Lost in Translation

Severus' smiled rivaled that of the fabled Cheshire Cat and made Hermione feel as terrified and lost as the young Alice. He stood slowly, stretching to his full height with that sadistic smile never leaving his lips, and leaned over her menacingly. "Granger... Granger..." he silkily whispered in a low voice. She strived to feel no fear, lest he sense it. She mentally chastised herself for thinking she could burst into his, his, office and demand answers. Stupid, foolish Gryffindor. She had proved him right.

She closed her eyes tightly and braced herself for whatever cruelty might spew forth. She resolutely stood, determined to not allow his words to slice through her. She was ready. He is nothing but an overgrown, hurt boy. A bully. He needs to be in control, let him think he's in control. That last sentence became a mantra in her mind, repeating over and over. In control, let him think he's in control... Yes, she was ready for anything.

"Granger..." he drawled again, disrupting momentarily her mental chant. "Granger, tomorrow you will be accompanying me to an event. I want you dressed appropriately in professional attire. Bring nothing but your wand. No parchment, no quill, no ink, just your wand. Is that clear?"

Yes, ready – ready for anything but that. "S...Sir?" she asked, opening her eyes to gaze up at him in confusion.

"Hmm. It seems something was lost in translation. Let me attempt this again, so that the brightest witch of her age can understand. You. Will. Go. With. Me. Tomorrow. Bring. Wand. Nothing. Else. Clear?" His obsidian eyes glittered with malice and a spark of... was that humor?

"I apologize, sir," she growled indignantly, all fear forgotten in the face of such an insult. She opened her mouth to say more, to say so much more, and her tongue was poised and her breath had been drawn when her mind whispered to her, Control. Let him think he's in control. You can manage him if he feels he is in control. So Hermione instead closed her mouth and smiled demurely at him, feeling victorious as she caught a glimpse of his expression before it was masked. He expected her to rage. Her smile twisted into a grin. He was caught off-balance. Control, control, girl! Her mind scolded her. The grin was wiped from her face.

He glared at her for a few moments longer, his calculating eyes boring into her, making her feel self-conscious, naked, afraid. A feral energy rolled off him in waves; a primal unpredictability cloaked him. Her mind quickly reeled with the realization that he was in control. Always has been. In. Control. Like an animal toying with his food, he seemed to beg her to challenge him, to give him a reason to tear her apart and feast on her every insecurity, every flaw, every...

"You are dismissed, Granger. I will see you here, at my door, tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock. I have no more use for you today."

She was the one off-balance. She stared at him in confusion again, feeling once more like Alice, falling through the rabbit-hole. Unsure. Terrified. Prey.

"Get out." He said it softly, almost tenderly, but she knew it was the only offer she would receive to escape unscathed, just as she knew he hoped she would stay. To fight. To give him reason to attack. To make the kill sporting. And so she remained rooted to her spot. Anger warred with fear within her, but she welcomed the feelings with passion. Control, stupid girl, give him control. She physically shook her head both to her inner monologue and to his statement. No.

His eyes narrowed, his glare scalded her skin. No. He can't hurt me. Not physically. And only emotionally if I allow it. Her chin rose, her muscles tensed, she was again ready for battle. This is stupid; you can't win the battle like this! her mind screamed. You must adapt, think! He expects this. He waits for this. He uses this. Thoughts continued to race through her head, confusion flooded her senses.

Through it all, that brutal, pitiless, spiteful twist of his lips remained. The grin that forcibly reminded her of a crocodile. His voice was deeper, lower, and as soft as a whisper when he repeated, "Get out."

Her eyes flicked away from his momentarily. Do it. Let him think he's won. But she still paused, afraid to back down now, fearful that she would lose any respect she gained (if she had indeed gained any) by her courageous display. Confusion settled over her like a blanket, and she at once heard Ron's voice in her mind, What's your next move, Hermione? Think about it, don't rush in. He had tried to teach her the strategies of chess, and it was that memory that was vocalized in her brain as she returned the glare of the man before her.

His expression never wavered. His eyes never blinked, never moved. And yet the change that washed over him seemed physically altering to Hermione. The tone of his voice was one of resignation as he said, "Fine. Get together the ingredients for Wolfsbane, if you please. And a cauldron. Can you tell me when the next full moon is, Granger?"

