"Miss Granger, I've told you repeatedly not to help Mr. Longbottom with his
potion!" Professor Snape hissed, a malicious smirk splitting his face.
Hermione gaped, angry tears filling her eyes. She hadn't been helping
Neville. Just because his potion was the proper bright blue instead of
some strange and unnatural shade, it didn't mean that she had been helping
him. "20 points from Gryffindor," Snape announced gleefully.
"Professor," Neville began nervously, staring into his potion when Snape turned to face him.
"Do you have something to say to me, Longbottom?" Snape snapped, annoyed that the foolish boy was even talking to him.
"Hermione wasn't helping me," Neville whispered, unable to speak any louder out of fear for the cold-eyed bastard leaning over him.
"What was that?" Snape thundered, and leaned closer to Neville. The stink of fear told him the depth of Neville's terror, and he wondered idly just how much this boy would be able to take before he snapped. The almost superstitious fright that immobilized students in his presence never ceased to amuse him. They had no idea that he was far from the person they should fear most.
"Herm-," Neville choked on her name, on his fear, then bit his tongue until the pain distracted him, giving the courage to continue. "Hermione wasn't helping me," he said loudly. Well, louder, anyways. It gushed out in one breathe, and his new-found courage apparently left with it, as he began to shake for thought of what the bane of his existence would do to him now.
"Oh really?" Snape leaned closer still. He could smell the blood on Neville's breath. That show of courage had taken quite some effort to dredge up. Of course, he knew perfectly well that Longbottom hadn't been receiving instructions from Granger, had watched the boy add the dragon scales before the mandrake, rather than after, and also knew that the potion would have quite a different effect than shrinking things to exactly one-half their usual size. Suddenly a quite malicious idea occurred to him.
"Very well, Longbottom," Snape said with an evil smirk. "If Miss Granger has not been helping you, as you claim, then your potion will have some error and will not shrink you. Let's test it. If you are telling the truth, then I will readdress the amount of points taken from your house." He dipped a spoon into the potion and handed it to Neville.
Snape's grin widened in direct proportion to the horror on Neville's face. Neville knew that his potion was somehow flawed and would have a drastic and possibly dangerous effect on him. But, upon seeing the smug grin on Snape's face, he realized that Snape was also aware of this fact, and perhaps had taken away points simply to force Neville into this position. Without letting himself think on it further, he grabbed the spoon and swallowed its contents.
The class looked expectantly on as Neville trembled. Although Neville would be mortified to learn it, everyone at Hogwarts knew of his crush on Hermione, and that he would only stand up for her if she truly hadn't been helping him, which added an interesting twist to the whole situation.
Suddenly, Neville's eyes widened, and his face turned white. The class leaned in as one, wondering what Neville had done to himself. The only change that could be noted was that Neville, well, no longer looked exactly like Neville. It was a subtle change, like one you'd find on an old acquaintance you haven't seen in ten years, but it was there nonetheless.
Snape's eyes narrowed even as the rest of the class sighed in disappointment. While he wasn't entirely sure what effect the potion was supposed to have on Neville, he had expected something a little more strange than a slight rearranging of his facial features. Subtlety in a potion required an experienced potions master. Could it be possible that the incompetent Longbottom had made a subtle potion purely by accident?
"Very well, Longbottom," Snape conceded. "As you are still very much your regular size, 20 points will not be deducted from Gryffindor. However, you are still assigned one detention with me for Friday night. For your insubordination."
Neville's face fell at this pronouncement. He had been so glad about earning back 20 points for Gryffindor, and now had detention for his efforts. And Snape kept on giving him those strange looks, as if he were a puzzle the professor were trying to figure out. Well, even he wasn't precisely sure what the potion had done to him. All he knew was that he'd felt a strange warm glow, and a slight pulling at his face, and at his . . . .well, you know. He blushed even to think about it, and cast a quick glance at Hermione. Her talk with Professor McGonagall must've been quite lengthy, she'd been a full thirty minutes late to potions, but had produced a note excusing her absence. She now stared at her potion, stirring it absent-mindedly. He chewed his bottom lip, wondering if he should just walk over and ask her if she wanted to hang out some time. It wouldn't be that hard, he could just lean over, and whisper the question, no one else had to hear him ask, just her. Just lean over and . . . .
"Mr. Longbottom!" Snape's voice echoed off the walls, making Neville jump. The smirk on Snape's face was sickeningly smug. "Do you have anything better to do than stare at Miss Granger's ear? Like-perhaps-attempting to correct your potion so that if I make you try it again at the end of class you won't begin sprouting extra toes, as is the most common side-effect of a badly-done shrinking potion?"
