I
had intended for “Snape Takes a Holiday” to be a standalone story, but people
kept asking me how Snape survived … and I also promised to write fanfiction to
celebrate my original writing advances, like the book contract with Arcadia
Publishing. So here, several months later, is chapter two. And since you’ve
probably already forgotten chapter one, you can find it here:
Chapter
two is below, and also here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10441980/2/Snape-Takes-A-Holiday
AWKWARD
CONVERSATION
“So, how did you survive--?”
Hermione looked annoyed when the
waiter approached. Snape might have smiled, if he was inclined to do such
things. She’d been quiet since the moment she emerged from the changing room,
wearing a colorful sundress that was slightly less revealing than the bikini she’d
worn on the beach. Apparently she was rebelling against the drab, conservative
dress of Hogwarts.
Equally revealing was his former
student’s silence. Only one topic of conversation could shut Granger’s mouth
for their entire walk to the restaurant … the same topic that kept him silent as
he tried to figure out a way to avoid it.
There was no good way to talk about
death, especially one’s own.
Hermione ordered in passable
French, while the waiter looked down the neckline of her dress. Sitting even
straighter than usual, Snape put on his best glare and aimed it with laser
precision at the man. The waiter faltered, glanced up, then straightened
himself. Eyes wide, he stammered something in English.
“I will also have the Coquilles
Saint-Jacques. With Chablis, and buche for desert. You will keep your gaze from
them.”
With a start, Hermione looked up
from the menu.
Snape continued, without looking
away from the now trembling waiter. “So much as a glance will result in severe
… consequences.”
With a quick nod, the waiter
scurried away.
“What was that all about?” Hermione
demanded. “How in the world is he to serve our food if he doesn’t look at it?”
Snape gestured—ever so briefly—at
the point just above where the swell of her breasts emerged from the sundress.
“You were asking about my death.”
“But—oh!” Her hand fluttered to her
chest, and a blush spread all the way down her neck.
“If you don’t mind my saying, Miss
Granger …”
“Yes, your ....” She looked away.
“I wanted to get as far from possible from my life, you see. Location,
activities … style of dress …”
“I assume you’re going to burn the
contents of your suitcase before returning to Hogwarts in the fall.”
“I’m thinking about burning them
right now.”
The waiter appeared beside them
again, clutching the Chablis and two glasses. “Madam, I wish to apologize for
my earlier behavior.”
Snape’s head jerked up. The
waiter’s voice was suddenly higher, rougher, as if it was someone else trying
to imitate the man. Yet he looked exactly the same.
“Apology accepted,” Hermione told
him, a little uncertainly, as the waiter poured their drinks with horrible
technique.
“Here in this world, there is
nothing wrong with your style of dress.” Snape made no attempt to sound
reassuring, especially since his words were not, strictly speaking, meant for
her. “There is no sign of our world
here.” He looked at the waiter. “None whatsoever.”
The waiter spilled a little and,
apologizing profusely, wiped it up.
“Therefore,” Snape continued, “No
one has any reason to complain about you wearing summer clothing in the south
of France, during summer.”
As the waiter moved away, Hermione
gave her dinner companion an odd look. “Thank you. I’m trying to decide if this
topic of conversation is meant to divert me from the other topic of
conversation.”
“I would prefer a third topic,
something less volatile. Politics. Religion. My former associates.”
She took a huge gulp from the
glass, then wrinkled her nose in a way that would be almost cute if not for the
accompanying gagging sound. “Perhaps discussing your former associates covers
all three of those.”
He’d never thought of it that way
before, and now inclined his head in agreement. To delay the inevitable, he
took a drink. Considering they were in France, the Chablis was, of course,
superb. “Sip it, Miss Granger. It’s not butterbeer.”
“Harry says he saw you die.”
Hermione fidgeted in her seat.
“Potter is not nearly as observant
as he imagines.”
