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Ever Yours,
SunnyBunny99
Chapter II
Hermione found herself rooted to the spot as the warriors began to dismount and unpack in the square below, talking in low voices and looking around even as the tavern door opened and the two messengers emerged. The black-armored figure—clearly Severus Snape—strode over to meet them, his thick gray woolen cloak with dark fur trim brushing the cobblestones. They convened for a few moments, then one of them suddenly turned and pointed up to the bell tower, directly at a stunned Hermione. She stumbled backwards, hoping to be out of their range of sight. Her heart pounded madly in her chest, and the shivering of earlier had returned as full-on shakes. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed to every deity she knew of that the knights wouldn't try anything—
"Hermione Granger!"
The named girl gasped and jumped as the call rang out below her. She recognized the voice of the taller messenger knight—he was alright, she supposed—and crept back to the edge of the bell tower railing to peer down at the group.
"S-sir?"
The knight was craning to look up at her, his silver armor gleaming and red cloak rippling. "Come down here, if you please—Master Snape would like a word with you."
Oh, shite. The young woman felt sweat on her palms despite the frigid temperatures, but all of a sudden some irritation welled to the forefront and she shouted back, "Tell your Master that I am not a dog or an owl to be called at will! If he desires an audience with me, he will come up here and have it." Somehow she managed to keep a note of confidence in her tone even though waves of terror wracked her body.
The knight spluttered wordlessly for a good moment, then huffed a breath. "Milady, please, I will not jest with you. Master Snape is not a patient man to be argued with, nor is he fond of foolishness. I implore you to come down and meet with him, else he will grow angry."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and spat back, "Let him grow angry, then; it will be you at the brunt of it, where I am safe up here! I say again, if your Master wishes to speak with me, he will acknowledge my comfort by coming up here."
The knight let his plated shoulders droop and sighed dismally before trudging over to Snape, who was busy unbuckling his saddlebags. The black-armored knight turned, looked up at Hermione in the tower and then back at his messenger, who conveyed the argument. Hermione swore she saw Snape's entire figure tense in fury before he roughly shoved the smaller man aside and headed for the bell tower in a furiously brisk clip.
BAMBAMBAMBAMABAMBAMBAM! The heavy slam of every steel-covered footstep shook the wooden-framed tower as the angry knight jogged up the steps; Hermione very quickly found herself regretting her impertinent attitude. She drew back, away from the stairs, her lower back hitting one of the support beams as a massive dark figure engulfed the landing and paused for a heartbeat before crossing the space between them in two strides. Hermione yelped fearfully as one gauntlet lashed out and grabbed a tight fistful of her blouse, dragging her in so she was crushed against his cold, hard black breastplate.
"Listen closely, you insolent little whelp," snarled Severus Snape, his breath coming in hisses of steam from the slits of his closed visor. His voice was the deepest Hermione had ever heard, much akin to the rich rumble of a summer thunderstorm. Now, though, it was rough and tight with anger, and the young woman's pulse thudded rapidly as he gave her a slight shake.
"If I wanted to come and go at the every whim of an airheaded little girl, I would have been born as a dog. But I'm not, am I? No indeed—I am a knight of the Order of the Phoenix, Lord Dumbledore's right-hand man, and when you disobey me you also disobey him.
"Your mother and father came to me—me—pleading for you, begging, sobbing for my kindness to take you under my wing and keep you safe, to train you up in the ways of wizardkin, and the first repayment I receive is a public humiliation in front of my men!"
At this he shook her again, her messy spiral curls swaying at the movement. "Please, sir," gasped Hermione, her small hands scrabbling vainly at his larger, steel-covered gloves. "Please forgive me; I meant no insolence—"
"Oh, is that so?" Snape gave a scoff of wry laughter. "You have an odd way of showing it, to be sure."
"Please," Hermione begged again, her own voice small and strained, "release me...I cannot breathe..."
The dark helmet swiveled down to see where he was gripping her collar, and as he realized that he had lifted her nearly off her feet he let go and stepped back a pace.
It seemed to have taken the white-hot edge off of his temper, for he folded his arms across his chest and took up a solid stance as Hermione regained her breath and just a sliver of her dignity. "Again...I apologize," she panted, looking sheepishly up into that expressionless helmet-covered face. "I may have...err...overestimated myself."
"To an extreme," Snape hissed in reply, his tone now acrid with scorn. "Before anything else, right now, you will promise never to make such a show of arrogant buffoonery again. I have neither the time nor patience for it. Is that understood?"
"Yes," said the young woman, and she meant it.
