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Matters of the Heart	By : strawberryf1re Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 34556 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (characters, settings, etc.) ŠJ.K. Rowling. No profits are made from this work.

Chapter List
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Rating: M – inappropriate for readers under the age of 16; contains scenes of explicit sexuality and violence.

Disclaimer: Characters and settings ©J.K. Rowling

Matters of the Heart

K. Marie

Chapter 2

Nearly a week had passed since Hermione confronted Snape about his consideration. Aware that if she pestered him anymore about it that he was likely to deny her simply because she was a bother, she let it rest. He was entirely honest in what he said to her that evening: “Miss Granger, I assure you that when I decide, you will be the very first person I inform.”

And so it surprised her when, one evening during supper, he requested to speak to her in his office following her meal. She had been pushing the food around on her plate, not particularly hungry that evening for one reason or another, barely listening to her friends talk Quidditch. Words passed through her consciousness in a haze, and putting them together, none of the sentences made sense.

Suddenly, a familiarly oily voice cleared its throat from behind her, and Hermione jumped nearly a foot from the bench, violently startled. She sent an accidental kick straight for Harry’s shin, and he yelped, his scarred hand grabbing at the assaulted bone.

“Miss Granger, I would like to speak to you in my office.”

Before turning to face Snape, Hermione sent an apologetic glance in Harry’s direction. The Boy Who Lived sat clutching at his bruised leg, cursing quietly under his breath.

“Yes, of course, sir,” she made a gesture to stand up, but he held a hand out in front of him.

“After dinner, foolish girl,” he growled, turning away and sweeping down towards the entrance doors.

She slowly sat back down, her head cocked to one side in wonder. Then, as suddenly as she had committed the crime, she remembered that she nearly snapped Harry’s shin in two.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, reaching across the table in attempts to, in some way, help. “Let me see it.”

Harry pulled his pant leg up to reveal a quickly darkening mark just to the left of his shinbone. Delicately, she reached out to touch it, the wiry black hairs that covered his flesh rubbing against her hand roughly. Quickly, she wielded her wand and cast a spell quietly, and the bruising began to fade.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry rubbed at his leg. “I’m surprised you didn’t break my leg with that kick!”

“Yeah,” Hermione smiled nervously. “My mum always wanted to get me into ballet when I was younger, but I convinced her to let me play football.”

Ron looked shocked at this tidbit of information. “For some reason, that image just doesn’t sit well in my head!” He laughed.

Hermione grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I can see how it wouldn’t. But I was quite good at kicking that ball around!”

Glancing up at the High Table, she noted that many more of the teachers had left the Great Hall. “Oh, I should go speak with Professor Snape!” Standing quickly, she gathered her things and bid good night to her friends, and hurried in the direction of the dungeons.

Upon arrival, Hermione knocked quietly on the Potions Master’s office door. His voice growled from within, and she slowly pushed the door open. He was seated behind his desk, leaning over a stack of parchment that she assumed were assignments. He didn’t look at her until he had finished the paper he was on, and then he placed his quill in its inkwell and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, Miss Granger, I am sure you can assume why I have asked you down here,” his voice was its usual low rumble.

Hermione remained standing in front of his desk, her book bag still slung from her shoulder. She wrung her hands in anticipation; for some reason, she thought she was here to be rejected.

“I have decided that you would be a very formidable, competent apprentice,” he continued. Before she could express her excitement or gratitude, he continued. “I expect that, in addition to your usual classes, you shall report to the potions classroom every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, promptly following your final class of the day. If you fail to perform above what is expected of you in regular seventh year requirements, you shall be dismissed from the apprenticeship and you will have to find someone else to instruct you. There are no second chances with me, Miss Granger, and if you screw up once, you are through.”

She nodded excitedly. “Yes, yes, sir, I understand completely! Anything less would be unacceptable and unchallenging!”

“Beginning this coming Monday, I expect to see you in my classroom no later than four o’clock. Punctuality is a necessity, Miss Granger. I will not waste my time with tardiness. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We shall work continuously until the dinner bells sound. Once then, I will decide whether our current project requires our immediate attention or not, and if it does not, you will be dismissed. In some cases, I will require you back in my classroom immediately following dinner. This is not to be taken lightly, Miss Granger. You are in for a lot of work, much more than you are perhaps accustomed to. And if you fail to complete a single assignment I give you, there are no second chances. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I shall see you Monday, at four o’clock,” his dismissal was so sudden Hermione nearly missed it. Before she turned to leave, she contemplated thanking him for his graciousness – she even went so far as to give him a hug, despite how outrageous that concept was. She was just that thrilled.

She turned to leave, pulling open the door slowly. Before she made to exit the room, she quietly said, “Thank you very much, Professor.” The door shut silently behind her. She rushed to her rooms.

She threw open the door to her dormitory, her excitement almost too much to bear. The fuzzy pile of orange fur on her bed was on the receiving end of near-strangulation as she squeezed him in a happy hug.

“Oh, Crookshanks, I’m so happy!” she cried out, releasing the disgruntled cat. His yellow eyes stared up at her, insulted, through a squished face. She began to scratch his ears and he clawed his way into her lap as she made herself comfortable on her bed.

“I can’t believe it. Professor Snape actually accepted my apprenticeship. Oh, Crookshanks, you have no idea what that means!” He stared up at her, and she was right: the look in his eyes said he couldn’t care less. Suddenly, she pushed him off her lap and made for her private bathroom.

