Author's Note - Here is the next edition. :) Please enjoy.
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"For the last time, Hermione, I do not know whose owl it was-I barely even remember what it looked like! It just dropped the bloody box on your plate without so much as a 'How'd do?' and flew off into the ruddy wild blue 'yonder!"
Harry sighed and dropped down into his seat, cheeks aflame at the recent outburst from Hermione's incessant questioning. Ron, still menacingly giddy, took his own seat to Hermoine's right, leaving Harry fuming at her left.
"I was only trying to be thorough, Harry," she countered, sitting primly and shooting daggers with her gaze across the table to a gawking group of Gryffindors. "Why don't you mind your own bloody business?" she hissed. Startled, they dispersed and refused to look at her the entire class period.
"What? You mean you're not going to put them on, 'Mione?" Ron prodded the girl in the rib cage. "What's your boyfriend going to think of you now?"
At that, bursts of laughter erupted from the class. Hermione, red-faced and chizzled, rose quickly from her seat, knocking the chair to the floor. "RONALD WEASLEY! YOU ARE POSITIVELY THE MOST OBNOXIOUS, SNOT-NOSED, LOUD-MOUTHED LITTLE FERRET I'VE EVER MET! I DO NOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND!"
At that, Professor Lupin, a puzzled little smile on his face, descended into the classroom. "Miss Granger," he began, watching her anger quickly fade into shock, "I believe that will be quite sufficient. Please take your seat."
Hermione, stunned, up-righted her chair and sat complacently. Remus, then, turned a stern eye to Ron. "Not another word, Mr. Weasley," he said, and continued on to the front of the class to begin a lesson about artifacts of protection.
"During the institution of the wizarding world as a separate community from that of Muggles, certain artifacts, which were meant to be placed under the careful watch of the Ministry of Magic, were abducted, seemingly by Vampires, or, even more absurdly, House Elves. Among the inventory was a crested ring, necklace, goblet..."
"Hermione." Harry whispered, touching her shoulder lightly. "Sorry I snapped at you..."
"It's all right, Harry." Smiling slightly, she patted his hand. "I know you were just frustrated."
"Me too," Ron interjected, his smile gone. "I didn't mean-"
"You meant to do exactly what you did, Ronald," she replied tartly, chin brazenly protruding into the air. "I will not forgive you at present."
The red-head oogled at her, his jaw hanging open in protest. "B-but...b-but...Harry...I..."
"Shut your mouth, Ron," she snapped. "You look like a gaping fish."
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Severus Snape patrolled the classroom severely that afternoon, leaning over enough cauldrons and cringing shoulders to find himself even more disgusted at humankind than before.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," he snarled nastily over Ron's shoulder, watching the little prat tip entirely too much dried lavender into the Wart-Removing Potion. "I would have suspected our little hero thinks himself too important to follow directions if I weren't already accustomed to his natural ability to blunder every potion that he has attempted to concoct."
At this, Harry stiffened, his face firmly twisted into a loathsome snarl as he watched the brooding Professor cross the room to berate a poor girl lingering too long in the supply cabinet "He's probably just pissed because he needed the potion to remove all the warts off his back," he whispered sharply. Ron promptly stifled a snort, as did a few surrounding Gryffindors.
Hermione, who lingered behind the pair with a trembling Neville, continued to stir her mixture clockwise with the most precise of movements, her wrist gracefully dancing the rod to and fro. "Honestly, Harry," she returned, her voice just above a whisper. "I don't think it's appropriate for a Head Boy to insult a professor. What example are you setting, really?"
"Miss Granger," came a deafening, silky voice from the front of the classroom. "I do not believe that Wart-Removing Potion requires any sort of incantation. You would do well to keep your insufferable little lips sealed." Casually, he returned behind his desk.
"You can't honestly tell me that you have any respect for him, 'Mione?" Ron gave her a queer sort of look, his uneven eyes pleading for her to revolt in disgust.
Her lips pursed together-obviously, she had not yet chosen to forgive him for his little outburst in DADA. "Not that it is any of your business, Ronald, but I do respect him."
"Are you perfectly incapable of hearing, Miss Granger?" Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes glittering darkly towards the curly-headed little Gryffindor. "Twenty points from Gryffindor."
Hermione, unsettled, began to evenly slice the Grumsroot.
"How the hell could you say that, Hermione?" Harry leaned towards her, his eyes darkening. "He's a two-faced, greasy-haired, lying little-"
"Harry. Really. He's an adult, and a professor. Not to mention his status in the Order was vital to...to our victory. I can't see why you can't just-"
"Enough."