"Good." He reached up, his gloved fingers beginning to work on the small buckle which kept his helm fastened. After a few long moments of fumbling it came undone and he lifted the helmet off to tuck it under one arm. For the first time his face was revealed—long and pallid, with a thin, scowling mouth, jutting Roman nose and the darkest eyes Hermione had ever seen. One black eyebrow quirked upward as he noted her reaction, and he tugged the chain mail covering away from his skull to reveal shoulder-length hair as inky as his eyes, held back in a loose tail with a leather strip.
He wasn't handsome, Hermione thought, but rather...arresting.
"Your hair—" she began.
"I keep it clean with magic," he finished, anticipating the question.
Hermione blanched, then flushed, "So it's true! Order knights do have magic like Lord Dumbledore!"
"Dumbledore could hardly send out a bunch of Muggles to fight the most powerful evil spellcaster of the century, do you think?" Snape snorted. "Of course we have magic. And so do you. But more on that later," he interjected quickly, seeing her lips part for a question. "Now, you must direct me to your parents' house. The others will stay in the tavern."
"I hardly think—" Hermione began, her stubbornness rising unbidden once more.
Snape's bottomless black eyes flashed with a wicked spark and the corner of his lip curled up. "Your job is not to think, girl—you hear and obey!" he growled, seeming to grow several inches in another burst of anger. "Take me to your home now and I won't out you as a witch to be burnt at the stake!"
That got her attention. "Follow me." Brushing past him—being careful not to make contact—she headed down the way she had come and heard him clanking and thumping down close behind. Across the square and down two side streets, she stopped at the door; casting a glance at Snape, she saw that he was regarding the plain thatch-roofed house with an expression of disdain. Her anger mounted again, but she held her tongue for fear of his own temper and merely turned her attention to knock on the door.
"Coming," she heard her mother call, and a few moments later it swung inward to reveal the older woman. Her eyes fell first on her daughter and a beatific smile lit her face, but as her pupils flicked up to the stern features of the black-clad warrior her mouth sagged and her rosy cheeks paled—clearly he was not the sweet, dashing hero she had expected.
"Madam Granger?" Snape asked in a low monotone.
"Y-yes, sir," Hermione's mother stammered, stepping aside. "Please do come in."
Hermione was buffeted as the man shouldered heedlessly past her and into the small, low-roofed home. Forcibly swallowing her instinctive anger, she mutely followed and let her mother shut the door behind them before addressing Snape, "Can we fetch you anything, sir?"
Flinty black eyes fixed on her. "A drink would be fitting, yes. Something warm, if you please." He shifted his shoulders as if to shake off the chill, the plates of his armor scraping together.
Hermione's mother turned to her. "Hermione, take my money purse and fetch Master Snape a hot toddy from the tavern."
"Yes, Mum." Hermione did as asked, snatching up the worn leather bag and heading back out into the snowy streets. She suspected that the adults simply wanted her gone for a bit as to discuss their backhanded little deal with her fate. But why should she call them adults? She was six months into eighteen years, long since past the traditional age of adulthood for the times. Hell, most of her female peers already had a few children by now. Then again, most of them had also died in childbirth.
"Evening, Hermione!" Madam Rosmerta greeted her cheerfully as she pushed into the tavern. "What'll it be, a warm butterbeer?"
"Not today," answered the young woman sullenly. "Master Snape wants a hot toddy."
The barkeep started, her mood quickly sobering. "Oh. Alright, then. Coming right up." She hustled away behind the counter to fix the drink as Hermione took a look around.
It was about as occupied as usual for a weekday, but not with the usual customers. Even the town drunk was gone, and in the rickety stools sat a score or so of armored knights. They had removed their helmets and now sat chatting amiably. One of them, a frighteningly grizzled-looking older veteran with multiple nasty facial scars and a bright blue glass eye strapped to his skull in place of the missing real one, noticed her. "Well, if it isn't Snape's little tripe. Come to join the party, have you?"
"Mad-Eye, shut your mouth before it gets you into trouble you can't fight your way out of," snapped another, a large, powerfully built man with mahogany skin and a rich lilting accent. Having put the grumbling elder in his place, he focused on Hermione. "Ignore him; he's just grouchy because he can't get a woman to save his life."
The entire party save for Mad-Eye burst into laughter, and even Hermione couldn't hold back her grin. Someone slid off a stool and stepped forwards; with a shock Hermione saw that it was a bright-eyed woman who didn't look too much older than she. The most startling thing about her, however, was her head of short and fluffy sky-blue hair.
The lady knight marched confidently over to Hermione and smiled, clapping a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Sorry if they come off a little rough; I promise it's not as bad as it looks," she said with a wink. "Mad-Eye obviously did his introduction," she said scornfully, glaring at the man, "but I'll introduce the rest of us who are decent human beings. That's Kingsley," she said, and the strong African man who had defended Hermione dipped his head respectfully. "and Remus, my husband—" a slender, attractive, sandy-haired man with slashes across his face gave a modest smile— "Sirius," a man with shaggy dark waves of hair and kind brown eyes waved, "Hestia Jones," nodding at a pink-cheeked lady with a tight bun of black hair, while a square-jawed man with thick hair the color of straw was introduced as Sturgis Podmore. "And my full name is Nymphadora, but you can call me Tonks," the blue-haired woman finished lightly.
