"Ms. Granger, so glad that you could join us," a voice snarled, as she crept into the dimly lit, potions dungeon. Professor Snape, as well as the rest of the NEWT seventh years averted their gazes from whatever they were previously brewing, to a disgruntled Hermione. She apologized profoundly and scampered hastily to her seat, alongside her two best friends, Ron and Harry. There was a dent on her table, no doubt attributed to Ron's mediocre potions skills.
"50 points from Gryffindor for Ms. Granger's incompetence at attending class on time," Professor Snape continued, "And before we were so rudely interrupted, I would just like to state how abysmal your potions are turning out to look. If they are not near perfection at the end of the hour, you will have to start from the top…"
Upon hearing this, the class broke out in a chorus of protests and groans. Hermione could see from the smoky atmosphere of the dungeon, that the fumes altered everyone's perception of the potion. However, the blacksmoth- dragon juice potion, one with the ability to cure the most unusual wounds, was in her opinion, among the most interesting to brew.
Harry nudged Hermione on the side, "Are you okay?" he mouthed. She hesitantly nodded. She hadn't seen her two best friends in almost a week now. Break had just concluded, after all.
"Blimey, 'Mione, Snape's in a horrible mood today. Don't know what has gotten into him, the slimy git," Ron said, as he looked apologetically at her. Hermione shrugged. Snape was always this way. It was astounding that Ron could possibly think otherwise. Half an hour into class, Professor Snape casually strolled behind the students in order to examine their potions. Hermione could occasionally hear him mutter incoherently upon seeing an especially bad one.
"Disastrous…horrendous…amateurish," He said when Ron's potions bubbled under his nose. The thick liquid turned puce and danced rather wildly in its cauldron. It emitted a nasty stench and Hermione noticed several of Ron's neighbors-mainly girls, squirming in their seats. Ron also sank low down his chair.
"Imbecile," Snape uttered and moved left to where she sat, mixing a bramble twig with three strands of unicorn hair. Her potion smelled enticing and the color, within seconds, turned a bright green. Perfect. She could feel Snape's bated breaths bounce off her skin, and a thousand little Goosebumps erected across the nape of her neck. Intimidating, Hermione thought, very scary, indeed.
Snape nodded but Hermione did not see this gesture, as only her back faced him. Snape cleared his throat. Hermione, wearily, turned to meet her stern professor.
Snape still sported an irate expression, "Satisfactory Granger. Detention. Meet me in my office at 8." And with a swift swish of his dark cloak, Hermione was left to watch the retreating figure of her potions professor.
The bell screeched, as per usual, signifying the conclusion of yet, another insipid lesson. Both Harry and Ron arose from their seats, with Ron tugging at his rear.
"My bottom feels as though it has been sat on by a hippo," he whined, to which Harry chortled.
Harry looked to a sullen Hermione. She sat with no intentions of moving, despite the excited chatters of everyone else as they exited their last class of the day. "Come on Hermione," her best friend urged, "Let's get a move on. The fat lady will be considerably tetchy if we are delayed."
"Yeah Hermione," Ron added, "Let us not be late again. Which reminds me, why were you late in the first place? It cannot be that you were at Madame Pomfrey's, as you said. You look positively glowing!"
Hermione glowered at Ron, "Thank you Ronald," she said empathetically, "For reminding me of why Snape is so obstinate with me. He cannot just forgive the whole incident. The ghastly man just has to hold this dogmatic grudge around me forever, throwing detentions here and there as he pleases. I want to know why he so much as has the audacity to give me a detention this year, as not only am I Head girl, but loads of people have arrived late and he doesn't chastise them!"
"Forget it Hermione, you know how he hates Gryffindors," Harry said, "Not like Snape to ever be impartial with us."
"Hate Gryffindors? That is the understatement of the century. The man detests us with the heat of a thousand conflagrations. I reckon' that's the only reason upon giving you detention."
"I am not leaving until I confront him. Your efforts will only be futile," Hermione stubbornly announced, crossing her hands across her chest to convey her final decision. Both Harry and Ron shrugged their shoulders in defeat, bidding her 'goodnight' as they proceeded to leave.
Hermione gathered her belongings before walking to her professor. Contrary to what she had thought, he had not missed the bickering between her and her two best friends. He sat at his desk, pretending to be enamored with a batch of third year essays. But from the corner of his eye, Hermione could see him glance at her. His dark hairs fell like a violent waterfall over his eyes. The only features of his face that she could see were his piercing, black eyes.
