It was the angry patron from Starbucks. He stopped behind his desk, and his long fingertips grazed the top of it as he affixed her with a glare.

"Yes, me," he agreed, sneering. "I am Professor Severus Snape. I'm assuming you're the unlucky graduate to be coerced into assisting me this year. I can assure you; I return whatever sentiment you're feeling, and I have no more desire than you to suffer our mutual presence."

Hermione inadvertently took a step back, her near-frozen legs just barely cooperating with her. "I – I'm sorry, sir" she stammered out, her mind drawing a blank. She was familiar with all kinds of professors – the chatty ones, the lazy ones, the ones who had their pet students, the strict ones, even the wildly inappropriate ones. She was not, however, familiar with the variety that introduced themselves by spitting out vitriol at her.

She glanced around instinctively, every nerve in her body advising her against looking at him in those black eyes. She could hear him scoff at her apologies.

"Sir, I –"

He interrupted her. "I understand you have a degree in Chemical Biology. Do not make the mistake of thinking that means anything to me. Until you have proven yourself – if you prove yourself – you are nothing more to me than the rest of my students. You will do no more than grade freshman lab reports until I deem you fit to handle anything more complicated, am I clear?"

Hermione stood, tears threatening to spill over her eyes. She thought of a million things in that instant. She thought of McGonagall, and how the teacher forced this position on her. She thought of Ginny, who was most definitely not exaggerating when she spoke about how horrible the man in front of her was. She thought of Harry, the twisted look of rage on his face when she mentioned Professor Snape. She thought of her parents, and how ecstatic they had been when she told them she was going to pursue a science degree.

She thought of the angry, elegant man in the coffee shop, and she finally felt fury bubble up within her, lending her self-righteous fuel.

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "You have made things quite clear for me, thank you." Her body jerked as she took steps closer to his desk, adrenaline coursing through her. "How would you like me to begin assisting you, sir?" She moved closer until she was standing in front of his desk, a mere 16 infuriating inches from his tense figure.

They stared at each other; Snape with an expression of controlled disdain on his face, and Hermione, shaking (though whether with fear or anger, she wasn't sure), biting down on her lip.

Snape was the first to speak. "Sit," he commanded, curtly, gesturing towards the other wooden desk in the room. Hermione didn't move for a long moment, still regarding him with narrowed eyes. She finally dragged herself away, yanking out the wooden chair at her desk more forcefully than necessary. She sat down and turned towards him, arms crossed. He spoke again, calmer, but she could still hear the prejudice in his voice.

"My office hour is from five to six on Wednesday evenings. You will need to be available from four to five that same afternoon. In addition, you will pick one hour on two other days and make yourself available. Attendance in this lecture is non-negotiable, as is the practical lab on Friday's at six p.m. Do you understand?" He wasn't looking at her now; instead his eyes flicked around the room, as if sizing it up. "I'm sure Professor –" his lip curled slightly. "McGonagall has adjusted your schedule accordingly. Is this correct?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing any further comment, though she'd like to say something about his one office hour.

"We shall discuss further responsibilities later," he says, dragging out 'later' as if he didn't expect her to make it that far. She felt like this was reasonable.

Snape abruptly began shuffling papers, delivering a swift end to the one-sided conversation. Almost on cue the door was opened, and a few students trickled in, taking seats as far away from the front as possible. Hermione obviously wasn't the only one who had heard stories of the professor.

He didn't speak to her for the rest of the class except to pass her a stack of syllabi, requesting briskly that she hand them out. Resuming her seat, she watched him while taking her own notes.

He spoke tonelessly, for the most part. She knew from their first two meetings that he could speak with passion when he wanted to – so far, only when he was angry, which seemed to be the vast majority of the time. The students were quiet, either in awe or fear; the latter, she guessed.

Away from his intense gaze, she focused on his hands almost immediately. He was always doing something with his hands. When he paced the room, he nearly always had them clasped behind his back. Leaning against his desk, he still had them wrung together, but it didn't give off the impression of fidgeting. She stared openly at the pale fingers gliding over one another. He wasn't your typical college professor, that much was obvious.

She examined his features through the curtain of her hair. He was almost dressed the same today as he was in the café. He favored dark colors, it seemed, dressed today in a black shirt and black pants. Black heart, a voice inside her said, and she smiled to herself.

"Miss Granger," an icy voice rang out, sending an electric shock of oh, fuck through her. Her golden-brown eyes snapped up to meet Snape's black ones and she inadvertently cringed under the intensity. "While I'm flattered you want to spend the rest of your day in my class, I have things to do besides babysit."