"Pleasure to meet you all," said Hermione earnestly, and she found that suddenly the Order of the Phoenix didn't seem so daunting.
Madam Rosmerta broke the silence—"Here's that toddy, dear."
Hermione turned and dropped her payment onto the counter, then took up the steaming mug with both hands. She was about to leave when Tonks spoke up: "Hermione." The young woman stopped to look back, and the warrior said kindly, "I know Snape puts up a nasty front. But he's more like a big cat, really—he doesn't trust easily at first, but the more you get to know him the more he warms up. Everything is on his terms. Just keep a civil tongue and he won't bite."
Hermione smiled thinly. "Thank you, Lady Tonks. I'll keep that in mind."
The blue-haired fighter brayed with laughter—"Lady Tonks? Ha, I never! No no, darling; just Tonks. It's what I prefer."
"Very good, then, Tonks it is," agreed Hermione.
"I won't hold you any longer; go and give Snape what-for, will you?"
"Shove his beaky nose up his skinny arse!" chimed Sirius, and Kingsley reached over to slap him upside the head so hard his neck cracked. "Ow! Didn't mean it," Sirius grumbled, rubbing the spot.
Hermione took her leave of the tavern thinking that perhaps not all of the Order knights appreciated Lord Dumbledore's choice of campaign leadership either. When she arrived back home and knocked, her father opened the door and she stepped through. No sooner had both feet crossed the threshold than the mug was snatched from her hands. Snape lifted it to his lips and tilted his head back, taking a long pull and then recovering with a heavy sigh.
"Tell Rosmerta I appreciate it; she makes the best toddy I've had," he rumbled, setting the mug down on the table with a clunk. His eyes held Hermione's wide amber ones. "Did you meet my entourage?"
"I did," she answered. "I like them—well, most of them."
"Let me guess, Mad-Eye said something foolish," Snape drawled. Hermione shrugged, and he snorted. "I'll take that as a yes...usually his words are nothing but hot air, unless it's a battle situation. Then, he's the first and best to ask for advice. Brilliant tactician and fierce fighter."
Hermione was slightly rattled—she hadn't expected this stenotarian warrior to compliment anyone. Perhaps Tonks' words rang truer than she had given them credit for. But the moment was over as soon as it had happened; Snape thumped a fist on the table and declared, "The day grows late. You should all retire to bed."
"And where would you like to sleep, sir?" Hermione's mother asked with a voice dripping in sickly sweet politeness.
As if seeing through her facade, the knight scowled deeply. "Your daughter can lay me a pallet on the floor here," he said stiffly.
"And your armor; you must need someone to help you—"
"I can remove it myself," he interrupted roughly. "You and your husband have a long journey ahead; I suggest you rest and depart early, before dawn."
Hermione's mother accepted this advice with a bowed head and scurried into the adjoining room with her husband close behind. Snape waited until they had pulled the curtain of the room that separated them before looking at the young woman by his side.
"I would...appreciate...a pallet," he stated flatly.
I would appreciate it if you would go and die, Hermione thought hatefully. Absurdly, as if he had heard her thoughts, something flamed deep in Snape's inky eyes and his harsh features hardened even further. "Don't make me wait," he snarled, then turned his back to her and pulled off his gauntlets to toss them alongside his helmet.
Resentment smoldering in her heart and mind, Hermione went to gather up all the blankets and straw-stuffed padding she could find. By the time she got back with her arms piled with items, Snape had stripped away half his suit of armor and was busily working at his greaves. From what she had heard, full armor was the most difficult thing to get in and out of, and yet this man was able to do so in less than ten minutes...like magic.
Huh. Magic. What a cheat.
Hermione huffed and dropped the pallet unceremoniously onto the hard-packed dirt floor. "Here."
Snape hardly glanced over. He had taken the leather strip out of his hair, letting it fall loose in a thick, oily black curtain over his face. "Indeed. Now go to sleep; I expect you up at cock-crow tomorrow morning, understood?"
The girl gritted her teeth. "Yes."
As she stormed into the next room and burrowed under her own blankets for quite possibly the last time, Hermione stewed over the eventful day. All this had changed in the course of one day...how much else would her world alter in the time to come?
Just as she was about to drift off, the realization hit her that Snape had never met Madam Rosmerta...so how would he know her name?
Oh well. She would figure it all out eventually.
With a slight whimper, Hermione slipped into a hazy dreamland of talking serpents and giants clad in shining armor, unknowing of what the next day might bring.