Title: Slightly Suspicious
Author: Laura Fones
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Hermione, Hermione/Snape
Summary: Just a short little classroom interlude. Shame on the Hogwarts faculty.
Author's notes: Ahh, my first Harry Potter fiction--so very liberating. This is what I refer to as a "Preliminary Fic" (or "PLF")--one that gets out all the jitters and clichés of a new fandom or 'ship in one short, fluffy, immaterial story. I hope you enjoy it enough to look forward to a story with more of a plot. Maybe even some rampant sex (crosses fingers).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Potions was a fascinating class: the perfect lovechild between muggle chemistry and wizard practice. If Hermione were to rank it with her other Hogwarts classes, it would make for a very strong second, directly following Arithmancy (which worshipped all things logical and was therefore a godsend). However, the pleasantness of this pleasurable subject was sometimes damaged and very often spoiled by a sexually repressed, drably dressed, caustic casualty of the James Potter contemporaries. In short, Snape.
Professor Snape: Master of Potions, minor of Dark Arts, vicious, unfair git with too much sinister sex appeal for his own good.
That said, she enjoyed Potions immensely.
Neville Longbottom was leaning over a dangerously smoky cauldron to spy Hermione's notes, which she was demurely leaning into the dim light and into Neville's direct view.
"--All right, the dried toadstool should be crushed," Hermione murmured instructions to Neville as he rapidly went about obeying her orders, "try more for grainy than smooth, it will make for greater potency--In the mortar, yes, that's right--now add one small fist-full into the base ingredients--a small fist-full, about the size of an orange--no, a small orange--I don't know, a tangerine--yes, all right--"
Professor Snape was wandering the Slytherin side of the classroom, appraising with little warmth but even less criticism the potions of his 6th year students, which varied almost comically in color. Draco Malfoy had concocted a fairly accurate and appropriately colorless tonic, which would have been very complimentary with the skin tones of his fellow classmates.
Hermione dared a glance up at her teacher to ensure his position and preoccupation. Unfortunately, she managed, against all odds, to catch his eye; and since he could read minds with the simple prompting of a glance, he was quick to glide over to her potion table.
"Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom," Hermione's arbitrarily chosen lab partner withdrew and cowered in a corner, "I've been having the oddest feeling of déjà vu of late." The classroom, as in accordance to ritual, silenced to hear the customary verbal abuse. "Perhaps you'll be able to enlighten me: How is it that whenever I so much as set a flicker of a glance in this direction, there seems to an inordinate amount of cheating going on?"
Pompous provocation from the self-proclaimed Master. Hermione composed herself with the most endearing stutter ever issued from the mouth of a Potions student. "W-we weren't cheating, Professor," she mentally scuttled through a rather sparse pile of excuses that could be used for this occasion, "W-we were simply--"
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Snape said with calculated condescension.
"It was my fault," Neville peeped in a valiant attempt to carry the can. "I asked her--"
He was cut off quite abruptly, "I sincerely doubt that you even possess the cleverness it takes to hold fault, Mr. Longbottom. As it is, ten points will be deducted for the repeated infractions of our school's unofficial Code of Honor--"
Several Gryffindors inwardly scoffed at the Head of Slytherin House stringing those last three words together.
"And though it seems to have had no appreciable effect on you as yet, Miss Granger, I expect your presence tonight for detention, as you will be giving the tables a very thorough wash." Snape sneered, "And to you, Mr. Longbottom, I have no desire to have you anywhere near my classroom when not absolutely necessary. So, please report to Mr. Filch after dinner to receive your punishment."
"Professor, is that really necessary?" Hermione made a weak plea.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, it is imperative," he said, "You are dismissed."
Although everyone bore the sneaking suspicion that Professor Snape had released them about twenty minutes before the official two-hour period ended, they instantly shuffled away ingredients, swiffer-wiped messes and created a mass exodus out of the Hogwarts dungeons.
Harry, who was shaking off the after-effects of a lab pairing with Pansy Parkinson, looked sympathetically on Hermione, "Snape's a bastard, don't let him get to you."
"I know he is," Hermione said briskly, "And I'm not."
"Yeah," Ron said, "but it's just a bit weird. I mean, he's given you detention once already this week, three times last week, god knows how many the week before--we're down about one hundred points."
"Must be where he gets his kicks," Harry murmured in an uncharacteristically American way.
"Maybe you should just stop helping Neville, Hermione," Ron offered hopefully, "I mean, if he fails Potions, that's just his grade, but if you help him to pass, we're going to be in negatives by the end of year."
Hermione huffed self-righteously, "Well, maybe some horrible event will send you and Harry out to save the world again, and we'll make up the points there." She jogged ahead to speak with a female Ravenclaw.
"Ron," Harry asked softly, "How is it you always say exactly the wrong thing?"
Ron shrugged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dinner, Hermione seemed far less affronted by Ron and they chattered happily, while Harry spent the hour arguing in hushed tones with Ginny about the next Hogsmeade trip. Neville looked apologetically between Hermione and Professor Snape, because although he knew detention with Filch could mean an embittered monologue about the old school torture traditions and the uncomfortable stroking of Mrs. Norris, he could only imagine the extensive emotional damage poor Hermione would be and had been enduring.