Hermione, panicking, glanced around to find the classroom empty. The door was just closing from the last student who had exited, and she flushed. Grabbing her notes and not bothering to put them away, she picked up her bag and went to exit, pausing as she heard her professor's voice once more.

"Miss Granger?"

She didn't look back, but that didn't seem to matter, as he went on.

"If you continue to daydream in my class, I will have you fired."

Hermione nodded sharply and fled from the room, thankful that she was free for the day to go back home.

She made it to her car before she broke down in sobs, ignoring the stares from the students in the parking lot around her.

When Ginny came home from class later that afternoon, Hermione had already started on her assignments. Her frizzy hair was pulled up into a bun and she was furiously typing on her laptop, perched on a stool in the kitchen. The younger girl gave her a knowing look, tactfully choosing to not bring up the subject of how her classes went. Instead, she brought up Hermione's plans for the weekend.

"Do you have any, yet? Lee Jordan invited me to a party that one of the fraternities is having. I bet it'd be great to get your mind off of things." Hermione glanced up sharply at her. "Like homework, and things. Not any people in particular." Hermione briefly stopped typing, squared her shoulders a bit, and resumed banging away on the keyboard.

"No," she muttered. "I haven't thought about this weekend. I have a lot of homework, you know. It's going to be hard for me to do my own coursework and stay focused on an entirely different subject too." She seemed to type faster. Ginny gave a small hum and tried a different tactic.

"It would be a good place to meet people. I could introduce you to all my friends. I think Cho might be in the English program, too, maybe she could help you with your homework," she said, innocently. Hermione stopped typing again. She exhaled a pent-up breath and opened her mouth as if to say something, and then began her efforts on the computer once more. "H…."

Hermione stopped suddenly and slammed her laptop shut. "What, Ginny? I'm clearly trying to get something accomplished, so whatever you're trying to not say - unsuccessfully, by the way – just spit it out." She bit her lip, evidently wanting to continue her tirade, but restrained herself. At seeing Ginny's abashed face, she pinkened.

"Look, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It's just been a trying day."

Ginny leaned opposite from her against the kitchen counter, clasping her hands. "I get it. I mean, I'm dying to know though. How did it go? Really?" Hermione crossed her arms, and then immediately uncrossed them back, choosing to put her head in her hands instead.

"He told me he didn't care about my degree. He said he's going to have me grading freshman papers until I 'prove myself to him' or some – some bullshit like that." She conveniently left out the part of how he caught her daydreaming about his hands. "I don't hate people, as a rule, but I think I actually hate him." She nodded to herself at the end, seeming thoughtful.

"I hate him too, if that helps."

"You know what? It kind of does."

There was a short silence, both girls absorbed in their thoughts. Ginny was the first to break it.

"Will you come to that party with me Saturday? Please?" Hermione sighed, and Ginny took the fact that she didn't outright say 'no' as encouragement. "Come on – just this time. I'll never ask again, pleasepleaseplea-"

"Fine!" she sputtered, throwing up her hands. "If you promise – PROMISE – to let me finish this in peace." She opened her laptop back up and fixed Ginny with a faux-glare from over top of it. The redhead grinned.

"I love you!" She chirped, flittering around the counter to give Hermione an overzealous hug and kissing her soundly on the cheek. Hermione couldn't help but give an amused huff, rolling her eyes. "D'you mind if I put music on?"

"Something quiet," she replied absently, already sinking back into the literature on her screen, her mind more at ease than it had been.

Tuesday wasn't much better to her.

She walked into her 8am Pedagogy and Composition Theory class; the one she would have been assisting Professor Vector in, had she not been royally screwed over (her new description of the past four days' worth of events) by McGonagall. She arrived early, hoping to talk to Septima, but she found someone had beat her to it.

A tall figure with waist-length blonde hair was talking animatedly to her ex-almost-boss. Hermione could hear the traces of an accent – French? She wondered, frowning at the newcomer.

Septima, thankfully, noticed her entrance.

"Hermione!" she called, warmly, beckoning her to come closer. The stranger turned around, giving Hermione a frosty look.

She was pretty sure the girl had just come from some kind of Victoria's Secret casting call; despite her frigid expression, she emanated beauty. She had delicate features, high cheekbones and full, petal-pink lips. Her eyes were a clear ocean blue, and Hermione disliked her almost immediately.

"Professor," she greeted, smiling, despite Doutzen Kroes glaring at her. "It's so good to see you." The older woman got up from behind her desk and embraced her, whispering "we'll talk later" in her ear.

"How have you been?" Before she could reply, Septima seemed to catch herself. "Oh, excuse my forgetfulness. Hermione, this is Fleur Delacour. She will be taking over the role of TA in my classroom this year." Fleur looked down and seemed to sniff at her.

