. How might a sperm get to an egg? Well, by sex, of course. This would mean, I would have to have had sex to get pregnant.
With me so far?
Ok, now who would I most likely have sex with? Snape.
Unless I was cheating on him, I thought hopefully.
No, no I wasn't.
Which meant that there's a chance, every possibility, that
A, I COULD be pregnant and
B, Even if I wasn't, there was still the fact that I could very well be sexually active with Snape.
C, And thus, might have to shag him.
Naturally, this sent me into a frenzy as I panicked. I HAD to find out what I did differently and get back as soon as now!
So, back to the conversation, I added to my previous outburst of 'no!' that I hadn't eaten that day yet, which was why I was eating so fast..
Then I asked, just to be sure, 'what made you think I was pregnant?'
Pause again.
I know what you are thinking. 'Duh, it was because you said you were craving food and pregnant women crave food.'
True. Very true. But every time your friend craves something. Every time a mate of yours says something like, 'I could kill for some fish and chips' do you suspect a pregnancy?
No.
So, most people don't naturally jump to that conclusion right away. Unless . . . they had other evidence that could all add up.
See what I'm getting at?
For the slower of you out there, let me say it straight. I was making sure there weren't any other things I've been doing, which might point to a baby, such as morning sickness. Or maybe I had gone and gotten a pregnancy test and was supposed to reveal the results today.
Hm . . . if that was the case, then I'd probably confused her by going 'No!' as though shocked at the mere thought . . .which I was, but I wasn't supposed to be.
See? THAT'S why I've been sleeping a lot. It's thoughts like that which give you a migraine. I told you that this would fuck you up.
If you've noticed that I've been cussing more than is customary for me, it's because Severus cusses and you'll see along the line, that I tend to adapt to my surrounding. I spent a lot of time with him so . . . I'm getting ahead of myself.
Anyway, Minerva replied, 'oh, it's just that I haven't seen you eat this much lately and you and Severus seem to be very much in love.' She smiled.
I shrank in my seat and didn't bother to hide my disappointment. 'Oh gods, we do?'
Chuckling, she placed a hand on mine. 'Don't look so glum! You are a very adorable couple. And you can't help it, that you are so plainly in love. I mean, even when it was all a secret, I suspected it.'
Perfect! This put me in the perfect position to go back into my past a bit.
'When did you start suspecting?' Casual as loungewear, I inquired the aforementioned question over my cup of now half-empty tea.
You might be unawares as to the reason I asked this. Ok, see. If I got a time-frame of when we started dating, it would narrow down my search as to what happened differently. So when I tried to dig into my past, I wouldn't have to sort through four years of history.
At least, this was how simple it all seemed until I got home and actually thought on it.
But you'll see that later on in this chapter. This will be quite long. But as you can tell, dimensional physics is a complicated thing.
Back on subject.
Minerva answered, 'Oh, about six months ago.'
Good. Later, when I got home, I wrote
Facts
-Severus and I started dating six months ago
-We kept our relationship a secret until we revealed it (a month prior to my inquiry, I later learnt. Not that it matters but I figured you'd ask)
-We are very much in love.
-Ugh.
But from the rest of the conversation, there were very few windows for which I could change the course of the conversation without seeming odd.
But there you go. That lasted an hour. I came back to my flat, not talking to anyone, and decided to sit and really think.
That's when I realised something sickening.
No, not that I was pregnant. Honestly, one track mind, have you?
I realised that there's a chance that whatever it was I did differently, it could have been a result of numerous decisions. A twisted, winding road. I know, I realised this earlier. But I also realised that I had no idea how long this could take. Yeah, I had a time-frame but honestly? We could have started dating before then and Minerva just hadn't noticed.
Also, what if me dating Snape wasn't the only difference? What if what I was in was a massive winding of a plethora of 'branches'?
Yeah, that's worrisome.
Not to mention, that there was the chance that I would be stuck there. Again, NOW this is all irrelevant, but you don't know that.
Anyway, I was sitting there in a depression thinking about this when I heard my name.
I looked around from my position on my sitting-room floor, notebooks splayed about, but saw no one.
Oh gods, I groaned. I am going crazy.
'Hermione, behind you.'
Oh. I turned . . .
And screamed.
