((Cats vomit a lot for several reasons... just monitor it and if it persists by, say, tomorrow, then go get it checked.))

---

Hermione cringed when she heard Snape mention the name of the devil itself in human form. She recalled how terrible that year was... probably her worst—and not just because she had to break so many rules.

But she quickly forced the memory out of her mind, as something else had caught her attention. The expression on Snape's face, when he acknowledged that he was the least liked teacher, made her own face contort with concern. Even though that theory was sadly true, it made her realize how much of a burden it must be... and, as a result, she felt sorry for him.

“You're not my least favourite.” She declared, quite honestly in fact. Before that year, it would have been a solid lie... but all of a sudden she seemed to have relinquished that detestation.

((I fed her, and she seems to be okay. What concerns me more is that her stomach often seems to be sensitive...))

That startled Severus, and gave him profound hope for his pursuit of her. "Really?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "Even now? Who else could be worse than the 'slimy git,' the 'bat,' the 'greasy-haired, hook-nosed Snape'?"

With a grand gesture, he indicated she should precede him out of the classroom. It was, after all, lunch time, and they'd both need to make in an appearance.

((What brand of food do you feed it? Because I know my cat was more prone to throwing up when feeding her a certain brand of food... then I changed and she seems to be doing somewhat better now.))

---

“Well, Professor...” Hermione began as she followed his gesture in exiting the classroom. “It is against my honour to call any names. All I'm saying is... yes, you may be those things, but I believe that deep down you possess qualities much more worthy.” Her opinion was mostly influenced by Dumbledore's impression, but it was something that she was slowly becoming convinced of.

“The only reason the other students don't like you is because you're too harsh with your tactics. It's alright to be stern, but not so threateningly... you should give it a try.” And all of a sudden, she was giving him advice... what a way to provoke him to start proving her words wrong.

((They're all eating a science diet canned variety now, a venison/green pea thing designed for sensitive stomachs. When I use up this flat of cans, I'll be switching them back to raw food, as Fenchurch -- the one with the IBD -- appears to be calming down now.))

----

Severus raised an eyebrow as Miss Granger began offering her opinion on his teaching methods. "Oh?" he asked when she'd finished. "And your method of standing up in the front and asking them to be quiet worked ever so well, didn't it?"

He was being quite snide, he knew, but really—she thought she knew everything, this girl did. Clever and talented she was, for sure, but far from wise to the ways of the world. Overly optimistic and idealistic. Well, he'd been there once himself, and it had taken a painful discovery when he was eighteen to discover the truth about life: that you couldn't trust anyone, that the future was never assured, and that the only way to make students behave was to create harsh consequences if they didn't.

“Well—” Hermione cleared her throat, “that was because I'm a student—merely a year above them at that. If I was in your position, I'm sure I could have handled them perfectly.” There was an air of egotism around her when she said this, but it was more of a defence mechanism than anything. Realistically speaking, if she was in his position, sure, she would have actual permission to grant punishments and such, but she didn't know if that would necessarily make the teaching process any easier. Snape, on the other hand, could simply look at them and they would obey. She just didn't possess that kind of automatic effect.

A couple minutes later, they arrived at the tall double doors to the Great Hall. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Snape as her hand began forcing open one of the doors. “See you after lunch, then.” She faced the door again and she was halfway through the entrance when she remembered something. Looking back over her shoulder at her professor, she said, “Oh, by the way... I forgot to mention this ealier, but—feel free to continue calling me by my first name.” There was a pause. “It sounds better.” And with a sly smile, she proceeded onward into the hall.

To his surprise, Severus thought that was probably true; he could envision her in five years, a little more mature and confident. She'd have quite the air of authority, especially if she was able to fine-tune her innate bossiness into something a little less abrasive, a little more matter-of-fact and commanding. But he wouldn't tell her that yet. She was still young.

When she requested him to keep calling her by her first name, he felt his jaw drop slightly. Had he done so? That would probably make the gossip round very quickly indeed. Unable to reply, he simply nodded jerkily in agreement and watched her walk away into the Great Hall.

