Bound to Happen Again
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
8,866
Reviews:
44
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
8,866
Reviews:
44
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing these stories.
Defended
Author's Notes: My beta, Southernwitch_69, has been a godsend!
Of course…
Cross and despondent, Severus managed to pry his drunken face away from the surface of his desk to pay the owl snipping at his fingertips.
Of course… it couldn’t be that easy…
Every night for the past week, he’d been succumbing to the temptation of drowning his pathetic, self-pitying woes. The very idea of a grown wizard, pining for the loss of a… ugh… love, especially one he had never known, turned his stomach.
Nevertheless, here he was, acting the part of said pathetic creature.
… Couldn’t be that easy…
He blamed his near death for his current predicament. No, the Dark Lord… the Dark Lord was definitely responsible… or maybe, this began with Lily?
Hell, might as well throw Dumbledore and Potter in with the lot of them.
If Severus Snape had never looked Death himself directly in the eye while lying prone in his own filth, all the while pleading mercy to whichever entity that might take note of him… he would never have sold his soul to Hermione Granger.
In death, that was when he had completely and unreservedly admitted to himself that he wanted her.
But ‘want’ was a very open-ended word.
The very sight of the chit stirred something inside him. Something bewildering and ignored for many years. Snape wasn’t daft, however. Given where exactly he amassed these unwelcomed stirrings, Severus wasn’t stupid enough to call this ridiculous infatuation “love.”
Ultimately, he truly did not know the girl.
No, not love, he’d just been wanting the witch for the past fifteen bloody years… Severus clenched his eyes with a groan after that last thought, lowering his forehead upon the desk.
No matter how much he desired the girl, Snape refused to act on it. He hadn’t spoiled a Muggle-born student since returning in 1983. True, back in those years he had been very close to the young women’s ages, but not since meeting Mrs. Snape had Severus desired another Muggle-born ardently enough to replace her.
This Marriage Enhancement Act seemed like fate, Severus Snape style. After everything he had been put through since—hell, since he was born—what else could be more inevitable when absolute tranquility seemed to be his due at long last?
Only one month ago, Severus had worked up the energy to walk out of Mungo’s on his own two feet and had at last mustered the fortitude to enter this school year receptive, albeit wary. However, this attitude hadn’t lasted even one blasted night before reality whacked him upside the head like it always did.
Mr. and Mrs. Snape had almost convinced him…
Bollocks.
The worst thing that could happen now was for the witch to discover how many Galleons he was worth. Somehow, he knew from the very beginning not to trust her…
Another impatient snip at his fingers forced Severus to finally untie the morning paper from the owl’s leg.
He tossed his head back, greedily gulping a Hangover potion while scanning the front page.
His own image scowled back at him.
A slow, sadistic laugh gathered in the base of his diaphragm before erupting against the stone walls of his chambers.
There was no other reaction to be had for a caption that read:
“SNAPE, THE MOST ELIGIBLE BASTARD!”
“I don’t want to read it,” Hermione hissed, fists clenched around her knife and fork.
“I suppose it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise,” Dennis continued, oblivious to Hermione’s mood. Spreading open the Prophet across his plate, he gasped and moaned in the hopes that Hermione would pay attention. “It says here that he received a full year’s Headmaster salary for his ‘piss-poor job dictating over a Death Eater recruit school—’ah, well…”
“Rubbish,” Ginny added.
“No, he really did get the salary—”
“No, Dennis! I meant rubbish to Professor Snape being a dictator… Never mind!”
Frowning, Dennis watched Ginny rise from the Gryffindor table before shaking his head dismissively and continuing with the article. “Merlin’s balls! It says half of Dumbledore’s legacy went to Snape in the event of the Headmaster’s death. Wow, I wonder how the bat was able to claim it, considering he was the one who killed—?”
“I said I don’t want to hear it! Why can’t you ever listen for once?”
Hermione rose from the Gryffindor table in a flurry of revulsion. She felt no guilt whatsoever for exploding at Dennis. Hopefully, the dozens of other like-minded students grasped the reprimand in her and Ginny’s outbursts.
Throwing on the grey jumper her mum had knitted for her, Hermione practically ran out of the castle. It was the first Saturday of the school year, and for once, a day off from anything school related was sorely needed.
Walking along the edge of the lake, dirty trainers and socks dangling from each hand, Hermione unwillingly caught snippets of gossip from the younger students she passed.
