Since I'm bad at keeping promises, I'm going to upload the last three chapters nand to finish with this. I feel terrible for disappearing for months at a time.
-Begin Chapter 4- September 10
There was a whisper of ghostly air that ran up Hermione's spine. She felt a shiver travel down it in response, and whirled around to catch the culprit. There was no one there upon first glance, and she felt she knew the answer, instinctively. Fairly sure in her conclusion, she called out, "Professor?"
There was a curse, soft and barely-heard by Hermione, and he began to materialize. "Hello, Miss Granger."
"Where have you been, Professor Snape?" She asked, turning down an empty and rarely-used corridor to escape the students that would surely be making their ways to the Great Hall for dinner, as she had been.
"I have honoured your suggestion," he said. At her confused expression, he elaborated. "I went and tormented some first years, Miss Granger, if I must spell it out."
She smiled at that, though she felt uncomfortable and slightly dizzy.
"And how did that go," she prompted, catching the pent-up frustration that was all but rolling off of him in waves.
He narrowed his eyes at her but answered through pursed lips. "Not well,"
She couldn't help herself, "What does that mean, Professor?"
His expression turned even sourer, if that was even possible. "Miner-Professor McGonagall thought it was Peeves, shouted at him, and then he tried to find me." The sentence was said with his mouth turned down and a disgusted look upon his face, as though that were the most degrading thing that could have happened to him.
Hermione took a chance, reminding herself that he was a ghost, and said, "Ah, I see. You sought me out to save you, poor icklePwofessor,"
The glare he fixed her with was as piercing and menacing as always, but it had little effect on Hermione. Upon realising that, her Professor crossed his arms and floated away.
"Oh, Professor!" She called, remorseful that she'd teased him. "Don't leave; I was only teasing."
"I resent saying that you were… partially correct." He said, once he had – reluctantly – moved back to her side.
Hermione felt interested at that, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh?" She asked.
"Peeves came looking for me, but I couldn't let him catch me – he'd tell the Headmistress that I was a ghost and… that would not go over well, I should think – I escaped his clutches but I think he is still watching out. How can I hide from him?"
Hermione was stunned to silence for a moment or two, and when she finally regained control of her vocal cords, she exclaimed, "You're asking me to aid you?" Then, "Really?"
"Don't sound so surprised-"
"How could I not," Hermione had to forcibly remind herself that she was not meant to speak in such a high octave. "If you've been dreadful to me all of my time at Hogwarts; constantly finding ways to hurt me verbally. Not to mention my friends, my house, and all the times you slighted me simply because none of your little… Death Nibblers could match me!"
"Breathe, Miss Granger. If you must know, a lot of that was simply to retain my image as a Death Eater. It may not have been the most… intelligent decision in the first place,"
Hermione snorted, "You could say that,"
He scowled at her interruption. "As I said, it wasn't the safest, but it was successful, and played a major part in the war."
"Hmm…" said Hermione, shrugging nonchalantly. "Until Voldemort found out and all but killed you, of course. Go hide in a broom cupboard somewhere, maybe."
She turned down a small corridor and all but ran to the entrance to the Great Hall, visible a ways down.
Hermione ate near Harry and Ron, sitting physically next to them, but her mind was far away. Her thoughts were occupied by the image of her Professor lying there, bleeding out, and giving Harry the memory…
She wasn't quite sure why, but the conversation she'd had with him had shaken her, and she ate in silence.
-Sept 12-
The next Friday was when Hermione encountered her Professor next, and he looked paler than should have been possible.
"What?" She asked, as eloquently as she could in her semi-asleep state.
He shook his head firmly, lips squeezed together until they were little more than lines on his face.
"If it suits you," she shrugged, turning back to the potion she was brewing. It was late, and she had no time to waste.
"… I was floating about the Slytherin Boys' dormitories," he began.
Hermione burst into laughter, "I've heard stories from Lavender, who heard from a few other girls in her web of gossipers, about what goes on in there. What did you see?"
He shook his head again, closing his eyes. Hermione supposed it was for dramatic effect, but kept quiet. If Lavender's stories were anything to go by, which they occasionally were, her Professor could have witnessed anything from a resurrection of Voldemort's dead body to a full-blown orgy…
Honestly, Hermione put little faith into Lavender's insane babble, but anything was possible.
