Through Tinted Windows

Chapter 2

Sola en mi silencio andaba en la ciudad

El calor de tu mirada me hizo despertar

De ese largo sueño de esa soledad

Caminar junto a tu lado era natural

Contigo me escape del mundo a otra dimensión

En tus brazos yo sentía que perdía la razón

El miedo de entregarme con tu piel se me borró

Y en mi corazon por ti se despertaba el amor

Como despierta una flor

Cuando el viento la acaricia

Y se entrega ante el calor

Se despertaba el amor

con esta loca pasión

junto a ti descubro lo que es

Amar haciendo el amor...

Part of ‘Amar Haciendo el Amor' (To Love Making Love)

Performed by: Celine Dion

------------~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~------------

Hermione walked stiffly back towards Hogsmeade, her forbidding companion by her side. How in the name of Merlin had she ended up with a man such as Severus Snape? Out of habit, she bit her lower lip and frowned slightly, deep in thought as she replayed the events that day.

She had listened to the instructions of the announcer and waited her turn to inspect the men. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she was called up for her chance. Her instincts screamed for her to run away; that it was all just one big hoax and she would end up with a man who would not appreciate her in any perspective. She was pushed on, however, by the fact that she owed Meg for the many times that she had sacrificed for her. Besides, she told herself, if you don't like each other, at least you know that the foundations of the relationship were shallow. The fact was they met in an auction not a place where lasting relationships begin.

So as she walked on stage, she held her breath and looked at the first box. Oddly enough, what appeared before her was the hands of the bachelor. Slightly fascinated by her choice, she stepped closer and took a look. She made a face at what she was presented with. The hands were thick and stubby, callous in its texture and not appealing as each nail was chipped at ten different places. She could not picture herself holding such a hand as that. She quickly moved on to the next. The second man's hands were slightly better, but there was nothing about it that appealed to her. She passed the third, fourth and fifth, only to pause at the sixth contestant's stall.

There in front of her eyes were the most elegant pair of hands she had ever seen. Although the skin was unnaturally pale, it seemed to fit the shape of the fingers as they stretched out, quite thin and long. She was immediately drawn to them and she took a curious step closer and leaned forward to appreciate them more. Not thinking of her actions, she brought the right hand into her grasp and tilted her head, her eyes glazed slightly. She ran a finger down the length of his palm and was actually delighted when it felt slightly rough. Immediately, she was faced with an image of that palm molding itself into her skin, slowly massaging sensitive areas of her body. She almost shuddered at the image.

She wasn't sure what the shudder meant, however, as the fingers seemed so familiar to her – as if she'd seen them somewhere before. Visions of those hands moving gracefully through the air in attempt of creating wonderful things. She dismissed the thought with a mutter of dismissal, however, and went for the more sensual meaning behind it, thinking that it would be quite delightful to be touched by such beautiful things. My husband should have these hands, she thought idly, tracing patterns onto the palm. Realizing that she had wasted most of her time in front of Bachelor #6, she squeezed the hand she held and traced a message on the palm. Releasing it afterwards, she walked off, barely glancing at the rest of the contestants.

As the last of the women went up, she began to eavesdrop on the other conversations that were in progress around her, pinpointing certain information – particularly, if the male she was picking had other women after him.

"What did you look at?"

"As strange as this sounds, I looked at their arms…"

"I chose to see the shoulders. Damn but Bachelor number 7's were so wide! I want to get my hands on him." A sigh. "Men with wide shoulders appeal to me so much…"

"Dearest, it's natural to pick men with wide shoulders. Our inborn instinct is to find males with builds that imply protection." Hermione found that piece of information quite interesting, but moved on searching in other conversations.

"Damn! I should have picked to see just a silhouette! Then I could see the whole length of him!"

"What did you think of number 3? I thought he had really good skin tone."

"Did you get to touch it?"

"Actually no…"

"Bachelor number 6 had very bad hair."

Hermione could feel her ears prick at the mention of bachelor number six. The women who had recently spoken were just a foot away from her and although the whole crowd was buzzing, the two were unnaturally loud. She glanced at them and had to suppress a chuckle. Two old women about the age of seventy each with failing eyesight squinted at each other and conversed.

"What did it look like?"

