Author's Note: My apologies for the awkward turn the story is taking. I'm
so insanely unnerved by the thought of a SS/HG relationship that it may
take awhile for me to warm up to writing about it. I just can't see that
working out…. But then again, that's the whole point in this thing!
Inescapable
Chapter Three
If she hadn't known better than to believe such a thing, Hermione could have sworn, come the next morning at breakfast, that Snape had smiled at her when she walked past the teachers standing just inside the doors. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and she tripped over her robes, just barely managing to retain her balance before she would have crashed to the floor. Professor McGonagall offered her a steadying hand and gave her a concerned look. Hermione fled the scene and refused to turn around to see Snape's reaction; if that hadn't made him smile, nothing would.
She should have stopped her thoughts before they strayed too far, and she knew it; but curiosity kept them flowing, and before long, Hermione begrudgingly admitted that she was starting to like him. Oh, not as a crush, of course; that was impossible. No one could possibly love Professor Snape; it was unthinkable.
Was it?
She forced herself to concentrate on Ginny's conversation and her breakfast instead of on him. Mercifully, Ginny seemed to be too busy talking about Bill's upcoming marriage and his lovely new fiancé to notice that Hermione was beyond distracted; she was now fantasizing most of the day away.
"They're not sure yet where they want the ceremony to be," Ginny was telling her excitedly, "but Mum's hoping they'll pick a summer date so we can have it at the Burrow. She promised she'd clean up the garden and do everything herself, maybe even hire a decorator! Wouldn't that be great?"
"Wonderful," Hermione cried obligingly; the sarcasm was lost on Ginny. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't happy; she just had very little interest in Bill and his love life. She had never met the girl he was marrying (another English employee at Gringotts in Egypt), so she couldn't feel strongly one way or the other.
"Ginny's making it sound better than it is," Ron told her with his mouth stuffed with sausages. "Mum'll ruin everything if she does it; they should stay in Egypt. I would."
"No she won't!" Ginny exclaimed indignantly. "Mum's a wonderful cook, and besides, we could invite more people if it was at home."
"Yeah, and we could afford it, you mean." Ron, as usual, had lost no time in mentioning that his family was far from affluent, and it was having a detrimental effect on their lives in some way, shape or form. Hermione felt a stab of pity for him; most likely, Bill and his wife-to-be would consent to having the marriage ceremony at home simply because they knew the Weasleys could never afford to attend en masse if it took place elsewhere.
"It's not so bad," Hermione pointed out compassionately. "Your mum would do a great job, and if it was at home Harry and I could crash the party! Right, Harry?"
"Damn right!" Harry grinned and speared another sausage with his fork. "You won't have any wedding dinner left over by the time I'm through with it!"
Ginny blushed a deep red and looked down at her plate; her crush on Harry had escalated over the years to what, as far as Hermione could tell, was as close to true love as humanly possible. The mere sound of Harry's voice could send her into a state of deep embarrassment. Harry, eating his sausage and listening as Ron described Bill's wife-to-be, did not notice Ginny.
They've both grown up, Hermione realized in surprise. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen in before. Harry and Ron, like any typical teenage boys, were growing inches every second and had voracious appetites. Ron was by now well at least six feet tall and Harry was only mere centimeters away. Ginny, like her mother and like Hermione herself, was not especially tall for a female. She and Harry together looked like a couple, and the thought struck Hermione deeply.
And she herself? Had she grown? Not inch-wise, of course, but she'd noticed differences in herself; subtle, they seemed, but there nonetheless. She wished she could share in an objective view of herself and see how much more like a young woman she looked, but it was impossible.
"And the best part"—Ginny had recovered from Harry's voice and regained her composure—"is that I get a new dress for the ceremony!" Hermione could tell Ginny was genuinely excited for the wedding and suffering from a particularly bad case of anticipation. She repressed a shudder; she hated dress clothes of any sort. Muggle clothing was her personal preference; even wizard's robes could grow rather uncomfortable after a few hours.
"Only that means I have to look all fancy too," Ron grumbled; he and Harry had each polished off more than their fair share of sausages and were now fighting over what remained of Hermione and Ginny's.
"Oh, but you'll look so cute," Hermione teased. "And if Harry goes and dresses up, he'll look just adorable!" The look on both boys' faces was murderous and Ginny was gasping for air between spasms of laughter.
Hermione flashed them a grin and gathered up her things. "I'm going for a quick walk," she told them. "I think I need some fresh air. See you guys at lunch."
"And don't come back!" Ron called after her as she left the table. Several people nearby laughed and the other House tables looked in surprise at the smile that crossed Hermione Granger's face. From their places at the teachers' table, where the conversation was traditionally boring, Professors Snape and McGonagall watched Hermione Granger leave the table with a smile larger than any they'd seen in years. McGonagall shrugged it off and turned back to her breakfast; Snape did not.