“Can you imagine such a fortune?” a fifth-year squealed wildly, squashing the Prophet to her chest.
Her friend ripped at the paper. “Some poor soul will actually have to marry Snape. Imagine that!”
For the briefest of moments, Hermione did. Professor Snape’s typically impassive face flashed across her mind… gazing down upon her, uncharacteristically flushed with the euphoria of release.
Hermione inhaled sharply, coughing on her own saliva.
Denim… Always, blasted Denim!
Muggle fashions would be the death of him…
Severus was angry. Extraordinarily angry. This morning’s article was already horrific enough, but now this!
Snape was of the mind to believe the chit was tormenting him on purpose.
He was attracted to Miss Granger against his insufferable will, and it pissed him off. Snape didn’t want his face to flame when he gazed at her half-covered form, but regardless of his wants, his desires took precedence.
It was the frayed fabric of her shorts that tormented him. Never mind the fact that if she bent over, he’d probably gain a good eyeful of the base of her rump. And never mind the obvious—tightness—of this evil Muggle material. But the frays… around her thighs, along her pockets… Once or twice when Hermione had raised her arms in the air, revealing a sliver of skin along her abdomen, Severus immediately noted the frayed material that ran the total expanse of her waist.
Loose threading and tears could easily have been fixed with a bit of magic, but Muggle-born witches never thought of such trivialities.
With a cool breeze and almost non-existent sun, the damnable girl had thought to don an old, raggedy grey jumper atop those ludicrous shorts. The image before him was the exact definition of obscene.
The blasted chit sensed his sour mood and dared to wave before obnoxiously shouting, “Good afternoon, Professor Snape!”
Muddy bum braced upon a wet rock, her long, smooth limbs extended towards the bank. Severus closed his mouth to hide his clenched teeth as he eyed her bare feet kicking about in the water.
Snape edged towards her under the pretense of intending to walk right past the young woman, oblivious to her presence. But by the time he stood nearly behind her, he hated himself for succumbing to his temptations… such as speaking to her.
“I’d rather you refrain from greeting me at all if you must resort to screaming for attention, Miss Granger.”
Pressing the palm of her left hand into the mud, Hermione leaned her body weight towards him while squinting against the sun at his back.
“Granger,” the chit said simply.
“I beg your pardon?”
There it was again! That same insolence she flaunted the other night in the corridor. Insolence in the form of her mouth, corner rising slightly in mocking joviality as she spoke, “I prefer not to be singled out any longer… sir. Our situations are different this year, wouldn’t you agree?”
Never, not ever in his interactions with Miss Granger had Snape been stirred to snap the following words, “What do you mean?”
“I’m nearly nineteen, Professor… Not only am I one of, if not the oldest student here… I am well past the age of apprenticing candidates… Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’ve tolerated your idiosyncrasy long enough. While I’ll never presume to be called by my first name, can you at least call me ‘Granger,’ like you do the other students?”
Severus’ blank stare was not lost on her.
“You have been, and always do, add a ‘Miss’ before my surname… eh… Have you not noticed?”
“NO.” He’d replied immediately and without thought.
Severus had never thought about it before now. Mrs. Snape herself had forced such formalities upon him, and somehow it must have carried over… Fucking hell…
“Ah… Well…” She was fidgeting again. That confident hand no longer braced her body in the mud. Instead, Hermione busied herself with picking at her dirty fingernails, bottom lip ravished between her teeth. “It’s just that… sir. I don’t like the—”
“Attention?” Snape snorted. “I strongly doubt that.”
Hermione shot up from the ground. Fire flashed in her eyes, only to soften seconds later when Snape stepped back with one hasty step.
It wasn’t her eyes that alarmed him… or her proximity.
Her height—not until now did he notice its equivalence to the future Mrs. Snape... Stop calling her that!
He vividly remembered this exact angle of her eyes when he used to intentionally lean into the married woman to raise her heartbeat and flush her cheeks…
“Professor…” the red-faced vixen before him dared to whisper.
Her breath, hot and lingering, faltered his footing once again. Jaw tensing painfully, Severus turned his back to her and muttered, “Good day, Miss Granger.”
“Hmm… that was interesting,” a cocky voice drawled at Hermione’s back. The knowing insinuation behind his words was entirely intentional.
All the fight in her had left with a billow of black robes.
“What was?” Voice strangely subdued, Hermione didn’t bother to glance at Draco as she spoke. She easily imagined the challenging smirk behind his upbeat remark. Lowering her body back to her perch upon the rock, Hermione reclined all of her weight onto her elbows.