She did indeed have a nice bottom, even under voluminous witch's robes. Now that Severus had seen its actual shape, he was able to better appreciate her figure as she walked. It was a nice walk, quick yet graceful. Purposeful. She didn't mince, like so many of the other seventh-year girls who were trying to attract men.

Maybe that was what attracted him to her, he thought as he made his way to his place at the High Table. She clearly wasn't trying to attract anyone. Hadn't she been dating Ron Weasley for a little while? He'd noticed the Weasley boy mooning over her, but didn't know what had happened in that relationship.

Whatever her current status was, she was not out to draw in a man. She was obviously dedicated to her schoolwork which, Severus mused, probably didn't take up all of her mental capabilities. He'd fix that, he decided. It would be good for her to have challenges, and he could provide those in Potions.

When he reached the High Table, Dumbledore met his eyes and twinkled annoyingly at him. "How was Potions?" he asked benignly.

"Some fool first-year tried her tutor's shortcut with unicorn hair and arrowroot," Severus said bluntly. "If Miss Granger had not been there, half the school might have been destroyed."

Dumbledore merely beamed at him. "Good, good. I knew she'd work out well for you."

Severus nearly choked on his glass of pumpkin juice. Wasn't that being a bit obvious? Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, and Pomona Sprout were all near enough to hear their conversation.

Minerva gave Severus a Look. "I do hope you're being kind to Hermione Granger," she said severely.

"I'm not kind to anyone," Severus replied. "But I would not deny that she has been immensely helpful today."

"Severus," Pomona said anxiously, "are you doing all right? I heard—"

"I'm sure whatever you heard has had me on my deathbed," Severus said. "Obviously, I am not. I am merely suffering some after-effects, and Poppy has forbidden me from doing magic for the next day."

"Oh, my word!" said Filius. "Was that the Cru—"

Severus cut across him, loudly. "Which is why I have Hermione Granger as my able assistant today. I thought you explained everything, Headmaster," he said, looking meaningfully at Albus.

Albus ignored him. Severus turned to his food intently, thus deflecting any further questions from his colleagues. But as he was eating, he couldn't help looking over at the Gryffindor table at Hermione's head of bushy brown hair. How would it feel, he wondered, to run his hands through it? Would it be fluffy and silky, or coarse and stiff? Maybe he could find out after lunch, find some excuse to brush her on her head.

Harry and Ron were already present at the Gryffindor table, so Hermione took the initiative to go and sit down right next to them. In doing so, she ignored the little spat she and Harry had before, and greeted them with a quaint “Hello.” And both looked in her direction.

“Hermione—” Harry began, seemingly stopping himself in the midst of his surprise. “Er—How was Potions?” His tone returned to being fairly mellow, and Hermione could make out from the forced smile on his face that he was at least trying to make a harmonious effort. That probably wouldn't last for very long when she would be forced to tell them the truth sooner rather than later.

“You heard about that?” She asked curiously, since she didn't recall letting them know.

“Kind of hard not to,” Ron budded in, “We were only a few feet away when Snape came over to tell you.”

At the time, she had forgotten they were there. She also forgot how much they just loved to eavesdrop. “Oh, right... well, it went—” She searched for an appropriate word, but realized it wouldn't matter in the end. “It could have gone better," which was partly true. "What else would you expect?” She felt no need to elaborate.

With a little snort, Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no kidding... I wouldn't be surprised if the ol' git probably just had you scrubbing his filthy feet the whole time he taught.”

Hermione decided to ignore Ron's offensive comment, while stuffing a bread roll into her mouth as means of an excuse. If she started defending Snape, then it would only lead to another argument and her getting angry, so she allowed it to pass this on this one occasion.

“At least you survived without having to wear his robe this time--”

Hermione almost spit out her chewed bread, and instinctively kicked Ron's shin from underneath the table. He let out a little yelp, but the glare she sent him was ten times more piercing.

She struggled against the desire to tell them the truth that very instant—to avoid any other potential blunders—but it certainly wasn't the most opportune time, as there were so many other students around. She just hoped her glare was enough for Ron to understand that he needed to keep his big mouth shut.

Severus wished he could have used one of the Weasley twins' extremely useful Extendable Ears to hear what Hermione was talking to her two bodyguards about. It appeared to rather agitate her.