"Ms. Granger," Snape spoke icily, "To what do I owe this pleasure? Would you like to start your detention an hour early? Or perhaps, you are making up for your lost time?"
Hermione's face turned crimson and she felt a pang of regret at staying late. What good would confrontation be with such an odious man? But it was too late to retreat now, as she was three feet away from his desk.
"I was wondering why you gave me detention, Professor," she added, "When I came, but five minutes late, and from Madame Pomfrey's hospital ward."
"A likely story, a little banal, if I may say so. I have heard that excuse numerous times, Ms. Granger, and certainly the class's know-it-all would know better than to use it again?"
Hermione's veins bulged. She was not lying and she knew it. She opened her mouth to protest when Snape cut her off, "And no, I will not ask Madame Pomfrey to attest to this silly story of yours. But now that you are here, I suppose you can start your detention early. Look to the brambleberry twigs scattered about the floor, I want you to collect each and every one of them and wash them thoroughly for tomorrow's lesson. If I see even the most infinitesimal twig, I assure you a week's worth of detention is in order."
Hermione's shoulders stooped and she turned to retrieve her wand, when she saw its tail disappearing from her bag. She looked at the Potions master, who laughed mirthlessly, "Surely you were not expecting to use a wand, were you? Tsk tsk, poor girl. Here's a bag," Snape threw at her, an average sized, straw bag, with several holes protruding from its sides, "Place the twigs in here."
Hermione looked at Snape incredulously. This was impossible. She could not believe her misfortunate at not only serving such a foul man with detention, but also with having to crouch down to satisfy his every totalitarianism desire. Besides, part of the reason why she had even visited the hospital ward was to find a remedy for the pungent sensation she experienced in her stomach as of lately. Now, the feeling would multiply tenfold, to the degree of insufferable.
Hermione commenced at performing her mind-numbing task. Several times, the sharp edges of the twigs pricked a little hole in her fingers, where a red liquid dribbled down like a small river. Hermione paused a minute, to wipe her hands across her cloak.
Snape's voice, from the far front of the room rang across to her, "Stopping, Ms. Granger, surely you cannot quit for a little prick of blood?" Hermione was astonished. How could he have seen?
An hour passed and Hermione had collected almost every twig. She was sure that there were still miniscule sticks lying around on the vast ground, impossible to find with the mortal eye. She closed the hay sack, enveloping her arms over it to deter any more sticks from falling by way to Snape's desk.
"Professor," Hermione quietly said, "Where can I wash these?" She glanced around the room before, but was rather startled to see no signs of a water faucet. Of course, magical folks wouldn't need any of that, as they could just summon water any time.
Snape, who by now, had moved on to annotate a treacherous passage of, "Potion Making for the Accomplished Scholar," bookmarked his page and stood up. Hermione was easily intimidated by his towering height. He was so intimidating, casting a dark shadow over her slender, teenage body. He snatched her bag, letting a few twigs escape from the bottom.
"Come along Granger," he ordered. Snape collected his wand and traced, through the air, what looked to Hermione, like a complicated sequence of patterns. At first, Snape looked like a madman, waving frantically into nothingness, but a moment later, Hermione noticed the vague shape of a door appearing from the eastern wall of the dungeon. A minute later, she found herself staring at a door she hadn't known of existing. It was normal sized, and camouflaged well with the walls around it.
Snape interrupted Hermione from her temporary trance, "Follow me." With the bag of twigs positioned closely to his heart, Severus Snape opened the door and boldly walked in. Hermione, on the other hand, cautiously followed. Upon entering the dimly lit corridor, she immediately grew weary of her surroundings. It seemed that she had entered a tunnel almost. The hall was narrow, but still wide enough to hold several antiquated paintings and armors. There were paintings of other, dark-haired people, coyly smiling at her, as though she were not worthy of their presence. There was a beastly looking lady, slender in structure, yet when she opened her mouth, strings of curses flew out.
"Ignore the pictures Granger, they provide me sanctity sometimes when kids like you and Potter rile me." Hermione raised her eyebrows. To find comfort and solitude amongst these ghastly paintings was preposterous. A little farther along, and still confused, Hermione finally saw an orange light oscillating from a lone room. Snape walked into the dark room and tossed the bag of bramble twigs on a wooden stool next to a water fountain. Sitting on the water fountain was an odourless, yellow-purple liquid. How odd.
