Bound to Happen Again
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Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
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Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
8,877
Reviews:
44
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing these stories.
What Had He Done?
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JKR. I do not profit from writing this story.
Author's Notes: Chapter beta'ed by the brilliant Southernwitch_69.
Hermione knew she shouldn’t have fled, but she couldn’t bear to listen to any more of Professor Snape and Draco’s conversation. The repulsion behind the wizard’s words… She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such pain, such hurt.
"He’s disappointed that I’m a Muggle-born…"
“SURPRISE!”
For the first time since—well, the first time—Hermione had finally reacted in accordance to the screams that greeted her. The common room and its inhabitants were gaudily decorated, as if the Gryffindor Tower itself had been dipped in confectionary.
Mouth hanging open, Hermione allowed Harry to christen her head with a paper crown as he kissed her upon the cheek.
“Happy Birthday!”
Struggling to abandon her previous thoughts, Hermione gracelessly gaped at the scene before her.
“What’s wrong? You look as if you’d forgotten?”
“I-I did!”
Well, not exactly. After fleeing the dungeons, Hermione had ran the entire trek to the seventh floor, determined to hold back her tears until she’d reached the privacy of her four-poster.
All day, she’d possessed an inkling that her classmates would have thrown a party. But due to events which had occurred not ten minutes ago, Hermione’d found herself painfully distracted. Considering the conversation she had just overheard…
“No need to be embarrassed,” Harry laughed, tightening his arm around her shoulder.
“It’s great… though. Thanks for this.”
Harry held her against his side as he moved the two of them across the common room. His smile grew tense as he patiently waited for her friends and schoolmates to complete their well wishes.
“Um, Hermione…” he began when it seemed they’d be alone for a spell.
She immediately recognized his tentative tone. “It’s not a big deal.”
Harry sighed, dropping his arm and chin simultaneously. “Ginny regrets it.”
“I knew she would eat those words the moment they came out of her mouth.”
“How are your parents doing, by the way? It’s been awhile since you mentioned them. Still living with your grandparents?”
Hermione’s face broke out in that nervous smile she habitually displayed whenever emotional conversations became too intense. “They’re struggling to build their business from the ground up, but essentially they’re all… right, I assume. My mum is never one to complain, so…” Hermione finished that thought with a shrug of her shoulders. Suddenly growing serious, she returned the conversation back to Ginny. “You know I didn’t yell at her, right? She’s…?”
“In her room… er… crying.”
“Hmm.”
Hermione meant to pull away inconspicuously by accepting the side-ways hug of a lower classman.
Nevertheless, Harry knowingly tensed. “What?”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t need to! Ginny’s behavior—especially her words—were uncalled for and disrespectful. Why would you even think of defending her… again?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. When Harry didn’t catch on to her implied warning, Hermione poked him in the chest with her index finger, silently instructing him to move back a step or two.
“Excuse me,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, “you must be mistaking me for your compliant girlfriend. If you desire to scream at someone who’ll stand around and take it, I suggest for you to find her.”
Harry inhaled sharply. “Hermione!”
“We’ve been over this before. Ginny and I have also—ugh! I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved anymore. Forget it.”
The finality in Hermione’s voice was clear to all, even though she wasn’t aware of the number of students eavesdropping on their conversation.
Emotions prepared, her anger silently flared when Harry carelessly snatched her about the forearm.
Hermione yanked herself away from him with equal force and violence. And yet, Harry dared to look at her with astonishment.
“WHAT THE H—?”
Hermione cut him off. “I don’t care how much ‘in love’ the two of you are, that crap is uncalled for, and you should know me better than that. And if I want Ginny to know my family’s troubles, I’ll tell her myself. Got it?”
“He understands,” a third voice added.
Dennis Creevy stepped in front of Hermione. Despite his age, which happened to be a solid two years younger than ‘the great Harry Potter,’ Creevy had managed to surpass many a Gryffindor in height. He towered over both Hermione and Harry, his face far from challenging, but aware of their relationship nonetheless.
Harry readjusted his glasses. Glancing once at Hermione, he turned away without comment.
Hermione sighed. “As much as I don’t want to—”
“—Don’t want to thank me?”
“Yes.”
“But, you do.”
“Of course. Um… Can we talk—privately?”
Dennis’ breath caught in chest.
“ Of-of course!”
“Where is it?” Hermione blurted without ceremony.
As silly as it may seem, Hermione had dragged Dennis out into the corridor for their conversation. The Gryffindor common room was far too loud and over-occupied for them to discuss such things anywhere else.
“… it?”
“Your camera!”
“Oh… Oh! In my room, why? Are you finally going to take my picture?”
“Of course not! But something finally occurred to me... Listen carefully, Dennis. Considering the Marriage Enhancement Act that just passed, many are going to be submitting and accepting proposals to witches and wizards they hardly even know. Your camera will be a godsend… or a curse… in such situations. I don’t know whether to warn or congratulate you, but I will ask you to please, please be careful.”