"Hello," she said, holding out a manicured hand. "Eet is nice to 'av met you". Hermione returned the gesture with as much enthusiasm.

"Pleasure," she said crisply, returning her attention to the professor. "I've been well, what about you?"

The woman's reply was cut short as a slight, dark-haired girl came into the room and sat down. Septima smiled apologetically at Hermione, her eyes promising 'later'. Hermione sighed and found a seat near the front of the room, glancing wistfully at the second desk near the Professor's, and narrowing her eyes at Fleur.

The lesson passed slowly. When Septima introduced Fleur, Hermione stubbornly kept her eyes cast forward at her screen, typing nonsense and then deleting it, just to give the (admittedly, petty) impression that she didn't care. Out of her peripheral, she could see Fleur's eyes lingering angrily on her, and she felt some twisted sense of satisfaction.

At last, though, it was finished, and Hermione took her time packing up her things. Fleur didn't seem to notice her lagging, striding gracefully out of the room as if on some gray carpeted catwalk, and Septima finally smiled hesitantly at her.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione, if I had any idea this was going to happen-"

"It's fine, Professor. Really. Things happen, I know it wasn't your fault." Even as Hermione said this, she still felt a little bitter, although it wasn't directed at the woman in front of her.

"How are you adjusting to Professor Snape's class? Are you.." she was seemingly searching for the right word. "Handling it okay?"

Hermione wasn't, truth be told. Even just being back in a chemistry lab brought back memories of the past two years. While the lab itself was pleasant – reassuring almost, as it reminded her of the hours spent working with her old teacher, Professor Slughorn - it was the association with it that brought her distress. When she looked around and saw the locked-up cabinet full of small bottles, she could only think it was a combination of that bottle and that chemical and –

"I'm doing fine," she assured her, quietly. Septima seemed to struggle with accepting this, looking very much as if she'd like to continue to broach the issue. Hermione smiled, despite herself, grateful for the concern. "It isn't ideal, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I'm mostly distracted by Professor Snape, honestly."

Septima half-smiled, half-grimaced. "I've run into him a few times, and I've heard even more from some of my students. He's quite the character, isn't he?" Hermione snorted, mirth in her eyes as she looked at her professor.

"He's awful," she said boldly, shuffling her bag to her other shoulder. "He hasn't said anything to me yet that could even be mistakenly construed as being nice. How he manages to effectively teach students, I haven't figured out yet." Septima grinned now, chuckling to herself.

"Severus has a certain way about him. I've heard that once you get to know him, he isn't that bad. He's just guarded. With good reason," she added, more to herself than to Hermione.

She frowned. "What good reason could he possibly have for treating people the way he does?"

The older woman regarded her closely, eyebrows knitted together. She relented after a moment, speaking lightly.

"Oh, he's got his reasons. Try to bear in mind that he is very intelligent, and he's done much for this school. You might find a friend in him, even."

Hermione couldn't imagine anyone else she would less rather have as a friend, but she tried to humor her. Still, she couldn't keep the skepticism off of her face.

"Give him a chance. You'll be surprised at what you find," Septima continued, seeing Hermione's apprehension. Hermione nodded, lips pursed.

"I will try," she promised, her mind wandering to seeing Snape tomorrow and what fresh hell he would feel obliged to give her. Yeah, friend. Unlikely chance.

"You should get going now, I'm worried Miss Delacour will be back any moment to talk to me about the syllabus," her teacher said with an unpleasant expression on her face. She glanced behind Hermione and moved closer to her, lowering her voice. "I think she just likes to hear herself talk, to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I argued with Minerva, but she wasn't having any of it. Something about the board."

Hermione looked away, feeling a little choked up. "Like I said, it's fine," she muttered out. "I have Professor Snape to keep me company." Septima quirked her lips, nodding at the door.

"I believe in you!" As Hermione turned and went towards the door, Septima looked thoughtful once more, and called out one more thing after her: "I've heard he likes cappuccinos. He prefers them dry, or so I've been led to believe."

"I'll keep that in mind, Professor."

Wednesday morning came, and Hermione didn't see Harry. She looked for him before Professor Flitwick's class, and tried to find him again after coming out of Trelawney's classroom, but to no avail.

Resigned, she made her way to Professor Snape's classroom, pausing in front of the door and debating with herself if she should go in. She put her hand on the knob, her heart beating wildly, and then withdrew it, crossing her arms protectively over herself instead.

Honestly, what's the worst that would happen to her? Okay, so he might make a snide comment or glare at her, but it wasn't like he was going to attack her or something.

She put her hand back on the doorknob. Or, maybe she should go use the restroom first. Yeah, that's it. She would go splash some water on her face, give herself a pep talk, an-

"Miss Granger, I do not have all day."