Hermione was stunned. Not only did Severus Snape, a Slytherin, own a muggle artifact, but he had truly led her to one of Hogwartz's weirdest rooms. She surveyed her settings. All four corners were painted a weird shade a blue. One, of them, for instance, was navy blue while another was Azure. There was a bed in the midst of all the colors, and it was the color of red, bloody red. It contrasted from the walls and the blue drawers on either side of it. Stacked on each of the drawers were books, delicious sets of books.
"Ms. Granger, use the faucet. I would like you to wash each and every one of these twigs with care, remove any dust or liquid, or whatever they are currently bathed in, and make sure they look clean," Snape instructed. Hermione nodded, wiping the trickles of sweat pouring down her face. Snape slumped around lazily until finally falling onto his bed. He sighed loudly, inhaling and exhaling in a soft, rhythm. As another twenty minutes pulled to a close, Hermione looked back at a tired Snape, who held a book on Medieval Potions to his bosom.
"Done already Ms. Granger?" he idly asked her while flipping another page. Hermione cringed. Less than half the sack was done and she was damned hot. She did not know whether the dark room and the misty, warm water elicited such feelings, but she felt more Goosebumps break across her body. And suddenly, she was overcome with an intense urge to somehow please her professor. She harshly scrubbed the little barks of the bramble twigs, until little marks were etched across its body.
Severus Snape, all the while, stared at his young student's back as she increased her pace. Pretty soon, she was scrubbing much too rough and impatiently. He knew he should castigate her for almost breaking the twigs, but then, the way she moved her body intrigued him. He saw her backside dance from side to side, her skirt swishing this way and that. And although he was exceedingly tense now, he made sure not to change his demeanor.
Hermione could not take it. It was bad enough in class to feel the burning stare of her professor while brewing her potion, but to feel it now, the sole victim of his intensity, was incredibly overwhelming. She dropped the twigs into the sink and absent-mindedly let the water loose. They sprayed around the room, madly, in a horrible frenzy, striking everything they hit. Pretty soon, the little flask of the yellow-purple liquid fell into the sink and broke, casting oozy liquid everywhere. Hermione herself, a victim of its disarray, was blasted with the thick liquid. She slammed her hands violently over the water handle, jamming it off.
Severus Snape, who stared at the whole incident with curiosity and interest, even, feigned a look of utmost conniption. Hermione, who looked to be in tears now, desperately gathered the yellow-purple potion from falling down the drain.
"Let go of that, this instant, Ms. Granger," Snape bellowed. Hermione abruptly turned around to face him. All across her breasts was the yellow substance. She did not know yet, but in a matter of seconds, they would cast a state of transparency over whatever layers of clothing masked her breasts from view. Pretty soon, Hermione Granger would be half naked in front of her loathsome potions professor.
Although Severus Snape felt slightly satisfied at the prospect of seeing another Gryffindor embarrassed into oblivion, the urge to tell her the purpose of the liquid constantly nagged at him. At last, he surrendered.
"Ms. Granger, I suggest you wear one of my cloaks, as your own will turn invisible in a matter of seconds."
Hermione, still tremulous, stared down at her body, and surely enough, the first layer- her cloak, had disappeared over her bosom. It looked as though she were wearing a cloak with this giant hole at the middle. To her horror, the scarlet shirt-layer two, was also turning translucent, and yellow pieces of her undergarment were surfacing. Upon instinct, she tightly held her arms to her breasts. Snape opened a faint closet and looked to search for something. Seconds later, Hermione's nipples, clearly erect, poked at her hands, and she stood foolishly, with a naked center. Snape, who finally seemed to find what he was looking for, a cloak, turned to throw it at her. But as he swung his arm, the cloak lay fixated between his fingers. What he found in front of him was absolutely mesmerizing. A frightened, 17 years old, who was honestly, nothing more than average or pretty at most, guarding her well-developed body. Her breasts arched upwards, and he could see a tenth of her erect nipples, fiercely pushing on the skin of her wrist.
"Professor," Hermione sniffed, "Please can I wear that?" Snape, breaking out of his reverie, threw his cloak at her. Like sharp claws, Hermione's fingers tightly grasped it and covered her body. The cloak tailed on the ground, as Snape was much larger than Hermione. Hermione's face was beet red and she shook with despair.
