Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.
Over the next few weeks, Hermione began withdrawing into herself. Though she spent as much, if not more, time than ever in the library, her grades began falling. Potions quickly changed from a mild irritation to a nightmare. Hermione would forget to add ingredients or even stir the wrong way. Neville, once the bulls-eye of Snape's anger, noticed a shift. Now Hermione was the one who incurred Snape's wrath. Harry took to checking Hermione's progress to prevent her cauldron from exploding. As much as the Gryffindors tried to help Hermione, at the end of the lesson, Snape would always have a word or two for the fallen brainiac. But Hermione didn't seem to care; she would listen to the insults and then quietly gather her things and leave. It was as if she were an empty shell of her former self. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and her once-frizzy hair became lank and stringy. Even the professors began taking notice. Flitwick twice ended class early just to speak to Hermione. After a week or two, Snape showed a glimmer of concern. One day he rebuked Hermione for yet again adding the wrong ingredient to her Laughing Potion. Hermione gave no response to her admonitions – she continued to stare at the bottle of bat venom on the table before her.
"Granger, were you listening to a word I said?" Snape's dark eyes glittered menacingly.
Hermione nodded.
"Well?" The class drew a collective breath, waiting for a quick retort. Perhaps this would be the day Hermione would fight back.
"Sorry, Professor," she muttered. "It won't happen again." Jaws dropped.
"What's she getting at?" Ron whispered furiously to Harry.
Sneering, Snape began to glide away but suddenly halted and slowly returned to Hermione's desk. He bent down and murmured in a voice so low that only Neville, Hermione's lab partner, could hear.
"You're not up to your usual standards, Ms. Granger."
No reaction showed on Hermione's face.
"Have you been mistaking your Forgetfulness Potion for pumpkin juice?"
Again, no reaction.
"Perhaps you are not good enough for my Potions class and would be suited with the first years."
As before, no reaction.
A flick of what could be concern flashed across Snape's face but was quickly overcome by his usual air of disdain.
"Ms. Granger, I suggest you seek counsel with your Head of House before returning to my class or I will be forced to speak with her for you." He stood. "Class dismissed!" he shouted as he strode into his office and slammed the door.
Apparently Hermione did not seek Snape's advice, because two days later, Hermione was approached in the hall between classes by both McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. However, she refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong and chalked up her attitude to a lack of sleep.
"I'm just stressed," she explained. "Too much work in too little time."
The next night Harry and Ron cornered Hermione in the Common Room. She had just finished her usual routine of staring at her books and jotting a few sentences here and there on her parchment. As students wandered to bed, Hermione's head began drooping until it had fallen on the table and elicited soft snores. At that point, only she, Harry, and Ron were left. Glancing at each other, the two boys nodded imperceptibly and approached their friend.
"Hermione," Harry muttered as he shook her shoulder, "wake up, Hermione. We need to talk to you." His hand dropped to his side as her eyelids fluttered open.
Hermione stirred and sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She glared from boy to boy, her sunken eyes searching theirs.
"I refuse to do your homework for you," she deadpanned.
Ron frowned. "With the way you've been going, we should be doing yours."
"Ron!" Harry admonished. He turned back to Hermione.
"What's wrong? You're hardly eating . . . you're not sleeping . . . even Snape asked us what's going on . . . err, in a roundabout way."
Harry grimaced as he recalled the conversation. Bascially, Snape told him to cure Hermione of what was ailing her or the Professor would be forced to start deducting points from Gryffindor until the hourglass was empty.
"Come on, Hermione. Is it a professor?"
She shook her head no.
"Slytherins? Malfoy?" Ron's voice took on a dangerous edge, but again, Hermione shook her head no.
"Hermione, why –"Harry grabbed her hand, but the moment his skin touched hers, she jumped back as if he had slapped her across the face. Her eyes wide with fear, she drew her arms around her body.
"Don't . . . touch me. Don't ever touch me again!" Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Shaking, she grabbed her books and bolted from the room before Ron and Harry could react. Both boys stood gaping at her retreating form.
"Mental, that one . . ." Ron piped up a few seconds later.
"Ron, we need to talk to McGonagall. Tomorrow, after class."
Ron gave a small nod. "Tomorrow."
