The Unfortunates

Ah, here we are with another chapter. I’m glad you enjoyed the last one! Things’ll finally develop properly from here...

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE WONDROUS MINDS OF WOMEN


Hermione rubbed her face with one hand.

What the hell had just happened?

The weirdest, most unexpected and most passionate kiss of her life had just been acted out between herself and her hated Potions Master, and now for some strange reason he’d pulled away and wouldn’t answer her.

It was Hermione who’d panicked and ended the kiss, but now she was silently cursing herself for it; he looked so out of place suddenly.

And she had thoroughly enjoyed the kiss, and that was the honest truth, but he had just caught her so completely by surprise that she’d found herself suddenly breaking free from his grip against her own will.

But why had he kissed her? He hated her, and she knew this...

Perhaps he’d just acted on impulse – perhaps he just saw her as the whore he’d met at Lilly’s? The property of purebloods? Was he just desperate for a quick shag, and when she’d pushed him away he’d realized he’d gotten the wrong idea?

No. That couldn’t be it.

But what was the case, then?

Hermione realized then that as long as he refused to speak, there was really only one way for her to learn the truth. She’d always been bold, and after the six months on her own she’d learned a thing or two about the darker side of life as well – she knew how to do this.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to her Professor and touched his shoulder lightly. At this he turned to look at her; she didn’t give him a chance to even react before standing up on tiptoe to kiss him again.

Her kiss was softer than his; friendlier and more comforting, as ridiculous as that sounded in relation to the Potions Master. She only wanted to see if it had been more than just thrives of passion – did he really want her?

The answer came soon enough.

He responded to her kiss within a few seconds, this time copying her moves by being as gentle and tender as she was, which surprised her to no ends. His arms reached around her waist and pulled her closer to him, caressing her back and sending shivers down her spine.

Oh, this was so amazing – and it struck Hermione now that Snape had been doing the exact same thing to her back when she’d thought he was Tiberius Granger. He was Snape now, not Mr. Granger, but the electricity of his touch had obviously not changed at all, and Hermione felt a heat run through her entire body as one of his hands reached up and went through her hair. He was kinder now, so much gentler and more caring than he’d been only minutes before, and it struck Hermione that their first kiss had been pure fury and instinct on his behalf. This, her taking the initiative to kiss again, turned it into something more.

She couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, and when they parted seconds later, they were both panting, their faces once again inches apart.

“Miss Granger...” began Snape, his hands still in her hair and on her back.

“Hermione,” she corrected through gasps.

“Hermione,” he agreed silkily, leaning in to kiss her thoroughly once again.

It had occurred to Hermione that this was more than just passion and potential want on Severus’s part. It was something bigger than that; something partly undefined, but Hermione seriously suspected it had something to do with his loneliness. His kisses were fierce, demanding, passionate and very needy. He was clinging onto her body; it was almost as though something buried deep inside of him had come back to life, suddenly and unexpected, and now he was drowning in the sensations.

When they parted once more, he ran the back of his left hand gently over her cheek.

“I apologize,” he whispered, and didn’t look as though he meant it at all.

“Don’t,” she whispered back. She could feel the need, she too, and the loneliness she’d seconds earlier described as his own alone. There was something about being in the arms of another person so passionately in times like this; times of war when nothing was certain and there was little or no room for joy or hope... Passion and sudden need was like a drug, and Hermione had taken her first shot.

So, it would seem, had Snape.

For several minutes they stood there, doing nothing but staring at each other. His hands kept stroking her hair and back; hers were doing the same to him, holding him close. Above all, this was a closeness and form of intimacy Hermione simply didn’t want to let go of.

Sadly, she had no choice.

“I...” she began after a few minutes, “I must return to the Manor. They don’t even know I’m gone,” she added. “I suspect Draco is furious.”

“I’ll kill him,” whispered Snape then, catching her by surprise.

“Sorry?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, dismissively, and moved to hold her at arm’s length. “I... I don’t rightly know what just went on here, Miss – Hermione.”

