Transfiguration of the Heart

I would just like to mention to everyone… I started Chapter 13 on Friday the 13th… on a full moon… if anything, that should create some interesting writing. Hope you all enjoy!

Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. And if you haven’t reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


Chapter 13- Play The Game


How did he know?

When did he find out?

Why did he find it so bloody appealing to play with her?

Did the man really have no mercy?

All he had to do was tell her that he had figured out her intentions, then she would not have had to play the fool all through their conversation last night. What must he have thought, sitting there and watching her go through the motions. Did he take some sadistic pleasure in knowing he had beat his enemy’s game before it ever really got off the ground? Somehow he had found out that she wanted to get closer to him. Simple enough to just tell her that he knew and be done with. At least to her, it was, but he seemed to dangle that fact out in front of her under no uncertain terms… teasing her with it. Of course, it was Snape doing this. It was a way of life for the man. But surely he would have guessed it would not take her that long to put two and two together.

He is so aggravating.

If he had not known, he would have gone on being as unapproachable as ever. The fact that he had invited her to discuss the book with him, knowing all along that they would not end up talking about that should have alerted her in the beginning. Then to have him invite her into his private space, and give her fine wine, and give her permission to address him as Severus…

Truth be told, she was rather surprised that he had not resisted more, and tried to confuse her endlessly last night. Maybe he wanted this? Maybe he was not as horrible as people always thought. All he ever needed was for someone to show some interest in him before he started opening up.

Or perhaps this was how he was playing with her, like a snake slithering along the ground, preparing to strike.

That thought had kept her up most of the night, and when she finally found sleep, it was restless. Her eyes opened at six the following morning and she decided it best to get out of bed. Tossing and turning would only tangle her further into a mass of bedcovers that would lead to an unhappy house-elf that she was stuck fixing this instead of helping elsewhere.

She had no idea how to approach this situation now. Should she just continue on, letting him think he had the upper hand? Should she play back?

It was a dangerous proposition in the least, to think she could play around with him. What would he do when he realized what she was doing?

Snape would figure it out much more quickly than she had ever done last night, and she had never really been one for much sport unless it was debating an academic topic. Even at that, she wanted people to take her word for it and leave her alone. Anyone contradicting her would receive the wrath of Hermione. And she certainly did not wish to do anything that might make him think less of her. At this point, the fact that he was willing to talk to her was amazing enough, if not a rather large ego boost.

But she liked talking with him… a lot… much more than she had ever thought she would. She found him intelligent, and his sharp off-color humor was rather funny.

Best to take the old approach… laying it all out on the table between them and decide where they were to go from there. Slytherin or not, he should be well acquainted with her very Gryffindor tendencies. She did not deal in shades of grey. She dealt in black and white. If he too was purposely playing along with her, it would be on her terms, not on his.

Would he curl back up into his shell, or would he allow her to further prod?

She truly hoped for the latter. Let her be damned for it, but she wanted to know who he was beyond what she knew of him. She wanted to know him at his nastiest times, and at his most fragile. Surely there had to be some moments in his life where there was some fragility.

Snape wanted the control in any friendship or partnership… whatever this was coalescing between them… but she would have to make him see that he needed to treat her like an equal if he wished for her to treat him with some respect.

Hermione sighed to herself as she walked along the quiet castle corridors, the only sound following her was the reverberations of her slightly heeled shoes on the hard stone ground. There were times when she was here as a student where she could not sleep and would be up this early, and it had always held some enchantment for her to watch the sun rise higher in the sky and listen to the sounds of life slowly beginning to filter through the castle. It was as though the castle itself was asleep and was waking with the sun, pushing its vitality and warmth through the rest of its inhabitants.

Breakfast in a quiet hall was always the best, as well, for her overachieving-self to get some extra studying in, or to just let her mind wander without interruption from her noisy friends. Besides that, she was able to eat the first offerings from the kitchen—often times the best of the morning—and not have to painfully keep food down while watching Ron shovel food into his own mouth.

It would be a question whether or not he had been stalking her since she had come down from Gryffindor tower that would weigh heavily in her mind for the rest of the day, but not now. He stepped up to the Great Hall’s large double doors before she reached it, pushing it open carefully and allowing her to enter before he let it shut with a swoosh and thud. What was he playing at anyway? Was he trying to kill her with kindness?

