(Note: Gigabytes of space have been consumed with Hermione-Snape pairings. The couple has some potential: intellectually, they're equals. But they have strong strikes against them, chiefly a huge age difference, the teacher-student power dynamic, and the moral boundaries Snape is willing to cross.)
Hermione's monthly cramps were always debilitatingly painful, but she planned ahead carefully always to have painkillers on hand. Today though, because Professor McGonagall held an unscheduled lecture, Hermione had no chance in her overbooked agenda to get any medicine, and she was paying for it now. She slid into her seat in Snape's Potions class next to Ron and Harry, feeling nothing but dismay.
"What's wrong with you," Ron hissed.
"Nothing," she said curtly.
"Your hands are shaking," Harry said.
She glared at Harry. "Nothing," she repeated more loudly.
"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape intoned. Everyone in class turned to stare at her.
Dismay congealed into embarrassment. "No, Professor," Hermione said softly in the thick silence, more subdued than usual.
"Detention," drawled Snape, "for whispering, and 10 points for Gryffindor." The Slytherin students grinned at her. Hermione dropped her gaze.
The lesson proceeded. After Snape's sarcasm-filled lecture, the students began trying to make potions. Hermione almost immediately dropped a beaker, which shattered. Everyone froze and stared at her again. Hermione looked around for a broom and dust pan. Her limbs moved slowly, clumsily, and she seemed barely able to hold more than one thought at a time.
"Five more points, Gryffindor and a second day of detention, Miss Granger," Snape drawled again with malicious pleasure.
Harry's head snapped up, the green eyes sparking with fury, and Ron glowered, but Hermione belt her head meekly, said, "Yes, Professor," and fumbled with her beakers.
When class ended, Snape intoned lazily, "Class dismissed. Except Miss Granger."
Harry and Ron shot her sympathetic glances, and she returned a resigned one.
In short order, the classroom was empty, save for Snape and Hermione, who was still quivering. She had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape already knew her problem, which mortified her. She could only deduce that he had great skill at Legilimency.
"Miss Granger," he said in bored tones, "I expect young ladies in my class to come prepared…for all emergencies. Unless you wish to live down to the stereotypes of your gender." He delivered the last word with a sneer.
"Yes, Professor," she managed through teeth clenched with pain. She didn't really mind Snape's ragging her. Truth to be told, she felt anticipation about what assignment he might have for her. If only she could concentrate! Waves of pain engulfed her, making it hard for her to sit up straight in her chair.
Snape turned back to his beakers. "Your lack of planning is as lamentable as it is irresponsible," he said. Unbeknownst to Hermione, he glanced at her in the small mirror in the corner of his desk. He saw Hermione close her eyes briefly. She seemed not to hear him. Snape whirled around and snarled, "Do you need help like some First Year?"
Hermione jumped and met his black, inscrutable eyes. She seemed to understand something, slow as she was.
"Thank you, Professor, but I'm quite all right," she lied, her only giveaway the slight faintness of her voice.
"You're practically sniveling in my laboratory," he said brutally. "Algesianullis."
At once, the fist crushing her insides was gone. Hermione slowly exhaled and enjoyed her first pain-free sensation in hours.
"Now! Start with pages 131 to 134 of A History of Larval Curiosities and Their Secretions for Use in Potions. I want to see the sanctovenius potion done before you leave. See page 160 in your textbook for step by step instructions," Snape said before she could frame a thank you. She started to speak, but he cut in, "Are you lazy as well as ill-prepared, Miss Granger?"
She paused, wanting to thank him, knowing he would hate it.
"No, Professor," she managed. In 30 minutes, she had the potion, and she knew it was not just good but impeccable.
"I'm finished, Professor," she said.
Snape did not lift his eyes from his notes and beakers.
"Let us hope so."
He set down his quill and strode to her cauldron, standing just behind her. He ladled out some of the vile-smelling brew, then poured it back into the cauldron. With no change in his voice, he said, "You may clean up and go, Miss Granger. You will return tomorrow."
"Professor?" Hermione ventured.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"I'll help you if you ask. Here, in the laboratory."
Snape regarded her coldly. "What makes you think I need help, especially yours?"
"You know I understand potions. Maybe you might enjoy teaching someone who likes it as much as you."
Hermione hardly dared look at him after this piece of forwardness. "And—" she ventured further—"thank you for your help. Earlier."
Snape paused, and she had the uncomfortably certain feeling that he was reading her thoughts, though his expression showed only contempt. Hermione willed herself to open her mind: "I want to know more. You can teach me. Aren't as cruel as you pretend. I know. I know."
His words sliced through her thoughts. "There's no need to think quite so hard, Miss Granger. I can practically hear you."
She was shaken to realize how great his powers were. Her eyes, wide and wanting, pleaded with him.
"Perhaps—" he turned abruptly so he wasn't looking at her—"I do need some—lackey—to wash beakers. And so forth."
He turned back to her and raised his eyebrow a fraction again.
Hermione hadn't realized she was holding her breath until then. "I'm 17 now," she thought to herself. "I have my majority. I want to learn! And Ron's so slow. He's brave, but he's slow. Especially when it comes to me." Embarrassing thoughts of the Fourth Year Yule Ball flooded her memory. "Professor Snape is so quick. Merlin's beard, he's quick! I could soften him, I think, if he fancies me at all."
But here her thoughts stumbled. Maybe he didn't fancy her. She had heard rumors that once he had fancied Lily Potter, Harry's mum, and Lily Potter was reputed to have been a real beauty, in addition to being charming, and a powerful witch. Hermione knew all too well that she possessed just one of these traits.
"Yes, Professor," she said humbly.
"Well, then," he said with evident lack of concern. "Tomorrow then."