When the unwanted presence behind her still did not reply, Hermione tilted her chin back to questionably gaze at Draco, her vision upside down.
The arrogance implied in his tone of voice was nowhere to be found on his face or stance.
“You were saying?” Hermione probed calmly.
“Forget it.”
“Who’s playing games, now?”
“Shut it, Granger.”
“Gladly, once you stop talking to me. I didn’t initiate this conversation.”
“Swot.”
“Ferret.”
By the end of this ridiculousness, the both of them had been speaking in monotone sighs.
Draco lowered himself beside her, knees bent, bracing his body weight upon the balls of his feet. After a bit of digging in the dirt he located a proper-sized rock to skip across the lake’s surface.
Hermione squinted into the distance, watching Draco’s stone jump upon the water.
“I was insinuating as to Snape’s eligibility,” he said without looking at her. “Within the last few hours, I’d never seen so many girls undergo a complete change of attitude in relation to him.” Draco didn’t need to explain a damn thing to her, but it was clear he felt the obligation. He had expected Hermione to childishly respond in kind, but was pleasantly taken aback by her lack of response.
“I know.” Hermione laughed quietly to herself, recalling the snippets of conversation she’d been overhearing all day.
At length, he spoke again. “I haven’t decided yet if coming back was worth it… You?”
“I’ll let you know when I get my N.E.W.T.s.”
Draco snorted something under his breath that almost sounded like, “Typical.”
“Can I ask why you—”
“Not a chance.”
“Hermione?” a third voice demanded with a bite, standing directly behind her and Draco.
She did not know it, but the one time Draco actually bothered to pull his eyes away from the lake to glance at her face, he caught Hermione’s exasperation in response to Dennis’ childish intrusion.
Jerking her neck at Draco’s presence beside her, she said, “Everything’s all right, Dennis.”
Dennis eyed Draco suspiciously. “Can I speak to you a moment? I wanted to ask you—”
“Too late.” Draco smirked condescendingly, rising himself to his full height.
“What’s too—?” Dennis asked.
“Hermione has already agreed to be my date for the Hogsmeade trip.”
“WHAT?”
“Draco!”
Hermione was clearly angry at whatever game he was pulling. Her sudden confrontational jump and narrowed eyes told him as much. But Draco couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the only time the Muggle-born had called him by his first name.
He shrugged his shoulders at her infuriated expression. “Do whatever you wish. You can take back your promise if you really want to go with Denny-boy here.”
At the sound of Draco’s mocking snort, Dennis blanched. He opened his mouth, probably to say something heated in response, but obviously lacked the courage to do so. Face flaming in mortification, Dennis turned away, refusing to meet Hermione’s face.
Helplessly watching him walk away, Hermione spoke once she was certain no one could overhear them.
“That was unbelievably cruel.”
“I saved you from a headache and you know it.”
“I simply could have—"
“Said ‘yes’ reluctantly to mollycoddle his feelings? Yes… I’m sure you would. Did you see his face?”
If Draco hadn’t released a pitiless laugh after those words, this conversation might not have been so terrible.
“Everyone around you has grown up!” Hermione’ shriek surprised Draco and herself even by the force and passion behind her words. “And none of us had a choice in the matter, either… I don’t know if I despise or envy you, since you’re so obviously exempt?” After hissing that last part over her shoulder, Hermione had no intention in waiting for a response. She chased after Dennis like she should have done initially.
That following Monday, Hermione’s nerves had finally settled into welcoming the routine of her classes. Meticulously measuring the potion ingredients before her, Hermione had to admit, she’d missed this.
A warm smile spread across her face at that last thought.
“Thinking of your date with Malfoy,” a sickened voice jeered behind her.
Hermione clenched her jaw with a scowl, refusing to acknowledge Ron’s childishness. The fact that these were the first words he had said to her in nearly two weeks hurt Hermione more than she willing to own up.
“Looks like rich-husband-chasing is contagious.”
“Leave her alone.” Harry’s icy tone made it clear he’d had more than enough of Ron’s attitude.
Hermione turned around slightly, about to silently thank Harry with her eyes when Ron started to verbally abuse her some more. Averting her vision back to her cauldron, Hermione noticed Draco on the other side of the room. His tall, trim frame leaned lazily over the corner of a worktable while hissing ‘Weaslebe!’ under his breath.