There, in my fireplace, was Snape's head.
NO not like, his head was cut off and there it lay, bodiless. It was floating in green flames.
Yeah, yeah, I should be used to flooing right now, I know. But I wasn't expecting his head there. Or anywhere in my flat.
I digress.
Snape smirked. 'You are a bit jumpy today, I see. Tell me . . . Hermione, you are a witch, are you not?'
Clearly, Snape wasn't as different as I thought.
Years of dealing with the Snape-as-not-my-boyfriend caused me to snap, 'I wasn't expecting you!' as a knee-jerk reaction.
He chuckled.
'How is your first day of vacation going?' he asked, tilting his flaming head to one side.
I shrugged. 'It's all right for some, I suppose. Nothing really interesting has happened.'
Ha!
He nodded.
And I realised I should not be rude and ask him how his vacation was going.
'It's not,' he answered dryly. 'I don't get a holiday like you. I have a store to run, remember, Hermione?'
He could still make me feel like an idiot, even while dating me. Ugh, he was probably one of those emotionally abusive boyfriends. Fantastic. I wondered why I'd even started dating him.
Snape interrupted my epiphany. 'Are you even listening to me?'
'Nope,' I answered with a cheeky grin, still a bit peeved at his last comment. And his tone.
With a slightly annoyed glare, he repeated (I'm assuming this is what I'd missed), 'All this fucking Christmas cheer is bothering me. I mean, this holiday has no purpose! We are supposed to be celebrating the birth of a man who could very well have not existed, and if he had, he was born in the summer! We are only celebrating Christmas at the time we are because when Christianity surfaced, it had to take out its rival religion, paganism. To do that, it put its OWN holiday right smack dab in the winter solstice! And then proceeded to use the methods of celebration. The fir tree, the lights and exchanging of gifts, all pagan.'
I had to add something and I knew a bit of what he was speaking. 'Not to mention Pan.'
'Yes!' he exclaimed. 'Christians then used Pagan things and made them the 'evil'. Like modeling their devil after Pan, a god. And making Pagans seem like goat fuckers who had constant orgies. The last bit, I wouldn't mind.' He smirked.
Ok, I'm not so prudish to think that Snape wouldn't be one to have sex. But this did bring me back to wondering if we were having sex.
Ohh no.
'As I was saying,' he continued. 'They changed stories too! Beowulf? You've read it, I assume? Of course you've read it. All you do is read.' Oddly, he didn't say this as though it were a lowly thing. More like, a simple statement. 'Originally, Beowulf was a pagan story but Christians took it and tagged on their own religion and changed the ending.
'Don't get me wrong. I'm not pagan or anything. I'm agnostic, as you know. But honestly, that religion's been royally fucked by Christianity. And that religion pisses me off. It's all about hypocrisy and bias. Look at the bible! It says 'don't do this' and 'don't do that.' It teaches that basically, sex is for procreating and nothing else. I mean, you're supposed to just lie back and think of England!
'And women! You should be pissed because in the bible, women are either evil seductresses or baby machines. If they want anyone to enjoy sex, it'd be the 'stronger smarter male'. Women aren't supposed to. And as I've told you, I practically have a fetish where I get off on a woman orgasming. If she's not enjoying it, I can't. But fuck! Sex is supposed to be fun! Not an obligation like taxes! If it wasn't, why do we orgasm?'
This was making me a bit uncomfortable. I know, I'm no prude, (though to be honest, at this time, I was a virgin) but come on! This was Snape! Imagine if you just sat down with someone about whom you never wanted to imagine having sex with, and they started talking about it!
Plus, if he got off when a woman came, he wouldn't be the type to just please himself and crawl off. No, he'd likely keep going until I orgasmed. Fan-fucking-tastic. And since he was really good at telling whether or not I was lying, and since I was a virgin and thus, not schooled in this area, it'd be unlikely I'd be able to fake it believably.
Why couldn't I have gotten the normal boyfriend every other girl has to deal with? Couldn't he have had just a lingerie fetish like most blokes?