Neville gulped and quickly returned his attentions to his cauldron, daring only a small glance at Hermione. She didn't meet his eyes. Neville sighed; he knew what an embarrassment he was. She may be muggle born, but he was a pure-blood, and nearly a squib. Hell, he couldn't even properly mess up his potions. She knew he had a crush on her, which made things very difficult between the two of them. If he could only work up the nerve to talk to her, lose some of his ineptness, maybe a little of his clumsiness, then maybe, just maybe, he'd have a chance.
Neville sighed glumly and stared into his potion. Like hell any of that was going to happen. Hermione would likely end up with that Viktor chap who'd competed in the Triwizard last year, and he, Neville Longbottom, would settle down with some suitably nice girl and live out his life putzing around in the gardens he was going to start as soon as his grandmother hit the dirt. Maybe he could even use the old windbag as compost.
The bell rang, startling Neville from his reverie.
~~
Friday evening came too quickly for Hermione. At 6:30, she glanced at the clock, sighed morosely, and closed the book she'd been reading. Or rereading, rather. No matter how many times she read it, 'Hogwarts, A History,' never lost its magical touch. It had been given to her by Dumbledore himself, when he'd arrived at her house one evening to inform her parents that their daughter was a witch. There had been a twinkle in his eye as he handed her the impressive tome and commented that this 'short summary' of the school and its history might make quite an impression on her.
She sighed again, longing for those carefree days, full of excitement and anticipation. But that was before she'd discovered the things that were blatantly omitted from her revered book. Professor McGonagall had taken a shine to her immediately, claiming to admire Hermione's work ethic, memory retention, and superb attention to detail. It wasn't until halfway through her second year that Hermione had learned exactly what McGonagall meant when she said she 'admired' a student.
At first she hadn't known how to react. Growing up in the muggle school system had taught her that if a teacher touched her inappropriately, she should run and tell another teacher or an adult that she could trust. But it would've been a student's word against McGonagall's, and who would've been believed? After having the following summer to think it over, carefully and-somewhat-objectively, Hermione had decided to confide in one of the other teachers, only to be told quite bluntly that Professor McGonagall's actions were by no means a secret from the rest of the staff. Furthermore, she was also informed that such things were fairly commonplace and often seen as an honor rather than a crime.
And so Hermione packed up her books and slowly made her way to McGonagall's classroom. She knocked on the door rather timidly, not really wanting to be here, glad that Harry and Ron had bought her story of studying in the library. Of course, that's where she usually said she was when Professor McGonagall wanted to see her. She couldn't bear the thought of having Harry and Ron know the truth. They were the ones she turned to whenever she had been overly humiliated by McGonagall. They didn't know. Hopefully, they never would.
"You may enter, Miss Granger," came a silky voice.
Hermione pushed open the door to find Professor McGonagall sitting in her chair, behind the desk that would no doubt soon be put to what her professor considered "good use." She closed the door and stood there awkwardly, not wanting to be too far from her only escape route, but realizing that she would soon have no choice.
"Come here, Miss Granger," came the order, still in the soft, throaty voice that McGonagall used whenever she was aroused. And as Hermione came level with the large, antique, oaken desk, she could see that her professor most certainly was aroused. Although her hair was-as always-tucked up into a tight bun, tonight she had evidently passed up her usual robes in favor of something more comfortable. That is, if the skin-tight black leather bustier and chaps could be deemed comfortable. Hermione nervously noticed the whip twitching in McGonagall's hand, and wondered exactly what she would be subjected to tonight.
She soon found out.
"Why aren't you greeting me properly?" hissed Professor McGonagall, sliding the words over her tongue before relinquishing them to open air. She had a way of licking every word she uttered before allowing it to leave her mouth, so that, once in the air, it would drip with unvoiced meaning. There were times when, in the depths of her humiliation and pain, Hermione crazily thought that the liquid lust in those words must drip down, down into the floor, and from there leak into the very foundations of the school, where countless similar words had dripped over the years, even since the time of the four founders.
That was mostly the basis of her humiliation. In the muggle world, such things were highly discouraged and there were any number of places a child could turn to if they were being abused. The wizarding world was a completely different matter. She wasn't even a rarity, nor was she any different from countless other children who McGonagall had forced her attentions upon. She was hardly the first to bend down on her knees and pay her respects to the matching leather boots adorning McGonagall's feet. Nor could she be the first to be cooed at for her perfect form in responding and then invited up onto the leather-clad lap. And the deftness of the fingers that gently slipped under her robe told her that there was no way hers could be the first young body to come under McGonagall's touch.
**A/N: Just out of curiosity, how do I get this to have italics after I upload it? I've seen italics in countless other fics, and I'd like to have them in mine too. Please review and let me know what you think!
