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Sweet Surrender	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 3748 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Face-off

The timid cracking of burning logs casually pierced the otherwise silent chamber. Dancing tongues of flame just barely managed to extend their soft glow meekly towards the grand armchair facing them. Even so, no matter how strong the fire appeared to burn at times, neither the light nor the warmth seemed to be willing to graze the dark figure sitting in the chair's depths. With nonchalant elegance, a pale hand snaked out of the shadows towards a crystal tumbler on top of a side table. As the glass was slowly brought up, its contents managed to catch the firelight, causing the amber liquid within to momentarily illuminate the face above it.
Even after taking a rather deep sip of the ten-year-old firewhisky, Severus Snape felt his mouth twist into a sneer.
Morgana's tits be praised, is that what it has all come to?
It felt surreal to be back within those walls. He remembered all too well how he departed this very same place mere months ago with the clear assurance that even if he were to return to Hogwarts in the near future – one never put it past the Dark Lord to come up with an ingeniously psychotic strategy – it would have been done most probably in the guise of someone else. Never again as a Potions Master, a professor all those dunderheads hated but also feared above all others. Well, mused Severus with a dark humour, at least second after the Dark Lord himself.
And then...then that thing happened. Shock had long worn off since that decisive day, but he had worked too long and vigorously in his secondary profession to fail in remembering every last detail of what transpired. Even sitting as he was now, to all intents and purposes uncaring of what his brand new position entailed, he was very aware of the escalation of the weight he was now carrying on his shoulders.
Would it ever end?
Yes, hissed his consciousness. One way or another it will. Very soon.
Nonetheless, one matter grated torturously upon his person. Long fingers squeezed involuntarily around the old-fashioned glass as the wizard's thoughts strayed towards the Ministry of Magic. Halfwits, the lot of them. It was simply a miracle that all those dipsticks between them had managed to pull off a coup of such magnitude against his meager self. He had even felt obliged, for a short time, to allow himself a moment of doubt concerning the extent of their thought power. His momentary lapse in sanity, however, was quickly put to rest the second their next plan of action had oh-so-graciously been shared with him. Incidentally, it had also placed him in the direct line of fire.
Only a team of pea-brained officials could come up with the creative idea of assigning one Severus Snape to not only personally watch over the resident show-off but to actually live with her. A student! The fact that McGonagall had actually encouraged the notion baffled him to no end. Perhaps that old tabby cat was already losing her touch without realizing it as of yet. Severus couldn't honestly admit he felt any pity for her in that case.
He just hoped the Granger chit stayed out of his way as much as the situation allowed.
Had it not crossed anyone's mind that his only wish for so long had been to be finally left alone, pure and simple?
At that precise moment, a demanding knock sounded against the door.
Oh yes, but beggars can't be choosers, can they?
Briskly downing the rest of his drink, Severus assertively rose from his place in front of the fireplace. Sneer comfortably back in place, the ex-Death Eater had no other choice but to walk towards the doors and come face-to-face with his new...flatmate. Argh.

