For Snape, Especially

Hermione blinked dazedly and glanced around. She was in a clearing in the woods…not too startling since she’d done her share of walking around in the Forbidden Forest. But as the fog cleared in her mind, she began to realize that things…weren’t quite right.

For instance, she was holding a heavy stick resting against her shoulder. She let the heavier top end fall to the ground, and saw it wasn’t a stick but an axe. And there was a hat on her head, but she never wore hats. And pants as well, and suspenders…

Apparently she was dressed as some sort of woodsman. Which was odd – until she remembered what book she’d been holding when Snape had spilled the Libris Inserere potion on them. Not being one to swear often, Hermione nevertheless felt the need to let one fly. “Chiron’s hairy horse-arse!”

“I am less enamored of this situation than even you are,” Snape said, and Hermione spun around, having been unaware Snape was behind her. But when her eyes fell on him, Hermione’s brain threatened to shut down in protest.

Snape was wearing a dress. A small red dress that on a woman would have left little to the imagination. A bit of chest hair poked through where a woman would have filled out, and never did Hermione ever think she’d witness the sight of Snape’s legs disappearing under a skirt. There was a matching red shawl over his shoulders. He was carrying a small wicker basket, out of which poked the end of a baguette.

He was wearing sandals.

Red ones.

Open-toed.

Wonderful. Now I’ll never be able to look at the man again without thinking of his legs! Although they are fairly impressive…nicer than I’d have thought. Very lickable calves- oh sweet Merlin! Evanesco my BRAIN!

Snape all but growled at the look on Hermione’s face. “Look at what you’ve done!” he hissed.

“Me? Me? You’re the one who lunged across the table, you- you-” Hermione couldn’t think of anything nasty enough to call Snape. “Was it so horrible that I find out Professor Severus Snape owns a book of children’s fairy tales?”

“I didn’t ask you to barge into my rooms!” Snape exploded. “But you had to act like the same insufferable know-it-all you’ve always been! My choice of literature wasn’t good enough for you, and now look at me!”

“You’ve got some bloody nerve!” Hermione shrieked. “I didn’t want any part of your potion, you smarmy, self-important bastard! But because of your damn blundering, we’re going to have to act out LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD!”

“I’d think you would be right at home in a muggle fairy tale,” Snape shot back. “Ever since you first arrived at Hogwarts you’ve done nothing but live in a fantasy world anyhow!”

Oh, that does it! Hermione hefted the axe, determined to murder Snape right then and there, impressive calves or not. “Don’t!” Snape snapped, raising his hands in alarm. “Do you want to be trapped here? If you kill me, if you change the story, we’ll never get out!”

Hermione hesitated, axe raised. As much as she didn’t want to be trapped in a fairy tale, the idea of burying the axe in Snape’s neck was unbelievably tempting. Finally the axe got too heavy to hold up, and she let it fall to the ground. “Is there any other way out of this, or do we really have to-?”

“There is no other way,” Snape answered, grinding his teeth. “Be grateful you are familiar with the story, or we would never get out.”

I am going to kill Snape’s legs once we get out of here. “Fine. Fine! Let’s just do this. You skip along to granny’s house; and maybe I’ll even get there to save your cross-dressing hide before the wolf takes a bite out of you!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting on Hermione’s anger. “We must match as many details from the story as we can remember,” he said instead, speaking slowly and with contained anger, as if he were explaining a simple potion to a class of First-Years. “Fortunately the potion will be somewhat flexible since there are various versions of the tale-”

“I know how the potion works!” Hermione interrupted hotly. “And I’m certain I know the tale better than you! Now just get out of my sight, or I’ll start critiquing your wardrobe!” When Snape didn’t move, Hermione added nastily “You know, red really isn’t your color, and if you’re going to wear open-toed shoes you should really trim your nails at least once a year-”

“Very well,” Snape snapped. “But in case you’ve forgotten, you may be transported suddenly to the spot your character should be in the story; be prepared to orient yourself quickly.”

“Fine,” Hermione muttered, chagrined that she had forgotten that part of the potion. She sat down on a fallen log resignedly. “Go on, then.”

After one last sneer, Snape moved around behind Hermione, heading into the woods. He’s got some nerve calling me insufferable, Hermione thought, her anger beginning to settle into annoyance (and a bit of trepidation). Pot calling the kettle black – or red, as the case may be. She bit her lip as she fought briefly with herself and lost. One last look at those calves won’t hurt anything, she told herself, turning quickly before Snape could disappear, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

He was skipping. The same barely-concealed rage was, if possible, even more apparent in his demeanor, but there was no mistaking his gait for a lope or a saunter or even a meander. Professor Severus Snape, feared and reviled by students and fellow teachers alike, was skipping.

There was no way Hermione could have resisted laughing, even if she’d been inclined to try. Snape stopped and narrowed his eyes in her direction as she leaned on the handle of her axe and laughed so hard she cried. “I suppose you find this satisfying in some twisted way,” Snape growled eventually.

“Just desserts, Professor,” Hermione gasped out as she got herself back under control. “You did get us into this. Don’t you think that just maybe, you have a bit of humility coming to you?”

“Professor Granger, it would be nigh impossible for me to be any further humiliated than I already am. If word of this charade gets out it will mean the end of my career at Hogwarts, to say nothing of my pride. But loathe though I am to endure these indignities, the idea of being trapped in this sickeningly sweet world is an even more horrifying prospect. Bearing that in mind, would you truly have me neglect any details, however seemingly insignificant, that might result in our failure to complete this story and be on our way?”

