Over the next few days, Hermione found herself caught in a tumult of emotions, her thoughts incessantly drawn towards her professor. His solicitous care during her time of vulnerability had kindled an unexpected warmth within her. The memory of his furrowed brow and concerned gaze, as he tended to her injured arm, lingered in her consciousness, a tender echo of his unwavering attention. He didn't merely offer perfunctory gestures of assistance; rather, he went above and beyond, anticipating her needs with a quiet dedication that both surprised and moved her. He didn't need to go out of his way to fetch her a comforting cup of tea when she trembled with pain, yet he did so without hesitation, his actions speaking volumes about his compassion. Similarly, his patience and unyielding calmness in the face of her distress were a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves, offering solace in moments of uncertainty. Moreover, his steadfast presence by her side as she grappled with sleep eluded her was a source of unexpected comfort, his reassuring presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of her thoughts. And when exhaustion finally overcame her, and she succumbed to slumber on the couch, he didn't hesitate to magically bring her to her bed where he tucked her in to sleep. Each act of kindness, no matter how seemingly small, etched itself indelibly into her heart, forging a connection that she couldn't deny nor ignore.
Hermione recognized the feelings stirring within her as dangerous and wholly inappropriate. She had come to Hogwarts to further her education, earn her potions license, and perhaps one day teach the subject herself. Developing romantic feelings for her professor was not part of her plans, nor was it something she had anticipated.
The fear of him ever discovering her feelings for him unsettled Hermione as she struggled to maintain focus on her studies. She knew that allowing her emotions to interfere with her academic pursuits could jeopardize her goals.
Despite her concerted efforts to shake off her feelings, Hermione found herself ensnared in the grip of relentless turmoil, her heart aflutter with an inexplicable longing that defied reason. She tried to rationalize her emotions, reminding herself of all the compelling reasons why pursuing anything beyond an apprentice-professor relationship with Professor Snape would be futile.
His trademark acerbic demeanor and biting sarcasm served as constant reminders of the chasm that yawned between them, while the significant age gap between them loomed ominously, a stark reminder of the inherent barriers that stood in the way of any potential connection. Moreover, the likely disapproval from her friends and peers weighed heavily on her mind, casting a shadow of doubt over the viability of entertaining such forbidden thoughts.
Yet, despite the myriad obstacles that lay in their path, none seemed potent enough to quell the burgeoning attraction that stirred within her. With each passing day, her feelings for him only seemed to intensify, defying logic and reason in their relentless pursuit of her heart. Try as she might to bury them beneath a façade of indifference, the fluttering butterflies in her stomach betrayed the depth of her emotions, their silent whispers of longing echoing in the recesses of her mind.
Hermione couldn't help but inwardly groan as she felt her attention drawn irresistibly once more to Professor Snape's commanding presence. With a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, she tore her gaze away from his figure, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she hastily averted her eyes down to her desk.
Desperately, she feigned intense focus on the parchment before her, her quill scratching against the paper in a futile attempt to distract herself from the magnetic pull of her professor's presence. Yet, despite her best efforts to appear engrossed in her work, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had caught her staring yet again.
Every nerve in her body tingled with self-consciousness as she resisted the urge to steal another furtive glance in his direction, acutely aware of the risk of further drawing his attention. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione silently cursed her inability to control her wandering thoughts, resigned to the fact that her secret infatuation with her professor was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal.
As Hermione diligently scribbled down a few notes, her quill skittering across the parchment in an attempt to mask the turmoil swirling within her, she felt a sudden jolt of nervousness coursing through her veins. Her heart leaped into her throat as Professor Snape's voice sliced through the hushed atmosphere of the classroom, calling out her name with a commanding tone.
With a sinking feeling of apprehension knotting in the pit of her stomach, Hermione glanced up from her parchment, her pulse racing with a mixture of anxiety and trepidation. All around her, the other students turned to look in her direction, their curious gazes only serving to heighten her discomfort.
For a fleeting moment, Hermione considered the possibility of feigning ignorance, of pretending she hadn't heard her name being called. But the steely glint in Professor Snape's eyes left her with little doubt that such a ploy would be futile. With a resigned sigh, she swallowed hard, steeling herself for whatever scrutiny or reprimand awaited her as she met his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and apprehensive anticipation.
"Ms. Granger, can you inform the class how long the brewing process takes for this particular potion?" Professor Snape asked, his tone demanding her attention.
Hermione was startled by the unexpected question from Professor Snape. Normally, he did not engage her directly in class. She was not expected to answer any questions while he was teaching. Her job was to take notes and observe the students. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she set her quill down and focused her attention on the professor. "The brewing process should take about 90 minutes," she responded nervously, hoping to provide the correct answer without revealing any of her internal thoughts.
As Hermione finished her response, she couldn't help but notice a subtle glint of amusement flicker in Professor Snape's eyes. Her stomach clenched with apprehension as she braced herself for what she suspected would be a continuation of his interrogation.
To her dismay, her intuition proved correct. Despite her fervent hope that his line of inquiry would cease, the gleam in Professor Snape's eyes suggested otherwise. With a sinking feeling of resignation settling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione prepared herself for another question.
"What would happen if someone was too heavy-handed with the ingredients?" Professor Snape asked, his tone expectant as he added the powdered moonstone to the cauldron.