“Nor do I,” she smiled apologetically. “No use pondering on it now though, I really must leave...”

“I know you must.” He pulled away further, glancing up at the ceiling; it didn’t seem as though he liked the idea.

“I don’t want to, though,” she added hesitantly, and his gaze jumped to hers. “But I must. You above all know what the Malfoys are like, after all,” she added with a small grin.

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “That I do.”

She smiled weakly and moved towards the door.

“You’ll – you’ll tell the others what I found out then?” she asked, hesitant to leave thing to unfinished between them. Hell, she was hesitant to leave at all, but she knew she had to. She’d been gone far too long, surely someone had noticed her absence by now.

“I will. Do not keep us in the dark, Hermione,” he added, and his eyes looked so deep and mysterious at that moment, as though they were trying to express something his mouth couldn’t bring itself to utter.

Hermione didn’t know what it was, though, and as she reached the door she turned to him.

“Take care, Professor,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then, without waiting for an answer from him, she was gone.

---

Narcissa Malfoy was staring at the hearth.

She had been doing so for almost thirteen minutes now; ever since her son had mentioned to her in passing that the elves’ new “manager” had strangely gone missing.

Draco hadn’t seemed too concerned; just annoyed. And the source of his annoyance could undoubtedly be found somewhere in the region of the front of his trousers. Narcissa was disgusted at her own son; she wouldn’t pretend otherwise, just as she was disgusted by her own excuse for a husband.

Living for years and years in the gargantuan manor had turned Narcissa Black Malfoy into nothing short of an unbelievably bitter woman. Yes, she’d loved Lucius – to a certain extent – when marrying him and yes, of course she dearly loved her son, Draco, and basically had everything she could wish for; at least materially she did.

Narcissa had always doted upon her son; spoiled him in fact, she would not deny it. Being a woman who once had been stupid enough to believe the infatuation she felt for Lucius actually had been love, it had been inevitable that she’d become bitter. But, luckily, she’d then found comfort in her son. He was her little prince, had always been, and deserved only the best of everything.

This was the one matter on which Narcissa and Lucius agreed extensively.

But as Draco had grown older, and the battle had graciously turned in the Dark Lord’s favour, the boy had lost his childish charm and innocence and become what Narcissa had so feared he would become: His own father.

Now, at the age of seventeen, Draco was nothing short of the exact image of Lucius as Narcissa remembered him from back when they met in school.

And if that didn’t add to a woman’s bitterness, then what did?

In these days, even after the victory, Narcissa’s pleasures were few. She rarely ever allowed Lucius to get intimate with her – it’s not as if he really cared for her; he was just wanton – and found no enjoyment in meeting friends or going out. Wherever she went, she was met with remembrances of what kind of life she’d ended up living, and it tortured her to no ends.

And yes, she knew very well it was her own fault that Lucius was cheating on her (because she knew he was, of course), since she never allowed him close to her, but it irritated her still. And the thought of Draco being just as pathetically horny as his father was a disgusting thought indeed.

So when that bloody harlot had been brought into the house under the cover story of her being a “house elf manager”, Narcissa had naturally been furious.

But years of living in shame and bitterness had taught her a few things; it was as if she’d taken a leaf out of old Snape’s book and turned into stone, basically. Her face was as expressionless as possible – nothing like in the old days – and looked, if anything, just irritated with life and its annoying surroundings.

This did not mean that Narcissa Malfoy did not feel.

But, as said before, she’d learned a thing or two from Lucius’s old friend. Doing as Severus had done, she put on an exterior of annoyance, anger and intimidation rather than one of vulnerability and bitterness. It made her appear less weak.

But gods, how that damn harlot bothered her.

The very thought of another woman being brought into Narcissa’s house for the purpose of having sex with her two boys was revolting and a nothing short of a seriously grave insult. How dared that filthy prostitute set foot in this house? This was Narcissa’s house; she was the hostess, and no way would she allow the outside world to see what the men in the family had turned into: Sex-obsessed filth, too eager to ease the ache in their trousers to bother with the family’s reputation and respect.

