A Little Ditty

By rhitmcshanm

“Oh, Hermione! Hermione Granger!” a loud voice called out of the midst of the huge crowd.

Startled, Hermione searched for the person calling her, not recognizing the voice. The lobby of the hotel was extremely crowded with witches and wizards who were ineffectively trying to look like Muggles. Why the Potions Master’s Council had decided to hold their annual fundraiser in a Muggle Hotel was beyond her.

“Hermione!” the voice said again, this time right at her ear and was accompanied by and hand gripping her arm.

Hermione turned and found herself face to chest with a tall witch. Silently cursing her bare one hundred and sixty two centimeter frame, she craned her neck up at the woman. She didn’t recognize her. She had flaming red-blonde hair, a toothy grin, a shirt so bright it practically glowed, and a gold badge of some sort, but Hermione had never seen her before in her life.

The other witch, however, obviously recognized her. “I am so surprised to see you here!” the tall witch said, taking Hermione’s arm and leading her to the dining room. “You simply must sit with us,” the woman said, not noticing Hermione’s look of confusion. She pushed through the crowd, half dragging the smaller witch.

Hermione, for her part, was seriously beginning to regret her decision to come. She should have taken it as a sign when the invitation, upon arrival, landed in her cauldron and caused it to explode, spraying the entire room with smelly, sticky purple foam. Parchment and potions did not mix. Most of the letter had been singed beyond legibility but the words “Annual” “Potions” “fundraiser” and the date were clear. After much cajoling from her colleagues, she had finally decided to take some of the vacation she had earned and attend. From what she knew, there would be potions and poisons from the most accomplished Masters around the world on display. She might even get to engage in conversation with one of them. She had been excited about the evening, taking the time to buy a new Muggle dress and be-spell her hair into an elegant chignon. Now, however, this overly boisterous, stranger who was manhandling her through a crowd of the very people she wanted to talk to was putting a large damper on her enjoyment.

Finally, they reached the table of the other witch’s desire—dead center in the front of the room. Several other witches—none of whom Hermione recognized—all wearing the same odd badge, already occupied it. The tall witch pulled out a chair for Hermione and motioned for her to sit; she took her own seat next to it. Greetings rang out from all the women at the table, except for the silent woman directly across from her. Hermione was torn. On one hand, she wanted to escape from these odd women who she had never met, but on the other, she didn’t want them to think her rude. They obviously knew her from somewhere, and she was certain that, if she tried hard enough, she would be able to place them. What really bothered her was that they seemed to know her—rather intimately. Several asked about Harry and Ron, her parent’s dentistry, and one or two even mentioned her most recent relationships—and their subsequent failures. She really wanted to leave these women who she was beginning to suspect were clairvoyants. She hadn’t gotten on well with ‘psychics’ since Divinations with that fraud, Trelawney.

The decision was taken out of her hands when the one-armed emcee stood up and announced with a magically magnified voice that the festivities were about to begin. He urged them to find their seats. She glanced at the placard in front of her plate and realized that she was apparently already in her seat.

An excited and anticipatory quiet fell over the table Hermione was at after this announcement. She had the distinct feeling that she was missing something. Something important.

Her dinner companion turned to her and whispered excitedly, “I heard that he is going to be here. How much did you bring? I brought my life’s savings and everything I could wring out of my friends. They were so jealous when they heard I was invited and that he was going to attend!” The witch’s dark blue eyes glowed.

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. She had to ask. “What are you talking about?” she asked, exasperated. She was now certain that coming here had been a mistake. “And also,” she added, finally able to read the lettering on their badges, “what on earth is a wiktt?”

The strawberry-haired witch looked at her in askance, not believing that she didn’t know. As she opened her mouth to explain, the one-armed emcee returned.

“And now, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began as silence swept across the room, “well come to the Annual Potions Masters Bachelor Auction and Fundraiser!”

Hermione’s mind skittered to a stop as she began to comprehend what had been said. Bachelor’s Auction? She was at a Bachelor’s Auction? And, her ever logical mind quickly supplied, there must be someone here that all these women want. Did you see how they sat up straighter? Her thoughts were interrupted as the emcee continued his spiel.

“This year’s prize package includes, not only dinner this evening, but a romantic dinner for two at an elegant wizarding restaurant at a time to be determined.”

Happy sighs were heard all around the room as the dinner guests pictured a date with the Potions Master of their dreams.

“And, of course, you all know that this year’s Auction features such prominent masters as Freidenberg of Zuftlot, Xi Shang from The Mystical Magical Palace, and the reclusive Severus Snape from Hogwarts! I hope you brought your galleons ladies and gentlemen, because these bachelors are going to go fast!”

The man paused for a breath while Hermione paused for her mind to finally catch up. Severus Snape??? Professor Snape was going to be auctioned off? And she had been thinking about leaving? All her previous thoughts about escaping her table companions flew from her mind. There was no way she was moving from her seat near the front. Incredibly Stupid she was not.

“First up…Wallace Shawn from America!” A rather short, but kind looking, wizard came to the front and the bidding began.

