Dinner was always an unbearable affair, mostly because I hate large, crowded places packed tight with odiforous adolescents. And, today, oddly enough, my appetite had further diminished. I was walking slowly through the hall, feeling each step as though I was dragging it through a knee high bog. I scowled fearsomely at the paintings on the wall that were blowing kisses in my direction, then tittering behind their fans.

I heard a frightened squeak behind me, and I whirled around, only to see Mariah Tooksbury shivering with fright under an extremely large pile of books. So large, in fact, I could only see the top of her head. Ms. Tooksbury, I'm assuming, I said sarcastically, watching as she nodded her head. Twelve points for loittering in the halls and being late for dinner, I finished. I heard a repressed sob as she fled again, this time struggling not only to run from me, but to do so beneath books that, collectively, weighed more than she.

Professor, can't you just leave them alone?, I heard an exasperated voice say. Hermione Granger stood there, hands on hips, wearing a very aggravated expression. I snickered at her, drawing my robes around me with a small flourish. Pray tell me, I asked, moving closer to her, what lessons would they learn? I'm only playing the role their simpering, idiotic parents will not. She shot daggers at me with her glare. Yes, but as I seem to remember, and I do believe my memories are far less faded than yours (she ignored the caustic snort I made), Draco Malfoy had never learnt anything. In fact, he seemed to be more in control of the class than yourself, she finished calmly, her brown eyes regarding the range of anger that swiftly passed through my face.

Yes, and I remember, Miss Granger, that it was Potter and Weasley who jerked the strings as your puppeteers, I snarled, forgoing any trace of amusment. She took on a benignly frightened face as she slowly slid away from me. I could not help but notice the effect that the hateful childhood name still retained.

Professor Granger, she said quietly, inspecting her spotless fingernails. I actually have a valid question, Professor, I said, coming closer to her, not wishing for my personal life or questions to be splattered about the halls, for all the eagerly craned ears of the portraits to hear. She looked up at me, and hastily wiped smudges of tears and chalk dust from her face.

Yes, Professor Snape?, she said, very reluctantly. I winced, my name from her lips sounding nearly as abrasive as my barbed comments. Where did you get the ingredients to brew wolfsbane?, I asked quickly, withdrawing a vial from my robes. Her eyes widdened with guilt, though she tried to conceal it. I believe, Professor, that the only tools with which to produce this are found in my personal stores, is that not true?, I punctuated each syllable with a shake of the vial. Her eyes wandered restlessly between the potion and my face. I made especially sure to remain impassive.

What makes you so certain it was me?, she asked, pushing forward slightly, affording quite the view of her chest. I narrowed me eyes, losing patience with her, Because Remus Lupin, being quite the knight in shining armor he is, came to me this morning, offering an explanation of why I saw him exiting after you this morning from your chambers. Was this the truth, or was it to save your insipid reputation of helping others?.

She laughed shrilly, an ill disguise to her unease. Professor, if I didn't know you better, I would say your elephantine ego is tripping you up. I brewed the wolfsbane, yes, but with your ingredients, no. Hogsmeade has the quite the selection, as does Knockturn Alley. I wouldn't *dream* of invading your personal space, she smiled. I grimaced in return, not fully sated with her explanation, So why is it that Lupin did not ask me to brew it for him, why did he find it necessary to seek you out instead?. She gave a small, genuinely surprised laugh, Isn't it obvious, Snape? You hate him with such a thinly veiled passion, he was afraid you would poison him first.

I was absolutely enraged by this, As stupidly mistaken as your friend might be, I will further justify myself by saying this: I never let my personal repugnance for certain peoples, or in his case, half humans, interfere with my work. He has also imbibed potions I made for him in the past, and he certainly seems no worse for wear.

Snape, does the name James Potter ring a bell? The only reason you hated Harry so much is because of his father. And, I find that a few simple ingredients could have vastly improved the original taste of your brew, she shot back, more quick on her feet than I had credited her for. She was also gradually moving towards me, whether this was purposeful, I hadn't any idea, but I was still uncomfortably aware of how clean she smelled. And how her hair had lost its ugly frizz and that she didn't seem to be stuck in quite so awkward a body.

She must have realised she was drifting towards me to, for she paused, then turned away, walking slowly towards the end of the hall. A small, furry animal immediately trotted after her, mewing piteously.

, I said, rather offended by her disloyalty. Granger laughed, scooping her up in her arms, and rubbing her face in her fur. I had no idea you had sympathy for animals, Professor, she said coyly. I don't. This cretinous rodent seems to have momentarily forgotten who her real master is, I said irritably. , Granger said, raising her eyebrow, softly plopping Gally onto the stone floor, didn't you know that it was dogs who have masters and cats who have people?.

I smiled wickedly, Why then, perhaps your canine colleague would be delighted to know that you would be able to serve as his proud new owner. She gave me a very withering look, I see that the lavender oil did nothing for your countenance, Professor. Then perhaps furthering my explorations of this was wishful thinking. Anyway, I was planning on giving you this in a far more discreet manner, but what better time than the present?.

She strode towards me quickly, and pressed a hard bottle of something in my hands. Her hot palms pressed down on mine for one second, and I realised how close I had been to her face. I cursed myself for such lecherous thoughts.

I stared after her for a long time, a mixture of loathing and hunger in my face. I had no idea what to think of this woman, this oddly changed, yet very much the same Hermione Granger. And when I thought of Remus Lupin, my grip on the bottle became tighter, and I heard a sudden cracking. I glanced down at my palm, seeing a sweet looking, gelatinous substance ooze out. I performed a repairo charm immediately, and the odd liquid was slowly sucked back in. I read the label and gasped.
Madam Madreaid's Hair Tonic for Men.

Infernal woman.
































A/N: LoL. I dedicate this chapter to those who have wished for the eradication and eventual destruction of our formerly greasy haired professor. I thought it would be funny to give him a bottle of Pantene, but wizarding shampoo is much cooler.