The Potions lesson passed successfully, if not easily. Hermione fumbled around, almost drawing a deduction of house points (and a retort that she didn't go to Hogwarts anymore), when she knocked a jar of black widow legs off the tabletop. She swooped and caught it just before it hit the floor, in an act that she had to praise herself for - she was never known for her spectacular saves. That was a Keeper's job, not a student's.
"I would insult your clumsiness if I didn't need to ask for your advice," Snape commented with raised eyebrows as she set the jar back on the table, face burning.
"I would insult your need for my advice if I wasn't inclined to clumsiness," she smartly replied, diving back into her Potions work as if she hadn't said anything at all. He took the comment with silence that lasted the rest of the lesson, though she couldn't help but notice that the air in the chilly lab was thick with satisfaction and, dare she guess, slight amusement.
After a light lunch (which was actually edible, for once. Beatrice must have been removed from the kitchen), they moved to a parlor after the dining room, with cups of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Hermione sat stiffly on a giant cushion, staring wide-eyed at her steaming tea. She felt somewhat glazed over, like she had had too much to eat and was ready to lay down for a nap. But the blood racing through her wrists and collecting in her face kept her hot and awake.
Snape looked just as uncomfortable as she, except considerably paler. A nibbled-on chocolate biscuit sat on his knee, and Hermione couldn't help but worry idly that it would stain his woolen trousers a suspicious brown.
"Well," he said finally, pushing the plate across the table toward her. She stared at the biscuits, suddenly becoming self-conscious; she could hear Parvati's voice in her ear, whispering that her thighs had already taken enough of a toll from the puddings at school. She just shook her head and looked up for him to continue. "Do you have any introduction for me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, taking another bite from his biscuit and making Hermione's mouth water. They looked delicious. "A class outline or a marking policy? Are there any rules for which I can be reprimanded?"
Either Snape had an odd, ironic sense of humor, or he was just trying to bother her. She was quite certain that he didn't have an odd, ironic sense of humor, at least when it came to her, and settled that he was trying, and succeeding, to push her buttons.
"It's all for your own sake," she said with a slight sigh, leaning back in the couch and crossing her ankles. "The only rules are the ones that you make for yourself. I suppose it's the least I can do for you tutoring me for free."
"Whoever said that I was doing it for free?" he asked, a bit too seriously. "I thought that these certain lessons were proper compensation for you butting in to my personal life."
She only glared at him, and he smirked at her cruelly, daring her to say something. She could only sit there, a sour expression across her face, masking the curiosity of wanting to see him relax. The only times she had seen him sitting before were at tables or at desks. How did he sit on a couch? Would he completely relax, his legs apart, like her father did as he sat at the telly with a beer resting on the slope of his stomach? Hermione doubted it; he was too refined and too well raised. She entertained the notion that he would cross his legs like a girl, but she suppressed a giggle and decided that she would have to wait and see the little insight into his character.
He finished his biscuit as Hermione set her stony gaze on him, set his tea down, and sat in a position with his legs slightly apart, bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin propped up on his palm. She found the position utterly…Snape-like, for lack of a better description.
"I'm waiting."
She snapped back to attention, realizing that she was staring. She managed to stifle a yawn as she said, "F-for what, exactly?"
"For my lesson to begin," he stated, his voice grating as he launched into something he obviously did not want to say. "On how to attract a woman. And I'd prefer if you kept these conversations between us secret? I would be rather angry to find out that Weasley has learned anything about my personal life, especially as it could have a direct effect on your percentage in Potions."
"I hadn't even thought of it," she lied.
"Yes, you have," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Honestly, Miss Granger, for being somewhat intelligent you are an atrocious liar. Though…I suppose that is my comeuppance for teaching a Gryffindor."
She very nearly blushed as the compliment in disguise, but decided to move on to a proper…if such a word was appropriate…subject. "Professor, I'm not quite sure what to tell you."
"Well," he posed, beginning to sound bored himself. "You are a woman, are you not?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Women are not known for being particularly quiet. If I remain silent, you're bound to talk eventually."
She couldn't help but scoff. "Well, you seem to already know so much about women. What on earth am I doing here? You already have Beatrice anyway…"
"Miss Granger," he said, his tone threatening, as she was about to get to her feet, babbling nervously. "I was serious in my request. Please remain seated."
