Here's a story
Feb. 11th, 2007 10:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
averygoodun42Um... okay, this has been lingering in my fic folder for a long, long time - ever since HBP came out, I think. It has not been revised, it has not been betaed and, at this point, it has not been finished. But, here for a bit of lighthearted SS/HG pleasure is:
Title: Passing Ships
Rating: PG-13 - R ish
Warnings: Unbetaed silliness, bad puns and OOCness. Oh, and completely and totally AU, but post HBP.
Genre: Comedy/parody (I hope it's funny, anyway), action/adventure
Word count: ~ 12,000
Summary: When the SS Harmony went down, Hermione found herself on a deserted island with the last man on earth she would have expected...
His kisses were salty, as if he’d been crying, but she could see no trace of tears. His lips covered her in regular rhythm, like waves crashing on the shore. He would kiss her mouth, then move down her body, leaving her cold and lonely until he returned to kiss her lips once more, and repeat the process.
She lay there enjoying his attentions, though as time passed, he retreated more and more, not even coming up to kiss her mouth, though she was desperately wanted to taste him again. But he kept withdrawing, no matter what protests she voiced, until he was only licking her toes off and on.
“That tickles, Harry,” Hermione murmured sleepily, trying to open her eyes, but finding them crusted shut. “Please stop.” She was getting impatient with the continued lapping at her toes, wondering when he had developed a foot fetish. She was so tired, but she started stirring if only to get up and get a glass of water. She was absolutely parched.
She turned her head for leverage, but stopped when she realized the cabin sheets were wet. And hard. They were also a lot grittier than they had been the night before. She forced her eyes to open, and blearily looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was most definitely not the cabin she shared with Harry aboard the SS Harmony. The windows were much too large. It was so bright she had to squint and it was a few moments before she could make out what the weird shapes were.
Palm trees. What in blazes were palm trees doing in Britain? The only place she could think of having palm trees was along the gulf stream, and the sun was much too hot for it to be anywhere in Scotland.
Slowly she sat up and looked around, feeling very confused. She was on a sandy beach lined with what looked like a tropical forest. She most definitely wasn’t in Scotland anymore.
She brought her hands up to wipe her face, but stopped when she saw the crust of sand covering them. She looked around for signs of other people, but all she could see were bits of driftwood and fiberglass littering the beach. It looks like there was a shipwreck, she thought, before it hit her. There had been. The SS Harmony had capsized. She and Harry had been getting into the life boat when a gust of wind had thrown her overboard.
Crap.
She vaguely remembered Harry screaming her name, but the waves and wind had overpowered everyone’s cries, including hers. She had no idea how she’d survived, as she had no memory of finding a raft and they hadn’t been close to land.
Stretching carefully to assess her physical condition, she slowly got to her feet. Looking around, she could see the entire cove was dotted with the remains of the ship. It was very messy.
She wandered over to the nearest peice of debris, which was half buried in the sand, and cocked her head as she lazily examined it. It looked like a shard from the hull, but she didn’t really want to touch it. She hadn’t had a tetnus shot for ages, and she guessed there wasn’t a ready supply anywhere nearby.
Before long, her thirst reasserted itself, and she made her way along the beach, looking for signs of a stream. Her mouth was so dry it felt swollen. As she scoured the coastline, she idly wondered how much sea water she had ingested while unconscious.
The cove ended in a rocky escarpment that looked a bit too vertical for her taste. She turned to the jungle, which looked almost as menacing, then back at the sharp boulders. She knew it would be easy to become lost in the jungle, and if a rescue boat came they’d never find her, but she’d never been good at climbing, and her hands and feet were in no condition for the rough rock. Looking back to the other side of the cove, she saw it too was guarded by a similar rock face. If she wanted fresh water, she would either have to climb, with the hopes of another beach nearby, or scour the jungle.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she was a witch. She could apparate even without her wand. Closing her eyes, she focused on the image of Hogsmeade. She gathered all her energy, and deliberately determined her destination. She felt a small swirl of vertigo and a cool breeze hit her back, and opened her eyes hopefully.
Crap.
She was still facing the jungle.
Heaving a rather large sigh, she gathered her inner resources and stepped into the dense foliage.
The jungle was thick. And slimy. And very, very hot. She carefully made her way over rotted logs and twisting vines, ducking her head occasionally for the low branches sticking out. Looking ahead instead of down, she tripped and grabbed onto a thick vine to catch herself. She screamed and recoiled when the vine wriggled in her hand, and fell onto the ground face first.
She quickly righted herself and started scrambling forward on her hands and knees, hoping the snake didn’t hold grudges. After getting a bit of distance between her and the fake vine, she sat down and rested in the slick mud.
Not thinking, she wiped a chunk of hair from her brow, and groaned when she felt mud smear over her skin.
She hated nature. Hated, hated, hated it. She liked all the convieniences of civilization, like running water. Showers. Public transportation. Sidewalks. Water.
She just wanted the simple things. Even if all that wasn’t possible, she would be happy just to have a wand, because then it would be a simple matter of conjuring a glass and casting aguamenti - not to mention the ability to either apparate or summon the Knight Bus. And cast a cleaning charm.
Not wanting to delve into self pity, she sighed in resignation and pulled herself up. She was really, really thirsty, and needed to find a source of water very soon. A sudden thought occured, and she slapped her forehead, quickly regretting that action when she felt the mud splatters cover the rest of her face. Wiping away the excess slime, she looked up and around for any cupped leaves that might hold some rainwater. She scanned all the foliage, but didn’t see any leaves that seemed to be holding water. Big leaves, small leaves, some as big as her head, but none were twisting up cuplike to capture water.
Not giving up, she continued her quest through the jungle, one slow step at a time.
By the time the sun was no longer visible through the roof of trees, Hermione was fading. She suspected that the last hour or two she had been walking in circles, but she was too stubborn to just stop and give up. She hadn’t found any source of water yet, though every now and again she swore she heard a waterfall. No matter what direction she went, however, the sound faded into the distance, then was gone.
Maybe it’s the tropical version of mirages: audial instead of visual, she mused to herself. She tried concentrating on finding the sound again, but to no avail. Finally, her legs gave way beneath her and she fell onto the ground with a splat. Pulling herself to her knees, she wearily crawled to the nearest tree, hoping it didn’t house any snakes or spiders that would find her yummy.
All she could do at that point was hope that it would rain soon. It is a rainforest, after all, she thought bitterly. Tilting her head back onto the massive tree behind her, she gave up. She closed her eyes, said a hopeless prayer, and drifted off into a dehydrated sleep.
When she opened her eyes, the moon was high above her, but there was something blocking the view. It was an odd shape, but definitely not a palm tree: its trunk was too thick, and leafy top too small. She blinked a couple of times trying to focus, and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself looking at a man who was leaning over her, and getting closer...
She flinched backwards, and immediately groaned; the movement had jarred a massive headache loose.
“Ssh. Don’t be alarmed,” the man said in a whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He then laid his hand on her forehead, before moving to her jawline and gently probing under her jaw and down her neck with delicate fingers. “Does any of this hurt?” he asked calmly.
Hermione shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice at the moment, as much from her parched mouth as from nerves.
“Good,” he said, then took her hand in his long slim fingers. Before she knew what he was doing, he had pinched the skin on the back of her hand.
“Ouch!” Hermione exclaimed, a little louder than she intended. The man took no notice of her yell though, as he examined her hand. She looked down and was disgusted to see that the area he pinched was still raised, like a grotesque ridge growing out of her hand. He must have caught her expression, because in soothing tones he explained, “A test for dehydration. You are in serious need of water.” He rubbed her hand gently to ease the skin flat.
He stopped rubbing her hand and replaced it by her side. Hermione was acutely aware of the loss of contact; she felt more alone than she had before he’d shown up. She repressed the urge to sigh, though. He was a strange man, and she was always cautious around strange men.
“Are you able to walk?” he asked, popping her out of her reverie. He offered his hand to help her rise, which she gladly accepted. As soon as she was on her feet it became obvious to both of them that walking was out of the question as she wobbled dangerously. He quickly stepped up beside her and put his arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned on him, completely unaware of his presence, as her head tore itself apart from the inside out. Her blood sugar had plummeted and, combined with her dehydration, she was in for the mother of all headaches.
