**A/N** This chapter isn't as amusing as the first. I'm not sure what
direction this fic is heading at the moment. Oh well! More amusing things
will come up, I'm sure! Once again, feel free to email me if you have any
ideas, and PLEASE review! If I don't get lots of feedback, I might have to
stop posting this story. Of course, that argument won't work if stopping me
was exactly what you had in mind. Well, hopefully, you want more! Have fun!
Professor Snape rubbed his temples groggily and prepared to face the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins. There were so many reasons for him to despise this class: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom...
And her. Hermione Granger.
Snape hated himself for being unable to truly dislike the little know-it- all, but knew that to show his feelings for her would be in vain. Even though he really had hated her when she was an irritating 11-year-old, she had matured into a beautiful and talented young woman. He longed to converse with her, if only to share in her intellectual curiosity. Unfortunately for him, with the likes of Ronald Weasley hanging from her like gross Christmas ornaments, he wouldn't stand a chance. Not that he would have, anyway.
This situation hadn't occurred often in Snape's life--he thought he'd purged himself of his most sensitive, soppy thoughts by placing them on paper and selling them to the masses under the sweet anonymity of a nom de plume. But Hermione somehow awakened that sappiness in him all over again. Snape was disgusted by his weakness. Looking at his own novels made him feel indescribably ashamed.
Snape had often tried to purge himself of his feelings by writing love notes to Hermione that were never sent. They went from angsty to romantic, and he knew that to recieve such a note from Ron Weasley would make her weak in the knees. But from the greasy bastard who was her potions master? Snape sighed and thought of how he might be able to indulge in his emotions without directly confronting her.
After collecting his thoughts, he picked up his quill, as he had so many times before, and began to write.
~~
Hermione gazed wistfully at the cover of the novel she'd just finished. She was hopelessly addicted to Robert Normans, and wouldn't deny it. Despite their undeniable cheesiness, they hinted at something deeper than what she could find among the boys at Hogwarts. Ron, while he was certainly a nice boy, couldn't really sweep her off her feet or promise her his undying love. When she finally fell for someone, Hermione wanted to be able to love completely, to mingle her soul with that of another...
"Good God, 'Mione," she whispered aloud. "You're going insane! This is absolutely pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourself." Crookshanks stretched languidly and looked at her as if in agreement.
Glancing at the clock, she realized she was going to be late for potions. Murmuring curses no one would expect to hear from the head girl, she grabbed her bag and raced down to the dungeons at top speed.
~~
Harry was there, and so was Ron, but Professor Snape was trying not to wonder where Hermione was. After all, he wasn't supposed to care... but he noticed that the boys were wondering, too. Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal a slightly dishevelled Hermione Granger. Snape was about to think she looked quite charming in her disarray but, stopping himself, he sent her a trademark scowl.
"Ah, I see the Head Girl has finally condescended enough to grace us with her presence. Detention at eight tonight, Miss Granger." Hermione meekly went to her seat, trying not to show her fear of him. Harry shot her a sympathetic look and Ron tried to put his arm around her. Snape felt a small surge of joy and relief when she scooted away from him purposefully. Of course, if she didn't like Ron, she had probably already bestowed her affections on someone else.
Snape spent the rest of the period harassing Neville and insulting Potter until the boy's eyes blazed and his cheeks burned. In a way, Snape knew he was taking out his annoyance with Malfoy out on Potter as well--Voldemort had been defeated that summer, but Draco's family was still immensely powerful.
Finally the class drew to a close, but as usual Neville had completely destroyed yet another cauldron. Hermione stayed behind to help the boy clean up, and as Snape stood over them in his most intimidating manner he noticed that Hermione's bag was slightly opened and a familiar looking book protruded from it. Then he saw the author's name.
The Potions Master was shocked and slightly amused that the girl would be reading one of his novels! The pages were strangely well-worn... With an imperceptible sigh, he wondered if she'd go near those books if she knew who Robert Normans really was. She probably wouldn't believe him if he told her--not even after a liberal dosage with veritaserum. Feeling slightly dismayed, he waited for the Gryffindors to finish cleaning up and watched them as they scuttled out of the dungeons. Hermione turned to take one last look at him before she shut the door, her expression filled with dread.
