Words: 1153

XX

Change always caught him off guard. The next time he saw her, nearly a year later, he fought to not let his jaw drop in absolute shock. She had completely transformed from the crying, sniveling mess that lay on the floor that January. Her hair no longer resembled a rat's nest and her face was no longer red and tear-stained just as her eyes no longer held an ever-present mourning moisture. For the first time in months, she wore neat robes that did not look like they had been unwashed for weeks. The pair she currently sported was a soft shade of lilac he had never seen her wear before. Her time away from Hogwarts had done her good. Minerva had only informed him a week ago that she would be returning to take the post under him as the Potions Apprentice.

He never imagined she would have taken his dare to heart.

She smiled at him almost shyly from where she now sat on a stool in the background eager to assist students who needed help and to watch for those in danger of causing Longbottom-like accidents. Clearing his throat, he quickly resumed his fourth year lesson, throwing in a little introduction for her. It took a few moments to regain the attention of the star-struck class but a poisonous glare from him quickly did the trick.

He cleared his throat and resumed his lecture without missing a beat. "Wolfsbane is, quite possibly, one of the most important and most difficult potions in the world to create. To become a Potions Master, one must have the knowledge to brew this potion. Now, can anyone tell me what Wolfsbane is used for?"

A small blonde girl raised her hand in the back of the room. He nodded at her and she spoke. "Wolfsbane is the only known way to temporarily relieve some of the worst symptoms that plague Werewolves." He nodded when the small noise of a throat clearing stopped everyone in the room. He looked up to see her poised to speak.

"Actually," she began softly, "that isn't exactly correct anymore. I have been working on some research that shows that it might be possible to permanently alleviate…"

"Miss Granger," he snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence. She gasped and sat up straight, unable to fight her instinctual reaction to his tone. "Do not presume that you alone can do what years of Potions Masters have been unable to accomplish. The field of Potions is a volatile and difficult one. The Masters do not take kindly to a young upstart who has the pride to assume greater knowledge than…"

"But sir, I didn't assume…" she began to protest.

"Silence is golden, Miss Granger. You'd do well to remember it." He glared at her and the words of protest stuck in her throat. She plopped back down on the stool and crossed her arms stubbornly. The look in her eye told him that this conversation wasn't over just yet. When the bell rang and the students bolted out the door, she picked herself up off of her chair and stalked towards him in a manner that eerily reminded him of himself.

"I know my research is good," she hissed. "No one has the right to judge me and say otherwise, least of all you!"

He crossed his arms in front of his torso, flicking his robes around his body with the movement. "Really, Miss Granger?" he drawled. "Because I seem to recall forcing a sniveling mess to clean up her life one night – an action that if I had not taken, would have resulted in the mess in question remaining as such for many years to come. I hold the right to judge you. You cannot deny it to me. It isn't yours to give or to take."

She practically growled at him, clenching her fists and standing on her tippy toes so as to look into his eyes. Her hair was slowly coming free from its neat, librarian-like bun to spread into an angry halo of curls around her face.

"You have no right," she snarled. And before he could even react, she wound up and slapped him across the cheek. He reached a shocked hand up to touch the pale skin of his face that was rapidly turning red in the shape of a tiny palm. She didn't move, her eyes wide open in horror. "Sir, I'm so sorry, I don't know what…"

He held up a hand to stop her rambling words and she visibly flinched causing him to groan. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his voice surprisingly clam. She barely nodded, still standing frozen as if she expected him to strike her back. "Now, I know you're an intelligent witch, Miss Granger, but you need to prove it to the rest of the imbeciles in this field. In Potions, your actions will hold more weight than your words. The Masters will laugh at a young upstart who claims to have the cure to Lycanthropy. You must keep your head low and let your results speak for themselves when you present your potion. You cannot go slapping the Masters to make them see your point of view. Nor can you punch them, or harm them in any other way."

Her face turned bright red at his last words. "You… you act like you know what it's like," she stuttered, trying to not think of a younger version of him punching his Master.

For a moment she thought he was laughing. "Of course I do," he said, his face appearing stoic as suddenly as he had appeared to laugh. "I wasn't always Master in this field and you're not the first Apprentice to lose a temper. It's the first lesson that every Apprentice learns about being a Master – patience. I made many mistakes, among them hexing my own Master and mouthing off as a brash young man. I quickly learned my lesson and when I let the Wolfsbane potion speak for itself, I finally gained the respect I desired."

She couldn't help herself. Her jaw dropped. "You?" she managed. "You created Wolfsbane?"

"Of course."

"But… But…" she sputtered. "But the textbooks all say that the creator of the potion was Damocles…"

"An alias. The Dark Lord would not have taken kindly to me subduing his best monsters."

"I…" she sighed, looking at her foot as she traced a pattern on the stone floor before him. He fought the urge to shake her to make her speak quicker, but he knew that she needed to ask of her own accord. "Will… Will you help me with my research, sir?"

He allowed a ghost of a smile to grace his face. "If you would wound your pride so by asking me, I simply must assist."

She smiled nervously back at him and something in the air between them – the tension? – seemed to change.

XX

The Ultimate Death Eater Competition – Round 2 – Bellatrix Lestrange or Severus Snape – "No one has the right to judge me."

The Magic Number Competition – Seven Deadly Sins – pride – actions speak louder than words

The Fifteen Colours Competition – lilac (in Victorian ages, it was used as a color of mourning a year after someone passed away, hence the colour of Hermione's robes)

OTP Boot Camp – silence is golden

The Honeydukes Competition – Bertie Blotts Every Flavour Beans – It's a risk just to try one. So this story has to be about your character taking a risk in some way shape or form.

Lets End This The Way It Started Competition – change

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