The Slytherin must have finally received Ron’s attention because his face broke out in a mocking, triumphant smile at the same time his middle finger rose in the air.
When Draco unexpectedly blanched and turned around, Hermione gathered that Professor Snape’s turn had reached their side of the room.
If Ron had been aware of this, he probably wouldn’t have viciously sneered, “Gold-digger,” at her back.
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. Sorrow had long been replaced with fury at this point, but in her frustrated effort to keep silent, hot tears unwillingly trailed down her face.
A thunderous, hallow ‘WHACK!’ made her and half the class jump. She spun in her seat to locate the origin of the ruckus.
Ron was completely keeled over the surface of his worktable, furiously rubbing the back of his head.
Standing behind the redhead, dreaded lesson planner in hand, Professor Snape smirked nastily and drawled, “It is not polite to make young ladies cry, Weasley.”
“What are you playing at?” Ron managed to raise his scarlet face to scream, “You’ve made her and many others cry hundreds of times!”
“Ah, but in this classroom, I get paid to do so. As her peer, you owe her and every other female a little thing called respect.” Professor Snape took a few steps up the center aisle before whirling around elegantly. “Oh, and you are to write me a fifteen foot essay on the importance of not acting like an ill-bred fool in class.”
Hermione sat there gaping for longer than she would have liked. She didn’t know what to think about… well, everything that had just happened! But one thing was for certain, this was the first occasion where the derisive guffaws issuing from the Slytherin table actually warmed her heart.
Author's Notes: This bit with the lesson planner is not canon and obviously inspired by the movies.
-Thank you Killer, Hermione_Malfoy, Mag7ical, and Red Deathstalking for your awesome reviews!
-For those of you who have read my first SS/HG epic, Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy, or if you enjoy a good bit of naughty fanart, may I please direct your attention to two breathtaking pieces, created by BulletTimeScully. She managed to snab a feature nod over at the HGSS Digest on LJ! Please comment if you have a deviant art account!
Link1>>> http://bullettimescully.deviantart.com/art/Vain-Wisdom-Commission-145724045
Link2>>> http://bullettimescully.deviantart.com/art/Infinite-Embrace-146317501
Next up: The Hogsmeade trip has arrived and it's a day filled with both enjoyable and detestable encounters. Was Draco serious about the date? And why is Professor Snape so irritable?
Of course…
Cross and despondent, Severus managed to pry his drunken face away from the surface of his desk to pay the owl snipping at his fingertips.
Of course… it couldn’t be that easy…
Every night for the past week, he’d been succumbing to the temptation of drowning his pathetic, self-pitying woes. The very idea of a grown wizard, pining for the loss of a… ugh… love, especially one he had never known, turned his stomach.
Nevertheless, here he was, acting the part of said pathetic creature.
… Couldn’t be that easy…
He blamed his near death for his current predicament. No, the Dark Lord… the Dark Lord was definitely responsible… or maybe, this began with Lily?
Hell, might as well throw Dumbledore and Potter in with the lot of them.
If Severus Snape had never looked Death himself directly in the eye while lying prone in his own filth, all the while pleading mercy to whichever entity that might take note of him… he would never have sold his soul to Hermione Granger.
In death, that was when he had completely and unreservedly admitted to himself that he wanted her.
But ‘want’ was a very open-ended word.
The very sight of the chit stirred something inside him. Something bewildering and ignored for many years. Snape wasn’t daft, however. Given where exactly he amassed these unwelcomed stirrings, Severus wasn’t stupid enough to call this ridiculous infatuation “love.”
Ultimately, he truly did not know the girl.
No, not love, he’d just been wanting the witch for the past fifteen bloody years… Severus clenched his eyes with a groan after that last thought, lowering his forehead upon the desk.
No matter how much he desired the girl, Snape refused to act on it. He hadn’t spoiled a Muggle-born student since returning in 1983. True, back in those years he had been very close to the young women’s ages, but not since meeting Mrs. Snape had Severus desired another Muggle-born ardently enough to replace her.
This Marriage Enhancement Act seemed like fate, Severus Snape style. After everything he had been put through since—hell, since he was born—what else could be more inevitable when absolute tranquility seemed to be his due at long last?
Only one month ago, Severus had worked up the energy to walk out of Mungo’s on his own two feet and had at last mustered the fortitude to enter this school year receptive, albeit wary. However, this attitude hadn’t lasted even one blasted night before reality whacked him upside the head like it always did.