It’s working.

Yes, he was doing the exact opposite from what he would have normally done with her, just to confuse endlessly.

She paused for a moment, letting him pass by her so that she could watch him. When he realized that she had stopped, though, he did as well, swiveling back on his heels to make his dark robes billow. His dark eyes met hers… He was issuing a challenge to her. He sneered and straightened his shoulders before turning and walking toward the Head Table where a few other professors sat quietly. Hermione watched him go, pull out his seat and settle himself.

He looked back up at her from across the hall, glaring. So he understood that she had figured it out.

“Vat are we looking at, Hermione?”

Hermione was not quite sure what utterance she let out, but it was a mix between that of a very loud banshee and a wailing child. Her heart beat in her throat and she desperately tried to catch her breath, whipping around and off balance only to be caught and steadied by Viktor’s strong hands. She met his eyes, and let out a shaky chuckle. How could she have been so absorbed in the Black Bat that she had not felt Viktor sneak up behind her?

Silently cursing herself for letting her guard down, Hermione quickly pushed back from Viktor’s grasp. “You frightened me!”

“I did not mean to,” he said with a short laugh. “You are not usually that skittish.”

“And I wasn’t looking at anything. I was merely caught up in a thought,” she said, glancing around the hall at the questioning looks of the few students and adult who were watching them. It may have been well known that she and Viktor were friends, but a few of the students remembered the rumors of her fourth year and the Yule Ball. There had been whispers since Viktor had been back to Hogwarts that she had ignored, but there would definitely be a new buzz.

Viktor nodded his head and stepped beside her, offering his arm, “Come have some breakfast, Herm-own-ninny.”

Hermione took his arm, moving her eyes back up to the spot where Snape sat. He was glaring again. Why had he been glaring a few minutes before? He could not possibly have been that angry she had discovered his game so early on. If anything, he should have been impressed. Or was it because he had seen Viktor slinking up behind her? It was obvious he did not like Viktor much, but Hermione had not figured out why that was. And if that were the reason, why was he now so vehemently glaring at the junction of her hand and Viktor’s arm?

A chill ran up her spine, and Viktor must have felt it. “Are you chilled?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, seeing more curious glances. Finally they made it to the table, and Viktor sat her down, quickly going through breakfast, but with much more dignity than Ron had ever mustered.

“Why are you in such a rush?” she asked.

“Some of my teammates should be apparating to the gates shortly,” he said with a smile. “They are to help with the Quidditch tryouts.”

Hermione chuckled, “It’s only an excuse to spend time with your mates.”

He gave her a devilish grin, “Of course, but you vould not begrudge me that, vould you? This weekend vill be dedicated to you.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said.

He finished shortly afterward and said his goodbyes, striding out of the hall quickly. Hermione glanced to her left, looking for Snape, but he was already making a hasty retreat for the entrance.

“You’re not getting away that easily, Snape,” she said, jumping from her seat and following him. By the time she was out in the main corridor there was no trace of black robes or black boots beating a retreat. There were only so many places he would go to, though, so she headed down to the dungeons. When she arrived, she found his private storeroom open, but no Snape.

Hermione had a feeling that if she continued inside, she would regret it with the door shutting behind her. Snape was one to spring those sort of traps, especially after her second year and a very brief foray into the art of kleptomania for the ingredients to make Polyjuice Potion. She stepped inside the door, waiting on baited breath for something to happen. Nothing did. It was odd for him to just leave something like this open, but it must have been a good reason. Perhaps Peeves was playing a nasty joke he needed to take care of… or had other urgent issues with a student.

“Severus?” she asked, peeking her head around to the small, dark cubby area in the room that could hide a person if they had wished, as well as the potions ingredients that could not be exposed to light.

“Looking for something, Miss Granger?” his voice was deceptively silky, but it had all the element of surprise he was hoping for.

Hermione sprang back, her head and shoulders painfully connecting with the wooden shelves, rattling the glass jars and vials together. He loomed over her with all the dominance he could gather, and she shrunk back further, wishing that the wood would be a bit more yielding. But she stopped. Why was she so frightened? She was not doing anything wrong… for a change. She was merely looking for him.

