Getting it Straight

Get it Straight

Hermione Granger had long ago come to the realization that men had no control over their desires. As far as she knew, or at least from her experience, women had few desires when it came to men. Her own observations showed that a woman's passion was rarely invoked unless there was love involved. Sure, she'd seen many a girl or woman indulge a man his passions in return for something, be it jewelry, fortune, fame, comfort, or love. Love could be in the form of anything, she supposed. Children, pets, the illusion of caring from the man she indulged. Regardless, she was relatively sure that the true love between a man and a woman (like between Harry and Ginny) was rare and often fraught with conflict. The conflict of the War between the Dark Lord and the Order almost tore the two of them permanently apart. Hermione sometimes wished for such a love, but then she'd remember Ginny's drawn looks and Harry's deep depression during that horrible year, and she felt lucky not to have been ensnared in such an all-consuming emotion.

Men had no control over their desires, it was true. But they did have the choice not to act on them. It was clear that while Severus might desire her body, he had no wish to. It was something as involuntary as her god-awful monthlies, uncomfortable and often embarrassing. No wonder he wished to cover up the stark evidence of it immediately. It must be something of a mortification for him to be physically attracted to "Miss Know-It-All," the walking encyclopedia whom he hated from the moment she first raised her hand in his classroom. Doubtless he was experiencing some sort of mental anguish, or even self-loathing, if he still saw her as nothing more than the child she was for so many years. She herself had difficulties coming to terms with her body: an alien thing to her still. Although her breasts were probably fully grown, they had only been so for a few years. At her young age, those years seemed like a blip in existence when measured against the normal lifespan she could expect, or even the years she'd lived before. It never occurred to her that a fully grown man, one of experience, bravery, refinement, and wit could possibly see her as anything but a nuisance.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, what she saw left her nonplussed. Ordinary brown eyes. Brown hair that was anything but normal, a mass of corkscrew unruliness that frizzed at the slightest hint of humidity. An awful mix between bones sticking out at her joints and rounded fat everywhere she wished it wouldn't be. When she measured herself against Ginny, whose trim little figure showed no signs of softening into her mother's ample curves, she felt herself come up decidedly short. Her hips were too wide. Her arms and legs would never be termed athletic, but were more rounded like Botticelli nudes. Her breasts so far had avoided the lure of gravity, being so new and still sore from growth, but would eventually succumb if she didn't keep them firmly in place with a brassiere like her mother had taught her. Being the child of dentists, her smile was at least white and straight as those of the women in toothpaste commercials, if a trifle large for her face. Mercifully, her nose was small and pert, and her face on the whole did not appear disfigured or scarred with acne. Her face was a little too round for her features; she often felt like a garden squash. When her hair was having one of its wilder days, she'd then feel like a dandelion. On the whole, nothing to get excited about. Hermione "Plain Jane" Granger. Better suited for the library than the cover of ANY magazine. What could possibly persuade a man like Professor Snape to desire her?

The one thing about herself she took pride in, he found fault with: her mind. He detested how she could remember everything she'd learned. Yes, she learned most things from books, but that was because they contained more information than any syllabus was likely to cover! She positively thirsted for knowledge. If she could only pick the brains of every one of her professors; if only she could read from them like she read a book! She would love to discover all of the secret bits of truth about any one of her subjects (save Divination, or Care of Magical Creatures, though she loved Hagrid dearly), but she could never ask all of the questions she wished, nor did she know all of the right questions to ask. Books were there, all answers, indexes, titles, and tables of contents, so she needn't ask a single thing, only read and convert to memory. Books hid nothing (unless charmed to hide); one only needed to open the cover and all would eventually be revealed.