Mr. and Mrs. Snape had almost convinced him…
Bollocks.
The worst thing that could happen now was for the witch to discover how many Galleons he was worth. Somehow, he knew from the very beginning not to trust her…
Another impatient snip at his fingers forced Severus to finally untie the morning paper from the owl’s leg.
He tossed his head back, greedily gulping a Hangover potion while scanning the front page.
His own image scowled back at him.
A slow, sadistic laugh gathered in the base of his diaphragm before erupting against the stone walls of his chambers.
There was no other reaction to be had for a caption that read:
“SNAPE, THE MOST ELIGIBLE BASTARD!”
“I don’t want to read it,” Hermione hissed, fists clenched around her knife and fork.
“I suppose it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise,” Dennis continued, oblivious to Hermione’s mood. Spreading open the Prophet across his plate, he gasped and moaned in the hopes that Hermione would pay attention. “It says here that he received a full year’s Headmaster salary for his ‘piss-poor job dictating over a Death Eater recruit school—’ah, well…”
“Rubbish,” Ginny added.
“No, he really did get the salary—”
“No, Dennis! I meant rubbish to Professor Snape being a dictator… Never mind!”
Frowning, Dennis watched Ginny rise from the Gryffindor table before shaking his head dismissively and continuing with the article. “Merlin’s balls! It says half of Dumbledore’s legacy went to Snape in the event of the Headmaster’s death. Wow, I wonder how the bat was able to claim it, considering he was the one who killed—?”
“I said I don’t want to hear it! Why can’t you ever listen for once?”
Hermione rose from the Gryffindor table in a flurry of revulsion. She felt no guilt whatsoever for exploding at Dennis. Hopefully, the dozens of other like-minded students grasped the reprimand in her and Ginny’s outbursts.
Throwing on the grey jumper her mum had knitted for her, Hermione practically ran out of the castle. It was the first Saturday of the school year, and for once, a day off from anything school related was sorely needed.
Walking along the edge of the lake, dirty trainers and socks dangling from each hand, Hermione unwillingly caught snippets of gossip from the younger students she passed.
“Can you imagine such a fortune?” a fifth-year squealed wildly, squashing the Prophet to her chest.
Her friend ripped at the paper. “Some poor soul will actually have to marry Snape. Imagine that!”
For the briefest of moments, Hermione did. Professor Snape’s typically impassive face flashed across her mind… gazing down upon her, uncharacteristically flushed with the euphoria of release.
Hermione inhaled sharply, coughing on her own saliva.
Denim… Always, blasted Denim!
Muggle fashions would be the death of him…
Severus was angry. Extraordinarily angry. This morning’s article was already horrific enough, but now this!
Snape was of the mind to believe the chit was tormenting him on purpose.
He was attracted to Miss Granger against his insufferable will, and it pissed him off. Snape didn’t want his face to flame when he gazed at her half-covered form, but regardless of his wants, his desires took precedence.
It was the frayed fabric of her shorts that tormented him. Never mind the fact that if she bent over, he’d probably gain a good eyeful of the base of her rump. And never mind the obvious—tightness—of this evil Muggle material. But the frays… around her thighs, along her pockets… Once or twice when Hermione had raised her arms in the air, revealing a sliver of skin along her abdomen, Severus immediately noted the frayed material that ran the total expanse of her waist.
Loose threading and tears could easily have been fixed with a bit of magic, but Muggle-born witches never thought of such trivialities.
With a cool breeze and almost non-existent sun, the damnable girl had thought to don an old, raggedy grey jumper atop those ludicrous shorts. The image before him was the exact definition of obscene.
The blasted chit sensed his sour mood and dared to wave before obnoxiously shouting, “Good afternoon, Professor Snape!”
Muddy bum braced upon a wet rock, her long, smooth limbs extended towards the bank. Severus closed his mouth to hide his clenched teeth as he eyed her bare feet kicking about in the water.
Snape edged towards her under the pretense of intending to walk right past the young woman, oblivious to her presence. But by the time he stood nearly behind her, he hated himself for succumbing to his temptations… such as speaking to her.
“I’d rather you refrain from greeting me at all if you must resort to screaming for attention, Miss Granger.”
Pressing the palm of her left hand into the mud, Hermione leaned her body weight towards him while squinting against the sun at his back.
“Granger,” the chit said simply.
“I beg your pardon?”