"It was awful! The length was of about shoulder length and black. I have to give credit to that. However, the quality of it was horrendous – it was as if it was covered in grease of some sort!"

"Did you bother to touch it? Maybe it felt better than it looked."

"My dear, when it comes to hair, I'm an expert." Hermione choked back a laugh. "Not in a million years would I touch hair as – as greasy as that!"

Greasy black hair… familiar pale fingers… Hermione knew that the image was buried in the recesses of her mind. However, she could not pinpoint exactly how it could have been recognizable. She shrugged to herself and licked her lips as her attention was brought to the last promo winner walking off the stage with a blush on her cheeks. Then when they were made to pick one contestant, she quickly made her way to the sixth box, biting her lip in consternation when two other women placed themselves in the same spot. She cast her eyes down as they gave her a sharp look. She was not sure to what extent these women were going to go to, but she knew she had to have the sixth bachelor. Something about him called out to her – had it been the paleness of the skin or the long, thin fingers –she didn't know. Squaring her shoulders she waited for her turn.

The auction itself was hard on her. One-hundred and twenty Galleons that she was saving for a special product went down the drain as she called out her price. She was relieved when the two others just gaped at her and said nothing more. She would not have been willing to pay for a Galleon more – it was already too much. As the rest of the bachelors were auctioned off, she squeezed her fingers and fidgeted in her place, impatient to see her choice. She almost cried in relief when the announcer said they were going to reveal them and turned to face the dark box, her breath coming out in short bursts. It was then she got the shock of her life. There stood her most hated teacher, the Potions Master, Severus Snape.

"Now, to ensure that all of you stay with your pairs, we have placed a spell that binds you together with your chosen other," the announcer informed, a grin on his face. "The two of you will not be able to be farther than twenty meters apart or one or the other shall be transferred to an area with in the twenty meter radius of the other. Afterwards, should the relationship hold, then the couples will get an all-expense paid cruise to Bermuda Triangle and stay in Hokkaido, Japan to go sightseeing. Your accommodations shall be of five star quality so rest assured about such minute details."

Hermione heard what was said, but the buzzing in her ears almost overpowered his amplified voice. Professor Snape's usual scowl was fouler than usual and at the mention of not being able to be farther than twenty meters away from each other clearly unnerved him. His eyes had shot up to the announcer, an aghast look upon his face.

"I object to such a condition," he had protested, folding his arms angrily.

"Thank you for all coming! I hope you will still linger afterwards for the rest of the entertainment lined up for you," the announcer went on, ignoring the comment. "Next up we have the well renowned band, ‘Wicked!'"

A roaring applause burst and the individuals remaining on the stage were ushered off to make room for the next act. Hermione was brought back to the present, where she walked with Snape towards Hogsmeade. The band had just started up with their song ‘When I Kissed the Teacher' and she could not help but feel the irony of the situation in regards to the melody playing.

Dark unfurling inside my mind

Yet I can't help but think in kind

He stands before my very gaze

A smirk on his lips, and eyes unphased.

The feelings that harness me I cannot deter

The stolen moments – when I kissed the teacher…

Was that going to happen? she thought fearfully. Would she end up kissing her former professor? And yet when the image of such a seemingly preposterous thing unfurled in her mind, all she felt was the strange ache of actually only wanting such a thing to happen. She glanced at Snape then, his form towering over her small one beside her and she was reminded of the fluidness of his hands and how he handle the creation of potions with ease.

As if sensing her eyes on him, his lips pursed into a thin white line and he glanced at her. Her eyes resumed its stare to the road before he could catch her looking at him. When she felt the insistent glare he gave her, she let out an audible sigh of exasperation and stopped, putting her hands on her hips.

"Look, Professor –" she started.

He sneered. "I believe we've reached the stage where first names are suitable, don't you think so, Hermione?"

She just had about enough of his irritating comments. Her insides boiled with anger and the volcano of conflicting emotions blew up. "Gods, must you be so damned condescending? I'm not happy about the arrangements either. For goodness sake, you're my teacher from school! Do you think I was expecting to see you there much less pick you? You're not the only one humiliated here, okay?"