She grasped at his arms, surprised to find them bare, and before she could say anything, she felt him hoist her into his arms, grunting slightly from the weight. Her head objected to the extra jostling, so she gritted her teeth and burrowed her head into his chest until the pain receeded.
When her headache had finally stablized, she found herself in an impossibly romantic situation. Her strange hero was carrying her through the dark jungle, his bare torso supporting her weight as if it were nothing, as he took her to the safety of his... What? Did he have a hut in the middle of this forest, or a cave, or a manor... She shook her head slightly, realizing she was borderline hallucinating.
“Are you all right?” he panted, noticing her movement. He sounded winded, as if he was working hard. She realized, much too slowly, that he was; he was carrying her through a dense jungle, in the dark, for an unknown distance. She suddenly felt very foolish.
“Oh, I’m fine, just embarrassed.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
She laughed lightly. “I’m not used to tall, dark, strangers carrying me through the woods,” she joked, though that was more than half the truth.
“Would you prefer I put you down?” he asked, a slight mocking edge to his voice.
“No,” she said, then cringed as she realized how that might sound. “I mean, I don’t know where we’re going, and... If I could walk without destroying my head...” She refused to finish that sentence, because she didn’t want to lie. She was enjoying the human contact, and besides that, he smelled nice.
He chuckled slightly, though he didn’t have much breath to do so. He didn’t say anything beyond that, and she figured he was reserving his breath, which was becoming audible.
“Is it much farther, wherever we’re going?” she asked, concerned.
“Just over the rise,” he said tersely, and sure enough, when they reached the apex of the little hill he’d climbed, a clearing opened up before them. The moonlight shone on the expanse, but it was still a moment before Hermione realized that the majority of the space was taken up by water. After observing the area carefully she couldn’t see any dwellings. Though curious, she decided to save her questions and let him save his breath.
They descended into the small valley slowly. He was being very careful in his footing as he walked down the hillside and she was starting to feel more guilty than foolish. She wished heartily that she could walk to save him the strain. But, before she could think of a way to suggest he rest, they were suddenly ensconced in a damp darkness, as the moon suddenly was extinguished.
Smelling the guano, she quickly surmised that they had entered a cave. She was proved correct a moment later when he lowered her carefully onto a rocky floor. He left her sitting there for a moment as he shuffled off to the left, scuffling his feet as if looking for something. After a few moments of scraping and shuffling, she guessed he found what he wanted, for the next moment his footsteps stopped. Another noise, as if rifling through papers, started up, and stopped. After a moment of silence, his voice sounded through the cave, echoing across the walls, his voice sounding grander and, oddly, familiar.
“Where are you?”
“Over here,” she said, then realizing he was using her voice as a compass, she continued, “Where are we, anyway? Besides in a cave, that is. Is this an island? Is there anybody else living here? Is the water out there potable?”
By the time she got to her last question she could feel his presence beside her, so she fell silent again.
“We are, as you’ve guessed, in a cave on the Isle of Den, which I am fairly certain is uninhabited by humans. The water you saw outside is saltwater, however, there’s a stream leading into the lagoon that is fresh. It is a short walk from here, and I’m afraid I must leave you alone to fetch some of it for you. Will you be all right here for a few minutes? I shan’t be gone for more than ten or fifteen,” he said, a slight note of concern in his voice.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. As she felt him move away from her, she added, “Thank you.”
She could barely make out the silhouette of his figure as he stopped and half turned at the cave entrance, looking back to where she was. He was tall and lean, and had longish hair. He also had a hawkish nose that stood out rather impressively. Beyond that, she could tell nothing.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he turned to leave, his whisper barely audible.
Hermione drifted between daydreams and dreams while he was gone, too tired to keep figure out which was which. In one vision she was making love to a dark man on a beach, his legs entangled with hers as he kissed her languidly, while in another she was being lifted out of the roiling seas by hands from beneath. Her visions shifted quickly, but subtly, leading into one another seamlessly. When strong hands found her body and lightly roamed about till they found her face, then gently fed her from bowl after bowl of water, she figured it was just another vision.
Her dreams gradually melted away to the feeling of her hands and face being washed while the sound of a chocolaty voice told her the names of plants indigenous to the South Pacific tropics in alphabetical order. The exotic common names brought wonderful images of flowery trees and golden sunsets, pina coladas on pale sandy beaches. She fell asleep to the mental image of a tall man with a large nose showering her with ti leaf leis and passionfruit flowers, surrounded by hibiscus and gladioli.
Morning dawned with a riot of birds screaming the arrival of another day. Hermione groaned as she rolled over onto her side. English birds never used to be so noisy. She was slowly fading back into her pleasant dreams when a random memory invaded her mind and forced her awake faster than a bucket of cold water.
Sitting up, she glanced around the cave. The sun wasn’t yet up, so it was still quite dark throughout the cave, but even so, she could see the figure of the dark man sitting on the opposite side of the cave from her. He had made no note of her moving about, but she could tell he was awake and watching her. It seemed odd, but he almost seemed scared of her.
“Good morning,” she said softly, a little shy.
“Good morning, Miss Granger.”
Hermione stilled. She was almost positive she had not told the man her first name, and certainly not her last name. “Do I know you, sir?” she asked cautiously.
“No, but you will recognize me come dawn.” He sounded sad, as if he didn’t want dawn to come.
Hermione tried to think of something to lighten the mood. “When I recognize you, will you have to kill me?” she asked playfully.
“No, but knowledge of my identity may kill you,” he answered somberly.
Hermione frowned, trying to figure out the riddle. Sensing her disquiet, he added, “Don’t worry, I don’t intend you any harm.”
The dawn came fairly quickly, and as light started seeping into the cave, Hermione took the time to observe the man who had saved her. He had dark hair down past his shoulders, and his nose was casting a shadow on his face even without direct light. She couldn’t tell how tall he was as he was sitting curled up on himself, nor his build, though his shoulders weren’t terribly broad. He was resting his arms on top of his knees which hid most of his torso from her view. As the light grew she could see that his legs were dark from all the hair.
She watched him watching her. He seemed resigned, but also tense, as his hands were balled up into fists, though hanging limply off either side of his knees. The light had only started to penetrate the cave’s shadows when she realized he did look familiar. Eerily familiar. Before her sat a man with dark hair, large nose, and murder underneath his belt.
Her eyes widened in fear as recognition hit. Snape!
“As I’ve told you twice now, I will not hurt you, so you needn’t look so scared,” Snape bit out impatiently.
Hermione retreated to the far wall slowly, trying to figure out how to deal with the situation. Before her was Dumbledore’s murderer, but also her rescuer. He had been kind and patient last night, which was as far removed from his regular persona as dawn from dusk. She didn’t know what to think.
She asked the first question that popped into her head. “How did you recognize me?”
Smiling bitterly, he explained, “Your voice seemed familiar, and after I removed most of the mud from your face and arms, I recognized your scent.”
Hermione looked to her arms, and felt her face. She indeed had been cleaned off, and she wondered how much of her dreams last night were actually memories. “Where are we?”
“As I told you yesterday, the Isle of Den.”
“And where is Den Island ?”
He gasped, then growled with mock suspicion, “You obviously aren’t Miss Granger. She’d know all about Den Isle and its surrounding communities.”
Hermione huffed. “I never claimed to be a know-it-all, sir. You were the one gracious enough to bestow that title. And I thought you said this place was uninhabited.”
“Uninhabited by humans, Miss Granger. There are communities of other beings. For instance, one of the reasons there aren’t any human communities here is because there’s a rather large colony of acromantulas. Once the colony was discovered, the wizarding world made the island muggle resistant, including making it unplottable.”
“If it’s unplottable, how did we come to be here?”
“I’m here because I already knew where Den was and decided it would be an ideal spot for a... vacation. I have no idea how you got here.”
“Vacation? Was that your bonus for killing Dumbledore? You got an all-expense paid vacation to the middle of Acromantulaland? You should seriously rethink your loyalties, sir, if that’s Voldemort’s idea of a reward.”
“First, do NOT say the Dark Lord’s name. Second, how do know what my idea of a vacation is? This might be a dream come true for me.”