"Will you stay to help me brew?" Hermione asked, getting uncomfortable and knowing she was cutting it close in terms of how long she was sleeping those days. "You could read out the instructions for me."
She wasn't quite sure what to expect, but no scenario she could have thought up included him agreeing to stay. But, lo and behold, he floated around to the open Potions book and asked how he could help.
She found that working with him was calming – his voice was so smooth and silky, it was hardly imaginable – and felt much more efficient when she wasn't frantically looking through the pages to locate where she'd left off.
-Sept 14-
Sundays were the bane of Hermione's existence, and she groaned on about them in the library.
"Why did I put myself up to so many things, when I have so little time," she moaned, head buried in a book she was meant to be reading.
"I suggest you take what little time you have to be productive, instead of griping about it all," came her Professor's suggestion.
Eyes half-closed and mind in a haze, she said, "Fuck you; do my work for me if you think it's so easy."
Silence greeted her, and the mortification that came with saying such a thing to her professor was enough to rouse her from her daze.
Cheeks aflame, she had the decency to mutter, "I apologise, Professor. That was out of line."
Much to her surprise, he was sporting a small, well-hidden-but-not-to-her-attentive-gaze expression of amusement. He said nothing more than, "Get to work, Miss Granger."
-Sept 16-
"How can I keep track of all these things?" Hermione shouted at nothing – or so it looked to any passer-by. In fact, her Professor was well within earshot, standing directly beside her.
He had to whisper, in order not to be heard by a curious student or Professor, so he kept his position. Of course, it was a challenge to dodge her flailing arms.
"Miss Granger," he said. "Relax."
"Relax? Relax! How can you tell me to relax?"
"Easily… Relax."
She burst into giggles at that, the nervousness and stress she felt pouring into the sounds so that they were verging on hysterical.
-Sept 18-
"Can I come in?" He asked.
Hermione gulped, but couldn't find any reason to deny him. "Of course, Professor"
And so she opened the door for an invisible ghost-like thing that might only be a figment of her imagination, for all she knew, and stepped in behind him. For the first time, she realized just how plain her room was, and felt a wave of embarrassment flood through her. But then, why should she care if her Professor liked her room or not?
"Miss Granger… your decorating style and skills would, if you won't be too offended, rival mine."
She gaped at him, and then caught the teasing smile that was hiding around the corners of his lips, grinning back at him.
-Sept 22-
Monday came quickly, bringing with it another pile of schoolwork that Hermione was trying her hardest to finish.
"What do I have to finish for tomorrow, Professor?"
She'd found that he often stuck around during lessons – though which ones, if not all, she couldn't discern – and was a valuable tool in remembering things.
The sour look on his face – one she'd, surprisingly enough, gotten used to – was the first to appear from the air, materializing just behind her.
"What am I, Miss Granger? Your agenda, calendar… planner?"
She didn't let him continue, though his mouth was open as though he could carry the sentence on longer. "Why yes, Professor. How on earth did you guess? So tell me, planner, what do I have to work on?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, sneering nastily. However, to her delight, he listed off the assignments she needed to focus on for the next day will little difficulty.
-Sept 25-
Friday was like a breath of fresh air for a drowning Hermione. For the first time in a few days, she wasn't swamped with responsibilities at the hospital wing, and she finished her schoolwork in record time, hoping for a weekend to relax.
In fact, talking with her Professor was like a breath of fresh air, because he seemed to know exactly how to motivate her. Granted, his methods sometimes stung and were slightly offensive, but Hermione knew that was just his normal disposition; biting and sometimes cold. She, for whatever reason, felt the need to prove herself to him, maybe to disprove what he'd always believed of her, or maybe just because Hermione was a competitive being. Nonetheless, her work was finished, wrapped up with a bow on top, ready to be handed in come Monday.
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Hermione could sit and relax, maybe hit the sack a few hours earlier than usual, as well.
And if she wanted to spend that free time with a Professor who'd grown on her like some sort of fungus, so be it.
-End Chapter 4-