She sighed and collapsed back on to the couch from her suspended position, while he grumbled his disapproval at the mistreatment of his furniture. Particles of cloth and dust flew into the air, and Hermione smelled the bitter leavings of what must have once been red wine. The room was painfully dull, with dressings in gray and muted browns and greens. They looked like they might have been vibrant once, hundreds of years ago, when she, as a Muggleborn, wouldn't even be allowed into a Pureblood's parlor. A few oddly matched bookshelves had been crammed into the corner, and their contents, like those in Snape's private study, also proved to be greatly disappointing.
"Well," she said finally, fixing her eyes on the light brown stain on the knee of Snape's trousers. "I suppose I can start off with the basics."
He lifted a black eyebrow in speculation. "Basics. And those would be…"
"Erm…behavior, manner of speaking," she shot an innocent, unassuming look at Snape's lank hair, "Hygiene. It's not that difficult, even an idiot could figure those things out."
"Then, pray," he leaned forward more, his voice taking on an almost dangerous quality. His black eyes were disturbingly entrancing. "Enlighten an idiot."
"Well, most women don't usually like being told that they're stupid," she said nervously, knowing he wasn't going to take this very well at all. "And chivalry is something that's rare nowadays, so if you open a door for her, or carry her things, or pay for her dinner…" He looked mildly amused. "You will make her quite impressed."
"You say 'most women'," he said plainly, taking a sip of his tea. "Not all?"
"Not all women are the same," she answered, trying to avoid rolling her eyes. "That would be like saying that you have the same exact interests as Harry Potter. Though I'd never think that you were one for short, rambunctious red-heads."
"Thank you for assuming correctly," he said, frowning.
Hermione let out another sigh and sat back in the couch, clutching the teacup between her hands. "I really hope you know that I am not the best person to consult regarding these manners."
He looked uninterested, but asked anyway, "And why ever not?"
"Erm..." Something pulled at the corner of Hermione's lips. "The thing is…I don't really like men."
His eyes grew wide and he managed to stutter out, in a very un-Snape-like manner, "W-what?"
She bit back the impulse to laugh at his reaction. "I was only joking."
He relaxed visibly, glaring at her over the rim of his teacup. "Yes, how funny. And I suppose that hitting a woman isn't acceptable behavior, either?"
Mimicking his tone, she said with a bold smirk, "Thank you for assuming correctly."
"I am not in the mood for cheek."
"You're never in the mood for cheek," Hermione replied glumly, finally deciding to take a biscuit. Screw Parvati. The girl never would gain a pound; and Hermione hoped in annoyance that her eating habits would catch up with her in the future.
His tone was full-on snark, sarcasm, and he sounded incredibly annoyed. "And it seems, yet again, I must teach myself. Do you have any books or, perhaps, magazines that I could borrow?"
Stifling a giggle at the thought of Snape ruffling through the August issue of Teen Witch Weekly, she regained her composure and answered, very straight-faced. "No, I can do this. I just need some prompting, that's all."
"Fine." She knew he hated asking questions, almost as much as he hated answering them. He hated being on the receiving end of a lecture or an answer…it proclaimed ignorance. "What is usually found attractive? Physically, I mean."
"It really depends on the person," Hermione answered. "Some people have…things."
"Oh, how wonderfully descriptive. Do go on."
She grunted in frustration. "I mean, they are attracted to certain things. Some girls like dark hair, some girls like light hair, some like their men thin, some fit, some larger. It's just a matter of preference. I have a friend back home who's mad for men with big noses." She blushed, realizing how what she had said related to the bemused man sitting across from her.
"Since there are so many different preferences, then," he said plainly in a tone that betrayed his thoughts that this was going nowhere. "Tell me what you find attractive."
"Oh." A warm blush swept across her face. She hadn't been expecting that. "Well…I suppose I have a…broad range. I dated Viktor Krum for a while…" She fumbled to a stop, disbelieving that she was talking about her love life, even lack thereof, with the surly Potions Professor. Especially, as she had noticed on more than one occasion, her ex-boyfriend and the Professor had quite a few physical similarities. She found that fact quite disturbing and disconcerting. "Then there's Ron…he's all right looking, I suppose, though his eyes are kind of far apart…"
"I didn't ask for a list of your conquests, Miss Granger," he said flatly. "I asked what you find attractive."
