(Untitled)

[leviohhhhsa]

[Who:] Hermione Granger and Severus Snape
[What:] Meeting in person. 
[When:] Week 2
[Where:] Hospital
[Warnings:] None as yet.

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[endingupdead]

Someone once said that war was waiting. People imagined great wars raging on battlefields, a constant, perfect storm of adrenaline and bloodshed. The truth of the matter, however, was that most of the time, soldiers waited. Orders, the right conditions, a plan of attack - even for the food. Waiting

[leviohhhhsa]

She recognised something in his voice before her rational mind could catch up her, spinning to face him with something of a deer-in-the-headlights expression- the look of someone who wasn't sure whether to expect a Killing Curse or a detention or anything at all- at which point fear changed to complete confusion, which was followed by understanding. The situation, however, seemed no less bizarre.

She might have picked him out without even having been told he was here, she suspected, though admittedly it was easy to say that now. He didn't look or sound quite the same, but he was difficult enough to mistake.

"Hermione Granger," she said, and the birds, which had darted swiftly into an aggressive, almost military formation without even her conscious say-so, drifted apart and began to circle around, gaining height. Words stuck on her tongue, and she hesitated helplessly, struck dumb by six years worth of deference which were now worth nothing. "I...think we spoke."

[endingupdead]

Her reaction struck him as very odd indeed. He supposed they were all on very high alert here, but he hadn't exactly crept up behind her, had he? His eyes followed the movements of the birds, though there was little in the way of fear in his expression. Polite curiosity, perhaps.

When they returned to a less defensive flight pattern, he returned his gaze to her. He recognized her voice, now that she had spoken; she looked absolutely nothing like he's pictured her. Severus had assumed she would be mousy, with overlarge glasses, perhaps, or a penchant for stuffy, traditional robes.

She looked normal. Hopelessly average. It was almost disappointing to think the Civilians had been given Bellatrix Lestrange, in all her insane glory, and they had...this. Then again, if the birds were anything to go by, this might be an issue of the book being far better than the cover

[leviohhhhsa]

Good grief, making polite conversation could be a little above what she was prepared for. Nevertheless, she rallied, asking, "What were you expecting, exactly?" in as polite a tone as she could muster, sounding rather cagey nonetheless.

He'd been a Death Eater, hadn't he? He was a Death Eater, in fact; she'd have to train herself to think in terms the man (only just old enough to escape being called a teenager, really) in front of her rather than her former teacher. But in the end...

No. Again. She'd keep that knowledge in mind, definitely- but what was important was the here and now.