CHAPTER THREE
Hermione wishes she could hit—the Apothecary.
Halloween finally arrived as well as the first Hogsmeade weekend and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny had all decided to go together. They made their way to the Three Broomsticks for some nice hot mugs of butterbeer to warm them up from the rather cool autumn air. It seemed everyone had someone these days. Ginny and Neville were always holding hands under the tables to keep Ron out of the loop while Ron, himself, had become rather close with Harry; always smiling at each other, then looking away quickly. Though neither were likely to admit to their feelings in front of other people, everyone seemed to know already. The only one really 'left out" on it all was Hermione. Not that she minded much anyway. She had far too much work and studying to see to lately. Again, not that Harry and Ron would seriously consider actually making even half as much effort as she does. This is their seventh and final year. This year's grades could determine so much about their futures.
She began to tap her fingers on the tabletop. Her tapping seemed to fade somewhat then pick back up and then fade again periodically while her eyes went slightly out of focus and glazed over as they usually did when she was in deep thought. She sighed exasperatedly then and nearly everyone at the little table jumped. There was a splattering of clearing of throats while she blinked and seemed to rejoin the here and now of things. She downed the rest of her butterbeer, stood up, and swung her cloak on.
"I'll be back in a bit, I need to run to the Apothecary," she said, fastening the hooks of her cloak about her. There was a collective murmuring as everyone seemed quite content where they were seated and with whom. Hermione nodded and walked away. When she reached the door, she looked back and smiled at the small group before turning and walking out into the crisp afternoon, heading up the crowded street to the quiet, musty and nearly empty shop of the Apothecary. She greeted the owner at the counter and presented her list to the short man with rather large spectacles. He looked down at the list first, his eyes widened slightly, then he looked up at her and smiled kindly before nodding his approval, returning her list, and waving her on. She decided to start with the more difficult one. She would undoubtedly be there for quite some time; probably only just making it back to the castle for the feast.
She grabbed all of the tools she would need to procure the powdered Root of Asphodel. When she had finished the grinding process she had nearly twice as much as she would usually need for class. 'Might as well get some for Neville, busy as he is and whatnot,' she thought to herself. She stood and walked back over to the shelf searching for the right sized leaves of paper used to make little carrying envelopes for the powdered root for Neville and herself. She stood on her tiptoes trying to see the higher up shelves without any luck. She grabbed her stool, placed it in front of the shelving unit, paused to look around first, then carefully climbed up and grabbed the appropriate papers she had sought.
She placed the papers between her lips then carefully climbed back down. She took the papers out of her mouth, let out a contented sigh, and smoothed her cloak. She grabbed her stool and turned to head back to her worktable when barely after a whole step she walked right into something quite solid and promptly fell to the stone floor with a painful 'ooph' as the stool dropped, too, with a loud clatter. She looked up to see what, or in this case, rather, whom she had hit. She caught the startled scream that was threatening to escape her throat at the sight of the obviously annoyed- looking potions master.
"Pro- Professor! What...I--," she stuttered, then abruptly stopped and scrambled to her feet trying desperately to retrieve the stool and papers and still compose herself. Snape looked down at her impatiently as she mumbled a quiet apology and stepped back over to her table, righted the stool and sat down. She measured out the appropriate amounts and began to transfer the powder onto the papers, folding them up nice and tight. Snape stood behind her, a sneer playing on his lips as he watched her like a hawk, knowing it would put her off.
"Excuse me, Professor," she said tightly.
He simply raised an eyebrow at her discomfort and remained standing there staring. 'Oh, please just go away,' she thought to herself exasperatedly. She was washing her tools when she picked them all up and turned, intending to put them away, when she found her way still blocked.
In a strained voice she said, "Do you mind, sir?"
He looked down at her and his sneer simply deepened before he replied, "Not at all, Miss. Granger."
Her jaw tightened as she turned and sidestepped him before she made her way to the shelves. 'The gall of that man!' He followed her silently. She replaced everything and began retrieving the new tools she would need for the Wormwood. He snorted as he watched her and his sneer, surprisingly, turned into a malicious smile. She tried to ignore him as best she could, concentrating on the task at hand. She filled a kettle and placed it on the hook over the fire and stood there for a moment staring at the flames. He came over and she groaned inwardly. 'Why can't he just leave me alone?' He withdrew his wand and she held her breath, watching him intently. 'Oh, no, I've pissed him off. Well, serves him right. He shouldn't be annoying me.' He pointed it at the kettle and muttered, "Cetel Bullire." Instantly, the kettle whistled as the now boiling water began to hiss and spit as it slipped out of the pot and down the side, dropping into the crackling flames. She let out the breath she'd been holding and then shook herself. She grabbed a potholder, removed the kettle and brought it back to her worktable, placing it on the kettle stand that was embedded into the table. He had followed her again.