That was all Narcissa had left, really.

The respect and dignity that came with being a Malfoy. In a world where the Dark Lord reigned, the name Malfoy was nothing short of royalty.

Which was poor comfort, really.

But it was nevertheless something that could keep Narcissa going, and the thought of that young wench entering the house and jeopardizing that... she wouldn’t have it.

She knew she couldn’t very well kick the girl out; Lucius would surely have her head for that. But she had heard her husband and son discuss this Gideon girl’s demands upon moving in, and it seemed as though she was here out of her own, free will and a registered resident as that, which meant she was legally welcome to leave at any time she wished.

All Narcissa had to do, was to find a way for the girl to want to leave.

And yet again the infamous Potions Master had given her the answer:

Intimidation.

And so Narcissa was facing the fireplace, her body motionless and her expression that of a dead woman, as she patiently awaited the Gideon girl’s return.

The moment Draco had told his mother that the new “manager” was mysteriously missing, Narcissa had done some quick reasoning, and reached the conclusion that if Gideon had indeed left the Manor, she would have done so by Floo.

One couldn’t Apparate from the Malfoy grounds, and upon reaching the gates it would take a long walk to reach any nearby town; the location was remote. And as Narcissa seriously suspected the girl wouldn’t Apparate, as the Apparation Center kept track of all Apparitions and would thus reveal anything she had to hide (like, for example, where she’d gone without letting anyone know), this only left the fireplace and Floo travelling.

So at some point, the girl would have to return to this hearth.

And when she did, she would have to answer to Narcissa Malfoy.

---

As Hermione was rushing to The Leaky Cauldron, upon getting there cutting in line to get to a hearth as quickly as possible, her mind was spinning with all kinds of thoughts.

The very last thing she needed now was a confrontation with Narcissa Malfoy.

Yet there she was, upon Hermione’s rather unceremoniously arrival in the lounge, glaring with eyes that were as though made of ice in a face carved from stone. The only noticeable thing about her stern expression was the nose, which was wrinkled up as per usual, adding to the intimidating image.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Malfoy icily, in a sharp, cutting voice, “there you are, Miss Gideon.”

“I –” began Hermione, completely at a loss on what to say or do, covered in coal and feeling like a child being caught snacking before supper.

“Follow me,” said Mrs. Malfoy sternly; then she turned to walk without waiting for Hermione to reply. Her walk was swift, and there was nothing to do but follow and silently pray for mercy.

Narcissa Malfoy led Hermione to a study on the first floor, which, although Mrs. Malfoy acted as though it was hers, looked very much like something typical of Mr. Malfoy. There was an authoritarian feel to it, however, and Hermione suspected this was the place where the Malfoys gladly brought someone whenever they were in for a rough time. Probably Draco had been called in here often during his childhood for reprimands.

Mrs. Malfoy took her time, seating herself behind a big mahogany desk and devoting her attention to anything but the girl in front of her. Hermione was left doing nothing but stare at her and wait for the inevitable.

Finally, Mrs. Malfoy returned her attention to Hermione.

“So. Miss Gideon,” she said, her voice heavy with pretend decency, “I have no doubt you know exactly why you are here.”

Hermione said nothing.

Mrs. Malfoy glared. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

“I – I went to see an old friend,” said Hermione quickly, making it up as she went. “Draco said it would be alright for me to keep in touch with friends, after all.”

“Which friend was this?” asked Mrs. Malfoy coldly.

“One – one of the girls down at House of Lilly Barrette’s,” replied Hermione cautiously.

Mrs. Malfoy’s nostrils flared; undoubtedly she did not like to hear talk of a brothel in her own house. She looked thoroughly insulted.

“How nice,” she spat, standing from her seat again. “Isn’t it strange then, Miss Gideon, that Draco had no idea you were gone, nor where you had gone to? You sure were in a hurry to leave, weren’t you?”

