Silence is the Price
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,589
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,589
Reviews:
11
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.
Henry's Suspicions
----- Harry Potter and his wonderful world belong solely to J.K. Rowling, who has my apologies for mangling her brilliance like this.
Yay! I didn\'t expect anyone to even look at my story, and now I have four reviews, 75 percent of which are positive. It isn\'t even my birthday! So here\'s the next bit...
P.S.- Daisy Mae - you\'re right about the library. I was working off the assumption (and therefore Snape was too) that no one would walk in becase it was closed for the day, but you\'re still right, thanks for the feedback.
**************************************************************************************
Amy didn’t join them for lunch in the Great Hall. She did reappear, looking much more composed, at the start of Charms. She acted perfectly natural all through Charms and then Arithmancy, meeting his gaze squarely and carrying on conversation calmly, although any questions about her actions that morning were ignored as if they’d not been spoken. After dinner Henry followed Amy into the library. He automatically headed for their customary place on the couch before the fire, but Amy went instead to a table at the other end of the library and sat with her back to the fire. He took a seat next to her and they pulled out their Arithmancy books.
“So are you going to talk to me?” Henry sharpened a fresh quill.
“Of course. What would you like to talk about?” Amy opened her book and began the first problem.
“What happened this morning?” he checked the page number in her book and opened his to the same page.
Silence, save for the industrious scratching of quills.
“Amy?”
“Yes Henry?” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly.
“Amy!” He was frustrated now.
“Henry!” She matched his tone, no longer smiling. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t know what you’re thinking, so either say it or shut up!” Why didn’t he say something? He obviously suspected something, but she couldn’t tell him, the risk was too great. But if he already knew…
“Fine.” He said, his mouth set in a thin line, “nothing happened. Only hadn’t you better get going?” You’ve got detention in twenty minutes.” He watched her face as he spoke. Her expression remained the same, as if set in stone, but the color drained slowly away, leaving her face starkly pale. Her eyes darted to his watch, then she nodded as if preparing to face a firing squad.
“Will you take my bag back to the common room for me?”
“Fine.”
She swayed slightly as she stood up. He watched her leave before turning back to his Arithmancy. In less than a minute he’d come to a decision. He shut his book with a huff and dropped it in his bag.
“This is ridiculous.”
He grabbed his bag and hers and made his way out of the library, pausing for a few quick words with two students at a table-full of Gryffindors, and emerging just in time to see Amy disappear down the stone steps to Snape’s dungeon. He followed at a distance, saw her step through the door.
“Professor?”
“Close the door, Ms Price.”
********************************************************************************************
She closed the door, her stomach roiling, and turned to face Snape. He motioned to a chair placed near his own. She took a seat, facing into the side of his desk. This close she could smell his heat, the faint scent of books, old potion, and under those his own animal smell. It was one seared indelibly into her brain. She clamped down firmly on her nerves and rising anxiety, forced herself to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. Not cold as she’d expected, but hot, flickering… Oh God. A slow smile crawled across his face.
“You have a very strong swing, Ms Price.” She looked up, alarmed. The fireplace poker flashed through her mind, his limping gait today. He held her gaze steadily in his own unreadable eyes as he placed a slime-covered tome in front of her.
“Your potion, which, I might add, was incorrectly prepared, has all but destroyed one of my oldest and most valuable books.” He handed her another book, this one clean and new-looking, never taking his eyes from hers. “You will copy the potions from this,” he indicated the slimy book, “into this.” He opened the new book to the first page. “I expect neat penmanship and thorough work. When you are finished I will check over your work to ensure there are no mistakes.” His eyes narrowed salaciously. “And you will regret it if I find any.” He turned to the pile of moonstone essays next to him, paused, looked back at her.
“You will not need magic for this task, Ms Price. Give me your wand.” She blanched, laid her hand on her thigh under the desk, fingering the reassuring shape of her wand where she’d spellotaped it to her leg.
“I – ” she cleared her throat. “I didn’t bring my wand. I don’t have it.”
His eyes narrowed at her, he smiled and her blood ran cold.
“Yes you do, Amy. Give it to me.”
Her face crumpled slightly, twisted in misery. She pulled the spellotape away, placed the wand, trembling, into his outstretched hand. He moved at the last second, purposely brushing his fingers against hers. Her skin crackled electrically where he touched her and Amy had to resist the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt. Instead she picked up her quill, resolutely turned her eyes away from him, and began.