~~
Hermione's heart sank further when Professor Snape scowled viciously at her. So much for a pleasant evening of chess with the boys. Before he had glared at her, though, there had been an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione was intrigued by the emotion she couldn't place. Shrugging it off, she figured he had been planning new tortures for her to endure that evening.
Professor Snape rubbed his temples groggily and prepared to face the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins. There were so many reasons for him to despise this class: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom...
And her. Hermione Granger.
Snape hated himself for being unable to truly dislike the little know-it- all, but knew that to show his feelings for her would be in vain. Even though he really had hated her when she was an irritating 11-year-old, she had matured into a beautiful and talented young woman. He longed to converse with her, if only to share in her intellectual curiosity. Unfortunately for him, with the likes of Ronald Weasley hanging from her like gross Christmas ornaments, he wouldn't stand a chance. Not that he would have, anyway.
This situation hadn't occurred often in Snape's life--he thought he'd purged himself of his most sensitive, soppy thoughts by placing them on paper and selling them to the masses under the sweet anonymity of a nom de plume. But Hermione somehow awakened that sappiness in him all over again. Snape was disgusted by his weakness. Looking at his own novels made him feel indescribably ashamed.
Snape had often tried to purge himself of his feelings by writing love notes to Hermione that were never sent. They went from angsty to romantic, and he knew that to recieve such a note from Ron Weasley would make her weak in the knees. But from the greasy bastard who was her potions master? Snape sighed and thought of how he might be able to indulge in his emotions without directly confronting her.
After collecting his thoughts, he picked up his quill, as he had so many times before, and began to write.
~~
Hermione gazed wistfully at the cover of the novel she'd just finished. She was hopelessly addicted to Robert Normans, and wouldn't deny it. Despite their undeniable cheesiness, they hinted at something deeper than what she could find among the boys at Hogwarts. Ron, while he was certainly a nice boy, couldn't really sweep her off her feet or promise her his undying love. When she finally fell for someone, Hermione wanted to be able to love completely, to mingle her soul with that of another...
"Good God, 'Mione," she whispered aloud. "You're going insane! This is absolutely pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourself." Crookshanks stretched languidly and looked at her as if in agreement.
Glancing at the clock, she realized she was going to be late for potions. Murmuring curses no one would expect to hear from the head girl, she grabbed her bag and raced down to the dungeons at top speed.
~~
Harry was there, and so was Ron, but Professor Snape was trying not to wonder where Hermione was. After all, he wasn't supposed to care... but he noticed that the boys were wondering, too. Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal a slightly dishevelled Hermione Granger. Snape was about to think she looked quite charming in her disarray but, stopping himself, he sent her a trademark scowl.
"Ah, I see the Head Girl has finally condescended enough to grace us with her presence. Detention at eight tonight, Miss Granger." Hermione meekly went to her seat, trying not to show her fear of him. Harry shot her a sympathetic look and Ron tried to put his arm around her. Snape felt a small surge of joy and relief when she scooted away from him purposefully. Of course, if she didn't like Ron, she had probably already bestowed her affections on someone else.
Snape spent the rest of the period harassing Neville and insulting Potter until the boy's eyes blazed and his cheeks burned. In a way, Snape knew he was taking out his annoyance with Malfoy out on Potter as well--Voldemort had been defeated that summer, but Draco's family was still immensely powerful.
Finally the class drew to a close, but as usual Neville had completely destroyed yet another cauldron. Hermione stayed behind to help the boy clean up, and as Snape stood over them in his most intimidating manner he noticed that Hermione's bag was slightly opened and a familiar looking book protruded from it. Then he saw the author's name.
The Potions Master was shocked and slightly amused that the girl would be reading one of his novels! The pages were strangely well-worn... With an imperceptible sigh, he wondered if she'd go near those books if she knew who Robert Normans really was. She probably wouldn't believe him if he told her--not even after a liberal dosage with veritaserum. Feeling slightly dismayed, he waited for the Gryffindors to finish cleaning up and watched them as they scuttled out of the dungeons. Hermione turned to take one last look at him before she shut the door, her expression filled with dread.
~~
Hermione's heart sank further when Professor Snape scowled viciously at her. So much for a pleasant evening of chess with the boys. Before he had glared at her, though, there had been an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione was intrigued by the emotion she couldn't place. Shrugging it off, she figured he had been planning new tortures for her to endure that evening.