The Maid and the Master

Chapter Three

Papers, papers, papers. The highly polished cherrywood desk was littered with piles of it, letters from whinging businessmen who wished the esteemed Lord Severus Snape to invest in their measly companies, bills he needed to pay- the most prominent being from the winery, lavish essays from so-called friends who wanted nothing more than money, and countless other things. Severus Snape wanted to sweep all of it and use it as kindling- it might have saved some cost of heating this granite monstrosity of his.

Why, oh why had he purchased this home? Although it satisfied his needs, at times Severus regretted buying it. It had been an impulsive purchase. As a bachelor, Severus hadn't needed a permanent home. Inns and inexpensive flats had done the job pretty well for the majority of his life. There, at least, he had gotten his meals easily, although it hadn't been overtly tasty. He hadn't needed to worry about hiring people to clean up his rooms.

But inside, Severus knew why he had wanted a home of his own. This cold, imposing mansion had appealed to him- with its irregular, ascetic lines and lack of adornment. There were wide, plate glass windows and the floors were made of expensive but plain marble. He had admired every facet of it's dark beauty... and the privacy it offered. And he had the money, after all- unbelievable amounts of it, safely stored away in Gringotts bank, where it bred like rabbits.

This aristocrastic figure, who wore wealth as though it were second nature to him, had not always been so rich. Though his mother, Eileen Prince, had been of noble blood, her money had been squandered through Tobias Snape- a greedy husband, and what was infintely worse, a Muggle. After that, her parents had refused to acknowledge her, and the Snapes had resided in a run-down shack somewhere in Spinner's End.

He had grown up wearing hand-me-downs and eating hard black bread, with only water to soften it. The other children had picked on the scrawny, pale boy.

"Beggar boy Severus! Wearing your mother's blouse, eh?" they had sneered, kicking his thin sides without relent. Children could be so cruel.

And all the while, Severus Snape had burned within, promising to himself that one day he would rise above them and crush every last one into the ground. He had succeeded.

Being possessed of a wondrous intellect that attracted attention from the world reknowned Albus Dumbledore, who taught at Hogwarts- then an exclusive school only for the very gifted and rich- Severus was taken from a poverty stricken world and raised by the famous man himself, who saw something great in the silent, antisocial boy that everyone else deemed worthless.

It was at age eleven that Severus Snape met with Dumbledore. The elderly man had come to the shambles of a house himself, stepping out of a handsome orange carriage and looking so different from anything in that dusty village. He had worn scintillating sapphire blue robes embellished with hand-sewn silver and gold stars, his silvery beard impressively long. Severus had been astonished to see that carroty carriage stop in front of his own house, which never received any visitors save for some of his father's loud, drunken friends that reeked of vomit.

This visitor hadn't smelled anything like a poteen factory, however. There was perhaps a scent of sugary lemon, but that had been all. Eyes twinkling and arms outstretched, Dumbledore had greeted the awkward little boy with a warm embrace.

"Hello, Severus! I have heard many a good thing about you," he boomed. Severus could feel the wide-eyed stares of his tormentors, and a sharkish smile formed on his thin face.

"Have you?" he had said coolly.

"Yes, my boy. Your schoolmasters were brimming with compliments of your stellar academic career. As you know, Hogwarts is always looking for brilliant young students like you, and I would be proud if you were to become a member of our school."

Severus looked at the professor consideringly. "But isn't the tuition expensive?"

"There are always concessions for the deserving, Severus."

"I.." The young Severus had been caught. He didn't want to be thought of as a charity student, and yet he longed to go to this dream school, prove that he was better than anyone else despite his low birth. His head had hung low for a moment.

Dumbledore, who had been observing the boy with rapt carefulness, was touched the troubled and wistful look. Choking with pity, he extended his hand and said slowly, "Come, my boy. I shall see that you get a proper education and get somewhere in this world." That had gotten the boy's attention at once, and Severus Snape left his old life behind forever.

Still, it hadn't been easy to get where he was at present. The world is not a forgiving place, and the boys at Hogwarts had noticed the shabby, secondhand clothes he wore. A few cruel remarks had been spat upon him, until Severus responded with a cutting remark that would silence the tongues forever. The others learned to respect the lean figure who roamed the halls with a pantherlike grace, the greasy black hair hiding his angular face more often than not.

A certain popular group of boys had been the main instigators in teasing the newcomer- commonly known as the Marauders. It consisted of the darkly handsome Sirius Black, born of one of the most prominent wizarding families in all of England, pigheaded James Potter with his athleticism and boyish good looks, smart and laid-back Remus Lupin, and the undeniable tagalong named Peter Pettigrew. Severus had despised them from the moment he had stepped foot into the school, for Sirius Black had begun tormenting him from that very instant.

