Written in Blood
Narrowing the Field
I’m so glad everyone liked the last chapter!
To my reviewers: Yeah, Mrs. Snape’s a right evil bitch! I’m really excited; I usually have trouble writing nasty characters. She will not be making an appearance in this chapter, but watch for her a few chapters down the road.
Enjoy chapter two!
Chapter 2
"Go on…take the castle! You’ll put her in check, mate!"
"No, Ron, I’d put her in check, not checkmate."
"Wasn’t what I meant!"
"I know, mate, don’t get yourself worked up about it."
"Who’s getting worked up?"
"No, not the knight!"
"I’ll have you know that was an excellent move, thanks very much!"
"So excellent she’ll have you beat before three moves are up!"
"I beat you with that move once, you know."
"Stop distracting me, the both of you! It’s hard enough to play against Ron without you hovering about offering bad advice, Harry," Hermione snapped.
"I don’t know why I even let you talk me into this. You know I just like to watch. I hate playing chess." She pushed her chair back, obviously about to retreat to her dormitory.
Ron was instantly remorseful. "I’m sorry, ‘Mione, please don’t go. I love it when you play." He smiled charmingly, and she grudgingly resumed her place at the table across from her boyfriend.
Their peace was short-lived, however, as Ron’s queen eviscerated her knight before long. He was beside himself with glee, jumping up and shouting, "Yes! Get ‘er, mate! Show the girls who’s boss, that will! I mean…" he stuttered, seeing the look of fury on his friend’s face at the idea that he was "boss" of anything, let alone her, "Er, that is, just take the knight, and don’t show anyone anything. Except that you took the knight. Show ‘em that." Unrepentantly jubilant, he took his seat.
Ron had Hermione checkmated before long, but masterfully managed, he thought, to restrain his euphoria until she vacated the premises. Unfortunately, Weaselys being a loud sort, she was treated to a blow-by-blow rundown of the game all the way to her dormitory. Boys, she thought, irritated beyond measure at her boyfriend’s immaturity. When would they start acting like adults? Perhaps that was the problem, she admitted to herself, as she brushed her teeth. She didn’t want to wait for them to mature.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day was strained, to say the least. Hermione didn’t want to talk to Ron, who still didn’t see what he had done wrong. Harry didn’t understand either, he told her when they met in the common room that morning, causing her to tell him that he always took Ron’s side, causing him to throw up his hands and mutter "girls." After this, Hermione wasn’t talking to Ron, Harry wasn’t talking to Hermione, and Hermione wondered why, after all the times she could remember this happening, she hadn’t found any new friends besides Ginny Weasely and sometimes Neville Longbottom. "Good thinking, Granger," she chided herself, sitting between a shouting Ginny and a Neville covered in stinksap from his mimbilus mimbletona. Why was it that her friends either thought she was overreacting, or were overreacting themselves to something equally juvenile? She immediately felt a bit guilty for turning on her friends so easily. Of course they had their differences, but after seven years, she loved Harry and Ron like brothers. Then it hit her---like brothers. She and Ron had been dating for three months now, and she still loved him like a brother. In addition to something more, she wondered? But she knew that wasn’t it. Oh, bloody hell, she thought. This is going to be harder to tell Ron than telling him he’s lost at chess.
Snape’s cheeks burned as he strode purposefully away from the Arithmancy classroom, still hearing Professor Vector’s snort as he proposed an evening in Hogsmeade. He heard her call after him, apologizing for her involuntary mirth, but ignored it, heading for the comforting loneliness of his dungeon chambers. A simple "no" would have sufficed, he thought grimly. She didn’t have to laugh at me. He stopped suddenly on his way through the corridors, seeing an open lavatory. Checking swiftly about him to be sure that he was alone, he swept inside to gaze into the mirror. What he saw there surprised him, to his chagrin.
Although he had known he was possessed of pasty skin, oily hair and an imposing nose, the reality of his reflection, with which he thought he was at least on speaking terms with if not intimate familiarity, hit him like a bludger to the softer parts of his body. He supposed his reaction was mainly due to the fact that his usual cursory glance in the mirror only served to make sure he was not wildly out of disarray, and not to see himself through the eyes of another—particularly a woman. He raised one long, pale finger to prod his skin, hoping somehow it might come to life and take on some semblance of a rosy glow. He snorted at himself, in an uncanny issiossion of Professor Vector. He scowled at the thought of her, then stopped abruptly, seeing the affect it had on his image. Perhaps Mother was right to offer to put a glamour on me, he thought miserably. He had refused her ‘generous’ offer, stating that he preferred his women both willing and unduped. Now, looking at the sorry sight that stared back at him, he wasn’t so sure he couldn’t use a little extra help. He was halfway contemplating which potion would lend itself most easily to a glamour charm when the door of the lavatory swung open, announcing the presence of a fifth-year Ravenclaw. The girl squeaked at seeing her most feared Professor, and ran off, presumably to find an empty bathroom. Sighing, he gave his reflection one last glare before haring off to his quarters. After all, he told himself, it was only one teacher. There were plenty of others to ask.
------------Professor Vector-------------
------------Professor Sinistra------------
------------Professor Trelawney---------
------------Professor Sprout-------------
------------Madame Pomfrey------------
------------Madame Pince----------------
Professor McGonnagal
Snape looked at the remainders of his list, sighed, and crossed off the last name. That one had been particularly humiliating to go through with, politely asking the deputy headmistress for a private word away from Dumbledore, and having to hear her not only refuse him, but ask him sternly please not to bother any other of the female staff, as they were starting to complain. "Starting to complain…" he muttered. "Most of them haven’t been asked for a moment, let alone out for a dinner, in two decades or more." It really was a pity, he admitted to himself, that he didn’t leave Hogwarts more often. The only women he knew worked either as teachers or as other school staff. He had even been warned that Madame Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks was uninterested, albeit discreetly, by Hagrid, of all people. "Th’ lady doesn’ take kindly to propositions, like, or so I’ve heard—recently, ye see." Snape had taken the hint, and had recently taken to avoiding the Three Broomsticks whenever the occasion chanced to take him into Hogsmeade.
Not for the first or last time, he lay back on his empty bed, cursing his mother into the depths of Hell that spawned her.
Three months left to choose a bride.
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not solicit reviews
I will not---bloody hell, screw it! The back of my hand’s been bleeding for a week!