Chapter Seven

Snape walked to Hermione's classroom the next evening and found her there, quietly sleeping on top of a stack of papers. He approached and discovered that her robe was open over a very frumpy, lacy nightgown that brushed the tops of her Asian slippers and wrapped around her thin, pale neck. He couldn't help but remember biting and kissing that fair neck. Ugh. Why couldn't he just forget the whole incident?

A quiet snore rumbled from the sleeping girl. Snape almost laughed, but he enjoyed watching her in her most vulnerable state more than waking her. He passed a few more moments, staring at her beautiful, freckled face, admiring the curve and colour of her lips, taking in the glimpse inside her mouth allowed by her slightly parted lips. He wanted to touch her smooth skin to see if it was as soft as it looked, but he refrained and touched her shoulder instead.

She woke with a grunt and took a deep yawn before looking up. Her glasses hung from one ear and her hair puffed out in one large tangle on the side she had lain her head. He would have laughed if she hadn't looked so sweet.

"Professor? What are you--" she yawned, "doing here?"

"I wanted to ask to see Ollivander's letters again. It seems there is a flaw in making a magical conductor that is not a wand, and I wanted to see if he mentioned anything about it."

"What flaw?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "Is something wrong with the staff?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Severus said. He proceeded to tell her what he had discovered in his bedroom the night before. She listened astutely, but seemed just as puzzled as he was.

"The letters say nothing about it. They only explain wands, Professor, not staffs or rings or any other more creative outlet we might stumble upon. There is no note about the lack of an ability to… to manipulate living things. I have never heard of such a thing. Some wands are better at certain things, like charms or transfiguration, but I have never in my life heard of a wand that couldn't do a certain thing when it was capable of doing everything else. But we did everything right. We made what is essentially a wand, only in a different form, and it is compatible to you, as shown by your experimenting…."

"What is it, then? Surely you have a theory." Snape leered, remembering her lighting-fast reaction when asked a question in class.

"I do, but I don't think you'll like it, Professor."

"Since when have you cared what I like, Granger?"

Hermione looked up into his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Professor, I think it might be you. You are the problem."

"What on earth are you talking about, Miss Granger?"

"Professor--"

"Professor Granger, then."

"I think it means you have some sort of mental or magical block. Have you ever studied muggle psychology, Professor?" Hermione asked, her face smooth and contemplative.

"Of course, but very little, and what does this have to do with it, anyway?" Snape growled, irritated and impatient.

"Muggles have come up with the most interesting theory about repression, unresolved feelings penned up in the mind that keep the brain from fully functioning."

"And you think I am repressed, Professor Granger?"

"Well, Professor Snape, if those memories you gave Harry are any indication, then yes, I do."

"This is ridiculous! The most preposterous thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. What on earth makes you think that Lily Potter has anything to do with the failure of your useless stick?" Snape shouted.

"Sir, calm down. It is simple to explain if you would just--"

"I don't want it explained, Miss Granger! I will not be subject to your unprofessional psychoanalysis in an attempt to bring up old and painful memories! Good night, Miss Granger!" With that, Severus Snape limped out of her classroom to his own rooms, leaving Hermione Granger feeling alone and very small.

It was insensible that she should be so hurt by a grown man yelling like some sort of toddler, throwing a massive hissy fit in the middle of her inner sanctum. It was immature of him, but it proved her right to some extent. He had shown that he had curled around his Lily-induced pain like a wounded dog. She was also a bit concerned about his memories from the war. What on earth had that man gone through behind the scenes? She had a feeling that he was keeping it all closed up when it should be let out.

Still, she wondered if it did any good. He would probably avoid her like the plague now, even with his somewhat incapacitated staff. It probably wouldn't bother him anyway. If he cursed someone he would be in Azkaban so quickly her head would spin. In a way it was good that he couldn't perform any contact spells. It would keep him out of trouble. Nevertheless, it bothered her that anything she had created was less than perfect. Convincing herself that his staff not working had nothing to do with her, she stacked her papers neatly, shuffled to her rooms, and curled up in bed to finish what she had started before Snape disturbed her.

- - - -

Granger had given him a lot to think about. Perhaps he was, as she had implied, a little off in the psyche. Certainly he had shoved Lily away from his thoughts on several occasions, but that didn't mean anything. She was not the reason for the incompetence of the staff.

At least, he didn't think so.

Still, what if she had something? What could be blocking him? Maybe it was lack of practice. He decided to experiment some more.

The next day, Snape tried both spoken and silent curses out on Clarence when he wasn't looking. Nothing happened. Once, when he tried some harmless spell that made the receiver's eyebrows grow extremely thick, a few sparks flew out of the end, but nothing else even split a single perfect, blonde hair.

When Snape gave up and tried to appreciate being able to use magic at all, he began to notice Potter had been around more frequently in the last week or two. It seemed he was appearing to support Hermione. He sat with her at meals and could be seen walking with her on the grounds. Snape felt a pang of jealousy, but he chose to ignore it. Instead he focused on his classes and taking as many chances to make petty insults about Potter that he could. This, at least, was satisfying when everything else seemed to be going wrong in his life.

A week or so after the incident in Hermione's classroom, McGonagall sent him a paper airplane informing him that Professor Granger no longer required his services. What she did not know that, since those services were not forced upon him by magic (upon Hermione's request, reinforced by the excuse that he wouldn't be needed on a strict schedule) he had not gone since last week.

This news was unwelcome, but he tried to convince himself that it didn't bother him in the least. He thought about how bossy she was, what a know-it-all she had always been, and how she had attempted to play psychologist with him. Still, he kept thinking of yellow satin and a white, thin neck, a bruised breast and unbuttoned skirt. But he continued on with his limited life, going to the library, eating three meals every day, sleeping too long on semi-filthy sheets, and trying to forget that he had ever known Hermione Jane Granger.

(A/N: It is short. But the next is soon to be up! Chapter eight is gonna be good! Read and review, pleeeeeaaase! I know you are reading my story, and I am so glad, but I really want to know what you think! Really!)