Thankfully, he got off that topic. 'And did you know that women's intelligence quotients generally tend to be higher than men's? So that part is rubbish. But those people—those bible-thumpers. You should hear them. "Christianity's been around forever . . . it's the only right way." "Oh? What about evolution? How'd that happen if Adam and Eve were supposed to be the first things on earth. Or, Adam at least. Did they walk around with the dinosaurs?" "No, of course not." "Then how do you explain those big dinosaur-like things they found under the earth dating back before humans?" "They have only dated those using science and science is made of best guesses." "Well, at least there's more evidence supporting science than evidence supporting religion." "The evidence is all around you."'
I don't know why I'm telling you this.
Ok, I won't stop.
I agreed with him. 'Oh, I know how that is.' Lame but what else could I say?
'It fucking bothers me when people try to tell you that what you believe is wrong and try to shove their beliefs at you, saying theirs are right! It's not even just religious people who do this. Even agnostics and atheists! Anyone who does this is a fucking wanker. I mean, what's right for one may not be right for another! And I—' His head disappeared for a second. 'Oh, dammit. Sorry but someone's banging on my door. Fuck me if I know it isn't Albus. I'll talk to you later. Bye.'
And then he was gone.
Let me just interrupt again to say that even at this point, I really didn't think this was all the hugest deal. I mean, so I'd have to pretend to be someone's boyfriend for a while, so what? I know I'd freaked a bit at the prospect of sleeping with Snape and yeah, he's annoying to me. But I was a virgin at the time so, naturally, I didn't want to sleep with anyone until I was ready.
But as I was telling you, I still figured I'd live through it all and come out pretty unscathed.
This is the part where I stop writing to throw my head back and laugh sarcastically.
Excuse me a minute, won't you?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ok, back.
So, Snape was gone and I sat there practically giving myself a pat on the back. Like, 'hey, I didn't do too badly! I fooled him! Good show!'
Let me pause again. See, now I'm the type of girl who can play along as well as the next person. However, if something angers me, I'll let that show.
Snape and I talked a few more times. He mostly talked. Yeah, I never figured he'd be the talkative sort but that was fine with me. I mean, sure he said some things that I didn't agree with, or knew was wrong, but I didn't want to start any thing because even if I knew something that he didn't, he knew ten things I didn't.
What I am saying is, I did feel a bit less intelligent around him. And it was barely anything he did. Mostly just the fact that I knew he knew things. And I really was hesitant about saying something on the chance I'd be wrong.
Yeah, I don't know where this passive Hermione came from either. I guess I was just still in shock at my position, and possible other positions (if you get my meaning). Also, I wanted to make this all as painless as possible.
That didn't stop me from flaring up at Snape two conversations later, however.
'I had an old crone come in today who was dreadfully dull,' He was telling me. 'This dim-witted bitch stood there for about twenty minutes, asking me over and over again, the attributes of sage. She would ask, "What is sage used for?" and I'd answer and then she'd go, "so, would it be useful to me?" and I answered that yes, since it's good for so many things, it probably would. She then asked, "Like what?"' he sighed in that I-hate-thick-people way he had.
'Meaning like, for what things would it be useful?' I asked for clarification.
'Well, fuck. There's the world's most idiotic question for you! Of course that's what she meant!' He snapped annoyed, then sighed. 'You do that all the time, you know. Ask questions. That's all you do.'
Ok. This hacked me off. I mean, snap at me for no reason? All I did was ask a simple question. And now he was looking angry himself because I hadn't answered. So I did. And honestly. And with bite. 'Asking questions is how you find answers, S-Severus! I ask because I want clarity. I don't just go about assuming as you do!'
'I have no need to assume!' he countered. 'Because I know I'm right!'
Ugh! 'You are so arrogant! You always go around thinking you know everything!'
'Oh, and you don't?' he glowered.
'No. I don't.'
'Oh, that's a laugh. You are an insufferable know-it-all, born and bred!'
'Takes one to know one!'
'Tell me, Hermione, do you just spout off things you've read or do you have any original thoughts in that mind of yours?'
I couldn't believe he'd said that! I don't know why I couldn't believe it either! 'You're such an arse!'
'Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione.'
'Merlin, that was lame.'
He shrugged.
Ooh we'd gotten off topic. I wasn't going to let him get away with saying what he had. Not an original thought, indeed! 'I'll have you know, Severus, that my asking questions is how I am. You'll just have to deal with it because I won't fuck change for you, you understand?'
