Author's Note: This is Chiimeriical's second attempt at the wonderful Granger/Snape pairing. Like her first attempt, she asks that you be gentle. Also (and out of third person voice), I want to thank all the reviewers who were kind enough to leave some encouraging words on my first story. You cannot comprehend the galvanizing effect they had on an amateur writer like me.
Dedicated to: This is dedicated to all the girls and boys who have ever accidentally called one of their teachers "mom" or "dad" in primary school. That being said, Snape's last thought in this little ficlet is not to be taken in a sexual context.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, my last name is not Rowling. But oh, if it were...
Side Note: This plot of this story (and some of the writing) has been floating around in my computer for years. If the writing seems a little less mature-sounding than my previous story... well, you know why. I'm hoping either of them aren't too out of character.
Hermione was having a horrible morning: the kind of morning that made weaker witches want to curl up in bed and eat Honeydukes' chocolates while skimming through vapid, outdated copies of Witch Weekly. But she, being the hardy witch she was, was determined to make it through her day without completely breaking down. Whether or not her friends would make it through their day without being verbally emasculated by her was another story, but a stressed witch could only guarantee so much.
As it was, she was horribly late to Potions class, and she had no form of documentation that might provide salvation from Professor Snape's wrath. Her puffy eyes and wild hair might tell an obvious story – something along the lines of "I'm obviously a wreck today, so please go easy on me, lest I start crying and never stop" – but that was not something Snape would consider before unleashing his inevitable, vitriolic diatribe against her.
Irritably, she shoved her wand into the sleeve of her robe while simultaneously gathering all the necessary books she might need for the day. She didn't bother to look and see if she had forgotten anything important; she valued her dignity more, and she could almost feel it recoiling in anticipation of Snape's acidic, public ridicule.
She called a quick goodbye to Crookshanks before running down the various staircases – all of which seemed to sense her urgency, as they rearranged with seemingly no downtime – and past the portraits which were yelling at her to slow down, lest she trip and fall.
By the time she got to the door of Snape's classroom, she was flushed, panting, and even more mussed than she was before. Trying hard not to picture how she must have looked, she quietly and nervously smoothed down her skirt before straightening her shoulders and walking calmly into the class. She tried not to grit her teeth at the sound of the door opening, but she couldn't help wondering if someone purposely didn't oil the hinges recently, just so that it could make the most loud, grating sound it possibly could when she was the one to open it.
She dismissed that thought, instead focusing on some way to perhaps cool Snape's imminent ire. But before she had time to even formulate a plan, a sibilant voice sounded from the front of the classroom, "If it isn't Miss Granger. And only," Snape paused to look at the pocket watch sitting on his desk, "twenty minutes late." He raised an eyebrow at her in question, and she tried her hardest not to blush.
A silence ensued that made her want to simultaneously sink into the floor and run out of the classroom at the same time. "Well?" He asked almost genially. She could tell he was setting a trap that was sure to promise humiliation. She was not disappointed. "What's it to be? Did you stay up late doing homework?" He let the class laugh for half a second before barking out, "Silence!" He then continued, "Or was it something of a more recreational nature? Perusing the library past curfew, perhaps?" He did not bother to hide his smirk.
At Snape's mention of "recreational", Hermione flushed bright red. She was mortified already, but thinking of last night's activities made her even more self-conscious.
As it was, Snape caught her renewed embarrassment at the word and tried not to look visibly shocked. The thought of his favourite – not that he'd tell anyone – student doing "recreational" things at night nearly brought a hint of red to his cheeks. "Best to get off that topic quickly," he thought, outwardly still glaring at her. Internally, he was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot like a shy, little boy.
Hermione noticed nothing amiss in this span of time that her professor spent musing, and instead tried to block out all memory of last night from her mind.
"Does he know?" she fretted. "How could he know that last night I spent my time saying his full name, tasting the forbidden syllables on my lips? How could he know I had progressed so far as to… start experimenting with pet names?"
"Miss Granger," the Potions master barked, noticing her faraway expression, "thirty points shall be taken from Gryffindor. See that this never happens again, or I fear I shall be quite less… charitable."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled.
His look was sour. "What was that, Granger? I couldn't quite hear you."
"I said, 'yes, sir'," she replied; only the slightest bit louder. When had her voice gotten so soft?
"You'll have to say it again. You seem to be imitating a squeaking, timorous mouse this morning."
"Yes, Cerberus," she retorted sarcastically. Then her heart skipped a beat. That had sounded much louder than her previous words.
And if Hermione weren't suddenly so afraid for her life, she might have been able to rejoice in the dumbstruck expression on Snape's face.
"What did you call me, girl?" He hissed.
She shrank away from him, even as she stood a good ten paces from him. She did not reply.