Afterwards, Harry and Ron kindly escorted Hermione to the dungeons, wished her luck, and scampered away when Snape caught sight of them outside his door.
Hermione sighed and mustered the better part of her dignity in walking in. "Professor Snape," she greeted him pedantically, "I've come for my detention." She stood almost at military attention.
"Honestly, Miss. Granger," Snape looked over his desk, "stop posing like a self-important peacock. Kindly exhale and loosen your hands."
Her fingers obediently unwrapped themselves from each other and her chest began to rise and fall evenly. Given the newfound relaxation of movement, she walked over to his desk.
She stood above him, reprising her greeting, "Severus," she murmured intimately, "You called?"
"Perfect," he commented.
"You know," she said, "Those in class are not universally stupid. Everyone thinks this is a bit suspicious."
He sighed, "Again my students disappoint me."
She leaned over, "It would be so much easier if I just came after hours-- I'm a prefect, it wouldn't be the least suspicious for me to be lurking about the corridors at night."
He frowned a little, "Yes, I do suppose that would be better."
"You're not going to sulk, are you?" She narrowed her eyes and searched his face. "God, even when you yield to logic, you're disturbingly stubborn."
"Maybe if you would stop assisting Mr. Longbottom at every possible turn, I could cease to find valid reasons to detain you," he said over steepled fingers.
She rolled her eyes and undid her school cloak. "I will if you will."
His black eyes watched her robe's descent with some interest. "Fine."
She smiled, "See: compromise," whilst mounting the desktop and tugging at his robe, "I honestly don't know why everyone thinks you're such a monster."
He finally succumbed and smiled as well, turning her onto his side of the desk and kissing her keenly. Her fingers fumbled familiarly with the buttons of his dark shirt while he navigated the problematic waters of her pullover sweater.
As both were bare-topped and Hermione was being pressed against the table, she made a slight murmur of dissent.
"Yes, Hermione?" Snape asked with a breath of urgency.
"May we move this into your rooms, please?"
He sighed and lifted her off her back. "Of course we can." With some verbal provocation, a doorway at the back of the room opened.
"Thank you," she said, kissing his shoulder.
He lifted her onto him, choosing not to break any contact with her body, and moved in the direction of the door--doing naughty things to her collarbone the entire way.
That said, she enjoyed Potions immensely.
THE END
Author: Laura Fones
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Hermione, Hermione/Snape
Summary: Just a short little classroom interlude. Shame on the Hogwarts faculty.
Author's notes: Ahh, my first Harry Potter fiction--so very liberating. This is what I refer to as a "Preliminary Fic" (or "PLF")--one that gets out all the jitters and clichés of a new fandom or 'ship in one short, fluffy, immaterial story. I hope you enjoy it enough to look forward to a story with more of a plot. Maybe even some rampant sex (crosses fingers).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Potions was a fascinating class: the perfect lovechild between muggle chemistry and wizard practice. If Hermione were to rank it with her other Hogwarts classes, it would make for a very strong second, directly following Arithmancy (which worshipped all things logical and was therefore a godsend). However, the pleasantness of this pleasurable subject was sometimes damaged and very often spoiled by a sexually repressed, drably dressed, caustic casualty of the James Potter contemporaries. In short, Snape.
Professor Snape: Master of Potions, minor of Dark Arts, vicious, unfair git with too much sinister sex appeal for his own good.
That said, she enjoyed Potions immensely.
Neville Longbottom was leaning over a dangerously smoky cauldron to spy Hermione's notes, which she was demurely leaning into the dim light and into Neville's direct view.
"--All right, the dried toadstool should be crushed," Hermione murmured instructions to Neville as he rapidly went about obeying her orders, "try more for grainy than smooth, it will make for greater potency--In the mortar, yes, that's right--now add one small fist-full into the base ingredients--a small fist-full, about the size of an orange--no, a small orange--I don't know, a tangerine--yes, all right--"
Professor Snape was wandering the Slytherin side of the classroom, appraising with little warmth but even less criticism the potions of his 6th year students, which varied almost comically in color. Draco Malfoy had concocted a fairly accurate and appropriately colorless tonic, which would have been very complimentary with the skin tones of his fellow classmates.
Hermione dared a glance up at her teacher to ensure his position and preoccupation. Unfortunately, she managed, against all odds, to catch his eye; and since he could read minds with the simple prompting of a glance, he was quick to glide over to her potion table.
"Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom," Hermione's arbitrarily chosen lab partner withdrew and cowered in a corner, "I've been having the oddest feeling of déjà vu of late." The classroom, as in accordance to ritual, silenced to hear the customary verbal abuse. "Perhaps you'll be able to enlighten me: How is it that whenever I so much as set a flicker of a glance in this direction, there seems to an inordinate amount of cheating going on?"