She looked over her shoulder as she was pulling on her gloves again, and, in a less-tight voice, said, "Thank you, Professor."
She turned back and began to prepare the Wormwood. He nodded, the smile still never leaving his face. She checked her watch. It was just after 6 P.M., the feast started at 7 sharp; she couldn't be late. 'Oh, if only I'd left the Three Broomsticks earlier!' she chided herself.
After about 15 minutes of silence as he continued to stare at her, she sat down with a 'hoof' of a sigh, removed her gloves and let her head drop into her hands as she began to massage her temples. 'Please just go away, I'm not in the mood.'
"Now what could possibly be ailing the Gryffindor know-it-all-- oh, my apologies, Head Girl," he said in a patronizing tone, the smile had vanished and the sneer was back, his black eyes were glittering maliciously.
'Oh, that's it!' She lifted her head and glared at her potions master. "It isn't as if you don't already know, sir," she said tersely.
His face remained neutral. Well, as neutral as it gets for Snape. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss. Granger, but you are mistaken. I do not know what it is that is ailing you. Perhaps you would like to inform me as you are so accustomed to doing," he replied nonplussed. "It's not as if you could refuse, anyway," he added lightly.
"For your information, I have quite a bit to be worrying about. I have classes, homework, studying, N.E.W.Ts! I have Head Girl responsibilities and I have extra-credit assignments. I have very much to be 'ailing' me as you so eloquently phrased it, sir, without you following me around like some deranged stalker. And I need to get these ingredients properly prepared and myself back up to the castle before 7!" She paused to check her watch. "As it happens," she continued, "it's been 20 minutes, which means that it's time to remove and strain my Wormwood and stopper it. So, if you'll excuse me, sir!"
With that, she turned her back on him, removed and strained each bag, tossed the used ones, poured the tincture into the two vials and stoppered them. She washed all of her tools, carried them back to their proper places on the shelves, brought her labors to the counter, paid, and stormed out of the tiny shop. She reached Gryffindor Tower at about 6:45. She ran over to the boys' dorm and placed the Asphodel and Wormwood on Neville's night table then dashed back to her room to shower and change. She was still buttoning her sweater on the way down her dorm steps when she noticed that the common room was completely deserted. She then broke into a run out of the portrait hole and down the many stairs when she turned a corner, and, for the second time that night, ran into something solid and fell to the floor. Her rear was really beginning to ache from all the falling down. She looked up then immediately regretted it. She groaned inwardly again and scrambled to her feet.
"Pardon me, Professor," she said tightly, turned, sidestepped him again and continued down the hall, unable to run anymore with him there to witness it.
"Just a moment, Miss. Granger," Snape spat, "I believe you owe me an apology."
"I already apologized, sir," she replied.
"Not for just now. For earlier, in the Apothecary..." he sneered.
"Excuse me? You were the rude one, not me!"
"Sir!" he spat. "And you were the one acting like a child, Miss. Granger..." he said haughtily.
"Me? Me! Acting like a child? Who hovered over me like some deranged st-" she was cut off.
"I suggest that you don't complete that sentence, Miss. Granger," he said, his voice dangerously low, "unless you would like to lose Gryffindor all of their points so early in the year," he sneered.
"You...you..." she stuttered.
"Has that bow-legged fur ball got your tongue, Miss. Granger?" he asked, clearly amused by her inability to speak at the moment.
Hermione was still quite speechless, but obviously, for lack of a better term, pissed off at her professor. He snorted derisively at her, turned, and walked away.
"Prick!"
He froze, turned around and walked right back up to her. At his advance, she backed away right into the wall.
"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you cor-" he began.
"Oh, I think you did, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You evil, conceited bast-" she broke off when she saw his hand raised. His face was even paler than usual. Hers was bright red. "Go ahead," she squeaked once she had found her voice again. "Do it," she whispered. "Show me just how much respect you deserve; how grateful I should be to you for 'teaching me a lesson,' or 'making me a better, stronger person.' Not that you actually consider me a person. Oh, no. No, not the 'insufferable know-it-all,' a 'little girl,' a 'Mudbl-."
She stopped again when she saw his eyes flash. When he made no move, she ducked and walked past him and into the Great Hall where she took her seat next to Ginny and waited for the feast to begin. Harry looked up at her, then seeing her face, frowned.
