by: Vema
Wednesday at three o'clock, the third day of their private meetings, found them in a heated discussion concerning Glamour potions and why they wore off so quickly. The Polyjuice Potion, Hermione argued, should have more lasting effects if an infusion of Snapdragon petals were used as a base liquid. Snape, however, was quite adamant that such a method would only cause the poor sufferer to become some combination of Snapdragon and whoever it was they were trying to turn into, resulting in a mutant flower.
He used the academic tone of the conversation to cover his own fears, fears that had been growing since he'd read Hester Wilson's paper. He had felt nothing for the girl, nothing, and then, poof, he…did. Was it possible she had considered using a potion on him to gain his affections? His rational mind said no. He was a disgusting old man who was cruel to all his students. Why would a young woman use a love potion on him? And yet the doubt lingered…
"Honestly, Professor, if people didn't test theories, there would be no new spells," she said, smiling at his exasperated expression.
"Be that as it may, I will leave it to some other dimwit to do the experimenting." He chuckled lightly, then grew quiet as Hermione glanced at the wall behind him, knowing she was checking the clock.
She sighed audibly. "Well, I should…probably go."
"Yes…"
"Could I ….come in again tomorrow?"
Snape stared at his desk for a moment, the patterns in the wood becoming clear as he hesitated to answer her. "…Hermione… All we've been talking about is advanced potions theory… You don't need my help to pass your NEWTS. You're more experienced and knowledgeable about potions than most your age, and you know it. Much more advanced." He stopped and looked into her blank eyes, his own begging an answer to a question he dare not ask.
"I- I know." She was quiet for a moment. "I won't bother you again then," she whispered turning towards the door.
It was already half open, and he was about to stop her when she wheeled around suddenly. "Have you slipped me a love potion, Professor?" she said, allowing a slight amount of anger and desperation to color her tight voice.
Staring seemed like the right thing to do to him, and he always was good at it. He gave her a good glare and then drawled, "I was about to ask you the same thing."
A few silent moments weighted the air around them, and Hermione was glaring daggers right back at him before relaxing her shoulders. "Maybe…someone else slipped one of us one… as a joke," she said half-heartedly, closing the door. She slumped back towards the desk and collapsed into the chair, rubbing her face in a tired fashion. "Oh, Gods, what's wrong with me?" she muttered.
Leaning back slightly, Snape watched her compose herself. It was quite remarkable really; he could tell she was still upset from the way she crossed her arms, and from the way she kept her knees tightly locked together, her lips pursed. "Well, what now?"
"My first suggestion would be to use an antidote." He turned and stood, looking through a few of the ingredients he had within easy access. "An infusion of chaste berries and bladderwrack with powdered beetle shell should do it, I think. That will counter any potion that may have been used."
"Wouldn't dragon scales work better?"
He turned and looked at her thoughtfully. "…Perhaps an experiment is in order?"
Smiling, she began to look more comfortable. "No, I read it in a… well, honestly, it was in a book I snuck out of the restricted section."
He chuckled and quickly changed out the beetle shell for dragon scale. They made their way to the potions room quickly. Snape felt her watching him stir and measure, enjoying the exacting methods he used, rivaled only by her study discipline. When he'd stirred the final time, he ladled it into two goblets, handing one to her. As she looked into the cup, a slightly horrified look on her face, he said, "It shouldn't taste…too horribly."
She looked tremulously at him, then smiled shakily and downed the cup. He did the same, noticing the tingle in his stomach as the potion coated it. He looked at Hermione, waiting for that little sensation to dissipate, only to realize that it wasn't going to. It simply changed to something more as he watched her reaction.
The Anti-Love Potion-Potion had not worked, he realized. Not for him, anyway.
Hermione was staring silently into her cup, a lone drop of potion sliding down the corner of her mouth unnoticed. He leaned forward and wiped it off with his thumb, and she looked up at him, terrified. "Did…did it work?" she asked, clutching her goblet.
"Yes, Miss Granger, it worked perfectly," he said darkly, slamming his cup down just a little too hard.
"Good. Me too." She set hers down awkwardly and grabbed her books. "Should I help…?"
"I can clean this up myself." He went about the task, his brusque manner telling her the conversation was over.
Her steps echoed in the empty room as she left, her perfume still on the air, and he placed his head against the coolness of the table for an instant, closing his eyes and committing it to memory.
The next day was Thursday, and at three o'clock, he was sitting at his desk grading exams. There was a knock, and he looked up in time to see a familiar person walking in, holding a familiar text in her hands, her entry wafting a familiar scent on the air.
"Moste Potente Potions?"
Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I thought we could try some…"
fin