Dennis tilted his head to the side. “You sound worried.”
“Of course, I’m worried! I have yet to see one bit of caution from you regarding this!”
Dennis leaned forward, his expression suddenly intense. Placing one hand upon Hermione’s shoulder, he said, “So you went… with Malfoy, after all?”
Hermione visually deflated. “Dammit, Dennis.”
He wasn’t listening to her.
“Did you like it? Spending time with him?”
Irritated, Hermione’s face flushed as a variety of emotions warred for her attention. Dennis reminded her of a young wizard she did not want to think about because thinking of Draco only reminded her of an awful conversation she didn’t enjoy overhearing. Exasperated, Hermione said, “I don’t know. It wasn’t as awful as I’d anticipated, but Malfoy possesses his own particular charm, as I’m sure he’s well aware.”
“Indeed I am, but somehow it sounds so much more enticing coming out of your mouth.”
Fucking hell in a hand basket! Hermione almost never cursed, but she certainly thought such things from time to time.
She did NOT want to see any Slytherins at the moment. Straightening her back, Hermione turned towards him, her look cold. “The seventh floor is a very far detour from the dungeons, Malfoy.”
“So it’s ‘Malfoy’ again, Hermione?”
Draco’s cool expression turned to petulant disgust when he glanced at the stubborn presence at her back.
“I would like to speak to you privately. Shoo him away.”
“Fuck off, Death Eater!”
“Dennis!”
“What? Y-you dare to defend him over me?”
“I’m not defending anyone! But I won’t be a part of such a disgusting argument either.”
Dennis couldn’t bear to look at the smug blond one second longer. But he dreaded Hermione’s resignation even more. “So, you are sending me away.”
“UGH! What is it about this stupid law that is making the male population so barmy? I’m not doing anything of the sort! I’m asking you, politely, to leave so the two of us could talk. Please, Dennis.”
“If you need me…”
“Of course, I know I can send for you. But I doubt it would come to that.”
Once the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind Dennis, Hermione was disturbingly aware of the… quiet and silence… that she and Draco solely occupied.
“No,” was all she said, arms crossed. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, but she was adamant at keeping her vision trained to this imaginary spot above his left shoulder.
Draco started. “What do you mean—?”
“Even you have to admit, Professor, Granger is very easy on the eyes. Not beautiful, but…”
Hermione had heard these very words emit from this young wizard’s mouth not one hour ago. Dare she believe him? Or was he up to something? Even worse, Hermione was dismayed to recognize she was both flattered and insulted, baffled as to which of these reactions was worse.
“Just the idea that you’d even think of asking me makes me suspicious… but no, I won’t go with you.”
“Go where?” Draco demanded with impatience.
“The Halloween ball.”
“That’s pretty cocky of you to automatically assume I’d—”
“Good, the matter’s settled then.”
Hermione was not playing the ridiculous games girls her age referred to as “hard-to-get.” Her main goal for the new school year had been to insure her independence while suffering the least amount of social gossip as possible. But more than anything, Hermione despised leaving anything unresolved and uncompleted. It was ridiculous to group her social life with that of her studies, but it was all she knew. Even if it wasn’t said directly to her, Draco’s words were practically a confession. Hermione refused to wait for him to make his intentions known, forcing the issue now, on her terms and with little thought to tact.
Besides, she really did not want to attend the Halloween ball. Due to the law, she was forced to, of course. But they couldn’t make her take an escort. Unlike ninety percent of Hogwarts’ female population, the strange creature called Hermione Granger did not want to participate in the ghastly social practice known as dating. Draco’s sarcasm was music to her ears.
Yet, her reaction rendered him bewildered. If she had flirted back, he would have been the one acting coldly dismissive.
Hermione had already voiced the password before Draco was aware that her determined departure was exactly that and not a ruse.
Steadying her balance, Hermione’s fingertips barely touched upon the portrait of the Fat Lady when her free wrist was grabbed.
And tugged back.
She wasn’t stupid. Draco’s sudden bravery surprised Hermione half as much as the wand pressed against his jaw scared him.
Glancing once at Hermione’s wand arm, Draco whispered, “I can punish a fellow Prefect for disobedience.”
“And I can hex a fellow Order member for harassment.”
“Go… with me.”
“Why?” her response was quick.
“It sounds… fun.”
Hermione snorted, “Fun?”
Draco released her, arms raised submissively, palms up. “Ah, such a term is foreign to you as well.”
Hermione frowned.
Neither comprehended the actions that took place after that.
Cold fingertips. That was all Hermione’s senses could have a handle on as her back was forcibly pressed against the door to her own common room. The portrait slammed closed violently, as evident by the echo that followed. Cold, long-boned fingertips held her on either side of her face. One leg, which felt three times the length of her own, pressed between her knees. All these things Hermione thought of before acknowledging Draco’s eager tongue moving incessantly in her mouth.
Her eyes flew open.