* * *
Hermione placed her bag down on the balcony beside her and leaned against the stone ledge that kept one from tumbling to a gruesome death stories below; the air was fresh and crisp, a perfect autumn day, and Hermione found herself thinking nostalgically of the days before she'd started school when she'd spent hours outside playing in the sun. To be young again would be wonderful, she thought with a sigh; but then again, growing up had its advantages as well.
Her mind considered its philosophical wanderings until she came across the startling prospect that she wished they had Potions class that day. Never in a billion years would she have expected that she would look forward to Potions. This was becoming dangerous.
She remembered their first year at Hogwarts, new and idealistic, and the first time they'd seen Professor Snape. She could still remember the way he'd looked at Harry, with all the hatred of a true nemesis, as though he was Harry's lifelong enemy Lord Voldemort. Indeed, the two were probably perfectly familiar with each other; but as Lord Voldemort had been lying low for the past two years, embarrassed by his failure for the second time to destroy Harry Potter, Snape provided a threat just as formidable and all the closer to home.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she thought wryly, and wondered if Harry knew the saying. She would have to tell him sometime; it described his life with remarkable accuracy.
The voices within the Great Hall were dying down rapidly, so she gathered her bag and cloak and headed back into the castle. Her first class was Arithmancy, on the third floor, and she dreaded the thought of a class that involved so much thinking. Knowledge and its most efficient vessels—books—had once been her one and only love, but now she wasn't so sure. There was something that books simply couldn't provide her with anymore, and while she couldn't pinpoint just what that was, she wanted it, craved it. Maybe she needed to get out more.
Hogsmeade weekend that Saturday, she thought absently; I should go again, just to get out and do something. Perhaps she was growing bored of the numbing schedules in her life and her mind wanted some spontaneity. Skipping class and exploring the woods, while it was what she wanted to do more than anything, was a bit too spontaneous for goody-goody Hermione. Or maybe it was the whole "goody-goody" thing that bothered her.
Not anymore, she realized with satisfaction. She'd been given detention; that was a start.
* * *
Most of the students grabbed a quick and easy meal for lunch and spent the rest of the period wandering around in the sultry heat of the day; the sun was burning, hotter than some summer days, and not a single person wanted to remain inside the castle walls. Even the teachers had moved outside for a few minutes here and there; Dumbledore had developed the brilliant idea of a teacher "picnic" to escape the heat and was joined by Sprout and Flitwick, the only two who were game for his every idea, near the lake. He waved to Hermione where she sat in a patch of shade under a tree and she waved back. Dumbledore was always so friendly; he didn't deserve some of the ungrateful things students said concerning him.
Harry and Ron exited the castle several minutes later and flopped down next to Hermione, panting. Ron was grumbling under his breath about the heavy school robes and Harry was doing his best to loosen his shirt without actually unbuttoning it.
Draco and his cronies passed by them then, choosing a tree as far away as possible; most had already been taken, so they had little choice in the matter. Hermione didn't need to wonder how far they would have gone if they'd had a say in the decision.
"Hey Weasley!"
Ron lifted his head lazily from where he'd let it drop onto the soft grass and looked over in Malfoy's direction. Draco was grinning from ear to ear as he approached their resting place.
"I hear your big brother's getting married," he hissed, voice dripping with malice. "Don't know how your father's going to afford it. I had a brilliant idea, though. Why not wear leaves to the wedding? Maybe you'll be able to afford some flowers then."
Crabbe and Goyle laughed dully at the ringleader's comment, and Hermione groaned inwardly. How had Malfoy found out about Bill Weasley's engagement? Unless he'd heard the teachers talking about it…. It was common knowledge that Bill Weasley was one of Professor McGonagall's favorite ex-students, just as Charlie Weasley had been a favorite of Hagrid's and Madam Hooch's, for his talents with magical creatures and on the Quidditch field.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Harry snapped, grabbing his goblet of pumpkin juice and downing half of it in one single gulp. Harry had lost none of his violence in dealing with Draco's various attacks over the years, whereas Ron had grown considerably more tolerant. He did not even respond to Malfoy's bait, save for flashing Harry a thankful grin and lying down again, closing his eyes.
"I would, Potter, but I'm far too interested now. Are you going to the ceremony?"
"Why?" Hermione asked with feigned suspicion. "If you want a double ceremony, Malfoy, all you have to do is ask; Harry's very open-minded."
Draco's face grew very red; Crabbe and Goyle, far too dense to understand her insult, exchanged confused looks and shrugged. While Draco sputtered and searched for a comeback, Hermione subsided into giggles and the two boys began rolling on the grass with laugher.
"Good—one—'Mione—" Ron managed to gasp out. Harry, clutching at a stitch in his side and unable to articulate because he was laughing so hard, threw an affectionate arm around Hermione's shoulder, eyes dancing. Malfoy turned on his heel and departed, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along behind.
"Ohhh," Harry groaned, still doubled over with a hand on his chest.
"That hurts, dammit!" Ron exclaimed, managing to prop himself up while still shaking from laughter. "Oh, Hermione, that was great."
"Perfect timing," Harry added with a smile in her direction. "I wish Ginny could have heard that."