Pompous provocation from the self-proclaimed Master. Hermione composed herself with the most endearing stutter ever issued from the mouth of a Potions student. "W-we weren't cheating, Professor," she mentally scuttled through a rather sparse pile of excuses that could be used for this occasion, "W-we were simply--"
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Snape said with calculated condescension.
"It was my fault," Neville peeped in a valiant attempt to carry the can. "I asked her--"
He was cut off quite abruptly, "I sincerely doubt that you even possess the cleverness it takes to hold fault, Mr. Longbottom. As it is, ten points will be deducted for the repeated infractions of our school's unofficial Code of Honor--"
Several Gryffindors inwardly scoffed at the Head of Slytherin House stringing those last three words together.
"And though it seems to have had no appreciable effect on you as yet, Miss Granger, I expect your presence tonight for detention, as you will be giving the tables a very thorough wash." Snape sneered, "And to you, Mr. Longbottom, I have no desire to have you anywhere near my classroom when not absolutely necessary. So, please report to Mr. Filch after dinner to receive your punishment."
"Professor, is that really necessary?" Hermione made a weak plea.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, it is imperative," he said, "You are dismissed."
Although everyone bore the sneaking suspicion that Professor Snape had released them about twenty minutes before the official two-hour period ended, they instantly shuffled away ingredients, swiffer-wiped messes and created a mass exodus out of the Hogwarts dungeons.
Harry, who was shaking off the after-effects of a lab pairing with Pansy Parkinson, looked sympathetically on Hermione, "Snape's a bastard, don't let him get to you."
"I know he is," Hermione said briskly, "And I'm not."
"Yeah," Ron said, "but it's just a bit weird. I mean, he's given you detention once already this week, three times last week, god knows how many the week before--we're down about one hundred points."
"Must be where he gets his kicks," Harry murmured in an uncharacteristically American way.
"Maybe you should just stop helping Neville, Hermione," Ron offered hopefully, "I mean, if he fails Potions, that's just his grade, but if you help him to pass, we're going to be in negatives by the end of year."
Hermione huffed self-righteously, "Well, maybe some horrible event will send you and Harry out to save the world again, and we'll make up the points there." She jogged ahead to speak with a female Ravenclaw.
"Ron," Harry asked softly, "How is it you always say exactly the wrong thing?"
Ron shrugged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dinner, Hermione seemed far less affronted by Ron and they chattered happily, while Harry spent the hour arguing in hushed tones with Ginny about the next Hogsmeade trip. Neville looked apologetically between Hermione and Professor Snape, because although he knew detention with Filch could mean an embittered monologue about the old school torture traditions and the uncomfortable stroking of Mrs. Norris, he could only imagine the extensive emotional damage poor Hermione would be and had been enduring.
Afterwards, Harry and Ron kindly escorted Hermione to the dungeons, wished her luck, and scampered away when Snape caught sight of them outside his door.
Hermione sighed and mustered the better part of her dignity in walking in. "Professor Snape," she greeted him pedantically, "I've come for my detention." She stood almost at military attention.
"Honestly, Miss. Granger," Snape looked over his desk, "stop posing like a self-important peacock. Kindly exhale and loosen your hands."
Her fingers obediently unwrapped themselves from each other and her chest began to rise and fall evenly. Given the newfound relaxation of movement, she walked over to his desk.
She stood above him, reprising her greeting, "Severus," she murmured intimately, "You called?"
"Perfect," he commented.
"You know," she said, "Those in class are not universally stupid. Everyone thinks this is a bit suspicious."
He sighed, "Again my students disappoint me."
She leaned over, "It would be so much easier if I just came after hours-- I'm a prefect, it wouldn't be the least suspicious for me to be lurking about the corridors at night."
He frowned a little, "Yes, I do suppose that would be better."
"You're not going to sulk, are you?" She narrowed her eyes and searched his face. "God, even when you yield to logic, you're disturbingly stubborn."
"Maybe if you would stop assisting Mr. Longbottom at every possible turn, I could cease to find valid reasons to detain you," he said over steepled fingers.
She rolled her eyes and undid her school cloak. "I will if you will."
His black eyes watched her robe's descent with some interest. "Fine."
She smiled, "See: compromise," whilst mounting the desktop and tugging at his robe, "I honestly don't know why everyone thinks you're such a monster."
He finally succumbed and smiled as well, turning her onto his side of the desk and kissing her keenly. Her fingers fumbled familiarly with the buttons of his dark shirt while he navigated the problematic waters of her pullover sweater.
As both were bare-topped and Hermione was being pressed against the table, she made a slight murmur of dissent.
"Yes, Hermione?" Snape asked with a breath of urgency.
"May we move this into your rooms, please?"
He sighed and lifted her off her back. "Of course we can." With some verbal provocation, a doorway at the back of the room opened.
"Thank you," she said, kissing his shoulder.
He lifted her onto him, choosing not to break any contact with her body, and moved in the direction of the door--doing naughty things to her collarbone the entire way.
That said, she enjoyed Potions immensely.
THE END