Chapter 8: Troubled Beginnings

As soon as Professor McGonagall had taken her indignant leave of the Gryffindor table, Pavarti and Lavender swooped down on Hermione with the voraciousness of two ravenous owls racing for a mouse.

Harry and Ron, demonstrating surprising presence of mind, simply leapt up and ran for it. Hermione escaped three minutes later, staggering out of the Great Hall with Lavender's piercing shriek of "Oh my god, Hermione. Tell me that Ron Weasley didn't just kiss you!" ringing in her ears like a relentless mosquito.

So intense was her irritation, she was within two feet of Snape's door before it occurred to her that she hadn't formulated any sort of plan of attack.

Hah!

What?

Plan of attack? Plan of defence more like.

Well any sort of plan, whatever its designation.

Ugh. Come on. Grow yourself some backbone. Snape would probably appreciate it.

Are you insane? You could call it Sycophant house instead of Slytherin and no one would notice.

And how many of them do you think he respects?

Have you seen how he treats Malfoy?

Don't tell me you're actually falling for that.

It's not an act. He's got the highest marks in our year.

Minutiae, my dear Hermi-

"Miss Granger. Early. How blatantly penitent of you."

Oh Jesus Christ.

"And silent. Dear me, this is an improvement."

Rot in hell.

You're not going to come up with any sort of plan if you let him get to you like that.

Snape seemed to have materialised – in full loom – before the doorway to his office. Hermione swallowed with difficulty, assumed an expression of absolute solemnity, and expelled the first excuse that came to mind. "I didn't want you to have to waste class time…"

"So you thought you'd waste mine instead?"

If he's not careful, his lip is going to get stuck in that curl.

Hermione suppressed any number of urges, each as unwise as it was violent. "Whichever would be least inconvenient, sir."

He sneered and then turned into his office without a backwards glance. "Come in, Miss Granger."

The door slammed automatically shut behind her with the force and sound of a small explosion. She started, in spite of herself, and saw a spasm of irritation flare across his features.

God! I can't do anything right.

Of course you can't. You're a Gryffindor – through and through.

It's not fair. Teachers aren't supposed to succumb to favouritism.

You know that's not what I meant.

Snape descended into the chair behind his desk, leaving her to hover awkwardly by the doorway, shelves of slime and dead things in jars hanging over her.

He could at least have a chair.

For who? The Bloody Baron, or Filch?

You have a point…

"Your punishment, Miss Granger, will be composed of menial potions work." His tone implied a conviction that anything beyond the slicing of roots was beyond her. "You will report to the dungeons every weekday from seven until nine o'clock."

A jolt of sheer distress slashed through her body.

Damn… that's harsh…

Harsh?! That's ten hours gone from every week.

You're going to have to cut back on sleep to get everything done…

This is ridiculous. He can't be allowed!

Going to run to Dumbledore again?

She stared at Snape for a long moment, unmoving, before she inclined her head stiffly. "I'll see you this evening, then, sir."

My god, your tone was calm and everything.

Look at him. He's waiting for me to break down. Well I won't.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You will see me for this morning's class. Go and get out your things."

She turned towards the door, teeth clenched, before he finished his sentence, and didn't bother to close it behind her.

It, apparently, only slammed for him.

"I'll kill him."

Ron's vehement hiss, thankfully, didn't carry over the shrieks emanating from the overly sentient plant that was writhing in front her an hour later. Harry looked ready to abandon their second period Herbology class, march into the castle, and launch a full-fledged attack on the dungeons.

"Ron, for heaven's sake."

"But it's not fair, Hermione. You actually use that time to study."

She sighed, absent-mindedly preventing one of the plant's tentacles from removing Harry's hand with a flick of her wand. "Careful, Harry, and… I'll find a way to work around the time loss. Don't worry about it."

Harry frowned in her direction and, after a moment, seemed to deflate.

Ron frowned in her direction and, after a moment, kicked the table, making the entire crop of plants sway ominously and casting the entire class into momentary throes of panic. "Well… if you need anything, Hermione – anything at all – I'll help." He scowled mutinously. "And I'm telling Ginny to give him hell after lunch."

Harry, seemingly taken aback at Ron's utter confidence in Ginny's troublemaking abilities, frowned slightly in his direction.

Hermione's didn't bother to hide her smile, which was at least as amused as the one Ron was attempting to conceal. She met his eyes briefly, chuckled softly, and grabbed a spade to start digging.

Ron, impulsively, snatched her hand back while Harry put on gloves and moved to restrain the tentacles.

"Ron! What…"

"Hermione… I'm really sorry… if you hadn't been trying to teach us advanced potions… well…"

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Ron."

He squeezed back, kissed her cheek quickly, and then turned to select a trowel from a nearby table.

Harry caught her eyes and grinned. "That seemed to help."

Hermione flushed. "Help with what, Harry?"

"The bad mood that's been hanging over you since you surfaced from the dungeons."

"Yes… well… it wasn't that bad a class…"

"Hermione, Snape had to have been in a bad mood, and you're the only Gryffindor in advanced potions."

She smiled. "Not for long."

