As Soon As I Belong
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
7,535
Reviews:
23
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
7,535
Reviews:
23
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
As Soon As I Belong
A/N: This story was originally written for the sshg_exchange Summer 2007 round in response to a prompt by Clare_009. The prompt will follow the last chapter. Many heartfelt thanks and much chocolate to my betas Melusin_79 (who also Brit-picked) and Sahiya. Any remaining errors are all mine. Thanks also to Shalimar1981 for the early-on brainstorming.
And many, many thanks to all who have reviewed!
Disclaimer: Not mine and not making any money.
The Victory Party
She absolutely hated these things. As if it had not been bad enough to hold a massive celebration before the bodies of those they had lost were cold. Now, they had turned it into an annual event. Yes, of course it was a good thing Voldemort was gone. That was what they had been fighting for, after all, but did the phrase “Pyrrhic victory” mean nothing to the wizarding world? Perhaps they translated it as “let’s party”.
As one of the surviving heroes of said Pyrrhic victory, Hermione Granger was expected – no, required – to attend. Being an Unspeakable did not, unfortunately, result in being invisible to one’s more politically minded superiors. However, requiring her to attend was all McCalman could do. He could not make her dance nor act in a sociable manner. Sitting at a small table on the sidelines and getting blessedly pissed was about the only thing that made these things remotely tolerable, and she had learned to do it well. That and hexing the occasional idiot who tried to hit on her. Creative hexing while drunk was almost sufficient distraction from her reason for being here.
Almost.
And here came another one. She did not even bother to look up. Instead, she pointed her wand at the approaching torso and legs, not caring if her hand wavered.
“You really want to leave me alone,” she said.
“Miss Granger,” replied a familiar voice, “you are far too intoxicated to possibly cast the simplest spell with any accuracy.”
She looked up, then, and snorted as she lowered her wand. My, how the world had changed when he was no threat.
“True enough,” she admitted. “But you should see some of the interesting results.”
“Why are you not out there celebrating? Too good for the rest, now that you are a heroine?” he sneered.
She glared at him. Both of him. She would need to take that Sobering Draught soon.
“Why’re you here at all?” she retorted. She could not remember ever having seen him at one of these events over the past five years. Then again, she did her best not to remember the events at all.
He sat down in the other chair at her table. She glared at him again. His arrogance shouldn’t have surprised her, but it certainly annoyed her.
“Who asked you to sit here?”
“This is the most isolated location in the room, Miss Granger, as you have no doubt ascertained already,” he said. “Sharing it with an inebriated former student, however annoying, is preferable to being in any more populated a location.”
“And, maybe, if you’re already sitting with a woman, other women’ll stop harassing you?” she hazarded.
He turned a hand palm-up to acknowledge the point. She supposed that might work to her advantage as well.
“Very well, Mr. Snape,” she said after an extended silence. “Are we to make some sort of conversation, then?”
“That would seem exceedingly foolish,” he replied. “What would we talk about, Quidditch? I doubt you have any real interest in it. I know I do not. Your job? That is a conversation that would last approximately three seconds before you would have to kill or Obliviate anyone within earshot. The weather? We’re in London. It’s damp.”
“What about your job?” she asked, pulling a phial from her pocket and unstoppering it.
“What are you doing?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you,” she said peevishly.
“No, what are you putting into your drink, you silly girl?”
She narrowed her eyes at them. Him.
“Sobering Draught,” she replied, thinking he must have had rather a lot to drink himself if he couldn’t work that out.
“And you are putting it into a glass of Firewhisky.” His tone was incredulous.
“Yes. I don’t want to be sober, but it’d be much easier to talk to only one of you.”
“Merlin,” he muttered.
“I heard that.” She took a large swallow of her drink and found herself decidedly less drunk, but still not approaching sober. Perfect. “So, then, Mr. Snape, I believe I asked you a question.”
“No, you did not.”
“Well, I was going to before you interrupted.”
“Merlin.”
“You said that already,” she pointed out helpfully.
He passed his hand over his face and presumably reached the decision that it was still preferable to discuss his employment with a former student than to leave this relatively isolated corner.
“Very well, Miss Granger,” he began, “I have begun teaching a course in the Auror Training Programme.”
“You’re teaching?”
“That is what I said, yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“No. Mr. Shacklebolt has me under the Imperius Curse,” he sneered. “Of course, voluntarily.”
“I thought you hated teaching.”
“I hated teaching dunderheads.”