She scanned the titles in the library again. This time, she permitted herself to touch, to run her fingers over the spines of leather-bound tomes, to smell the lovely musky scent of old parchment, to feel the glide of gilded page-edges, to finger the satin book markers as she loved to do with her father's old set of encyclopedias. She did not select one to read, only began acquainting herself with the look and feel of one and another. Those that sent a ripple of warning, a chill over her skin, she left alone. Doubtless they contained spells for dark magic, and she rarely ever looked inside of such tomes unless there was a need. Now that Voldemort was dead and gone, there probably would not be a need again. That cheered her, just a little. Any of His supporters left would not know her and should not bother her.

She started a little as the silence of the room was shattered by a clearing throat. She turned to find Snape regarding her most oddly. "As much as I hate to interrupt your... fondling of my private collection, there is still much to be done about your transformation."

She blushed a little. She could see how what she was doing would appear to be an intimate act. Silently, she brushed past him and re-entered the kitchen, burning with embarrassment.

He fell into step behind her and murmured, "I knew you liked books, but..." His words drifted off, implying things she'd heard before.

"If I like them so much, why don't I marry them?" She echoed something that Ron had said before, during one of their snits.

He chuckled lowly; the deep sound sent shivers down her back. She had never heard him laugh before, and then he added fuel to the fire with a murmured, "Something like that." His voice stopped her dead in her tracks and he nearly ran into her. Curious, he watched her give herself a little shake before continuing on. When at last he could see her face as she sat on the stool, it showed nothing. He could have congratulated her on not betraying any emotion, but it irked him not to know why she stopped so suddenly. Especially now that he was beginning to see her as something of curiosity, not just a constant torment.

He had resigned himself to leave her alone after the incident in the bathroom, both to allow her to absorb his sincerity about his intentions, and to allow his own body to recover from her proximity. She was his student and his ward, he had no right to think about her in such a manner. He had no right thinking about any woman in such a manner. He respected women. He respected them so much that on the whole, he left them alone. Barring those who took payment for their favors, he spared the rest his company when he could. The circumstance of them being thrown together like this was neither of their faults. The fault lay solely with the twinkly-eyed old bastard himself. Severus had tried everything he could to spare both of them the ignominy of this entirely improper situation. He had even suggested that Miss Granger be given a companion or chaperon. Though it sounded extremely old-fashioned, even to him at the time, he almost wished that the Headmaster had granted his request. The thought of that girl spending three nights under his roof alone with him, let alone three weeks, sent him into a spiral of worry and self-loathing that rivaled any of his brooding moods to date.

"Nonsense," the old wizard had pronounced, "You are both responsible adults. I am sure all will be well, and you will come to see this with a bit of humor in the future. Are you quite sure you don't want a bit of toffee?"

Severus had tried not to take his surliness out on Hermione as he left Dumbledore's office by Floo, but his dark mood had made her obviously nervous even as she gathered her trunk and left with him to Spinner's End. She had also been noticeably relieved to note that he did not have a house-elf. Not that he wouldn't, but he was rarely ever at Spinner's End, even during Summer, and those that belonged to Hogwarts were more than enough for his needs. To be honest, the little creatures gave him the creeps. He would never allow one to so much as touch him. They seemed far too unclean in his eyes. Merlin knew how often Lucius tried to gift him with one, but he often tried to gift him with many things that left a bad taste in Severus's mouth.

He was proficient in enough cleaning spells to keep most of the filth at bay, and cooking was the one thing that he and his mother would do together that she seemed to take pleasure in. Most of it was enough like potion making that they did rather well. Whenever his robes got dirty, he'd take them to Hogwarts for the elves to clean. During the breaks, they were literally batty without much to do. Their irritation and boredom, not to mention insufficient use of their magic, would cause bats to appear in much he same way that the high emotions of young witches and wizards would cause poltergeists. Needless to say, they were glad for any tasks set to them. Ridiculous little creatures. Imagine, enjoying drudgery!

