Where Do You Go When You Feel Lost
1.3 Trapped
this is just a bit of rambling writing, I'm doing for fun. Sorry for any errors.
Hermione sat under the flap of her tent, her arms wrapped around her knees, holding the cloak snugly about her for warmth. A few feet away, her fire danced from the breeze that blew up from the cliffs, carrying the scent of the sea with it. The end of her seventh year was not how Hermione had always imagined it to be: her parents smiling proudly as she showed them her Hogwarts diploma. Nope. Her friends going out for a celebratory drink to toast in their futures. Nope. Her job applications sent out and offers of employment for her to choose from arriving for her to pick from. Nope. Thanking her professors for imparting their knowledge to her all those years. Yes, and they had all wished her well, too. Except Severus Snape.
She had sought him out to thank him for his tutelage and somehow ended up accepting an apprenticeship from him.
“I hardly taught you anything you couldn’t have learned for yourself from a book, Miss Granger,” he said snidely.
She was deeply hurt by his remark but she struggled to maintain her composure and not show it. “You’re wrong, you were my best teacher. You made me strive harder in your classroom than any of the others did. You never gave me false praise and-” She took a deep breath and swallowed. “Sir, why in all my years, didn’t you ever mark me above Acceptable?”
His pose, the set line of his mouth didn’t waver as she spoke, no indication at all was give in his expression until she asked her question. He frowned before answering, “You never exceeded my expiations, Miss Granger. In fact, you usually met my expiations-so, you rarely exceeded it. However, you were my top student of your year.”
“I received an Outstanding on my O.W.L. and received high marks from Slughorn,” she replied in her defense.
‘Based upon Ministry standards,” he replied to her outburst calmly, “and I’m fully aware how Horace determines his marks. I held you to a higher standard, Miss Granger, because I always expected more from you than you gave.”
“That’s not fair!!” she exclaimed and immediately regretted raising her voice when his eyes narrowed.
“Life isn’t fair,” he snapped back and slammed his hands down on his desk. “You cannot say you were sufficiently challenged in my classroom.”
Hermione took an involuntary step back in shock. “What do you mean, I wasn’t sufficiently challenged! I certainly was!”
“Coming from a chit that brewed Polyjuice her second year? You have no idea what challenged is,” he snarled at her as he stood up and leaned forward as if stalking her predatorily.
Her bag had slipped slightly and she grabbed the strap to keep it from falling. “Are you saying that you can sufficiently challenge me, Severus Snape?”she asked, one hand on her hip and the other hitching her bag back on her shoulder from where it had slipped.
“I certainly can,” Severus replied smugly, his gaze sweeping over her as he sneered.
“Then I accept,” she said automatically before her mind could process the trap she’d set for herself and inhaled sharply as her mind repeated her words back at her.
Then he did the unimaginable. He smiled. Oh, it was a calculated smile and one that had sent shivers down Hermione’s spine. He circumvented his desk and stood before her. “So do I,” he said, grasping her hand. “I, Severus T. Snape, Master of Potions accept you, Hermione Jean Granger, as my apprentice. I hereby assume the responsibility of furthering your education, training, and to your welfare.” A band of platinum passed from his hand to hers and then glowed.
Hermione jerked her hand back and stared at the platinum chain around her wrist, stunned a small disk with an engraved ‘SS’ with a tiny cauldron with a stirring rod, like a Muggle ID bracelet. She turned it all the way around and realized that there wasn’t a clasp. “What is this?”
He clasped the edges of his robe and crossed his arms. “It’s customary that when a wizard takes an apprentice they gift them with a symbol of the pledge, Miss Granger,” he said with a smirk at her as if gloating. “Really, if you’re going to be a witch in the magical world you should really read up on our ways and customs.”
Hermione looked up at him aghast. “But I-”
“Accepted, and I agreed to accept you. Turn the charm over.”
Hermione looked at the oval disk on her bracelet, turned it over just as she’d done that afternoon, and read the inscription: 13 Spinner’s End.
That was scantly seven weeks ago.
chapter 1.1 posted on 2009-06-27
1.2 posted on 2009-07-02