“We weren’t all dunderheads.”
“I hated teaching know-it-alls even more.”
“And Auror Trainees?”
“Are required to pass stringent standards to gain entry to the programme, leaving no dunderheads, and thankfully, few know-it-alls. The latter, as I understand it, are more likely to apply to the Department of Mysteries.”
It really was perverse of her to be so enthralled by his voice while he was clearly denigrating her. Then again, perhaps that was part of the allure. She made an absent comment about how thinking one knew everything was utterly incompatible with working in the Department of Mysteries, and the conversation was off, barely requiring her conscious participation and leaving her free to become lost in her own thoughts.
She had not realised until her seventh year how much she had enjoyed listening to him lecture. Of course, that was exactly the sort of thing one would not notice until it was no longer there. Then, as now, no doubt part of the enjoyment was that he did not put her on some pedestal. Other teachers might have given her praise and points, but they also made it clear that excellence was no less than they expected of her. Professor Snape had never given her any reward but for silent grades, treating her horribly but challenging her as none of the others had.
Tonight, she had chased away no less than five men who clearly wanted only the notoriety of having been with her, whether merely wishing to be seen with her or something more. That had been… interesting for the first few months after the war. It was one way to forget how much she had lost. Her parents. Harry. Ginny. So, for a while, she had let herself succumb to the charms of the fame-seeking until their vacuous eyes and shallow agendas left her feeling emptier than before. She sent them on their way, each faster than the last until she had decided it was not worth those few moments of connection to be bothered at all.
Here, however, was someone who had never, and would never, look at her as some sort of trophy. Here was someone who had as good as told her he was trying to avoid the exact same sort of attentions she was. Yes, he was a mean, nasty person, but perhaps it was more important that he held no illusions about her. Perhaps this was someone she could truly just lose herself with for a while, neither of them having any ridiculous expectations. She could do with a bit of human contact.
Clearly, she had not had enough Sobering Draught. Not only was she contemplating… what was she contemplating? A one-night stand? Some sort of no-strings-attached “arrangement”? Something else? No matter. Not only was she contemplating whatever it was she was contemplating, but she was doing so while looking directly at someone who was arguably the strongest Legilimens left standing in Britain; something she would never do while sober.
“No, Miss Granger,” he was saying, “clearly you have not had enough Sobering Draught. Kindly take the rest of it, without mixing it in yet more alcohol, or this conversation is over.”
She looked at him curiously, then pulled the phial back out, opened it, and tipped the rest into her mouth.
And many, many thanks to all who have reviewed!
Disclaimer: Not mine and not making any money.
The Victory Party
She absolutely hated these things. As if it had not been bad enough to hold a massive celebration before the bodies of those they had lost were cold. Now, they had turned it into an annual event. Yes, of course it was a good thing Voldemort was gone. That was what they had been fighting for, after all, but did the phrase “Pyrrhic victory” mean nothing to the wizarding world? Perhaps they translated it as “let’s party”.
As one of the surviving heroes of said Pyrrhic victory, Hermione Granger was expected – no, required – to attend. Being an Unspeakable did not, unfortunately, result in being invisible to one’s more politically minded superiors. However, requiring her to attend was all McCalman could do. He could not make her dance nor act in a sociable manner. Sitting at a small table on the sidelines and getting blessedly pissed was about the only thing that made these things remotely tolerable, and she had learned to do it well. That and hexing the occasional idiot who tried to hit on her. Creative hexing while drunk was almost sufficient distraction from her reason for being here.
Almost.
And here came another one. She did not even bother to look up. Instead, she pointed her wand at the approaching torso and legs, not caring if her hand wavered.
“You really want to leave me alone,” she said.
“Miss Granger,” replied a familiar voice, “you are far too intoxicated to possibly cast the simplest spell with any accuracy.”
She looked up, then, and snorted as she lowered her wand. My, how the world had changed when he was no threat.
“True enough,” she admitted. “But you should see some of the interesting results.”
“Why are you not out there celebrating? Too good for the rest, now that you are a heroine?” he sneered.
She glared at him. Both of him. She would need to take that Sobering Draught soon.
“Why’re you here at all?” she retorted. She could not remember ever having seen him at one of these events over the past five years. Then again, she did her best not to remember the events at all.
He sat down in the other chair at her table. She glared at him again. His arrogance shouldn’t have surprised her, but it certainly annoyed her.
“Who asked you to sit here?”