But it was all water under the bridge now. Severus Snape had graduated from Hogwarts at the top of his class, and started a brilliant career. He dabbled in a lot of businesses, and was wildly successful at smelling out profits. Soon, he had become one of the wealthiest men in England, though some of his methods at getting the money was less than legal. Albus Dumbledore had straightened him out, however. Or so the old interferer thought he had.

*

Hermione Granger was in actuality a great deal more than what she looked to be. At first glance, she seemed to be a witch of no consequence- pretty at best, but in truth, a common looking girl. With her nondescript brown hair, normal brown eyes, and petite figure, she was the kind of woman who slipped behind the scenes. But behind the unspectacular appearance lay ingenuity.

It was true, her personality wasn't very captivating either. In the regular fashion of girls being brought up, she was taught to remain quiet and never raise her temper. Hermione's own nature, however, was not a peaceful one. She was not content with her lot in life- to clean up other people's messes and barely earn her keep; perhaps marry one day with another in her station.

Beyond anything, Hermione loved to read. Always, since the time she had learnt her letters, the young witch could be found with her little nose buried in the pages of a dusty tome, even as she performed her chores. Molly Weasley had tried to dissuade the girl, telling her what an unfeminine attribute intelligence was, but it was of no use. The witch had been born to learn.

The spells she performed with her dinky used wand was not very fit for her; it would do the magic Hermione commanded, but weakly, and it frustrated her to no end.
She felt that it wasn't that her capabilities weren't very high- the wand was not suitable for her. For so long, Hermione Granger had wanted change.. even while she clung to the familiar.

That was why she had felt a seed of joy within her, even as bitter tears poured down her cheeks. Even while the wagon had dragged her from those she loved- even when she opened her food bag and found a sum of money given to her from Molly, who had saved carefully for years- Hermione had felt a spark of excitement at the thought of the bustling cities of wizarding London.

Perhaps in that large city, she would be able to continue her education and even buy a better wand. Perhaps she might become a reknowned scholar. But most important of all... Hermione Granger could truly be herself.

She kept that in mind as she knocked on the door of her employer.

*

Obsidian eyes. He had eyes that belonged to that of a cruel god of war, darker than night and as unforgiving as death. Hermione drew in her breath, as she remembered the glimpse she had caught of her new master. She could feel her cheeks reddening.

He had merely been going out somewhere when Hermione arrived, and yet the memory of him was imprinted into her mind indelibly.

The man wasn't handsome. She was sure that most people would consider him quite ugly, in fact. He was too lean to have a romantic hero's figure, which should be a tad thicker and more broad shouldered. His clothes weren't very flattering either; the black served only to make his pale flesh gleam with the pallor reminiscent of corpses. Then, his height was overtowering in a most fearsome manner. Shadows seemed to cling to his nightlike cloak, and provide a even more Grim Reaperesque mien.

And his face... well, there was nothing classically attractive about that. They were all too prominent- the burning black eyes that appeared to be able to read through the very soul of a witch, the large hooked nose which lent an aristocratic and predatory hauteur, and the thin expressive lips that were constantly sneering down at the world.

Something about him, undefinable yet so tangible, made Hermione feel a thrill deep in her stomach. Which was very odd, of course. He was not attractive at all. She chastised herself silently for taking such liberties and acting in such a foolish manner. What did it matter if the man was good looking or not? He was merely the person Hermione was working for, and it would do well for her to remember that.

She sighed as she looked about the medium-sized chamber that was hers, and would be housing for an unknown amount of time. It was actually a smallish bedroom, but to Hermione's unaccustomed eyes, it seemed a very large room indeed for a single person. She found that she missed Ginny being just an arm's length away, to call if she ever felt lonely or needed to talk.

It was a pretty room, however. The walls were papered with a pale cream and gilt rose design, and had a little cushioned window ledge looking out into the garden outdoors. The bed was beautifully comfortable, with a heather stuffed mattress and thick warm bedsheets. There was a side table with a little glass lamp, and a small maple wardrobe in which Hermione had hung her few gowns.

The friendly cook by the name of Ms. Figg, the only other servant who lived in the house, had taken her up into the room and chatted for a while about her duties, as well as other things.

Hermione was to take care of the general cleaning, run errands, and serve meals as a part of her job description.

Ms. Arabella Figg had said confidingly, as they sat in the kitchen over a cup of sweet tea, "I don't like to speak ill of the master, of course, but Lord Snape is what you would call a tempestuous man."

Drawing closer, Hermione had asked her, "What do you mean?"

Obviously delighting in the gossip, Ms. Figg answered her with relish. "The last three maids that were here barely lasted more than a month. And he gets shorter tempered every single time! The only reason why I'm still here is because Mr. Snape does love my cooking," she looked down at her hands modestly. "I am rather well known for my mean pot roast." Then, the two had chatted a bit longer before the cook led her to her room.

Thinking over the conversation, Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit... well, she wasn't quite sure what she felt. She did know that she wanted to make a good impression on her master, Severus Snape, however, for some reason she couldn't bring herself to name.