He left his garden to go wild except for the little plots he kept for everyday herbs. He couldn't grow his own "magical" ones, for all it was still a Muggle neighborhood. Herbology really wasn't much of a strong suit for him in any case. All that he needed, he could take care of. Being a Muggleborn, he hoped that Hermione was the same. If she wasn't, he was absolutely sure that the Headmaster would allow this farce to end and put her in someone else's more capable hands. Molly's, for instance. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Three full weeks of temptation and cold showers, and more self-control and restraint than he'd had to use in many a year. There were things his hands kept wanting to do, flashes of images of pinning her against a wall and doing things... things that no woman in her right mind would want him to do. His imaginings would always stop exactly in the same ways. He'd look into her face and see the horror, the disgust, or the worst: pity, emblazoned in those chocolate and topaz eyes of hers. Even his own mind couldn't continue with the deed.

When he actually looked into a mirror at himself, all he saw was an ugly, unpleasant man. That never really bothered him, because looks didn't mean power. Being handsome did not allow one to brew a potion correctly or outwit an opponent. Cleverness, guile, and cunning got one through life, not the shape of one's face, nor the features contained. Take James Potter, Gilderoy Lockhart, Regulus and Sirius Black for example. All had been considered handsome men. Where were they now? Dead or as good as dead. In any case, none existed now as they would have liked. But he, Severus, had lived to fight or run as he chose. He was free to live life as he saw fit, not counting this little entanglement with Miss Granger. It would only last a year, he told himself, then he truly would be able to go about his business. He could go be a hermit if he chose, or become another face in the crowd in some other city somewhere in the world. He'd always enjoyed Paris, when he wasn't there on official Death Eater business. New Orleans was always rather nice in the winter, as was Sydney. All he had to do was ensure that Hermione Granger made it through her final year at Hogwarts and was able to complete her N.E.W.T.S.

With new resolve in mind, he had gone to collect Hermione for the next stage in her transformation and was caught up short by the sight of her hands, lovingly stroking the spines of his books. Transfixed, he had watched her as she pulled one down from the shelf and held it open to her nose. Her fingers, never still, had held the thing gently as if it were precious and fragile, while with two fingers she stroked the ribbon that served as a bookmark. She had replaced it, ghosted her fingers over more. He could see it when she passed over those books containing dark magic, could almost feel the goosebumps over her arms. He had felt his mouth go dry at the sensuous curve of her hip, the gentle caresses she bestowed over his books. He fought back the idiotic desire for her to bestow them on him. He had cleared his throat, more to banish his own thoughts than to disturb hers, but she pivoted to face him and he said the first inane thing that came to mind, laced with double entendres, and dripping with not a little bit of sarcasm.

What is she thinking? He wondered as he unwound the towel from her newly ebonized locks. Her silence was unnerving. Usually she was a veritable chatterbox. He didn't trust his own voice at the moment and he couldn't think of a thing to say. He set the towel aside and picked up the wide-toothed comb. He was satisfied that the conditioner had done its job, as he encountered no snarls when he ran it through. He eyed the straightening iron on the kitchen table. The light on its side indicated it was hot enough to use. Carefully, he picked up an individual lock of hair and clamped it between the two metal contacts of the iron, starting close to the top of her head and sliding downward with the wand like appliance. After two or three more locks had been passed through, she visibly relaxed as the iron warmed her hair and thus warmed her. The minutes inched by in silence with only the hiss of hair passing through the iron, steady and hypnotic.

Hermione was fast growing accustomed to the tingles that the attention to her hair produced. They mingled with the warmth from the iron and settled into a glowing sense of well-being. She felt her breaths grow even. It was not unlike meditation. Never had she been so aware of one tiny part of her body, each anchoring bit of scalp was given its moment to sing, was echoed in her toes and every hair on the way to them. She felt pampered, adored, safe. It was a wonder that it was Severus Snape that was making her feel this way. Yes, she realized, I do feel safe with him. And it was about time, too, after all he had done in the past to ensure that she not come to harm. Maybe it was not her in a personal sense, but there was that one full moon night when Lupin transformed before them, and he had sheltered her and Harry and Ron behind his body without a second thought.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice came out like that from being so long disused. For all its softness, it sounded like a shout in the previously quiet room.

