Continuing Tales

One Day Like This

A Harry Potter Story
by Hannah_1888

Part 10 of 23

<< Previous     Home     Next >>
Still On Monday, Hermione was getting back to her work. The students were back, and classes had resumed. She hadn't spoken to Snape since that night, and she was annoyed to discover that she was feeling slightly apprehensive about seeing him. She wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't as if he would mention what they'd talked about. No doubt, she'd probably think she'd imagined it all by the end of the day!

She couldn't stop thinking about it, though. Having replayed the conversation several times in her head, she almost had it committed to memory. Lavender had continued to haunt her as well, and she'd half expected to see mention of their little heart-to-heart in the newspaper account of the dinner, but luckily, it had obviously fallen under the radar.

Hermione struggled to evaluate the reasons behind her behaviour during that night. How she wished it could be put down to the fact that she just had it in for Lavender—vengeance for the Ron thing. Being able to say it was simply her desire to protect Snape's reputation would be a plus, too.

Hermione hated to consider it, but really, she had been jealous of the attention Lavender had received from him. There was no other explanation to suffice.

Of course, she now knew that he had been insincere, but still, the fact remained that at some point she had felt actual envy.

It made her head hurt, really.

'Morning, sir.'

Hermione stopped short when she saw the set-up on the table, and she groaned internally. There was a selection of ingredients laid out and nothing else. She knew he was setting her one of his challenges.

'Miss Granger. You have one hour to produce a potion from at least three of the ingredients I have given you. You are to use no books—just your little grey cells.'

My little grey cells are otherwise occupied, thought Hermione grimly.

Sighing a bit too loudly, Hermione moved around the room collecting up her equipment. She set her cauldron down with more force than was necessary and winced when it clanged loudly. Settling down on her stool, she placed her chin in her hand and stared unseeing at the bottles and boxes in front of her.

Powdered root of asphodel and...

Was she really jealous? Really?

Focus, Hermione!

She tapped her fingers on the wood of the desk. All right, asphodel, knotgrass, daisy roots...

She couldn't believe she was jealous. Perhaps, she'd just been automatically jealous because it was Lavender. Professor Snape was her friend (of a sort), and she didn't want Lavender getting the upper hand with that as well. It was not that she wanted him for herself in that way.

Was it?

How would she have felt if he'd been letting, say, that annoying Reigate woman drape herself all over him? Covertly, she glanced at him. Hmm, she couldn't see that happening... Mind, she couldn't say she would have saw it happening with Lavender, either, sham or not.

She rubbed a hand irritably over her hair. Who was she kidding? He could have been letting Trelawney come onto him, and she would have stewed with jealousy. The fact that it was Lavender only meant that she'd had the impetus to get involved.

Merlin! Five minutes had already passed! Hermione gave herself a mental kick—this wasn't the time or place.

She studied the remaining ingredients, almost goggling at the last one in the row.

Resisting the urge to glare at him, Hermione nonchalantly picked up the innocuous sprig of lavender and studied it.

Oh, he was subtle—she had to give him that.


As the close of the hour approached, following several intense moments of toil and determined concentration, Hermione ladled out her potion into a flask and took it over to Snape's desk.

He studied it for a moment. 'You made a Clarity potion?'

Hermione nodded, not registering the interest upon his face.

Had she ever felt physically attracted to him? She couldn't ever recall ever getting hot and bothered at the thought of him.

'You could have simply used an infusion of lavender and witch-hazel and concocted a burn salve, or you could have used the asphodel to make a simple sleeping potion.'

'I suppose...' she answered, shrugging her shoulders distractedly.

She'd never looked at him and found him appealing, as such. She'd never spent time admiring the way he looked, and—

'Miss Granger, are you even listening to me?'

His eyes were narrowed dangerously.

'Yes, sir, you expected me to go for the easy options. I apologise for learning from my past mistakes.'

He did not look impressed.

'A bit too facetious, perhaps?' Hermione asked tentatively, while raising an appeasing eyebrow.

'A little bit, yes,' he admonished.

She nodded, appearing to be suitably humbled. She'd been set this kind of challenge before. However, the first time round she'd been so eager to impress him by getting it right, that she'd made the first potion that had come into her head. While it had been theoretically correct, she had been criticised at length for not taking her time and thinking more subtly.

'Indeed, I feel bound to say I did not expect you to make this particular potion.'

'Oh.' This was unexpected; had she actually surprised him for once? She made a mental note to check later if there had been any sightings of pigs flying through the sky. It had been the most complicated potion she could recall from memory alone. She'd chosen well, for once.

He raised a hand to move a strand of hair out of his face.