“I’d just remembered something,” lied Hermione. “This friend of mine had had some trouble; I wanted to make sure she was alright. I wasn’t away long,” she added quickly.

“Do you think anyone cares how long you have been away, Miss Gideon?” said Mrs. Malfoy, slowly walking around the desk again to approach Hermione, glaring at her as she went. “Is that hardly relevant?”

“I only meant I wasn’t neglecting duties, Mrs. Malfoy,” said Hermione.

“Neglecting duties,” snarled Mrs. Malfoy, her eyes narrowed. “We all know what sort of duties you’ve been neglecting, Gideon...!”

“I – I beg your pardon?” stuttered Hermione, afraid despite herself.

“Tell me,” said Mrs. Malfoy with a big, fake smile, her voice now quiet and calm again; almost sweetly so. “Do you fancy my son?”

“I – what?”

“Or perhaps my husband is more your type?”

“Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t know if –”

“Shut up,” spat the lady of the house. “Alright, I shall ask you another question then; perhaps an easier one: Since when did whores become house elf managers?”

Hermione’s gaze flickered away from Mrs. Malfoy’s; she simply couldn’t bare it any longer. The woman was staring at her with suppressed fury; it was blatantly obvious she loathed Hermione and would not let her get off easy for having moved in. Draco had assured her it wouldn’t be a problem, yet evidently it was very much of one.

“I am not a whore,” replied Hermione then, defiantly.

Okay, so perhaps she had been one, but it was true she no longer was one, because she did not do what she did for the sake of the money. No, she did it for the Light, for the good cause; for Harry and the others.

For Professor Snape?

“Are you not?” said Mrs. Malfoy. “How ever did you come by your friends at Lilly Barrette’s then, I wonder?”

“I used to work there, yes,” replied Hermione with forced ease, “but luckily, Draco offered me a position here. I was thrilled to get a second chance, Mrs. Malfoy,” she added pointedly, her voice slightly icy.

Mrs. Malfoy straightened her robes, smoothing them out perfectly, and took a step closer to Hermione.

“And what position did Draco offer you, I wonder?” she said with malice.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” began Hermione, “please remember I am only an employee. I think this is something that you really should be discussing with your son.”

At this, Mrs. Malfoy backed away a bit; it seemed she didn’t like this suggestion at all. Undoubtedly she held too much dignity still to confront her son on such a humiliating subject.

And so she was left taking it out on Hermione.

“Watch your cheek, Gideon,” said Mrs. Malfoy, her head held high again. “And now, let us get a few things very clear: I am the lady of this house, whether you like it or not. And although I do not approve of your position here at all and would have you evicted if I could, I demand you still treat me with the proper respect. I know very well what you do to my men, you harlot, and I can make your life here more difficult than you would ever imagine.” She paused for effect. “You will regret your stay here, Miss Gideon.” Another pause. “You are dismissed.”

Hermione immediately fled the room the second she was allowed to, rushing back to the solitude of her own rooms in the basement as quickly as she could. When she got there, she threw herself on the bed with exasperation.

So, there was no doubt now; she really was a thorn in Narcissa Malfoy’s side. And Hermione was confident she’d feel that woman’s bitterness breathing down her neck more times than not during her stay at the Manor, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Neither Draco nor Mr. Malfoy would probably be able to solve this problem for her, either; she was only an employee, after all, whereas Narcissa Malfoy was a respectable pureblood and, in fact, the lady of the house.

Hermione shut her eyes tightly and let the thoughts of Mrs. Malfoy leave her mind for the time being. Instead, she found herself remembering the incident in The Shrieking Shack.

Snape.

He’d kissed her.

Professor Snape kissed me.

Now there was a thought she’d never believed would pass through her head. Through anyone’s head, come to think of it; why would a man like that want to kiss anyone?

Hermione wasn’t stupid; she knew there had been little love behind his kiss. He was a man, after all, confronted with a girl he knew for a fact had worked as a prostitute for the last six months, and although Snape surely didn’t see her as a whore, she was certainly a reminder of that kind of activities to him.