She looked him up and down. His hair was scraggly, his cheeks were gaunt and his shorts were torn, but at the same time, his skin was bronze instead of sallow, and his face looked much less pinched than it had when she last saw him. Overall, the impression she got was that he looked very sad, but less bitter.
“I doubt that, sir,” she replied softly. “You look more like you’re living a nightmare than a dream, though you do look a touch healthier.”
He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her for a minute before turning to look out the cave entrance.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asked after a bit.
“Much better, thanks to you.” Hermione said in a neutral voice.
“Are you up for scavaging some breakfast, or shall I go find some for us?” Snape asked.
Hermione blinked. Had Snape just offered to bring her breakfast. She looked to where she had lain the night before and couldn’t repress a giggle.
“What?” Snape spat, the familiar tightness creeping back into his face.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just I never in my wildest imaginings thought you would ever offer to bring me breakfast in bed.” She tried to repress another giggle, and snorted from the effort.
Snape’s face relaxed a notch, and he offered up a smirk. “Yes, well, I never thought I would ever be alone with you on a deserted island.”
Something seemed odd about his wording, but Hermione had other questions. “You don’t have any idea how I got here, do you?” she asked nervously.
Snape’s eyebrows rose. “None at all. I was quite surprised to find it was you lurking around the wards. I was expecting it to be Mulciber or Nott telling me to cut my vacation short.”
“Wards? So you have a wand?” she asked excitedly, thinking there might be hope of escape off the god forsaken island after all.
Snape smiled rather sardonically. “Had a wand. I’m afraid I was rather foolish and went swimming with the wand in my shorts pocket. Somewhere along the way it must have slipped out.”
Hermione frowned at both his flippant tone and the information. “Great, so we’re stuck here on an island full of massive man-eating spiders without wands and unable to apparate.”
Snape looked up at the last bit and Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile cross his face, but it was gone before she was sure. “So it would seem,” was all he said.
Hermione huffed again, crossing her arms in annoyance. She screwed her eyes shut to try and still the rising scream, but was fighting a losing battle. Realizing that, she quickly got up, walked to the cave entrance, opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs till she ran out of air.
Her voice echoed across the valley, silencing the birds for a few moments. Breathing hard, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. The jungle was still oppressive, and slimy, and thick, and unpleasant, but at least today she was seeing it without being on the verge of dehydrating to death. It made it a tad more bearable, but only a tad.
Once her breathing had returned to normal, she turned around to find Snape leaning up against the entrance, watching her with a decidedly amused expression.
“What?” she spat, unknowingly imitating the dour man’s expression from a few minutes before.
He just smiled cockily and brushed by her. After a few paces, he turned to say, “Coming, or aren’t you hungry?”
She growled, but obligingly followed his lead, running to catch up to him as he strode off into the forest without another backward glance.
Snape lead her around the lagoon, pointing out which plants were safe, and which to avoid. It seemed to Hermione that the list of those to avoid was much longer than the safe plants. Her opinions about the jungle were not rising.
They passed many passionfruit plants that were laden with fruit, but Snape took no notice of them, obviously looking for something else. Hermione’s stomach was starting to hurt quite a lot, so she decided that even if it tasted awful, she wanted to eat something.
Plucking a fruit, she was about to peel it when it was taken from her hand abruptly. She looked up at Snape and glowered.
“I’m pretty sure you said that was a passionfruit, so why aren’t we eating them? I know they’re edible!”
“Yes, they are, when fully ripe. This one, however,” he said holding the fruit in front of her face, “is not ripe. If you want to be poisoned, then by all means, satisfy your hunger.” He offered the fruit back to her. Looking daggers at him, she declined.
They moved on. After a fair trek, Hermione could swear she was hearing the elusive waterfall again. Afraid she was reliving her delusional state from the day before, she asked, “Sir, is it my imagination, or is there a waterfall nearby?”
“It’s your imagination,” Snape responded curtly. Biting her lip, Hermione tried to dispell the worry that was rising. Was she mad? Was she imagining this entire experience? Had she been Crucioed to insanity, and was now interned in St. Mungo’s Janus Thickie Ward alongside the Longbottoms?
Not paying attention to where she was going, she walked into Snape, who had turned and stopped. Looking up to apologize, she saw he was smirking down at her, almost openly laughing.
“What?” she snapped, feeling like she was missing something obvious.
Snape just smiled broadly at her, said, “Nothing,” and continued walking. Slightly stunned at the difference a smile could make to his face, Hermione dazedly followed, getting lost in her thoughts about the odd man in front of her.
He was nothing like the professor who had terrorized her and every other student for years. This man was relaxed and almost playful, though he still was a bit on the sarcastic side. It was hard to believe that this really was Severus Snape and not some anti-Snape doppleganger. It was hard to believe this was the man whom Dumbledore had trusted. It was hard to believe that this man was a killer.
She wondered if he had gone crazy. It would explain a lot: for example, since when did Voldemort send people on vacation? He was the Dark Lord, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the bad guy, the personification of evil. He did not give out bonuses or vacation time, not even for killing arch rivals.
If Snape had gone crazy, then it would behoove Voldemort to send him as far away from the action as possible, preferably to a place where he was unlikely to return from. And where better than an unplottable island full of some of the deadliest creatures known to the magic world and unripe passionfruit?
Of course, if she had gone crazy, that would explain everything, too. She could be floating out in the Irish Sea, absorbing all the nastiness there, while hallucinating this whole adventure. Thinking about it some more, she thought that explanation made the most sense, although why she would hallucinate about being stranded on a deserted island with Snape, of all people, she didn’t know. Maybe she was just in denial about Snape’s betrayal.
She was so lost in thought, she didn’t even notice the noise was getting louder, but suddenly she was forced into the present by an arm around her waist tugging her backwards so forcefully she ended up on her bottom.
“Watch where you’re going!” Snape snapped angrily from beside her. Getting to his feet, he continued, while glaring at her, “Do you have a death wish? If so, then tell me now and I will fail to save you next time!”
This was more like the Snape she remembered. She took a big breath to respond, then let it out with a whoosh as she caught sight of where they were. Eyes wide, she looked around slowly, absorbing the scenery. On all fours, she warily crawled forward to get a better look, her anger at Snape vanishing into the misty air.
A few feet ahead of them was a sizable drop-off into what looked like a green and black pottery bowl. The black, volcanic cliffs fell vertically, though they were dotted with ferns and vines and other pernacious tropical weeds. The main attraction, however, was the graceful waterfall streaking down the cliffs like a white crack in the glazing.
It wasn’t a very big waterfall, only about thirty feet high and no more than five feet across, but the mist it created as it churned the black water below was enough to create dewdrops on Hermione’s face.
Hermione looked in awe for a few moments. She’d read about the beauty of the tropics and seen that it might be worth experiencing one day, judging from the images on the telly, but this was beyond her expectations. She would have preferred to be viewing this from an asphalt sidewalk with guardrails and other precautions to prevent massive amounts of tourists from falling to their deaths, but even as it was, she was amazed.
She backed up slightly then looked over her shoulder at Snape. He was sitting with his arm on one knee, while the other leg was stretched out before him, looking for all the world like he was on a picnic, only without the blanket. He also looked inwardly amused.
“You lied to me!” she exclaimed, pointing at the waterfall. As she did, his smirk grew, bordering on another real smile. “You told me it was just my imagination! Do you really think it’s funny to make me think I’m going insane?”
His smile burst forth, and she blinked, marvelling again at how different he looked when he was seemingly cheerful. With little effort, he got to his feet and walked over to where she was. Almost laughing, he offered her a hand, pulled her up so that she was only a breath away, then leaned down and softly said, “Vastly.”
Grinding her teeth in anger, Hermione let go of his hand, shoved him back, and stormed off down the narrow path leading to the pool below. At the bottom of the basin, there was a small sandy area where the constantly moving water had ground the basalt to bits. It was only when she looked around that she realized that there wasn’t any food to be had.
Closing her eyes and praying for patience, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Whipping around to glare at the offender, she was startled to see him holding a large, greenish fruit out to her.
“Still hungry?” he asked, the smirk in residence.
Debating whether she was more hungry or angry, she quickly decided hunger was more pressing. She could always yell at him later, when she was fully fueled.
“Thanks,” she muttered ungraciously. He inclined his head slightly, then sat down and started attacking his mango.