"Hermione, are you all right? You're all flushed-." He broke off when he saw Snape enter not 10 seconds later. Snape looked over at her and pointedly glared. "Snape!" Harry whispered fiercely. "If he hurt you-."
"No, Harry, he didn't, we just had a discussion." Seeing the unconvinced look on his face she smiled at him, took his hand, gave it a little squeeze, and said, "I'm fine. Really."
He nodded, squeezed back, and then released her hand. He glanced at Ron, nodded assurance and smiled, then turned his attention to Dumbledore who had just stood up at the Head Table.
(Snape's P.O.V.)
"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you cor-" he began.
"Oh, I think you did, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You evil, conceited bast-"
'The little bitch! How dare she insult me?' he thought to himself. She broke off when I raised my hand. 'She's beet-red; no doubt, I'm probably as pale as an albino. God! She's so infuriating!. The outspoken little chit! She thinks she's so intelligent, she has the audacity to stand up to me. Yeah! You know I'm not afraid to slap you, to slap that smug little expression off your face-' He stopped and just stood there for a moment, staring at her, but not really seeing her.
"Go ahead," she squeaked, 'Ha! She's scared, good,' he thought. "Do it," 'She's taunting me, daring me,' he thought. "Show me just how much respect," 'BITCH!' he thought, "you deserve; how grateful I should be to you for 'teaching me a lesson,' or 'making me a better, stronger person.' Not that you actually consider me a person. Oh, no. No, not the 'insufferable know-it-all,' a 'little girl,' a 'Mudbl-."
'God,' he thought, 'this is what she really thinks of me.' And then, right at that exact moment, that is when it all became clear. 'Everything I've ever said to her, everything I've ever done...I've truly hurt her.' Comprehension flashed in his eyes. But now... 'She hates me. And I deserve it.' He just stood there. Frozen. Transfixed. She ducked out and around him and into the Great Hall. He blinked, she was gone. 'Where did she go, I'm not finished. No, I didn't want to hurt her, but she needs to know that she can't just say things like that and expect no repercussions...' his thoughts trailed off as he rushed into the Great Hall. He spotted her instantly but was interrupted by the Headmaster standing up and drawing the attention of the whole hall.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. The next chapter will be a bit of fun and a bit of fun, but to those not 17 or older, I don't suggest you read it, especially if you are not prepared for sexually explicit Harry/Ron situations.
Hermione wishes she could hit—the Apothecary.
Halloween finally arrived as well as the first Hogsmeade weekend and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny had all decided to go together. They made their way to the Three Broomsticks for some nice hot mugs of butterbeer to warm them up from the rather cool autumn air. It seemed everyone had someone these days. Ginny and Neville were always holding hands under the tables to keep Ron out of the loop while Ron, himself, had become rather close with Harry; always smiling at each other, then looking away quickly. Though neither were likely to admit to their feelings in front of other people, everyone seemed to know already. The only one really 'left out" on it all was Hermione. Not that she minded much anyway. She had far too much work and studying to see to lately. Again, not that Harry and Ron would seriously consider actually making even half as much effort as she does. This is their seventh and final year. This year's grades could determine so much about their futures.
She began to tap her fingers on the tabletop. Her tapping seemed to fade somewhat then pick back up and then fade again periodically while her eyes went slightly out of focus and glazed over as they usually did when she was in deep thought. She sighed exasperatedly then and nearly everyone at the little table jumped. There was a splattering of clearing of throats while she blinked and seemed to rejoin the here and now of things. She downed the rest of her butterbeer, stood up, and swung her cloak on.
"I'll be back in a bit, I need to run to the Apothecary," she said, fastening the hooks of her cloak about her. There was a collective murmuring as everyone seemed quite content where they were seated and with whom. Hermione nodded and walked away. When she reached the door, she looked back and smiled at the small group before turning and walking out into the crisp afternoon, heading up the crowded street to the quiet, musty and nearly empty shop of the Apothecary. She greeted the owner at the counter and presented her list to the short man with rather large spectacles. He looked down at the list first, his eyes widened slightly, then he looked up at her and smiled kindly before nodding his approval, returning her list, and waving her on. She decided to start with the more difficult one. She would undoubtedly be there for quite some time; probably only just making it back to the castle for the feast.
She grabbed all of the tools she would need to procure the powdered Root of Asphodel. When she had finished the grinding process she had nearly twice as much as she would usually need for class. 'Might as well get some for Neville, busy as he is and whatnot,' she thought to herself. She stood and walked back over to the shelf searching for the right sized leaves of paper used to make little carrying envelopes for the powdered root for Neville and herself. She stood on her tiptoes trying to see the higher up shelves without any luck. She grabbed her stool, placed it in front of the shelving unit, paused to look around first, then carefully climbed up and grabbed the appropriate papers she had sought.