Hermione cleared her throat, recalling the lessons from her fifth year. "The side effects of using a potion that was too heavy-handed would put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep," she recited, feeling a pang of embarrassment at regurgitating his words from three years prior. She started to fidget under the collective gaze of the students and her professor.
Hermione's tense shoulders relaxed marginally as the professor's attention shifted back to the simmering cauldron in front of them, momentarily alleviating the weight of scrutiny that had settled upon her. However, her brief respite was short-lived as she stole a quick glance at her parchment, her heart sinking at the sight of the scant notes she had managed to scrawl down during the class. A wave of frustration washed over her, mingled with a tinge of self-reproach as she cringed at her own lack of productivity.
Aware of the need to refocus her scattered thoughts, Hermione took a deep breath, determined to regain her concentration. With a steely resolve, she squared her shoulders and directed her gaze to her parchment, determined to add more notes to it.
Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, Hermione hastily picked up her quill, her hand trembling slightly as she attempted to focus on the task at hand. She began to jot down a few notes, her thoughts scattered and disjointed amidst the tumult of her inner turmoil. But despite her best efforts, by the time the class period drew to a close, she found herself staring down at her parchment, dismayed to see that only three meager sentences adorned its surface. Frustration gnawed at her, a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest as she realized the extent of her distraction.
Her unease heightened when, without warning, the parchment she had been writing on was swiftly plucked from her desk by the long fingers of Professor Snape. Startled, Hermione looked up to meet his piercing gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the thought of him discovering her lack of progress. She braced herself for a reprimand, her heart pounding with apprehension as she awaited his verdict on her evident lack of focus.
Arching a disdainful eyebrow, Professor Snape took in the abysmal number of notes adorning Ms. Granger's parchment. His lip curled imperceptibly as he scanned the sparse contents, a silent judgment evident in the furrow of his brow. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he folded the parchment and lifted it from the desk, his movements deliberate and calculated.
His coal-black eyes rose from the parchment to meet Hermione's gaze, his expression inscrutable as he observed the flicker of panic that briefly flashed in her eyes. The weight of his scrutiny bore down upon her, a silent reproach that left her feeling uncomfortably exposed.
"I called on you today because I wanted to make sure you were paying attention," Snape intoned his voice a low, measured cadence that brooked no argument. "It seems like based on this…" He shook the parchment in disgust, the rustling of paper echoing in the tense silence that hung between them, "...you were completely distracted."
The words hung in the air like a heavy shroud, punctuated by the palpable disappointment that radiated from the professor's every word. Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a flush of shame coloring her features as she struggled to formulate a response under the weight of his scrutiny.
"I apologize, Professor," Hermione responded quickly, her voice tinged with sincerity as she sought to assuage the disappointment etched on Snape's features. "I have been a bit distracted lately, but I promise you I take my work very seriously."
Her words were earnest, delivered with a fervor born of her genuine commitment to her studies. She held his gaze unwaveringly, willing him to see the sincerity in her eyes despite her recent lapse in concentration. Inwardly, she chided herself for allowing her personal distractions to interfere with her academic pursuits, vowing to redouble her efforts to regain the professor's trust and prove her dedication to her craft.
Professor Snape inclined his head, his gaze piercing as he analyzed Hermione carefully. The weight of his scrutiny bore down upon her, causing her to fidget nervously under the intensity of his stare. With each passing moment, the silence stretched taut between them, fraught with the unspoken tension of his unyielding assessment.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Snape set the parchment back on the table with a deliberate motion, his expression unreadable as he broke the palpable silence. "Potion-making requires your utmost concentration," he remarked. "I hope you find that whatever is distracting you from your studies that you handle it."
Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at the weight of her professor's words. The intensity of his stare, coupled with the unsettling notion that he might somehow discern the source of her distractions, sent a surge of apprehension coursing through her veins. With a sense of unease gnawing at her insides, she found herself unable to maintain eye contact, her gaze drifting downward to the worn surface of the wooden desk.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she swallowed past the lump in her throat, the weight of his expectation bearing down upon her like an oppressive burden. She nodded solemnly, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, "Yes, Professor."
As dinner arrived in the bustling Great Hall, Hermione found herself once again besieged by thoughts of her professor. With a reluctant sigh, she lowered her gaze to the array of food spread out before her, her appetite diminished by the relentless tug of her wayward thoughts. Resting her chin on her left hand, she absently pushed her food around on her plate with her right, her mind far removed from the lively chatter and clatter of cutlery that surrounded her.
Despite her best efforts to focus on her meal, the inappropriate thoughts that had plagued her throughout the day continued to surface, stubbornly persisting in their intrusion upon her consciousness. Each attempt to push them away proved futile, leaving her feeling increasingly unsettled and discomfited in their wake. With a frustrated huff, Hermione cast a furtive glance around the Great Hall, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the notion that anyone might discern the tumult of emotions swirling within her.
"I hope tomorrow you will remain focused on the task at hand, Ms. Granger," Professor Snape's voice cut through the din of the Great Hall, his tone as crisp and commanding as ever. Hermione's gaze snapped up to meet his, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension at the reminder of her recent lapse in concentration. She nodded solemnly, acutely aware of the weight of his expectations bearing down upon her.
"You're my apprentice," Snape continued, his voice low and measured, "and you know I expect only the best."
The words hung in the air like a silent admonition, a stark reminder of the high standards to which she was held as his pupil. Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat, a renewed sense of determination swelling within her as she resolved to meet his expectations with unwavering focus and dedication. If only she could suppress the fluttering butterflies in her stomach.