He sighed. 'I don't want you to change. That's not what I meant.'
'Oh. I see. Then, what pray tell did you mean?'
He let out a groan. 'Can we just drop it?'
'No!'
'Why the hell not?'
'Because,' I told him, while simultaneously searching for the answer. 'Because I won't take to you blowing up at me over my characteristics.'
'Fine. I won't.'
'Fine?' I repeated. 'Fine? That's it?'
'What else do you want me to say?'
'Anything but fine! Fine just means you are trying to avoid more confrontation.'
'What the fuck!? Is this how you are? You have this compulsive need to win arguments? You Gryffindors are too fucking competitive, honestly.'
'Oh, no you don't. I won't have you judging me based on my house. You want to take a stab at characteristics? How about your judging people constantly. "Oh, that girl has red hair so naturally, she's a whore."'
Shrugging, he simply said, 'Case in point: Mrs. Potter.'
'Oh, don't you dare insult my friends!'
'It's not an insult; it's the truth. The former Miss Weasely has six children. That constitutes a whore. Besides, this isn't even what we're arguing about.'
'We'll argue about it because I'm sick and tired of you thinking you're better than everyone else!'
'Oh?' Sardonic eyebrow lift. 'Since when did you become telepathic?'
'It's how you act, P-Severus!' Close call. 'You have this way of claiming you know how everyone is, how they are. You sit there on your pedestal and cast your royal eye about, labeling everyone.'
Thankfully, my fudging went unnoticed by him. 'And it works. Hermione, I'm much older than you and thus, I've seen more. I've met more people and so I've grown to know how they act. People aren't as different as you'd think. Also, I'm not the only one on a pedestal.'
'First of all, people are different and second of all, what do you mean, "pedestal"? I don't do what you do.'
He rolled his eyes. 'That's not what I meant—oh, never-bloody-mind. I'm not arguing with you anymore.'
'No!' Ooh, I wasn't going to let him do this! 'I want to know what you meant and you're not leaving until you tell me!'
'Really?' he hissed dangerously. 'Want to make a wager on that?'
'I—'
And then he was gone.
'Fuck you, arsehole,' I whispered to myself. Angry tears stinging my eyes. No, he didn't really hurt my feelings, just hacked me off. I mean, I didn't do those things! And there was nothing wrong with asking questions!
Sorry. I shouldn't lay all this on you.
Ok, a bit later, he got back on and asked, 'are you still mad at me?' and I said that yes, I was.
'Can't we just put this to rest?' he asked.
I shook my head furiously, my mouth still full of the pasty I was eating when he'd flooed. When I'd swallowed a pasty the size of a small cat (or so it felt), I elaborated, 'If we don't get it out now, then it'll sit there, under the surface, and broil.'
Groaning, he finally said. 'Ok, say what you want. Get it off your chest.'
'Ok.' I'd had a few hours to prepare. So I told him that
A) I had every right to ask questions and it was who I was. To which he replied, 'Yes, you do and I honestly love your curiosity' (let it be known that I wasn't expecting that) 'But to be honest, you do ask some stupid and irrelevant questions.' True, I had to admit. Even though I asked to be 'sure', I knew already. I don't know why I do this.
B) He needed to stop assuming things about people based on people he's met in the past. Not everyone is the same nor can they be put into groups. 'You do the same thing! You're always claiming to know what I'm thinking.' to which I replied, 'I most certainly do not! I actually actively try to get to know people and with that, I do acquire the ability to predict their responses.' He opened his mouth. I said, 'that is not the same thing.'
C) If he wanted to remain my boyfriend, he would not insult my friends. I know that this could fall in the category of Things That Could Change This Dimension, but I didn't care. Ok, I did but I still wasn't going to let him speak ill of my friends in front of me and I had no other threat. He simply replied, 'fine, I won't tell you the truth.' I realised that this was the best I was going to get, so I accepted it. And
D) There was going to be none of this 'I'm older than you' nonsense. While, I admitted, he was older than me and therefore experienced things I haven't. Most definitely since he traipsed all over the flowerbed known as Deatheaters. But while he was older, it didn't necessarily mean he knew all or always knew more than me. He agreed but I sat there wondering where on earth this confidence came from, on my part. Because, to be honest, Snape WAS in MOST ways smarter than me.
