"Ms. Granger, might I remind you that although you may be through with your assignment, other students are not," Professor Severus Snape says with his lip in a slight snarl. "Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class."
With a smirk he walks away from the girl who is currently sinking down in her chair. A dark rouge settles across her cheeks and he takes satisfaction in her embarrassment. It was common knowledge that she was only trying to help a fellow classmate. But the rules are clear.
There is no helping another student in any classroom, especially Severus Snape's. Any student who could not complete a simply potion simply deserved to fail the assignment and in turn, the class.
But Ms. Emilia Granger took after her mother. Not only is she the resident know-it-all of his classroom (and that of his fellow professors), but she took every opportunity to show of her knowledge of potions (and any other subject, for sure).
The only difference between Emilia Granger and Hermione Granger is their looks. Emilia does not have the trademark bushy, brown hair that over time grew longer, straighter, and curled slightly at the ends. But the Ms. Granger's hair has resembled the same characteristics of Potter's. Black and straight. Except for slight curl resting at the end of her hair, her hair is Potter through and through.
Maybe Ms. Granger finally allowed Potter to date her after their graduation. Not that that matters to him.
Although Potter's wife Elizabeth might care seeing that they are having such a hard time having their own children.
Pity. His mouth contorts into a smirk. The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Save-The-World has become The-Boy-Who-Can-Not-Get-It-Up.
A quick glance up from his marking causes rage to fill his body once more. Ms. Granger is helping her fellow Gryffindor once more.
"Ms. Granger, am I not speaking English or can you just not understand me?" Her head whips around and her black eyes met his. "Answer the question Ms. Granger!" He bellows and she meekly responds to him.
"I understand, sir."
"Twenty points for Gryffindor for helping another student and detention after dinner. Seven o'clock. I should hope you enjoy cleaning caldrons, Ms. Granger," he shrieks at her. Her cheeks burn in shame and he silently takes satisfaction in her shame.
At five past seven he was annoyed with her lack of punctuality.
At quarter past seven he was ticked off.
At half past he was becoming concerned.
And now at quarter till seven his is contemplating organizing a search party of the first year student. She may not be in his house but Minerva deserves to know that one of her Gryffindor is missing from detention. It would not be the first time a student thought he would forget about their detention and it certainly would not be the last but after several students went missing during the Great War, everyone here knows not to go "missing". With a snatch of his cloak, he readies himself to leave his dungeon classroom when a small knock resounds from the doorway.
"Come in," he says, his voice echoing through the empty classroom and the heavy door is pushed open.
"Ms. Granger, I see you have finally decided to grace me with her presence at your detention." The timid girl flinches under her hard stair and did not look at him as she explained her tardiness.
"I'm sorry Professor Snape. I was in the library and lost track of time." He smirks at her excuse.
"Well, you are definitely your mother's daughter, Ms. Granger, even if you do look nothing like the former Ms. Know-It-All." His words sting and he knows that he has crossed a line.
But crossing said imaginary line fells wonderful and he can help but take out his pent-up anger with the elder Ms. Granger out on the younger Ms. Granger.
"Although some say your mother was the brightest witch of her time not even she could handle the wizarding world. She ran back to the muggle world as soon as she could. And you will be no different. You will return to your mother and your muggle father."
"I h…have no fa…father," she stutters out.
"Don't be a dunderhead, Ms. Granger. Everyone has a father. Unless…Ah, I see. Know-It-All Hermione Granger does not know who the father of her own child is." Tears now silently roll down the young Ms. Granger's face due to the verbal attack on her only parents.
"She does too," she chokes out between sobs.
"That's sweet Ms. Granger. Defending you mother's reputation. If she does know, then enlighten me. Who is your father?" She mumbles something incoherent further frustrating him. "Speak up, Ms. Granger."
"I...I don't know sir."
"So, I guess it is safe to say that you are a bastard." The girl gasps in horror and he knows for certain that he has leaped over this line. He sighs and tries to wish all of his comments away.
"Ms. Granger, I think it is best for you to return to your common room now." Unmoving, she stands there until he barks a sharp 'now' at her. He watches her flee his classroom for the safety of the Gryffindor common room. There is going to be hell to pay for his comments in the morning.
She did not come to class the next day nor had he expected her too. After all, he had told her she was a bastard. But the most surprising thing is that neither Albus nor Minerva had talked to him about his comments about her mother.
Of course, there is always the possibility that the know-it-all had managed to contain herself and keep his remarks to herself.
He had no right to take his anger out on the younger Ms. Granger when the cause of his pain had been an incident with her mother twelve years prior. Ms. Granger could not change history and neither could he. The elder Ms. Granger made her choice about him years ago, a decision to this day that he still could not comprehend.
His sturdy shoes crunched the ground beneath him as he steps out into the frigid landscape. The cold air nips at his nose as he crosses the courtyard. When he finally does reach his destination, his face is the same color as the bright, red beets served at lunch. The monument looms over it. It's tacky,
Extremely tacky.
A monument dedicated to the 'Golden Trio'.
How tacky.
Potter and Weasley had been ecstatic when it was unveiled. Of course, that is to be expected from the dunderheads she calls friends. She on the other hand had more common sense than those two nitwits.
Of course, being him, he had underestimated her intelligence once again and looked at her quizzically throughout the entire ceremony. After all, it does capture her likeness And the caption clearly states that she was apart of the efforts to take down Voldemort.
It wasn't until she had said good-bye to Hogwarts that he finally got it through his thick head as to why this statue bothered her.
Potter and Weasley stand close tone another with Potter only a few centimeters before him. But she stands behind both of them.
Ironic how the girl that saved them both is forced to stand behind them for generations to come.
If it had not been for her and her thirst of knowledge Potter would have died shortly after starting his first year and Weasley…well Weasley would have left this world soon after finding "Fluffy".
The crunching of the snow behind him causes him to turn and face the startled perpetrator.
"Pro…Professor Sn…Snape."
"Good afternoon, Ms. Granger. No doubt you are here to study your mother's accomplishments." The small girl avers her eyes as she nods her head.
"Ms. Granger, I, uh," he clears his throat before continuing, "I apologize for my comments last night. It is not my place to question your legitimacy."
"Thank you, sir. Apology accepted," she says as she looks up from the now and gives him the same smug grin she used to give him. His genuine sincerity is quickly replaced with the cold heartless bastard everyone believes him to be.
"But in the future, Ms. Granger, I expect you to be in class. A thousand word essay on 'Why Potions Is Important' due tomorrow at the start of class." Her smug grin is immediately wiped off her face.
"Yes, sir," she mumbles as he stalks off.
It is quite peculiar how she managed to be placed in Gryffindor. She certainly lacks the infamous Gryffindor courage. Even if she wasn't muggle-born she certainly is not Slytherin material. She does not posses the ability to be deceitful and cunning. Maybe Ravenclaw would have been better suited for her. Or Hufflepuff. Yes, she belongs with the rest of the pansies.
He steps back into his classroom as he concluded his contemplations of where she belongs when he suddenly realizes his winter evaluations are due after dinner tonight and he has yet to start them.
With over seven hundred of them, the due date posses a problem. He takes a seat at his large desk at the front of the drafty classroom. Before picking up the first parchment, he cracks his knuckles and dips his quill in the ink bottle in front of him. He grabs the front one at the top of the stack and drops it onto the surface in front of him.
He hates these but it keeps his students' meddling parents from disturbing him with frivolous question about their child's performance.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein,