Severus had not missed Hermione's hesitation about the cupboard. He'd been watching her move, her easy command of magic. Powerful, she was, no doubt about that. Clever, but also impulsive. Pleasurable to watch.

Still, she'd technically made a mistake. "Magicking the ingredients could cause interference. Run a sweep to make sure nothing's been contaminated," he ordered. He wondered if she felt traumatized about the cupboard.

He almost didn't want her to feel that way. It would make his goal that much harder to attain. And they had to talk about it sometime. It had been hanging in the air the entire brief time she'd been in the office. The robe, which he'd stuffed out of sight in the same place he'd originally found it, had merely begun to scratch the surface of the problem.

So he asked, in a neutral voice, "Do you hate me for what happened?"

Severus didn't know the best way to move forward: to pretend scorn for her reaction, or to act the apologetic professor, wary of boundary lines? He only cared about the boundaries because the law said he had to—and the fact that he would be fired in an instant if he broke those particular laws—not because he felt any respect for them. At the time of The Incident, he'd stopped because of the sudden collision of his Death Eater reactions and his Hogwarts life, and the embarrassment of letting his instincts take over in a school situation.

Now that he was, for all intents and purposes, no longer a Death Eater, what would happen to those instincts? Apparently, he thought with an inner smirk, they'd be channelled into pursuing Miss Granger's bottom.

Snape's strict observation led to Hermione pacing up and down each row of desks, inspecting every single ingredient diligently. When he unexpectedly popped the question of whether she hated him for what had happened, her feet slowed right down—did not come to a halt, but certainly matched turtle speed. Her gaze didn't dare meet his; she continued her examination of the supplies, pretending she was only half paying attention to him, whereas inside all her focus suddenly switched toward the untouched subject.

“No...” She said softly. “No, it would be wrong for me to say that I do.” And she was being honest, for once. If she really wanted to set him off, she would have followed up with 'Because that is nothing compared to your attitude alone', but fortunately she did not have a death wish.

“It is something I regret, however.” She admitted—not only for her own dignity, but for the sake of their predicament with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. If Dumbledore had in fact meant it when he said that she was part of the reason Snape blundered during his duty, then that accounted for a fairly hefty price. She didn't like the idea of bearing such blame.

On that note, it provoked a question she had been meaning to ask, “Oh, that reminds me... what, exactly, did happen with you and Voldemort? Dumbledore said it may have had something to do with me... so I'm just curious.”

Severus wished his class would hurry up and arrive so that he wouldn't have to answer the question. As it was, he had an excuse of the space they were in.

"That is not a question I can answer now. Students may arrive at any moment, and even first-years have ears," he said repressively. "Suffice to say that while I had two professions previously, I now have one."

He considered her earlier answer to his question, which had surprised him. He stood up, wincing slightly. "What do you regret, girl? That my reflexes prevented you from experiencing severe blood loss and scarring?"

“Likewise, Professor—the students.” she retorted with a taste of his own concoction, continuing on her way slowly throughout the rows. Normally she would have finished quickly, but she purposefully took her time so that she could avoid standing around, exchanging awkward chit chat with her professor. She didn't mind so much when she had the opportunity of multi-tasking.

As if on cue, light chattering steadily began to brew right outside the shut dungeon door. With a slight smile, Hermione had just finished checking the final ingredient, and headed for the door to welcome them in. At that moment, she recalled her first Potions lesson—including how absolutely dreadful she thought her professor to be. Unfortunately that never changed. But for the new students, she hoped she could at least contribute to making their first lesson even remotely more bearable.

"Get to your seats," Severus snapped as the students shuffled in, all avoiding his gaze. Many of them looked curiously at Miss Granger, but Severus would explain her presence when they were all seated.

"Welcome," he said forbiddingly, "to Potions, one of the most powerful and subtle of magical arts. In this room you will learn how to mix and blend ingredients so that the drinker of your conconction will bend to your every whim." Automatically he repeated the line he'd given every first-year class for the last eighteen years: "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death..." and he raised his voice, "if you aren't such a big lot of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

They jumped, as usual. Severus was quite pleased. Even leaning on his desk and feeling like death warmed over, he could still make a group of twenty first-years turn pale with fright. Good.

"Open your books," he snapped. They shuffled to obey. "Now!" he snapped, and they shuffled faster. "Open your books to page three. We will be brewing a simple Sleeping Draught... or rather, you will be attempting to brew something vaguely resembling a Sleeping Draught. Follow the directions exactly -- no shortcuts. Patience, care, and attention to detail are essential for the careful potions-brewer."

One of the new Slytherins raised her hand.

"Yes, Tesdinich?"

"Please, Professor Snape, what's that seventh-year doing here?"

Ah, one with bravery. Severus scowled. "Miss Granger," he said repressively, "is here as extra assistance today, as I am certain that without her help at least one of you will attempt to destroy the classroom." That should do.

"No more questions," he said. "Get to work."

With that, he strode—carefully—off around the classroom to survey their first pitiful attempts at brewing.

Hermione fought the temptation to lip sync to Professor Snape's fixed introductory speech. She remembered exactly everything he had said on that first day of hers, as it had been her prime goal back then not to miss a single sentence, word, or letter of knowledge. The goal still applied to this day, but she eased up a tad on trying to turn her mind completely into a recording machine—especially under Snape's teachings; most of his dialogue just consisted of insults and deducting house points.

When Snape answered the curious Slytherin's question regarding Hermione, she felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. It felt kind of good to be somewhat useful to him, for once. Although it hadn't occurred in quite the way she hoped—from determination and hard work alone—it was still more than she ever expected to achieve from him.

The smile quickly faded, however, when she glanced over at the first row and immediately spotted problems arising. “Oh, goodness no, stop! Hold it!” She said to one student, snatching the ingredient right out of his hand as he was milliseconds away from dropping it into the concoction. “You have to wait until the substance in the cauldron is boiling first, before you drop this in.” While instructing him, she had also taken the ladle and started showing him how to do it, personally. It made her cringe to see how terrible the lot of them were on their first tries—she would have used the time turner to go back in time and kick herself if she had been that bad.

As she moved to correct the student two seats to the right, it suddenly occurred to her that she may have been 'interfering' too much, as Snape had put it... Well, she didn't care. These kids were in desperate need of some guidance and, after all, she was there to help prevent disasters.

---

((And--ehem--why are you temporarily male?))

Severus would have gone over and stopped Hermione from helping the student, but his ribs were really hurting now. He'd known, in a theoretical sense, that extended exposure to the Cruciatus would interfere with the healing of other wounds, but actually experiencing it was something else. He felt his breathing become shallow and knew that his complexion, already quite sallow, was becoming pale.

As he walked around the classroom, he, like Hermione, prevented disaster after disaster. The class was Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and though most of the Ravenclaws were diligent and followed directions, wanting to get high grades, there were, as always, the few who thought they were smart enough to understand the "essence" of the potion and skip steps.

He wondered later that the entire school hadn't exploded.

Sleeping Draught required the use of two ingredients, at the beginning and the end of the process, which would explode if combined in large quantities in the presence of fire. Normally during the brewing of this potion it wasn't a problem; they were added at completely different times, in small amounts. But the Slytherin girl who had asked about Miss Granger thought she knew better than the textbook. Severus heard her saying to her desk-mate, "Oh, I've already done this potion with my tutor. He always does this instead—" and Severus knew exactly who her tutor was and what flashy shortcut he was showing: it involved combining the two in a slightly larger amount to make a slight flash in the cauldron, with the correct amount left over for the potion. Technically harmless, but pointlessly showy, and in the hands of this smart-alec—

He saw her take two entire fistfuls of the two powders, and knowing he wouldn't be there in time to provide physical interaction, shouted, instinctively, "HERMIONE! ARROWROOT AND UNICORN TEARS!" hoping she would whip around and realize what she needed to do before Smart Alec Slytherin lost more than her eyebrows.

---

((I've lately been considering a gender change; all the work I'm doing for the summer sessions Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual/Transgender/Queer studies class has made me question my sexual identity... J/K. I'm a beta for the Dream Avatar Creator - yay! - and I want to try out male stuff, too. I have a male mule and never know how to dress him...))

((Oh, you... You are showering me with pressure! How am I to know what Arrowroot or Unicorn Tears is for... *mumblemumble* If I am missing something here, you had better correct me.))

---

The words reached her mind the instant they touched her ears. Having been pounded into her brain many a times, her body reacted upon muscle memory—hair and robes flew as she whipped around so quickly and darted to the disaster on the brink of happening. In the midst of her rushing, she announced the spell “Impedimenta!” and a little spark flashed from her wand, pointing directly at the girl. It gave Hermione enough time to reach the suddenly still girl and pry her full hands away from the surface of the cauldron.

Once the situation was safe again, Hermione separated the powder ingredients from the girl's hands, emptying it all back into their respectful jars. A quick counter-jinx later, the girl's movement was back to normal. She looked a little dazed, as if confused as to what just happened, and Hermione just smiled at her. “That is what instructions are for.” She advised knowingly.

((Oh, I was just making it all up! Your response was perfect. Though you might want Hermione to notice that Severus called her by her given name, not her last name. ;)))

---

Severus watched in horrified, terrified relief as Hermione prevented disaster with her quick reflexes. Using Impedimenta to stop the girl had been brilliant; much more efficient than working out a counterspell to the reaction or containing the damage.

"Thank you," he said, and knew his voice was croaky. "Miss Underwood, that will be 100 points from Slytherin for nearly killing yourself, your tablemate, and everyone in this classroom. Yes, from my own House!" he bellowed as she looked mutinously back at him. "You will write me a two-foot essay -- decently sized handwriting! -- on the properties of arrowroot and unicorn tears and what would have happened had you proceeded with your idiotic notion."

The girl was swallowing and blinking back tears. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

"Very well. Class, continue, and be sure to follow the instructions!"

With the adrenaline now surging out of his system, Severus leaned heavily on a nearby table and tried not to clasp at his heart, which was pounding furiously. He needed to act normal, look normal, but it was effing hard. Why was he so unstable? He should have been able to simply delegate to Miss Granger — he'd called her Hermione, he now recalled, and wondered what sort of impact that would have on the gossip mills — and then move on. But his nerves were twanging like rubber bands, and his breath was coming far too quickly. Still, he couldn't show weakness, especially not to first-years.

Merlin, his ribs hurt. Moving gingerly, Severus continued on to the next table, which fortunately had two boys who were determined to suck up to him by following the directions to the letter and exclaiming loudly about it. Brown-nosing. He acidly corrected their use of knives and deducted five points from Ravenclaw.

((I DID NOTICE IT—RIGHT AWAY, ACTUALLY!!! I had already planned on mentioning it in this post, since I couldn't find a way to fit it into the last.))

---

Hermione allowed her heightened heart rate to settle down, letting her hands fall limply back to her sides with relief. She glanced up at her professor, just in time to hear him thank her. From those two words alone, even Voldemort couldn't conquer the wide grin spreading across her lips or the blush swelling in her cheeks. It was more than self-satisfying to finally hear some form of appreciation coming from him, after having waited so long.

The little daze she was in didn't last for very long, however, as her continued stare on her professor made her notice something. He was struggling. The students may not have picked up on it as sharply as she had, since they didn't know the man from Adam; but she, on the other hand, was able to tell when her professor was under strain, after being in his class for seven years. Upon noticing this, her memory recalled everything that had just transpired, and further gave her the explanation as to why he wasn't able to prevent the disaster himself. As it was all piecing itself together, she suddenly realized something else that she had been too engaged to pick up on before. He had called her by her first name. At this point, she was practically gaping at the man. Although she truly wished to revel in it some more, his well-being came in first priority.

Slowly, Hermione made her way around the desks, only slightly pretending to be checking the students' work, when her true goal was her professor. She approached him as casually and inconspicuously as she could.

“Professor, um...” Hermione whispered, creeping up from behind him. “I couldn't help but notice that, er...” Her gaze drifted to a nearby student who was much too nosy for his own good. “Well, I mean, if you'd like to, um, take a break or something... I think I could handle the students for a little while.”

"No," Severus said immediately. "No, it's not some idiotic pride thing, if that's what you're thinking. This is their first class, and I must establish my authority as a teacher, or the entire year will be a disaster." He shook his head at her. "Imagine yourself in my position. Would you leave the class on the first day in the hands of an assistant, no matter how capable?"

Still, he wished he could. He was trembling, developing a headache, and his ribs hurt abominably.

"Miss Granger, do you know any healing spells?"

Snape had made a good point. She didn't even have to consider his question to know that her answer was an instant 'no'. Although she quite enjoyed him acknowledging her as capable.

Regarding his following question, Hermione had to think back to remember if she knew any healing spells that would be of value to her professor. She didn't specialize much in the field—usually she just left that sort of thing up to Madam Pomfrey. However, from her involvement with Harry and his seemingly magnetic affiliation to the dark arts, she managed to acquire a few tricks up her sleeve in the process.

“Of course. Please follow me, Professor.” Instinctively, she grabbed his wrist and began leading him to the ingredients closet. She had a strong feeling he wouldn't want the students watching her pump healing magic into him. Not a very good image on his behalf.

Once they were both completely inside the closet, she shut the door behind them and turned to face her professor. The closet was small, so the space between them was quite scarce. Not wishing to waste any time or leave the students curious, Hermione pulled back her sleeves and placed one hand on her professor's chest while the other hand supported her wand. With her wand pointed at his chest, she whispered the proper incantations, and began channelling the healing magic into his body. It wasn't a strong spell, so it wouldn't last for a very long time, but it was a good temporary relief for an hour or so.

---

((Sorry if I went a little too ahead. I didn't want to leave you with nothing to post with, but if you want the scenario to occur differently, just let me know and I'll remove the fourth paragraph.))

Severus really didn't think it was wise to leave the students unattended, but also didn't want the students to see that he was weak at all. He just hoped she would be quick about it, and she was -- they were out of the classroom for less than a minute all told.

In the closet, he found that he could smell her. Shampoo? Perfume? It was a pleasant smell, and did much to alleviate the throbbing in his head. Her healing magic was good, too -- a pleasant lightness spread all along his nerves and swathed the pain in cotton wool. He could still feel the pain, but it didn't bother him as much.

"Thank you," he said again, and then realized, with the part of him that had liked Miss Granger's bottom, that they were in an enclosed space together. In the dark. He reached blindly forward as if to grip her shoulders. His hands connected with something pleasantly soft instead.

Bliss, he thought, and immediately moved his hands away. That would give his nights ample material for a few weeks.

"I do apologize," he said contritely.

The smile flourishing across her face came to a sudden dead stop when she felt an unexpected hand land on one of her breast—Snape's hand. A moment of shock elapsed, where she just stood there staring blankly at the poorly lit space. Then, her reflexes kicked in and she swatted the air, hoping to hit his hand away.

“Profressor!” She exclaimed, glaring up into what she could only assume was his ugly face. But she quickly decided that she did not want to be in that closet any longer. So, with an exasperated breath, she busted open the closet door and marched right out. The students all gave her puzzling stares, so she tried to compose herself to the best of her ability, not to lead any suspicions, but that was rather hard after having a teacher lay his hands on you—however accidental it may have been.

She was glad when she spotted a student at the back of the room having some troubles with his potion. Without a single glance back at her professor, she strode toward the student and tended to his work. Even though she tried to distract herself by doing so, for some reason her mind failed to dispel lingering thoughts on the accident in the closet. When she thought about it, it was the first time anyone ever really 'touched' her. Even though it wasn't intentional—like she would have liked her first to be—she couldn't help the strange feeling she got from it. While she was indeed repulsed by the action, she was also somewhat intrigued by it. Subconsciously, she dared to peek a small glance over her shoulder at Snape for just a quick moment before reverting back to the student. Her face was flustered and she didn't know what to do about it.

Severus kept his face composed as Hermione fled the closet. In order to create a pretext for their presence inside, he randomly grabbed several jars of ingredients and took them over to his desk. He could see her at the back of the room, bright red as she assisted a student—exactly as he'd told her not to do—and wished he could read her mind. Had she liked it? Did she think him a pervert? Did she trust that he hadn't intended to touch her there, even though he had?

Well, perhaps he could do a little subtle Legilimency during their detention tonight. He found he was looking forward to it—he still had to tell her off about the overlong essay, too.

Having deposited the ingredients on his desk, he began moving around the classroom again. His teaching methods, though far from the gentle, encouraging techniques of Flitwick or Sprout, were ones he knew to be highly effective. Students often learned their lessons through painful mistakes, and so he would let them singe their eyebrows or drip acidic solution onto their robes. That wasn't a risk during this lesson, though. In fact, the only real danger in the potion was the one that idiotic Slytherin had managed to find. He made a note to contact Ambrosius Crumb, her tutor, and tell him off for teaching that shortcut.

The end of the class slowly ticked toward them, and Severus began handing out marks for each potion. Objectively, the class was promising; the averted disaster had made them all pay strict attention—though the loss of points was also a strong impetus. Most of the draughts were not poisonous, and a handful actually brewed correctly, for which Severus grudgingly gave five house points each. When the lesson finally ended, Severus dismissed them after assigning an essay on the Sleeping Draught, which they would re-attempt next lesson.

As the students filed out, the little Slytherin still puffy-eyed and sniffling, Severus turned to Hermione. "I think," he said evenly, "that I will need to visit Madam Pomfrey now. Your spell has held well, but I believe I re-broke my ribs earlier this morning."

Then he added, reluctantly and grudgingly, "Thank you for your assistance. Next up are the sixth-year Gryffindors; if I'm not back, start them on the Draught of Living Death."

“Right,” Hermione nodded, “Go ahead.” Her back remained turned against him as she immersed herself in cleaning up all the mess after the first-years. They were only just entering the experimental stage, so it was understandable that there was quite a bit of tidying up to do.

She was glad Snape decided to go for another check up with Madam Pomfrey. Not only for the sake of his health, but also because she didn't want the few minutes of their in-between classes break to be painfully awkward. She was aware that she would have to spend detention alone with him later on, but she needed some time first to get over the fact that he groped her. Realization occurred to her that it was but a mere accident, which she honestly believed—as she knew Snape would never do such a thing on purpose—but she still needed some time to accept that and be capable of forgiving him.

That thought drifted her back to the feeling itself. Ever since it happened, her chest felt like it was on fire. Sure, she had explored herself several times before... but the instant she felt it from the hands of someone else, she realized how much of a completely different experience it was. It almost... made her want to sample that feeling some more.

Repulsed by the absurdness of that idea, she shook her head violently and continued working with five times the exertion.

Poppy was not pleased to see Severus.

"Over-exerting yourself, of course!" she exclaimed, and poked him forcefully onto a bed, where she made him lie still as she cast numerous healing spells over him. "Who did this temporary holding spell?"

"Her—" began Severus, then corrected, "Miss Granger, of course."

"Very neat work that child does," Poppy said approvingly.

"Hardly a child," Severus retorted.

Poppy gave him A Look, which Severus returned blankly. "Well, anyway," she said briskly, "you're not to make any sudden movements, do you understand? I won't patch you up again today, and you really need to rest. How I wish Dumbledore hadn't insisted on you teaching today! Miss Granger could have easily taken your classes just fine, couldn't she?"

"Had to establish authority," Severus replied, standing up and bending experimentally. "Thank you, as always, Poppy," he said, with a thin smile, and left before she could continue telling him off. Still, he could hear her harumphing to herself, muttering about how if she had her way...

Severus walked as quickly as he could back down to the dungeons, aware that the corridors were empty and that Hermione had probably already started the class. The sixth-year Gryffindors... there'd be awkward questions, but at least the Acromantula excuse would hold for a little while.

He reached the classroom door, wondering in horror what he might find when he entered. He opened the door.

The class of sixth-years was small, but that number held nothing against their attitude. When they arrived, Hermione initially had a hard time at just making them stay—most threatened to skip the class altogether. It was when she mentioned that Snape would be returning to the class eventually that made them choose to comply in the end.

Even by the time she got them all to sit down, that was just about as far as she managed to achieve. It would seem as though they didn't fancy the idea of being instructed by another student—merely one year above them. She tried to explain the situation as best as she could, but most of the students simply ignored her and spent their time chatting with the buddies next to them or magicking paper aeroplanes. The only student in the class who was really paying attention was Ginny; although, her gaze was a little unnerving to Hermione. Hermione's mind began to wonder how much the girl actually knew—had Harry shared anything with her yet? Perhaps Ron? Was she one to go around spreading rumours?

She mentally slapped herself as it would do no good being distracted by such irrelevant curiosity at that time. She had to focus on the task at hand. Putting a strict hold on her thoughts, she averted her attention to the whole of the class. She had to do something quick before Snape returned.

“Alright, listen up.” She announced, her serious voice projecting over the students' from years of practice. “Unless you all wish to discover what concoction is made by mixing a bad-tempered potions professor with a group of rowdy students, I highly suggest you get started on your draughts immediately!” Her temper was no joke, and from many occasions of lecturing Harry, Ron, and the odd student, she was used to having to act rather bossy. The group of sixth-years should not have been an issue for her.

However, quite clearly it was. The frolicking ceased for merely a moment before continuing without taking her in all her seriousness. Hermione gave a frustrated sigh, and was just about to throw out more threats when there was a sudden click at the door and it swung open. That seemed to have done the magic trick, for the instant Snape's intimidating figure surfaced, all the nonsense from the students came to an abrupt halt and they frantically began shuffling through the pages in their books.

Hermione looked in astonishment at the sudden reverse reaction in the students, and then to Snape. She couldn't keep her eyes on him for very long, however, as she redirected her ashamed frown to the floor in front of her.

For an instant, she felt like she finally understood a small part of her professor.

Severus opened the door to a storm of noise. Good lord, it was worse than he'd expected. He'd at least have hoped that the sixth-year Gryffindors, the people who knew Miss Granger, would have helped them obey her.

They went utterly silent as he entered. He made sure his boots clicked on the floor as he strode to the front.

"Really," he drawled sarcastically. "I've more than half a mind to fail all of you out of N.E.W.T-level potions, which would, I doubt, destroy the career plans of a good number of you."

There was an aghast intake of breath from several of them, and Severus was sure he heard a small sob.

Reaching his desk, Severus slammed a handy book down on it. He noticed that Hermione was still frowning at the floor, a flush visible on her cheeks. She ought to be ashamed, he thought angrily. Why hadn't she just silenced them all with magic? He'd talk to her after class, especially if his delicacy continued in such an annoying fashion.

"That will be twenty points from each student," Severus said, inwardly appalled at how many points he'd taken from his own House that day. "And I wish a foot-long essay from you on—" there was an infinitesimal pause while he decided on a nasty topic "—the side-effects of long-term usage of Dreamless Sleep." Hah. There was only one small article on that topic, which he'd written, and the library had a single copy of the journal it had been published in. "By breakfast tomorrow. Any who fail will face detention with Filch at the next Hogsmeade weekend."

There would be some who would simply choose the detention over the essay. It was a fitting punishment, Severus felt.

"I am not surprised to find that, despite studying all last year to gain entrance into this class, none of you show any true interest in the subject. As always, you regard it as simply something to do for someone else's sake. Did it not cross your pea-sized brains that the reason Potions is required as a N.E.W.T. subject in so many careers is because you'll wind up needing to use the craft?" He banged the book on the desk again, making more than a few students jump.

"Though your lack of initiative does not at all surprise me, I am simply appalled to find the lack of respect you have been showing to your own Head Girl. Miss Granger is here as my assistant in recognition of her outstanding skill and magical capability, and you have the gall to ignore her when I am out of the classroom for a mere few minutes! You pathetic, snivelling brats," he finished on a growl. "She is not only the cleverest and most capable student of many years, but is also gifted with those leadership qualities that make her an excellent Head Girl. I cannot believe that you would have such disloyalty towards one of your own."

"You're even worse than the first-years, who at least knew how to behave in a classroom. Grow up and remember why you're here: to learn. Not to pass the class, but to learn an important skill. If you're simply here because it's a requirement you need to complete, you need to re-think your future plans." He passed his scowl uniformly around the dungeon. "Get out your books and ingredients."

And, still feeling a rumbling turmoil of rage toward the students, he started the class with a long lecture on the ingredients' properties and combinatory possibilities, mentioning mid-lecture that they would be quizzed on every word the following class.

Revenge was, at times, quite sweet.

If the students didn't take her seriously before, they certainly did now. Hermione looked up and noticed a lot of students glancing back and forth between her and their professor with doe-like eyes—yes, quite obviously they regretted their ignorance.

It still didn't make her feel much better, though. From first-hand experience of Snape's harsh means of discipline, she had sworn to herself to never carry on that method if it ever came to it; she just didn't believe it was right. But after experiencing how the class reacted when she attempted to appropriately guide and reason with them, it had made it clear why his technique was so effective. It still wasn't in her nature to act in such a way, however, so she settled with the fact that maybe she just wasn't cut out for the whole teaching thing.

Hermione remained in silence for most of the class, since a lot of it consisted of lecturing. For the amount of time that she just stood there, with her professor pacing around and running his mouth, she was given ample time of simply watching him go about his ways. After the episode with the class, she sort of began seeing him in a new light—an almost admiration, if you will. Sure, the only reason he got results was through fear, but his power and influence was rather captivating. Before that day, she always saw him as over-powering and, quite honestly, an ass... but now she was able to actually respect him, in a way.

There were only ten minutes left in the class when Severus finally allowed them to begin brewing the Draught of Living Death. He knew that their assigned textbook had errors, so wasn't surprised at the amount of chaos as students tried to get juice out of jumping beans by slicing, or found their stirring sticks stuck in concrete-like mush.

When he noticed that Hermione was simply standing at the front of the class observing, he went up and took her by the elbow, pulling her over to Ginny Weasley's cauldron.

"See this?" he said, pointing at the turquoise shimmer. "This particular error comes from the typo in the instructions, asking for twelve lacewings instead of thirteen." He added another lacewing from Miss Weasley's supply. The potion obediantly turned silver. "Two points to Gryffindor for getting everything right except the error," he said, much to Miss Weasley's surprise.

He dragged Hermione by the elbow over to Luna Lovegood's cauldron. Why that girl was in his class, he had no clue. But she'd scraped through, barely, with an O. Her potion was, to his horror, pink. "This is utterly worthless, Miss Lovegood," Severus said flatly. "What did you do?"

"Oh," Luna Lovegood replied in her vague way, "I've already made the Draught of Living Death, so this is the Draught of Dying Life."

What the hell? thought Severus.

"It sounds quite hazardous," Severus replied evenly. "I don't care if you've already done a potion; you will do the required work. Five points from Ravenclaw. Miss Granger, please get rid of it."

“Sorry, Luna.” Hermione shot the girl a sympathetic expression once Snape had his back turned to them. It was worse having her actual friends in the class while she was assisting.

“No worries,” beamed the quirky girl with her smile never faltering in the slightest.

“By the way,” she continued, while observing Hermione obediently heaving the cauldron off the burner, “I couldn't help but notice your eyes following Professor Snape a lot, with a bit of a funny look.” She paused for a brief moment. “Do you fancy him?”

Hermione was so thrown off that she nearly dropped the cauldron. “Luna!” she snapped, looking around cautiously to make sure nobody else heard her question. Luckily, the bubbling from the brews and students discussing their errors over-powered the girl's voice. Damn her bluntness, Hermione thought as her glare returned to the girl. “No, Luna—don't be absurd,” she rebuked, “This is just a... learning experience for me. I am merely surveying his manner.” Her voice was stern as she gave Luna a look that advised she drop the questions immediately.

“Oh,” Luna replied, eyelashes fluttering slightly. “Okay.” And that was all she had to say, along with another sickeningly sweet smile.

As Luna returned to viewing her textbook, Hermione quickly fled to dispose of the foreign concoction into the bin that was magically protected against all kinds of potions and chemicals. She then washed the cauldron dry with a simple cleaning spell, and when she went to return the cauldron to Luna, she hastily dropped it onto her burner on her way back to the front of the class, without even stopping or glancing at the girl as she did so. She wanted to avoid any other ridiculous questions.

((Oh, Luna... Sorry my post is short; I just picked up my cat from dental work and so my brain is mostly filled with immense relief that she's doing all right.))

----

The end of class reached with no disasters, Severus released the students to the lunch hour with a sense of vindictive relief. Then he turned to Hermione.

"Well," he said, trying hard not to smile. "How was it, trying to subdue a class of insolent children?"

((Oh my, totally understandable! My reaction would be the exact same had that happened to my cat.))

---

“It was...” she fought for a moment, “Complicated—to say the least.” Her eyes finally met his and she bit her lip. “I mean... I never understood how tough it truly is. You would think it should be fairly straight-forward, but no...” Her gaze drifted to the floor, and she considered for a second how the students could possibly be so uninterested in their education. It was something that she, personally, would fail to ever understand.

“Yet, you manage them so well... it's impressive.” She added with slight awe, suddenly turning her attention back to her professor. It was a compliment which made her feel rather awkward after mentioning it; a compliment was the last thing she ever expected to give to the potions master. Then again, it was a year full of surprises.

((She's been home for a while now and is doing well. Now I suddenly have another cat to worry about, as our "middle child" began vomiting white foam, several times in a row, which has me thinking "CRF!" and beginning to panic... but I won't panic. Not yet. It could just be dehydration, since it's been very hot today.))

----

Praise from Hermione Granger. Well, well, well. He gave her a brisk nod, and simply said, "I'm glad you can finally see things from the other side. It is especially difficult to manage the upper years, as they're ready to be done with school. I hear the talk, of course; I can hardly miss out on the fact that I'm the least favorite of all teachers. Except," and he did actually grin at this, "Dolores Umbridge."