What did she think of his hair? That was one his features that most were drawn to at first glance. She'd never been one for longish hair, though. And what of his dark looks? Ron was completely different...

'Yes,' Snape continued, unaware of her internal monologue, 'especially as it seemed to take you a while to get started. I was not expecting a great deal—staring into the ether seemed much more a pressing task for you.'

Hermione blinked. 'Yes, well, I just, ah, wanted to be sure of what I was doing.'

Oh, wait; Viktor had been dark as well.

'Miss Granger, what is wrong with you today? Unless I am very much mistaken, you appear to be away with the fairies!'

'Sorry, I'm just a bit distracted, that's all.'

'Well, forgive me for boring you to distraction—'

'It's not that—'

'I would appreciate if it you at least attempted to look interested in what I'm saying!'

Hermione sighed impatiently. 'Aren't I always interested in what you have to say?'

Merlin, this was the problem—she was too interested in whatever he had to say!

He shoved her potion towards her, clearly still annoyed. 'No matter; this is all for today—I have to prepare for my next lesson.'

So saying, he stood up and turned his attention to the board.

Hermione shook her head wearily and began quickly clearing away her things. She left the room without another word and immediately headed out of the dungeons.

Clearly, she could not go back down there again with her head still in the clouds. Not if she didn't want him being pissed off at her all time.

Dodging the corridors full of marauding students, Hermione took a shortcut to her rooms, whereupon she flung herself onto her bed. Despite her earlier thoughts, deep down, she knew that she must be attracted to him. Perhaps it wasn't his looks that had attracted her in the first place. There had never been a frisson of excitement when she'd first clapped eyes upon him after leaving Hogwarts, or even after. No, this was the worst possible kind of attraction. It wasn't based on superficial lust—she was drawn to his character... his personality.

Merlin, did she actually like derisive comments being thrown at her? Maybe he had been right when he'd said she needed her head testing.

It was no use denying it. Whatever it was, and however it had come about, it was there, and she was stuck with it for the foreseeable future.

Yay, thought Hermione.


Hermione had cancelled her subscription to the Daily Prophet shortly after they'd published Rita Skeeter's article about her and Ron. That wasn't to say that she did not read the paper—she just did not want to personally line their coffers.

A few copies of both the Daily Prophet and the Evening Prophet were delivered each day to Hogwarts and left in the staff room for perusal at leisure. That was usually where she obtained a copy. Or, if the opportunity arose, she would avail herself of Snape's if he left his lying about his office.

She often didn't bother with the Evening Prophet; half the time, it was just a rehashing of the earlier edition. Therefore, she would ignore the flurry of owls that appeared around dinnertime with the newspaper attached to their claws.

There did come a point when she was forced to take note of the evening tabloid.

She arrived slightly late for dinner one evening, having had to stay in the dungeons to keep an eye on her cauldron. Unobtrusively folding herself into her seat, she was serving herself a portion of shepherd's pie when she started to feel distinctly uneasy.

Glancing up, she caught several students looking at her. Immediately, she felt a flush rise in her cheeks, and she surreptitiously checked that she hadn't spilt anything down her. There was nothing, but looking again, there were definitely people looking at her.

Snape seemed to notice her fidgeting, and he spoke to her. 'Something wrong?'

'I don't know...'

The Headmistress, however, on his other side, required his attention, and he turned away to speak with her.

Hermione, meanwhile, picked up her knife and fork and began slowly picking at her plate. She resolutely kept her gaze downwards, and only looked up when a throat cleared next to her.

'What's wrong?' She was somewhat perturbed by the grim look on the Potion master's face.

He flipped open a newspaper, which had been handed to him by McGonagall. One of the headlines on the front page immediately jumped out at her.


At least she knew why they were looking at her now.

Snape was watching her with interest.

'Oh well,' she said quietly, turning back to her dinner, pushing the paper away. She wasn't interested in reading the details, not yet, anyway.

Still, eyes were on her, and she felt a pulse of irritation. What did they want her to do, break down in frightened hysterics? She knew he wasn't going to be in custody forever; he had to be released sometime, after all. Maybe if the Ministry had been fully aware of the extent of the curse he'd used, he would have been imprisoned for longer, but what difference did it make really?

'He'll be under the watchful eye of the Aurors for some time yet, Miss Granger.' Professor McGonagall's voice was reassuring as she spoke past Snape.

Hermione nodded. 'I know, and it's fine, really. I just hope he's learnt his lesson and doesn't go after anyone else.'

She wasn't concerned for her own safety. What was the point? Hell, after recent revelations, she felt more afraid of the man next to her than she did of anyone else.

'What is your current situation with that curse, Miss Granger? What does Poppy say?' asked Snape quietly

'Oh, ah, it's still there, sir, but isn't strong enough to affect me so adversely anymore.' It was like a shadow that wouldn't disappear.

Snape nodded thoughtfully. 'Perhaps, if you'd be so good as to come to my office, say, in an hour, I might have something of interest to you.'

'Of course,' Hermione started, brimming with intrigue, but before she could enquire further, he'd excused himself and left the table. She watched his retreating form and heard herself sighing. It wasn't until she saw McGonagall looking at her that she realised how plaintive it must have sounded.

'Are you sure you are OK?'

'Positive, yes; thank you, Professor.'

Hermione exhaled with relief—potential embarrassment neatly averted.


Snape was poring over a particularly battered old tome when Hermione entered his office that evening. Was that what he had for her—a book? Granted, she loved books, but it was hardly something to be cryptic about. He'd given her loads of books to read in the past.

He turned his attention away from the text at her arrival and moved to stand in front of his desk. She stood still and looked at him expectantly.

'Do you know where the curse hit you, Miss Granger?' he began, without preamble.

'Well, no, not exactly, but Madam Pomfrey assures me that it was on my back...'

Suddenly, his wand was in his hand, and he was stepping silently around her.

'It hit you precisely here,' he enunciated crisply, and Hermione fought not to flinch when she felt the tip of his wand touch her near her right shoulder blade.

'I see,' she commented rather redundantly.

'The imprint of Dark magic is still here, of course; its grip will hang on for as long as possible. That is the way of all Dark magic, but... if you will allow me?'

Hermione ignored the butterflies in her stomach and nodded.

His wand began moving in what appeared to be arbitrary movements, but Hermione had no doubt that they were full of purpose. He muttered softly, and then her body was tingling. Part of her sincerely hoped it was only because of the spell. Rather unnecessarily, her eyes fell shut.

Around the area of her shoulder blade, she felt several pulses of energy, but before she knew it, everything was still once more. The tingling stopped, and Snape's wand was gone. The only sound Hermione could hear was her somewhat elevated breathing.

'That didn't hurt, did it?' He was still standing behind her.

Her eyes popped open.

'Is it... is it gone?'

'It would appear so,' he remarked silkily.

She felt her heart give a little leap of joy, hardly daring to believe it. Finally! She breathed to steady herself.

'Well, thanks...' Her voice caught slightly. 'I mean, I thought I'd be stuck with it for a while longer—I couldn't find anything in library, and...' She was babbling. 'I appreciate it, very much.'

'It was no trouble,' he dismissed.

No, all in a day's work, it would seem, Hermione decided.

He was standing in front of her once more. 'I mean it,' she pressed earnestly. 'You don't know how I have hated having it linger inside me—even when it's immediate effects wore off.'

'It's fine; maybe I should have suggested the use of this spell sooner.'

Hermione smiled. 'It doesn't matter.' Feeling a bit awkward, she clasped her hands together, only to uncomfortably find that they'd become a bit clammy.

'Let's just hope he doesn't come along and cast another one on me!' She aimed for light-heartedness, but didn't quite achieve it. 'Or anyone else, for that matter.'

'Minerva is right; they'll be aware of where he is at all times.' He shifted his gaze away from her, and Hermione was surprised to feel the loss.

However, she became confused when she witnessed an almost-smile about his lips.

'What?' she asked self-consciously.

'The, ah, energy from the spell seems to have had a negative effect upon your hair.'

Her hands flew up to the top of her head, and she could feel several strands sticking up wildly. 'Oh.' She tried to flatten it in vain.

'I'd give it up as a lost cause if I were you.' The corners of his mouth lifted momentarily, and Hermione felt an answering smile form.

Now her palms really were getting a bit sweaty. How often did he smile at anyone?

It was probably best to wrap up the conversation, she decided—before she made a fool of herself. Not to mention that she probably looked horrific with her hair enjoying a life of its own. 'Thank you, again; it is a real weight off my mind.'

A relief, indeed—she felt like she should go and run about the grounds to enjoy the moment of carefree abandon that she felt needed to be unleashed.

He nodded, and Hermione moved to leave. As she walked, she wondered if there was anything she could do to repay him. What, though? She could hardly imagine him accepting a gift of some sort, though she had her work experience at Slug and Jigger's coming up soon, and... Ah.

No doubt that was it, she realised, feeling both regretful and ironic. Three days of quiet while she was away would probably be payment enough for him.

He'd likely call it bliss or some such other superlative.

She would be prepared to put her last Galleon on it.

One Day Like This

A Harry Potter Story
by Hannah_1888

Part 10 of 23

<< Previous     Home     Next >>