Hermione noticed that none of the women at her table even raised their hands to up the bid. She leaned over to her loud tablemate and whispered, “Who are you going to bid on?”

Again she was fixed with incredulous eyes as the tall witch and all others within earshot turned to look at her. The loud one regained her voice first and replied, “Not just me. We all are going to bet on Severus Snape of course.”

Hermione choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. She coughed and managed to choke out, “Snape? Professor Snape? That surly, greasy git?”

The women just looked at her pityingly. The tall one, who Hermione still didn’t recognize, said, “Of course! Why don’t you…oh. Oh.” She patted Hermione’s hand and said in a condescending voice, “Don’t worry dear, someday I am sure you’ll understand.”

Hermione stared at the witch—who, upon closer inspection looked as though she were actually younger than Hermione was—and tried to comprehend. “You mean,” she began slowly, “all of you ladies came here just to bid on Snape?”

The silent woman across the table nodded and affirmations echoed up and down the table. “We have been waiting for this for years!” one of the ones down the table exclaimed. Hermione focused on her noticing how closely she resembled the bartender from her school years.

“He almost never comes to the dinner,” a different one said, her autumn sky colored eyes shining.

"And he has never agreed to be auctioned,” the Rosmerta look-a-like whispered reverently.

The bidding for the American ended and the emcee dragged the next, highly unwilling bachelor up to the stage. It was Snape. She looked at him closely, trying with all her might to see what her tablemates saw. Same hooked nose, same long, lank hair, same supercilious sneer. She shrugged. Whatever drew these women, it couldn’t be looks.

“What do you think, Hermione,” the loud one said, “boxers or briefs?”

For the second time in as many minutes, the wine Hermione was sipping ended up on her plate. Her face screwed up as she tried with all her might to banish the image the question had conjured. Some things she didn’t need to know about.

“And now,” the emcee said, “I have the honor of introducing you to Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts!” He gestured for Snape to strut around the stage. All he got was the Patented Potions Death Glare. The announcer cleared his throat and continued, “Known throughout the wizarding world for his role in the downfall of You-Know-Who, this reclusive genius’ special qualifications include talents not only in the are of potions but in…other areas as well. Several…acquaintances…have written to us, praising his…capabilities. Generously endowed with brains and…other pleasing physical features. This man is going fast!” The one-armed emcee began the bidding at a paltry two galleons. Shouts rang out across the room as the women—and even some of the men—quickly raised the price. Hermione’s eyes widened as the asking price for Severus Snape quickly soared into the hundred galleon range.

The women at her table were ruthless. Where moments ago they had been sharing friendly smiles and jokes, now they were shooting death glares and hissing as they tried in vain to outbid each other. The loud one shouted her bids while across the table, silent as a gnat, the quiet one simply raised a finger to indicate a bid. “Rosmerta” pounded the table as though it were a door to signal her bid. The bidding between these women was serious.

Without warning, the silent woman across from Hermione collapsed suddenly, her face smashing the mashed potatoes even further. The bright blue-eyes one in a wincey robe quickly pulled her tablemate’s face out of her food.

The emcee paused his rapid-fire spiel to admonish the women. “Ladies,” he said, “there is no call for poisoning! Someone please administer the antidote?” He shook his finger at the redhead next to Hermione and she shrugged, trying to appear innocent. Hermione discretely moved her goblet as far away from the witch as she could.

The announcer picked up the bidding again, and one by one, the voices died out as the cost became too high. Finally, there was only one voice left. The witch next to Hermione.

“Going once. Going twice! Sold!” the emcee shouted. “Come collect your prize ma’am!”

With a girlish giggle the red-haired witch hurried up to the stage to drag an unwilling Severus Snape back to the table. A chair magically appeared next to Hermione, and she quickly turned her head, hoping against hope that Snape wouldn’t recognize her.

He took his seat with barely a nod and said not a word during the entirety of the seven-course meal. None of the other bachelors being auctioned got anywhere near the price that Snape had commanded, but somehow Hermione was sure that her tablemate had paid far more than he was worth.

Every attempt the tall witch made at conversation with him was rebuffed politely but firmly. None of the other women at the table had any luck, try though they might. Hermione, for her part, just tried to eat without looking at Snape. Without him looking at her. If she were lucky she could escape without him ever knowing whom he was sitting next to. 

Her food sat heavily in her stomach, and finally, her tablemates gave up. They got up as a group, their badges flashing. She distinctly heard one mutter to another, “Like we actually had a chance with her at the table.”

The tall redhead tossed the card that indicated ‘possession’ of Snape in front of Hermione. “He’s yours,” she hissed, a sadness in her eyes. “He always was.”

Again, Hermione was puzzled. And now she was alone with Snape. She too put down her fork and started to stand up.

“Leaving so soon, Miss Granger?” the low, cultured tones of the Potions Master cut across the din. His voice was a silk cord—the noose that was tightening around her neck.

