Musing
Chapter One: Saffron and Wormwood
Note/Disclaimer: This story is a fanfic based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. No profit is made from this work, and no copyright infringement is meant.
This story first appeared on a little over two years ago, and for personal quality control is being re-written. This story is A/U as it takes place in Hermione's seventh year, and will not become HBP compliant.
Staring at Severus Snape on the first day of Seventh Year Potions was not the most constructive use of Hermione Granger's time. Yet there she sat, doing exactly that. Feeling a cool stare boring it's way through her forehead, she shook her head slightly and realized that Professor Snape had been asking her a review question, and from the tone of his voice, she had an idea that he had asked her several times.
"Twenty points from Gryfindor, Miss Granger, and another twenty if I have to ask you this question again. What do you get from an infusion of saffron and wormwood power?" His voice drilled its way into her head, and even in her panic at the lost points, she imagined a faint undercurrent of sensuality the voice carried.
Clearing her throat, Hermione answered the question quickly; her face burning as she at last heard the whispers from around the room. Ron and Harry threw her sympathetic glances for the rest of the class period, while she tried desperately to keep her eyes off the straight, strong back of the Potions Master as he scribbled notes across the chalkboard.
She had managed to dodge her two friends for most of the remaining day, and was relieved to find herself in her rooms at last. One of the benefits of being Head Girl this year was a private room in the tower, and it was there that she collapsed after pulling off her robes. Hermione did her best thinking with a notebook in her lap and a pen in her hand – some Muggle conventions were difficult to get used to, and she preferred a ballpoint black pen over a quill any day. Moments of the day floated through her mind as she struggled to put it all into words. The memory of Professor Snape standing over her, glaring a hole into the middle of her forehead, and her entrance to the common room that night, with her entire house glaring at her caused fresh embarrassment to cloud her mind. Running her hand through her hair and sighing, she tossed the notebook aside and worked on her homework until the moon raised high in the sky over Hogwarts. Hermione fell into a fitful sleep over her Arithmacy book; Crookshanks curled into the small of her back.
The next morning, Hermione awoke with a start, expecting to hear the sounds of her mother preparing breakfast, and instead hearing the muted sounds of birds chirping outside her window. Armed with the knowledge that she would not have to face the Potions Master until the next day, she dressed carefully and smoothed her hair. Hermione met Harry and Ron in the common room and headed off to the commotion of breakfast eagerly. While neither boy mentioned it, the looks they slid toward her as they settled down told her that they were worried still.
Shrugging them off with a mention of Hogwarts: A History, the two boys left Hermione to her porridge and books. It was only then, when the garbage that was Quidditch washed over her, that she glanced at the high table, and found the source of the previous day's concern.
Sitting so far from Professor Snape, she felt safe to study him, watching as he grudgingly accepted another cup of coffee that materialized in front of him. Long hands tinged with blue curling around the thick mug, his face set in what was thought to be a sneer. 'No,' she thought then, 'not a sneer, simply an expression of boredom.' Hermione had always admired the man's intellect, even while he was glaring at her, his voice rubbing salt into open wounds as he teased her for being an 'insufferable know-it-all' in class and ignored her every attempt to prove herself better than his precious Slytherins.
Severus Snape was a brilliant man, but a tormented and cruel one, just the same. She sighed to herself, and realized that most of the Gryfindor table had cleared. Just then, Snape glanced down, and his eyes flashed with annoyance. Hermione had been caught gazing at him again. With burning skin and as much dignity as she could muster, she bolted from the Great Hall to prepare for her classes.