"I wish Ginny could have heard you wish she was here," Hermione replied solemnly; it would have meant the world to Ginny Weasley just to hear Harry speak her name. "If you do go to the ceremony, Harry, dance with Ginny; you'll make her the happiest girl alive."
Harry was looking at her blankly. "Sure I'll dance with her. Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you never even notice she's alive." Ron was now sitting up straight and gauging his best friend's reaction carefully. He was aware of his younger sister's feelings for Harry, but remained reluctant to influence Harry either way, preferring to let nature take its course. This time, however, Hermione was right; it far too perfect a chance for Harry to let slip away.
"That's not true!" Harry was becoming indignant. "She doesn't like me that much." But his voice wavered slightly, and held no confidence.
Hermione spoke quietly and solemnly. "She loves you, Harry; she loves you more than I've ever seen one person love another. What my mother feels for my father can't compare with how Ginny feels about you. You couldn't possibly imagine the power you have over her."
Ron nodded his agreement, and Harry looked alarmed. "You can't be serious. I'm hurting her feelings?"
Hermione squirmed; she wasn't inclined to tell him the truth in the event that it would only make a tender situation worse. "Not necessarily, but you're passing up chances to make her happy. You don't have to love her back; just smile at her once in awhile, or say something nice to her."
Harry stared off at the lake and absorbed what his friends had just said to him. Hermione watched him for a moment, but he appeared to want silence, so she turned her concern to the time; students were beginning to file back into the castle for afternoon lessons.
"We should go, you two. We'll be late."
"No we won't." Ron's voice was muffled by a yawn as he lay on his back in the sunlight. "You worry too much, 'Mione."
"Fine, you two can be late. I'm reporting to class on time." She grabbed her bag and brushed crumbs off her robes. Harry had not budged from his pensive position and was still staring absently into space; she cuffed him gently over the head and he looked up, startled.
"I'm going to class," she told him, side-stepping Ron and heading toward the castle. "See if you can drag that thing to where it belongs."
Ron chucked a rock at her, but it missed by several feet. Harry threw a rock at Ron and it hit him squarely in the stomach. Hermione watched the two and shook her head; immature or not, they were fun to know. She wouldn't have given that up for the world.
* * *
The days passed with agonizingly slow speed, and Hermione would find herself frequently counting down their next Potions lesson. She knew better than to initiate a verbal battle with Snape in the classroom, but just seeing him would be wonderful. Could she ever get used to that thought? Often, she wondered if she was still in a sane, logical state of mind. Hermione Granger, friend of Harry Potter, a Muggle-born, a Gryffindor, was not supposed to look forward to seeing Professor Snape.
As of yet, she was still trying to rationalize her feelings to herself. She refused to admit that she had an actual crush on the Potions master, because that would imply feelings of a romantic nature. Convinced that hers were not of that kind—yet—she was willing to attribute her excitement for seeing him to a simple change in opinion. Perhaps he wasn't quite as vile as she'd previously thought.
Deep down, Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before she was going to acknowledge having a crush on Professor Snape; but she would not do so even a second before she absolutely had to. She had no idea when the defining point would occur, or what would cause it, but it was coming. She could feel it, and when it came, it was going to be nothing like her adolescent crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, or immature musings about Viktor Krum.
Her magical moment occurred, as it turned out, that very class period. It was a Friday, overcast outside and very quiet within the castle. A bout of the Muggle flu was traveling the castle and a good portion of the student body was housed, currently, in the infirmary under the strict direction of Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was grateful for her apparent immunity to the virus; even Ron had been feeling a bit under the weather, and he was typically the hardiest person she knew.
It was a depressing day, not the kind any girl would choose to fall in love for the first time; but Hermione, of course, had no choice in the matter. Even the prospect of seeing Professor Snape was not enough to make her actually enjoy her morning, especially with Ron's creepily quiet attitude and Harry's incessant complaining. They arrived in the Potions classroom to find that their cauldrons of Veritaserum, a two-week project, were finished.
Snape had written no directions on the blackboard; they were deeply startled, and whisperings began to circulate that perhaps he was feeling ill with the flu as the other students were. They were proved wrong, however, when the door flew open and the black cloak, the first noticeable thing about him, swept into the room. A collective but silent groan arose; he was here, after all.
Snape then proceeded to dole out the strangest classroom directions they would ever hear. "As you have probably discerned," he began, "your cauldrons of Veritaserum are finished; they are ready to be tested."
Tested? The class stiffened visibly.
"I would like a volunteer," he continued, "to test the potions. If no one volunteers, I have not the authority within this school to force anyone; that would be illegal. But I can administer the potion to a willing volunteer, under Headmaster Dumbledore's orders. Anyone?"
"Damn," Ron whispered in awe as ten hands shot up immediately from various locations within the room. Hermione nodded her agreement; she hadn't expected that any student would want to subject themselves to the possible humiliation of taking Veritaserum in front of their class. She knew Snape was right; administering it to a willing volunteers was perfectly legal. But still…. Were they insane?