He said nothing – much to her surprise – but he had a brooding look in his face. She went on. "Since we will not be able to get out of this situation, I think the only way we will get through this is if we just spend one week together as required and then go on our merry ways afterwards. Besides –" She faltered and started again, her voice placed with more force. "Besides, it's not like this relationship would evolve into – into anything more… right?"

He regarded her with his usual stoic and icy glare and folded his arms as he assessed her words. A small smile started to tug at his lips, bewildering Hermione. "You sound so unsure of yourself about the issue concerning our – state of indifference towards each other. Are you certain that you will be able to resist my oh, so charming personality?"

"Believe me," she stated dryly. "Not in a million years would I even think about being with you in anything more than a student-teacher kind of way."

There was a moment of silence. "You certainly are tempting me, you know, Miss Granger?"

She was startled. "To what?"

"To try to prove you wrong." He gave a mocking sigh. "As much as I do love a good challenge, I am not one to exploit innocent little chits like you. I'll leave you for the younger hungry wolves to eat."

She was about to protest when he cut her off by saying, "Come on, we must make haste. It shall be dark very soon."

He walked over to the Apparating area paused then looked back at her. "You do have an Apparating license, do you not?"

"How could you think otherwise?"

He raised a brow then turned away. "Very well." Then he disappeared.

To her shock. As he apparated, she felt a violent tug of some sort yank on her body and soon she was traveling as well in a very uncomfortable manner. A second after, she was tumbling to the ground, her body propelled forward by a great velocity bouncing hard against the hard floor. She let out a high shriek and braced herself for more blows on her body, her eyes scrunched to keep back the tears. When none came she slowly opened her eyelids and found herself hovering in the air. She gave a sob of relief and struggled to right herself again.

When her feet touch the ground, she collapsed to her hands and knees, taking deep gulping breaths. She was still in the process of calming her nerves down when black billowing robes came in her line of view.

"I apologize," Snape said stiffly from above her. "I forgot about the twenty-meter distance rule. I do hope you were not in too much of an inconvenience."

She coughed a bit and attempted to get up. "Had I apparated first, the roles would have been reversed. It's quite understandable, Professor. Really."

Feeling in debt for her pain, he took hold of her arm as gently as he could and helped her to her feet. She was still unsteady on her own, so he brought her arm around his shoulder and whisked her into his arms and began walking down the cobblestone path.

"Where are we?" Hermione questioned in a slurred manner.

Glancing down at her, he realized she had truly gone through an ordeal as her energy was apparently drained. He looked ahead again with a frown, the guilt twisting his insides. "We are at my personal cottage."

"Hm… is it cold there, too?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The dungeons were always so cold when we went to Potions," she explained, her voice sounding weaker. She was falling asleep in his arms. "I was wondering if this place was just like it."

"Certainly not, Miss Granger. I take more pride in my own personal space than a place that gives me a frequent headache."

He felt the rumble of her chuckle go through him. The thought that he had actually amused someone other than Albus was somewhat reassuring and addicting. He could feel the urge to elicit a full laugh from her build up, but he suppressed the urge and busied himself with attempting to take off the wards he had placed on the entrance.

"Why are we here?"

"Do you ever cease to ask questions?" Again, there was the vibrations of her laughter.

"You know me, the ever-curious Hermione Granger."

He allowed himself a smile and finally got the door open. Stepping in, he kicked the door closed and walked over to the settee and placed her carefully upon it. She fell limply against it and purred in what seemed to be in feline satisfaction. "So soft…"

"I only get the best quality for my accommodations," he told her lightly, moving her head to a more comfortable position.

She just hummed a response and soon succumbed to sleep's call. He watched her, unable to tear his eyes away from her form. His hand still stayed behind her head, tangled in her brown tresses. Her hair was more tamed now, he noted with appreciation. It didn't frizz in thick layers as it had when she was still a child. How they were in neat waves, framing her peach-soft face. Her cheeks were still rosy but the chubbiness of youth had gone, leaving only a well-formed appearance. Snape's eyes skipped over her lips, feeling an old tug that he was certain would not resurface for the rest of his life. The swift awareness caught him off-guard and made him uncomfortable.