She sat down as well, and though she made sure she was a couple meters away, she also made sure she could see him, and observe how to peel the tough skin of the fruit. When she thought she had a good idea of how to go about it, she started on her own, but found it very difficult to make any progress. After struggling with it for a few minutes, she sighed in exasperation and looked to Snape.
Snape was observing her, smirk still playing at his lips, though it had a slighlty different quality to it now. She had the suspicion that he was enjoying watching her struggle, and would relish the plea for help she was about to issue.
Sticking her hand holding the mango out, she asked, as politely as she could, “Would you please help me with this, sir? I can’t seem to skin the dratted thing.”
Smirk broadening, he got up and walked over to where she sat. He stood over her, looming like he had in his incarnation as teacher, then surprised her by sitting down beside her and handed her his peeled fruit.
“Here, you can have mine,” he offered, taking the sheathed mango away from her. She took the proffered mango, and looked at him completely bewildered.
“Thanks,” she said faintly, deciding that she was, in fact, going insane, waterfall or not.
The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of slurping and sucking that goes with eating a juicy fruit in hand. Both were releshing their first meal of the day, Hermione probably more so seeing as she hadn’t eaten the day before. She had devoured the large fruit in only a minute or so, and was too hungry to turn down the remaining half of Snape’s mango when he offered.
After sucking the last scrap of mango from the seed, she moved to suck her hand and fingers, relishing each drop of sweet juice. As she was sucking her index finger clean she looked over to Snape to thank him and found him watching her motions intently, a hungry look in his eyes. She paused, captivated by his expression, and almost gasped when he shifted his eyes up to meet hers.
Pulling her finger from her mouth’s grip with a slight pop, she looked at the man before her in awe. He was looking at her with such intensity that she found it hard to breathe. Her breaths came in short gasps, and when he started moving toward her slowly, it hitched, suddenly understanding what he was hungry for.
He leaned in, closer and closer, till he was only a few inches away, then stopped, and quirked his lips up slightly into a sexy smirk. Not breaking eye contact, she felt his hand make contact with her arm, sending gooseflesh all the way up to her neck as he slid his fingers down to her hand. He continued staring at her, not releasing her from his gaze as he explored her hand with gentle fingers. She felt her grasp of the mango seed loosen as her hand tingled with his feathery touch.
He probed with two fingers, caressing her palm and insinuating his flesh into hers so smoothly she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensations fully. As soon as her eyes were closed she felt his fingers wrap around the seed she was still holding, his fingers delving in and around her palm, then gently pulling to release the seed from her grasp. She opened her hand to his, and then it was gone with the seed.
Opening her eyes, she found herself looking at his retreating backside as he walked to the pool. She took a shaky breath and watched as he threw their seeds across the pool to the far side of the water. She was still breathing rather heavily when he turned around and smirked at her, eyebrow twitching up in triumph.
Before she could start getting huffy, he turned back toward the water, and strode forward, diving in as soon as he was waist deep. Closing her eyes again, she swallowed the knowledge that she had just been completely aroused by Snape, and wanted more.
Her eyes opened when she heard her name being called from the distance. His head was sticking out of the pool, bobbing up and down as he tread water. “Hermione,” he called again, and she realized, with a blush, that she really like the way her name sounded in his voice.
She stood up and dusted herself off as she walked to the water’s edge.
“If you feel like cleaning up, now would be a good time to do so,” Snape called out, his clear voice reaching her without strain.
She blushed even deeper, but realized there was good sense to his suggestion. He had generously washed off her face and arms the night before, but she was still filthy everywhere else. She was about to enter the water in her meager clothing, but catching Snape watching her, she decided two could play at the seduction game. Snape wasn’t the type she would have persued back in Britain, but stranded on a deserted island...
She advanced into the water, one slow step at a time. She could feel the cotton nightshirt wicking up the water, and guessed that by the time the water was at her thighs, the cloth would be see-through, clinging up to her ribs.
She kept her eye on Snape, and was pleased to find him most distracted by her advance. His eyebrows had risen up to his hairline, and his mouth made a perfectly adorable little “o”.
When the water reached her waist, she copied Snape and dove headfirst into the cool water. As soon as she surfaced and had wiped the hair from her face, she looked around for Snape, but couldn’t find him. Turning her head in both directions, she scanned the water surface, but wasn’t visible anywhere. She was just about to call his name when she felt the water around her ripple slightly, and a smooth voice purred into her ear, “Be careful of the sharks, Miss Granger, you never know where they might show up.”
She turned around quickly, but he was gone, leaving only a ripple as he swam off underwater. She wondered what exactly he meant by his warning, because she was almost positive there wouldn’t be sharks in a freshwater pool surrounded by land. She swam toward shore until she could stand, and looked around for Snape again. He had disappeared again, but after that rather impressive display of swimming skills, she figured he was probably fine.
She walked most of the way to shore, then sat down making sure the water was covering her. Pulling her nightdress over her head, she began rubbing sand over her arms and legs, scrubbing herself clean of all the jungle grime. Once she finished washing herself, she inspected her piece of clothing. She wished she had been wearing her pajamas the night before last, but was glad she had been wearing something. It was too bad there were several rips in the bodice, but she supposed that’s what came of being shipwrecked.
She gave the nightgown the same scrubbing as her body, rubbing the cloth against itself and the sand, forcing the mud and grime out. She became completely engrossed in the meditative activity and was just finishing up when she felt the water ripple again. Looking up sharply, she couldn’t see Snape or anything else in the water before her, but when something brushed up against her leg, she shot up and out of the water as fast as her legs could carry her.
Once safely on the beach, she turned around, panting, to find Snape sitting where she had been, shaking with silent laughter. Hermione flushed with anger, then embarrassment as she realized she was still holding the nightgown in her hand and was rather exposed. Quickly donning her soaked nightgown, she stomped off, deciding not to wait for Snape to show her the way back to the cave.
Halfway up the path she heard him call out to her, but she was too mad to stop. He had purposely teased her, in and out of the water, and she refused to let him make her a laughingstock.
Once she reached the ridge, she hesitated for a moment, not quite sure which way they had come from, but hearing Snape calling up the path, she decided to forge ahead anyway. She stormed through the jungle, heedless of direction, or obstacles.
She felt so humiliated. He had caught her off guard by being nice, almost playful. Everything he had done broke down her barriers and she had somehow started trusting him, forgetting he was currently the most wanted man in England, other than Voldemort.
She had thought he was attracted to her - he had even given her half his breakfast! But it was now obvious that he was just playing with her. She wasn’t insane after all, he was just playing a different game than she was used to. She refused to be played with like that, and especially not by that bastard of a greasy, cold, sneaky, calculating, manipulative, murdering Slytherin.
She had to stop to catch her breath, and as her breathing slowed, she realized that the jungle was silent. No birds, no bugs: nothing but silence. Looking about her, she didn’t see anything amiss. There were more spiderwebs than she remembered from their trek to the pool, but she guessed that she had just veered off course while distracted. It wouldn’t be too difficult to backtrack. She couldn’t have gone very far.
Turning around she found she was in a lot more trouble than she originally anticipated. Every way she looked there were red spiders the size of dinnerplates were weaving webs, blocking the way out. Looking up, she saw more webs being cast above her, effectively caging her in.
Trying hard not to panic, she looked for a loophole, or a weapon. The only thing around her though, were rotted sticks and ferns. Not helpful. There were more spiders now, and the webbing was getting thicker. On one side it was completely opaque. If it weren’t for the fact that the webs weren’t touching her, she would swear that she was being encased just like a fly.
Suddenly a comparatively small black spider came through the webs, scuttling toward her with deceptive speed. She started backing up, wanting to avoid any attack, if possible, when the spider stopped. It stayed still for a moment, and then began to grow, very quickly. Hermione backed away even more, but when she heard the clicking of a spider behind her, she turned to find herself inches from a sticky wall. She backed up quickly and screamed when she felt something touch her shoulder, instinctively raising her hand to smack it off.
Whatever it was wrapped its arms around her, pinning her arms by her sides. Panicking, she flailed as hard as she could, trying to claw, bite and kick her way out of the creature’s grip, but to no avail. She felt its breath on her neck and started sobbing, knowing that the creature was about to suck her dry.