When had they closed?
Hermione pushed him away, childishly wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco!”
He had kissed her brazenly with the expectation that many an opportunity would have opened up after the fact. Perhaps a shocked expression, maybe a blush accompanied by awkward silence—or if he was lucky, heated words that could be smothered with an even better snog.
But these remained the only words exchanged while Hermione wiped at her mouth once more and fled into the security of her common room.
The next couple of weeks rolled on uneventfully, managing to quickly pass by and bore her simultaneously. It reminded Hermione of her use of the Time-Turner back in third year—standing immobile in the same spot while she impassively watched everyone around her whiz by.
Entering into October, Hermione was revolted by the consensus of excitement her fellow students seemed to exude for the upcoming Halloween ball.
She didn’t understand it. Everyone was so eager to focus on such frivolous distractions while naively or intentionally ignoring the dictating forces behind them.
“Don’t be so stuck up,” Ginny said in response to this, voice weary.
The two of them had been reclining on Hogwarts’ lawn, taking advantage of the somewhat mild weather before the anticipated first snow.
“I am not stuck up!”
“Fine. Don’t be so miserable, then.”
Expelling a disgusted sound, Hermione sat up. “We all can’t be as blessed in love as you, Ginny.”
Ginny mirrored Hermione’s insulted movement.
“I’m very aware of your endless criticisms of mine and Harry’s relationship, so spare me another lecture!”
What were they doing? This was absurd… Hermione sighed in defeat. Busying herself by readjusting her scarf, Hermione said, voice subdued, “Do I really come across as a… as a…?”
“Shrew?”
“Humph!”
Ginny had been trying hard to maintain her disgruntled expression, but Hermione’s uncharacteristic petulance was too funny to ignore.
“So long as you’re not speaking, your company is just grand!”
Snape had been watching the Gryffindor with such excessive attention as of late that he’d been making himself nauseous with his own self-disgust.
What irked him to no end was that she seemed unable to catch his never-ending sta—glare.
He could recall the many instances over the last few years where their eyes would accidently meet—passing by in the corridors, in the Great Hall over breakfast, and especially in class. And in every instance, it seemed unmistakable that one of them had been looking for longer than was typically polite before he or she was caught.
Severus Snape hadn’t seen the muddy-over-confident-and-irritating-brown of her eyes in weeks.
In fact, she appeared virtually morose.
This change in Miss Granger’s demeanor didn’t catch Severus’ attention until he espied her this afternoon, gossiping with the Weasley tart on the lawn. They seemed to have a pleasant time, driving each other to fits of giggles even. Miss Granger laughed and smiled when Potter and the Weasley idiot joined them as well—although she pointedly ignored the latter.
But it wasn’t his smile.
That infuriating and sexually frustrating smirk Miss Granger seemed to continuously display was not a display at all. A knowing smirk, full of secrets and desires… The more Snape thought about it, the more he realized he had never seen that smile from afar.
Only when she was standing scant footsteps away from him and within private conversation had he noticed it.
Now, no one was receiving it.
Snape didn’t lik—understand this one bit.
Hermione tapped her foot upon the flagstone. Irritation practically bled from her pores. She would have been in an even worse mood if she hadn’t released a bit of her frustration upon two unlucky fourth years giggling themselves across her path.
“BED!”
Terrified, the two girls fled back up the staircase without protesting that curfew was still a half-hour away.
Hermione’d been patrolling the corridors for hours, and her relief was late.
Perhaps, if she had been waiting for any Prefect other than Draco, she wouldn’t be so miserable. Hermione had been very adept at avoiding the Slytherin since his revolting attack.
Tucking her chin into the collar of her robes, Hermione’s cheeks flamed as she thought about his kiss—every minute detail—again.
What was wrong with her?
Stomping her foot, she grumbled to herself while governing in her jumbled emotions. If the arrogant git wasn’t going to make an effort to be on time, then Hermione would find him and force him to complete his duties.
Hands stuffed into her robes, Hermione marched through the dungeons towards the Slytherin common room.
“No idiotic attempts at a greeting, Miss Granger?”
“Evidently not.”
Hermione took no notice of who had just spoken to her, and was equally unaware of her terse response.
“MISS GRANGER!”
Until now.
She inhaled, chest heavy with disbelief. Just as she’d been avoiding Draco, Hermione hadn’t encountered Professor Snape like this in weeks—alone and in the dark. Carefully turning around, Hermione responded politely, “Yes, sir?”
“Get. Into. My. Office.”
Hermione sighed, dread slowly pooling into her belly until she remembered something especially important.
“Honestly, Draco… a Muggle-born?”
His disgust… the disgust exaggerated in every minute syllable was what had hurt most of all. Insulted anger pulsing in her veins, Hermione quietly followed her Potions master into his office.
“CLOSE THE DOOR!” Snape didn’t trouble himself to face her as he barked this command.
So Hermione kicked it closed with her heel.