Among those raising their hands was Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil's best friend. Snape seemed amused by the prospect of having Lavender Brown spill her true feelings about her gossipy friend to the entire class, so he chose her. Lavender did not seem the least bit apprehensive; she drank the vial of clear potion he handed to her with a single gulp.
A wave of nausea passed across her face, and she moaned softly; but then it appeared to abate, and she sat up straight again with a slight giggle.
"Miss Brown realizes, as I'm sure do the rest of you, that she is now physically incapable of lying," Snape addressed them. "Miss Brown, will you answer questions?"
"Sure," she piped up cheerfully. "Hey, someone write down my answers so I can read them later and see what I really think." Seamus Finnigan, giving Lavender a sadistic smile, pulled out a piece of parchment, his quill, and with a flourish, wrote down her name at the top.
"You have awful handwriting," Lavender commented, seemingly unable to restrain herself. Seamus looked taken aback; a few laughs rang out here and there in the class.
"Sorry," she added, and he relaxed; she would not have been able to say she was sorry if she truly wasn't.
"Hey Lavender," a Slytherin called from across the room, "what's your favorite subject?"
"Boys." The answer was swiftly delivered with a sheepish grin, and this time the class did laugh. Hermione had to shake her head in exasperation; she believed wholly that Lavender was telling the truth, but it was pitiful.
"Do you like anyone?" the same voice asked. The Slytherin students were going to waste no time embarrassing Lavender as much as they possibly could, and for no other reason than she was from Gryffindor. It made Hermione burn with anger, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Lavender had known perfectly well what she was getting herself involved in, and it was her decision.
"Dean," Lavender said immediately, "but I never said anything because he asked Parvati out."
Parvati stiffened visibly, and no one was laughing this time. Snape had taken the empty seat of an absent student that happened to be right in front of Hermione, and was now only a foot or so away from her. She was torn between wanting to look over and see how he reacted to Lavender's confession and knowing that she might betray feelings she didn't want known.
"But you don't have to worry, Parvati," Lavender added, "because I never planned on trying to break you two up." Parvati looked intensely relieved, and Dean spoke a few quiet words to her. She relaxed even more, enough to cross her legs provocatively in front of her and flash him a smile. Hermione thought she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Snape roll his eyes and assume a bored expression.
"What's your favorite school subject?" Dean spoke up, anxious to turn the topic of conversation away from such a controversial area.
Lavender thought for a moment, pursing her lips. Her blue eyes looked troubled; she was having trouble deciding. "Care of Magical Creatures, because it's the easiest class," she finally announced. "But I wish Hagrid wasn't so frightening."
"Hagrid isn't frightening." Harry bristled at the attack on his friend and gave Lavender an angry look.
"He scares me," she retorted, "even worse than Professor Snape." Had she forgotten he was in the room? Snape did not smile; he looked rather disappointed. Hermione chuckled, seeing his expression, and their eyes met for a moment before she turned her attention back toward Lavender.
"I think you may have an admirer, sir," Malfoy drawled, smirking as he planned the best way to mortify Lavender in front of Hogwarts' most unpopular teacher. "Do you like Professor Snape, Lavender?"
Hermione said a silent, thankful prayer that she was not in Lavender's place. She could not be positive of what she would say, but she had a sinking feeling it would not be the answer she wanted her classmates to hear.
Lavender was now squirming uncomfortably; she did not want to answer the question. Snape was beginning to look alarmed, and Hermione realized with shock that he did not want Lavender to have to suffer an interrogation at the hands of the other students; perhaps that would place him in a troublesome position with Dumbledore. Curiosity got the better of him, it seemed, and he did not move, but opened his mouth to say something to Lavender.
She spoke first. "No, I don't actually like him, because he's too creepy." It was spoken emphatically, and each and every Gryffindor relaxed, while the Slytherins looked as though they'd been denied a special treat. It had not worked; Draco Malfoy sat in sullen silence and regarding Lavender with contempt.
"What do you think about me?" Parvati asked Lavender. It caught everyone's attention; now there was a potentially hazardous question. What did Lavender really think of her so-called best friend.
"I think you're too bossy," Lavender began, and Parvati reddened, "and you're too possessive of Dean. Not to mention that you took the whole 'first date' thing way too seriously, and it's getting very irritating."
Parvati looked as though she wanted to cry; Hermione bit her lip nervously and waited for Lavender to rectify the situation.
"But on the good side," Lavender added hastily, "you're a great friend, you really do care about Dean, and you're very smart. Actually, I think you could be just as smart as Hermione if you tried, because you're a good student." Parvati managed a smile and Lavender returned it.
"But then again," Lavender said with a giggle, "maybe there's no way to beat Hermione. She reads way too much."
The tension in the class finally broke and everyone, including Professor Snape, laughed. Hermione was startled nearly to the point of fainting when she realized that Snape was laughing.
"And there you have the truth, Miss Granger," he told her with a smile, and rose to return to the front of the class. She watched him walk away with mixed feelings of joy and aching. His laugh had been wonderful, genuine and uninhibited; she'd never been able to look at him as a normal man before.