He'd like to agitate her...

"Severus, are you quite all right?" It was Poppy, who'd arrived late to lunch as usual, as she often spent the first ten to fifteen minutes of it patching students up. "You look flushed. Is the spell holding?"

Severus almost said, "Huh?", so into his little fantasy was he, but he remembered where he was and replied, "Yes, thank you, Poppy. I'm doing as well as could be expected."

"Welll, I'd like to see you again before your next class begins. Ideally"—and she shot an irritated look at the Headmaster, who was swirling his finger around the base of the bowl which had held his trifle to get the last of the cream—"I'd have you under constant supervision, but between classes I suppose is the best I can get."

"It's his first day with some of the younger students," Albus said calmly. "It would have been a disaster if Severus had not been able to teach them today."

Severus was glad that Albus understood his teaching methods, even if the aching part of him (which was, right now, everywhere) wished that he could be lying in his own bed, sleeping.

Poppy gave a "Hmph!" to Albus' reply, and proceeded to eat her lunch with methodical neatness.

Severus returned to his fantasies about agitating Hermione Granger, being careful to keep his face quite blank.

((I forgot to mention that I am attending a concert tonight, so I will not be online!))

---

The remainder of the lunch period continued on, in her favour, without further mentioning anything involving the Topic. It was something more suited to be brought up later.

With that in mind, Hermione turned to the boys once more in the midst of getting up to leave for her next Potions session. “Can you two meet me in the common room after classes?” She requested.

“Sure—But, what for?” Harry quickly asked, curious as usual.

“There's something I need to tell you.” When she said this, both of them exchanged glances with each other before looking concernedly back up at her. Swiftly, she added, “I would appreciate it if you two could keep your mouths shut about You-Know-What for the time being. It involves that.” In saying so, Harry and Ron knew it had to be serious.

"Sure." They both agreed, pitches a tad higher than normal, yet soft.

They watched her walk away briskly until she was completely out of sight, to huddle their heads and start whispering—in respect of her request.

Hermione trusted her friends to keep it hidden, now that she had actually asked, but that didn't exterminate the butterflies in her stomach from realization that she would definitely have to tell them the truth now. She was afraid what their reactions would be; then again, perhaps it would be for the better? They had grown up a lot over the years, so it was quite difficult to determine. Regardless, she would find out in two periods' time.

((No problem; respond when you're back! What concert?))

---

Severus continued watching Hermione until she walked out of the Great Hall when she'd finished eating. Seeing her walk away made him realize that it was time for him to go, too. Third-year Hufflepuff/Gryffindors, then the second-year Slytherin/Gryffindors. No Ravenclaws. Despite rumor, the Ravenclaws were actually his least favorite House, academically speaking. Most of them thought that because they'd been admitted to Ravenclaw, they were clever—Severus dearly wanted to post an announcement in their common room reminding them that Rowena Ravenclaw's House simply accepted students who valued cleverness and study, not necessarily those who were good at it. The problematic side effect was one that they'd already witnessed that morning with the near-disaster. Arrogance, taking shortcuts, and thinking they were too good for directions. At least the Gryffindors made honest mistakes.

They were all still imbeciles, in his opinion.

Except Hermione Granger.

So thinking, he reached his classroom.

((Matthew Good! He's my favourite, and it was as amazing as I expected! Sorry for not replying even yesterday, though; I had impromptu plans.))

---

Posed right outside the Potions classroom door, Hermione awaited Snape's appearance. While waiting, her thoughts mostly revolved around figuring out exactly how she was going to go about her explanation to Harry and Ron. She had to be careful to make sure she only told them what they needed to know, and take out all the unnecessary facts—it would be black truth.

Speaking of black, soon came the potions master himself; black robes billowing like wings as he made his fast-paced stride down the dungeon hallway. Hermione's thoughts instantly diverted to him as her eyes gazed upon his advancing figure.

“Afternoon, Professor,” she formally greeted. “How was your lunch?”

Severus did not slow his pace at Hermione's words. "The house-elves, as always, provided a perfectly palatable meal." He unlocked the classroom and swept inside, grateful that his ribs no longer ached thanks to Poppy's spells.