Severus spun around at the uncalled for SLAM.
“Sit. Down,” he hissed through clenched teeth, pointing at one of the student chairs in front of his desk.
She quietly complied, folding her hands in her lap.
Pulling his teaching robes tighter over his shoulders, Severus took his time walking around his desk. His boots scraped against the floor, loud and slow, until he arrived on the other side of Hermione’s chair.
Face apathetic, Professor Snape loomed over her and snapped, “Well?”
“Sir?”
“I did not call you in here for a cup of tea.”
“Then what did you call me in here for?”
Snape darted at her like a snake, forcing Hermione to flinch, briefly unraveling her cool expression. One finger pointed at her as he said, voice quiet, “That is what I called you in here for. If it’s not inappropriate—friendliness—then it’s blatant impertinence. Why does it seem so… difficult… for you to remember that I am your instructor?”
“I could ask you the very same question… sir.”
The movement was miniscule, but any crack in Professor Snape’s controlled expression was noticeable to her.
Lip curling, Professor Snape opened his mouth, most likely to verbally abuse her a bit more when a small door in the ceiling opened and an owl swooped in.
Hermione snapped to attention. She recognized that owl instantly. She prepared herself to accept the letter it carried—until the creature dropped it directly in front of Professor Snape’s seated form.
When had he moved away?
“Ah, it seems your mother is asking the Order’s permission to grant you an escorted trip home to discuss… important… family business.”
“But why would she—?”
Hermione cut herself off with a slap to her forehead. How could she forget? While Professor McGonagall was Headmistress, that meant her deputy—Professor Snape—handled the responsibility of acting head of the Order.
She tensed at his slow and mocking laugh.
“Well now, it seems I have much to consider before I decide to allow this… or not.”
“Professor!”
“You are dismissed.”
His office door flung open, doorknob banging against the adjacent wall.
Hermione probably should have been making an effort to get on Professor Snape’s good side if she wanted him to grant permission for the trip home. But she couldn’t resist the temptation to slam his door closed just as violently.
A presence in the dungeon corridor flinched, grabbing her attention.
Draco stood immobile, stunned as to what he had just witnessed. Hermione maliciously eyed the piece of fruit in his hand. He must have been raiding the kitchen this whole time.
Face red with frustration, Hermione marched right up to him, invading his personal space.
Bewildered, Draco stepped back until he met with the stone wall behind him.
Hermione snatched the fruit out of his hand and barked, “You’re late!”
And walked away.
Hermione wasn’t one to unnecessarily complain, but the next day Harry couldn’t help inquiring as to what was bothering her. Sprawled out on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione repeatedly arranged her books and parchments, huffing as if they’d offended her.
She told him of her mother’s request to Professor Snape. Yet, Hermione didn’t feel right detailing the wizard’s threatening response. Somehow, it felt… private.
Hermione frowned.
“Why don’t you just ask McGonagall?” Harry asked.
“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione corrected.
“Uh… yeah, her.”
“That’d be disrespecting Professor Snape’s authority.”
Harry snorted.
She wanted to argue, to scold Harry, but what else could she say? Why was she even defending a man who refused to pursue a woman he obviously liked due to repulsion over blood-status? Not trusting her emotions, Hermione kept her mouth closed.
A screech above signaled the arrival of an owl.
They both looked up and instantly recognized it to be one of Hogwarts'. The creature never bothered landing, instead dropping the folded parchment upon Hermione’s head, flying out as quickly as it came.
Severus stared down at his empty desk, dumbfounded at his grave mistake.
What had he done?
When he had received the letter from Miss Granger’s mother, Snape’s belly practically danced in glee.
Now the impertinent witch would feel his wrath for mocking him every chance she got!
Of course, he would have eventually granted the girl permission for a visit home. He had no desire or reason to deny the request. And even if he did, McGonagall would probably override the decision, and then how would he look?
For the briefest of moments, he reveled at the idea of lording something so important over the Gryffindor’s head. Her happiness was in his hands, and he was going to make her aware of it every chance he got over the next four days.
But after seeing her face in Potions, Snape couldn’t even hold out for one full day.
It was humiliating.
Dropping his head upon the desk, Severus groaned miserably. That wasn’t even the worst of it.
He had told the girl that he’d personally escort her.
Still not the worst…
Since they’d be visiting her Muggle parents in Muggle London, Snape knew it was essential to remind the witch:
“Do be certain you are dressed Muggle.”
He panicked at the idea of doubting his own intentions. It was vital that they did not stand out or attract attention. They needed to blend in. He would have written the same directive to any other student.
Then why did he feel so… perverse?
What have I done?
Author’s Notes: The delay was long and I humbly apologize. With morbid darkfic as my first love, this story is honestly a bit difficult and foreign to write. But I do believe I have gotten over my writing funk, so updates should be regular again. If you’re still with me, then I thank you!
-Thank you kindly for all of your wonderful reviews! Killer K, Insolence, yanafava, Red Death Stalking, anon, nmos. They have been an absolute joy to read.