But instead of fangs on her neck, she heard a shushing in her ear. Terrified beyond reason, she couldn’t restrain herself from pleading in choking sobs: “Save me, please... Someone please save me... I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”
Title: Passing Ships
Rating: PG-13 - R ish
Warnings: Unbetaed silliness, bad puns and OOCness. Oh, and completely and totally AU, but post HBP.
Genre: Comedy/parody (I hope it's funny, anyway), action/adventure
Word count: ~ 12,000
Summary: When the SS Harmony went down, Hermione found herself on a deserted island with the last man on earth she would have expected...
His kisses were salty, as if he’d been crying, but she could see no trace of tears. His lips covered her in regular rhythm, like waves crashing on the shore. He would kiss her mouth, then move down her body, leaving her cold and lonely until he returned to kiss her lips once more, and repeat the process.
She lay there enjoying his attentions, though as time passed, he retreated more and more, not even coming up to kiss her mouth, though she was desperately wanted to taste him again. But he kept withdrawing, no matter what protests she voiced, until he was only licking her toes off and on.
“That tickles, Harry,” Hermione murmured sleepily, trying to open her eyes, but finding them crusted shut. “Please stop.” She was getting impatient with the continued lapping at her toes, wondering when he had developed a foot fetish. She was so tired, but she started stirring if only to get up and get a glass of water. She was absolutely parched.
She turned her head for leverage, but stopped when she realized the cabin sheets were wet. And hard. They were also a lot grittier than they had been the night before. She forced her eyes to open, and blearily looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was most definitely not the cabin she shared with Harry aboard the SS Harmony. The windows were much too large. It was so bright she had to squint and it was a few moments before she could make out what the weird shapes were.
Palm trees. What in blazes were palm trees doing in Britain? The only place she could think of having palm trees was along the gulf stream, and the sun was much too hot for it to be anywhere in Scotland.
Slowly she sat up and looked around, feeling very confused. She was on a sandy beach lined with what looked like a tropical forest. She most definitely wasn’t in Scotland anymore.
She brought her hands up to wipe her face, but stopped when she saw the crust of sand covering them. She looked around for signs of other people, but all she could see were bits of driftwood and fiberglass littering the beach. It looks like there was a shipwreck, she thought, before it hit her. There had been. The SS Harmony had capsized. She and Harry had been getting into the life boat when a gust of wind had thrown her overboard.
Crap.
She vaguely remembered Harry screaming her name, but the waves and wind had overpowered everyone’s cries, including hers. She had no idea how she’d survived, as she had no memory of finding a raft and they hadn’t been close to land.
Stretching carefully to assess her physical condition, she slowly got to her feet. Looking around, she could see the entire cove was dotted with the remains of the ship. It was very messy.
She wandered over to the nearest peice of debris, which was half buried in the sand, and cocked her head as she lazily examined it. It looked like a shard from the hull, but she didn’t really want to touch it. She hadn’t had a tetnus shot for ages, and she guessed there wasn’t a ready supply anywhere nearby.
Before long, her thirst reasserted itself, and she made her way along the beach, looking for signs of a stream. Her mouth was so dry it felt swollen. As she scoured the coastline, she idly wondered how much sea water she had ingested while unconscious.
The cove ended in a rocky escarpment that looked a bit too vertical for her taste. She turned to the jungle, which looked almost as menacing, then back at the sharp boulders. She knew it would be easy to become lost in the jungle, and if a rescue boat came they’d never find her, but she’d never been good at climbing, and her hands and feet were in no condition for the rough rock. Looking back to the other side of the cove, she saw it too was guarded by a similar rock face. If she wanted fresh water, she would either have to climb, with the hopes of another beach nearby, or scour the jungle.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she was a witch. She could apparate even without her wand. Closing her eyes, she focused on the image of Hogsmeade. She gathered all her energy, and deliberately determined her destination. She felt a small swirl of vertigo and a cool breeze hit her back, and opened her eyes hopefully.
Crap.
She was still facing the jungle.
Heaving a rather large sigh, she gathered her inner resources and stepped into the dense foliage.
The jungle was thick. And slimy. And very, very hot. She carefully made her way over rotted logs and twisting vines, ducking her head occasionally for the low branches sticking out. Looking ahead instead of down, she tripped and grabbed onto a thick vine to catch herself. She screamed and recoiled when the vine wriggled in her hand, and fell onto the ground face first.
She quickly righted herself and started scrambling forward on her hands and knees, hoping the snake didn’t hold grudges. After getting a bit of distance between her and the fake vine, she sat down and rested in the slick mud.
Not thinking, she wiped a chunk of hair from her brow, and groaned when she felt mud smear over her skin.
She hated nature. Hated, hated, hated it. She liked all the convieniences of civilization, like running water. Showers. Public transportation. Sidewalks. Water.
She just wanted the simple things. Even if all that wasn’t possible, she would be happy just to have a wand, because then it would be a simple matter of conjuring a glass and casting aguamenti - not to mention the ability to either apparate or summon the Knight Bus. And cast a cleaning charm.
Not wanting to delve into self pity, she sighed in resignation and pulled herself up. She was really, really thirsty, and needed to find a source of water very soon. A sudden thought occured, and she slapped her forehead, quickly regretting that action when she felt the mud splatters cover the rest of her face. Wiping away the excess slime, she looked up and around for any cupped leaves that might hold some rainwater. She scanned all the foliage, but didn’t see any leaves that seemed to be holding water. Big leaves, small leaves, some as big as her head, but none were twisting up cuplike to capture water.
Not giving up, she continued her quest through the jungle, one slow step at a time.
By the time the sun was no longer visible through the roof of trees, Hermione was fading. She suspected that the last hour or two she had been walking in circles, but she was too stubborn to just stop and give up. She hadn’t found any source of water yet, though every now and again she swore she heard a waterfall. No matter what direction she went, however, the sound faded into the distance, then was gone.
Maybe it’s the tropical version of mirages: audial instead of visual, she mused to herself. She tried concentrating on finding the sound again, but to no avail. Finally, her legs gave way beneath her and she fell onto the ground with a splat. Pulling herself to her knees, she wearily crawled to the nearest tree, hoping it didn’t house any snakes or spiders that would find her yummy.
All she could do at that point was hope that it would rain soon. It is a rainforest, after all, she thought bitterly. Tilting her head back onto the massive tree behind her, she gave up. She closed her eyes, said a hopeless prayer, and drifted off into a dehydrated sleep.
When she opened her eyes, the moon was high above her, but there was something blocking the view. It was an odd shape, but definitely not a palm tree: its trunk was too thick, and leafy top too small. She blinked a couple of times trying to focus, and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself looking at a man who was leaning over her, and getting closer...
She flinched backwards, and immediately groaned; the movement had jarred a massive headache loose.
“Ssh. Don’t be alarmed,” the man said in a whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He then laid his hand on her forehead, before moving to her jawline and gently probing under her jaw and down her neck with delicate fingers. “Does any of this hurt?” he asked calmly.
Hermione shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice at the moment, as much from her parched mouth as from nerves.
“Good,” he said, then took her hand in his long slim fingers. Before she knew what he was doing, he had pinched the skin on the back of her hand.
“Ouch!” Hermione exclaimed, a little louder than she intended. The man took no notice of her yell though, as he examined her hand. She looked down and was disgusted to see that the area he pinched was still raised, like a grotesque ridge growing out of her hand. He must have caught her expression, because in soothing tones he explained, “A test for dehydration. You are in serious need of water.” He rubbed her hand gently to ease the skin flat.
He stopped rubbing her hand and replaced it by her side. Hermione was acutely aware of the loss of contact; she felt more alone than she had before he’d shown up. She repressed the urge to sigh, though. He was a strange man, and she was always cautious around strange men.
“Are you able to walk?” he asked, popping her out of her reverie. He offered his hand to help her rise, which she gladly accepted. As soon as she was on her feet it became obvious to both of them that walking was out of the question as she wobbled dangerously. He quickly stepped up beside her and put his arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned on him, completely unaware of his presence, as her head tore itself apart from the inside out. Her blood sugar had plummeted and, combined with her dehydration, she was in for the mother of all headaches.
She grasped at his arms, surprised to find them bare, and before she could say anything, she felt him hoist her into his arms, grunting slightly from the weight. Her head objected to the extra jostling, so she gritted her teeth and burrowed her head into his chest until the pain receeded.