Indeed, she did have the truth; and one she now had to admit whether she liked it or not.
Inescapable
Chapter Three
If she hadn't known better than to believe such a thing, Hermione could have sworn, come the next morning at breakfast, that Snape had smiled at her when she walked past the teachers standing just inside the doors. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and she tripped over her robes, just barely managing to retain her balance before she would have crashed to the floor. Professor McGonagall offered her a steadying hand and gave her a concerned look. Hermione fled the scene and refused to turn around to see Snape's reaction; if that hadn't made him smile, nothing would.
She should have stopped her thoughts before they strayed too far, and she knew it; but curiosity kept them flowing, and before long, Hermione begrudgingly admitted that she was starting to like him. Oh, not as a crush, of course; that was impossible. No one could possibly love Professor Snape; it was unthinkable.
Was it?
She forced herself to concentrate on Ginny's conversation and her breakfast instead of on him. Mercifully, Ginny seemed to be too busy talking about Bill's upcoming marriage and his lovely new fiancé to notice that Hermione was beyond distracted; she was now fantasizing most of the day away.
"They're not sure yet where they want the ceremony to be," Ginny was telling her excitedly, "but Mum's hoping they'll pick a summer date so we can have it at the Burrow. She promised she'd clean up the garden and do everything herself, maybe even hire a decorator! Wouldn't that be great?"
"Wonderful," Hermione cried obligingly; the sarcasm was lost on Ginny. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't happy; she just had very little interest in Bill and his love life. She had never met the girl he was marrying (another English employee at Gringotts in Egypt), so she couldn't feel strongly one way or the other.
"Ginny's making it sound better than it is," Ron told her with his mouth stuffed with sausages. "Mum'll ruin everything if she does it; they should stay in Egypt. I would."
"No she won't!" Ginny exclaimed indignantly. "Mum's a wonderful cook, and besides, we could invite more people if it was at home."
"Yeah, and we could afford it, you mean." Ron, as usual, had lost no time in mentioning that his family was far from affluent, and it was having a detrimental effect on their lives in some way, shape or form. Hermione felt a stab of pity for him; most likely, Bill and his wife-to-be would consent to having the marriage ceremony at home simply because they knew the Weasleys could never afford to attend en masse if it took place elsewhere.
"It's not so bad," Hermione pointed out compassionately. "Your mum would do a great job, and if it was at home Harry and I could crash the party! Right, Harry?"
"Damn right!" Harry grinned and speared another sausage with his fork. "You won't have any wedding dinner left over by the time I'm through with it!"
Ginny blushed a deep red and looked down at her plate; her crush on Harry had escalated over the years to what, as far as Hermione could tell, was as close to true love as humanly possible. The mere sound of Harry's voice could send her into a state of deep embarrassment. Harry, eating his sausage and listening as Ron described Bill's wife-to-be, did not notice Ginny.
They've both grown up, Hermione realized in surprise. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen in before. Harry and Ron, like any typical teenage boys, were growing inches every second and had voracious appetites. Ron was by now well at least six feet tall and Harry was only mere centimeters away. Ginny, like her mother and like Hermione herself, was not especially tall for a female. She and Harry together looked like a couple, and the thought struck Hermione deeply.
And she herself? Had she grown? Not inch-wise, of course, but she'd noticed differences in herself; subtle, they seemed, but there nonetheless. She wished she could share in an objective view of herself and see how much more like a young woman she looked, but it was impossible.
"And the best part"—Ginny had recovered from Harry's voice and regained her composure—"is that I get a new dress for the ceremony!" Hermione could tell Ginny was genuinely excited for the wedding and suffering from a particularly bad case of anticipation. She repressed a shudder; she hated dress clothes of any sort. Muggle clothing was her personal preference; even wizard's robes could grow rather uncomfortable after a few hours.
"Only that means I have to look all fancy too," Ron grumbled; he and Harry had each polished off more than their fair share of sausages and were now fighting over what remained of Hermione and Ginny's.
"Oh, but you'll look so cute," Hermione teased. "And if Harry goes and dresses up, he'll look just adorable!" The look on both boys' faces was murderous and Ginny was gasping for air between spasms of laughter.
Hermione flashed them a grin and gathered up her things. "I'm going for a quick walk," she told them. "I think I need some fresh air. See you guys at lunch."
"And don't come back!" Ron called after her as she left the table. Several people nearby laughed and the other House tables looked in surprise at the smile that crossed Hermione Granger's face. From their places at the teachers' table, where the conversation was traditionally boring, Professors Snape and McGonagall watched Hermione Granger leave the table with a smile larger than any they'd seen in years. McGonagall shrugged it off and turned back to her breakfast; Snape did not.
* * *
Hermione placed her bag down on the balcony beside her and leaned against the stone ledge that kept one from tumbling to a gruesome death stories below; the air was fresh and crisp, a perfect autumn day, and Hermione found herself thinking nostalgically of the days before she'd started school when she'd spent hours outside playing in the sun. To be young again would be wonderful, she thought with a sigh; but then again, growing up had its advantages as well.
