Hello all! I have not written anything in an extremely long time, so I have dived back into the world of writing once more!
Right now I am not giving anything away, except that this is blatantly SS/HG
Enjoy:)
-Bella
Ch. 1 Assistant
Hermione sits in potions class for seventh years with the urge to locate the nearest wall and bang her head against it repeatedly. She resides in her respective seat between Harry and Ron, the green-eyed boy focused deliberately on his work and the red-head fumbling with disintegrating Valerian Sprigs. We don't even use those for a Wide Eye or Awakening potion, Ronald, the Head Girl scoffs to herself. Having finished her potion long ago, she amuses herself by flipping through the pages of Magical Drafts and Potions. She glances at the recipes for a Forgetfulness potion, Herbicide, Sleeping Draught- nothing of much interest to her overactive mind. She brushes a stray hair from her face when she feels an uncomfortable pointed object jut into the side of her ribs.
"Psstttt, 'Mione," Ron leans, clearly desperate from the perspiration forming on his brow; his wand pushes further into Hermione's side.
"What, Ronald?" She has no patience for this today; the impeding NEWTs have taken up too much of her precious time.
"What does it mean to," he looks at his textbook unsurely, "skin the flubberworm? Isn't that inhumane or something?"
Before he could continue, Hermione senses eyes burning into the back of her head. She needn't look to know who it was that was leering over her back. Just as this sensation peaks, she hears the rich undertones of one Professor Severus Snape.
"Mr. Weasley, if you haven't learned how to properly brew a simple antidote potion without the help of Ms. Granger, then I highly doubt that you will see your diploma at the end of this year."
Harry snickers at this, only to receive a similar sneer in his direction.
"Sorry, Professor. Just got a little lost in all the procedures," Ron pathetically manages.
Being fearful of the potions master was no longer a characteristic of the trio. Although suspicions and animosity remain between the two boys and the Professor, Hermione has developed what one might call sympathy for the "bat of the dungeons". His voice has lost some of its richness, she missed listening to his lectures. Now, he will write the assignment on the board up front and only intervene when Neville is close to exploding his cauldron In class, it is almost as if he doesn't have the energy to be sardonic. Hermione found it all rather sad.
How lonely he must be, she thinks, carrying the burden of duality for over 20 years. Each week he has more scars.
Scars were not anything lacking in Snape's appearance. Hermione shutters to think about how many times the Dark Lord or other Death Eaters have used the Cruciatus curse on the poor man. How many times he must have fallen on the ground, withering in pain, twisting his body into unnatural forms. It made her stomach crawl. She glances at Snape, who now stands in front of her and Ron, hands on hips and scowl as disgruntled as ever; his features were so severe that any first year would be near tears if he so much as scolded them. However, Hermione saw a tragic beauty underneath the initial severity. The strength of his jaw, the hollowness of his cheeks, and the penetrating intensity within his eyes-it is almost alluring. He is a man, much like any other man, but he was on a level that no one, not even the Boy- Who- Lived could ever dream of reaching.
Snap out of it, Granger. He is your teacher, respect him as such.
"Ms. Granger, 10 points from Gryffindor for staring."
"My apologies, Professor. It has been a stressful week, I must have been zoning out," Her tone overflowed with sincerity, must to the Professor's distaste.
"Don't make it a habit, Granger. Now, I see that you have finished an hour before your peers, I would like you to come with me."
Hermione stared blankly at the Professor before hesitantly responding.
"Of- of c-course, Professor," she jumps out of her seat.
Hermione gives a confused shrug to the two boys sitting there wide-eyed and mouths agape, before following Snape's billowing robes into his office. Nervousness builds within her as Snape closes the door and goes to his elaborate silver and emerald chair behind a large desk, which engulfs most of the room. She stands against the closed door entwining her fingers into a slightly painful web, staring at an interesting spot on the floor.
"I would suggest, Ms. Granger that you stop entangling your fingers and take a seat," he gestures to the less decorated wooden chair in front of his desk. She does as she is told, glancing anxiously around the room. Snape only stares at her, torturing her with his silence, and relishing in her anxiety. He really does enjoy seeing his students in obvious discomfort, she thinks. When the tension becomes too much she speaks.
"What can I do for you, Professor?" Her tone came across a little more bright and pleasant than she intended.
"Yes, I have noticed, Ms. Granger, that my class is not accelerated enough to capture your attentions-"
"Oh, Professor, I assure you that I have been working just as diligently-"
"Let me finish, Granger," he snaps, causing Hermione to recoil from his blatant spite. She hangs her head in compliance.
"As I was saying," he continues, as he conjures tea for himself, "I have been under tremendous stress as of late due to certain…demands on my person. My classes seem to be burdening me even more so, since the classes seem to be filled with idiots and illiterates this semester. I have spoken to Professor McGonagall about this, and she has strongly… encouraged…that I take on an assistant for the purpose of grading papers and such," he adds a sugar to his tea.
"As much as I hate to admit it, Granger, McGonagall highly suggested you for the task. She has nothing, but the utmost praises for you and your 'work ethic' and I am not about to trust one of those dunderheads with my grading. I can't let my harshness on grades slip, so I am willing to allow an insufferable know-it-all to take hold of the grading quill."
He stirs his tea once clockwise and twice counterclockwise. Ever the potions master, she muses, Did he say 'trust'? He trusts me? Wait he's still talking…listen up, Hermione!
"So, Ms. Granger," he concludes, "would you care to be the Assistant Potions Mistress?"