“This is the most isolated location in the room, Miss Granger, as you have no doubt ascertained already,” he said. “Sharing it with an inebriated former student, however annoying, is preferable to being in any more populated a location.”
“And, maybe, if you’re already sitting with a woman, other women’ll stop harassing you?” she hazarded.
He turned a hand palm-up to acknowledge the point. She supposed that might work to her advantage as well.
“Very well, Mr. Snape,” she said after an extended silence. “Are we to make some sort of conversation, then?”
“That would seem exceedingly foolish,” he replied. “What would we talk about, Quidditch? I doubt you have any real interest in it. I know I do not. Your job? That is a conversation that would last approximately three seconds before you would have to kill or Obliviate anyone within earshot. The weather? We’re in London. It’s damp.”
“What about your job?” she asked, pulling a phial from her pocket and unstoppering it.
“What are you doing?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you,” she said peevishly.
“No, what are you putting into your drink, you silly girl?”
She narrowed her eyes at them. Him.
“Sobering Draught,” she replied, thinking he must have had rather a lot to drink himself if he couldn’t work that out.
“And you are putting it into a glass of Firewhisky.” His tone was incredulous.
“Yes. I don’t want to be sober, but it’d be much easier to talk to only one of you.”
“Merlin,” he muttered.
“I heard that.” She took a large swallow of her drink and found herself decidedly less drunk, but still not approaching sober. Perfect. “So, then, Mr. Snape, I believe I asked you a question.”
“No, you did not.”
“Well, I was going to before you interrupted.”
“Merlin.”
“You said that already,” she pointed out helpfully.
He passed his hand over his face and presumably reached the decision that it was still preferable to discuss his employment with a former student than to leave this relatively isolated corner.
“Very well, Miss Granger,” he began, “I have begun teaching a course in the Auror Training Programme.”
“You’re teaching?”
“That is what I said, yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“No. Mr. Shacklebolt has me under the Imperius Curse,” he sneered. “Of course, voluntarily.”
“I thought you hated teaching.”
“I hated teaching dunderheads.”
“We weren’t all dunderheads.”
“I hated teaching know-it-alls even more.”
“And Auror Trainees?”
“Are required to pass stringent standards to gain entry to the programme, leaving no dunderheads, and thankfully, few know-it-alls. The latter, as I understand it, are more likely to apply to the Department of Mysteries.”
It really was perverse of her to be so enthralled by his voice while he was clearly denigrating her. Then again, perhaps that was part of the allure. She made an absent comment about how thinking one knew everything was utterly incompatible with working in the Department of Mysteries, and the conversation was off, barely requiring her conscious participation and leaving her free to become lost in her own thoughts.
She had not realised until her seventh year how much she had enjoyed listening to him lecture. Of course, that was exactly the sort of thing one would not notice until it was no longer there. Then, as now, no doubt part of the enjoyment was that he did not put her on some pedestal. Other teachers might have given her praise and points, but they also made it clear that excellence was no less than they expected of her. Professor Snape had never given her any reward but for silent grades, treating her horribly but challenging her as none of the others had.
Tonight, she had chased away no less than five men who clearly wanted only the notoriety of having been with her, whether merely wishing to be seen with her or something more. That had been… interesting for the first few months after the war. It was one way to forget how much she had lost. Her parents. Harry. Ginny. So, for a while, she had let herself succumb to the charms of the fame-seeking until their vacuous eyes and shallow agendas left her feeling emptier than before. She sent them on their way, each faster than the last until she had decided it was not worth those few moments of connection to be bothered at all.
Here, however, was someone who had never, and would never, look at her as some sort of trophy. Here was someone who had as good as told her he was trying to avoid the exact same sort of attentions she was. Yes, he was a mean, nasty person, but perhaps it was more important that he held no illusions about her. Perhaps this was someone she could truly just lose herself with for a while, neither of them having any ridiculous expectations. She could do with a bit of human contact.
Clearly, she had not had enough Sobering Draught. Not only was she contemplating… what was she contemplating? A one-night stand? Some sort of no-strings-attached “arrangement”? Something else? No matter. Not only was she contemplating whatever it was she was contemplating, but she was doing so while looking directly at someone who was arguably the strongest Legilimens left standing in Britain; something she would never do while sober.
“No, Miss Granger,” he was saying, “clearly you have not had enough Sobering Draught. Kindly take the rest of it, without mixing it in yet more alcohol, or this conversation is over.”
She looked at him curiously, then pulled the phial back out, opened it, and tipped the rest into her mouth.