"I seem to remember, Miss Granger," he said, injecting his voice with just a bit of innocence, so that it came out blandly snide, "that you were once on a crusade to liberate Hogwarts' house-elves. Spew, if I remember the badges correctly." His lips twitched in a smirk.

And he had returned to his lousy attitude; Hermione knew it was only too good to last. With a huff and crossed arms, she tailed him into the room.

“That would be S.P.E.W. to you, Professor,” she corrected, making sure to enunciate each letter very clearly. She was also going to mention something about him failing to remember her request to call her by her first name, but she decided not to push her luck. He appeared to be doing much better—physically—so, she wasn't quite sure how enforced her position was anymore.

“Which year do we have next?” She asked, switching to a lighter topic while laying her bag down beside his desk.

"Next is the third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors," Severus answered. "They have summer homework to turn in, and then as you may recall from your third year, they will be beginning a Shrinking Solution, to be tested on whatever pet a student has to hand. If no student has a pet on them, I may ask you to provide an animal of some kind."

Severus actually well remembered Potions at the beginning of Hermione's third year. It had been during the time when snotty Draco Malfoy had been malingering after Hagrid's Hippogriff had slashed at him. As at the time he'd still massively despised Harry Potter—which he inwardly admitted had been a very silly thing to do, as the boy apparently took after Lily quite a bit—and had thus taken great delight in having Potter and Weasley help Draco Malfoy brew his potion. Ah, yes, and he remembered Neville Longbottom's toad, Trevor, and how Hermione had unnecessarily assisted Longbottom's potion along.

"I wouldn't have let Longbottom's toad die, you know," Severus remarked casually as he made space on his crowded desk for the third-year homework scrolls.

Hermione had to think for a moment about what Snape was suddenly going on about. It was hard to recall since there had been so many incidents involving Neville, but shortly she did remember the particular one he was referring to.

“You were that boy's worst nightmare,” she declared bluntly as she started on preparing the cauldrons at each desk. “I merely wanted him to feel rewarded by you for a change—well, so much for that.” She remembered how he detected her act of assistance, subtracting a lovely set of five house points as a result.

Inwardly, she trusted that he truly wouldn't have let Trevor die... but Neville would have never believed that. The poor boy would have fainted before the spoon even reached the toad's mouth. Then Snape would have had to deal with finding a way to take Neville to the hospital wing while still managing the class. In the end, she had done them both a favour, really.

Severus found himself chuckling. "I was, wasn't I? I heard about his Boggart. If you think about it, though, having me as the thing you're most frightened of isn't that bad. There are many worse things to be frightened of."

He sobered, remembering his position, and swallowed back fear. Would the Dark Lord send a student after him? Some of the seventh-years were handy with curses. Fortunately, he didn't have them until tomorrow.

"Anyway," he said briskly, "you should be quite familiar with today's lesson. I'll need you to Summon the homework and then simply stand on guard." He flashed her a Look. "Remember that I am, in fact, the teacher. I do know rather a lot about Potion-making, and despite many opinions, including perhaps yours, have been a successful teacher of the craft for longer than you have been alive."

While he was in the mood to rant, he remembered again the topic of overlong essays. "And while I am on the subject of reprimanding you for being over-eager, I would like to remind you"—he shuffled through scrolls before finding hers, obvious by it being twice as thick as anyone else's—"that there is a reason for setting a restriction on essay length, apart from making my marking easier. Learning to condense your thoughts instead of rambling on and showing me how much you know is a very important communication skill. Please," he said with feeling, "stick to the required length this year."

This last lecture he tried to deliver not in as sarcastic and snide a tone as he might have a few days ago. He thought he was beginning to understand her a little more. As a Muggleborn, she probably felt constantly challenged to prove herself, and as someone already too clever for her classmates, even the Ravenclaws, she probably had the additional burden, an awkward one, of being the smart one amidst average minds: he suspected she dreaded getting anything but a perfect score.

"Why do you constantly feel the need to prove yourself?" he asked quietly, really meaning the question.

Hermione was taken back by Snape's sudden speech bombardment—just when she thought they had finally been on the same level. His last question did sound a little sincere, but it was a question she didn't really feel needed an answer.

“Because, Professor,” she started, as if she had explained it millions of times before, “It is the only thing I can do. There is no being 'like everyone else' for me... there is either prove myself to be the best, or sit at the dirt bottom. For... someone like me... there is no in-between; if I was as average as everyone else, they would still think me less than them. I would rather just not have to endure something like that.”

Did she feel a tear coming on? She wasn't quite sure, but whatever it was she tried her best to hold it back. At least she was facing away from her professor the entire time while and after she spoke. She didn't really want to continue the conversation—she hoped, by her tone, he would drop it and go back to lecturing; even that was better than him asking serious personal questions.

((I'm not going to be able to post again tonight -- we're re-arranging the apartment for the bug spraying thing tomorrow. GAH. And sorry about yesterday... I had to drive up to San Francisco to pick up my husband, and not only did I get caught in traffic so that a 6-hour trip became a 9-hour trip just to get up there, but we had to go see his father in the hospital, who is dying—again. He's been very ill for ten years so my husband almost hopes this is it. Anyway, I didn't get home until almost midnight, after leaving Los Angeles at 6am, so I was just really exhausted. And tonight we have to clean out every single closet and cupboard and drawer in the apartment and put everything in the middle of the room, which is kind of impossible as the place is too small for that. Anyway.

Oh -- is Hermione's hair soft curly or bristly curly?))

----

Severus regarded Hermione thoughtfully. "I understand," he said softly. Then, feeling very bold indeed, he patted her on the shoulder. "However, I think that within Hogwarts you have already proven yourself. Every student here knows your reputation; your grades have been top mark in almost every class, haven't they? Maybe," and he lowered his voice even further, leaning down towards her mane of very bushy hair, "you should allow yourself to move on. The work here no longer challenges you, does it? You could probably take your NEWTs now, couldn't you?"

Feeling even braver, he ran his hand along her shoulder gently, a comforting rather than romantic caress—older brother more than teacher. "Hermione," he said, still in the soft voice he'd once used on Voldemort's torture victims before mercifully sending them to oblivion, "we all know how clever and smart you are. Isn't it time you started showing yourself that schoolwork isn't all you're good at?"

((Oh my, you've really had quite the past few days, haven't you! No worries, though, take all the time you need. Just thanks for letting me know. :) I hope it all turns out well!

And, I think her hair would be better off soft—to contradict its appearance of being coarse.))

---

A little jolt surged through Hermione's body from the sudden pressure she felt rest lightly on her shoulder. Had Snape ever laid a hand on her before other than to forcefully drag her around? The strangest feeling developed from it, and she felt anxious beneath his touch.

When she turned around to face him, she hadn't realized how close his face had been to hers, so her breath caught sharply in her throat by the surprise. Her feet shifted uncomfortably as she stared wide-eyed into his piercing gaze. Their heads were the closest they had ever been in proximity of each other, so she was able to see all the matured details in his features. She found herself distracted by it.

Surpassing the hesitation, she responded just above a whisper, “What sort of things do you mean?" As she tried her best to remain calm, her breath released steadily in shaky rasps. He was way too close for her own comfort, but for some reason she couldn't tear her gaze from his; her eyes remained unblinkingly fixed.

Severus was able to meet Hermione's gaze unblinkingly. She was, he realized, actually quite pretty, beyond the usual fresh-faced seventeen-year-old typical prettiness. Something inside his chest gave a little thump and wobble. He felt queer in his stomach—calm down, Sev, he told himself, you're the one in charge here. Still, he didn't move away from her. His eyes examined her face, wondering what he would find if he performed Legilimency on her.

He could hear her breath coming in a raspy wobble. Could she be as unsteadied by their proximity as he was?

He had to clear his throat to speak. "You could try putting less effort into your assigned schoolwork," he said. "What do you want to do with your life," he asked, and concluded, speaking very gently, "Hermione?"

Oh, how he wanted this girl! Their faces were so close, he'd only have to lean down a few inches to make their lips touch. Almost of their own accord, his hands moved from her shoulders to her hair. It was beautifully soft and fluffy, in contrast with the bushy appearance. As she matured, he was sure her hair would settle into soft waves and ringlets. He wanted to bury his face in it, but didn't dare, standing as they were in the middle of his classroom toward the end of the lunch hour. Students would be coming any minute, but he didn't want to relinquish this amazing, intimate, heart-stopping moment.

Fuck, he realized with a happy-angry-dismayed-joyful-quivering jolt, I'm in love.

Tension was growing within the small space between them—she could feel it. It wasn't a bad kind of tension; it was the silently fervid kind that made her thoughts hazy. Enough time had elapsed, and from his obvious neglect to move away, Hermione's mind was buzzing with curiosity of what was going on inside his head. He must have felt it too, because the intense look in his eyes was so strangely different—something she could only notice from being that close.

The apples of her cheeks flared as a delayed reaction to his impulsive motion of gently stroking her hair; she had been in such a trance that she hadn't even noticed his hand move from up her shoulder. Her eyelashes fluttered and she wasn't quite sure what to take of the action or how to respond to it; nobody had ever caressed her hair in such a way before... or at all, for that matter. As a result, it made her heart feel like there was a woodpecker working away in her chest and wasps dancing throughout her head.

From her inability to process anything or think clearly, her hand involuntarily responded by somehow making its own way to her professor's face. Soft fingers pressed lightly against his sallow cheek, and as unsightly as it was... it was well-defined and felt handsome by touch. She felt like a sailor exploring foreign land... it was intriguing but dangerous at the same time. Instinctively, she had the desire to explore more—

—Almost like a switch being triggered, all the figurative creatures inside her body suddenly exploded. It was something that her conscience had to step in and initiate, as things were developing much too recklessly at the most inappropriate time. In sudden recovery of her sensibility, her eyes snapped open and hand whipped back to her side. She stared up at the man and tried her best to steady herself.

“You're right,” she said, letting her eyes close and releasing a breath—still shaky—as she gently grabbed Snape's hands and removed them from her head. It was painful to do so, since she had been strangely enjoying the feeling she was getting from it, but an intervention was in dire need. Heaven forbid if a student walked in on them and got the wrong impression—well, would it have been wrong? Even Hermione wasn't sure.

Unable to meet his gaze, she found her footing after a very small stumble past him. “I suppose... I just want to keep my options open.” She paused for a moment to lean her hand against a desk, still calming herself. “It was originally my goal to join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but now... who knows? I may even consider... well, teaching.” It was hard getting back on track of reality, but it was necessary. As much as it was her job to get close to Snape, they had just gotten a bit too close right there. Had it not been for her conscience, who knows what would have happened.

The problem was... Hermione did want to know.

((This roleplay is why I'd SO love an 18+ section. I suppose we can take it to PMs, if/when we get there. :nudgenudgewinkwink:))

Hermione's touch on his face was electric, sizzling along his nerves just like the Cruciatus curse, except the exact opposite: pure pleasure. He felt stiffening below his belt, and resisted the urge to crush her against him and simply take.

Only Lily had ever touched his face in such a caress, and even that had been more as close friends. Hermione's touch was hesitant, innocent, exploratory—he would be very surprised if she weren't a virgin. That thought brought his plans up short again: he couldn't treat this girl, this intelligent, witty, trusting, wonderful girl, just as he'd treat one of the whores of Knockturn Alley. He couldn't "wham, bam, thank you, ma'am" with her. Pursuing Hermione, finding out exactly what her bottom looked like without those panties on... he would now be dead serious. He'd court her. He'd romance her. And when he finally made love to her, as he wanted with all his heart, body, and soul to do, he would be as tender a lover as he knew how.

He wished she hadn't taken her hand away, but it was the sensible thing to do. She stumbled past him and leaned against his desk, and answered a question he barely remembered asking. The entire past minute was now a fluffy white blur in his memories: touching her shoulders, her soft hair, the feel of her hand on his face, the realization that he was absolutely, positively in love with her.

He had to clear his throat. Twice. "Teaching?" he repeated. "I think that would suit you very well."

And suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, a plan occurred to him. It was a plan Albus would simply love.

"Would you like to continue as my assistant for the rest of the year?" he asked. His words tumbled out, as if he were trying to get the entire plan out before she could say no. He was fairly certain, from her touch, that she was at least curious about him, did not despise him. "I know the other professors all agree that you're years ahead of your classmates—you could stop attending some, or even all of your classes, and instead come and assist me as you have today." He ground to a halt, and wondered if the plea he felt inside was being expressed on his face or in his voice. "What do you think?"

((Your post made me giggle non-stop into my tea cup.

There is enough support for the 18+, so it is likely to be created. I just have no idea when... if we're lucky, they will make it soon. But if we do happen to get to that point before then, I'd be fine with PMs.))

---

The proffered opportunity came as a bit of a surprise to Hermione. Finally turning back around to face him, she was able to notice from his facial expression and by the tone of his voice that he was actually quite sincere about his suggestion. Well, that assured one good thing: He didn't hate her anymore. After what just happened, she would actually rather say he liked her. To what extent, she wasn't sure, but it was an improvement. As a matter of fact, she was beginning to feel, herself, that she might just be starting to 'like' him, too. It was an unusual feeling that she felt toward the man, so she couldn't truly define it quite yet.

He had brought up a valid point. She already knew all the seventh year material, and would even be ready to take her exams at any moment. At least if she became his assistant over attending her classes, it would still further some kind of learning process for her. Not to mention, she was one to let her curiosity get the better of her... for merely a moment, she got to see glimpse of a different side to her professor. She wanted to open him up and see him for what he truly was... she loved challenges, and this was one of them.

“I think,” she began, voice still very soft, “That's a good idea.” Her eyes met directly with his again, and although the space between them was much greater in comparison to a few minutes prior, the tingle within her body's core still lingered. It was a sensation she'd never felt before, and was thus confused as to why it wasn't going away; but she tried her best to ignore it.

((Yay, I made you giggle!! Did we ever say who was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts??))

---

Severus breathed out heavily, feeling his lips curve into a smile he vaguely remembered from his teenage years, from before Voldemort: a relieved, happy, light-hearted smile. He felt as though he were floating.

"That's -- I'd really enjoy that," he said, and felt suddenly shy, like a boy on his first date. Not that he'd actually ever dated. Merlin, he was so good at some things and completely inept at others. "We should speak together to Albus." Enthusiasm swept over him about Hermione's future, Hermione's career, making Hermione's life as wonderful and successful as possible. "We should also talk to some of the other professors—I know Minerva complains yearly about her second-year classes, as they've lost the innocent wonder of the first-years, but haven't yet realized the power and potential of third-year students; Filius, too—" He broke off, hearing the noise of students in the corridor.

The door, fortunately, was still locked. He looked over at Hermione. His Hermione. Someday.

He wanted to kiss her.

Instead, he reached out and ran his fingers through her hair again. It was half a ruffle, half a caress. In the gesture, he tried to put across the immense bubble he felt building in his chest: protective, supporting, desiring... Nothing would change the fact that he was some twenty years her senior, but he didn't want her simply looking to him as some kind of ridiculous "father figure" or big brother. His feelings for her were fully sensual and adult, though colored by his age and her youth.

Hermione, he thought tenderly, and wasn't aware that he'd also whispered her name.

"Would you let the students in?" he asked.

((Ahh... we could always say Lupin came back? I don't really care—whoever you think is most appropriate.))

---

Having been distracted by hearing him whisper her first name, she nearly didn't catch his question following. For some reason, she just loved hearing him say her name—he pronounced it very nicely, and, accompanied by the tone of his rich voice, such a pleasant ring was produced from it.

Shaking the distraction from her thoughts, Hermione obeyed her professor's request and quickly trotted over to the locked door to grant the students entry. They filed in dutifully in expectation of the renowned class they were entering and would have to endure.

Hermione watched as many of them glanced in her direction as they passed through. She forgot—only some of the first-years and sixth-years knew of her position. It would take a little while before they all knew. This, she figured, was probably the worst step. Afterwards, she could only imagine it would get better; once she had their acknowledgement. Her proceeding goal would be their respect.

Once they were all neatly seated, she shut the door and went to stand by Snape's desk. She sent him a quick, private glance before letting her gaze settle over all the student faces. If she wasn't so talented at keeping a serious face, a small smile would have cracked at that point.