Thank goodness that the next day was a Saturday. With thoughts of Snape as a sixteen-year-old floating around in my head along with my new notion that he would be quite an attractive man if he would only smile once in a while, I was beginning to doubt my sanity.  I knew that I certainly couldn't handle the sight of the man himself that morning.

But, of course, due to the laws of things-happening-precisely-when-you-don't-want-them-to, he was there at breakfast, looking surly and crunching his bacon ferociously.  He was far from attractive this morning, his hair looking awfully stringy, and the permanent scowl etched across his features. This morning, though, I had seen his potential. I knew how he could look if he tried. And it wasn't really about good looks…it was about happiness. He just looked so angry at everything and everybody, especially when McGonagall took her seat next to him and started chatting with him.

McGonagall….Chatting with Snape….

I hurriedly tried to avert my eyes. It wouldn't do to have McGonagall spouting my praises into Snape's ear while I was gazing at him like a love-struck idiot. Too late. He saw me staring at him, and I could just see the wheels turning in his brain. The look on his face took on a new depth of horror as he connected my gaze, McGonagall's words, and my persistent greetings of the past month.

I refused to look at him while I ate my oatmeal. I concentrated on my food, but decided that it tasted significantly better than it looked. Harry and Ron were both at Quidditch practice, so I scanned the Gryffindor table for somebody I recognized.

"Neville! Over here!" I waved at my classmate almost frantically, pulling him away from a group of second-year girls who were chatting him up. He came over to where I was sitting gratefully. Though Neville had certainly earned his newfound fame and adoration at the end of last year, he was still uncomfortable around girls. Except, of course, me, but I'm not exactly what you'd call girly. I mean, I'm not a Quidditch jock like Ginny, but I don't walk around the dorms in dresses and heels either (unlike two of my roommates, hint, hint).

So, right, Neville came and plopped down next to me, a light sweat breaking out around his hairline. Actually, plopped is not really the right word for Neville anymore. How about, sank gracefully? Yes, that's right, clumsy Neville Longbottom had suddenly learned grace and efficiency of movement. Too bad he isn't in the NEWT-level potions class. I'm sure he would find his skills improved.

His social skills, however, were not changed much. He didn't understand why all those girls were crowding around him. Anyway, I calmed him down a bit, explained to him that they wouldn't bite, and sent him back down the table. My oatmeal was starting to get cold, anyway, and I had a Potions Professor to avoid.

I probably should have been paying a little bit of attention to Snape, at least to check when he was leaving the Hall. Why? Because we ended up outside at exactly the same moment, that's why. He looked at me suspiciously, and lengthened his stride. He does have awfully long legs, and pretty soon, he was out of sight down the hall.

I decided to head to the library rather than face an afternoon of Quidditch talk from Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Not to mention watching Neville suffer with those second-years while he looked to me for help. It would be good for him to deal with those girls on his own.

I pushed open the huge wooden doors to the library, nodded to Madam Pince, and headed for my favourite spot, a little grouping of armchairs next to a small table all the way in the back. Sighing, I sank into one of the chairs and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I noticed the stack of books next to the chair and became immediately interested.

NEWT Potions Study Guide sat atop Wizard Poetry Through the Ages, which was balanced on Cooking with Magical Herbs. There were also a few novels that I didn't recognize, but I was immediately sure that either Madam Pince or some especially-helpful House Elf had set them there for my particular pleasure. I made a mental note to leave some kind of thank you note on the little table when I left. I picked up the cookbook to scan, because that was one for borrowing, not reading here. I flipped through the pictures of recipes, and even though I had just eaten breakfast, they made my mouth water a bit.

I set that one down and picked up Wizard Poetry Through the Ages. It was not very thick, and I realized that though the title implied an anthology, it was actually a collection by one man, Henry Ernesto. How pretentious. I opened it anyway, willing to give it a shot. Madam Pince had obviously thought I would enjoy it. As I opened the book, the words flew around the page, and, several seconds later, arranged themselves into poems.

Look up, my dear,

For drawing near

Is one you seek.

Don't be too meek.

Oh, wow. That was a terrible poem. I closed the book again and opened it to the same page, wondering if I would get something new, or if the word-scrambling was all for effect.

He sees you now.

You have his book.

Put it down,

He'll think you took (it).

I laughed aloud at that one. It was so bad he couldn't even rhyme the last line properly. I was definitely going to be checking this one out, if only to show Harry and Ron what reallllllly bad poetry is. But then, I looked up. And just as Mr. Ernesto had warned, there was someone there. Snape.

"Miss Granger," he hissed. "Kindly tell me why you are sitting in my chair, reading the books I have selected for my reading pleasure?" Whew, someone was feeling selfish.

"I usually sit here, Professor," I replied, looking him straight in the eyes. "I had no idea that these books were yours."

"Who else would check out a NEWT-level potions study guide, Miss Granger?" He really didn't look happy, but somehow the line "Don't be too meek" was floating in my head. God, I was actually taking advice from the worst poem I'd ever read??

"Well, Professor, I would, for one, or had you forgotten that I am in that class? With several other students, I might add, all of whom might be interested in studying for the exam!" I almost bit my tongue off. I just knew he was going to slap me or something. I held my breath, but when he didn't lash out, I looked at him again. He looked amused, as though he didn't quite know what to do with me.

"All right, Miss Granger. You may borrow two of these books, since you seem so intent on keeping them for yourself." He smirked down at my hands, which had a white-knuckle grip on the awful poetry book and the cookbook. "Then, when you are finished, say, about two days, you can meet me in the dungeons to return them."

I looked at him and blinked. "Okay…" I said slowly, "so, Monday evening? What time?"

It was his turn to look at me with a puzzled expression. "Why, seven o'clock, Miss Granger, the usual time for detentions. Of course, this is a detention, Miss Granger, not an invitation for tea. And I suggest that you refrain from using that tone with your professors, or you will be seeing a lot worse punishments than that."

With that, he plucked the Ernesto book from my hands and bent down to collect the rest of the stack, minus the study guide and cookbook, then left me sitting there in dumb silence.