Her mind considered its philosophical wanderings until she came across the startling prospect that she wished they had Potions class that day. Never in a billion years would she have expected that she would look forward to Potions. This was becoming dangerous.
She remembered their first year at Hogwarts, new and idealistic, and the first time they'd seen Professor Snape. She could still remember the way he'd looked at Harry, with all the hatred of a true nemesis, as though he was Harry's lifelong enemy Lord Voldemort. Indeed, the two were probably perfectly familiar with each other; but as Lord Voldemort had been lying low for the past two years, embarrassed by his failure for the second time to destroy Harry Potter, Snape provided a threat just as formidable and all the closer to home.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she thought wryly, and wondered if Harry knew the saying. She would have to tell him sometime; it described his life with remarkable accuracy.
The voices within the Great Hall were dying down rapidly, so she gathered her bag and cloak and headed back into the castle. Her first class was Arithmancy, on the third floor, and she dreaded the thought of a class that involved so much thinking. Knowledge and its most efficient vessels—books—had once been her one and only love, but now she wasn't so sure. There was something that books simply couldn't provide her with anymore, and while she couldn't pinpoint just what that was, she wanted it, craved it. Maybe she needed to get out more.
Hogsmeade weekend that Saturday, she thought absently; I should go again, just to get out and do something. Perhaps she was growing bored of the numbing schedules in her life and her mind wanted some spontaneity. Skipping class and exploring the woods, while it was what she wanted to do more than anything, was a bit too spontaneous for goody-goody Hermione. Or maybe it was the whole "goody-goody" thing that bothered her.
Not anymore, she realized with satisfaction. She'd been given detention; that was a start.
* * *
Most of the students grabbed a quick and easy meal for lunch and spent the rest of the period wandering around in the sultry heat of the day; the sun was burning, hotter than some summer days, and not a single person wanted to remain inside the castle walls. Even the teachers had moved outside for a few minutes here and there; Dumbledore had developed the brilliant idea of a teacher "picnic" to escape the heat and was joined by Sprout and Flitwick, the only two who were game for his every idea, near the lake. He waved to Hermione where she sat in a patch of shade under a tree and she waved back. Dumbledore was always so friendly; he didn't deserve some of the ungrateful things students said concerning him.
Harry and Ron exited the castle several minutes later and flopped down next to Hermione, panting. Ron was grumbling under his breath about the heavy school robes and Harry was doing his best to loosen his shirt without actually unbuttoning it.
Draco and his cronies passed by them then, choosing a tree as far away as possible; most had already been taken, so they had little choice in the matter. Hermione didn't need to wonder how far they would have gone if they'd had a say in the decision.
"Hey Weasley!"
Ron lifted his head lazily from where he'd let it drop onto the soft grass and looked over in Malfoy's direction. Draco was grinning from ear to ear as he approached their resting place.
"I hear your big brother's getting married," he hissed, voice dripping with malice. "Don't know how your father's going to afford it. I had a brilliant idea, though. Why not wear leaves to the wedding? Maybe you'll be able to afford some flowers then."
Crabbe and Goyle laughed dully at the ringleader's comment, and Hermione groaned inwardly. How had Malfoy found out about Bill Weasley's engagement? Unless he'd heard the teachers talking about it…. It was common knowledge that Bill Weasley was one of Professor McGonagall's favorite ex-students, just as Charlie Weasley had been a favorite of Hagrid's and Madam Hooch's, for his talents with magical creatures and on the Quidditch field.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Harry snapped, grabbing his goblet of pumpkin juice and downing half of it in one single gulp. Harry had lost none of his violence in dealing with Draco's various attacks over the years, whereas Ron had grown considerably more tolerant. He did not even respond to Malfoy's bait, save for flashing Harry a thankful grin and lying down again, closing his eyes.
"I would, Potter, but I'm far too interested now. Are you going to the ceremony?"
"Why?" Hermione asked with feigned suspicion. "If you want a double ceremony, Malfoy, all you have to do is ask; Harry's very open-minded."
Draco's face grew very red; Crabbe and Goyle, far too dense to understand her insult, exchanged confused looks and shrugged. While Draco sputtered and searched for a comeback, Hermione subsided into giggles and the two boys began rolling on the grass with laugher.
"Good—one—'Mione—" Ron managed to gasp out. Harry, clutching at a stitch in his side and unable to articulate because he was laughing so hard, threw an affectionate arm around Hermione's shoulder, eyes dancing. Malfoy turned on his heel and departed, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along behind.
"Ohhh," Harry groaned, still doubled over with a hand on his chest.
"That hurts, dammit!" Ron exclaimed, managing to prop himself up while still shaking from laughter. "Oh, Hermione, that was great."
"Perfect timing," Harry added with a smile in her direction. "I wish Ginny could have heard that."
"I wish Ginny could have heard you wish she was here," Hermione replied solemnly; it would have meant the world to Ginny Weasley just to hear Harry speak her name. "If you do go to the ceremony, Harry, dance with Ginny; you'll make her the happiest girl alive."