Three conversations after that, and we hadn't fought. For some reason, I now realise that I wanted to fight with him and might have dragged the aforementioned argument out a bit more than I should. A psychiatrist might attribute my doing this as 'pushing' Snape away. I don't know whether or not that's correct but I'm just rambling now so I'll stop.
The conversation I want to bring you to, is about a week after my arrival.
Ok, hold on. I know you might be wondering (unless you are just sitting there going 'so when are we going to get to the juicy torrid sex?' If that's the case, Shutup) if I had made any progress trying to figure out how to get back to my time. I had very little since by spending time with Ginny, Harry, and Ron, I'd only figured out that THIS Hermione's life wasn't much different than MY life. Good news as it was beginning to appear as though Snape's dating me was the only difference. But what I could have possibly done to lead to his dating me? Have no idea.
And yes, I should say, it did occur to me that the Snape in this life shouldn't be any different than the Snape in MY life. So, I wondered, what did I do that made Snape want to date me? Or did he want to date me in reality?
Oh my, here came that headache again . . .
Back to the conversation.
I don't even remember what we were talking about but I do recall having Ginny contact me via owl. She was telling me she couldn't have supper with me as Fred and George were in need of help for their shop.
I told Snape this and he said, 'well, why don't you and I have supper, then? We haven't been out in ages.'
I was trapped. I didn't want to go.
Why? I'll tell you why!
1. While our conversations were now fine, it's difficult for me to argue effectively face-to-face, especially with him.
2. It still was a bit of a bizarre thought, going on a date with a man who I'd never thought of as dating material.
3. I realised he was my boyfriend and it's customary to kiss your boyfriend. So, I'd have to kiss Snape. I don't even know if whether I wanted to or not factored into this. I do know I didn't know how well of a kisser I was and I didn't want to face up to Snape's judgment. I guess I didn't want to kiss him because I had a feeling it'd complicate things (psychic, I am).
So, I made an excuse. 'Actually, I was planning on going to visit my parents after I had supper with Ginny since they originally wanted me to eat with them. I think I'll do that instead. Go eat with my parents.' I paused, hoping he'd believe me. I was still a bit surprised when he looked a bit disappointed. 'Understandable. Have fun. Floo me when you get back?'
I nodded. 'Sure.' Then there was a pause. So I added, 'Well, I suppose I should get ready then.'
He nodded and then we were both nodding, like a couple of bobble-headed dolls, one of looking a bit like the green version of the Ghost Rider. Finally, he grimaced. 'Enough of this nonsense. Goodbye until later.'
'Bye.'
So, I'd saved myself. I knew I couldn't keep turning him down for very long, as it was expected of me to go on a date with him.
Later, I realised how much doing what's expected of you could fuck you up.
But later for that.
Finally, two invites later, I finally accepted his invitation of dinner and a play.
This chapter, is called, 'Hating'. Because that's what I did. I began hating him. Full-frontal loathing.
I decided that I wasn't going to get dressed up prettily for our date. I mean, that's cliché and if you haven't deduced so far, I don't like clichés. But I did brush my hair a bit more than usual. But for the benefit of the rest of the population, of course. And so that people seated behind me for the play could actually see the play.
I'm kind-hearted like that.
The entire day, however, I was a mess. I couldn't concentrate and Ginny had to repeat everything she said about six times. My stomach felt as though I'd swallowed a vat of acid. I was restless the entire time and my mind kept straying to him. Why was I dating him in the first place? What on earth could lead me to do so? Why was he dating me? What would he do on the date? Would he try to kiss me? I should order something with garlic. What if we started arguing? He did scare me a bit. He's rude . . . what if he was rude to the waiter or waitress? What were we supposed to talk about? I supposed I could just let him talk. But I was supposed to say something every now and then! What would I say? Without looking like a total buffoon? And so on and so forth it went. It was as though I had loads of little gnomes inside me, all clamoring about. I couldn't sit still. I felt . . . A.D.D. I hated this feeling. I tried to squash it by thinking of other things and reading. READING! Reading, you should know, could get my mind off an Avada Kedavra aimed my way. And did it work in getting my mind off my impending date? Not at all.
Which of course is
Cliché #6: Not being able to get your mind off him
Which of course is annoying.
