Disclaimer: I know I don't own anything. You know I don't own anything. The cops know I don't own anything.
Note: Thanks to the reviewers who commented on chapter one for continuing to comment on chapter two! And thanks snapehermionelover, I'm glad you like it so far. Now, one of my readers avasion left this comment when I posted chapter one: "you know at first i thought that snape just up-and-left his class in order to go drink in the back room, i was like, 'huh?'-but then i reread it and realized that that wasn't the case. heh heh, although that would have been kinda interesting, snape busting through the door in one of his dramatic entrances only to fall flat on his face...poor snape." That made me laugh like crazy! If this wasn't such an angst filled story, I might have just included that.
You know what, in order to get a feel for my writing and what different styles I can do, I think I'll create a one shot Snape/Hermione with Sev being a little bit tipsy. ;) Look for it up soon! And now… Onto chapter three!
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The snow fell heavy on the grounds outside of Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger was in heaven. Well, not technically, but she was in a fitful sleep, the kind of sleep that is not to be disturbed. The birds were chirping through the windows of the girls dormitory, and the light sunshine filtered through the window. Rolling over, Hermione smiled in her sleep, and snuggled deeper underneath the covers.
"Wake up!" A voice shouted in her ear, and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide, as Parvarti and Lavender cackled.
"What," She spat, rolling out of bed and advancing on the girls, a Molly Weasley-ish look on her face, her hands on her hips, "the hell was that for?"
At least Parvarti and Lavender had the good sense to stop laughing and look ashamed.
"Sorry, Hermione," they mumbled, and with a point to the clock from Lavender, they sped out of the room.
Grinding her teeth together, Hermione glanced at the clock. Shit. If she didn't cut down and only do half the things she normally did in the morning (not that it was much, at any rate, she didn't do nearly as much as Lavender and Parvarti, those two were up hours beforehand.) she'd be late for breakfast.
Pulling on her underthings and uniform, she made a haphazard attempt at tame hair, only failing to make it appear any more decent, and sped out of the room into the common room, out the portrait hole, and down to breakfast.
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"What took you so long, 'Mione?" Ron asked, his mouth not completely full for once. He'd – and most everyone else had, as well – finished his breakfast already, and Hermione only had time to grab a bit of bacon before the rest of the food vanished. Sighing, and promising herself to eat more at lunch, she nibbled on the bacon as she thought of an answer.
In truth, it had been a good dream. She'd been flying – though she hadn't been on a broomstick in ages, having a fear of heights or accidents, but she'd always thought it looked very free and pleasant – and there had been someone with her, though she couldn't make out exactly who.
"Overslept." She smiled sheepishly at them, finishing her bacon. The trio turned to leave, but something caught Hermione's eye, and she stopped for a moment, looking around. It was as if someone had been watching her. Turning yet again, she cast a glance toward where the teachers were sitting, and was startled to find Snape watching her. It was almost as if he didn't know he was doing it.
"What, Hermione?" Harry frowned. Something had been up with his best friend yesterday, and now today she was acting just as odd, if not more so.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, Hermione simply shrugged, told them not to worry about it and get a move on or they'd be late for transfiguration, and resolved to think about it later.
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It was potions right after lunch, and Hermione felt a strange coiling sensation in her stomach as the trio made their way down to the dungeons. It was colder down here, and she wrapped her robe more tightly around herself, letting a shiver pass through her body.
Ron glanced sideways at her. He, like Harry, had noticed a difference in his best friend, and as he met his male best friends eyes over the top of Hermione's head, a silent message passed between them.
"Hermione," Harry started conversationally, "is something bothering you?" They passed by another lit torch, the echoes of their shoes slapping on the cold stone following them as they walked at medium pace down the long corridors. He noticed her tense a little, and then put on a mask, a mere smile coming out to meet him.
"Why would you ask that, Harry?" Was the reply, "I'm perfectly fine. It's Neville we should all be worried about."
Hermione's eyes clouded. "I'm still trying to figure out why he only asked me to detention instead of the both of us." They all shrugged. It was a good question, but not one they were likely to find an answer to, as they had just arrived outside Snape's classroom.
As they entered and took their seats at their usual table, Ron raised his eyebrows. Knowing he was about to ask something she probably didn't want to answer, Hermione rolled her eyes and set her sack of books down by her feet, getting her potions book out.
"Yes, Ron?" She asked wryly, and was half amused to see the boy give a start, like he didn't know she'd been expecting it. The chatter around them grew louder as more of their classmates, both Slytherin and Gryffindor, entered and took their seats.
"Well, 'Mione, it's just that," Ron broke off, sharing a glance with Harry, "it's just that Harry and I were still wondering about what Snape made you do for detention last night."
This again? What was with them?
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but closed it abruptly when Snape busted through the door leading to his private quarters.
"Turn to page three hundred and ninety four." He instructed in a tone that left no room for argument or conversation. He swept back to his desk, but not before Hermione noticed that his gaze lingered a second on her. Apparently Ron hadn't let that escape his notice either, because he cast a quizzical, almost… jealous look at her. Rolling her eyes and shrugging, she opened her textbook and flipped to the desired page.
They had been instructed to work on a sleepless dream draught, and as Hermione was pouring over the cauldron, making sure everything was just so, the potions master swept over to their table, peering into the cauldron.
He noticed Hermione giving him an almost expectant look.
"It will do." Snape answered, and as he made to move away, he added, "See me after class, Miss Granger."
She nodded, and as she turned back around to gather and prepare more of the ingredients, she noticed Ron's ears turn a little pink. Sighing, she completed her work without any more conversation, and as Harry gathered his books and nudged Ron, they left, leaving Hermione alone with Snape.
She approached his desk silently. He was bending over some sort of complicated looking draft for a spell, or so it seemed. Hermione cleared her throat, and he looked up, albeit startled. Sneering, he shoved the papers into a drawer of his large oak desk, and motioned for her to take a seat.
"Your Wolfsbane concoction was…" Snape paused, as if trying to find words, "satisfactorily adequate. It would be much appreciated if you would hand it out to Professor Lupin in my absence each night for a week."
Hermione eagerly nodded, any excuse to see one of her favorite professors was fine by her.
"Good," Snape's voice was once again clipped, as where a moment ago it had been almost… hesitant. Or had she been imagining things? It wouldn't have been the first time, though she was known for primarily keeping a levelheaded disposition, as opposed to Ron's impulsiveness.
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He had to admit it – she was beautiful. Her wild, messy hair hung around her almost chiseled features, and he had to keep himself at bay as an image of his hands running through it flashed into his mind. No… This was inappropriate. She was a student, the top of line, and was expected by most of the staff to carry on to do great wonders.
Her eyes were dark, the fine eyebrows above them arched in curiosity. Her lips were almost rosy in coloration, and her neck long and elegant. Her shoulders were obscured by her robes, though he knew by studying the rest of her build that they must be wiry – but not in a bad way.
Shaking himself out of his hunger for her – no, he reprimanded himself, appreciation – he sneered and handed her a slip.
"Detention, Miss Granger, seven sharp." He smirked a bit at her shocked expression, and swept from his seat into his quarters.
He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.