Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Wake of War	By : sshgdifferentfan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4060 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from publishing it.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
6. Into The Snake Pit

It was earlier than usual that she went to the dungeons that night after classes, stopped in front of the nondescript portion of wall the concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room, hissed ‘Ophidian’, this year’s password and entered. She expected the long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains, to be deserted -- it was barely six o’clock, Slytherins’ young and old favourite Hufflepuff torment time -- unfortunately it was not.

And I so wanted some peace and quiet, she sighed as she noticed in the high-backed chairs before the elaborately carved mantelpiece the new Prince and Princess of Slytherin - now that Malfoy had no defined place in the house hierarchy because of his status as a returnee and Parkinson had left school, their places had been taken by Astoria Greengrass a sixth year and Reginald Harper a seventh year. They both turned at the sound of her footsteps, looked at her and glared -- it was as much of greeting as Slytherins, except her former class mates, had ever given her. Hermione glared right back and strode into the common room towards the sofa, threw her bag on the floor -- her green and silver bag from when back when -- and flopped down onto the comfortable green leather, without a word.

It wasn’t like she was expected to have a conversation with either of them, actually except from Malfoy bothering her every minute since their third year when she’d punched him -- which apparently got his somewhat twisted respect -- and a few shouting matches with different house mates -- especially Parkinson who hated Hermione on principle and was hated right back -- she didn’t really talked all that much. She’d never been interest on what her house mates had to say and they never cared of what she did, so not talking was actually a win-win situation for any Slytherin in this situation. Other houses didn’t talk to her either, except to make fun of her being the oddity of Slytherin or when she was the one making fun: poking and railing them until wands got drawn -- she was Slytherin after all and Slytherin didn’t had to approve of it for her to embrace it.

“See, I was right you are more like him than you think!”

“What… like who?”

“…so, not Gryffindor for you my dear -- better you be, SLYTHERIN!”

Hermione heard that last word and suddenly realised something was wrong -- there were no cheers or shouts, only whispers -- loud, barely hidden whispers of 'Muggle-born', 'never in Slytherin', ‘Mudblood’ or 'Slytherin hated Mudbloods' -- but those died down soon enough. She on the other hand was just as stunned to react, so she just took off the hat and looked at the now completely silent hall. One Hufflepuff second-year, she saw, started to clap -- the Hufflepuffs seemed to be cheering for everyone no matter what house he or she got sorted to -- when an older student, next to him, grabbed his hands and stilled them. Nobody moved, nobody spoke and at the Gryffindor table, some even seemed to have stopped breathing after that. She wanted to, but couldn't make her eyes look at the Slytherin table -- not yet -- though what she thought she would see there, she didn't know. There was silence there too, stunned silence just like everywhere else.

The Great Hall was as quiet as a tomb and stood that way until Hermione felt a hand on her back, gently pushing her forward. It was then when reality started crushing in -- the hat sorted her in … SLYTHERIN? No, that can't be… It's a mistake -- It's a nightmare -- It's … But it wasn't, the deafening silence around her told her so. She had really been sorted into Slytherin.

“But…”

She protest but Professor McGonagall's voice which wavered a little told her to, “Go to your house table, Miss Granger!”

“But…”

“Now, Miss Granger!”

And she did, though she didn't really notice when she got off the stool, placed the hat back atop of it and started to make her way towards the Slytherin table. She did notice though, when her eyes drifted up to the Head table, looking for someone to tell her it was all just a joke, an initiation prank or something like that, but all she found there were stunned looks on all of their faces, all except one. There, at the end of the table, a teacher with greasy long black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin stared at her with black -- or at least they seemed black to her from that distance -- expressionless eyes. She was just starting to lower her eyes, when she saw something, a softening of those eyes and something more…

Is that pity? I don't want pity… I want another house!, her mind screamed.

She straightened her pose and stared right back at the man with all the pride she could master. When she saw a spark of what looked like approval behind those black orbs she stopped in her tracks and stared even more intensely into the teacher’s eyes. She noticed his lips curling upward ever so slightly in what she supposed could have been a smile and he gave her the tinniest of nods, before the spark and the curl vanished and with a swift jerk of his head that pointed towards where she knew the Slytherin table to be, he turned to the man sitting next to him.