When her headache had finally stablized, she found herself in an impossibly romantic situation. Her strange hero was carrying her through the dark jungle, his bare torso supporting her weight as if it were nothing, as he took her to the safety of his... What? Did he have a hut in the middle of this forest, or a cave, or a manor... She shook her head slightly, realizing she was borderline hallucinating.
“Are you all right?” he panted, noticing her movement. He sounded winded, as if he was working hard. She realized, much too slowly, that he was; he was carrying her through a dense jungle, in the dark, for an unknown distance. She suddenly felt very foolish.
“Oh, I’m fine, just embarrassed.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
She laughed lightly. “I’m not used to tall, dark, strangers carrying me through the woods,” she joked, though that was more than half the truth.
“Would you prefer I put you down?” he asked, a slight mocking edge to his voice.
“No,” she said, then cringed as she realized how that might sound. “I mean, I don’t know where we’re going, and... If I could walk without destroying my head...” She refused to finish that sentence, because she didn’t want to lie. She was enjoying the human contact, and besides that, he smelled nice.
He chuckled slightly, though he didn’t have much breath to do so. He didn’t say anything beyond that, and she figured he was reserving his breath, which was becoming audible.
“Is it much farther, wherever we’re going?” she asked, concerned.
“Just over the rise,” he said tersely, and sure enough, when they reached the apex of the little hill he’d climbed, a clearing opened up before them. The moonlight shone on the expanse, but it was still a moment before Hermione realized that the majority of the space was taken up by water. After observing the area carefully she couldn’t see any dwellings. Though curious, she decided to save her questions and let him save his breath.
They descended into the small valley slowly. He was being very careful in his footing as he walked down the hillside and she was starting to feel more guilty than foolish. She wished heartily that she could walk to save him the strain. But, before she could think of a way to suggest he rest, they were suddenly ensconced in a damp darkness, as the moon suddenly was extinguished.
Smelling the guano, she quickly surmised that they had entered a cave. She was proved correct a moment later when he lowered her carefully onto a rocky floor. He left her sitting there for a moment as he shuffled off to the left, scuffling his feet as if looking for something. After a few moments of scraping and shuffling, she guessed he found what he wanted, for the next moment his footsteps stopped. Another noise, as if rifling through papers, started up, and stopped. After a moment of silence, his voice sounded through the cave, echoing across the walls, his voice sounding grander and, oddly, familiar.
“Where are you?”
“Over here,” she said, then realizing he was using her voice as a compass, she continued, “Where are we, anyway? Besides in a cave, that is. Is this an island? Is there anybody else living here? Is the water out there potable?”
By the time she got to her last question she could feel his presence beside her, so she fell silent again.
“We are, as you’ve guessed, in a cave on the Isle of Den, which I am fairly certain is uninhabited by humans. The water you saw outside is saltwater, however, there’s a stream leading into the lagoon that is fresh. It is a short walk from here, and I’m afraid I must leave you alone to fetch some of it for you. Will you be all right here for a few minutes? I shan’t be gone for more than ten or fifteen,” he said, a slight note of concern in his voice.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. As she felt him move away from her, she added, “Thank you.”
She could barely make out the silhouette of his figure as he stopped and half turned at the cave entrance, looking back to where she was. He was tall and lean, and had longish hair. He also had a hawkish nose that stood out rather impressively. Beyond that, she could tell nothing.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he turned to leave, his whisper barely audible.
Hermione drifted between daydreams and dreams while he was gone, too tired to keep figure out which was which. In one vision she was making love to a dark man on a beach, his legs entangled with hers as he kissed her languidly, while in another she was being lifted out of the roiling seas by hands from beneath. Her visions shifted quickly, but subtly, leading into one another seamlessly. When strong hands found her body and lightly roamed about till they found her face, then gently fed her from bowl after bowl of water, she figured it was just another vision.
Her dreams gradually melted away to the feeling of her hands and face being washed while the sound of a chocolaty voice told her the names of plants indigenous to the South Pacific tropics in alphabetical order. The exotic common names brought wonderful images of flowery trees and golden sunsets, pina coladas on pale sandy beaches. She fell asleep to the mental image of a tall man with a large nose showering her with ti leaf leis and passionfruit flowers, surrounded by hibiscus and gladioli.
Morning dawned with a riot of birds screaming the arrival of another day. Hermione groaned as she rolled over onto her side. English birds never used to be so noisy. She was slowly fading back into her pleasant dreams when a random memory invaded her mind and forced her awake faster than a bucket of cold water.
Sitting up, she glanced around the cave. The sun wasn’t yet up, so it was still quite dark throughout the cave, but even so, she could see the figure of the dark man sitting on the opposite side of the cave from her. He had made no note of her moving about, but she could tell he was awake and watching her. It seemed odd, but he almost seemed scared of her.
“Good morning,” she said softly, a little shy.
“Good morning, Miss Granger.”
Hermione stilled. She was almost positive she had not told the man her first name, and certainly not her last name. “Do I know you, sir?” she asked cautiously.
“No, but you will recognize me come dawn.” He sounded sad, as if he didn’t want dawn to come.
Hermione tried to think of something to lighten the mood. “When I recognize you, will you have to kill me?” she asked playfully.
“No, but knowledge of my identity may kill you,” he answered somberly.
Hermione frowned, trying to figure out the riddle. Sensing her disquiet, he added, “Don’t worry, I don’t intend you any harm.”
The dawn came fairly quickly, and as light started seeping into the cave, Hermione took the time to observe the man who had saved her. He had dark hair down past his shoulders, and his nose was casting a shadow on his face even without direct light. She couldn’t tell how tall he was as he was sitting curled up on himself, nor his build, though his shoulders weren’t terribly broad. He was resting his arms on top of his knees which hid most of his torso from her view. As the light grew she could see that his legs were dark from all the hair.
She watched him watching her. He seemed resigned, but also tense, as his hands were balled up into fists, though hanging limply off either side of his knees. The light had only started to penetrate the cave’s shadows when she realized he did look familiar. Eerily familiar. Before her sat a man with dark hair, large nose, and murder underneath his belt.
Her eyes widened in fear as recognition hit. Snape!
“As I’ve told you twice now, I will not hurt you, so you needn’t look so scared,” Snape bit out impatiently.
Hermione retreated to the far wall slowly, trying to figure out how to deal with the situation. Before her was Dumbledore’s murderer, but also her rescuer. He had been kind and patient last night, which was as far removed from his regular persona as dawn from dusk. She didn’t know what to think.
She asked the first question that popped into her head. “How did you recognize me?”
Smiling bitterly, he explained, “Your voice seemed familiar, and after I removed most of the mud from your face and arms, I recognized your scent.”
Hermione looked to her arms, and felt her face. She indeed had been cleaned off, and she wondered how much of her dreams last night were actually memories. “Where are we?”
“As I told you yesterday, the Isle of Den.”
“And where is Den Island ?”
He gasped, then growled with mock suspicion, “You obviously aren’t Miss Granger. She’d know all about Den Isle and its surrounding communities.”
Hermione huffed. “I never claimed to be a know-it-all, sir. You were the one gracious enough to bestow that title. And I thought you said this place was uninhabited.”
“Uninhabited by humans, Miss Granger. There are communities of other beings. For instance, one of the reasons there aren’t any human communities here is because there’s a rather large colony of acromantulas. Once the colony was discovered, the wizarding world made the island muggle resistant, including making it unplottable.”
“If it’s unplottable, how did we come to be here?”
“I’m here because I already knew where Den was and decided it would be an ideal spot for a... vacation. I have no idea how you got here.”
“Vacation? Was that your bonus for killing Dumbledore? You got an all-expense paid vacation to the middle of Acromantulaland? You should seriously rethink your loyalties, sir, if that’s Voldemort’s idea of a reward.”
“First, do NOT say the Dark Lord’s name. Second, how do know what my idea of a vacation is? This might be a dream come true for me.”
She looked him up and down. His hair was scraggly, his cheeks were gaunt and his shorts were torn, but at the same time, his skin was bronze instead of sallow, and his face looked much less pinched than it had when she last saw him. Overall, the impression she got was that he looked very sad, but less bitter.