Author's Notes: Chapter beta'ed by the brilliant Southernwitch_69.
Hermione knew she shouldn’t have fled, but she couldn’t bear to listen to any more of Professor Snape and Draco’s conversation. The repulsion behind the wizard’s words… She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such pain, such hurt.
"He’s disappointed that I’m a Muggle-born…"
“SURPRISE!”
For the first time since—well, the first time—Hermione had finally reacted in accordance to the screams that greeted her. The common room and its inhabitants were gaudily decorated, as if the Gryffindor Tower itself had been dipped in confectionary.
Mouth hanging open, Hermione allowed Harry to christen her head with a paper crown as he kissed her upon the cheek.
“Happy Birthday!”
Struggling to abandon her previous thoughts, Hermione gracelessly gaped at the scene before her.
“What’s wrong? You look as if you’d forgotten?”
“I-I did!”
Well, not exactly. After fleeing the dungeons, Hermione had ran the entire trek to the seventh floor, determined to hold back her tears until she’d reached the privacy of her four-poster.
All day, she’d possessed an inkling that her classmates would have thrown a party. But due to events which had occurred not ten minutes ago, Hermione’d found herself painfully distracted. Considering the conversation she had just overheard…
“No need to be embarrassed,” Harry laughed, tightening his arm around her shoulder.
“It’s great… though. Thanks for this.”
Harry held her against his side as he moved the two of them across the common room. His smile grew tense as he patiently waited for her friends and schoolmates to complete their well wishes.
“Um, Hermione…” he began when it seemed they’d be alone for a spell.
She immediately recognized his tentative tone. “It’s not a big deal.”
Harry sighed, dropping his arm and chin simultaneously. “Ginny regrets it.”
“I knew she would eat those words the moment they came out of her mouth.”
“How are your parents doing, by the way? It’s been awhile since you mentioned them. Still living with your grandparents?”
Hermione’s face broke out in that nervous smile she habitually displayed whenever emotional conversations became too intense. “They’re struggling to build their business from the ground up, but essentially they’re all… right, I assume. My mum is never one to complain, so…” Hermione finished that thought with a shrug of her shoulders. Suddenly growing serious, she returned the conversation back to Ginny. “You know I didn’t yell at her, right? She’s…?”
“In her room… er… crying.”
“Hmm.”
Hermione meant to pull away inconspicuously by accepting the side-ways hug of a lower classman.
Nevertheless, Harry knowingly tensed. “What?”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t need to! Ginny’s behavior—especially her words—were uncalled for and disrespectful. Why would you even think of defending her… again?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. When Harry didn’t catch on to her implied warning, Hermione poked him in the chest with her index finger, silently instructing him to move back a step or two.
“Excuse me,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, “you must be mistaking me for your compliant girlfriend. If you desire to scream at someone who’ll stand around and take it, I suggest for you to find her.”
Harry inhaled sharply. “Hermione!”
“We’ve been over this before. Ginny and I have also—ugh! I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved anymore. Forget it.”
The finality in Hermione’s voice was clear to all, even though she wasn’t aware of the number of students eavesdropping on their conversation.
Emotions prepared, her anger silently flared when Harry carelessly snatched her about the forearm.
Hermione yanked herself away from him with equal force and violence. And yet, Harry dared to look at her with astonishment.
“WHAT THE H—?”
Hermione cut him off. “I don’t care how much ‘in love’ the two of you are, that crap is uncalled for, and you should know me better than that. And if I want Ginny to know my family’s troubles, I’ll tell her myself. Got it?”
“He understands,” a third voice added.
Dennis Creevy stepped in front of Hermione. Despite his age, which happened to be a solid two years younger than ‘the great Harry Potter,’ Creevy had managed to surpass many a Gryffindor in height. He towered over both Hermione and Harry, his face far from challenging, but aware of their relationship nonetheless.
Harry readjusted his glasses. Glancing once at Hermione, he turned away without comment.
Hermione sighed. “As much as I don’t want to—”
“—Don’t want to thank me?”
“Yes.”
“But, you do.”
“Of course. Um… Can we talk—privately?”
Dennis’ breath caught in chest.
“ Of-of course!”
“Where is it?” Hermione blurted without ceremony.
As silly as it may seem, Hermione had dragged Dennis out into the corridor for their conversation. The Gryffindor common room was far too loud and over-occupied for them to discuss such things anywhere else.
“… it?”
“Your camera!”
“Oh… Oh! In my room, why? Are you finally going to take my picture?”
“Of course not! But something finally occurred to me... Listen carefully, Dennis. Considering the Marriage Enhancement Act that just passed, many are going to be submitting and accepting proposals to witches and wizards they hardly even know. Your camera will be a godsend… or a curse… in such situations. I don’t know whether to warn or congratulate you, but I will ask you to please, please be careful.”
Dennis tilted his head to the side. “You sound worried.”