She stared only a second longer, wondering what was that all about, before taking a deep cleansing breath and started once more her walk towards the Slytherin table. This time she held her head high, staring in the faces of all those seated at the table that was now her house table, and walked proudly towards it, just as Professor McGonagall's call of, “Neville Longbottom” finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

***

The sorting was over, the feast finished and Hermione was waiting silently for the prefect assigned to the first-years to approach when suddenly she felt something hard hitting the back of her head, shoving her forward. She barley caught herself from falling face down onto the now empty table, when a now familiar voice -- she’d heard the prat brag about blood purity and his father’s wealth and position at the Ministry all through meal -- laughed next to her ear, “Sorry, did that hurt -- Mud?”

She snapped her head looking straight into the very grey eyes of Draco Malfoy who smiled an awful looking smile, which made her insides twist. He had the same look he had earlier that evening, on the train platform, as he looked at Rubeus Hagrid for the first time, but somehow now that it was directed at her she didn’t found it amusing anymore. No, it was intense and burning and she hated it. Yet Hermione -- still the Gryffindor she thought she ought to be -- wanted to say something, to confront the stupid prat with rage, yelling and crying -- well, maybe not crying, though she felt like giving it a go, just not in front of this jerk -- but as one of the older students -- a girl of about fifteen with a large insignia with the letter P pinned on her chest -- approached, Malfoy shoved her once more and walked away, his two stupid friends Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe hot on his trail, never giving her the chance to be the Gryffindor.

And as she left the Great Hall, Hermione’s anger and dread could only rise. On their way down to the dungeons and Slytherin common room, one by one, almost all of the first-years and even some of the older students shoved her when they were sure the prefects weren’t looking and whispered sneering remarks on exactly what they thought on her presence in Slytherin and her blood status. And so it went -- some of her house mates having even more than one go at her -- until reaching a nondescript spot on the hallway.

Once they all stopped and seemed attentive enough one of the prefects said the words ‘Putus Cruor’ and the wall in front of which they were gathered dissolved, leaving behind a door tucked into an alcove and behind the door, which had no handle but opened at the prefect’s touch stood Slytherin’s common room.

“Gather 'round here.” The prefect’s voice ran high and loud over the long empty common room as the students filled in. “I’m Gemma Farley the fifth year prefect. Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room. Boys' dormitories, down the stairs to your left. Girls, the same on your right. You'll find that your belongings have already been brought in and placed at the foot of your bed -- if anything’s missing don’t complain to us, go directly to Filch. All and every questions and issues will be directed to the prefects: Samuel Otterburn and Virginia Wimplem seventh years, Alaric Sakndenberg and Andrea Watkins, sixth years or William MacFarlan and myself, fifth years. For anything beyond our capabilities, address Samuel Otterburn or Virginia Wimplem, before rushing to Professor Snape, and if that fails there’s always the Head Boy and Girl. So don’t bother our Head of House unless it’s a life and death situation and even then think twice before doing so. He dislikes being disturbed, especially by imbecilic first-years. Other announcements will be made tomorrow, so do make sure to be up and ready by six.”

Without another word, Farley walked away leaving behind a room full of first-years -- they were all there, plus a few older students -- snickering and some even laughing out loud. Hermione, her eyes still glued to the staircase that seemed to screw itself into the ground as the Prefect descended it, needed a moment for it to finally hit her -- there was nothing funny in the room, nothing that could make then snicker and laugh.

She turned slowly and just by looking at her house mates she knew: they were laughing at her and it was only the beginning.

Sometime during her remembering session, Hermione had taken out her quill, inkpot and parchment and bending down over them she started writing that letter of hers again.

Maybe this time, she thought, but even her thoughts trailed off as she remembered her mother’s expression when after her sixth year she told them everything. She shook herself -- No more drowning in memories for me -- and taking the quill she wrote:

Dear mum and…

She scratched it, dipped the quill once more in ink and started again.

Mum, (and Dad too)

Yeah, that’s better, she smirked and went on.

I… I know that you are confused and maybe more than a little scared right now, but bear with this letter and me for a little and I will try, to the best of my abilities, to explain everything.

You see, it all started…
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Wake of War