A/N—So, these little vignettes aren't in any sort of order at all… actually, at this point they're going backwards, chronologically speaking, but I'm not doing it purposefully, they're just coming out that way. The first one takes place when Hermione is a fully grown, cognizant, aware, consenting adult—think 23 or 24. The second one takes place before that, sometime after the Trio has graduated, maybe around 18 or 19. This scene is taking place right after she's graduated. I'm thinking about going back and updating the chapters so that they're dated… do you think that's necessary, or am I being clear enough in my exposition? Dear Readers, please let me know what you think! I love reviews, and if you have any suggestions that you'd like to see, I'll do my best. Hope that you enjoy this. Cheers!
Hermione pounded her head on the table repeatedly, relishing the dramatic thunk, thunk, thunk, even through she knew that she was being childish. It was so stupid! Of all of the mistakes that she had to make, it had to be the one that made her feel the most childish. Ahh… there was that word again. Thunk, thunk, thunk.
She stopped hitting her head onto the table, just resting her forehead on the smooth wooden plane. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone made mistakes in front of the people that they admired most, it was a corollary to Murphy's Law. One of the first ones. Maybe the very first one. She sighed heavily.
Well, whatever. It wasn't the end of the world. So she had blown up a cauldron… for the first time in her life… while making a simple restorative draught.
It was just that she had worked so hard to make Severus see her as someone other than a student. She wanted them to progress to an adult relationship, and the fact that she had spent all seven of her years at Hogwarts as a very high profile (read: hated) student made that very difficult. But she hadn't been Severus' student for months now.
Her internal voice, the one that sounded like a cross between Minerva, Molly, and her mother, joined the fray. Look, it's not like he'll look at you for years anyways. You won't be able to convince him that you're grown up for ages… and let's face it, you won't be. Besides, look at how fast you threw up that shield charm. Not a drop made it through. That's pretty impressive.
Well… she was right. All she could do was wait to grow up, and trust that Severus would notice. The time for that wasn't now. Now how in the world was she going to explain to him that the reason she'd blown up a cauldron was because she'd been so busy listening to him dictate an ingredients list to a charmed bit of parchment that she'd added the sneezewort instead of the sassafras?
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The door slammed, and Hermione looked up, unaware of the humorous picture that she presented, cheeks flushed in humiliation, a bright red mark on her forehead. Severus, who had been more curious about the nature of his quasi-apprentice's unprecedented accident than he was angry (it's not like he'd had to clean it up, after all), hid his laughter behind an incredibly well developed façade of disdain.
"Miss Granger. What. Was. That?" He had no idea what that raised eyebrow was doing to her.
Hermione raised her eyes to his in her best butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth manner.
"Sir?"
"Miss Granger. Explain. Now."
Come on, Hermione. Balls it out. "I'm sorry, sir, I was distracted."
He waited, hands on his hips, head tilted slightly, and Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds.
"Miss Granger."
"I, er, added the sneezewort instead of the sassafras."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." Hermione, still red-faced, although the mark was finally fading from her forehead, stood and practically ran out of the room, her spine straight.
Severus sat down at the table where Hermione had been sitting. He let some of his amusement show on his face. He leaned forward, leaning on his elbows, considering.
Severus was bored. Life at Grimmauld Place was incredibly monotonous. And here was a simple little mystery that he could bend his considerable spy skills, which would rust if they weren't used, towards solving the straightforward question: what had distracted Hermione Granger to such an extent that the little perfectionist had melted a cauldron? And why wouldn't she talk about it? She couldn't run from him forever. For one thing, they had potions to brew on a daily basis. He could corner her then... metaphorically speaking.