There it was again! That same insolence she flaunted the other night in the corridor. Insolence in the form of her mouth, corner rising slightly in mocking joviality as she spoke, “I prefer not to be singled out any longer… sir. Our situations are different this year, wouldn’t you agree?”
Never, not ever in his interactions with Miss Granger had Snape been stirred to snap the following words, “What do you mean?”
“I’m nearly nineteen, Professor… Not only am I one of, if not the oldest student here… I am well past the age of apprenticing candidates… Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’ve tolerated your idiosyncrasy long enough. While I’ll never presume to be called by my first name, can you at least call me ‘Granger,’ like you do the other students?”
Severus’ blank stare was not lost on her.
“You have been, and always do, add a ‘Miss’ before my surname… eh… Have you not noticed?”
“NO.” He’d replied immediately and without thought.
Severus had never thought about it before now. Mrs. Snape herself had forced such formalities upon him, and somehow it must have carried over… Fucking hell…
“Ah… Well…” She was fidgeting again. That confident hand no longer braced her body in the mud. Instead, Hermione busied herself with picking at her dirty fingernails, bottom lip ravished between her teeth. “It’s just that… sir. I don’t like the—”
“Attention?” Snape snorted. “I strongly doubt that.”
Hermione shot up from the ground. Fire flashed in her eyes, only to soften seconds later when Snape stepped back with one hasty step.
It wasn’t her eyes that alarmed him… or her proximity.
Her height—not until now did he notice its equivalence to the future Mrs. Snape... Stop calling her that!
He vividly remembered this exact angle of her eyes when he used to intentionally lean into the married woman to raise her heartbeat and flush her cheeks…
“Professor…” the red-faced vixen before him dared to whisper.
Her breath, hot and lingering, faltered his footing once again. Jaw tensing painfully, Severus turned his back to her and muttered, “Good day, Miss Granger.”
“Hmm… that was interesting,” a cocky voice drawled at Hermione’s back. The knowing insinuation behind his words was entirely intentional.
All the fight in her had left with a billow of black robes.
“What was?” Voice strangely subdued, Hermione didn’t bother to glance at Draco as she spoke. She easily imagined the challenging smirk behind his upbeat remark. Lowering her body back to her perch upon the rock, Hermione reclined all of her weight onto her elbows.
When the unwanted presence behind her still did not reply, Hermione tilted her chin back to questionably gaze at Draco, her vision upside down.
The arrogance implied in his tone of voice was nowhere to be found on his face or stance.
“You were saying?” Hermione probed calmly.
“Forget it.”
“Who’s playing games, now?”
“Shut it, Granger.”
“Gladly, once you stop talking to me. I didn’t initiate this conversation.”
“Swot.”
“Ferret.”
By the end of this ridiculousness, the both of them had been speaking in monotone sighs.
Draco lowered himself beside her, knees bent, bracing his body weight upon the balls of his feet. After a bit of digging in the dirt he located a proper-sized rock to skip across the lake’s surface.
Hermione squinted into the distance, watching Draco’s stone jump upon the water.
“I was insinuating as to Snape’s eligibility,” he said without looking at her. “Within the last few hours, I’d never seen so many girls undergo a complete change of attitude in relation to him.” Draco didn’t need to explain a damn thing to her, but it was clear he felt the obligation. He had expected Hermione to childishly respond in kind, but was pleasantly taken aback by her lack of response.
“I know.” Hermione laughed quietly to herself, recalling the snippets of conversation she’d been overhearing all day.
At length, he spoke again. “I haven’t decided yet if coming back was worth it… You?”
“I’ll let you know when I get my N.E.W.T.s.”
Draco snorted something under his breath that almost sounded like, “Typical.”
“Can I ask why you—”
“Not a chance.”
“Hermione?” a third voice demanded with a bite, standing directly behind her and Draco.
She did not know it, but the one time Draco actually bothered to pull his eyes away from the lake to glance at her face, he caught Hermione’s exasperation in response to Dennis’ childish intrusion.
Jerking her neck at Draco’s presence beside her, she said, “Everything’s all right, Dennis.”
Dennis eyed Draco suspiciously. “Can I speak to you a moment? I wanted to ask you—”
“Too late.” Draco smirked condescendingly, rising himself to his full height.
“What’s too—?” Dennis asked.
“Hermione has already agreed to be my date for the Hogsmeade trip.”
“WHAT?”
“Draco!”