“Do you have some fascination with my storeroom?” he asked, taking a step toward her. She met his eyes defiantly. Hermione had never realized just how tall the man was, even when they had danced at Draco’s wedding. Standing this close to him in the dark of the room…

“Only when I feel like breaking school rules,” she said boldly.

“You like to do that often,” he said matter-of-factly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I only ever broke a few, Professor.”

A brow arched critically, and a glint of pleasure went through his eyes. No doubt he was overjoyed that she was openly admitting her wrongs.

“You knew all along, why did you need me to confirm it for you?” she asked.

“What? That you are a rule-breaking, insufferable know-it-all?” he asked. “I knew that well enough. It is just particularly nice to hear the perpetrator confessing.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” she said.

“Am I?” he asked.

Hermione lifted her eyes again, “You enjoy these little games of cat and mouse. I honestly could not imagine playing at it all the time.”

“Hence why you are not a Slytherin,” he said.

“Funny, I thought that was because I was only because I was Muggle born.”

Silence passed between them, and she sighed.

“How did you find out?”

“Find out what, Miss Granger?” he asked, appearing incredibly innocent. But she knew Snape, and innocent was definitely not one of his characteristics.

“About…” she stopped herself. “You just want another confession.”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged and loomed closer. “If I knew what we were speaking about, then I might give you a clearer answer.”

Hermione felt her ire rising quickly. “You know very well what I am talking about! Who told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Believe it or not, I can hex you into the next millennium,” she said.

He smirked, “I would like to see you try, Miss Granger.”

His tone was suddenly soft and frighteningly personal. She closed her mouth, trying without any luck to read his face and his eyes. He hid everything too well. Especially in the dim light of this little cubby—that should have only been enough space for one person and now held two full grown people in very close proximity to each other—she could barely make anything out. That was, of course, except for one thing.

“Your eyes,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“What about my eyes?” he asked.

She felt herself blush, but hoped it was hidden well enough. “Your eyes aren’t really black.”

This caused both his brows to shoot up to his hairline in question.

“They’re a very dark brown,” she said.

“Only you would notice something so inconsequential in the position that you are in,” he said.

“Is it so inconsequential?” she asked. “You are so very close to me, I cannot help but notice anything else about my present surroundings.”

He smirked again, his mouth mere inches from hers. The electricity between them was evident, and it was slowly changing from that of the energy between constant, somewhat friendly combatants to that of two…

Oh Merlin, no.

In that moment Hermione felt that something had changed… transfigured.

“Why do you toy with that boy’s heart when you know you won’t see it through?” he asked. “You are doing yourself a disservice in the long run.”

Her breath caught in her throat as his arms snaked around her ribcage and rested for a brief moment beneath her shoulder blades. Acutely aware of his surprisingly warm hands flat against her back, and the route they were taking lower to the curve of her behind, it took a moment for a retort to come back.

“Aren’t you doing a disservice to yourself then, playing with me?” she asked quietly, her eyes looking at his lips.

“Miss Granger, I thought it should be obvious in your situation,” he said silkily, his deep gravely voice rumbling in his chest. “I am certainly not playing with you.”

She felt her stomach plummet to the ground and then jump back up into her throat a few times, as that comment slowly—agonizingly slowly—cleared its way through the haze that was her mind. Yes, she knew that at Malfoy’s he had looked upon her with some attraction… but this… this was most unexpected.

Or perhaps it was all still a game to him. She was the one who was supposed to be on the mission to get closer to him, he was not to turn the table on her. And if he had known what she was up to, this would not be out of the realm of possibility for him to fight back.

His hands shifted lower, resting and squeezing firmly on her rump, causing her to shift forward to rest against him. His warm, slow breath was on her cheek, and on her lips, and he inched closer to her. A tingle of excitement burned through her body. What was she doing? What was he doing? Oh, this had to be a huge mistake.

Didn’t it?

“Are you actually at a loss for words, Hermione?” he asked, his abrupt shift to using her real name did not go unnoticed. When she looked up at him, surely a tad cross-eyed and still trying to make sense of this, he let a look of triumph spread on his hawkish features. “I must remember this tactic in the future.”

Future?