“Of course, I’m worried! I have yet to see one bit of caution from you regarding this!”
Dennis leaned forward, his expression suddenly intense. Placing one hand upon Hermione’s shoulder, he said, “So you went… with Malfoy, after all?”
Hermione visually deflated. “Dammit, Dennis.”
He wasn’t listening to her.
“Did you like it? Spending time with him?”
Irritated, Hermione’s face flushed as a variety of emotions warred for her attention. Dennis reminded her of a young wizard she did not want to think about because thinking of Draco only reminded her of an awful conversation she didn’t enjoy overhearing. Exasperated, Hermione said, “I don’t know. It wasn’t as awful as I’d anticipated, but Malfoy possesses his own particular charm, as I’m sure he’s well aware.”
“Indeed I am, but somehow it sounds so much more enticing coming out of your mouth.”
Fucking hell in a hand basket! Hermione almost never cursed, but she certainly thought such things from time to time.
She did NOT want to see any Slytherins at the moment. Straightening her back, Hermione turned towards him, her look cold. “The seventh floor is a very far detour from the dungeons, Malfoy.”
“So it’s ‘Malfoy’ again, Hermione?”
Draco’s cool expression turned to petulant disgust when he glanced at the stubborn presence at her back.
“I would like to speak to you privately. Shoo him away.”
“Fuck off, Death Eater!”
“Dennis!”
“What? Y-you dare to defend him over me?”
“I’m not defending anyone! But I won’t be a part of such a disgusting argument either.”
Dennis couldn’t bear to look at the smug blond one second longer. But he dreaded Hermione’s resignation even more. “So, you are sending me away.”
“UGH! What is it about this stupid law that is making the male population so barmy? I’m not doing anything of the sort! I’m asking you, politely, to leave so the two of us could talk. Please, Dennis.”
“If you need me…”
“Of course, I know I can send for you. But I doubt it would come to that.”
Once the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind Dennis, Hermione was disturbingly aware of the… quiet and silence… that she and Draco solely occupied.
“No,” was all she said, arms crossed. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, but she was adamant at keeping her vision trained to this imaginary spot above his left shoulder.
Draco started. “What do you mean—?”
“Even you have to admit, Professor, Granger is very easy on the eyes. Not beautiful, but…”
Hermione had heard these very words emit from this young wizard’s mouth not one hour ago. Dare she believe him? Or was he up to something? Even worse, Hermione was dismayed to recognize she was both flattered and insulted, baffled as to which of these reactions was worse.
“Just the idea that you’d even think of asking me makes me suspicious… but no, I won’t go with you.”
“Go where?” Draco demanded with impatience.
“The Halloween ball.”
“That’s pretty cocky of you to automatically assume I’d—”
“Good, the matter’s settled then.”
Hermione was not playing the ridiculous games girls her age referred to as “hard-to-get.” Her main goal for the new school year had been to insure her independence while suffering the least amount of social gossip as possible. But more than anything, Hermione despised leaving anything unresolved and uncompleted. It was ridiculous to group her social life with that of her studies, but it was all she knew. Even if it wasn’t said directly to her, Draco’s words were practically a confession. Hermione refused to wait for him to make his intentions known, forcing the issue now, on her terms and with little thought to tact.
Besides, she really did not want to attend the Halloween ball. Due to the law, she was forced to, of course. But they couldn’t make her take an escort. Unlike ninety percent of Hogwarts’ female population, the strange creature called Hermione Granger did not want to participate in the ghastly social practice known as dating. Draco’s sarcasm was music to her ears.
Yet, her reaction rendered him bewildered. If she had flirted back, he would have been the one acting coldly dismissive.
Hermione had already voiced the password before Draco was aware that her determined departure was exactly that and not a ruse.
Steadying her balance, Hermione’s fingertips barely touched upon the portrait of the Fat Lady when her free wrist was grabbed.
And tugged back.
She wasn’t stupid. Draco’s sudden bravery surprised Hermione half as much as the wand pressed against his jaw scared him.
Glancing once at Hermione’s wand arm, Draco whispered, “I can punish a fellow Prefect for disobedience.”
“And I can hex a fellow Order member for harassment.”
“Go… with me.”
“Why?” her response was quick.
“It sounds… fun.”
Hermione snorted, “Fun?”
Draco released her, arms raised submissively, palms up. “Ah, such a term is foreign to you as well.”
Hermione frowned.
Neither comprehended the actions that took place after that.
Cold fingertips. That was all Hermione’s senses could have a handle on as her back was forcibly pressed against the door to her own common room. The portrait slammed closed violently, as evident by the echo that followed. Cold, long-boned fingertips held her on either side of her face. One leg, which felt three times the length of her own, pressed between her knees. All these things Hermione thought of before acknowledging Draco’s eager tongue moving incessantly in her mouth.
Her eyes flew open.
When had they closed?
Hermione pushed him away, childishly wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco!”