"To what are you referring? I have not yet finished with even half," he murmured in answer, absorbed in his task.

"I never thanked you for protecting me, that night that Lupin became the Werewolf and you put yourself between us," she said softly, but with more surety.

His fingers stilled in surprise, but then he continued without a further betrayal of what he felt. "You're welcome."

"And thank you for your part in making the world a safer place, for Muggles and Muggleborns alike," she felt the need to add.

This time, he sounded slightly amused. "You're welcome."

"And thank you for helping me, this year. I wouldn't have been able to do this without you."

He took another pause, and his voice became deeper with utter sincerity. "You're welcome."

The room became silent again, and Hermione allowed the hypnotic tingles to overtake her. It was over before she knew it, and she felt just a little sad that it was. She was really enjoying the sensations. He had moved around her chair with cat-like grace, never once making a single noise or bumping her from her reverie. Her eyes had slid closed somewhere in the middle of the hot-oil treatment. Now they snapped open to find Snape regarding her critically. It was almost as if she wasn't there, but was just some potion he had been working on and was now studying his results. She almost laughed. He noticed her smiling and made no comment on it.

"It will do," he said in a gruff, pleased grunt. "Now, on to cosmetics."

Hermione felt her heart sinking into her toes. She'd never so much as put on mascara herself. After discovering magic, she'd never seen much point. With the exception of the Yule Ball, she rarely even thought about it.

Snape must have seen her frown, because he looked directly into her eyes and said, "This is all about disguise, not vanity. I am aware that this may seem like an awful lot of pretense, but consider all of the other students who will have known Hermione Granger. Some of whom are children of former Death Eaters. You must become a completely different person. When all of this is said and done, a little make up will be the least of the changes you will have to undergo." The way he said it, she was actually reassured. Mostly.

"What else did you have in mind, sir?" she wondered, slightly nervous.

"Your wardrobe, for one, needs to be completely changed. Princes do not wear Muggle clothing. Your speech patterns, possibly your accent will require work. If you cannot effect a convincing Australian accent, we will make something up about an English governess. You will need to learn French, Italian, and Latin, just to be on the safe side." Hermione found her heart thrilling at the opportunity to study different languages with a private tutor. "We will go to a Muggle Optometrist and get you colored contact lenses. Dark blue, I should think. Almost black. A few visits to tanning salons, to darken your skin so that you appear to have lived in the Outback for most of your life. I'm sure you'll enjoy that part, with your love of heat." Hermione's head was near to spinning with all that she would need to do. "From this point on, think of yourself as Olivia. Only you, the Headmaster, and myself will know that you are playing a part. You will have to be Olivia. This we will begin today. I will refer to you as Olivia and you will answer to it."

"Y-yes, sir," she murmured, his authoritative tone touched something deep in her psyche.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

"Olivia Prince, sir."

"Olivia, look at me." She felt her heart hammer in her chest as she forced herself to look him in the eye. He had quelled her fears in an instant. He had taken control, and she felt that with his help, she could do this. She could do anything he demanded of her. Because he had probably done this all before. Because he was confident that he could do this again, with her. "What is your name?"

"Olivia Prince, Severus." Her eyes blazed with a tiny rebellion and it called to something dark in him. His hand moved out almost before he could check it, and he knew that he would have to be more careful with this one in the future. She knew that his given name had power when she uttered it, but he was not about to start this game. Not with her, not any time soon. He flexed his fingers but made no comment.

"I'm glad that we're clear on that, Olivia," he said and turned back to the table that held all of the cosmetics he had purchased for her. She felt something quail inside, that she would have to go by another name, when he had just begun using hers.

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A/N: I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I have a plan! I do! (Please don't kill me)