Hermione was clearly angry at whatever game he was pulling. Her sudden confrontational jump and narrowed eyes told him as much. But Draco couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the only time the Muggle-born had called him by his first name.
He shrugged his shoulders at her infuriated expression. “Do whatever you wish. You can take back your promise if you really want to go with Denny-boy here.”
At the sound of Draco’s mocking snort, Dennis blanched. He opened his mouth, probably to say something heated in response, but obviously lacked the courage to do so. Face flaming in mortification, Dennis turned away, refusing to meet Hermione’s face.
Helplessly watching him walk away, Hermione spoke once she was certain no one could overhear them.
“That was unbelievably cruel.”
“I saved you from a headache and you know it.”
“I simply could have—"
“Said ‘yes’ reluctantly to mollycoddle his feelings? Yes… I’m sure you would. Did you see his face?”
If Draco hadn’t released a pitiless laugh after those words, this conversation might not have been so terrible.
“Everyone around you has grown up!” Hermione’ shriek surprised Draco and herself even by the force and passion behind her words. “And none of us had a choice in the matter, either… I don’t know if I despise or envy you, since you’re so obviously exempt?” After hissing that last part over her shoulder, Hermione had no intention in waiting for a response. She chased after Dennis like she should have done initially.
That following Monday, Hermione’s nerves had finally settled into welcoming the routine of her classes. Meticulously measuring the potion ingredients before her, Hermione had to admit, she’d missed this.
A warm smile spread across her face at that last thought.
“Thinking of your date with Malfoy,” a sickened voice jeered behind her.
Hermione clenched her jaw with a scowl, refusing to acknowledge Ron’s childishness. The fact that these were the first words he had said to her in nearly two weeks hurt Hermione more than she willing to own up.
“Looks like rich-husband-chasing is contagious.”
“Leave her alone.” Harry’s icy tone made it clear he’d had more than enough of Ron’s attitude.
Hermione turned around slightly, about to silently thank Harry with her eyes when Ron started to verbally abuse her some more. Averting her vision back to her cauldron, Hermione noticed Draco on the other side of the room. His tall, trim frame leaned lazily over the corner of a worktable while hissing ‘Weaslebe!’ under his breath.
The Slytherin must have finally received Ron’s attention because his face broke out in a mocking, triumphant smile at the same time his middle finger rose in the air.
When Draco unexpectedly blanched and turned around, Hermione gathered that Professor Snape’s turn had reached their side of the room.
If Ron had been aware of this, he probably wouldn’t have viciously sneered, “Gold-digger,” at her back.
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. Sorrow had long been replaced with fury at this point, but in her frustrated effort to keep silent, hot tears unwillingly trailed down her face.
A thunderous, hallow ‘WHACK!’ made her and half the class jump. She spun in her seat to locate the origin of the ruckus.
Ron was completely keeled over the surface of his worktable, furiously rubbing the back of his head.
Standing behind the redhead, dreaded lesson planner in hand, Professor Snape smirked nastily and drawled, “It is not polite to make young ladies cry, Weasley.”
“What are you playing at?” Ron managed to raise his scarlet face to scream, “You’ve made her and many others cry hundreds of times!”
“Ah, but in this classroom, I get paid to do so. As her peer, you owe her and every other female a little thing called respect.” Professor Snape took a few steps up the center aisle before whirling around elegantly. “Oh, and you are to write me a fifteen foot essay on the importance of not acting like an ill-bred fool in class.”
Hermione sat there gaping for longer than she would have liked. She didn’t know what to think about… well, everything that had just happened! But one thing was for certain, this was the first occasion where the derisive guffaws issuing from the Slytherin table actually warmed her heart.
Author's Notes: This bit with the lesson planner is not canon and obviously inspired by the movies.
-Thank you Killer, Hermione_Malfoy, Mag7ical, and Red Deathstalking for your awesome reviews!
-For those of you who have read my first SS/HG epic, Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy, or if you enjoy a good bit of naughty fanart, may I please direct your attention to two breathtaking pieces, created by BulletTimeScully. She managed to snab a feature nod over at the HGSS Digest on LJ! Please comment if you have a deviant art account!
Link1>>> http://bullettimescully.deviantart.com/art/Vain-Wisdom-Commission-145724045
Link2>>> http://bullettimescully.deviantart.com/art/Infinite-Embrace-146317501
Next up: The Hogsmeade trip has arrived and it's a day filled with both enjoyable and detestable encounters. Was Draco serious about the date? And why is Professor Snape so irritable?