Over the next few weeks, Hermione began withdrawing into herself. Though she spent as much, if not more, time than ever in the library, her grades began falling. Potions quickly changed from a mild irritation to a nightmare. Hermione would forget to add ingredients or even stir the wrong way. Neville, once the bulls-eye of Snape's anger, noticed a shift. Now Hermione was the one who incurred Snape's wrath. Harry took to checking Hermione's progress to prevent her cauldron from exploding. As much as the Gryffindors tried to help Hermione, at the end of the lesson, Snape would always have a word or two for the fallen brainiac. But Hermione didn't seem to care; she would listen to the insults and then quietly gather her things and leave. It was as if she were an empty shell of her former self. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and her once-frizzy hair became lank and stringy. Even the professors began taking notice. Flitwick twice ended class early just to speak to Hermione. After a week or two, Snape showed a glimmer of concern. One day he rebuked Hermione for yet again adding the wrong ingredient to her Laughing Potion. Hermione gave no response to her admonitions – she continued to stare at the bottle of bat venom on the table before her.
"Granger, were you listening to a word I said?" Snape's dark eyes glittered menacingly.
Hermione nodded.
"Well?" The class drew a collective breath, waiting for a quick retort. Perhaps this would be the day Hermione would fight back.
"Sorry, Professor," she muttered. "It won't happen again." Jaws dropped.
"What's she getting at?" Ron whispered furiously to Harry.
Sneering, Snape began to glide away but suddenly halted and slowly returned to Hermione's desk. He bent down and murmured in a voice so low that only Neville, Hermione's lab partner, could hear.
"You're not up to your usual standards, Ms. Granger."
No reaction showed on Hermione's face.
"Have you been mistaking your Forgetfulness Potion for pumpkin juice?"
Again, no reaction.
"Perhaps you are not good enough for my Potions class and would be suited with the first years."
As before, no reaction.
A flick of what could be concern flashed across Snape's face but was quickly overcome by his usual air of disdain.
"Ms. Granger, I suggest you seek counsel with your Head of House before returning to my class or I will be forced to speak with her for you." He stood. "Class dismissed!" he shouted as he strode into his office and slammed the door.
Apparently Hermione did not seek Snape's advice, because two days later, Hermione was approached in the hall between classes by both McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. However, she refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong and chalked up her attitude to a lack of sleep.
"I'm just stressed," she explained. "Too much work in too little time."
The next night Harry and Ron cornered Hermione in the Common Room. She had just finished her usual routine of staring at her books and jotting a few sentences here and there on her parchment. As students wandered to bed, Hermione's head began drooping until it had fallen on the table and elicited soft snores. At that point, only she, Harry, and Ron were left. Glancing at each other, the two boys nodded imperceptibly and approached their friend.
"Hermione," Harry muttered as he shook her shoulder, "wake up, Hermione. We need to talk to you." His hand dropped to his side as her eyelids fluttered open.
Hermione stirred and sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She glared from boy to boy, her sunken eyes searching theirs.
"I refuse to do your homework for you," she deadpanned.
Ron frowned. "With the way you've been going, we should be doing yours."
"Ron!" Harry admonished. He turned back to Hermione.
"What's wrong? You're hardly eating . . . you're not sleeping . . . even Snape asked us what's going on . . . err, in a roundabout way."
Harry grimaced as he recalled the conversation. Bascially, Snape told him to cure Hermione of what was ailing her or the Professor would be forced to start deducting points from Gryffindor until the hourglass was empty.
"Come on, Hermione. Is it a professor?"
She shook her head no.
"Slytherins? Malfoy?" Ron's voice took on a dangerous edge, but again, Hermione shook her head no.
"Hermione, why –"Harry grabbed her hand, but the moment his skin touched hers, she jumped back as if he had slapped her across the face. Her eyes wide with fear, she drew her arms around her body.
"Don't . . . touch me. Don't ever touch me again!" Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Shaking, she grabbed her books and bolted from the room before Ron and Harry could react. Both boys stood gaping at her retreating form.
"Mental, that one . . ." Ron piped up a few seconds later.
"Ron, we need to talk to McGonagall. Tomorrow, after class."
Ron gave a small nod. "Tomorrow."