Harry was looking at her blankly. "Sure I'll dance with her. Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you never even notice she's alive." Ron was now sitting up straight and gauging his best friend's reaction carefully. He was aware of his younger sister's feelings for Harry, but remained reluctant to influence Harry either way, preferring to let nature take its course. This time, however, Hermione was right; it far too perfect a chance for Harry to let slip away.
"That's not true!" Harry was becoming indignant. "She doesn't like me that much." But his voice wavered slightly, and held no confidence.
Hermione spoke quietly and solemnly. "She loves you, Harry; she loves you more than I've ever seen one person love another. What my mother feels for my father can't compare with how Ginny feels about you. You couldn't possibly imagine the power you have over her."
Ron nodded his agreement, and Harry looked alarmed. "You can't be serious. I'm hurting her feelings?"
Hermione squirmed; she wasn't inclined to tell him the truth in the event that it would only make a tender situation worse. "Not necessarily, but you're passing up chances to make her happy. You don't have to love her back; just smile at her once in awhile, or say something nice to her."
Harry stared off at the lake and absorbed what his friends had just said to him. Hermione watched him for a moment, but he appeared to want silence, so she turned her concern to the time; students were beginning to file back into the castle for afternoon lessons.
"We should go, you two. We'll be late."
"No we won't." Ron's voice was muffled by a yawn as he lay on his back in the sunlight. "You worry too much, 'Mione."
"Fine, you two can be late. I'm reporting to class on time." She grabbed her bag and brushed crumbs off her robes. Harry had not budged from his pensive position and was still staring absently into space; she cuffed him gently over the head and he looked up, startled.
"I'm going to class," she told him, side-stepping Ron and heading toward the castle. "See if you can drag that thing to where it belongs."
Ron chucked a rock at her, but it missed by several feet. Harry threw a rock at Ron and it hit him squarely in the stomach. Hermione watched the two and shook her head; immature or not, they were fun to know. She wouldn't have given that up for the world.
* * *
The days passed with agonizingly slow speed, and Hermione would find herself frequently counting down their next Potions lesson. She knew better than to initiate a verbal battle with Snape in the classroom, but just seeing him would be wonderful. Could she ever get used to that thought? Often, she wondered if she was still in a sane, logical state of mind. Hermione Granger, friend of Harry Potter, a Muggle-born, a Gryffindor, was not supposed to look forward to seeing Professor Snape.
As of yet, she was still trying to rationalize her feelings to herself. She refused to admit that she had an actual crush on the Potions master, because that would imply feelings of a romantic nature. Convinced that hers were not of that kind—yet—she was willing to attribute her excitement for seeing him to a simple change in opinion. Perhaps he wasn't quite as vile as she'd previously thought.
Deep down, Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before she was going to acknowledge having a crush on Professor Snape; but she would not do so even a second before she absolutely had to. She had no idea when the defining point would occur, or what would cause it, but it was coming. She could feel it, and when it came, it was going to be nothing like her adolescent crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, or immature musings about Viktor Krum.
Her magical moment occurred, as it turned out, that very class period. It was a Friday, overcast outside and very quiet within the castle. A bout of the Muggle flu was traveling the castle and a good portion of the student body was housed, currently, in the infirmary under the strict direction of Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was grateful for her apparent immunity to the virus; even Ron had been feeling a bit under the weather, and he was typically the hardiest person she knew.
It was a depressing day, not the kind any girl would choose to fall in love for the first time; but Hermione, of course, had no choice in the matter. Even the prospect of seeing Professor Snape was not enough to make her actually enjoy her morning, especially with Ron's creepily quiet attitude and Harry's incessant complaining. They arrived in the Potions classroom to find that their cauldrons of Veritaserum, a two-week project, were finished.
Snape had written no directions on the blackboard; they were deeply startled, and whisperings began to circulate that perhaps he was feeling ill with the flu as the other students were. They were proved wrong, however, when the door flew open and the black cloak, the first noticeable thing about him, swept into the room. A collective but silent groan arose; he was here, after all.
Snape then proceeded to dole out the strangest classroom directions they would ever hear. "As you have probably discerned," he began, "your cauldrons of Veritaserum are finished; they are ready to be tested."
Tested? The class stiffened visibly.
"I would like a volunteer," he continued, "to test the potions. If no one volunteers, I have not the authority within this school to force anyone; that would be illegal. But I can administer the potion to a willing volunteer, under Headmaster Dumbledore's orders. Anyone?"
"Damn," Ron whispered in awe as ten hands shot up immediately from various locations within the room. Hermione nodded her agreement; she hadn't expected that any student would want to subject themselves to the possible humiliation of taking Veritaserum in front of their class. She knew Snape was right; administering it to a willing volunteers was perfectly legal. But still…. Were they insane?
Among those raising their hands was Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil's best friend. Snape seemed amused by the prospect of having Lavender Brown spill her true feelings about her gossipy friend to the entire class, so he chose her. Lavender did not seem the least bit apprehensive; she drank the vial of clear potion he handed to her with a single gulp.
