Prelude
Title:Prelude
Team Name: Masked Mayhem Makers
Word Count: 4x100
Rating: PG
Challenge: condemned
Characters: Snape, Granger, Bach
Author's Notes: this started out as something and then became something else. its a good thing im not a cook:D
Bach. It was always bloody Bach. Never Beethoven or Vivaldi, but Bach, ruddy, sodding, Bach. Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever hated anyone, living or dead, as much as she hated Johann Sebastian Bach.
She hated him from the first note of his Cello Suite 1 to the last note of his Agnus Dei. She hated him in 3/4ths time and in A minor.
Bach was the reason that the deep sonorous notes of the cello would forever smell of firewhiskey and taste like tears. It was a pity, Hermione could imagine another time and place where the wide bassy notes of a cello might have melted on her tongue like chocolate and flowed through her like blood.
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She glanced up from her grading, careful not to catch Severus’s red rimmed eye. He was sitting quietly in a high backed chair, across their parlor, staring into the fire, half a bottle of Firewhiskey left. Hermione sighed knowing that there was only two or three drinks left before Bach came to steal her husband away.
She sighed, resigned to the fact that her husband would be sleeping with Bach tonight instead of her. He would sit in his chair and drink, he would hum along and lose himself to wherever it was that Bach took him whenever Severus Snape tired of being Severus Snap. He would play the same record over and over he would hum each note, drunkenly and slightly off key. He would conduct invisible orchestras, eyes shut, from his chair, his arms making sloppy inebriated punctuations in the air.
But Bach was never enough and that's why Hermione hated him the most.
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The record would end, the alcohol would would wear off, the fire would burn down to embers and Severus Snape would be Severus Snape again. Bach never stayed for the Real Severus Snape, the broken, raw, shell of a man who had condemned himself to his own private hell.
Blearily, pathetically, Severus would crawl into her bed and beg her to forgive him, look at him, touch him, make love to him, kill him. Resolutely, she would keep her back to him, feigning sleep while angry frustrated tears slip from her eyes to die tiny jeweled deaths on her pillow.
Finally he would give up and turn his back to her. He would curl up around himself and sob quiet, body wracking sobs until he falls into a fitfull dreamless sleep.
Only then after the pleading and the sobbing would she turn over and look at her husband and wonder exactly how hard it would be to silently slip a pillow over his face and hold it there until he was free. She is never sure if he would even bother to fight back. She wonders in those cold cruel hours how wise it was to save him…Had she saved him at all?
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“The Snape Concerto” Hermione thought bitterly as she put her quill down and moved towards their bedroom.
Severus caught her wrist as she walked by. She kept her eyes forward knowing he wasn't looking at her either. His hand was cold. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. She said nothing. After long silent moments, he let go of her wrist. As she closed the bedroom doors behind her she could hear the first mellow velvet notes of Bach’s Cello Prelude 1.
Team Name: Masked Mayhem Makers
Word Count: 4x100
Rating: PG
Challenge: condemned
Characters: Snape, Granger, Bach
Author's Notes: this started out as something and then became something else. its a good thing im not a cook:D
Bach. It was always bloody Bach. Never Beethoven or Vivaldi, but Bach, ruddy, sodding, Bach. Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever hated anyone, living or dead, as much as she hated Johann Sebastian Bach.
She hated him from the first note of his Cello Suite 1 to the last note of his Agnus Dei. She hated him in 3/4ths time and in A minor.
Bach was the reason that the deep sonorous notes of the cello would forever smell of firewhiskey and taste like tears. It was a pity, Hermione could imagine another time and place where the wide bassy notes of a cello might have melted on her tongue like chocolate and flowed through her like blood.
------------------------------
She glanced up from her grading, careful not to catch Severus’s red rimmed eye. He was sitting quietly in a high backed chair, across their parlor, staring into the fire, half a bottle of Firewhiskey left. Hermione sighed knowing that there was only two or three drinks left before Bach came to steal her husband away.
She sighed, resigned to the fact that her husband would be sleeping with Bach tonight instead of her. He would sit in his chair and drink, he would hum along and lose himself to wherever it was that Bach took him whenever Severus Snape tired of being Severus Snap. He would play the same record over and over he would hum each note, drunkenly and slightly off key. He would conduct invisible orchestras, eyes shut, from his chair, his arms making sloppy inebriated punctuations in the air.
But Bach was never enough and that's why Hermione hated him the most.
---------------------------------------
The record would end, the alcohol would would wear off, the fire would burn down to embers and Severus Snape would be Severus Snape again. Bach never stayed for the Real Severus Snape, the broken, raw, shell of a man who had condemned himself to his own private hell.
Blearily, pathetically, Severus would crawl into her bed and beg her to forgive him, look at him, touch him, make love to him, kill him. Resolutely, she would keep her back to him, feigning sleep while angry frustrated tears slip from her eyes to die tiny jeweled deaths on her pillow.
Finally he would give up and turn his back to her. He would curl up around himself and sob quiet, body wracking sobs until he falls into a fitfull dreamless sleep.
Only then after the pleading and the sobbing would she turn over and look at her husband and wonder exactly how hard it would be to silently slip a pillow over his face and hold it there until he was free. She is never sure if he would even bother to fight back. She wonders in those cold cruel hours how wise it was to save him…Had she saved him at all?
---------------------------------------
“The Snape Concerto” Hermione thought bitterly as she put her quill down and moved towards their bedroom.
Severus caught her wrist as she walked by. She kept her eyes forward knowing he wasn't looking at her either. His hand was cold. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. She said nothing. After long silent moments, he let go of her wrist. As she closed the bedroom doors behind her she could hear the first mellow velvet notes of Bach’s Cello Prelude 1.