Long, dark robes fettered just behind her left shoulder. Hermione froze. How does he move like that? she thought as she turned to face him.
"Miss Granger. You have consistently disobeyed my explicit instructions and although I would take immense pleasure at demanding your immediate expulsion, I must concede myself to granting you-"
Neville Longbottom, the poor creature, had some sort of uncanny knack at picking the precisely wrong moment.
His hand, which had been holding a rather large amount of powdered werewolf tongue to give to Hermione so that she may measure the proper amount, froze upon the sight of the fuming Potion's Master and, through the trembling of the poor, buck-toothed owner, deposited itself of all its contents...straight into the unprepared cauldron. Thankfully, the explosive matter, after erupting noisily from the pot, contented itself with only covering the Golden Trio, a frozen Mr. Longbottom, and a cold, hard, Dungeon floor.
Professor Snape crossed his arms-the overgrown bat. "...to granting you and Mr. Longbottom with two weeks of detention beginning tomorrow night."
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Hermione was furious.
Black robes fettered behind her quickly progressing form down the eastern-most corridor, bound for the privacy of her Head Girl rooms. Humiliating! She found a spot of neglected potion residue on the back of her hand and hurriedly whipped it away with a flick of her wand. How could I possibly face the Great Hall again?
It was simple enough, really-she wasn't going to.
Her hunger was slight compared to the immense amount of strength it would take not to strangle Ron upon seeing him. Perhaps Harry would even take pity on her and bring her a sandwich or some fruit. Really. She chided herself. Harry was a good boy, of course, but not the brightest when it came to thoughtfulness.
She felt eyes upon her as she passed-either for the explosive cauldron or the breakfast surprise or, quite likely, because she was simply an integral part in the destruction of Lord Voldermort. Actually, it was vital to the cause that Hermione offered them the use of her extreme intelligence and, as found out, powerful magical capability. It was her doing that lead to the Heart of Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw Diary. It was her wand beside Ron and Harry's before darkness fell. And, ultimately, it was she who carried the Boy-Who-Lived to Voldermort's presence after he suffered a blow by the wand of Lucius Malfoy-the only Death Eater to escape punishment by claiming to be under the Imperious enchantment.
Fleetingly, her mind drifted to the intricately carved box that now took residence in her satchel. Who would send her such a gift? It was not her parents, of course, for they would spurn something so frivolous and expensive. Harry had no interest in giving her such things-neither did Ron, for that matter, for she had already clearly established to the red-headed miscreant that she had no interest in him whatsoever with anything past friendship. Viktor Krum was in Azkaban. And...well, after that, it seemed, she had run out of options. No other boy in the school even looked at her as more than a walking dictionary or a brilliant warrior. Hermione could not even see what it was in herself that might attract someone other than a platonic friend. But perhaps it could-
"Hermione?"
Hermione turned abruptly towards reality, not quite aware of how engrossed in thought she had become.
"Professor, I'm so sorry," she remarked, scrambling to help Remus pick up the various rolls of parchment she had obviously knocked out of his hands. She was not even aware that she had collided into him and her cheeks burned with the realization.
"That's quite all right," he replied warmly, collecting his scrolls from the girl and giving her a proper smile. "I should think you wouldn't want to talk the long way to the Great Hall."
"Oh...well, I'm not really going to the Great Hall, actually, Professor."
Lupin hesitated as if to study her reaction. "It's not wise to skip your dinner, Hermione. I've observed that you do that quite enough to spend extra time in the library...although you're not headed in the direction of the library, just now."
She smiled, regarding her shoes. How would he know about my habits? "No, Sir. I was on my way to my rooms." Of course he knows, Hermione. Who doesn't know you practically live in the Restricted Section?
Remus paused then, shifting the parchments into a more manageable cluster. "Perhaps...you might like to accompany me to some sandwiches and tea in my study?" He paused. "I would actually like the opportunity to study the...gift you received this morning...if you don't mind of course."
Oh, perfect. "Of course," she said, smiling politely. I do think I could have gone the rest of the year without anyone mentioning that damn box.
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"What do you want?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You're quite aware of what I want," the other boy replied.
The first eyed him, leaning against the post of his bed. He seemed pensive and yet quite relaxed. "I suppose it's a good thing that father insisted on my own private rooms," he said.
"I suppose that's all he's good for," said the other.
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Author's Note - Whoohoo! 3 I loves me an angsty sex scene.