The summer holidays, for Severus Snape, at least, were dull and monotonous. He'd kept his resolution so far of staying as far as possible from all human contact. With the exception of his job, of course. After all, he reminded himself, when dealing with Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, some allowances must be made.
On one such venture into the outside world, he found himself knocking on the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Daily Prophet in hand- only to find the door answered by a certain bushy-haired know-it-all that had haunted his dreams all summer.
It was situations like these, Snape thought irritably, that really made him reconsider ever leaving his dungeons.
"Professor Snape?"
Just think, Severus, he told himself, one last year with that insufferable chit and it will all be over.
"Well done, Miss Granger," Snape said smoothly, "I see my six hard years of teaching you has finally paid off, and you've succeeded in learning my name. Now, if you could move out of the way, I may even be able to teach you how to shut the door."
The look she gave him was all but friendly, but the wretched girl moved nonetheless, shutting the door behind him.
"What brings you here, Professor?"
Snape sneered at her in the dim light of the hallway. Either the girl was trying to make pleasant conversation, or she was trying to gain information from him. To her disadvantage, Snape was in no mood for the former or the latter.
"Nothing of your concern, Miss Granger, I bid you good day. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the kitchen."
Snape's tone was tense and impatient, but Hermione did not miss the nasty, snide edge that was so commonly prominent in all conversations with the man. Honestly, she thought, as he swept past her, his cloak billowing behind him.
Perhaps she'd imagined it, but Hermione could have sworn there was a dried bloodstain on the hem of his cloak.
- - - - - - -
Laying awake in bed that night, Hermione's mind was a tangled jumble of thoughts. She tried- in vain- to sort them out properly- perhaps even figure out her emotions concerning a certain Ronald Weasley- but the darkness only complicated things as she knew she should be asleep.
After many long hours of thinking in circles and accomplishing nothing, Hermione accepted defeat and gave in to exhaustion.
- - - - - - -
A/N: Thanks to my two reviewers! I know this is starting out slow, but I'll get there, I promise.
On one such venture into the outside world, he found himself knocking on the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Daily Prophet in hand- only to find the door answered by a certain bushy-haired know-it-all that had haunted his dreams all summer.
It was situations like these, Snape thought irritably, that really made him reconsider ever leaving his dungeons.
"Professor Snape?"
Just think, Severus, he told himself, one last year with that insufferable chit and it will all be over.
"Well done, Miss Granger," Snape said smoothly, "I see my six hard years of teaching you has finally paid off, and you've succeeded in learning my name. Now, if you could move out of the way, I may even be able to teach you how to shut the door."
The look she gave him was all but friendly, but the wretched girl moved nonetheless, shutting the door behind him.
"What brings you here, Professor?"
Snape sneered at her in the dim light of the hallway. Either the girl was trying to make pleasant conversation, or she was trying to gain information from him. To her disadvantage, Snape was in no mood for the former or the latter.
"Nothing of your concern, Miss Granger, I bid you good day. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the kitchen."
Snape's tone was tense and impatient, but Hermione did not miss the nasty, snide edge that was so commonly prominent in all conversations with the man. Honestly, she thought, as he swept past her, his cloak billowing behind him.
Perhaps she'd imagined it, but Hermione could have sworn there was a dried bloodstain on the hem of his cloak.
- - - - - - -
Laying awake in bed that night, Hermione's mind was a tangled jumble of thoughts. She tried- in vain- to sort them out properly- perhaps even figure out her emotions concerning a certain Ronald Weasley- but the darkness only complicated things as she knew she should be asleep.
After many long hours of thinking in circles and accomplishing nothing, Hermione accepted defeat and gave in to exhaustion.
- - - - - - -
A/N: Thanks to my two reviewers! I know this is starting out slow, but I'll get there, I promise.