She blinked. He seemed to patiently await her response. What just happened? "Or are you going to refuse me your assistance as well?" He paused, and yet she still could not speak. "I see. Very well. You reject my kind suggestion for you to leave, and you decline to work, so what is it that you want, Miss Granger? Perhaps you are hoping that I could be of some assistance to you?" Finally, his sickening smile vanished. It was instead replaced by a cold, icy sneer.

Ice. He is ice. So, then, shall I be fire. "Yes," she purred with false bravado, "I was hoping you might tell me more about this engagement you have invited me to. Will there be others present? Are we gathering ingredients? Are we purchasing or selling potions? Will there be brewing involved? Should I wear my hair up or down?" She clasped her hands behind her back in order to shield their trembling. What had gotten into her? Why am I provoking him?

"Sarcasm doesn't become you. But then, nothing really does become you, does it?" He paused, watching her impressively impassive face absorb the blow. "No, we will not be brewing, although having your wild mane tamed and trapped is always a welcome sight. Or, at least, more welcome than its present state. Also, I would like to remind you to be respectful when addressing your superiors. We wouldn't want the prized cub of Gryffindor to forget her manners or her place, now would we?"

Indignation infused her speech as she scathingly replied, "Is it good form to attack the physical characteristics of those who threaten your personal views, sir? Surely you can find enough ammunition with my personality faults without resorting to my undesirable hair? Because, if hair care is going to be fair game, then..."

"Enough!" he bellowed. She had the good grace to look chastised, though not contrite in the least. "Get out, and quickly, Granger. I do not want to see you again until tomorrow afternoon. Is that clear?" He bit the last sentence out as he leaned into her, his face merely inches from her own. His scent reminded her of wormwood mixed with the smell of sandalwood and a hint of citrus. It was not unpleasant.

"Until tomorrow, sir." She then audaciously curtsied and proudly strode out of the office, convinced she had won the battle. Hermione: 1, Snape: 0.

***

Remus settled into his desk with a small sigh of contentment. Today was Friday, and on Fridays he had a planning period until lunch. This gave him the opportunity to sleep in, spend breakfast with his family, and then to retreat from the bustle of a home filled with an endearingly clumsy wife and noisy toddler to a blissfully silent, peaceful office of seclusion.

His tranquil solitude did not last long, however; a sharp rap at the door intruded upon his musings. He stood and called out, "Enter!" He broke into a genuine smile as Hermione Granger opened the door and graced his threshold. "Come in, do come in!" he cried out to her warmly. She returned his smile and made her way toward him, closing the door softly behind her with a muffled snick.

The two embraced fondly, and when they broke apart, Remus quickly conjured up two teacups and summoned a deliciously full teapot, which was still steaming slightly. "And how is my favorite resident of the dungeons?" he asked genially, pouring her a cup of piping hot, black tea.

"Oh, Professor Snape is doing fine, he'll be so happy you asked!" she giggled and broke into an outright laugh at his expression.

"Yes, well... and how are you?"

She waited for her giggles to subside, took a sip of the delectably strong tea, and said, "I'm fine. No, actually, I'm more than fine. I think this apprenticeship will really work out." Remus peered at her quizzically. She waved his questions off with a delicate flick of her wrist. "So, how are you, and Teddy and Tonks? Excited about the feast tomorrow? Oh, I do hope everyone shows up, it's been so long since we've all been together!"

Lupin laughed softly at her before responding, "My family and I are doing wonderful. Dora and I cannot wait until Christmas; we love to play Father Christmas to the little guy. Although, truth be told, he's still more interested in the packages, ribbons, wrappings, and bows more than the actual gift itself." Hermione giggled at the image of little Teddy playing with cardboard boxes while expensive gifts surrounded him, unconcerned with the numerous unwrapped presents that littered the floor.

"Maybe I should just get him a box, then?" she asked.

"Then your gift would undoubtedly be his favorite." He watched her as she fell into a fit of soft giggles again, patiently waiting for her to catch her breath before he resumed speaking. "Dora is still trying to find a sitter for him for tomorrow night; we unanimously decided against bringing a toddler within fifty feet of Severus Snape." This time, he joined her in the laughter.

***

The next day, Saturday, had been the most pleasant day Hermione had experienced ever since being accepted as Professor Snape's apprentice. After spending another morning (including breakfast and lunch) with Remus, she relaxed in her rooms in a sudsy bubble bath and with an old Potions text, allowing her mind to wander over the previous day's events. She had no room within her head to worry about the consequences of her victory over Snape; it was filled to the brim with excitement over the upcoming feast and reunion with her best friends.

