In answer to Deianaera’s Phrase Challenge on WIKTT, I give you The Phrase Challenge. Unoriginal name, good story (I hope). This is the first of three parts.

The usual disclaimers apply. Please R/R. And yes, I am working on both Choices and Palace of Memory (shameless plugs). SHEESH!

Phrase Challenge

Chapter One: By Neither Word

It was the night after Voldemort’s defeat and Number 12 Grimmauld Place was alive with festivity. Aurors were coming and going, buzzing like excited bees around Potter and Dumbledore. Amelia Bones, the new Minister of Magic, was cordially shaking the hands of each of the Weasley boys in turn, not even minding when Fred or George (I could not tell which) transfigured her red hat into a rooster. Longbottom had indulged in one too many butterbeers and come up to me, red-faced, to say, “Prof-Professor Snape, you we-weren’t very nice to me in class but don’t worry. I forgive you. You’re a hero!” And then, horribly, Longbottom had thrown his arms around me and begun to sob. I extricated myself from the boy and thrust him in the direction of Parvati Patil, making a quick beeline for the kitchen door. I wanted nothing more than to be gone from this place but Dumbledore had ordered my presence- “You must get out more Severus” -and so here I was, being manhandled by the dunderheads that I despised and who usually despised me.

I wrenched open the heavy oak door and stepped into the relative peace of the kitchen. Relative because Molly Weasley was inside ordering the house-elves about and generally making a nuisance of herself.

“Molly dear, please come out and join the party.”

“Arthur, you know very well these cakes won’t make themselves!”

“But Molly, surely the house-elves…”

“No!” Molly shouted in her husband’s face. “No! I have to do something useful Arthur. I have to-“

She began to cry. I remembered that not all her children had made it through the Battle alive. Percy Weasley had ridden into battle on Lucius’ right hand and now lay dead in the cold ground. I made my way quietly across the kitchen to the back door, giving the couple a moment of privacy. I stood on the back stoop, gazing across the overgrown lawn. It was close to full moon. I would have to spend tomorrow night preparing the Wolfsbane potion for Lupin or he’d spend the night baying at the moon.

Would serve him right. I thought nastily, but I knew it was unfair. Lupin had rallied the werewolves to Dumbledore’s standard and they had performed beautifully against the Dementors at the final battle. It was a little known fact that werewolves were not affected by Dementors the way normal witches and wizards were. Lupin had tried to explain it to me once, something about wolves only living in today and having no real memories of yesterday the way humans did. It sounded like a lot of rot to me and I thought it more likely that the Dementors simply couldn’t sense the difference between werewolves and non-magical animals.

I pushed away thoughts of wolfish jaws rending putrid flesh and reached into my robes, taking out a small box. I opened it and pulled a cigarette out. With a -snap- I shut the box again and stared at it, the familiar weight of the silver cigarette case in my hand suddenly alien and sickening. I drew back my arm and threw it with all my might. The box arched into the air and with a whispered word a red light shot from the end of my wand and exploded the case into a million shining silver sparks.

My hands trembled as I lit the cigarette, breathing the smoke deeply into my lungs.

“Good throw,” a voice said beside me.

I whirled. It took me a moment to make out the figure of Hermione Granger in the moonlight.

“A memento from your Deatheater days?” she asked.

I didn’t know why I answered, but I did. “Lucius gave it to me when I took the Dark Mark.”

“How very…refined.” I caught the irony in her voice, for Lucius had been anything but refined in the battle. He had struck Granger from behind and would have killed her if I had not prevented it. I could see her shiver in the semi-darkness and knew she too was remembering exactly how brutally I had dealt with Lucius Malfoy.

“I never thanked you for saving my life.” Hermione’s voice was light, almost breathless. She took a step closer to me. I could see her clearly now, the moonlight painted her pale face and the skin above her collarbone a soft silver-white. Her wild brown hair glinted like sparks on tinder and she was standing close enough that I could smell her, smoky vanilla and the dusty scent of old books. It was intoxicating.

Hermione took another step towards me and reached out her hand, placing it over me heart. I felt myself jerk at her touch, as though her flesh could burn through robes and shirt and skin, as though she could sear my very soul. She followed the movement, keeping contact. She looked up into my eyes and I wondered that I had ever found her to be common.

“Thank you Professor,” she breathed. Then I bent my head and kissed her.

I caught her surprised gasp in my mouth and feathered my lips over hers, enthralled by her warmth and the pliancy of her lips. I felt the moment she surrendered into the kiss, opening her lips for my tongue to sweep in. I explored every inch of her mouth, reveling in the way her hands clutched at my robes, her body pushing up into mine as she deepened the kiss.

A sound of breaking glass from the house wrenched us apart, gasping and staring at each other. Hermione’s face was flushed and she looked shocked. The sound of the backdoor opening brought her head snapping around.

“’Mione, you out here?”

“Coming Ron.” She slipped past me without looking at me and fled towards the door. I stood for a long time in the darkness, surrounded by overgrown grass, pulling the smoke from the cigarette into my lungs. But, I couldn’t quite make the taste of vanilla leave my mouth.