A wave of nausea passed across her face, and she moaned softly; but then it appeared to abate, and she sat up straight again with a slight giggle.
"Miss Brown realizes, as I'm sure do the rest of you, that she is now physically incapable of lying," Snape addressed them. "Miss Brown, will you answer questions?"
"Sure," she piped up cheerfully. "Hey, someone write down my answers so I can read them later and see what I really think." Seamus Finnigan, giving Lavender a sadistic smile, pulled out a piece of parchment, his quill, and with a flourish, wrote down her name at the top.
"You have awful handwriting," Lavender commented, seemingly unable to restrain herself. Seamus looked taken aback; a few laughs rang out here and there in the class.
"Sorry," she added, and he relaxed; she would not have been able to say she was sorry if she truly wasn't.
"Hey Lavender," a Slytherin called from across the room, "what's your favorite subject?"
"Boys." The answer was swiftly delivered with a sheepish grin, and this time the class did laugh. Hermione had to shake her head in exasperation; she believed wholly that Lavender was telling the truth, but it was pitiful.
"Do you like anyone?" the same voice asked. The Slytherin students were going to waste no time embarrassing Lavender as much as they possibly could, and for no other reason than she was from Gryffindor. It made Hermione burn with anger, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Lavender had known perfectly well what she was getting herself involved in, and it was her decision.
"Dean," Lavender said immediately, "but I never said anything because he asked Parvati out."
Parvati stiffened visibly, and no one was laughing this time. Snape had taken the empty seat of an absent student that happened to be right in front of Hermione, and was now only a foot or so away from her. She was torn between wanting to look over and see how he reacted to Lavender's confession and knowing that she might betray feelings she didn't want known.
"But you don't have to worry, Parvati," Lavender added, "because I never planned on trying to break you two up." Parvati looked intensely relieved, and Dean spoke a few quiet words to her. She relaxed even more, enough to cross her legs provocatively in front of her and flash him a smile. Hermione thought she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Snape roll his eyes and assume a bored expression.
"What's your favorite school subject?" Dean spoke up, anxious to turn the topic of conversation away from such a controversial area.
Lavender thought for a moment, pursing her lips. Her blue eyes looked troubled; she was having trouble deciding. "Care of Magical Creatures, because it's the easiest class," she finally announced. "But I wish Hagrid wasn't so frightening."
"Hagrid isn't frightening." Harry bristled at the attack on his friend and gave Lavender an angry look.
"He scares me," she retorted, "even worse than Professor Snape." Had she forgotten he was in the room? Snape did not smile; he looked rather disappointed. Hermione chuckled, seeing his expression, and their eyes met for a moment before she turned her attention back toward Lavender.
"I think you may have an admirer, sir," Malfoy drawled, smirking as he planned the best way to mortify Lavender in front of Hogwarts' most unpopular teacher. "Do you like Professor Snape, Lavender?"
Hermione said a silent, thankful prayer that she was not in Lavender's place. She could not be positive of what she would say, but she had a sinking feeling it would not be the answer she wanted her classmates to hear.
Lavender was now squirming uncomfortably; she did not want to answer the question. Snape was beginning to look alarmed, and Hermione realized with shock that he did not want Lavender to have to suffer an interrogation at the hands of the other students; perhaps that would place him in a troublesome position with Dumbledore. Curiosity got the better of him, it seemed, and he did not move, but opened his mouth to say something to Lavender.
She spoke first. "No, I don't actually like him, because he's too creepy." It was spoken emphatically, and each and every Gryffindor relaxed, while the Slytherins looked as though they'd been denied a special treat. It had not worked; Draco Malfoy sat in sullen silence and regarding Lavender with contempt.
"What do you think about me?" Parvati asked Lavender. It caught everyone's attention; now there was a potentially hazardous question. What did Lavender really think of her so-called best friend.
"I think you're too bossy," Lavender began, and Parvati reddened, "and you're too possessive of Dean. Not to mention that you took the whole 'first date' thing way too seriously, and it's getting very irritating."
Parvati looked as though she wanted to cry; Hermione bit her lip nervously and waited for Lavender to rectify the situation.
"But on the good side," Lavender added hastily, "you're a great friend, you really do care about Dean, and you're very smart. Actually, I think you could be just as smart as Hermione if you tried, because you're a good student." Parvati managed a smile and Lavender returned it.
"But then again," Lavender said with a giggle, "maybe there's no way to beat Hermione. She reads way too much."
The tension in the class finally broke and everyone, including Professor Snape, laughed. Hermione was startled nearly to the point of fainting when she realized that Snape was laughing.
"And there you have the truth, Miss Granger," he told her with a smile, and rose to return to the front of the class. She watched him walk away with mixed feelings of joy and aching. His laugh had been wonderful, genuine and uninhibited; she'd never been able to look at him as a normal man before.
Indeed, she did have the truth; and one she now had to admit whether she liked it or not.