Abruptly he retracted himself from her lithe body and got up, pausing long enough to create a fire and illuminate the room. He began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace holding himself in check as he tried to think of reasonable circumstances in which both parties would be satisfied. The limitations of their distance was irrational and he mentally cursed the ones in charge of the auction event that afternoon. His spring break was ruined; he would have no solitude and, knowing the girl's impulsive urge to question everything that surrounds her, his ears would not hear the end of it. Still, a little voice countered in his head, you have to admit that the girl is still quite intriguing, even if it's just because of her outward appearance and that sensually sweet scent of hers. He grimaced at the turn of his thoughts, running an agitated hand through his raven mane.

He could not stand this at all! Here he was with a former student of his who had turned into a beautiful woman and the first thing he thinks about is how to get away from her even when everything he knows about her is so magnetic to him. His reason and instinct were warring inside of him and he didn't know which one to follow. He could try with reasonable but then whenever that was attempted, it would just bounce back at him. Instinct got him into trouble as well, and the harsh reminder of such were the fifteen years he had to endure as a Death Eater.

So, he asked himself, pacing even more furiously than previous. Was he going to stay cold and aloof to her as he had been when he was her Professor? Or would he take up the challenge that she had unknowingly placed for him and try to win her over? He stopped in his tracks and slowly brought his eyes back to the settee. The spark of interest that seemed so small just moments before returned with renewed persistence – all for this woman who lay innocently fast asleep.

------------~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~------------

Hermione woke to the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee and a blistering headache on top of her senses. She winced slightly, a twinge of pain traveling down her neck as she turned her head to massage it with her palm. She opened her eyes, her vision blurry at first, but soon focusing on her surroundings. Gingerly, she attempted to prop herself on her elbows and winced at the effort as the movement hurt with every inch she took. When she finally had her balance, she glanced around, noting she was alone… and she could not help but appreciate the taste of the individual who had designed the place. The fire was roaring cheerfully in an regal looking black marble hearth. She looked down and found the floor covered in burgundy patterned rug. In fact, she noted, the whole room was either black or red. There were a few pieces with white – like the intense canvas piece on the wall with red and white paint tinting the black background.

Her nose, however, could not help but override her unnaturally high curiosity and she searched for the source of the superb fragrance of ground coffee beans. To her dismay, she could not spot it. Only thinking of filling her stomach, she made her body move off the settee. As she stood, she held onto her back and cringed, feeling like an old woman. Her steps were jerking, but she made it to the cherry wood door and opened it. The smell she had been detecting surrounded her senses as the air from outside the room whooshed around her. But it wasn't the coffee that elicited a grin of enjoyment, but the image she was greeted with.

There in front of her was the view of Severus Snape's derriere. She had to hand it to the man, he had his positive aspects. And this, she thought with a silent whistle, was just one of them. From what she could see, it appeared that he was attempting to get something from a lower cabinet located under a stone countertop. He was muttering something inaudible for her ears to perceive, and she swallowed a giggle. She was suddenly thankful for the fact that she was to spend a week with him. There was so much about him she did not know of and his daily routines was something that she was looking forward to witnessing.

As if feeling her eyes on him, his muttering stopped and his body stiffened. He drew himself out of the cabinet quickly and stood in one fluid motion. As usual, his expression was forbidding and closed. Was this the same man who had carried her into the cottage and made her laugh just hours before, Hermione asked herself. From his proud stance and pursed lips, it seemed that it wasn't. She could feel her heart fall in disappointment, realizing that the persona she had believed him to have was not going to present itself to her at all, even under such intimate circumstances.

The silence that had settled upon them was unnerving and she could feel herself tensing under his piercing glare. She searched frantically for something intelligible enough to say. Her attempts were in vain, however, as the look that Snape was giving her rendered her speechless. He finally relieved her of the task by speaking up.

"Are you feeling better, Miss Granger?"

She opened her mouth then closed it and smiled weakly. "Not really, I'm afraid. Do you – ah –you don't happen to have any Advil on you by any chance?" Such a failed attempt of a joke, she thought to herself as she watched his relentless piercing gaze stare back at her with burning intensity.

"I'm afraid I hold none of the wasteful muggle-medicine you are requesting for," he informed, stiffly nodding his head; his scowl not letting up. "However, I have something that works quicker and more effectively. I shall get some for you."

He walked off with nothing else exchanged. Hermione watched him as he left the room; left her alone, disheartened and embarrassed for the second time that day.