The next day was a nightmare. Hermione and Ron had a blazing row, much different than their usual bickering. This time was full of bitter silences and obvious resentment on both sides. Harry was little help, warning her off from Snape. Neither of them understood. She had her pain pills on hand and took them regularly, but her body felt numb, and her mood was irritable. She bungled everything in Potions, especially when Snape was near. He casually docked Gryffindor 20 points during the class, to the groans of Gryffindor and the jubilation of Slytherin. Uncharacteristically, Hermione felt herself close to tears.
When class was over, she swallowed hard, twice, then began washing beakers methodically. She tripped once and nearly dropped a phial another time.
"You have a curse on you," Snape's voice lashed out, and she jumped, wincing as she did so—her midsection still felt clenched. Anger washed over her.
"It's not called that any more," she said crisply.
Snape looked puzzled. Then a small smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "A real curse, Miss Granger. Someone's put a lenttempus hex on you. Do you know anything about the lenttempus hex?"
Slow as she was, she couldn't remember. Very strange, as she usually could remember everything.
Snape tilted his head slightly to one side, drew his wand out quickly, and began reciting spells she had never heard before. Within a few minutes, the stupidness and slowness seemed to lift from her, as if a plastic casing were being removed. She flexed her arms and neck. She felt like herself again.
"Th-thank you," she said with fervor.
Snape eyed her inscrutably. "I don't suppose you would know who might put such a hex on you?" he challenged.
Hermione ignored his tone and thought hard about the question, but try as she might, she could think of no one. She shook her head.
"No matter." Snape turned back to his notes. He cast her a scowl over his shoulder. "Are you going to wash these beakers, Miss Granger, or are you incapable even of that?"
Hermione bowed her head slightly to hide her smile and began washing. As she was finishing, Snape's cold voice inquired, "Haven't you reached your majority, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Professor."
"And your plans?"
"I was hoping to learn a bit from you—Professor," she added hastily.
Snape added a few notations to his notes, and silence ensued. Then, "You must remind me then, to open doors for you and let you enter the room before me, and so on."
Hermione was stunned. She knew the import of the rude remark. "Thank you, Professor," she said after a moment.
In the weeks that followed, Hermione began working with Snape in earnest, and he began to trust her carefully accurate notations.
"Miss Granger," he would say, "let me see your notes on that last potion. No. Not my notes. I would have asked for them. …Thank you. That will do."
Twice in the weeks that followed, she corrected him. "No, Professor, it'll work better if you dry the beezleboor first."
Snape sat back and gave her one of his flat, impenetrable stares. "And why is that?"
"Well, the beezleboor is water-based, essentially, and drying it would increase its potency."
"Yes," Snape said thoughtfully.
At the end of the term, Hermione took her N.E.W.T.s and then her Auror exam.
When her owl brought her, her Auror exam results and she had seen them, she walked slowly to Snape's laboratory.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said as she entered. He was seated at a table writing, a smoking cauldron beside him. Pleasure at her company seemed far from his thoughts.
"I have the results of my Auror exam."
He nodded.
"I've passed."
"Naturally." He went back to his writing.
"That's all you're going to say to me?" Hermione's voice rose. "Professor—"
"You may call me Severus now. If you wish," he cut in. "You're my equal now. In some things, at any rate, if not in—others."
She stared, breathing hard, and could think of nothing to say.
Snape rose and walked to her. To her great surprise, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face to one side and then the other. "An Auror?" he said.
She couldn't feel the insistent probe of his mind, scanning her thoughts, but knew it must be so. "Please don't, Severus," she said, her voice low. "Ask me."
Something glimmered in his black eyes. "You have no skill in Occlumency, but in deduction, you have no equal," he replied, letting go of her chin. "I'm wondering, why did you come back here? Haven't I been callous enough, bullied you enough? Haven't I humiliated you and your mates, ridden you mercilessly these last several years?"
Hermione frowned. "That's not quite true. You've saved each of us when it mattered most. And you've been, well, maybe not pleasant, but—I've enjoyed working with you. It's been brilliant, really. It's been so lovely to be with someone who—keeps up with me. I don't mean to brag," she added quickly.
Snape's mouth twisted into a thin smile. "Hermione—I may call you Hermione, may I not?"
She nodded tightly.
"These little—"
Hermione held up her hand. "You're going to say it's been nice, but good-bye, aren't you? You want to send me on my way. You've held me at arm's length for months now, and I know—" she took a deep breath and continued more softly—"I know you've felt something. You'd be a stone not to. I'm the only student in the history of Hogwarts whom you've let study with you like this. I looked it up. And now you're going to throw me away. There's only one reason for th—"
He had her against the wall, his hand over her mouth, so fast, she could only gasp. His face was close to hers, and the black eyes were snapping. "Don't—don't, for Merlin's sake, say more!" he rasped. "You are a marvel at deduction, Hermione, but this is a subtle game I play, a very subtle game. One false move—"
Eyes wide with shock she nodded above his hand. Her hands were on his shoulders, an instinctive act of protection. He was so close, pressing against her from thigh to breast, she could feel his surprising strength, the wiry power concealed by his robes. Her hands moved slightly, no longer pushing at his shoulders. Instead, she ran her fingertips experimentally over the swell of muscle at his biceps.
"Stop," he said, his hand still on her mouth, his eyes like twin abysses. "You don't know what you're doing."
Her fingertips trailed elsewhere, running over the hardened lines of his long face, the hooked nose, the thin lips.
For the first time, she saw the flash of some genuine emotion in his eyes. He awkwardly moved his hand off her mouth, skimmed his thumb over her lips. Then his mouth hardened.
"Miss Granger, please don't tell me you've fallen for your professor. How trite," he injected the word with contempt.
Hermione fell back.