“I doubt that, sir,” she replied softly. “You look more like you’re living a nightmare than a dream, though you do look a touch healthier.”
He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her for a minute before turning to look out the cave entrance.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asked after a bit.
“Much better, thanks to you.” Hermione said in a neutral voice.
“Are you up for scavaging some breakfast, or shall I go find some for us?” Snape asked.
Hermione blinked. Had Snape just offered to bring her breakfast. She looked to where she had lain the night before and couldn’t repress a giggle.
“What?” Snape spat, the familiar tightness creeping back into his face.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just I never in my wildest imaginings thought you would ever offer to bring me breakfast in bed.” She tried to repress another giggle, and snorted from the effort.
Snape’s face relaxed a notch, and he offered up a smirk. “Yes, well, I never thought I would ever be alone with you on a deserted island.”
Something seemed odd about his wording, but Hermione had other questions. “You don’t have any idea how I got here, do you?” she asked nervously.
Snape’s eyebrows rose. “None at all. I was quite surprised to find it was you lurking around the wards. I was expecting it to be Mulciber or Nott telling me to cut my vacation short.”
“Wards? So you have a wand?” she asked excitedly, thinking there might be hope of escape off the god forsaken island after all.
Snape smiled rather sardonically. “Had a wand. I’m afraid I was rather foolish and went swimming with the wand in my shorts pocket. Somewhere along the way it must have slipped out.”
Hermione frowned at both his flippant tone and the information. “Great, so we’re stuck here on an island full of massive man-eating spiders without wands and unable to apparate.”
Snape looked up at the last bit and Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile cross his face, but it was gone before she was sure. “So it would seem,” was all he said.
Hermione huffed again, crossing her arms in annoyance. She screwed her eyes shut to try and still the rising scream, but was fighting a losing battle. Realizing that, she quickly got up, walked to the cave entrance, opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs till she ran out of air.
Her voice echoed across the valley, silencing the birds for a few moments. Breathing hard, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. The jungle was still oppressive, and slimy, and thick, and unpleasant, but at least today she was seeing it without being on the verge of dehydrating to death. It made it a tad more bearable, but only a tad.
Once her breathing had returned to normal, she turned around to find Snape leaning up against the entrance, watching her with a decidedly amused expression.
“What?” she spat, unknowingly imitating the dour man’s expression from a few minutes before.
He just smiled cockily and brushed by her. After a few paces, he turned to say, “Coming, or aren’t you hungry?”
She growled, but obligingly followed his lead, running to catch up to him as he strode off into the forest without another backward glance.
Snape lead her around the lagoon, pointing out which plants were safe, and which to avoid. It seemed to Hermione that the list of those to avoid was much longer than the safe plants. Her opinions about the jungle were not rising.
They passed many passionfruit plants that were laden with fruit, but Snape took no notice of them, obviously looking for something else. Hermione’s stomach was starting to hurt quite a lot, so she decided that even if it tasted awful, she wanted to eat something.
Plucking a fruit, she was about to peel it when it was taken from her hand abruptly. She looked up at Snape and glowered.
“I’m pretty sure you said that was a passionfruit, so why aren’t we eating them? I know they’re edible!”
“Yes, they are, when fully ripe. This one, however,” he said holding the fruit in front of her face, “is not ripe. If you want to be poisoned, then by all means, satisfy your hunger.” He offered the fruit back to her. Looking daggers at him, she declined.
They moved on. After a fair trek, Hermione could swear she was hearing the elusive waterfall again. Afraid she was reliving her delusional state from the day before, she asked, “Sir, is it my imagination, or is there a waterfall nearby?”
“It’s your imagination,” Snape responded curtly. Biting her lip, Hermione tried to dispell the worry that was rising. Was she mad? Was she imagining this entire experience? Had she been Crucioed to insanity, and was now interned in St. Mungo’s Janus Thickie Ward alongside the Longbottoms?
Not paying attention to where she was going, she walked into Snape, who had turned and stopped. Looking up to apologize, she saw he was smirking down at her, almost openly laughing.
“What?” she snapped, feeling like she was missing something obvious.
Snape just smiled broadly at her, said, “Nothing,” and continued walking. Slightly stunned at the difference a smile could make to his face, Hermione dazedly followed, getting lost in her thoughts about the odd man in front of her.
He was nothing like the professor who had terrorized her and every other student for years. This man was relaxed and almost playful, though he still was a bit on the sarcastic side. It was hard to believe that this really was Severus Snape and not some anti-Snape doppleganger. It was hard to believe this was the man whom Dumbledore had trusted. It was hard to believe that this man was a killer.
She wondered if he had gone crazy. It would explain a lot: for example, since when did Voldemort send people on vacation? He was the Dark Lord, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the bad guy, the personification of evil. He did not give out bonuses or vacation time, not even for killing arch rivals.
If Snape had gone crazy, then it would behoove Voldemort to send him as far away from the action as possible, preferably to a place where he was unlikely to return from. And where better than an unplottable island full of some of the deadliest creatures known to the magic world and unripe passionfruit?
Of course, if she had gone crazy, that would explain everything, too. She could be floating out in the Irish Sea, absorbing all the nastiness there, while hallucinating this whole adventure. Thinking about it some more, she thought that explanation made the most sense, although why she would hallucinate about being stranded on a deserted island with Snape, of all people, she didn’t know. Maybe she was just in denial about Snape’s betrayal.
She was so lost in thought, she didn’t even notice the noise was getting louder, but suddenly she was forced into the present by an arm around her waist tugging her backwards so forcefully she ended up on her bottom.
“Watch where you’re going!” Snape snapped angrily from beside her. Getting to his feet, he continued, while glaring at her, “Do you have a death wish? If so, then tell me now and I will fail to save you next time!”
This was more like the Snape she remembered. She took a big breath to respond, then let it out with a whoosh as she caught sight of where they were. Eyes wide, she looked around slowly, absorbing the scenery. On all fours, she warily crawled forward to get a better look, her anger at Snape vanishing into the misty air.
A few feet ahead of them was a sizable drop-off into what looked like a green and black pottery bowl. The black, volcanic cliffs fell vertically, though they were dotted with ferns and vines and other pernacious tropical weeds. The main attraction, however, was the graceful waterfall streaking down the cliffs like a white crack in the glazing.
It wasn’t a very big waterfall, only about thirty feet high and no more than five feet across, but the mist it created as it churned the black water below was enough to create dewdrops on Hermione’s face.
Hermione looked in awe for a few moments. She’d read about the beauty of the tropics and seen that it might be worth experiencing one day, judging from the images on the telly, but this was beyond her expectations. She would have preferred to be viewing this from an asphalt sidewalk with guardrails and other precautions to prevent massive amounts of tourists from falling to their deaths, but even as it was, she was amazed.
She backed up slightly then looked over her shoulder at Snape. He was sitting with his arm on one knee, while the other leg was stretched out before him, looking for all the world like he was on a picnic, only without the blanket. He also looked inwardly amused.
“You lied to me!” she exclaimed, pointing at the waterfall. As she did, his smirk grew, bordering on another real smile. “You told me it was just my imagination! Do you really think it’s funny to make me think I’m going insane?”
His smile burst forth, and she blinked, marvelling again at how different he looked when he was seemingly cheerful. With little effort, he got to his feet and walked over to where she was. Almost laughing, he offered her a hand, pulled her up so that she was only a breath away, then leaned down and softly said, “Vastly.”
Grinding her teeth in anger, Hermione let go of his hand, shoved him back, and stormed off down the narrow path leading to the pool below. At the bottom of the basin, there was a small sandy area where the constantly moving water had ground the basalt to bits. It was only when she looked around that she realized that there wasn’t any food to be had.
Closing her eyes and praying for patience, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Whipping around to glare at the offender, she was startled to see him holding a large, greenish fruit out to her.
“Still hungry?” he asked, the smirk in residence.
Debating whether she was more hungry or angry, she quickly decided hunger was more pressing. She could always yell at him later, when she was fully fueled.
“Thanks,” she muttered ungraciously. He inclined his head slightly, then sat down and started attacking his mango.
She sat down as well, and though she made sure she was a couple meters away, she also made sure she could see him, and observe how to peel the tough skin of the fruit. When she thought she had a good idea of how to go about it, she started on her own, but found it very difficult to make any progress. After struggling with it for a few minutes, she sighed in exasperation and looked to Snape.
