A Yearning

“You may enter, Miss Granger.”

Hermione walked into the dark classroom, taking extra care to get her emotions in check. Making note of the large pile of cauldrons sitting against the far wall, she turned to look at Snape.

“Right on time, Miss Granger,” he said, his face forming into his trademark scowl.

“As always, Professor; I make a point to be punctual, even to my own detention.”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion on the matter, Miss Granger, but seeing that you always find a way to put forth your two cents, I insist you find a way to keep your mouth shut while you are cleaning all those cauldrons.”

She couldn’t resist the temptation. “Why, Professor, if you wanted me to refrain from talking, you should have just told me. But then again, I can’t help but answer to the glory that is your voice.”

Watching his face, Hermione could have sworn she saw a faint twitch in the corner of his mouth, almost as if he were fighting back a smile.

“You have two hours to clean as many cauldrons as you can. Note those that you do not clean will still be here tomorrow as well as an equal amount of new ones. I suggest you start now, Miss Granger, before I decide to give you another week of detention.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice as sweet as sugar, as she turned around and made her way toward the far wall. Removing her robe and loosening her tie, she rolled up her sleeves and proceeded to scrub with all her might, unaware of the fact she was muttering to herself about petulant potion masters and long essays for charms classes.

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Two hours later, Hermione shoved the last cauldron onto the shelf and turned to leave. Her hands were raw and her arms ached. She glared at Snape.

“You may leave, Miss Granger. I will see you again tomorrow night, same time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, grabbing her robe and stalking out of the room thoroughly exhausted.

When she reached the common room, Hermione went straight to her room, bypassing the questioning looks of Harry and Ron, who were lounging in two comfortable looking armchairs. She had just spent the last two hours scrubbing cauldrons and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Thinking about the consequences, she figured they were worth it, having seen the look on Snape’s face.

“Yes, it was very worth it,” she said to herself as she found her way into bed and let sleep claim her tired form.

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Hermione had never been so worn-out in her life. It seemed like all her professors had gone crazy and decided to load them down with massive amounts of homework. The hours Hermione didn’t spend in class or sleeping were spent in the library. Her evenings were spent with Snape, cleaning his cauldrons. It seemed like the cauldrons had gotten dirtier as the week went on, as if they had been intentionally soiled. Hermione wondered whether or not Snape had anything to do with it, but she kept her mouth shut, realizing how much she hated cleaning. Washing dishes at home was one thing, but cleaning cauldrons every night for two hours was something she hoped she would never have to do again. Finally Friday had arrived and she walked toward Snape’s dungeon for her last grueling night of cleaning.

Knocking lightly on the door, she entered when she heard the distinct growl of her Potions’ professor.

“Miss Granger,” Snape acknowledged as she walked to the back wall.

“Professor,” she said, turning her back on him and loosening her tie just as she had done the previous four nights. But this time she decided to take it off along with her cloak, finding the lower number of garments the easier the job. Pushing her sleeves up, she proceeded to scrub away.

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Snape watched her as she walked into the room. She had been there every night that week and he had only spoken seven words to her each night: “Miss Granger” and “You are finished Miss Granger.” He watched her as she scrubbed the cauldrons, impressed with her effort. He knew her muscles ached and her hands were raw after each detention, but she did not waiver. He had even hexed some of the cauldrons to make them even harder to rid of waist. She still did not complain. He admired that in a student – a drive to do well, even if it was a detention. He had no pity for quitters.

Every night she would walk into the room, say her “Professor” and walk to the cauldrons. And every night he would catch her scent as she passed his desk, catch the essence that was her. That was what first drew him to her. She smelled of academics, of knowledge and the need for it. He could smell her courage, that damnable Gryffindor courage. But he could also smell her mind. Ripe for picking, he could tell she would never be satisfied with what she had, always wanting more, needing more. It was something they had in common. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape were very much alike.

Watching her closely, his eyes leaving the piece of parchment lying on his desk, he could see her brow furrowed, deep in thought, as if contemplating something extraordinary. He could easily use Legilimens to see what occupied her thoughts, but he decided against it. There was a sense of mystery to her that needed to be appreciated, to be savored. Little did he know but Severus Snape was staring. He watched as her hair fell over her shoulders, as her forearm flexed with every scrub of the steel wool in her hand. Her mouth moved as if reciting a silent spell and her eyes were trained upon the cauldron before her.

Returning to the parchment before him, he found it little more than a coincidence that it was hers. An essay on the effects of fluxweed in Polyjuice Potion. Looking it over, he could tell she had written far more than was expected. As much as he wished to grade it with her in the room, something told him not to. Unable to fathom where the feeling came from, he quickly placed the parchment on the bottom of the pile and reached for the next one. For the next hour he graded essays, his eyes straying every now and then from the parchments to the young woman across the room from him.

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Finished with the final cauldron, her hands swollen and one fingernail missing, Hermione couldn’t have been happier in her life. Placing the cauldron on the shelf, she turned around to find Snape staring at her. She waited for him to speak. When he didn’t say anything, she got the feeling he was waiting for something.

“Um, Professor, may I go now?”

“Are you all done?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest you go,” he said bluntly.

Looking at him strangely, she grabbed her cloak and left as quickly as she could. Making her way to see Madam Pomfrey and have her fingernails returned to their natural state, Hermione noticed she had left her tie in Snape’s classroom. Grumbling as she turned around to return to the hell that was the dungeons, she made her way slowly, her arms heavy and her spirit trodden.

As she approached the door, she could see that it was still open from when she had left. Without thinking, she made her way into the classroom, only to be greeted by Snape standing by the counter, her tie in his hands and his nose breathing in her scent. It looked as if he were inhaling her, trying to suck every aroma out of the tie. Unable to say anything, Hermione stood still, her eyes never leaving the man in front of her. Without warning, sound escaped from her throat and Snape’s head snapped up to find her staring at him. His eyes widened, fully aware he had been caught. Unable to think of anything to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“Um, Professor, could I have my tie back?”