Oops. "Well, it's just that…I don't know. I can't define what makes a man attractive. He just…is or he isn't. It's the simple fact. Though, Professor Snape, looks aren't everything. You know the sayings, Professor, 'never judge a book by its cover' and rubbish like that."
"I am well aware of that, Miss Granger," he replied with a dismissive tone, setting his teacup on the table and climbing to his feet. "I think that's enough for the day. You are dismissed."
She grabbed another biscuit in a hurry and set her cup beside the Professor's. "I thought I was the teacher," she mumbled as Snape walked toward the door, dark robes and shadow trailing behind him.
He heard her and turned just as she was going to leave. The expression on his face was severe and dangerous, like the expression he always had when there had been an accident during a lab, or when Dumbledore assigned him chaperone duty during a Hogsmeade weekend.
"Well, Miss Granger," he said, stepping backward through the door. "As you said yourself, some things aren't always as they appear."
I have to hand it to him, Hermione admitted as she rushed after him, nibbling veraciously on the biscuit in her hand. He's very good at his exits.
For having given her the idea in the first place, he wasn't handling it very well. Snape's request for media of some kind, anything that could teach him the mysteries of, as he called them, 'the other sort', had led Hermione to her own vast collection of books (all of the ones that she could fit in her trunk, which left very little room for clothing), where she selected what she believed to be one of the greatest romances of all time: Romeo and Juliet.
"This is rubbish," Snape proclaimed as Hermione read aloud the party scene where the doomed lovers made eye contact from across a room and fell instantly in love. "No, this is beyond rubbish."
"It's Shakespeare," Hermione replied hotly, her ears burning. "And I would appreciate it if you could pay the man some respect."
"He's dead!" Snape said, just as annoyed, crossing his arms in frustration across his chest and glaring at her steadily, his black eyes seeming to want to burn holes into the faces on the front of the book. "And frankly, Miss Granger, I don't feel that dead people, if this Shakespeare can even be considered a person (he was undoubtedly Muggle, and a very stupid one at that), really expect our respect. It's not as if they can hear us."
"What if he was a ghost?" replied Hermione dimly, flipping the pages. "And I'm not too sure about Shakespeare being a Muggle…there's something in here about an apothecary and a potion. Perhaps he's one of your ancestors?"
"Never tease about such a thing," he said huffily, like a flustered child. "In fact, never tease at all."
She sighed. It was indeed a Monday, and a particularly sunny one, at that. The sun had finally decided to come out, and what was once snow was now lying in melted puddles through the garden. And here she was, stuck inside, reading passages of Romeo and Juliet to a person she doubted would ever understand the true magic and complexity of love. Or just love as a whole.
"They're teenagers," he said, still in his stony position with his stony gaze. "I doubt that what they have can be called true love. It's obvious that the boy just wanted a good shag-"
"Professor!" protested Hermione in both shock and surprise. She had never expected Snape to use such a word, she hadn't even expected that he'd known what the word "shag" meant. She tried to cover her surprise up by doubling back to her protests of old, when she had demanded respect for the play as a work of a serious playwright. "It's a piece of art!"
"And a seriously under-researched one, at that."
"Well, you just seem to know so much about love, don't you?" Hermione said, snapping the book shut. "I suppose you should be giving me lessons?"
He was becoming exasperated, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. "I'm just wondering if you have anything…what's the word…realistic?"
She did have to coincide, the setting and circumstances were somewhat…out of place for today's Wizarding Britain.
"Well, there's Titanic, but that's not even out on video yet…" Or was it? She couldn't remember. She doubted that a VCR would work here anyway.
"I'm asking for real stories, Miss Granger," he said. "Not some half-baked ideas worked out in a historical background full of sword-fights and anachronisms. Do you, perhaps, have anything that could satisfy me?"
She thought for a second before answering flatly, "No."
Snape walked out of the lesson without so much as a good-bye, leaving Hermione to clutch the poor play to her chest and glare after him.
The lesson had been a disaster, but at least now she knew that the Professor definitely did not believe in love at first sight. That might make things a bit more difficult.
Now, she decided, if she could just get him out of the house, it was time for a field trip.