~*~

Hermione hazarded a doubtful look at the woman beside her.
'Do not take this the wrong way, Professor, but do you still stay firm on this...sleeping arrangement?'
The Hogwarts Headmistress merely graced her with a pointed look and, without any further delay, raised her fist. The heavy knock resonated loudly along the darkened corridor of the dungeons. The young witch involuntary gulped as the sound reverberated a path down her spine in turn.
Guess that's a "yes", then.
The two witches stood completely still, subconsciously keeping their ears open for any sound beyond the closed door. When no shuffle of footsteps could be heard after agonizing seconds of wait, Hermione was all set to think that at least someone had come to his senses. She was proved wrong, however, when the heavy door creaked open all of a sudden, revealing the profound darkness of the chamber beyond.
From within that blackness peeked the face of Professor Snape in all of its sneering glory. Black eyes coldly traveled across the length of Professor McGonagall's tartan robes before pinning Hermione in place with a clear expression of distaste twisting the corners of his mouth. Refusing to back down now, the young witch felt her back stiffen in response, just as she willfully met the dark wizard's eyes. The two of them mutely scrutinized each other for some time before Snape's eyes at long last snapped back towards the elderly witch. If it was possible, his sneer appeared to be even more profound than before.
'Headmistress,' he drawled in greeting.
The older woman nodded civilly in return.
'Severus.'
Silence briefly settled around the mismatched trio.
'Well. I had best be going,' said Professor McGonagall crisply. 'Do inform me if you think of anything else that might ease your comfort during your stay here. Professor Snape shall escort you promptly to the Great Hall for breakfast and back here after dinner. Good night, Miss Granger, Severus.'
With those words the Headmistress promptly whirled around and walked back the way she had come, leaving Hermione to stare mournfully after her retreating figure. Only when her mentor disappeared round one of the corridor's dank corners did the young witch become aware once again of the other presence in front of her. The individual in question was sharply examining her face whilst his dark, empty eyes betrayed none of his thoughts whatsoever.
Catching her stubborn gaze once more, Snape acknowledged her with another curl of his lip for good measure before aggressively throwing the door wide open.
Feeling more cautious than ever, Hermione carefully strolled into the space provided. She just managed to clear the threshold with a minimum distance before the door was unceremoniously shut behind her. Involuntarily shutting her eyes in attempt to control her thudding heart, the next moment she determinedly opened them up again. Whether she wished it or not, she found herself in a situation where most of the control appeared to have been seized from her. As things stood, she would be damned before even contemplating giving up her conscious mind as well. She very much doubted that Professor Snape had volunteered his services as a babysitter in turn. Looking at it from a neutral point of view, the best action was to deal with it with as much decorum as possible.
Satisfied with that plausible plan of action, the young witch allowed herself to examine the chamber around her.
Taking everything into account, she was pleasantly surprised.
Though sparsely furnished, the lounge contained all the essentials. The most prominent feature was the grand fireplace on the other side of the room, in which the last remnants of fire were slowly fading. A number of simple wax candles glowing along the perimeter of the chamber made it almost (dare she say it) cozy.
All further thoughts regarding the room soared out of her mind with an almost audible whoosh as her eyes fell upon the wall on her right. More specifically, upon the monumental bookcase that stretched tantalizingly across its length. Numerous shelves were filled to the brim from floor to ceiling with heaps of tomes. A thrilling shiver traveled down her spine at the mere possibility of what that particular collection might hold.
'Do not even think about it.'
Thrown out of her momentary trance, Hermione turned around in confusion.
Still standing by the closed door, Professor Snape had his black-clad arms crossed tightly across his chest as he regarded her with cool eyes.
'You are not to touch anything of mine, Miss Granger. Under any circumstances. If I find that you have specifically gone against my orders, there will be...repercussions. Am I clear enough?'
The young witch's cheeks were starting to feel rather hot as righteous indignation assailed her senses. She had just been looking at them, for Merlin's sake. If that particular verbal attack of his was any indication, the coming months of their enforced camaraderie would be no walk in the park.
In the Forbidden Forest – more like it.
Decorum, Hermione. Think about decorum.
'Miss Granger, am I clear?' he repeated.
'Crystal, sir.'
Her adequate response, however, appeared to have strayed too close to antagonism for Professor Snape's liking. For a moment, she fully expected him to gleefully seize an opportunity to deduct a sizeable amount of House points from Gryffindor. In fact, his mouth was already open, but the next minute he appeared to change his mind and snapped it shut. His visage adopted a particularly sour pinch to it, but astonishingly, no point subtraction took place.
'Follow me!' he barked instead, whirling with a billow of his cloak.
Hermione exhaled deeply, just becoming aware that she had been holding her breath in the first place. Making a quick mental notation to keep an eye out for any further uncharacteristic slip-ups that might creep up in the near future, the witch followed the professor through a narrow passageway. The floor had a distinct descent to it, and the surrounding stone walls, with their recurring lanterns, gave a certain archaic feel to the place. In any case, the corridor's meager illumination almost made her collide with the wizard's back as he came to an abrupt stop in front of a doorway.
Momentary unsettled by her sudden proximity to Professor Snape, Hermione took a reflexive step backwards. Just in case.
'This,' he said, indicating the wooden door, 'is the entry to your quarters. A bathroom is linked to your bedroom from within. You are not to use the one down this corridor under any circumstances. It is mine. Be ready at eight in the morning. Do. Not. Be. Late.'
Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and vanished around the corridor's next corner, where his own rooms were most probably located.
With a soft huff and turn of the doorknob, Hermione crossed the threshold of her quarters.
Barely registering the details of her new accommodations, the young woman was quite suddenly overcome by the sensation of peace. At last finding herself alone with no other soul in sight, she realised how absolutely exhausted she was by all that smothering care. No more random trips to the library or leisurely reposes upon the familiar squashy armchair in the Gryffindor common room. Barely two days had passed since the proclamation of her sentence, and she already felt lost. The awareness of no longer fully belonging to something seemed to solidify with every passing hour.
When would it end?

~*~

It took Ron a grand total of ten days to work out that one of his best friends no longer resided under the same "roof" as him.
Granted, no one within her House had remarked upon the fact that within the past two weeks, Hermione Granger had been spotted no more than a handful of times in the vicinity of the common room. Having no particular bond of friendship with all of her classmates, she could hardly blame the seventh-year Gryffindors for failing to raise an alarm. Harry, on the other hand, looked as though he delved deeper into his own thoughts with every passing day. Nowadays, he was spotted more often than not either staring blankly into space or with a frown prominently gracing his features. Any inquires on her part were met with instantly dumbfounded eyes and honest reassurance that all was alright in his world. Ginny gave the impression of being the only one who had an inkling that something was off, if her inquisitive glances were any indication. The younger girl, however, was either unwilling or hesitant to confront her head-on.
And Ron...well, she genuinely did not know what to think about him anymore.
The next morning after her relocation to the dungeons, she plumped herself on the bench with an uneasy heart. From the second Harry and Ron joined her in the Great Hall, she braced herself for the inevitable interrogation that was to come. Nevertheless, half an hour into breakfast and the time for their first class rapidly approaching, not one single question was raised. The rest of the day yielded the same result, as well as the day after that. On the fifth, Hermione finally became aware of the problem.
Ronald Weasley simply did not notice her presence, or absence as it were.
It was during breakfast on the fourteenth day after the start of term when everything came to a crashing halt.
The student body were busy inhaling the rare treat of morning pancakes with a wide range of syrups and jams spread bountifully around them. For his part, Ron looked like he was attempting to use them to clog up a black hole, which must have made an appearance sometime during the night, somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.

