Mud-slinging

Mud-slinging

He hadn’t expected irritation. Contrition, perhaps, or denial. But not irritation.

“Harry,” she muttered darkly, stalking out of the bathroom. “Harry and his damned mouth and his bloody presumption that he knows me better than I do.” Snape followed, curious, but remained in the doorway when she began flicking her wand. Her Kneazle-beast also chose prudence and abandoned the field of fire.

“I told him,” she continued, banishing take-away cartons to a rubbish bin. “I told him I was fine. I told him I was eating. Hell, he sat across the damn table and watched me do it! Bloody prat!”

“Have you quite finished your tantrum?” he drawled when he sensed a lull in the cleaning storm.

Hermione shot him an evil glare. “No. And it’s my flat. You don’t like my ‘tantrum’, then you can just bugger off.” Several good-sized granite stelae whizzed past to settle in cases next to the wall.

“You will explain yourself, Miss Granger,” he said stiffly, “before I, as you say, ‘bugger off.’”

“Why?” she demanded, hands on hips. “We aren’t friends. You don’t even like me. Unless,” she added nastily, continuing her work, “I’m only half-dressed. Perhaps I should strip before we talk?”

“You,” Severus informed her, color mottling his face, “are an appallingly rude child.”

“So are you,” she shot back.

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

“Why are you asking it?”

“I’m entitled—“

“To nothing.” She cut him off sharply. “You made it quite clear that you wanted nothing to do with me unless it involved a little grey shirt and a lot of ogling. Maybe I should just give you a smutty photo. Then you and your hand could ogle all you like without bothering me. Tell me, is cotton a requirement, or am I allowed a bit of lace?”

Livid was a vast understatement. Crossing the room with loping strides, Snape seized her shoulders and shook. “Stop this immediately, Granger.”

For his trouble, he found himself flung back in the air, spine narrowly missing being cracked against the granite slabs leaning against the wall. Hermione towered over him, wand brandished. “No one,” she said, steel in her voice. “No one touches me, Severus Snape.” A deep, calming breath. “You don’t want me; that’s fine. We’ll both live. But you’ve no justification for waltzing into my home and playing the self-righteous prig. And even less for trying to manhandle me.”

Uncracked spine notwithstanding, Severus was not in the best shape of his life as he tried to force the spots in his vision to retreat back into his head. He heard Hermione’s words dimly as he concentrated on this task— a futile exercise, as the spots merely metamorphosed into an ear-ringing headache. But he thought (insofar as it was possible to think) she required a reply, so he muttered thickly, “You hit me first.”

He didn’t even try to process whatever reply she might have made, as it seemed the spots had regrouped and multiplied, blacking out his vision entirely.

_{AN: Okay, I admit it: I lied. I said Hermione was going to explain herself in this installment. And she didn't. She got all contrary and tempermental with me. *sigh* But I thought I'd best get out what I had rather than make you wait until I managed to get her sorted. Apologies! I hope it was still enjoyable. -_-; And please leave a small token in the review box, if you have a chance. Thank you!}