And thanks to my only reviewer so far, Azaelian, let me know if you like it. If you're just reading this for hard-core porn, you gotta wait, bcuz that won't be for another chapter or two.
"Professor," Neville began nervously, staring into his potion when Snape turned to face him.
"Do you have something to say to me, Longbottom?" Snape snapped, annoyed that the foolish boy was even talking to him.
"Hermione wasn't helping me," Neville whispered, unable to speak any louder out of fear for the cold-eyed bastard leaning over him.
"What was that?" Snape thundered, and leaned closer to Neville. The stink of fear told him the depth of Neville's terror, and he wondered idly just how much this boy would be able to take before he snapped. The almost superstitious fright that immobilized students in his presence never ceased to amuse him. They had no idea that he was far from the person they should fear most.
"Herm-," Neville choked on her name, on his fear, then bit his tongue until the pain distracted him, giving the courage to continue. "Hermione wasn't helping me," he said loudly. Well, louder, anyways. It gushed out in one breathe, and his new-found courage apparently left with it, as he began to shake for thought of what the bane of his existence would do to him now.
"Oh really?" Snape leaned closer still. He could smell the blood on Neville's breath. That show of courage had taken quite some effort to dredge up. Of course, he knew perfectly well that Longbottom hadn't been receiving instructions from Granger, had watched the boy add the dragon scales before the mandrake, rather than after, and also knew that the potion would have quite a different effect than shrinking things to exactly one-half their usual size. Suddenly a quite malicious idea occurred to him.
"Very well, Longbottom," Snape said with an evil smirk. "If Miss Granger has not been helping you, as you claim, then your potion will have some error and will not shrink you. Let's test it. If you are telling the truth, then I will readdress the amount of points taken from your house." He dipped a spoon into the potion and handed it to Neville.
Snape's grin widened in direct proportion to the horror on Neville's face. Neville knew that his potion was somehow flawed and would have a drastic and possibly dangerous effect on him. But, upon seeing the smug grin on Snape's face, he realized that Snape was also aware of this fact, and perhaps had taken away points simply to force Neville into this position. Without letting himself think on it further, he grabbed the spoon and swallowed its contents.
The class looked expectantly on as Neville trembled. Although Neville would be mortified to learn it, everyone at Hogwarts knew of his crush on Hermione, and that he would only stand up for her if she truly hadn't been helping him, which added an interesting twist to the whole situation.
Suddenly, Neville's eyes widened, and his face turned white. The class leaned in as one, wondering what Neville had done to himself. The only change that could be noted was that Neville, well, no longer looked exactly like Neville. It was a subtle change, like one you'd find on an old acquaintance you haven't seen in ten years, but it was there nonetheless.
Snape's eyes narrowed even as the rest of the class sighed in disappointment. While he wasn't entirely sure what effect the potion was supposed to have on Neville, he had expected something a little more strange than a slight rearranging of his facial features. Subtlety in a potion required an experienced potions master. Could it be possible that the incompetent Longbottom had made a subtle potion purely by accident?
"Very well, Longbottom," Snape conceded. "As you are still very much your regular size, 20 points will not be deducted from Gryffindor. However, you are still assigned one detention with me for Friday night. For your insubordination."
Neville's face fell at this pronouncement. He had been so glad about earning back 20 points for Gryffindor, and now had detention for his efforts. And Snape kept on giving him those strange looks, as if he were a puzzle the professor were trying to figure out. Well, even he wasn't precisely sure what the potion had done to him. All he knew was that he'd felt a strange warm glow, and a slight pulling at his face, and at his . . . .well, you know. He blushed even to think about it, and cast a quick glance at Hermione. Her talk with Professor McGonagall must've been quite lengthy, she'd been a full thirty minutes late to potions, but had produced a note excusing her absence. She now stared at her potion, stirring it absent-mindedly. He chewed his bottom lip, wondering if he should just walk over and ask her if she wanted to hang out some time. It wouldn't be that hard, he could just lean over, and whisper the question, no one else had to hear him ask, just her. Just lean over and . . . .
"Mr. Longbottom!" Snape's voice echoed off the walls, making Neville jump. The smirk on Snape's face was sickeningly smug. "Do you have anything better to do than stare at Miss Granger's ear? Like-perhaps-attempting to correct your potion so that if I make you try it again at the end of class you won't begin sprouting extra toes, as is the most common side-effect of a badly-done shrinking potion?"
