Perhaps it was the horror-struck expression on Ron's face when she'd told him of her detention, or Fred and George's indignation, but Hermione had a feeling that the dread she was experiencing originated from Snape himself. If she was guessing correctly, the potions professor's patience was even shorter than usual. An incredible feat, she thought, as she hadn't thought it possible.
Hermione smiled grimly, blowing a strand of curled brown hair off her face, and shifted her position on the window seat. She sighed, and paused a moment to enjoy the weather, which had changed drastically since the morning. Clouds had invaded the pristine blue sky, and it was dark and rainy before breakfast was over. Fred and George said it was Snape's fault.
Big, fat raindrops rolled down the windowpane lazily. Hermione felt rather jealous- today, she jumped whenever someone said her name. Ron said she was only nervous. With good reason, Hermione thought. Snape was likely to make her do something terribly nasty in the mood he was in. Perhaps the rain cheered him up. Honestly, the man was rather depressing. As Hermione shut her thick book (Magical Creatures of Ireland, by Finnegan Spryte), she wondered what made him so horrible.
There had to be some reason, Hermione thought. After all, a person isn't horrid from birth. Harry's cousin Dudley was horrible, of course, because his parents spoiled him and made him so. The more she thought about it, the more Hermione became convinced that parentage was an important factor. All the horrid people she knew had been raised that way: Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle... even Tom Riddle himself. Hermione frowned. She also knew some people who'd had evil parents and still turned out nicely. Sirius Black had come from a prestigious pureblood family immersed in the Dark Arts. There must be something else, she told herself.
As she gazed at the rain-streaked windowpane, Hermione felt another pang of sympathy for the potions professor. Ten minutes passed as she became caught up in the gentle sounds of the rain on the window and roof, not thinking about anything in particular. The sky had darkened considerably since dinner...
Hermione jumped up suddenly, book and rain forgotten. She glanced at her watch, and her stomach plummeted. Five minutes to six. In a panic, Hermione stuffed the pillows back in their proper places, dashed out the door, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley and Lupin were there to see her off.
"We were beginning to think you'd forgotten, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, handing Hermione a flowerpot, "I do hope your detention isn't too-"
Lupin, seeing the time on the ancient grandfather clock behind Mrs. Weasley, interrupted.
"Hermione, don't worry," he said, "If Snape is harsh, it's just because he's had a hard week, don't take it personally."
He smiled at Hermione, and although she knew very well Snape meant everything personally, she felt a little better.
"Thank you, sir, good-bye everyone," she said, taking a pinch of powder out of the flowerpot, "I don't know when he'll let me out, but I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. Tell Ron I said good-bye!"
"Good luck, dear!"
Mrs. Weasley smiled, too, and Hermione threw the powder into the fireplace. At once, emerald-green flames sprung up.
"What do I say?"
Hermione looked at Lupin.
"Say his name, and step in. I'm sure his fireplace is connected," Lupin said, "Good luck, Hermione."
Hermione smiled grimly, blowing a strand of curled brown hair off her face, and shifted her position on the window seat. She sighed, and paused a moment to enjoy the weather, which had changed drastically since the morning. Clouds had invaded the pristine blue sky, and it was dark and rainy before breakfast was over. Fred and George said it was Snape's fault.
Big, fat raindrops rolled down the windowpane lazily. Hermione felt rather jealous- today, she jumped whenever someone said her name. Ron said she was only nervous. With good reason, Hermione thought. Snape was likely to make her do something terribly nasty in the mood he was in. Perhaps the rain cheered him up. Honestly, the man was rather depressing. As Hermione shut her thick book (Magical Creatures of Ireland, by Finnegan Spryte), she wondered what made him so horrible.
There had to be some reason, Hermione thought. After all, a person isn't horrid from birth. Harry's cousin Dudley was horrible, of course, because his parents spoiled him and made him so. The more she thought about it, the more Hermione became convinced that parentage was an important factor. All the horrid people she knew had been raised that way: Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle... even Tom Riddle himself. Hermione frowned. She also knew some people who'd had evil parents and still turned out nicely. Sirius Black had come from a prestigious pureblood family immersed in the Dark Arts. There must be something else, she told herself.
As she gazed at the rain-streaked windowpane, Hermione felt another pang of sympathy for the potions professor. Ten minutes passed as she became caught up in the gentle sounds of the rain on the window and roof, not thinking about anything in particular. The sky had darkened considerably since dinner...
Hermione jumped up suddenly, book and rain forgotten. She glanced at her watch, and her stomach plummeted. Five minutes to six. In a panic, Hermione stuffed the pillows back in their proper places, dashed out the door, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley and Lupin were there to see her off.
"We were beginning to think you'd forgotten, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, handing Hermione a flowerpot, "I do hope your detention isn't too-"
Lupin, seeing the time on the ancient grandfather clock behind Mrs. Weasley, interrupted.
"Hermione, don't worry," he said, "If Snape is harsh, it's just because he's had a hard week, don't take it personally."
He smiled at Hermione, and although she knew very well Snape meant everything personally, she felt a little better.
"Thank you, sir, good-bye everyone," she said, taking a pinch of powder out of the flowerpot, "I don't know when he'll let me out, but I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. Tell Ron I said good-bye!"
"Good luck, dear!"
Mrs. Weasley smiled, too, and Hermione threw the powder into the fireplace. At once, emerald-green flames sprung up.
"What do I say?"
Hermione looked at Lupin.
"Say his name, and step in. I'm sure his fireplace is connected," Lupin said, "Good luck, Hermione."