Severus Snape sipped sullenly at his coffee, looking up every now and then to direct pointed glares across the Great Hall. He hated breakfast. He hated dealing with loud, hyper children early in the morning – hell, he hated dealing with loud, hyper children at any time during the day. But especially before noon. And he was in an extra sullen mood this morning, too, so the little brats had best watch themselves around him if they knew what was good for them.
He could not get over Miss Granger's – no, scratch that, Professor Granger's – audacity the previous evening. How dare she question his disciplinary methods! How dare she presume to know better than he how to keep students in line! How dare she baldly imply that he was biased and partial! How dare she!
Professor McGonagall had very rarely interfered with him when she was Head of Gryffindor. Of course she knew what went on, but she allowed him to have his favorites; after all, no one else liked the Slytherins, they had to have an ally somewhere, right? Besides, it was just the way things were. Snape insulted Gryffindors and favored Slytherins. Everyone knew this; everyone accepted this. Dumbledore himself hadn't had a problem with it – well, not a major problem anyway. Not that he knew of. But that was beside the point. This was the way things were, dammit!
And in saunters Granger, know-it-all Granger, with her bushy brown hair and bossy voice and neverending supply of knowledge. Granger, who knew the answer to the most obscure questions he could dredge up. Granger, who never tired of flaunting her intellect in front of the rest of the class. Granger, who he was now forced to call a colleague, and who apparently hadn't changed one damn bit.
He grudgingly admitted that he admired her heroics during the final battle against Voldemort. He very grudgingly admitted that she had been quite brilliant and that her quick thinking had saved many lives that day. He never admitted (except, maybe, to himself, when he was alone, and only once or twice, mind you) that he admired her prodigious intellect and thirst for knowledge, or identified with her love of reading, or was impressed by her headstrong and fiery nature. No. She was just another obnoxiously self-righteous Gryffindor, and now she was encroaching on his territory. Well, if she knew what was good for her –
Speak of the devil, Snape thought petulantly, as Hermione Granger entered the Great Hall. She sashayed down the aisle between the house tables, pausing to smile and greet some of her Gryffindors as she passed their table. She continued on her way to the faculty table, walking by the Slytherins, some of whom cast shadowed glares in her direction.
Snape brought his coffee up to his lips once more, his eyes flitting around the Hall, glancing up as the morning post arrived and owls swooped in from the window. He looked back at his house's table – and nearly spit out his coffee.
There was Granger, stopped inexplicably in front of the Slytherin table, hands on her hips, steely glare fixed on a burly fifth-year. Snape's eyes widened as he saw Granger snap something at the boy, who looked both surly and chastened. He watched her as she stormed away from the Slytherin table, leaving a rather mutinous-looking crowd in her wake. As he watched her approach the head table with growing incredulity, her eyes met his for a split second – was that a smirk she just flashed at him, or was he imagining things?
Snape tried to turn his attention back to his coffee, but the odd exchange he'd just witnessed gnawed at him until he found himself rising from the table and striding over to the other side, where Professor Granger sat next to Professor Vector. He nodded a curt greeting to Headmistress McGonagall and made a beeline for Granger, who sat smirking to herself, spreading cream cheese on her bagel.
Hermione sat down at the head table, obviously pleased with herself. She bid a warm 'good morning' to Professors McGonagall and Vector and helped herself to a glass of milk and a bagel. She bit back a smile as she recalled the look on that Slytherin oaf's face as she docked twenty points from his house for 'improper language.' True, he'd only said 'hell' – and God knew Ron and Harry had said much, much worse when they got worked up – but that was beside the point. If Professor Snape could be petty and vindictive, so could she, she thought, unable now to repress her grin of glee.
Speak of the devil, she thought impishly. She had to bite her lip to keep from smirking even wider at his expression of ill-disguised aggravation as he stomped towards her. He pulled out a chair on the other side of her and sat down uninvited, looking at her with a combination of irritation and impatience. "Good morning, Professor," Hermione said cheerfully. "Care for a doughnut?" Snape nearly snarled at the proffered pastry and leaned closer to her, so close that she could smell the scent of the soap he used. Mmm, Irish Spring, she thought absently. "You know damn well I don't want a doughnut," he snapped. "Exactly what the hell was that-" he jerked his thumb towards the Slytherin table- "little display? Since when have you taken a sudden interest in my students?" He sat back, arms crossed, waiting for her response.Hermione was ready for this. You're so very predictable, Professor. "I was disciplining a student," she said casually, turning her attention from him back to her bagel. "I was under the impression that, as a professor, I am allowed to do so," she added for his benefit, glancing up from her bagel to gauge his reaction. Perfect, she thought, watching his eyes widen briefly in anger.
"Fine," he replied tersely, through gritted teeth. "Of course you are well within your rights to do so. However, I would, if I were you, instruct the students in my house to walk the straight and narrow. You wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose its chance at the Cup because of the unruly behavior of its students, I daresay… after all, that would be a poor reflection on the Head of House," he said silkily, the Evil Smirk once again playing across his face.
Hermione set down her glass of milk a little too hard, splashing some of it out of the glass and onto the table. She turned around to glare in righteous indignation at her smirking colleague. "Is that a threat, Professor? Because if it is, then I – if I were you – would give a similar warning to my own house. I promise you," her voice dropped to a quiet murmur that only he could hear- "that I can get just as nasty and malicious as you. If it's a war you want, then you've got it," she hissed, standing up suddenly.
"Well, Professor, I must be off. I have second-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws first thing in the morning – that promises to be an entertaining class," she said, glancing only briefly at Snape, then nodding a farewell to other teachers before striding out of the Hall.
If she had glanced back at Snape, still sitting beside her empty chair at the end of the faculty table, she would have seen an expression that had never before graced his countenance – a mixture of awe, dread, and admiration, as he sat, slack-jawed and in utter disbelief.