She placed the papers between her lips then carefully climbed back down. She took the papers out of her mouth, let out a contented sigh, and smoothed her cloak. She grabbed her stool and turned to head back to her worktable when barely after a whole step she walked right into something quite solid and promptly fell to the stone floor with a painful 'ooph' as the stool dropped, too, with a loud clatter. She looked up to see what, or in this case, rather, whom she had hit. She caught the startled scream that was threatening to escape her throat at the sight of the obviously annoyed- looking potions master.
"Pro- Professor! What...I--," she stuttered, then abruptly stopped and scrambled to her feet trying desperately to retrieve the stool and papers and still compose herself. Snape looked down at her impatiently as she mumbled a quiet apology and stepped back over to her table, righted the stool and sat down. She measured out the appropriate amounts and began to transfer the powder onto the papers, folding them up nice and tight. Snape stood behind her, a sneer playing on his lips as he watched her like a hawk, knowing it would put her off.
"Excuse me, Professor," she said tightly.
He simply raised an eyebrow at her discomfort and remained standing there staring. 'Oh, please just go away,' she thought to herself exasperatedly. She was washing her tools when she picked them all up and turned, intending to put them away, when she found her way still blocked.
In a strained voice she said, "Do you mind, sir?"
He looked down at her and his sneer simply deepened before he replied, "Not at all, Miss. Granger."
Her jaw tightened as she turned and sidestepped him before she made her way to the shelves. 'The gall of that man!' He followed her silently. She replaced everything and began retrieving the new tools she would need for the Wormwood. He snorted as he watched her and his sneer, surprisingly, turned into a malicious smile. She tried to ignore him as best she could, concentrating on the task at hand. She filled a kettle and placed it on the hook over the fire and stood there for a moment staring at the flames. He came over and she groaned inwardly. 'Why can't he just leave me alone?' He withdrew his wand and she held her breath, watching him intently. 'Oh, no, I've pissed him off. Well, serves him right. He shouldn't be annoying me.' He pointed it at the kettle and muttered, "Cetel Bullire." Instantly, the kettle whistled as the now boiling water began to hiss and spit as it slipped out of the pot and down the side, dropping into the crackling flames. She let out the breath she'd been holding and then shook herself. She grabbed a potholder, removed the kettle and brought it back to her worktable, placing it on the kettle stand that was embedded into the table. He had followed her again.
She looked over her shoulder as she was pulling on her gloves again, and, in a less-tight voice, said, "Thank you, Professor."
She turned back and began to prepare the Wormwood. He nodded, the smile still never leaving his face. She checked her watch. It was just after 6 P.M., the feast started at 7 sharp; she couldn't be late. 'Oh, if only I'd left the Three Broomsticks earlier!' she chided herself.
After about 15 minutes of silence as he continued to stare at her, she sat down with a 'hoof' of a sigh, removed her gloves and let her head drop into her hands as she began to massage her temples. 'Please just go away, I'm not in the mood.'
"Now what could possibly be ailing the Gryffindor know-it-all-- oh, my apologies, Head Girl," he said in a patronizing tone, the smile had vanished and the sneer was back, his black eyes were glittering maliciously.
'Oh, that's it!' She lifted her head and glared at her potions master. "It isn't as if you don't already know, sir," she said tersely.
His face remained neutral. Well, as neutral as it gets for Snape. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss. Granger, but you are mistaken. I do not know what it is that is ailing you. Perhaps you would like to inform me as you are so accustomed to doing," he replied nonplussed. "It's not as if you could refuse, anyway," he added lightly.
"For your information, I have quite a bit to be worrying about. I have classes, homework, studying, N.E.W.Ts! I have Head Girl responsibilities and I have extra-credit assignments. I have very much to be 'ailing' me as you so eloquently phrased it, sir, without you following me around like some deranged stalker. And I need to get these ingredients properly prepared and myself back up to the castle before 7!" She paused to check her watch. "As it happens," she continued, "it's been 20 minutes, which means that it's time to remove and strain my Wormwood and stopper it. So, if you'll excuse me, sir!"