He had kissed her brazenly with the expectation that many an opportunity would have opened up after the fact. Perhaps a shocked expression, maybe a blush accompanied by awkward silence—or if he was lucky, heated words that could be smothered with an even better snog.
But these remained the only words exchanged while Hermione wiped at her mouth once more and fled into the security of her common room.
The next couple of weeks rolled on uneventfully, managing to quickly pass by and bore her simultaneously. It reminded Hermione of her use of the Time-Turner back in third year—standing immobile in the same spot while she impassively watched everyone around her whiz by.
Entering into October, Hermione was revolted by the consensus of excitement her fellow students seemed to exude for the upcoming Halloween ball.
She didn’t understand it. Everyone was so eager to focus on such frivolous distractions while naively or intentionally ignoring the dictating forces behind them.
“Don’t be so stuck up,” Ginny said in response to this, voice weary.
The two of them had been reclining on Hogwarts’ lawn, taking advantage of the somewhat mild weather before the anticipated first snow.
“I am not stuck up!”
“Fine. Don’t be so miserable, then.”
Expelling a disgusted sound, Hermione sat up. “We all can’t be as blessed in love as you, Ginny.”
Ginny mirrored Hermione’s insulted movement.
“I’m very aware of your endless criticisms of mine and Harry’s relationship, so spare me another lecture!”
What were they doing? This was absurd… Hermione sighed in defeat. Busying herself by readjusting her scarf, Hermione said, voice subdued, “Do I really come across as a… as a…?”
“Shrew?”
“Humph!”
Ginny had been trying hard to maintain her disgruntled expression, but Hermione’s uncharacteristic petulance was too funny to ignore.
“So long as you’re not speaking, your company is just grand!”
Snape had been watching the Gryffindor with such excessive attention as of late that he’d been making himself nauseous with his own self-disgust.
What irked him to no end was that she seemed unable to catch his never-ending sta—glare.
He could recall the many instances over the last few years where their eyes would accidently meet—passing by in the corridors, in the Great Hall over breakfast, and especially in class. And in every instance, it seemed unmistakable that one of them had been looking for longer than was typically polite before he or she was caught.
Severus Snape hadn’t seen the muddy-over-confident-and-irritating-brown of her eyes in weeks.
In fact, she appeared virtually morose.
This change in Miss Granger’s demeanor didn’t catch Severus’ attention until he espied her this afternoon, gossiping with the Weasley tart on the lawn. They seemed to have a pleasant time, driving each other to fits of giggles even. Miss Granger laughed and smiled when Potter and the Weasley idiot joined them as well—although she pointedly ignored the latter.
But it wasn’t his smile.
That infuriating and sexually frustrating smirk Miss Granger seemed to continuously display was not a display at all. A knowing smirk, full of secrets and desires… The more Snape thought about it, the more he realized he had never seen that smile from afar.
Only when she was standing scant footsteps away from him and within private conversation had he noticed it.
Now, no one was receiving it.
Snape didn’t lik—understand this one bit.
Hermione tapped her foot upon the flagstone. Irritation practically bled from her pores. She would have been in an even worse mood if she hadn’t released a bit of her frustration upon two unlucky fourth years giggling themselves across her path.
“BED!”
Terrified, the two girls fled back up the staircase without protesting that curfew was still a half-hour away.
Hermione’d been patrolling the corridors for hours, and her relief was late.
Perhaps, if she had been waiting for any Prefect other than Draco, she wouldn’t be so miserable. Hermione had been very adept at avoiding the Slytherin since his revolting attack.
Tucking her chin into the collar of her robes, Hermione’s cheeks flamed as she thought about his kiss—every minute detail—again.
What was wrong with her?
Stomping her foot, she grumbled to herself while governing in her jumbled emotions. If the arrogant git wasn’t going to make an effort to be on time, then Hermione would find him and force him to complete his duties.
Hands stuffed into her robes, Hermione marched through the dungeons towards the Slytherin common room.
“No idiotic attempts at a greeting, Miss Granger?”
“Evidently not.”
Hermione took no notice of who had just spoken to her, and was equally unaware of her terse response.
“MISS GRANGER!”
Until now.
She inhaled, chest heavy with disbelief. Just as she’d been avoiding Draco, Hermione hadn’t encountered Professor Snape like this in weeks—alone and in the dark. Carefully turning around, Hermione responded politely, “Yes, sir?”
“Get. Into. My. Office.”
Hermione sighed, dread slowly pooling into her belly until she remembered something especially important.
“Honestly, Draco… a Muggle-born?”
His disgust… the disgust exaggerated in every minute syllable was what had hurt most of all. Insulted anger pulsing in her veins, Hermione quietly followed her Potions master into his office.
“CLOSE THE DOOR!” Snape didn’t trouble himself to face her as he barked this command.
So Hermione kicked it closed with her heel.
Severus spun around at the uncalled for SLAM.
