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Twenty-Four Little Hours	By : andihooper Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 10749 -:- Recommendations : 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.

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Cer Ter Three
3pm-5pm - what the hell was that?

3pm-4pm - Hermione was lying on the bed, gazing into space. There was nothing else to do.
He seemed to have dozed off. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes had been closed for the last twenty minutes or so. At least the cut on his head had eventually stopped bleeding.
She shivered. It was so cold. She had pulled the blanket over her, but there were so many holes in it, it provided very little in the way of warmth - and the fel felt damp. She was sure she'd seen silverfish scuttling into the edging of the mattress as she'd pulled the blanket away to lie down.
She looked up at the window.
He'd looked away quickly as her eyes had opened, embarrassed to have been caught watching her.
Now she was pacing the room. He looked up to see her with her arms across her body, bending over as if in pain, her face very red.
"Miss Granger, are you unwell?" he asked, alarmed.
"No. No," she replied, airily. "I just...I just...oh! I need to pee!"
Needed to..? Oh, yes, of course. Hmmm. This could be a problem...
His eyes ran around the room and came to rest on a pot standing in the corner. He pointed it out to her.
"Yes, I know it's there...but...but so are you. I would like some privacy."
He stared at her.
"Miss Granger, we are locked up in a twelve-by-twelve cell, where do you expect me to go?"
"I know, but..."
"Or perhaps you are imagining the guard to be a reasonable sort who will allow me to step outside for a moment while the lady relieves herself?"
aw haw her eyes begin to glisten and for once in his life he scolded himself for being mean.
"I shall close my eyes."
"That's not good enough. You have to turn your back as well."
"I can assure you I will not spy on you, Miss Granger."
"I don't care. Turn your back."
With a sigh, he did as requested.
"And put your hands over your ears..."
With another sigh he did this also.
"Can you still hear me?"
"No."
"Ohhhhh! Sing..."
"I beg your pardon?" He turned an incredulous face to her.
"Sing. Then I'll know you can't hear me."
"Miss Granger, I have never sung in my life!"
"Well...hum then, but...oh, pleeeese..."
She looked desperate. With a feeling of dread, he turned his back on her once again, closed his eyes, covered his ears and dredged up a tune from way back in his youth.
A little while later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to face her.
"What the hell was that?"
"Miss Granger, please remember I am your teacher and address me accordingly..."
She laughed.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I will but...what the hell was that?"
"Just a song I remember from my younger days."
"Called?"
"Does it matter?" He wasn't going to tell her - it was just a song he'd snatched from his memory, that was all. He didn't know why that particular one should have come up, but it had. It had been a random thing.
Completely random.
"I don't remember."
"Oh, OK. Who's it by, then?"
"Miss Granger..." he said, wearily.
"Come on...who's it by?"
He sighed.
"A band called The Buzzcocks."
"Oh. Very...nice!" she grinned, then frowned. "I think I've heard of them..."
"Really?" he said, flatly.
"They were a punk band, weren't they? A muggle band?"
"Yes." He saw her eyebrows rise in surprise. "We all do strange things in adolescence, Miss Granger. You're not the first generation to go through it."
She giggled as she sat down beside him, her back to the wall.
In spite of himself, he smiled inwardly. He found he liked the sound of her laugh. If he had to describe it, he would say 'bubbles' - but not lightweight bubbles; more the kind you would expect in a very expensive vintage champagne.
"So," she said, giving him a sly look. "what was the song called?"
He felt his insides jolt. Was she...teasing him?
"I told you, I don't remember."
"Yes you do..."
Her voice was light and playful - sing-songy even.
This should not progress.
"Miss Granger, you are overstepping the mark of familiarity..."
"I know...
"...but we could both be dead tomorrow. I just wanted to lighten the mood."
There was a heavy silence thasteasted for a long time. They both stared up at the window. It was getting dark.
"What do you suppose is happening out there?" she whispered.
"I dread to think," he replied heavily.
Another silence.
He shivered with cold and then realised with great embarrassment that he was wrapped in a cloak while she was dressed in next to nothing.
Quickly he unfastened the clasp on the cloak and took it off, placing it around her shoulders, and pulling it closed around her.
He knew he didn't need to fasten the cloak for her, but...he found he wanted to.
He was aware of her looking at his face as he adjusted the collar, making sure it stood up around her neck.
He finished and looked back at her.
"Thank you." she said into his eyes.
An unfamiliar feeling warmed him; as though for a moment her bubbly laugh had somehow got inside him.
What the hell was that?

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Twenty-Four Little Hours