She lazily glanced at the ancient clock on the opposite wall and then jumped with a start. It was already two thirty, and she hadn't picked out her clothes yet! Although, truthfully, all her garments were contenders for the job ahead – all were professional, conservative, flattering, and impeccably clean.

After standing in front of her wardrobe, clad only in a towel, for several minutes, she finally came to a decision about her dress. It would be a beautiful, yet comfortable, linen skirt in a pale shade of heather gray topped with a crimson cashmere sweater with the smallest bit of the gold-tinted camisole underneath peeking out at her collar. Professional and undeniably Gryffindor. She twirled in front of the mirror, grinning unabashedly at her reflection. She topped off the look with a demure, black silk robe that clasped at the base of her neck with a golden lion, beneath which the robe flared open to reveal her clothing. The garment hugged her figure in all the right places.

She next tackled her hair, pinning it up with both magical and Muggle methods, and dusted her face with a light, loose powder to remove the sheen. She grabbed her warm, wool traveling cloak and slipped her wand into her robes. She felt ready, she felt confident, she felt feminine, she felt... sexy.

***

When she had, at last, reached the door of the Potion master's office, she knew she had only seconds to spare. Knocking soundly on the door, she composed herself and drew herself up to her fullest height, feeling as though she were about to walk into a combat zone with only the thinnest armor. The length of time it was taking him to answer the door made her feel edgy and unsure.

Finally, the door was flung open, and Hermione was face to face with Severus Snape, watching his eyes travel from her head to foot and back again in cold appraisal. She raised her chin and treated him to the same.

He wore black boots and black trousers, as per usual, and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. The white shirt was, of course, unusual compared to what she normally saw on him, but she said nothing. He ushered her in and promptly closed the door behind her with such force that the thud reverberated around the room.

"Take a seat," he muttered to her as he strolled to a wooden worktable. "You were nearly late, but I'm afraid that it will be me that delays our journey." She sat on a nearby stool, gazing at him in curiosity. His back was to her, so she quickly changed seats to better observe him. He seemed to be rubbing something onto his right arm, which was as pale as porcelain save for a set of angry red marks that formed a semicircle on his forearm. Hermione softly gasped when she recognized the pattern.

"Something bit you?" she asked with a voice laced with concern.

He snorted derisively. "Your powers of observation astound me, Granger."

She ignored the comment. "But what animal has such a small mouth, yet..."

"The worst kind," he interrupted, now unrolling a sterile cloth bandage and placing the back of his arm atop it.

It took the daughter of two successful dentists a moment to realize that bite marks, with that particular pattern, that size, and with that amount of force, could only belong to a human. She gazed at the wound in wonder as he began to wrap it with the bandage. It's too small to be a man's mark, so it must be that of a child or woman. Fear coursed through her. Why would a woman or child bite her employer? In defense?

"It was not in defense," he growled at her, and she noticed he had turned and was staring directly into her eyes. "It was in passion. And decidedly not a child. Are you ready?"

Her jaw dropped. She was sure it had to have made a giant thud on the ground. In passion? Then why on his forearm? Passion! Someone... with Snape? Snape?

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm sure, I do engage in consensual sexual activities. Close your mouth and let's go."

She blinked and gazed dazedly up at him. He had unrolled his sleeves during her temporary lapse and added his customary black, buttoned-up robes and similarly standard black traveling cloak. He held out his hand to her and growled at her impatiently when she only stared back. "Come now, Miss Granger. I won't bite." And his sarcastic laughter rang in her mind even as they descended the path to the gates of Hogwarts and past them to the Apparition point. With another sadistic grin, he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him, and with a loud pop the world spun away from sight, taking with it all her courage and sense of security.

Author's Note – Three cheers for the *BEST* beta ever: Angel Mischa! Any mistakes found are mine cause I ...am human!

Also: Okay, so I found some free time to get this chapter written and up pretty quickly. The same may hold true for the next chapter, of which I'm writing currently. I found that my days will not be all that busy until the beginning of January, so for this month (Dec.) you can expect the normal turn around for updates! Thank you to everyone who has hung in there so far!

Up Next: We finally make it to the tea party at the Malfoys, and Hermione discovers a treasure chest of information about Snape. Erm.. hope that made sense. (I need a beta even for my comments...)

Update: I feel the need to reassure my readers that Snape will not continue to bully Hermione for much longer, as she will no longer stand for it. He's bullied her for 7 years, so it's a bit of a nasty habit. So please stay tuned, things will get better ;) Oh, and, just a reminder, this story is AU.