The next few weeks had been much better. Students back in school robes, his authority was no longer under question. He surveyed them, glaring openly over the house tables at breakfast. A group of Gryffindor eyes glanced his way in unison, before darting back at each other to break into a team of laughter. He congratulated himself that he assuredly now didn't feel any paranoia. House points deducted, heads clipped, detentions distributed. Things were back to normal.

Back in his potions classroom he paced, haunting down between the rows of desks, with his hands clenched tightly behind his back, maintaining his ever-straight posture. He observed the students' work over their diligently hunched shoulders, causing the odd recoil or sharp intake of breath in anticipation of his displeasure as he wafted past them.

He stopped behind Draco Malfoy and pointedly examined his progress down his long nose without even bothering to bow his head. Adequate. Opposite was Hermione Granger's desk. He supposed he had avoided her since the ball, but now he felt different. She was not a woman with any power over him, now simply a school girl - doodling pictures instead of writing his assignment. Merely a child. He'd caught her now.

"Miss Granger." He pronounced with his staccato speech forced through perpetually clenched teeth. She froze, her quill dropping from her hand, causing ink to splash wildly across her desk. The rest of the class looked around, mostly breathing sighs of relief that they were not his target this time.

Within two swift steps he was behind her. He flitted his arm smartly over her shoulder to snatch the parchment away from under her quill, sending it clattering obnoxiously on to the stone floor. He steadily brought his mouth down closer to her ear and silkily breathed the words "Detention, and ten points from Griffindor." Her reactive flinch gave him an urge to smirk with gratification that he had not yet lost his ability to intimidate.

Parchment grasped triumphantly in fist, he marched to the front of the class in a billow of black robes. He sensed the silence of the class; the distinct lack of scratching quills meant all eyes were upon him. Oh, he never tired of this.

"And why aren't you back to work?" He questioned, whipping dramatically around to face them, the corners of his mouth twitching with satisfaction as all heads bowed down in fearful synchrony before him – including the brown head of curls belonging to Hermione Granger.

He spread her graffiti-marked parchment out before him on his desk, potion-stained from years of brewing. A sudden heat of realisation shot up from his stomach – why on earth had he thought to give her detention? The least amount of time she spent in his presence the better. He sank into his chair and braced his forehead with long fingers. It didn't matter, he supposed: nothing would matter following his action to take the life of Albus Dumbledore.

The thought bred a cold, familiar fear which crept up into his neck, eclipsing all thought and emotion that had been boiling in his chest. His palms became clammy and his breath caught in his throat as uncomfortable palpitations fluttered against his breast bone. He rubbed his temples, firmly pushing his lids over his eyes, willing the unease to slip away into his fingertips instead. He slowed his breathing and filled his mind with a clear, white mist. This was becoming more difficult.

His eyes snapped open to the ink-stained parchment in front of him. Through the smudged blots he could make the enchanted doodle Miss Granger had scrawled; two figures repeating the same movement towards each other. They were apart, and then flung towards each other in a sort of embrace – no – a kiss. His eyes darted across the page, one figure was drawn wearing a long dress robe with a slit up one side, and the other... He dared a glare in her direction. The gall of her – she was looking towards him and their eyes met. In horror at the unexpected reciprocation of her stare, she flung her gaze back down to her work, red cheeks blanching to white. There was no further doubt regarding who the second drawn figure was.

How should he react?

He should throw fury her way. Yes, how dare she even contemplate such a familiarity with a professor? Is this what she thought of their ridiculous encounter at the ball? This is tantamount to defamation, he should take her to her Head of House, the Headmaster, even remove her from all future potions classes.

He slumped backwards into his chair. But of course, he couldn't do any of those things. He crumpled the blotted parchment again in a tight, whitening fist. Making this public would surely only draw attention to his questionable behaviour at the ball. There would at least be rumour, and that alone was enough to make life… difficult. He would destroy the parchment instead. She couldn't know he had recognised himself in her drawing. It would be forgotten.

He looked back towards her desk, and they found themselves again engaged in an exposing locking of eyes. He cursed under his breath as he couldn't help himself but to instinctively glance away like an embarrassed child. What was she reducing him to?

The school bell rang harshly in his ears, causing him to rise from his chair with a start. He tipped his heavy wooden chair to the floor with a crash behind him. It was rare that he would be caught out like this.

"Silence!" he erupted, in response to the immediate shuffling of papers and satchels the bell had initiated. "No one leaves until their completed assignment is on my desk." The class groaned about lunch as all but Hermione Granger again took to their seats, where urgent frantic scribbling recommenced. She shuffled towards him and placed her work on the very edge of his work bench.

"When should I return for detention, sir?"

Her eyes remained fixed on the paved stone beneath her feet. She wouldn't notice that he could barely form words.

"Tonight." He mumbled, in anguish at his repeated misjudgements. "Seven 'O' Clock." She gave a curt nod and advanced towards the door, stopping only briefly to hear him warn her through his teeth "Don't dare to be late."

His glinting black eyes followed her outline as it melted into the gloom of the dungeons' corridor. When he finally returned his view to his control he saw that both his hands were guiltily stained with smudges of her black ink. Muttering an incantation under his breath, the parchment ignited and disappeared in a wisp of grey ash.