"Tha-thank you, professor," she barely managed to release, through clenched teeth. Snape did not know what to do. He had never been around the company of any distraught girl but his mother. And even then, he'd merely shrug the whole thing off. But with Hermione…a pang of remorse bit at him, and for a second, he even pondered of letting the girl free without castigating her. But of course, that would be like throwing himself at a pack of mules, if word got out that Professor Snape ever bestowed kindness, especially towards a measly Gryffindor.
Snape immediately abandoned his "soft" guy look, opting instead to slickly slide back into his famous, cruel professor image.
"Ms. Granger, I assure you that if anything like this ever happens again, not only will I have to report you for improper behavior towards a teacher, but I will also be forced to assign you more tasks."
Hermione had not noticed that her professor must have removed his cloak sometime when she was washing the twigs. But now, in his entire cloak-less glory, her Potions teacher stood, wearing a dark shirt with an equally dark, fitting trouser. Both articles of clothing graced him delicately, as Hermione, even through the darkness, traced the outline of a well-toned body.
No Hermione, she scolded herself, wake up from this drasted reverie. The man is your, loathsome potions professor. My god, he killed Dumbledore! My god, he probably killed more men than you can fathom to think of. And yet, here she stood, unmistakably feeling strong rays of attraction-physical attraction, of course towards him.
Snape, somewhere in his careless tirade, noticed the obvious change in Hermione Granger's behavior. Now, she was not violently flailing her arms anymore, but instead, she seemed subdued and tranquillized. She peered at him with her chocolate brown orbs. Chocolate brown, Snape mentally slapped himself, where did that come from? She's a student and worse yet, a Gryffindor student, friend of Potter.
"Forget the rest of the twigs Ms. Granger; I suppose how many ever you have collected will suffice."
Hermione thanked her professor, who arrogantly chose not to acknowledge her gratefulness. He continued to insult her more, on her incompetence. But somewhere, Hermione could see a change in his demeanor. No longer did he look so furious, but now a little reserved and could she daresay…a bit flustered? Impossible, Professor Severus Snape would never succumb to such petty mannerisms. Hermione convinced herself that she was just imagining the slight, pinkish blush decorating Snape's cheeks.
"Right," she foolishly said, "Is there, er, anything else that you would like for me to…do?"
Do? The words rang through Snape's mind. Severus Snape hungrily bit his lips and procured a wild image of him, cornering her in a secluded room. He nibbled at her ears and he kissed the delicate skin between her chin and neck. Hermione melted at his touch, and moaned wildly into the light, as he soothingly stroked the gentleness of her back in small circles.
"Professor?" she asked him. Snape shook his head, "Detention tomorrow, I'll want to see the rest of this cleaned."
Instead of seeing her bite back another groan as she had earlier in the day, Snape saw that Hermione was perfectly composed and willing. She nodded her head gently and replied with a confident, "Of course professor."
Meanwhile, Hermione Granger employed similar taboo feelings about her lustrous older professor. Good god, I did not just use the word 'lustrous. Next thing you, I will be calling him 'sexy.' But as Hermione stole another glance at Snape, her body felt aroused and her heart even pounded violently. She felt like a petty second year again, crushing over her insane, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Lockhart.
Snape motioned with his arm and facial expressions, that he wanted her out of his room. Hermione happily complied. Her own emotions were overwhelmingly obscure as she walked out of the chilling corridor. Hermione walked into the better lit-still dark though, potions dungeon, where she found her books in a small heap by Snape's desk. Her wand lay at its sole, helplessly rolling around. Hermione, more properly now, wore Snape's cloak. She cuffed the bottom slightly, to make it seem shorter and less loose.
Hermione collected her belongings and almost walked out the door, when a cold voice stopped her.
"Ms. Granger," Snape said, emerging from his secret passageway, "I want that cloak back at tomorrow's detention. Goodnight." He walked away. Hermione was confounded and stood, seemingly attached to the floor.
Sometimes, she thought, as she headed out, Professor Snape could really marvel her.
AN: Sorry for the long wait. This story is progressing far less rapidly than I would have hoped, but with some major exams out of the way, I hope I can get it back to a faster pace.
Longer now. You get the general gist of it. I've got some pretty cool plot lines wrapped around my sleeves, so that should be fun. Please review!