With that, she turned her back on him, removed and strained each bag, tossed the used ones, poured the tincture into the two vials and stoppered them. She washed all of her tools, carried them back to their proper places on the shelves, brought her labors to the counter, paid, and stormed out of the tiny shop. She reached Gryffindor Tower at about 6:45. She ran over to the boys' dorm and placed the Asphodel and Wormwood on Neville's night table then dashed back to her room to shower and change. She was still buttoning her sweater on the way down her dorm steps when she noticed that the common room was completely deserted. She then broke into a run out of the portrait hole and down the many stairs when she turned a corner, and, for the second time that night, ran into something solid and fell to the floor. Her rear was really beginning to ache from all the falling down. She looked up then immediately regretted it. She groaned inwardly again and scrambled to her feet.
"Pardon me, Professor," she said tightly, turned, sidestepped him again and continued down the hall, unable to run anymore with him there to witness it.
"Just a moment, Miss. Granger," Snape spat, "I believe you owe me an apology."
"I already apologized, sir," she replied.
"Not for just now. For earlier, in the Apothecary..." he sneered.
"Excuse me? You were the rude one, not me!"
"Sir!" he spat. "And you were the one acting like a child, Miss. Granger..." he said haughtily.
"Me? Me! Acting like a child? Who hovered over me like some deranged st-" she was cut off.
"I suggest that you don't complete that sentence, Miss. Granger," he said, his voice dangerously low, "unless you would like to lose Gryffindor all of their points so early in the year," he sneered.
"You...you..." she stuttered.
"Has that bow-legged fur ball got your tongue, Miss. Granger?" he asked, clearly amused by her inability to speak at the moment.
Hermione was still quite speechless, but obviously, for lack of a better term, pissed off at her professor. He snorted derisively at her, turned, and walked away.
"Prick!"
He froze, turned around and walked right back up to her. At his advance, she backed away right into the wall.
"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you cor-" he began.
"Oh, I think you did, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You evil, conceited bast-" she broke off when she saw his hand raised. His face was even paler than usual. Hers was bright red. "Go ahead," she squeaked once she had found her voice again. "Do it," she whispered. "Show me just how much respect you deserve; how grateful I should be to you for 'teaching me a lesson,' or 'making me a better, stronger person.' Not that you actually consider me a person. Oh, no. No, not the 'insufferable know-it-all,' a 'little girl,' a 'Mudbl-."
She stopped again when she saw his eyes flash. When he made no move, she ducked and walked past him and into the Great Hall where she took her seat next to Ginny and waited for the feast to begin. Harry looked up at her, then seeing her face, frowned.
"Hermione, are you all right? You're all flushed-." He broke off when he saw Snape enter not 10 seconds later. Snape looked over at her and pointedly glared. "Snape!" Harry whispered fiercely. "If he hurt you-."
"No, Harry, he didn't, we just had a discussion." Seeing the unconvinced look on his face she smiled at him, took his hand, gave it a little squeeze, and said, "I'm fine. Really."
He nodded, squeezed back, and then released her hand. He glanced at Ron, nodded assurance and smiled, then turned his attention to Dumbledore who had just stood up at the Head Table.
(Snape's P.O.V.)
"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you cor-" he began.
"Oh, I think you did, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You evil, conceited bast-"
'The little bitch! How dare she insult me?' he thought to himself. She broke off when I raised my hand. 'She's beet-red; no doubt, I'm probably as pale as an albino. God! She's so infuriating!. The outspoken little chit! She thinks she's so intelligent, she has the audacity to stand up to me. Yeah! You know I'm not afraid to slap you, to slap that smug little expression off your face-' He stopped and just stood there for a moment, staring at her, but not really seeing her.
"Go ahead," she squeaked, 'Ha! She's scared, good,' he thought. "Do it," 'She's taunting me, daring me,' he thought. "Show me just how much respect," 'BITCH!' he thought, "you deserve; how grateful I should be to you for 'teaching me a lesson,' or 'making me a better, stronger person.' Not that you actually consider me a person. Oh, no. No, not the 'insufferable know-it-all,' a 'little girl,' a 'Mudbl-."
'God,' he thought, 'this is what she really thinks of me.' And then, right at that exact moment, that is when it all became clear. 'Everything I've ever said to her, everything I've ever done...I've truly hurt her.' Comprehension flashed in his eyes. But now... 'She hates me. And I deserve it.' He just stood there. Frozen. Transfixed. She ducked out and around him and into the Great Hall. He blinked, she was gone. 'Where did she go, I'm not finished. No, I didn't want to hurt her, but she needs to know that she can't just say things like that and expect no repercussions...' his thoughts trailed off as he rushed into the Great Hall. He spotted her instantly but was interrupted by the Headmaster standing up and drawing the attention of the whole hall.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. The next chapter will be a bit of fun and a bit of fun, but to those not 17 or older, I don't suggest you read it, especially if you are not prepared for sexually explicit Harry/Ron situations.