THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
By: Scatterheart
A long time ago in a campus far, far away…Section Six
Hermione could not recall a time when she had been more nervous than she was now. She had broken out into perspiration; her palms were damp and hot. Her brain swelled inside her head and throbbed to the painful rushes of blood that came with each incessant heartbeat. Could he hear them, she wondered in dread. Could he see the wholly unwanted effect he was so effortlessly causing her by simply standing there?
"Well?" He was analyzing her expectantly, clinically, like a judge at a contest waiting to brand his scathing marks to every imperfection his brown-green irises reflected. "How will you explain yourself, Miss Granger?"
"I can't," Hermione helplessly confessed in a shivering exhale.
"Oh? Shall I confiscate more points from your house, then?" He folded his arms in front of his body, and tapped his finger in a quick rhythm on his bicep.
Yes, he most definitely could hear her heartbeat. And he was mocking her.
Hermione clenched her teeth. "I don't think it's fair for you to assign the whole class extra work for… what I did."
"I see you've finally decided to claim responsibility for your actions," Snape replied. "But unfortunately I will not change my decision. If you are having trouble with your homework, please consult the library or set up an appointment with me during my office hours next week."
"I'm sorry if I came at a bad time."
"No you're not."
"Well, my friends need help on their work, Professor."
"You've caused their problem, not me."
"Professor Snape," Hermione countered, "I thought professors were supposed to help their students, not purposely impede them from their learning." And she felt another swell of panic sweep over her as she realized she had just verbally delivered him a slap to the face.
Professor Snape was silent. One corner of his mouth twitched as he stared at her, and Hermione braced herself for the upcoming tirade. But Snape only said, "Professors are also supposed to teach discipline when students misbehave. And you have broken four or five rules in class today, Miss Granger."
"Just what did I do today that deserves a whole class of students flunking two chapters' worth of work?"
"You should know that yourself," Snape answered.
Of course she knew. She blushed, but forced herself not to flinch. "I laughed."
"And inappropriately disrupted class."
"So did Draco!"
Snape sighed. "Do not put the blame on others while we are still discussing the topic of you. And, if you must know, Mr. Malfoy has been justly rewarded. He will be serving thirty minutes of detention with me tomorrow afternoon."
"Why am I not serving detention? Why do I have all of this on me?"
"It will teach others not to follow in your – prolific – footsteps, Miss Granger. No – do not frown at me like that. You know you have disrupted my class more often than anyone else, combined. Must I elaborate this to you in any clearer terms, or can I trust you to think it out yourself?"
"I was just trying to help!"
"By laughing," he deadpanned.
"No, before that!" Hermione said. Her cheeks were practically on fire now, and she knew for a fact that he could see their intense crimson shade. This was the longest time in her history at Hogwarts that she had ever talked to the Professor, and a niggling, creeping suspicion told her that this was the longest time a student had ever held her ground in his presence without fleeing. But she couldn't stop. Couldn't stop.
"When I was helping Neville," Hermione said, "sometimes – most times – Neville just doesn't get it and I need to explain stuff to him. Maybe this disrupts some people, but if—"
"And you take it upon yourself to correct this?"
"I'm only trying—"
"You're not the teacher, Granger."
"—I know—"
"Nor a martyr." He continued in a hard tone: "And neither should you be using my class as a means of gaining personal glory or forging friendships. Do you understand?"
Personal glory. Forging friendships.
Something thumped painfully in the pit of her stomach, like a hammer striking a nail squarely on the head and driving it in deep. Stars seared her vision, and an unexpected sensation overtook her. Tears.
Tears, stinging her eyes and nose.
Oh, for Merlin's sake…!
She was not going to cry in front of Severus Snape!
She looked around her instead at the small, tidy room brimming with bookshelves and parchment and leather bound volumes; anything to keep the tears from spilling.
She was not going to cry.
Insufferable bastard, that's what he was. What had she been expecting? An angel? A savior? No, Professor Snape was an insufferable, miserable bastard, like he always had been and always would be.
She was not going to cry.
"So will you give me the lesson plans or not?" she said, loudly.
"I am not."
Hermione abandoned all sense of control. "Then suit yourself, Professor!"
"I forbid you to use that attitude with me, Miss Granger!" he snarled.
But she was already gone with a deafening smash of the door.
In the reverberating wake that followed, Severus Snape closed his eyes and dared not to breathe. What had just happened? She had come, she had conjured fire, and she had vanished like a ghost in the night.
Hermione, he thought disjointedly, as if he were suspended in that ephemeral moment between sleep and awakening. Princess Hermione, daughter of Helen and Menelaus. Daughter of the most beautiful woman in the world, and the king of warring Sparta. What else did the legends say about her? The bits and pieces of ancient Muggle history had long escaped him, but he recognized the recipe for chaos when he saw one.
Beauty and war.
He had seen the tears trembling on her lashes, glowing like enchanted jewels.
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Activity you could have been doing other than reading this fic: swimming in fantasies about Alan Rickman. Thank you for your sacrifice.
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