Drabbles iTunica
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,671
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,671
Reviews:
3
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.
Why Say Anything Nice (When You Could Say Nothing At All)
A/N: I saw this challenge issued in a different category, I think it was Fred/Hermione, but I figured I’d apply it to Hermione/Snape as you do when you find a non-specific challenge like this in a ship you just aren’t in the mood to sail. The basic premise was to put your iTunes on shuffle and do a series of short connected drabbles to the first ten songs that came along. So I did. The chapter titles are the song titles. Hope it works for you guys.
They stood facing one another, her oak desk between them. He’d come seeking her advice on the young witch and she’d not given him the answers he’d hoped for. They’d been arguing for nearly a half hour. Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you that foolish to let history repeat itself?”
Severus narrowed his eyes right back. “She’s different, Minerva! We’ve had more time to think things through, I’m older now—”
"But she’s no older than you were then. What makes you think things will be any different than they were before?” The older woman had risen from her chair, glaring at the brunette man that stood before her. She’d sealed away a world of pain years ago and he’d come flouncing into her office, searching for advice, only to rip those wounds open with a salted dagger.
“Because she’s different, Minerva, she’s sensible, and logical.”
“All the things I wasn’t?” she huffed, and her face turned red. She reached for her spectacles and pulled them from her face, throwing them to the desk. Her lips were pursed, her eyes murderous as if she were ready to charge. “This is ridiculous,” she said, much quieter than he had expected. Minerva McGonagall sat down.
Severus stood there, staring at her. She had the courage of a Gryffindor and the tension in the room had mounted so thick it could have been cut with a knife. But there she sat, withdrawn, towel tossed, as if they hadn’t almost come to blows over something that had happened some thirty odd years ago. “Why’d you take your glasses off if you don’t intend to fight?” he snapped.
Minerva closed her eyes. “Severus…”
“Don’t Severus me,” he growled and rounded on his heal. Regardless of her intentions, she’d made herself clear in his eyes. Without so much as a goodbye, snide remark or otherwise, Severus stormed out of her office, slamming the door.
Minerva picked up her spectacles and slid them back onto her face. “I would have fought once…” she said aloud, the ears for which that comment was intended were far down the corridor, and thirty some years too late.
They stood facing one another, her oak desk between them. He’d come seeking her advice on the young witch and she’d not given him the answers he’d hoped for. They’d been arguing for nearly a half hour. Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you that foolish to let history repeat itself?”
Severus narrowed his eyes right back. “She’s different, Minerva! We’ve had more time to think things through, I’m older now—”
"But she’s no older than you were then. What makes you think things will be any different than they were before?” The older woman had risen from her chair, glaring at the brunette man that stood before her. She’d sealed away a world of pain years ago and he’d come flouncing into her office, searching for advice, only to rip those wounds open with a salted dagger.
“Because she’s different, Minerva, she’s sensible, and logical.”
“All the things I wasn’t?” she huffed, and her face turned red. She reached for her spectacles and pulled them from her face, throwing them to the desk. Her lips were pursed, her eyes murderous as if she were ready to charge. “This is ridiculous,” she said, much quieter than he had expected. Minerva McGonagall sat down.
Severus stood there, staring at her. She had the courage of a Gryffindor and the tension in the room had mounted so thick it could have been cut with a knife. But there she sat, withdrawn, towel tossed, as if they hadn’t almost come to blows over something that had happened some thirty odd years ago. “Why’d you take your glasses off if you don’t intend to fight?” he snapped.
Minerva closed her eyes. “Severus…”
“Don’t Severus me,” he growled and rounded on his heal. Regardless of her intentions, she’d made herself clear in his eyes. Without so much as a goodbye, snide remark or otherwise, Severus stormed out of her office, slamming the door.
Minerva picked up her spectacles and slid them back onto her face. “I would have fought once…” she said aloud, the ears for which that comment was intended were far down the corridor, and thirty some years too late.