The Art Which Binds Us
Contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger's mind was just as artistic as it was logical. Of course, her logic was her strongest quality, but she also had the ability to appreciate poetry, opera, and good literature. While her greatest skills were grounded in logical subjects such as Arithmacy and Transfiguration, she was also strongly drawn to the art of potion making. But very few knew of Hermione's dual tastes.
Hermione accepted she'd never be truly beautiful. Not like some of the girls she knew. Many words could be used to describe her hair, bushy, curly, thick, long, untamed. No matter how many I record it still comes down to the matter of perspective. Some might appreciate her tresses as exotic and wild while others would see a tangled mass. Her face was nice enough, not chiseled and sculpted like a statue of perfection, but she had nice cheekbones. Her figure was as it had always been: thin with just the slightest curves. Of course no one would be aware of this as it was hidden under her flowing school robes. Truly, anyone who might stop to give her a second look would shop her subtle charm. But no one did.
Not that this was terribly important to Hermione. She was much more interested in her schoolwork and her friends then boys in general, that is not to say she did not wish for some attention from time to time, but she had grown accustomed to it. She was a strong witch, and the voice of reason in the trio. Even though Ron had a bit of a crush on her she never acted on it. For all of Ron's wonderful qualities she adored, she did not feel drawn to him. Certainly, she had been fond of him in earlier years, but now they had matured, or rather, she had matured and Ron had not. Hermione was now 17 years old, and very much an adult.
Her friends' futures were predictable enough: Harry would be an auror. There wasn't a question about it; he'd been training and studying (merely a little compared to the work Hermione put in) since his fifth year. Ron wanted to be an auror as well, but never put effort into it. Most likely, reasoned Hermione, he would end up in the Ministry.
Hermione had wanted to be an Animagi since her first year. And while she hadn't tied herself down to that particular subject, she had worked very hard towards it. But now she would never become one. She would not pursue her dream, as she could not stand the thought of learning in-depth Transfiguration from anyone but Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall had promised her years ago that when Hermione's 7th year came around she would take Hermione as her apprentice and educate her in the way of the Animagi. However, Professor McGonagall was dead now, which left Hermione grieving for her favorite teacher and in a bit of a tight spot. The death was not dramatic, as some would have preferred it. She didn't die fighting the Dark Lord, or casting some immensely difficult spell. It was plain and simple age. She had been far on in her years, and it was a known fact she ad a bit of a heart condition (It's no wonder, thought Hermione, from all the students). It had been a short, peaceful death last year.
But enough about Hermione's appearance and her daily problems, we should return to the day in question, when it all began.
Hermione sat in the Head Girl's room, lounging in an armchair, staring into the fire. Not all her time was spent reading, no matter what people assumed. She stared into the small fireplace that kept her quarters warm. It was just early morning, but Hermione had always been an earl riser. She was dressed, groomed and ready for the day ahead. The first day back to Hogwarts, the day that was very special for seventh years.
Today was The Day of Apprenticeship. And today there would be an activity that Hermione had thought for so long she would manage to avoid. It was at this time every year, during first, second and third period classes that all 7th year students getting all passing or better marks were invited to an event that would shape their 7th years, and most likely their lives.
Each student was to fill out applications for the teacher he or she wished to be apprenticed by. Of course, this took place a day before regular classes started. (Namely, Sunday). By Friday, each teacher was to send notice to the applicants rejecting all but one: their chosen apprentice.
It was not that Hermione feared being rejected; nearly any teacher would have celebrated their luck at teaching her. Any teacher but Snape (and perhaps the Divination professor). And it was Snape she was applying to.
It had been a difficult decision, certainly, but she had come to feel no matter how much she disliked the potion's master, she respected and admired his intelligence. And while he would win no awards for popularity, his method of teaching was infallible. Everyone in his class listened and learned; they were afraid not to. He was the most accomplished teacher at Hogwarts (next to Dumbledoor) and she reasoned this more then qualified him as her best choice. Not to mention Potions was her second favorite class, or rather, second favorite subject. She loathed most of the classes.
She glanced at the timekeeper on her nightstand. It was nearly 8:00, better get going. Silently, she grabbed up her bag and made her way down to the common room.
(this will eventually be a Severus/Hermione romance. It won't be very fluffy, not too aghast-ish (though I'll try to get some in). Mostly, I'm trying to stay true to the characters and give them greater depth. This is more of getting into character, like a first try at writing Hermione/ Severus. I hope I improve so I can write a story for them to the plot I've always wanted to do. Any comments, criticisms and other things are welcome. I like to see reviews that actually say something. Thanks so much for reading; I'm off to work on chapter 2.