For the first time since the whirlwind of emotions began to stir in her seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione felt a clear, undeniable desire for the man who had somehow, against all odds, become her soulmate. The confusion that had once clouded her thoughts had started to dissipate, replaced by a growing longing that took root deep within her. Her rational mind, the one that had always demanded logic and reason, struggled to come to terms with this newfound craving, but her heart—oh, her heart knew exactly what it wanted.
There was no denying it anymore. The kiss they'd shared in the library had ignited a spark within her, a flame that continued to burn with a slow, steady heat. She hadn't realized just how much she had been yearning for that closeness, that connection, until his lips had pressed against hers, firm yet tender, sending a rush of warmth that still tingled across her skin. It was like everything had clicked into place, and all the doubts and hesitations she had been holding onto suddenly seemed insignificant.
But even as desire began to bloom, a small, stubborn sliver of fear still lingered in the shadows of her mind. She couldn't ignore the reality of their situation. Severus Snape was still the Headmaster, still the intimidating, enigmatic figure that had always kept his distance. Their connection was forbidden, scandalous even, and if anyone found out, it could lead to consequences that neither of them could afford. The power dynamics, the scrutiny, the potential backlash—it all weighed heavily on her shoulders.
And yet, despite the fear, she couldn't help but replay the kiss over and over in her mind, the way his lips had claimed hers with a mix of urgency and restraint, as if he was holding back an even deeper, more fervent need. That kiss left her wanting more—so much more. She craved the feel of his hands on her skin, the rough timbre of his voice murmuring her name, the intensity of his dark eyes burning into hers, promising a passion that could consume them both.
Hermione's cheeks flushed just thinking about it. She knew she shouldn't be entertaining such thoughts, especially not in the middle of her classes or during meals in the Great Hall. But it was as if a dam had broken inside her, and all the feelings she had kept tightly controlled for so long were now rushing forth, unstoppable and wild.
Her heart raced at the mere idea of being alone with him again, of feeling his lips on hers, exploring the depths of what this newfound connection could mean. The logical part of her warned that she was treading dangerous waters, but the part of her that had always longed for adventure, for something more than the ordinary, couldn't help but yearn for another moment with him—another kiss, another touch, another step deeper into the unknown.
She was no longer confused. She knew what she wanted. And though the fear still hovered in the back of her mind, it was no longer enough to hold her back. This desire, this aching need—she was ready to explore it, consequences be damned.
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out once more, this time laced with a sharp edge of frustration. It was rare for the stern professor to raise her voice to such a degree, but Hermione had tested her patience to the limit.
Harry nudged Hermione sharply with his elbow, jolting her back to the present. "Hermione, you're being called," he whispered urgently, his brows furrowing in concern.
Hermione's head snapped up from her parchment, her eyes wide with surprise as she realized that the entire class was now staring at her. A wave of embarrassment rushed through her, and she felt the familiar heat of a blush creeping up her cheeks. She had been daydreaming again—lost in thought about him. She'd been imagining the way Severus had looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of desire and intensity, his lips curling into that rare, almost predatory smirk that sent shivers down her spine.
Her heart pounded in her chest, still rattled by the memory of his kiss, but now mixed with a sense of dread. She couldn't let her mind wander like this, especially not in Professor McGonagall's class. "I—I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione stuttered, scrambling to compose herself. She sat up straighter, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, hoping to hide just how flustered she felt.
"Daydreaming in my class, Miss Granger?" McGonagall's voice was clipped, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing. She wasn't used to this level of inattentiveness from her top student, and her disappointment was palpable. "I expect more from you. Now, if you would be so kind as to enlighten us with the answer to my question?"
Hermione's mind raced as she desperately tried to recall what the question had been. She glanced at the blackboard, hoping for a clue, but it was no use. Her usually sharp mind was muddled, still lingering on the sensation of Severus's lips against hers, the feel of his hand gripping hers so possessively.
When the silence stretched on a moment too long, McGonagall's lips thinned further. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would care to share your thoughts on the complexities of human transfiguration, rather than whatever it is that has captured your attention?"
Hermione's blush deepened, and she quickly glanced down at her parchment, cursing herself for being so careless. She took a deep breath, her fingers clutching her quill tightly. "I—yes, of course, Professor," she finally said, her voice wavering slightly. "Human transfiguration is considered one of the most advanced and dangerous forms of Transfiguration due to the complexities involved in altering both the physical and magical structure of a human being. The caster must have a precise understanding of both the anatomy and the magical composition of the person they are transforming, as even the slightest error can have catastrophic consequences, such as incomplete transformations or permanent damage."
Professor McGonagall nodded, her expression still stern but somewhat mollified by Hermione's answer. "Very good. Let's keep our focus on the subject matter, shall we?" she said pointedly, before turning back to the blackboard.
As the class resumed, Hermione couldn't help but feel the weight of Harry's gaze on her. She glanced over to find him watching her with a mix of concern and curiosity. She knew she had to be more careful. She couldn't afford to let her feelings for Severus, however new and confusing they were, affect her studies or draw unwanted attention.
That wasn't the only class where Hermione found herself in trouble. During Professor Slughorn's Potions class later that afternoon, she was reprimanded yet again for her careless wandering mind. For the first time in her Hogwarts career, she'd added the wrong ingredient to a potion—an unforgivable mistake for someone of her caliber. As she stared into the bubbling cauldron, the potion before her turned an alarming shade of murky brown instead of the expected shimmering blue. A sour smell began to fill the room, wafting up from the ruined concoction.
Professor Slughorn, who had been making his rounds among the students, stopped short at Hermione's workstation. His jovial expression twisted into one of surprise and disappointment. "Miss Granger! I must say, this is quite unlike you," he boomed, his walrus-like mustache twitching with disapproval. "Lacewing flies instead of powdered bicorn horn? A novice mistake!" His normally affable tone carried a note of sternness, something rarely directed at Hermione.
Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she stared down at her ruined potion. The realization of her mistake sent a jolt through her. She couldn't believe it—she of all people had gotten distracted enough to mess up such a fundamental step. "I—I'm sorry, Professor," she muttered, her voice small and uncharacteristically uncertain. "I wasn't paying attention."
Slughorn huffed, clearly perplexed. "Well, whatever has you so preoccupied, I suggest you set it aside. Your NEWTs are fast approaching, and I expect much better from you, my dear. You're usually the brightest star in my class, but lately..." His voice trailed off, his disappointment hanging in the air like a thick fog.
Hermione nodded, her face burning with shame. The sting of his words cut deep, and for the first time in weeks, her thoughts about Severus and their complicated, growing connection were sharply pushed aside. She couldn't afford to let her academic record slip, not with NEWTs on the horizon. The realization brought a cold, sobering clarity, instantly cooling any more romantic notions about Severus—at least for now. She needed to focus, to regain control of herself. She'd worked far too hard over the years to let it all crumble now.
She spent the remainder of the class silently cleaning up her failed potion, her mind swirling with frustration. The smell of burnt lacewing flies lingered in the air, a constant reminder of her slip-up. She dared not look around the classroom, already feeling the weight of her peers' eyes on her. She was the one who always got things right—the one everyone looked to for answers. And now, she felt like a fool.
Her hands shook slightly as she methodically gathered her ingredients, determined not to make another mistake. She forced herself to concentrate, every nerve in her body on high alert. This time, she was careful, measuring out each ingredient with precise accuracy. No more daydreaming, no more letting her emotions distract her from what really mattered—her studies, her future. As much as the thought of Severus ignited something thrilling within her, she couldn't let it dominate her every waking moment.
By the end of the class, she'd managed to brew a passable, albeit far from perfect, potion. Slughorn gave her a small, encouraging nod as she bottled the contents and labeled it. "That's more like it, Miss Granger," he said, though his eyes still held a hint of concern. "Remember to keep your head in the game, eh?"
Hermione nodded stiffly, murmuring a soft, "Yes, Professor," as she packed up her things. She couldn't shake the nagging worry that had taken root within her. For the rest of the day, her mind was consumed not with thoughts of Severus but with her marks, her reputation, and the fear that she was slipping. She couldn't afford any more mistakes—not in Potions, not in Transfiguration, not in anything.
As she left the classroom, her shoulders tense and her brows furrowed, Hermione vowed to herself to refocus. She needed to get her priorities straight. There would be time to sort out her feelings for Severus later. For now, she had to be Hermione Granger—the brightest witch of her age, not some lovesick schoolgirl.
"Professor Snape would have murdered me," Hermione declared in frustration to Ginny later that afternoon, as they settled into a corner of the Gryffindor common room. She was still fuming, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. "I wouldn't have gotten a second chance to remake it," she continued, running a hand through her messy curls. "He would have docked points immediately and made some biting remark about how I'd obviously lost my touch."
Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. "If Snape were still our professor, I'd be getting an earful about how I was a disappointment and letting the standards of his classroom slip." She shook her head, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Severus and the way his lips had felt on hers. "I need to remind myself why I'm here, Gin. And it's not to get lost in some forbidden romance."
Hermione's worry began to gnaw at her, festering like an open wound as she replayed the events of the day over and over in her mind. She could feel the weight of her mistakes pressing heavily on her chest. What would Severus think if he knew? The thought of his reaction—his face hardening in disappointment, his sharp, critical eyes narrowing at her—made her stomach twist painfully.
She had always been his top student, the one who could hold her own in his rigorous classes, meeting his high standards with every essay, every brewed potion. Severus Snape was not a man who tolerated mediocrity; he respected excellence and nothing less. And today, Hermione had been far from excellent. Tears pricked at her eyes as she imagined his voice cutting through the air with that biting, sardonic edge. "Have you truly grown complacent, Miss Granger? I thought you had higher ambitions than to allow yourself to slip into such ineptitude." His words would sting, as they always had, but now there was something deeper that terrified her—the fear that she had let him down on a personal level.
She blinked back tears, frustrated with herself for feeling so vulnerable. She had always prided herself on being strong, on handling criticism with grace and determination. But this was different. This was Severus, her Severus, who was no longer just a formidable teacher but someone whose opinion mattered to her in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. She could take harshness from others, but his disappointment... that was a wound that cut too deep.
"Get a grip, Hermione," she muttered to herself, wiping her eyes quickly before anyone could notice. She couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not when there was so much at stake. She knew Severus had little patience for failure; he never had. Would he look at her differently now, question her abilities or—worse—think less of her? She shook her head, trying to dispel the negativity clouding her thoughts.
The logical part of her mind tried to reason with her spiraling emotions. It was one mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. But the emotional side was far louder, drumming into her the fear that she had somehow failed him. Failed herself. She had always worked so hard to earn his respect, and now she felt it was slipping away.
Her breath hitched, a tiny sob escaping before she could stop it. She wanted to be perfect in his eyes—to show him that she could rise to any challenge, that she wasn't just any student, that she was different. More than different, she was his equal. And here she was, worrying like some frightened first-year who had fumbled her first potion.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione straightened her posture, brushing away any remaining tears with the back of her hand. She wouldn't let one bad day define her. She'd been through worse and come out stronger. She had to believe that. But the thought of Severus's potential disappointment weighed heavily, like a lead weight in her chest. She'd have to make up for it. She'd have to work harder, push herself more, and prove to him—and to herself—that she could still meet his exacting standards. There was no room for error now.