"Repeat it, Miss Granger," he hissed again, his eyes a flat obsidian.
She hung her head. "I said, 'yes, Cerberus'."
If possible, his face became paler. His thin lips were pulled taut, the normative smirk or sneer now completely absent. What remained instead was an expression of cold fury.
"Do I look like the type," he asked, "that suffers fools gladly, Miss Granger?"
Her eyes widened in fear. "No, sir."
"Exactly. So, then, you understand why I must ask you to leave this classroom immediately."
Hermione's eyes glistened, and she tried her hardest to keep herself from crying. She was not the type to get in this much trouble on her own! She did not know how to handle this! She took a shaky breath, her hands clasped, but shaking, in front of her. "Please, sir, I meant no disrespect. It just… slipped out. Truly, I did not mean…"
"If I wanted an explanation," he replied coldly, "I would have asked for one. However, I did not."
She cut in before he could continue, "Please, sir, please… don't make me leave. I'll not talk once during the class. I won't raise my hand. Just don't make me leave!" She pleaded, ignoring the embarrassment that threatened to swallow her whole. She hated being chastised; for him to do so publicly was the epitome of mortification for her. And if she were sent away, she feared it would be like first year all over again.
She'd run to the girls' bathroom, sobbing into her hands with only Moaning Myrtle to keep her company. No doubt she'd end up replaying the scene in her mind, agonizing over her impulsivity and cursing her foolishness. She did not want that. She couldn't deal with it – she was tired, frightfully cranky, and overwhelmed by life in general. She understood now why adults did not miss their teenage years. All this fruitless angst, and for naught! All it served was to disorient her and land her in trouble.
It seemed, however, that Snape was not wavering in his decision to kick her out of class. Her shoulders slumped, defeated, and she broke eye contact with him. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, and she blinked them away, knowing now that her humiliation was complete.
"Right… right then," she muttered quietly, rubbing her arm in an attempt to keep her hands from visibly shaking. She turned from him, shuffling slightly to the door. She was sure she looked pathetic. She felt pathetic – getting kicked out of class for disrespecting a teacher! For calling her fearsome Potions professor a pet name!
She reached for the door handle, her hand shaking. "At least people who know what Cerberus was won't think I'm harbouring a crush on him," she thought wearily, quickly adding, "Which I do, of course. But they can't know that!"
Just as the door creaked open, she heard Snape's voice bark out in exasperation, "Oh, do sit down, Miss Granger, and cease your histrionics. You are wasting more time, and I've a class to teach."
Her shoulders tensed, anger flooding through her, but she did as she was told, knowing when to pick her battles. At least he had not sent her away.
After class, she scurried as quickly as possible to the door. But before she could acquire freedom, Snape's voice called her back.
"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to stay after class?" The steel in his voice told her it was an order, not a question.
She did not respond. She merely walked back to her table, setting her bag on the floor.
Snape glanced at her while the other students filed out, wincing inwardly at the glassy sheen of her eyes – a look he had put there, with his acidic words. He liked Hermione – as a student only, of course. The fact that he was that defensive ought to have given him pause, but he brushed that aside.
As soon as the large doors swung shut, the last student having left, he stood up, towering over his desk and looking down at her with his fathomless eyes.
"I will not let you go scot-free," he started, his voice cold.
"Thirty points is not…"
"I would recommend not interrupting, Miss Granger, unless you would like those lost thirty points to double," he sneered, watching for her wince. She did not disappoint. "As it is, I will be having a talk with your Head of House in regards to proper etiquette when addressing one's teacher. In addition, you will serve a detention with me in the near future," he said, then paused, his eyes softening slightly. Her gaze was no longer on him – it likely rested somewhere behind him – so she did not notice. "I do not tolerate disrespect," he added quietly, by way of explanation.
That got her to turn her eyes to him. She blinked slowly, and then nodded in understanding. It had been wrong – and she had known that it was wrong – and he was punishing her in order to uphold the respect he had gained from his pupils, albeit by fear.
"I understand," she replied softly. And she did.
"Good," he answered, just as softly.
They looked at each other for a short duration of time, stripped of awkwardness or misunderstanding. Hermione was surprised to learn she rather enjoyed the feeling.
Then, as if remembering his place, he seemed to visibly shake himself before saying gruffly, "Off with you, then. Or you'll be repeating this experience with every teacher you encounter today." Though I'd like to think I'm the only teacher to have garnered such an unexpected interaction with her. He realized, of course, that that was dangerous thinking at its finest.
"Right… of course," she said quickly, gathering up her things. "Have a… have a good day, Professor Snape." She hurried to the door, not glancing back.
After the door shut, he stood looking at the place she had occupied last for a good two minutes. "I guess it could've been worse," he mused. "At least she didn't call me 'Daddy'."