When I heard his knock, my heart beat about fifty times within the span of what was usually one heartbeat. 'Coming!' I called, my voice only dipping in and out of every octave audible to man. And some audible to dolphins.
I opened up the door to find him dressed . . . as usual.
'You going to a funeral?' I joked.
See, I am actually really good at handling myself and watching what I say in most situations. My fall-back is always to joke. Which, you should know, my jokes are lame, at best. Clearly.
He gestured to his ensemble. 'I'm very well dressed, I'll have you know.'
'Yes. For a funeral.'
He chuckled. 'Says the woman currently wearing Café Chic.'
Indignantly, I said, 'There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!' I had on a simple pair of jeans and pale t-shirt. See? I told you I wasn't dressing up. However, I did look decent.
'I know,' he said, smiling. 'You look pretty. Now, let's go.'
I did step out into the corridor but I didn't let him go with that. I said I was decent. I wasn't pretty and I wasn't going to have someone flattering me for no reason. Or even if he had a reason, for that. 'I'm not pretty.'
He turned and looked at me as though I'd gone a bit potty. 'Oh. I see. Low self-esteem. Oh, well, we'll get you over that.' He put a hand on each of my shoulders. 'You, Hermione, are pretty. You have lovely eyes and sexy legs—'
Sexy legs?
'—and a gorgeous body and nice hair—'
I had to laugh at that one. Nice hair. Me!! I knew he was lying now!
Reading my mind (which, you will later see, he does a lot), he gently put one hand on my back and steered me along. 'Oh honestly. Your hair being frizzy is a result of humidity and genetics. Use that one serum and after a bit, it calms down. Your hair's soft though. A nice colour.'
Ok . . . I don't like complements because they make me blush, which makes me blush. And so on. I just . . .
Plus, remember how I don't like being looked at? The way he was looking at me . . . I can only describe it as sitting in a cold chair with a bright light in your face and a lie-detector attached to your fingers. Oh, AND you are naked and there are five-hundred people looking on. While they simultaneously play a movie of all your most revealing and embarrassing moments.
Yeah, that's what it felt like when he looked at me.
I changed the subject and we talked about other things (I really don't' recall what) until supper.
The restaurant he took me to was called The Twisted Wand. It was this modern place run by a bloke who was half Italian and half Spaniard. So he intertwined both cultures into his dishes. Thus, the name. The walls were all orange stucco with scarab tile accents and marble flooring. Splattered all over the walls were signs saying things like, 'Stop reading! Your food's getting cold!' and '101 Reasons The Twisted Wand Is the Best Place on Earth: 1. You are not in any danger of being attacked by falcons. 2. Ducks eat for free. 3. You are allowed to sit. 4. Burping is allowed. You can even make a game of it. . . .' and so on. I sat in the booth gawping around the room.
'I figured you'd like it here,' Snape said, interrupting my reading '47. There is very little chance Attila the Hun will ever try to take over this place. 48. We were never owned by anyone with large ears . . .'
I looked back at him. Damn. I should probably pay attention to him, shouldn't I? He went on to talk about how he came across the place (again, don't recall what he said) and on.
I took the time to study him. I discovered a few things.
1. His nose was huge. It really fascinated me trying to imagine walking around with that thing sticking a metre out. Could he see his feet? How did he not trip all the time? It grew by the minute, I swear. Could you fit an olive up there? A grape? An apple? What about a melon? I bet he'd never had a stuffy nose in his life. There wasn't enough snot in the world to fill up a nostril that size! And that bump in the middle of the bridge of his nose! I wondered if I rolled a marble down it, would it jump out at the bump? It was practically a ninety-degree angle! It had to have been done by magic!
2. His hair was a bit too oily for my taste. No one's hair was naturally that shiny! Why, his practically looked plastic! We couldn't let him go into the ocean as there was enough grease in that hair to cause the same problems as someone dumping a huge boat of oil. Watch out, dolphins! Swim for your lives, penguins! The thought of Snape swimming lead me to realise that
3. He was so pale! I mean, was this what an albino looked like? Weren't they supposed to have white hair and purple eyes? He could have dyed his hair and I'd have to look closely to see if his eyes weren't just a dark purple. But, Merlin, he blended in with the white marble floors! It sickened me to imagine him without a shirt on!