She blushed and picked up her fork again, absently playing with it. “I…I didn’t think you recognized me,” she said quietly. She swallowed convulsively. Despite the years that had passed, he still could make her feel eleven years old with the slightest sneer.

“Miss Granger,” he said acidly, taking a sip of his wine, “I may be old, but I am not yet blind.”

Feeling that his tone was uncalled for, her Gryffindor ‘courage’ kicked in. Hermione decided to match vitriol with vitriol. “Well, apparently you have gone senile, allowing yourself to be put up for auction.”

Snape pursed his lips before muttering, “Momentary lapse of attention.” A slight flush crept over his face as he admitted this. 

They were both silent for a moment before Snape spoke. “Did you know those women?” his voice was carefully neutral.

“No,” Hermione said, glad of a more neutral subject than a rehashing of each one’s failings. “The one that won you accosted me at the entrance and dragged me here. I don’t think I have ever seen her before in my life.” She paused before continuing slowly, “Though, they did seem to know an awful lot about me. Were they clairvoyants or something?” Her voice expressed her disbelief at this explanation.

“No,” Snape snarled—his anger at the women and not at her, she realized. “They are just meddling women who think they know all about me. I have had the misfortune of meeting a few of them before.”

Surprised that Snape would share anything, she decided to brave his ire and ask another question. “They think they know about you?”

“Yes,” Snape snorted. “From what I understand, they meet in groups and…discuss me. Why I have done what I have in my life. What motivates me. Absurdities. As if they ever could understand me. 

Hermione smiled slightly, “I would think you should be flattered.”

Snape pinned her with a withering glare and said, “They discuss you too.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she gasped, “Me? Why me?” She looked at Snape seeking evidence that he was fooling her. “How do you know?” she asked suspiciously.

Snape cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “I have inside sources.” He said nothing further, and Hermione figured he wasn’t going to reveal them. Before she could open her mouth to demand more, the elf orchestra struck up a lovely tune. Recalling his manners, Snape turned to Hermione and said, “Would you care to dance, Miss Granger?” 

Hermione was about to turn him down when she realized that a dance might give her a chance to ask his opinion on a potion she was working on. But she couldn’t resist teasing him a little more. “And miss being the envy of every woman here?” she asked. “Not a chance.”

He helped her to her feet and led her out to the dance floor. Pulling her close in the perfect ballroom dancing position, he whirled her around the floor in time to the music. Hermione could feel the glares of dozens of women heating her back. Unconsciously, she scooted closer to Severus, trying to avoid the unavoidable.

For a greasy git, he didn’t smell too bad, she thought to herself. She looked up at him and added, and he cleans up pretty nicely.

“Something wrong, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, looking down at her.

“No, no,” she said. “I was just wondering…if you have time later, if you wouldn’t mind, I have some questions about a potion I am working on. I would…love your insight.”

A slight smile cracked Snape’s severe expression and he said, “Well, as the one who ‘won’ me, you have my undivided attention for one more evening.”

Hermione grinned up at him as he spun her across the floor and said, “That’s right!”

He pulled her in close again and she asked, “Professor, what’s changed? You never would have been this…polite a few years ago.” She was wondering if he hadn’t had more than a few glasses of wine. Nothing else she could think of would have removed the stick from up his…she blushed.

Snape’s lips quirked up and he said, “A few years ago, Miss Granger, you were a child who certainly would not have accepted it if I acted like this. Now as an adult…things change.” He knew that he was acting differently than he normally would have, but in some way, it was strangely liberating. Maybe there was some sort of spell placed on him during the auction…?

Hermione considered his words as the song ended and the dancer clapped for the band. Severus led Hermione off the floor. “I must say goodnight, though,” he said as they wove through the crowd. Before they could get to the doors though, Hermione put her hand on his arm to stop him.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” he said, his eyes questioning.

“Please, call me Hermione,” she said. She began to nervously fidget her hands.

Snape looked at her, amused. “Was there something you wanted to say, Mis—Hermione?” 

She glanced up at him and said, “I want to apologize.”

“For what?”

She looked abashed as she continued, “I didn’t give you a chance in school. I…I always assumed the worst about you, despite any evidence to the contrary. I didn’t want to like you or give you the respect you deserved, and for that I apologize.”

Severus Snape was stunned. He had never expected an apology like that. “You have nothing to apologize for. I make no excuses for my behavior and neither should you.” His lips quirked up in an undeniably sexy smile.
 
For a brief moment, Hermione had a glimpse of what all those women saw in this man—and she was wowed. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for their dinner date. She recalled what the loud redhead had said to her earlier and figured that there might be some things she didn’t want to know, but there were a few things she wouldn’t mind discovering on her own!
 

I hate self-insertion stories. I absolutely hate them, but I couldn’t help myself with this one. Sorry for those of you who had to suffer through it. I promise to not do it again. If you recognized yourself in some way, well I got a little carried away. I know its full of Americanisms, and I know the characters are OOC and they have zero motivation, but hell…it was good for a little laugh wasn’t it? Oh, well, even if you hated it, it’s too late to take it all back now! Mwahahahaha!