Snape was observing her, smirk still playing at his lips, though it had a slighlty different quality to it now. She had the suspicion that he was enjoying watching her struggle, and would relish the plea for help she was about to issue.
Sticking her hand holding the mango out, she asked, as politely as she could, “Would you please help me with this, sir? I can’t seem to skin the dratted thing.”
Smirk broadening, he got up and walked over to where she sat. He stood over her, looming like he had in his incarnation as teacher, then surprised her by sitting down beside her and handed her his peeled fruit.
“Here, you can have mine,” he offered, taking the sheathed mango away from her. She took the proffered mango, and looked at him completely bewildered.
“Thanks,” she said faintly, deciding that she was, in fact, going insane, waterfall or not.
The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of slurping and sucking that goes with eating a juicy fruit in hand. Both were releshing their first meal of the day, Hermione probably more so seeing as she hadn’t eaten the day before. She had devoured the large fruit in only a minute or so, and was too hungry to turn down the remaining half of Snape’s mango when he offered.
After sucking the last scrap of mango from the seed, she moved to suck her hand and fingers, relishing each drop of sweet juice. As she was sucking her index finger clean she looked over to Snape to thank him and found him watching her motions intently, a hungry look in his eyes. She paused, captivated by his expression, and almost gasped when he shifted his eyes up to meet hers.
Pulling her finger from her mouth’s grip with a slight pop, she looked at the man before her in awe. He was looking at her with such intensity that she found it hard to breathe. Her breaths came in short gasps, and when he started moving toward her slowly, it hitched, suddenly understanding what he was hungry for.
He leaned in, closer and closer, till he was only a few inches away, then stopped, and quirked his lips up slightly into a sexy smirk. Not breaking eye contact, she felt his hand make contact with her arm, sending gooseflesh all the way up to her neck as he slid his fingers down to her hand. He continued staring at her, not releasing her from his gaze as he explored her hand with gentle fingers. She felt her grasp of the mango seed loosen as her hand tingled with his feathery touch.
He probed with two fingers, caressing her palm and insinuating his flesh into hers so smoothly she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensations fully. As soon as her eyes were closed she felt his fingers wrap around the seed she was still holding, his fingers delving in and around her palm, then gently pulling to release the seed from her grasp. She opened her hand to his, and then it was gone with the seed.
Opening her eyes, she found herself looking at his retreating backside as he walked to the pool. She took a shaky breath and watched as he threw their seeds across the pool to the far side of the water. She was still breathing rather heavily when he turned around and smirked at her, eyebrow twitching up in triumph.
Before she could start getting huffy, he turned back toward the water, and strode forward, diving in as soon as he was waist deep. Closing her eyes again, she swallowed the knowledge that she had just been completely aroused by Snape, and wanted more.
Her eyes opened when she heard her name being called from the distance. His head was sticking out of the pool, bobbing up and down as he tread water. “Hermione,” he called again, and she realized, with a blush, that she really like the way her name sounded in his voice.
She stood up and dusted herself off as she walked to the water’s edge.
“If you feel like cleaning up, now would be a good time to do so,” Snape called out, his clear voice reaching her without strain.
She blushed even deeper, but realized there was good sense to his suggestion. He had generously washed off her face and arms the night before, but she was still filthy everywhere else. She was about to enter the water in her meager clothing, but catching Snape watching her, she decided two could play at the seduction game. Snape wasn’t the type she would have persued back in Britain, but stranded on a deserted island...
She advanced into the water, one slow step at a time. She could feel the cotton nightshirt wicking up the water, and guessed that by the time the water was at her thighs, the cloth would be see-through, clinging up to her ribs.
She kept her eye on Snape, and was pleased to find him most distracted by her advance. His eyebrows had risen up to his hairline, and his mouth made a perfectly adorable little “o”.
When the water reached her waist, she copied Snape and dove headfirst into the cool water. As soon as she surfaced and had wiped the hair from her face, she looked around for Snape, but couldn’t find him. Turning her head in both directions, she scanned the water surface, but wasn’t visible anywhere. She was just about to call his name when she felt the water around her ripple slightly, and a smooth voice purred into her ear, “Be careful of the sharks, Miss Granger, you never know where they might show up.”
She turned around quickly, but he was gone, leaving only a ripple as he swam off underwater. She wondered what exactly he meant by his warning, because she was almost positive there wouldn’t be sharks in a freshwater pool surrounded by land. She swam toward shore until she could stand, and looked around for Snape again. He had disappeared again, but after that rather impressive display of swimming skills, she figured he was probably fine.
She walked most of the way to shore, then sat down making sure the water was covering her. Pulling her nightdress over her head, she began rubbing sand over her arms and legs, scrubbing herself clean of all the jungle grime. Once she finished washing herself, she inspected her piece of clothing. She wished she had been wearing her pajamas the night before last, but was glad she had been wearing something. It was too bad there were several rips in the bodice, but she supposed that’s what came of being shipwrecked.
She gave the nightgown the same scrubbing as her body, rubbing the cloth against itself and the sand, forcing the mud and grime out. She became completely engrossed in the meditative activity and was just finishing up when she felt the water ripple again. Looking up sharply, she couldn’t see Snape or anything else in the water before her, but when something brushed up against her leg, she shot up and out of the water as fast as her legs could carry her.
Once safely on the beach, she turned around, panting, to find Snape sitting where she had been, shaking with silent laughter. Hermione flushed with anger, then embarrassment as she realized she was still holding the nightgown in her hand and was rather exposed. Quickly donning her soaked nightgown, she stomped off, deciding not to wait for Snape to show her the way back to the cave.
Halfway up the path she heard him call out to her, but she was too mad to stop. He had purposely teased her, in and out of the water, and she refused to let him make her a laughingstock.
Once she reached the ridge, she hesitated for a moment, not quite sure which way they had come from, but hearing Snape calling up the path, she decided to forge ahead anyway. She stormed through the jungle, heedless of direction, or obstacles.
She felt so humiliated. He had caught her off guard by being nice, almost playful. Everything he had done broke down her barriers and she had somehow started trusting him, forgetting he was currently the most wanted man in England, other than Voldemort.
She had thought he was attracted to her - he had even given her half his breakfast! But it was now obvious that he was just playing with her. She wasn’t insane after all, he was just playing a different game than she was used to. She refused to be played with like that, and especially not by that bastard of a greasy, cold, sneaky, calculating, manipulative, murdering Slytherin.
She had to stop to catch her breath, and as her breathing slowed, she realized that the jungle was silent. No birds, no bugs: nothing but silence. Looking about her, she didn’t see anything amiss. There were more spiderwebs than she remembered from their trek to the pool, but she guessed that she had just veered off course while distracted. It wouldn’t be too difficult to backtrack. She couldn’t have gone very far.
Turning around she found she was in a lot more trouble than she originally anticipated. Every way she looked there were red spiders the size of dinnerplates were weaving webs, blocking the way out. Looking up, she saw more webs being cast above her, effectively caging her in.
Trying hard not to panic, she looked for a loophole, or a weapon. The only thing around her though, were rotted sticks and ferns. Not helpful. There were more spiders now, and the webbing was getting thicker. On one side it was completely opaque. If it weren’t for the fact that the webs weren’t touching her, she would swear that she was being encased just like a fly.
Suddenly a comparatively small black spider came through the webs, scuttling toward her with deceptive speed. She started backing up, wanting to avoid any attack, if possible, when the spider stopped. It stayed still for a moment, and then began to grow, very quickly. Hermione backed away even more, but when she heard the clicking of a spider behind her, she turned to find herself inches from a sticky wall. She backed up quickly and screamed when she felt something touch her shoulder, instinctively raising her hand to smack it off.
Whatever it was wrapped its arms around her, pinning her arms by her sides. Panicking, she flailed as hard as she could, trying to claw, bite and kick her way out of the creature’s grip, but to no avail. She felt its breath on her neck and started sobbing, knowing that the creature was about to suck her dry.
But instead of fangs on her neck, she heard a shushing in her ear. Terrified beyond reason, she couldn’t restrain herself from pleading in choking sobs: “Save me, please... Someone please save me... I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”
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Date: 2007-02-11 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 07:14 pm (UTC)