4. His eyes were . . . nothing special.
5. His hands were huge! The length of his fingers, his bony, thin, fingers was enough to make me wonder if he could use them as shish kabobs!
6. And he, he was dreadfully thin! Did the man eat? Was he anorexic or bulimic? He had to be so weak, how did he stand? How could his body support the weight of his nose and greasy hair? He probably didn't have muscle tone at all.
I know. I sound dreadfully shallow. But I couldn't help all these thoughts flying in, could I?
I just . . . I found myself hating him. Everything he did, I loathed. And it wasn't like it was difficult to find things either. I mean, he was many things I hated already. He was old (which made me wonder at the state of his . . . gherkin. THAT of course, nearly caused me to vomit the three sips of wine I had back into my glass) and thin and unnecessarily rude and pompous and far too proud, making the clichés of my house look diluted. Ugh. I wondered what in Merlin's name made 'me' date him? I mean, what on earth could I have done.
I know what you are saying. 'You hate him because of how he looks? That's wrong!' I know. But I started hating other things too. I hated how rude he was to everyone, his condescending manner, his arrogance, how he could be SUCH a hypocrite, and on.
And yet, I sat there, and I was enjoying myself. I don't know how or why, but I just sat there and then it hit me: I didn't want to go home. I didn't have to for a while, yes, but still. It wasn't so bad. I mean, he was ok to talk to when he wasn't being pompous, etc. I held my end of the conversation. However, what I didn't do was eat. My stomach was too full of acid to make room for anything else.
He got worried but I told him I had heartburn and I took the rest of my food in a bag.
We went to play next. Again, I don't know what we saw but it really isn't relevant.
It was afterward that is. Relevant, I mean.
We stayed in the theatre long after the curtain had gone down. Snape and I talked a bit until there was a lull. And then he leant closer. I went on talking as though I had NO idea what was going on. Playing stupid is the way to go, folks.
I jabbered on about who-knows-what until he finally said, 'You know the armrest between us won't let me go any further, so you're going to have to help me a bit.'
Well, folks. We all know that I cherish what intelligence I have. To be honest, it's my only aspect. So, this is a rarity. 'This' being when I play stupid.
'Huh?' I stared at his hands. Then, as though it suddenly hit me, 'Oh.' And then I proceeded to scoot a milimetre closer. Or, no, I'm exaggerating. Half a milimetre.
This, unfortunately, was just the distance we needed, because I felt him tugging on my sleeve.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is where I panicked. Inwardly, of course. My mind raced and with it, my mouth. I started talking, and fast.
I don't know all of what I said but I do know the words, 'but, I'm sick' came out. To which he replied, 'I don't care. And besides, I don't get sick.'
Damn.
I'd tried everything short of telling him I didn't want to kiss him. Which I wasn't going to do because, you know, it's expected of girlfriend's to kiss their beaus. I mean, I could 'not feel like' shagging but I've never heard of someone 'not feeling like' kissing!
So, I leant in a bit but stupidly, the wrong way. Then came
Cliché #7: bumping noses
Of course, I told myself it was entirely his fault. With that big conk of his, it was natural for it to get in the way.
He chuckled though and tilted his head to the other side. And kissed me.
So the next day . . .
Oh? You want me to describe the kiss? Whatever for?
Ok, fine.
So he kissed me. And suddenly, I forgot how to kiss. That's right; it just went out the window. Thankfully, I was intelligent enough to simply go along with whatever he was doing.
You know, people try as they might to describe kissing but it's really hard. I mean, your lips are pressed against his and your rhythmically puckering and un-puckering you lips and so is he. That's it, I suppose. It doesn't sound very pretty but there it is.
That's what Snape and I were doing.
And no, there were no fireworks or any such nonsense. I mean, I'd only kissed a total of two others (Viktor and Cormac. Pitiful that I hadn't kissed anyone for years) but I'd never seen Fireworks. I didn't think that could ever happen. And I didn't feel like 'our bodies were one' or something like that rubbish. I felt . . . nothing.
I mean, I was nervous and constantly aware of what I was doing, and wondering what to do with my hands, but I didn't feel anything that you're supposed to. This didn't surprise me too much, since you are supposed to feel that when you are in 'love'.