"I'll walk you down…"

She rolled her eyes, smiling involuntarily. "Ron, I know where the Potions classroom is."

Ron scowled up at the Great Hall's ceiling, ignoring his dinner. "Yeah, well, he's probably going to make you work in the deepest, most unpleasant dungeon there is."

Harry looked up from mashed potatoes, muttered, "Wouldn't put it past him," and returned to his food with vigour.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Don't bother, Ron." She glanced up at the sun, which was setting across the rafters. "I'd better be off."

Uh, Hermione…

What?

Look at Ron you idiot.

Oh for the love of… what's he upset about now?

You just implied that you don't want to spend every minute of every day in his company.

But I don't! That's crazy!

That's the first week of a normal hormonal relationship.

But…

Just fix it.

Hermione, about to stand, paused, and turned back to Ron with, what she hoped was, an endearing smile on her face. "I'll see you in the common room after I'm done?"

Ron shoved his fork – rather violently – into a pea, which was rocketed across the table and into Neville's left eye. "OW! Hey!"

"You'll have homework, won't you?"

Hermione suppressed a surge of irritation and placed her hand on Ron's shoulder. "It won't take too long."

He looked up at her a little vulnerably. "You sure?"

Oh…

Heh… it's like the male version of puppy eyes, isn't it?

Hermione smiled – completely unconsciously – and leant forward to kiss him for a moment or two.

Or three.

Ron grinned at her, a little sheepishly and jovially speared a potato onto his fork – with less projectile results. "Well, I'll see you in a few hours then."

Harry snorted into his pudding.

Hermione smiled to herself as she exited to the hall, ignoring any number of glances in her direction.

That was rather well done.

I'm glad McGonagall wasn't watching. I don't need the whole school to hear her reprimand me.

The whole school probably already knows.

What?!

Oh, please. Pavarti and Lavender will have told everyone. And even if they haven't, a large portion of the student body has been waiting for you to date one of them for years.

One of who?!

Harry or Ron, obviously.

Harry?! Ew!

I know. But the three of you are so close… it looks different from the outside.

God. Well I'm glad that got cleared up.

That kiss probably cost people a few sickles.

Don't be ridiculous.

So why didn't you want Ron to walk you down?

Because it's an inane practise. I'm perfectly capable of walking without the aid of my significant other.

MmmHmm…

"Miss Granger. Were you planning on hovering outside the doorway for the entirety of the two hours?"

Hermione's heart made a mad dive for the region of her stomach, and she jerked herself into the classroom, trying to convince herself that there was no way Snape could see through walls.

"No, sir, I…"

He didn't even look up from his work. "You will label the bottles containing black liquid as 'Leech Juice' and the amber, 'Essence of Belladonna.'"

She stared at him. Snape slashed at an assignment with his pen before addressing her as though English were her fifth language. "Miss Granger, the bottles, quill, and labels are on the table to your right."

Hermione inhaled deliberately and moved over without a word, suppressing a fierce swell of disappointment.

What, you thought he'd use you for something constructive? Challenge your obviously superior intelligence?

I thought maybe… he has to favour the Slytherins in class. He's a double agent for the Order but… no one's watching now.

Putting you to actual work would involve interaction. Maybe he really does hate you.

What?!

Teachers aren't allowed to hate you? You think they're required to like every student who passes through their classroom? Have you seen the colour McGonagall's skin turns when she discusses Malfoy? Is she allowed to hate students like Malfoy, while Snape's not allowed to hate students like you?

But… it's Malfoy! He's…

Different? Not as smart as you? Maybe Snape isn't impressed by educational devotion and a ready ability to memorise textbooks. He's only obliged to teach you – not to like you. You've already got every other professor – with the notable exception of Trelawney – wrapped round your little finger. If he doesn't value the qualities that you think are important, why do you need him there too?

I…

This is a detention, Hermione. A punishment. You're not supposed to be enjoying yourself – and he knows exactly how to put you through hell. It's working, in case you hadn't noticed.

Hermione slid listlessly onto the bench behind the table and drew the labels and a quill slowly towards her, swallowing with illogical difficulty.

From the author: I am a terrible, terrible person. The next time I promise to update frequently, please take into account the fact that I am a pathological liar, and that – in all likelihood – I will proceed to abandon this story for another two or three months.

That being said, I will try and have the next chapter ready within a month. Actually. I swear to god.

Really.

Dead Lenore (a Poe fan? I love that poem): I actually only read your review about a week and a half ago, while I was studying for my lit exam. Aside from containing some of the nicest things that anyone has ever said to me, it also provoked me to stop reading Heart of Darkness and write this chapter. Never has procrastination felt so right. Thank you so much. Please, feel free to embarrass yourself in my presence again – whenever you feel the need to. Really. I'm sorry if you had to wish for a tad longer than you might have hoped; the next chapter will arrive sooner, I promise.

Dara Trahan: I also didn't get your e-mail until about a week and a half ago. I really need to start checking it more often. I actually spent a lot of time developing my disclaimer. When I tell people that I write fan fiction, their response generally alternates between condescension and blatant mockery. I think that this genre can amount to more than its reputation allows it to. Thanks so much for your e-mail.