Meeting the Double
Title: Meeting the Double
Team Name: The Order (making a comeback this week?!)
Word Count: 7x100
Rating: PG
Challenge: Nicknames
Disclaimer: Don't own; no money made.
A/N: Slowly but surely, I am continuing this series... Not sure if that's a good thing or not. The rest can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/angelmischafics/tag/grunting+at+dinner+series
A holler came from the bedroom, indistinct at first. Hermione almost continued talking over it, but then it came again. And a third time. This time, she caught the words:
“Snapey-poo, what are you telling her?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow in Severus’ direction and was surprised to see him flushing a little. That meant she had definitely heard correctly. Whatever it was she had been going to say now, Hermione had forgotten. Instead, she stood and said, “I think I’d better be going, don’t you? I’ll just…” She took a step or two toward the Floo. “I’ll just Floo out…”
***
Hermione sat in her shower, giggling as the water spilled over her head. Snapey-poo? A fencing mirror-double?
At first she’d been started and angry: startled at finding herself naked in front of a stranger, angry that Severus hadn’t warned her. But then she’d realised the ridiculousness of it all, and it was a little bit funny, that mirror-image, poised in perfect form, epee out before him, and then miming a duel. He was quite a funny man, and Hermione thought that, strangely, she might like to get to know him better, this man who could call the Potions master Snapey-poo.
***
Hermione was lying in wait, lying in wait near the paintings outside Snape’s quarters. Firstly, she bore the shirt she had fled in earlier in the day. Secondly, he still had the clothes she had arrived with last night. Thirdly, and by far the actual reason she was lying in wait, was that she wanted to try and catch ‘mirror-Snape’, as Severus had called him, out and about. In action, so to speak. She had thought about tracking down whomsoever he was supposed to be duelling, but that seemed a little too obvious. Now she would just wait and see.
***
Twenty minutes later, Snape’s door opened, and he peered out, fixing her with an amused yet also cautious stare.
“Mirror-Snape said you were lurking. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think you’d lurk. More a Slytherin trait, no? Coming in?” he asked quite casually, and then he watched her, stared at her really, as she shuffled down the corridor towards him.
“I wasn’t lurking.”
“I see…”
“I was lying in wait!”
“I see,” he repeated. “I’m not sure I like playing second fiddle to a portrait,” he whispered down to her as she slipped through the door next to him.
***
“I… I… brought your shirt back…” she said hesitantly as he closed the door and she realised that they had done something last night that had left their relationship in a strange sort of no-man’s-land that needed navigating. She held the shirt out to him, but he ignored it.
“You seem to be quite fascinated by my portrait all of a sudden,” he said mock-casually, his posture, his penetrating stare pointing to something else, something more urgent in the question.
“No more interested than in you!” she retorted, thinking this somewhere in the region of The Right Thing To Say.
***
Snape seemed to smirk at her. Had that been The Right Thing To Say? She couldn’t tell as he said with a raised eyebrow, “Come and meet Sevvie-poo in person, so to speak, and deliberately then.”
Sevvie-poo?
Sweeping past her, he led her into the bedroom and paused a second, taking the shirt out of her hands before flinging the doors of the wardrobe wide open.
“Ah, our severe snake has returned with his prey!”
Hermione raised her eyebrow at mirror-Snape’s words as he stood before her-via the mirror-dressed in black teaching robes, and grinned unnervingly straight at her.
***
Real-Snape, having re-hung the shirt, now leaned down to her ear, explaining, “My portrait thinks of himself as something of a wordsmith. Amongst other things.”
His voice sent a thrill down her spine, but that wasn’t the only thing making her tingle; as she felt both pairs of eyes upon her, she felt sure there was something unique to their relationship. Severus was perhaps the first person in history to interact with his own portrait: what did that mean for their relationship? And what for hers with them?
She had several delicious ideas as she stared into the mirror.
Team Name: The Order (making a comeback this week?!)
Word Count: 7x100
Rating: PG
Challenge: Nicknames
Disclaimer: Don't own; no money made.
A/N: Slowly but surely, I am continuing this series... Not sure if that's a good thing or not. The rest can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/angelmischafics/tag/grunting+at+dinner+series
A holler came from the bedroom, indistinct at first. Hermione almost continued talking over it, but then it came again. And a third time. This time, she caught the words:
“Snapey-poo, what are you telling her?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow in Severus’ direction and was surprised to see him flushing a little. That meant she had definitely heard correctly. Whatever it was she had been going to say now, Hermione had forgotten. Instead, she stood and said, “I think I’d better be going, don’t you? I’ll just…” She took a step or two toward the Floo. “I’ll just Floo out…”
***
Hermione sat in her shower, giggling as the water spilled over her head. Snapey-poo? A fencing mirror-double?
At first she’d been started and angry: startled at finding herself naked in front of a stranger, angry that Severus hadn’t warned her. But then she’d realised the ridiculousness of it all, and it was a little bit funny, that mirror-image, poised in perfect form, epee out before him, and then miming a duel. He was quite a funny man, and Hermione thought that, strangely, she might like to get to know him better, this man who could call the Potions master Snapey-poo.
***
Hermione was lying in wait, lying in wait near the paintings outside Snape’s quarters. Firstly, she bore the shirt she had fled in earlier in the day. Secondly, he still had the clothes she had arrived with last night. Thirdly, and by far the actual reason she was lying in wait, was that she wanted to try and catch ‘mirror-Snape’, as Severus had called him, out and about. In action, so to speak. She had thought about tracking down whomsoever he was supposed to be duelling, but that seemed a little too obvious. Now she would just wait and see.
***
Twenty minutes later, Snape’s door opened, and he peered out, fixing her with an amused yet also cautious stare.
“Mirror-Snape said you were lurking. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think you’d lurk. More a Slytherin trait, no? Coming in?” he asked quite casually, and then he watched her, stared at her really, as she shuffled down the corridor towards him.
“I wasn’t lurking.”
“I see…”
“I was lying in wait!”
“I see,” he repeated. “I’m not sure I like playing second fiddle to a portrait,” he whispered down to her as she slipped through the door next to him.
***
“I… I… brought your shirt back…” she said hesitantly as he closed the door and she realised that they had done something last night that had left their relationship in a strange sort of no-man’s-land that needed navigating. She held the shirt out to him, but he ignored it.
“You seem to be quite fascinated by my portrait all of a sudden,” he said mock-casually, his posture, his penetrating stare pointing to something else, something more urgent in the question.
“No more interested than in you!” she retorted, thinking this somewhere in the region of The Right Thing To Say.
***
Snape seemed to smirk at her. Had that been The Right Thing To Say? She couldn’t tell as he said with a raised eyebrow, “Come and meet Sevvie-poo in person, so to speak, and deliberately then.”
Sevvie-poo?
Sweeping past her, he led her into the bedroom and paused a second, taking the shirt out of her hands before flinging the doors of the wardrobe wide open.
“Ah, our severe snake has returned with his prey!”
Hermione raised her eyebrow at mirror-Snape’s words as he stood before her-via the mirror-dressed in black teaching robes, and grinned unnervingly straight at her.
***
Real-Snape, having re-hung the shirt, now leaned down to her ear, explaining, “My portrait thinks of himself as something of a wordsmith. Amongst other things.”
His voice sent a thrill down her spine, but that wasn’t the only thing making her tingle; as she felt both pairs of eyes upon her, she felt sure there was something unique to their relationship. Severus was perhaps the first person in history to interact with his own portrait: what did that mean for their relationship? And what for hers with them?
She had several delicious ideas as she stared into the mirror.