Ok pause again.
You won't be happy about this but I didn't think there's any such thing as love. I mean, there's love that you feel for your family and friends. That love exists, but love, mushy My-heart-beats-only-for-you-and-I-want-to-be-with-you-always love? No. That is just something for us to believe in. It's rubbish.
Back to scene (since you are probably unhappy to have the kissing scene interrupted with spinsterness).
Ok, so we're kissing and then when I can go, 'enough of this,' I ended the kiss.
He grinned, clearly believing the night was a success.
Hopefully, he'd be happy with that success for now.
He went about talking as though nothing had just happened, and I marveled at his ability to do this, since my mind was vibrating as though I'd just had six pots of straight espresso.
The night closes to and end and we Disapparated together back to Hogsmeade. He walked me back up to Hogwarts talking while I was just hoping he didn't try to shag me.
Thankfully, he didn't and left with another kiss.
Now, when he left, I realised that that wasn't that bad! I mean, sure I had to kiss him but I came out virtually unscathed and I didn't think it would revolt me too much to do it again. And even though he was everything I hated, I didn't have too badly of a night.
Of course, my stomach was still churning from the night and I found myself hard for breath.
I had to get the date off my mind and fortunately, books worked this time.
Dates two through four hold nothing of significant importance. I mean, on our third date, he did come into my flat and we snogged for a good hour. I don't know how he was able to weasel his way in there nor do I recall why I allowed him to do it.
It just did.
And of course, before and after each date, I was a nervous wreck. I mean, I knew that kissing would be coming and regardless of my revelation after our first date, I was still nervous. And for the first time in my life, I constantly began wondering if I was crap at it.
This question led me to figure that if I was, then he must not have minded. This made me realise why he was probably dating me.
I mean, it was so obvious. He was desperate. I mean, he couldn't get anyone else and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I was the only one willing.
Now, this train of thought led me to an epiphany.
I mean, if I wanted to figure out what decision I did differently, wouldn't it be logical to think it might lie in how Snape and I started dating.
Think about it. My decision, whatever it was, lead to us dating. Did I suddenly ask him out? Could I, one night, decide to get pissed and end up having a one-night-stand with Snape?
How we began dating had to hold the secret!
Quite proud of myself, I went to ask Dumbledore.
If he had the answer, this would make for a short book, wouldn't it?
No, he didn't have the answer. Here's what he said:
'I wish I could help you. But you two kept your relationship a secret for Merlin knows how long. I mean, you two had me fooled until I saw you two walking down the halls holding hands on patrol one night. You both told me and I've known since. But before that, your relationship is an entire fog to me.'
Damn.
I went and tried to ask Ginny and Ron and Harry and Minerva. All four of them said the same thing. Before we revealed our relationship to them, they had no idea how it came about.
I asked if they didn't wonder, ever, how we came to 'be'.
Ginny (shrugging): I asked you and all you said was, 'I knew from the first moment that he was the one.'
Me (gagging): Ugh. I said that?
Harry: I never wondered, no.
Ron: I didn't want to hear any details.
Minerva: I figured he'd just asked you on a date and you'd accepted it.
Clearly, they we no help. I knew that possibly the only way I'd figure it out was to ask Snape. But how? One wrong step and I'd reveal everything, or at least cause him to be suspicious. He was very perceptive, you know.
Let me say now, that I never got around to asking him this. Ever. Why? Well, I turned down any idea I had about possible ways to ask without detection because none of them would have worked as effectively as I'd hoped.
At least . . . this was my reason in the beginning.
A/N: WHEW! That was a loooooooooong chappie! It took me days of typing four to six hours each time to get this done and finally, finally it's complete! Well, this chappie is, at least. Damn, it's like its own novel.
There was a small bit of SSHG action in this one but there's going to be more, MUCH more later on. SO much more, I think I might have to change the rating to 'M' for Mature Audiences.
And sorry the last bit is so rushed. More detail, I promise.
Any questions you have, anything not clear, please feel free to ask.
Oh, and thanks to those who've reviewed. They keep me going, reviews do!
Next Chappie: Hermione discovers something about Severus' past. While this isn't new in the fandom world, it factors into this story in a wholly original way.