Though she found his condescending tone rankling, Hermione had to concede that Snape had a point. “No,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Quite.” Snape sneered smugly. “The story specifically states that Miss Hood skipped along the path. I am, in this nausea-inducing scenario, Miss Hood. Thus, I skip. I would implore you to have the same care for detail with your own character.”

Hermione glanced down at herself; she was wearing overalls and a plaid button-down shirt, heavy boots that hurt her feet, and the axe she carried seemed to grow heavier every minute. “What would you suggest? Spitting, grabbing my crotch and calling you darlin’?”

“A little more seriousness, if you please,” Snape responded with a haughty sniff. “We may not like each other, but you were correct that this situation might be slightly less disastrous if we grant each other the respect due to colleagues, if nothing else.”

“The fact that you’re just as stuffy and superior while wearing a frilled dress is frightening.” Hermione sighed. “Oh, very well.” She hefted the axe onto her shoulder. Let’s get this over with.”

“Indeed.” And spinning on the heel of his black – but decidedly feminine – sandals, Snape was off, skipping for all he was worth.

*****

Hermione considered her axe nervously. I’m stronger than I used to be, she thought, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to kill a wolf with an axe. Wondering if she could do anything to help herself, she patted her outfit absently, and gasped when she felt a long thin length of wood in her pocket. With a triumphant “Yes!” she pulled out her beloved wand. Apparently the potion allowed for situations so dire that magic might be necessary. “That wolf is history!”

Then Hermione hesitated. If she changed the story more than the flexibility of the potion allowed, she’d ruin everything; and she was fairly certain there wasn’t a version of the story anywhere in which the woodcutter used a wand against the wolf. She grumbled resignedly, wishing that ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ was a wizard’s fairy tale.

Well, at least I can even the odds a bit, she decided, and cast a few charms to make the axe lighter and sharper, and to add a bit of temporary strength to her arms and chest. The extra muscles felt very odd, and Hermione was certain she looked quite ridiculous. Though not as ridiculous as Snape in the red dress, she thought amusedly. If nothing else, the memory of Snape decked out as Red would make excellent Pensieve-based blackmail material.

Hermione took a few practice swings with the axe, pleased to find that her enhanced strength made it feel light as a feather. There might be something to say for such ridiculous muscles after all. I wonder if I could make my leg muscles like Snape’s…

Hermione groaned. She knew she wouldn’t be thinking like that about Snape if she wasn’t so…frustrated. At least, she didn’t think she would. But the man really is quite brilliant, and talented. And if he’d stop being so obstinate he could probably improve his appearance with a little effort. With legs like that he must have a reasonably nice body, if he’d only show it off a bit…and be a bit friendlier…

Oh, those bloody fine legs. He couldn’t have had gammy chicken-legs? No, he had to have Thighs of Granite. I bet they’re not as cold as granite…probably quite nicely warm and…

Hermione put her head in her hands. I wonder if I have time to diddle myself before the bloody wolf tries to eat Snape’s legs.

Not wanting to risk it, Hermione took out her frustration with the axe on some nearby trees. She was shocked to discover it only took one swipe to cut all the way through a tree two feet in diameter. Well, I do remember the woodsman is supposed to dispatch the wolf with one blow, at least in the version I recall…maybe the potion is allowing for that-

All of a sudden Hermione was somewhere else. She stuck her arm out and grabbed the fence beside her as her brain rebelled at the shock. It must be almost time for my big entrance…

Right on cue there was a yell; Hermione thought it sounded rather unconvincing. Snape had duped even Lord Voldemort, but apparently his ability to scream like a little girl was limited. Well, we’ll just have to test that once we’re out of here, Hermione thought nastily as she set off in the direction of the yell, and then gritted her teeth at the unintended double meaning.

She picked up the pace when another cry sounded; rounding a corner, Hermione pulled up short. Snape was on the ground, scrambling away from what looked like an actual, real-life werewolf. I can’t kill that! Hermione thought madly. It’s a person most of the time!

Snape caught sight of Hermione; when she just stood there he cursed under his breath, kicking out at the approaching wolf (inadvertently showing off a bit of inner thigh). “What the bloody he- what are you doing?” he yelled. “Save me, you daft- woodsman!”

Oh, right- just a story! Hermione thought, and rushed forward. As the wolf raised a massive paw to disembowel Snape, Hermione swung the axe. The blade passed straight through the wolf’s neck, and without a sound the wolf fell to the ground, clearly dead.

“Thank you, kind woodsman,” Snape drawled as he got up, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cut it a bit fine, don’t you think?”

“It was supposed to be in the nick of time,” Hermione said distractedly, staring at the body of the wolf. “Why isn’t there any blood?”

“Because this is a children’s story, of course,” Snape said as though it should be obvious. “Children’s stories don’t contain blood.”

“Hah. Once we’re out of here I’ll lend you my copy of these stories as they were originally written; Voldemort had nothing on the writers of fairy tales.”

Snape winced at the sound of Voldemort’s name. “Professor,” he said with surprising humility, “I would ask, in all respect, that you never mention that name in my presence again. There is a part of my past I’m not proud of, and it is my desire to leave it behind me.”

Hermione stared. That was the single most sincere and honest thing she’d ever heard Snape say, and she felt the admission of his shame about his past was the greatest respect he’d ever shown her. “All right,” she said softly, suddenly feeling as though her skin was too tight. “I promise I’ll never intentionally bring that up in your presence again.”

“Thank you, Prof- Hermione,” Snape said very formally. Hermione was shocked that he’d used her first name; but before she could respond, the tug came again and the world swirled out of existence.