She spun around, gasping, her hand flying to her mouth to cover it. Professor Snape stood in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch. He was scowling.

"Professor, I'm sorry! I was just trying to remember if I forgot something in my last class," she stuttered out, heart thumping in her chest. Snape raised a dark eyebrow.

"You've been trying to remember for the past five minutes. I suggest that from now on you check your bag before you show up at my classroom," he growled. She swallowed, nodding, heart still beating fast.

They stood a couple beats of her chest; him scowling down at her irritably and her, watching him with large eyes, waiting for him to speak.

He reached out a hand, eyes not leaving her face. She stiffened, holding her breath. What was he doing?

His arm continued to reach towards her, and for a split second she thought he was going to hurt her. At this proximity, when she could so clearly see his defined features, she wondered if she would have time to do anything. Her musings about his hands in his class Monday ran through her mind, an image of his long fingers wrapping themselves around her throat flickering behind her eyes.

She saw his face lean in and thought she could detect his scent – a woody, masculine thing that reminded her of camping trips with her parents when she was much younger. She shut her eyes, and before she knew it, he had slipped past her and into the classroom, the door now opened behind her.

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her. A sense of shame came over her, followed quickly by something akin to disgust.

Honestly, she thought to herself, dropping into the chair behind her desk. What the hell is wrong with you?

The class passed quickly. Despite her hopes, Snape was not in a much better mood than he was Monday. It seemed that he didn't just reserve his foul temper for her; he was willing to bite anyone's head off, if given a sufficient reason.

It didn't take much, she noticed, to give him a sufficient reason.

She thought of what Septima had said to her about the man currently pacing the front of the class as he talked. Give him a chance, she remembered her saying, and nearly snorted aloud. She chanced a glance at the foreboding professor, and he seemed to be berating a student for not having their copy of the textbook yet. He finally gestured towards a cabinet in the corner of the room and the student scuttled over to it, drawing out a battered copy of the required material. The student was a pretty girl with long black hair, who had turned an unfortunate shade of red at Snape's derision.

When the students were all fleeing the classroom, Hermione steeled herself and went to stand in front of Snape's desk. He didn't acknowledge her at first, but she stood her ground, clearing her throat. He looked up, lazily, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm so glad you chose to stay with us throughout the lesson, Miss Granger." She felt the beginnings of a sharp retort form itself in her mouth, but she managed to keep it there.

"I apologize again, sir." When he made no comment, she continued. "I was just wondering if you had any work for me during my office hours. My first one is at four this afternoon."

"I'm well aware of your schedule for the day, considering I set it," he drawled, resuming writing. She didn't say anything. "As we've only had two classes thus far, I can't imagine anyone will have the need to come speak to you about the coursework. Though, students' collective incompetence does seem to grow every year, and therefore I should like you to remain available. I have administrative work for you. It will be in my office for you to pick up. Difficult as it may be, attempt to not linger outside my door this time."

That was a dismissal if anything ever was. Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and marched out of the classroom.

When she got far enough across campus that she didn't think he would be apt to run into her, she sat on the edge of a stone flowerbed and rested her head in her hands.

"Christ help me," she muttered, and sighed towards the chemistry building. A glance at her phone told her Ginny had texted her.

Ginny Weasley: hey

Ginny Weasley: so like

Ginny Weasley: here's what I'm thinking

Ginny Weasley: 1., we go buy more wine tonight

Ginny Weasley: 2., profit?

Ginny Weasley: sound good? great!

Hermione smiled despite herself.

Hermione Granger: sorry, gin. i won't be home for a while. office hours start this afternoon. HELP

She slid her phone back into her pocket and bit her lip, staring distractedly into the distance. Her mind was turning over with made-up scenarios of what could happen this afternoon. She decided quickly that none of them would be pleasant – but – what if?

Frowning, she thought back to Professor Slughorn. He had always had his favorites. Some of them by merit, others, by connection. Others, even, by sheer, absolute, utter sycophancy. What was it he had liked? Hermione immediately remembered the smell that clung to his pinstriped sports coats. Crystallized pineapple.

Her mind began to go faster, an idea on the tip of her tongue. She didn't know much about Severus Snape, except for his seemingly perpetual need to make her feel like the world's most idiotic graduate.

And then, a moment later, Septima's words came back to her in startling clarity:

He likes cappuccinos.

a/n: hello! thank you to everyone who reviewed. hermione has a plan! will it work? i always appreciate constructive criticism. or, nonconstructive criticism! i consider myself life's pinata.

also, i just wanted to give a shoutout to my best friend jaballini. this isn't the tale of jack sparrow... but i hope it makes you happy anyway.