Blanc du Noir

Blanc du Noir
By: Aglaia

Snape was fuming. And, as per usual, it was because of a Gryffindor. But not just any one of those little roaring twits, oh no! He was fuming because of one of the Golden-damned-Trio! And not Potter this time, no, and not Weasley, either. This time he was fuming because of the know-it-all! Because of the reigning bloody Queen of Gryffindor; that stupid little egotistical, self-serving, vindictive, stupid – used that one already – damned asinine, idiotic, contemptuous, arrogant, vainglorious, vexing, provoking, plaguy, bothersome, aggravating, volatile, bloody imbecilic girl!!

Score one for Filius’ word-a-day calendars. He should make an insult-a-day calendar, then I won’t have to come up with them all myself.

Snape spent the day alternately fuming quietly, pacing, stalking the halls and snapping angrily at students, and brooding.

How dare the chit dictate to him! He was her superior in knowledge, experience, and sense; yet now she was attempting to rule the roost. Ruddy child had no idea what she was doing, or what she’d gotten herself into. But of course, she could handle it! She could deal with an evil that was hatched before ever she was born. She could deal with something that was more snake, more monster than man. She could deal with something that still gave him nightmares. Oh, yes, of course she could!

The infallibility of youth. He’d known that once; he\'d been so sure of everything once. Before. But life – reality – was waiting for him around the turn. And the rapids, the jagged rocks and whirlpools of life had never since passed up a chance to throw in his face his own stupidity. His own certainty.

It must be wonderful to be young enough to know everything, he though sardonically.

Snape had stopped his relentless pacing and his restless stalking of the halls. Now he was about to stop his brooding – with a glass or two, or twelve, of Ogden’s finest.

He sat in his favourite wing chair by the fire in his quarters. He had taken off his teaching robes, and kicked off his hard-soled boots, and was now barefoot in tailored slacks and a white linen shirt. Stretching out long legs out in front of him, he summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and a tumbler from his liquor cabinet.

As he took the first warming sip, Snape spared another thought for the girl – no, can’t really call her that any longer. I doubt she remained a girl past the first night in that bastard’s keeping – young woman, then, that had plagued his past six years at Hogwarts, and his thoughts all day.

He had caught a glimpse of her leaving Hogwarts with her friends earlier, headed into Hogsmeade with the rest of the swarm. It had given him pause, seeing her laughing, joking with her friends, as though she hadn’t a care in the world; her appearance diametrically opposed to that of the night before. Snape gave in to curiosity, a thing he rarely indulged in, considering it a foolhardy and completely Gryffindor trait, and followed after her. He spent the better part of his afternoon silently and stealthily trailing after the pack of them.

For most of the time, he tried to connect the chipper teenager of Saturday afternoon to the fierce woman of Friday night. She really was a consummate actress, particularly for a Gryffindor – that House being known for airing all their emotions in public. There were nearly no cracks in the façade of carefree, happy student. Nearly. The only slip he noticed, and it was only for his many years of observing people that he caught it at all, was that her smiles didn’t always reach her eyes. They appeared rather more veiled than he ever remembered seeing them.

Her normally guileless gaze was guarded to say the least. Her companions, though, didn’t seem to notice the change in their friend’s composure; they were all about as observant as blueberry scones.

More than that, however, she appeared to have developed a tick, a tell, at times she was uncomfortable. She was very careful throughout the day to always have her wand quickly at hand. Her fingers constantly danced over the pocket of her muggle jeans where it was stored. Her handling of it seemed to be a completely unconscious movement.

Snape wondered at that as he sat in his living room, at his ease. He supposed that she’d acquired the habit in order to stop herself simply doing something and draw untoward attention. She had to remember to use her wand like everyone else in order to avoid that.

To his complete surprise, Snape found himself in some ways admiring her. Yes, she was still a headstrong, asinine, volatile know-it-all, but there was real courage under there somewhere. However, he’d only ever admit that if flaming-hot pincers were inserted under his nails. The question now was, where and who was the real person, and under what guise.
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Hermione, for her part, did as she’d always done after one of her meetings. She threw herself into \'normal\' life at Hogwarts with renewed vigor. Nothing worrying happened on Saturday, and her cares and responsibilities were momentarily forgotten. That was, until she saw Snape trailing after her.

She knew that she’d made mistakes at the meeting with him and the Headmaster the night before, but there were excuses, valid ones! She had been so anxious about the Death Eater gathering, and was so drained from… branding… them all, that his damned questions and sniping were grating on her already raw nerves. Alright, he had been shocked by her appearance to say the least, and yes, he had a right to have his questions answered, but honestly! For someone whose profession it is to observe people’s behavior and analyze it, he was doing a piss-poor job the night before. Asking her where her loyalties lay! That just cut the thread her control was barely hanging from! He had to learn to deal with her in a capacity of more than student sooner or later, it may as well be sooner.

At long last, Snape left her alone as she and the other Gryffindors trudged up the path to the castle. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief for being left in peace. Bad move.

“What’s wrong, ‘Mione?” asked Ginny, having heard her friend’s heavy sigh.

“What?” asked a startled Hermione, “Oh! No, nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m just a bit annoyed with myself for spending the entire day in Hogsmeade when I have an Ancient Runes paper to write.”

“Oh, Gods,” groaned Harry and Ron in unison, “Homework…” They had done this same song and dance for so long that their words were now perfectly synchronized.

“We have a four foot essay for Snape,” went on Ron, counting assignments on his fingers, “a three foot for McGonagall, three foot for Flitwick, more dream diaries for Trelawny, and practice for DADA.”

“Don’t forget the two nights in the Astronomy Tower for observations and charting,” added Harry, looking glum.

“Oh, bugger me…”

“All right,” said Harry, grinning cheekily.

“Oy! Mate!” cried Ron, “Go bug Dean, or something.”

Hermione and Ginny were snickering behind the two, thoroughly enjoying the little show. None of them had the slightest problem with Harry’s sexuality, but it was too funny seeing Ron’s ears turn pink to stop teasing him whenever he said something like that.

“I could do, yeah,” remarked Harry, seeming to mull it over, “but you know, he has such small hands that it\'s -”

“La la la la la!! Not hearing this!!” said Ron loudly, covering his ears with his hands and walking ahead of them all.

They burst out laughing, and finished the walk to the castle trying to pry Ron’s hands from his ears. When they started to walk in the direction of Gryffindor tower, Hermione stopped, this time actually remembering her homework.

“Guys,” she called to them, “I have to go pick up a book for my Ancient Runes paper, so I’m just going to run to the Library.”

“Right, just don’t get lost in the stacks,” called Ginny over her shoulder. Harry and Ron waived her on, saying they’d see her later.

The halls were quiet as Hermione made her way to the Library. She only caught glimpses of some of the younger students who couldn’t go to Hogsmeade, everyone else still being in the village. It seemed, however, that the quiet was only to put her at a false ease, because not a dozen steps from the Library doors stood Draco Malfoy. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, admiring his manicured nails.

Hermione sighed inwardly. A perfectly horrid end to a perfectly nice day.

“Malfoy,” she acknowledged him as she passed.

“Hello, Mudblood,” he said with a sneer, “Or should I say ‘Mistress’?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her back stiffening. She didn’t turn to face him, but simply stood rooted to the spot, feeling a surge of adrenalin power course through her.

“Ah… touched a nerve, have I, M- oof!”

The air left his lungs as she slammed him back into the wall, pinning him spread-eagle with a hex.

“Watch it, boy,” she growled in his ear.

After glaring at him for several moments, she took a breath, and began in far more measure tones. “You know, Draco, you and your father seem to share not only a similar appearance, but similar habits. Namely, not knowing your place, and not knowing when to hold your tongue. I had hoped Lucius learned his lesson last night, but apparently not. I shall have to remind him. You, on the other hand, I’m quite certain will learn very quickly. So here is your lesson: Never address me as such within these walls. Unless I specifically request your presence for something regarding My Lord Voldemort, and I never shall do that, so you never shall call me by that title. Are we clear?”

He, amazingly, managed to sneer while held in so undignified a position. “You’ll be having to deal with me a lot, Mudblood; I’m to receive my mark next birthday.”

“You will receive nothing, boy! I will not have children involved in this war, and make no mistake, that’s what it is. Children have no place in wars.”

“Child, am I!?”

“Yes, child you are! When you live without your father’s influence, money or opinions, when you make your own way and make your own decisions, then you will be a man. Then I will speak with you again on this, if that is the choice you make for yourself.”

“It already is my choice!”

“No. It is you father’s. Move out of the Manor, make you own way and learn something of the real world, outside his sphere of influence. When you can look back at this, make your decision wisely, with both mind and heart, and no parental stamp. And as I said, then we will talk, but only if you wish it.” She gave him one last hard look, removed the hex, and strode to the doors of the Library. With her hand resting on the door, she paused and looked back at him. “And Draco,” she added, “in your next letter to your father, tell him that he and I will be having a little chat.”

As she closed the Library door behind her, she ground out, “God, I need a drink… and a life… a life would be fabulous…” She kept up a low monologue as she looked through the stacks for the book she wanted. “Giving bloody career and life advice to someone bare months younger – yeah – that’s brilliant. Sodding idiot child is definitely his father’s son. And damn Lucius – now I’ll have to keep an eye on Draco so he doesn’t slip-up. Just what I need.

I suppose I should tell Tom about Lucius’ bad behavior. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? Now all the other baby Death Eaters will know about me as well… buggeration…”

She had by then found the book she wanted and made her way to Madam Pince to check it out.

Once safely ensconced in the Gryffindor common room, the evening passed very quietly for Hermione. She and Ginny did their work and got it out of the way, while Ron and Harry procrastinated, playing chess.

“You know,” she said, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to watch the game, “I’m not giving either of you my notes when you come running tomorrow.”

“Yes you will,” said Ron, not looking up at her.

“Uhh…,” said Harry, always the more articulate one, trying to save the situation.

“Well, considering I’m not going to be here, it’ll be a bit difficult. Goodnight, lads.” With that she strode off to her Head Girl rooms. Their cries of \'why, where, when and how\' she merely answered with a backward wave of her hand.

“Night, Gin,” she said to the diminutive, snickering red-head.

“Night, ‘Mione,” she answered.

In her rooms, Hermione changed into pajamas, and slipped between the covers on her bed, thinking of the next day.

Tomorrow she would floo to Grimmauld Place, and then Apparate to the Riddle house. She would take her tea with Tom; they needed to discuss several things. The first of those being what would happen at the general Death Eater meeting they were to have in the next few weeks. Then, there was the matter of Lucius’ loose tongue. After business was through with, they would likely chit-chat away the afternoon; possibly do a little dueling practice and such.

It was really rather eerie how normal most of their Sunday afternoons were. Not a murder or massacre in sight. Those were for special nights.
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A/N: Thank you for the reviews! They\'re always lovely to get!

For clarification purposes: the last paragraph/sentence was sarcastic. Please don\'t take it literally, or else the character is blown totally out of proportion