Neville gulped and quickly returned his attentions to his cauldron, daring only a small glance at Hermione. She didn't meet his eyes. Neville sighed; he knew what an embarrassment he was. She may be muggle born, but he was a pure-blood, and nearly a squib. Hell, he couldn't even properly mess up his potions. She knew he had a crush on her, which made things very difficult between the two of them. If he could only work up the nerve to talk to her, lose some of his ineptness, maybe a little of his clumsiness, then maybe, just maybe, he'd have a chance.
Neville sighed glumly and stared into his potion. Like hell any of that was going to happen. Hermione would likely end up with that Viktor chap who'd competed in the Triwizard last year, and he, Neville Longbottom, would settle down with some suitably nice girl and live out his life putzing around in the gardens he was going to start as soon as his grandmother hit the dirt. Maybe he could even use the old windbag as compost.
The bell rang, startling Neville from his reverie.
~~
Friday evening came too quickly for Hermione. At 6:30, she glanced at the clock, sighed morosely, and closed the book she'd been reading. Or rereading, rather. No matter how many times she read it, 'Hogwarts, A History,' never lost its magical touch. It had been given to her by Dumbledore himself, when he'd arrived at her house one evening to inform her parents that their daughter was a witch. There had been a twinkle in his eye as he handed her the impressive tome and commented that this 'short summary' of the school and its history might make quite an impression on her.
She sighed again, longing for those carefree days, full of excitement and anticipation. But that was before she'd discovered the things that were blatantly omitted from her revered book. Professor McGonagall had taken a shine to her immediately, claiming to admire Hermione's work ethic, memory retention, and superb attention to detail. It wasn't until halfway through her second year that Hermione had learned exactly what McGonagall meant when she said she 'admired' a student.
At first she hadn't known how to react. Growing up in the muggle school system had taught her that if a teacher touched her inappropriately, she should run and tell another teacher or an adult that she could trust. But it would've been a student's word against McGonagall's, and who would've been believed? After having the following summer to think it over, carefully and-somewhat-objectively, Hermione had decided to confide in one of the other teachers, only to be told quite bluntly that Professor McGonagall's actions were by no means a secret from the rest of the staff. Furthermore, she was also informed that such things were fairly commonplace and often seen as an honor rather than a crime.
And so Hermione packed up her books and slowly made her way to McGonagall's classroom. She knocked on the door rather timidly, not really wanting to be here, glad that Harry and Ron had bought her story of studying in the library. Of course, that's where she usually said she was when Professor McGonagall wanted to see her. She couldn't bear the thought of having Harry and Ron know the truth. They were the ones she turned to whenever she had been overly humiliated by McGonagall. They didn't know. Hopefully, they never would.
"You may enter, Miss Granger," came a silky voice.
Hermione pushed open the door to find Professor McGonagall sitting in her chair, behind the desk that would no doubt soon be put to what her professor considered "good use." She closed the door and stood there awkwardly, not wanting to be too far from her only escape route, but realizing that she would soon have no choice.
"Come here, Miss Granger," came the order, still in the soft, throaty voice that McGonagall used whenever she was aroused. And as Hermione came level with the large, antique, oaken desk, she could see that her professor most certainly was aroused. Although her hair was-as always-tucked up into a tight bun, tonight she had evidently passed up her usual robes in favor of something more comfortable. That is, if the skin-tight black leather bustier and chaps could be deemed comfortable. Hermione nervously noticed the whip twitching in McGonagall's hand, and wondered exactly what she would be subjected to tonight.
She soon found out.
"Why aren't you greeting me properly?" hissed Professor McGonagall, sliding the words over her tongue before relinquishing them to open air. She had a way of licking every word she uttered before allowing it to leave her mouth, so that, once in the air, it would drip with unvoiced meaning. There were times when, in the depths of her humiliation and pain, Hermione crazily thought that the liquid lust in those words must drip down, down into the floor, and from there leak into the very foundations of the school, where countless similar words had dripped over the years, even since the time of the four founders.
That was mostly the basis of her humiliation. In the muggle world, such things were highly discouraged and there were any number of places a child could turn to if they were being abused. The wizarding world was a completely different matter. She wasn't even a rarity, nor was she any different from countless other children who McGonagall had forced her attentions upon. She was hardly the first to bend down on her knees and pay her respects to the matching leather boots adorning McGonagall's feet. Nor could she be the first to be cooed at for her perfect form in responding and then invited up onto the leather-clad lap. And the deftness of the fingers that gently slipped under her robe told her that there was no way hers could be the first young body to come under McGonagall's touch.
**A/N: Just out of curiosity, how do I get this to have italics after I upload it? I've seen italics in countless other fics, and I'd like to have them in mine too. Please review and let me know what you think!
And thanks to my only reviewer so far, Azaelian, let me know if you like it. If you're just reading this for hard-core porn, you gotta wait, bcuz that won't be for another chapter or two.