Chewing vigorously on what might have been his twenty-fifth pancake, the ginger-haired wizard mumbled: 'Mione, help me with the Charms assignment tonight. I've failed to catch you in the common room in the past two days before you've run off to your room. Seriously, if you only moved as fast on a broom, you would have made a first-class Chaser!'
Hermione, who was in the process of picking half-heartedly at her food, went rigid.
'I won't be able to help you, Ronald,' she forced out.
Her friend finally stopped chewing, throwing her an aghast look.
'Why not?'
'Because I do not live in Gryffindor Tower anymore, for Merlin's sake! And haven't for the past ten days!' she finally announced.
The long-awaited admission had Ron Weasley's lower jaw going slack, which put the half-chewed contents of his mouth on full, gory display. Before he had a chance to so much as groan, Hermione resolutely steeled her backbone and spilled the beans. Severus Snape, the dungeons and sleeping arrangements, in one neat little package. By the time she finished, the witch was visibly winded and as of yet unsure whether to feel relieved or vigilant.
It did not take long for Ron to come up with an appropriate response. That is, after he knocked back practically half the pitcher of pumpkin juice in an attempt to put an end to his choking.
'What?' he croaked loudly.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spied Harry giving a swish of his wand with a whispered Muffliato. It was nice to know that at least some of them were in possession of little grey cells.
'How could you do it?' the freckled wizard's tone held enough unfounded accusation to raise Hermione's boiling ire to the brink of her own cauldron.
'For the sake of all that's magical, Ron! I had no choice in the matter. The Headmistress made it clear that the situation was out of my hands,' she hissed back.
'Everyone has a choice! What I do not understand is why that slimy git has to look out for you in the first place! He can slither back into whatever miserable, dank hole he came from in the first place, for all I care!'
Hermione was not the only one listening incredulously to the venom coating the young man's words. For his part, Harry looked positively appalled.
Their friend, however, was not yet finished.
'Why you, 'Mione? What the hell is so special about you that You-Know-Who decided to grace you with his personal attention anyway?'
It did not matter that the rational side of her mind was telling her that Ron was too overwhelmed to think reasonably. The witch's composure had gradually been losing its solid ground over the past few days, and it finally located the outlet for its indignation.
'You know, sometimes I ponder whether it is your brain that experiences regular malfunctions or if it is your ears that become deaf to all sounds around you, with the exception of your own voice,' she whispered fiercely. 'Whatever sensibility of Voldemort's I have offended, I will not give that blasted snake leverage over Harry!'
Weasley's expeditiously reddening face clashed horribly with his mop of hair.
'And for those with flobberworm memories,' continued Hermione in a dangerously hashed manner, 'I kindly remind them to never address me by that nickname again!'
'If you are so ecstatic to be living with that greasy slimeball, please do continue doing so. I just hope that when you end up all bruised and hurt, you have the guts to tell me that I was right from the very start and you should have asked for my opinion first!'
And thus fell the feather that broke the Thestral's back.
Hermione Granger was all of a sudden on her feet, both of her hands slapping painfully against the surface of the table.
'How dare you?! Who in hell do you think you are talking to me in such a manner? My mother? Father? Boyfriend? You are supposed to be my friend, confidante, supporter! However, all I see before me is an insensitive arse who thinks only about his own comfort! Has it even entered your dimwitted head to wonder how I felt about all of this? You, Ron, are doing nothing else but hiding behind the proverbial skirts of your own insecurities. You are nothing but a coward!'
With that, the witch snatched up her rucksack and practically ran out of the Great Hall. Dozens of curious eyes followed her, wondering, but unable to work out what had just transpired between the infamous Golden Trio.
The moment Hermione cleared the threshold of the hall, she threw herself against the nearest wall. Escape was futile. She knew that in a bit she would be accosted by a member of the staff, who was undoubtedly hot on her heels from the hall and unwilling to leave her alone in peace. So she simply stood in place and waited for the inevitable. In spite of that, her body was still shaking in resentment as she pressed her pounding head against the stone. All she could think of now was that somewhere along the way, her life had resolved to take a sharp turn from predictability.
What was more, one did not have to be a Seer to be conscious of one fact: whatever forked path lay ahead, she was in for one hell of a bumpy ride.
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Sweet Surrender