She started to argue, then took a
sip as instructed. “It’s good. I think. It tastes … like steel. And it smells
like it just rained.”
Hermione looked into her glass, and
Snape used the moment to impulsively kick out to the side, where the waiter had
been. His boot caught something, and he heard the smallest of cries and a
gentle waft of moving material. “Potter, in addition to not being observant, is
slow on the uptake and on connecting the proverbial dots. You, on the other
hand, are both intelligent and observant, so you tell me: How did I manage to
stay alive?”
“Well, you were—did you just
compliment me?”
“I’m told there is a blue moon over
France tonight.”
“Did you just make another joke? That’s two in one day.”
She sipped her drink again, holding it in her mouth for a contemplative moment.
“I’ll chance the injury to my
reputation.”
“All right, fine. You were bitten
by a giant, highly poisonous snake. Obviously, the venom …” Hermione trailed
off. “You knew you might get bitten by Nagini, someday.”
“Of course.”
“So you made a potion that vaccinated
you against the venom!” Looking triumphant, Hermione forgot her previous
instructions and took a swallow of the Chablis.
“Obviously there was a chance
Nagini might be used against me, so over time I was able to build up an
immunity to the snake’s venom.” Snape almost smirked at the idea of cheating
death, but then he shook his head. “It still affected me to some degree—and I
did not take into account the probability of blood loss. Naturally, I would not
have given my memories over to Potter if I hadn’t thought …”
“You did believe you were dying.”
Sympathy shone in her eyes, or pity. Sometimes it was hard to tell the
difference.
“But I did recover, eventually, and when
someone finally came for my body they found me to be more or less alive. To
many, that will come as something of a surprise this autumn, but by then the
wizarding world should be more stabilized.”
“I think I’ve learned more about
you today than all the time we’ve known each other.”
“Don’t get used to it.” Some part
of Snape’s mind admitted to liking this opportunity, to talk about himself a
little. The rest of his mind slapped that part down. “And now, Miss Granger, we
will speak no more of my death, or my life, or your choice of clothing. There
surely must be more pleasant—“
“I’ll be right back.” Hermione
clutched the edge of the table and jerked to her feet.
Trying to hide his concern, Snape
also rose. “Do you require--?”
“No, no … I just need to powder my
nose.” She hurried away, in the general direction of the loo.
“Alcohol will have that effect on
people,” Snape murmured, retaking his seat. Then he raised his hand and snapped
his fingers. The same waiter was beside him in a flash. “Potter, what the devil
do you think you’re doing?”
The waiter frowned. “How did you—“
“It was either you or Weasley, and
he has his hands full elsewhere. It can be assumed you also had assistance,
considering your complete incompetence at making Polyjuice Potion. You just
can’t seem to keep from spying on people.”
“I’m not spying!”
“Then what were you doing?”
“I was …” The waiter faltered.
“Looking out for my friend.”
“In other words, spying. I promised
you and the Weasleys that I would look after Miss Granger, in case you’ve
forgotten. Also—in case you’ve forgotten—I keep my promises.”
“I—I know. I’m sorry, Professor.”
“If our randy server hadn’t
offended your delicate sensibilities, you might have gotten away with skulking
in the cloak.” He almost admired Potter’s clearly inherited ability at stealth.
“I assume the real waiter is unharmed?”
Harry shrugged. “He might wake up
with a crick in his neck. He deserves worse for looking down Hermione’s
blouse.”
“Agreed. However, Miss Granger is
quite able to look after herself, and if circumstances dictate, I’m capable of
providing the required assistance.”
The waiter with Potter’s voice
hesitated. Against his better judgment, Snape softened his voice. “Miss Weasley
and her simpering brother need you …go back to them. I’ll look after the
situation here.”
After a moment, Harry nodded. “But
you will burn that bathing suit, won’t you?”
Perhaps the unfortunate loss of
Miss Granger’s suitcase was covered under “required assistance”. “Count on it.”