The gods only knew how long it had been since Snape had gotten laid.

He was good, Hermione suspected as much. The night he’d spent questioning her at Lilly’s had suggested this; she could still remember the magic work of his fingers... Yet he hadn’t even tried to sleep with her on that night.

So he couldn’t really think of her as a whore, could he? Was it possible he held a bit of decency in him after all, and was genuinely attracted to her?

Perhaps. Though Hermione seriously suspected his kiss had come out of pure rage and instinct rather than care or love. It had been right in a middle of a fight, for gods’ sake! Who began fooling around whilst fighting?

They did, apparently.

The two people on the earth most unlikely to be caught fooling around had been doing just that less than an hour ago.

Hermione pondered upon how she felt about it all. She found, which surprised her a bit, that she didn’t mind at all. In fact, it was a really good memory, one she would treasure. She’d been needy too, after all; not just him, and it had been the first time in six months a man had advanced on Hermione romantically without by doing so demanding a nasty shag from a “filthy whore”.

No, Snape undoubtedly saw her as a person rather than a prostitute. He fought with her, after all, listened to her and treated her, though unfairly, as an ally. He listened to her ideas, though reluctantly, and he’d even shared a bit of information with her about his childhood home.

Yet again reluctantly so, yes, but nevertheless.

Perhaps he did find her attractive in some weird, aggressive way. Who knew when it came to Professor Snape; he sure wasn’t like other people. Neither was Hermione, come to think of it. She couldn’t think of any other girl she knew who would have enjoyed receiving a kiss from Snape.

And she couldn’t think of any other man acting like he did.

She supposed they were both unique, in their own ways, and perhaps that in itself had been enough to arouse an attraction between them. Perhaps had they subconsciously figured they understood each other, and secretly searched for each other’s comfort, finally finding it at that moment back in The Shack?

It wasn’t altogether impossible.

Hermione blinked, her absent look on the desk before her.

Was she attracted to Professor Snape?

She knew the answer even before she began wondering whether or not it might be the case. Yes, of course I am. She had been, ever since that incident at Lilly’s. Though obviously not love, there was a strange attraction there. And Snape had felt it too. But he, unlike Hermione, had decided to act upon it, not two hours ago.

“Gods,” sighed Hermione. How complicated it all was. And she’d been really stupid, fleeing from the scene without even discussing it with him. There were so many unanswered questions now. What could he possibly think of her? What did he want? What did she want?

She wouldn’t mind kissing him again, that much was for certain. Neither would she mind them getting to know each other a bit.

Oh, but there were so many things in the way! She was stuck here at Malfoy Manor, being subjected to the insane lusting of the Malfoy men and the raging bitterness of the Malfoy women (or woman, rather), while he was back there at Killengreen, working and plotting in secret with Hermione’s dear friends, just waiting for her to bring them the information that would eventually kill off Voldemort. How it would ever be possible to squeeze “Hermione and Snape getting to know each other a bit” into all that, she had no idea.

Besides, what was more important now? Her weird fascination with her ex Professor, or the potential victory they would achieve if she pulled herself together and actually focused on what she was supposed to do?

Yes, Hermione reasoned. She’d just have to swallow this fascination for now; ignore it. There were more important issues to address first. Perhaps some day, when they’d won and all was good, she could breach the subject again. Perhaps something would happen then.

But not now. There simply wasn’t room for it.

Although, Hermione pondered as she rose from the bed again to go to lunch, shouldn’t one deserve just a little bit of love in times as challenging as these?

Was that really too much to ask...?


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A/N: Okay, a bit of a “thinking” chapter this, with the exception of the kiss at the beginning. I just felt it was time to let both Narcissa’s and Hermione’s thoughts on things become a bit clearer. Hopefully it wasn’t too boring – it was essential, after all!

I promise more action in the next chapter however, and hopefully it’ll be longer too. And please, do not hesitate to review:)