“Sit. Down,” he hissed through clenched teeth, pointing at one of the student chairs in front of his desk.
She quietly complied, folding her hands in her lap.
Pulling his teaching robes tighter over his shoulders, Severus took his time walking around his desk. His boots scraped against the floor, loud and slow, until he arrived on the other side of Hermione’s chair.
Face apathetic, Professor Snape loomed over her and snapped, “Well?”
“Sir?”
“I did not call you in here for a cup of tea.”
“Then what did you call me in here for?”
Snape darted at her like a snake, forcing Hermione to flinch, briefly unraveling her cool expression. One finger pointed at her as he said, voice quiet, “That is what I called you in here for. If it’s not inappropriate—friendliness—then it’s blatant impertinence. Why does it seem so… difficult… for you to remember that I am your instructor?”
“I could ask you the very same question… sir.”
The movement was miniscule, but any crack in Professor Snape’s controlled expression was noticeable to her.
Lip curling, Professor Snape opened his mouth, most likely to verbally abuse her a bit more when a small door in the ceiling opened and an owl swooped in.
Hermione snapped to attention. She recognized that owl instantly. She prepared herself to accept the letter it carried—until the creature dropped it directly in front of Professor Snape’s seated form.
When had he moved away?
“Ah, it seems your mother is asking the Order’s permission to grant you an escorted trip home to discuss… important… family business.”
“But why would she—?”
Hermione cut herself off with a slap to her forehead. How could she forget? While Professor McGonagall was Headmistress, that meant her deputy—Professor Snape—handled the responsibility of acting head of the Order.
She tensed at his slow and mocking laugh.
“Well now, it seems I have much to consider before I decide to allow this… or not.”
“Professor!”
“You are dismissed.”
His office door flung open, doorknob banging against the adjacent wall.
Hermione probably should have been making an effort to get on Professor Snape’s good side if she wanted him to grant permission for the trip home. But she couldn’t resist the temptation to slam his door closed just as violently.
A presence in the dungeon corridor flinched, grabbing her attention.
Draco stood immobile, stunned as to what he had just witnessed. Hermione maliciously eyed the piece of fruit in his hand. He must have been raiding the kitchen this whole time.
Face red with frustration, Hermione marched right up to him, invading his personal space.
Bewildered, Draco stepped back until he met with the stone wall behind him.
Hermione snatched the fruit out of his hand and barked, “You’re late!”
And walked away.
Hermione wasn’t one to unnecessarily complain, but the next day Harry couldn’t help inquiring as to what was bothering her. Sprawled out on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione repeatedly arranged her books and parchments, huffing as if they’d offended her.
She told him of her mother’s request to Professor Snape. Yet, Hermione didn’t feel right detailing the wizard’s threatening response. Somehow, it felt… private.
Hermione frowned.
“Why don’t you just ask McGonagall?” Harry asked.
“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione corrected.
“Uh… yeah, her.”
“That’d be disrespecting Professor Snape’s authority.”
Harry snorted.
She wanted to argue, to scold Harry, but what else could she say? Why was she even defending a man who refused to pursue a woman he obviously liked due to repulsion over blood-status? Not trusting her emotions, Hermione kept her mouth closed.
A screech above signaled the arrival of an owl.
They both looked up and instantly recognized it to be one of Hogwarts'. The creature never bothered landing, instead dropping the folded parchment upon Hermione’s head, flying out as quickly as it came.
Severus stared down at his empty desk, dumbfounded at his grave mistake.
What had he done?
When he had received the letter from Miss Granger’s mother, Snape’s belly practically danced in glee.
Now the impertinent witch would feel his wrath for mocking him every chance she got!
Of course, he would have eventually granted the girl permission for a visit home. He had no desire or reason to deny the request. And even if he did, McGonagall would probably override the decision, and then how would he look?
For the briefest of moments, he reveled at the idea of lording something so important over the Gryffindor’s head. Her happiness was in his hands, and he was going to make her aware of it every chance he got over the next four days.
But after seeing her face in Potions, Snape couldn’t even hold out for one full day.
It was humiliating.
Dropping his head upon the desk, Severus groaned miserably. That wasn’t even the worst of it.
He had told the girl that he’d personally escort her.
Still not the worst…
Since they’d be visiting her Muggle parents in Muggle London, Snape knew it was essential to remind the witch:
“Do be certain you are dressed Muggle.”
He panicked at the idea of doubting his own intentions. It was vital that they did not stand out or attract attention. They needed to blend in. He would have written the same directive to any other student.
Then why did he feel so… perverse?
What have I done?
Author’s Notes: The delay was long and I humbly apologize. With morbid darkfic as my first love, this story is honestly a bit difficult and foreign to write. But I do believe I have gotten over my writing funk, so updates should be regular again. If you’re still with me, then I thank you!
-Thank you kindly for all of your wonderful reviews! Killer K, Insolence, yanafava, Red Death Stalking, anon, nmos. They have been an absolute joy to read.