Yay! I didn\'t expect anyone to even look at my story, and now I have four reviews, 75 percent of which are positive. It isn\'t even my birthday! So here\'s the next bit...
P.S.- Daisy Mae - you\'re right about the library. I was working off the assumption (and therefore Snape was too) that no one would walk in becase it was closed for the day, but you\'re still right, thanks for the feedback.
**************************************************************************************
Amy didn’t join them for lunch in the Great Hall. She did reappear, looking much more composed, at the start of Charms. She acted perfectly natural all through Charms and then Arithmancy, meeting his gaze squarely and carrying on conversation calmly, although any questions about her actions that morning were ignored as if they’d not been spoken. After dinner Henry followed Amy into the library. He automatically headed for their customary place on the couch before the fire, but Amy went instead to a table at the other end of the library and sat with her back to the fire. He took a seat next to her and they pulled out their Arithmancy books.
“So are you going to talk to me?” Henry sharpened a fresh quill.
“Of course. What would you like to talk about?” Amy opened her book and began the first problem.
“What happened this morning?” he checked the page number in her book and opened his to the same page.
Silence, save for the industrious scratching of quills.
“Amy?”
“Yes Henry?” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly.
“Amy!” He was frustrated now.
“Henry!” She matched his tone, no longer smiling. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t know what you’re thinking, so either say it or shut up!” Why didn’t he say something? He obviously suspected something, but she couldn’t tell him, the risk was too great. But if he already knew…
“Fine.” He said, his mouth set in a thin line, “nothing happened. Only hadn’t you better get going?” You’ve got detention in twenty minutes.” He watched her face as he spoke. Her expression remained the same, as if set in stone, but the color drained slowly away, leaving her face starkly pale. Her eyes darted to his watch, then she nodded as if preparing to face a firing squad.
“Will you take my bag back to the common room for me?”
“Fine.”
She swayed slightly as she stood up. He watched her leave before turning back to his Arithmancy. In less than a minute he’d come to a decision. He shut his book with a huff and dropped it in his bag.
“This is ridiculous.”
He grabbed his bag and hers and made his way out of the library, pausing for a few quick words with two students at a table-full of Gryffindors, and emerging just in time to see Amy disappear down the stone steps to Snape’s dungeon. He followed at a distance, saw her step through the door.
“Professor?”
“Close the door, Ms Price.”
********************************************************************************************
She closed the door, her stomach roiling, and turned to face Snape. He motioned to a chair placed near his own. She took a seat, facing into the side of his desk. This close she could smell his heat, the faint scent of books, old potion, and under those his own animal smell. It was one seared indelibly into her brain. She clamped down firmly on her nerves and rising anxiety, forced herself to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. Not cold as she’d expected, but hot, flickering… Oh God. A slow smile crawled across his face.
“You have a very strong swing, Ms Price.” She looked up, alarmed. The fireplace poker flashed through her mind, his limping gait today. He held her gaze steadily in his own unreadable eyes as he placed a slime-covered tome in front of her.
“Your potion, which, I might add, was incorrectly prepared, has all but destroyed one of my oldest and most valuable books.” He handed her another book, this one clean and new-looking, never taking his eyes from hers. “You will copy the potions from this,” he indicated the slimy book, “into this.” He opened the new book to the first page. “I expect neat penmanship and thorough work. When you are finished I will check over your work to ensure there are no mistakes.” His eyes narrowed salaciously. “And you will regret it if I find any.” He turned to the pile of moonstone essays next to him, paused, looked back at her.
“You will not need magic for this task, Ms Price. Give me your wand.” She blanched, laid her hand on her thigh under the desk, fingering the reassuring shape of her wand where she’d spellotaped it to her leg.
“I – ” she cleared her throat. “I didn’t bring my wand. I don’t have it.”
His eyes narrowed at her, he smiled and her blood ran cold.
“Yes you do, Amy. Give it to me.”
Her face crumpled slightly, twisted in misery. She pulled the spellotape away, placed the wand, trembling, into his outstretched hand. He moved at the last second, purposely brushing his fingers against hers. Her skin crackled electrically where he touched her and Amy had to resist the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt. Instead she picked up her quill, resolutely turned her eyes away from him, and began.