As Head Girl, her private dormitory was equipped with a private bathroom slightly smaller than the Prefects bathroom. With the same exquisite bath, it was Hermione’s personal reprieve. With a flick of her wrist, the faucets began running and a number of oils mixed into the hot water, releasing a variety of relaxing scents into the air.

Stripping off her clothes, Hermione took a moment to consider herself in the mirror. Lately she had been neglecting her body, and it was apparent; she had lost a considerable amount of weight with the start of school, considering it was barely a week in the making. Her stomach was flat but the beginnings of her hipbones and ribcage were beginning to press through her flesh. Reaching around behind her, she unclasped her bra and it fell to the floor in front of her.

She stepped into the luxurious water, and sunk into oblivion.

When Granger had left his office, she had whispered something barely audible, but Snape had heard it: “Thank you very much, Professor.” Even in the soft tone of her voice was the sound of true appreciation, and for a brief moment, the corner of Snape’s mouth twitched into what could be conceived as a half-smile.

But, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. She had taken his avalanche of words with grace; she nodded enthusiastically and offered a “Yes, sir” when directly addressed. It was true that he had tried to intimidate her, frighten her a little with the coming onslaught of work that was a potions apprenticeship. But she had been prepared, it seemed, because she stood there, simply unfazed.

Professor Snape was perhaps one of the most difficult professors to pursue an apprenticeship with, and he made it intentionally so. There was absolutely no need to have a dunderhead such as Longbottom request such an arrangement. But even if, somewhere in the depths of his deranged logic, the idiot Gryffindor began to comprehend the concept, perhaps his trepidation in regards to the Potions Master would discourage him.

But Granger, she was a whole different type of student. She was plenty capable, as he had reminded himself every day since her proposal. She was a brilliant student and he knew it, and she would welcome any workload he could throw at her with complete grace.

He was not surprised that, as he attempted to intimidate her with the impending work, she stood before him, her face eager. She knew what she was capable of and what would present a challenge to her and that was precisely what she desired: a challenge.

Snape glanced at the parchments in front of him. Two-foot long essays on the uses of wolfsbane potion, assigned to his third year class. Not a single assignment was even remotely acceptable, and marking the forsaken papers left him in a terrible mood. He might enjoy teaching, if it weren’t for the seemingly endless number of dunderheaded students that poured into Hogwarts every year. A competent potions student was a rarity these days, and it was a shame. Even though for a number of years Snape desired the defense against the dark arts position (and he still did), he still loved his subject. Potion brewing was an exact art and required patience, discipline – nothing like the foolish wand waving many of his colleagues took part in.

No, potions had a beauty about it, a beauty that he longed to share with another human being, if only they showed a quarter the interest he had.

The dull and stormy skies did not dampen Hermione’s spirits in the slightest as she entered the Great Hall, the ceiling bewitched to mimic the weather outside. A streak of lightning danced across the sky for a second, casting awkward shadows across the faces of the dining students, and the moment it was gone, they were again bathed in a warm light cast from the fires above.

Harry and Ron were sitting across from each other as always, and Hermione plopped down next to the second youngest Weasley, grinning from ear to ear. It took the redheaded Quidditch Keeper a moment to register Hermione’s good mood, and as soon as he did, Harry was the one that spoke:

“I take it Snape accepted your apprenticeship?”

Hermione had been picking at a piece of toast still smiling, and when addressed, she gushed. “Harry, he did! He even complimented me!” at her friends’ skeptical looks, she added: “Well… kind of. He called me formidable and competent.” She stared at her plate for a moment, and then looked up, all smiles again. “But he accepted me! I am so excited. There is so much work involved; I will probably not be around much for the next few months!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Leave it to Hermione Granger to be excited about a lot of work.”

“Could you pretend you’re happy for me, Ron?” Hermione said, grumpily.

“Sorry,” he replied, reddening in the cheeks a little. “I am happy for you, Hermione. I’m just still a little… I don’t know, it’s weird having you work with Snape. After all, he’s a git.”

Hermione sighed, glancing to Harry for help. He had none to offer. “Sorry, Hermione, but Ron’s quite right. He’s a great teacher and he sticks his neck out for us, but he’s still an arse.”

Hermione glanced up to the High Table, but the Potions Master was absent. It went disregarded; it was more unusual when he was present. “Well,” she began. “We’ll be starting Monday. I have to be in his classroom by four, right after classes. He’s set some very strict policies about it – if I’m late, if I fail to do something correctly, if my grades are low… he’ll fail me out of the apprenticeship with no second chances.”

Harry and Ron exchanged uncertain glances, which went unnoticed by their friend. Instead she was poking at her breakfast, turning over thought after thought in her mind.

The following Monday approached quicker than Snape had expected; five minutes were left before the school bells chimed the arrival of four o’clock, and Hermione Granger had yet to make an appearance.

Seated behind his desk, Snape flicked through a pile of parchment that had yet to be graded. It seemed like most of his existence was spent wasting his intelligence on sorry excuses for essays. The more he thought on it, the more he truly appreciated Granger’s above-average intellect. Unless of course, she was an average intellect and her peers were just complete morons. Either was possible.

With two minutes of the hour remaining, a knock sounded from the door. Snape answered with a grunt, and Hermione Granger stepped into the room. He could sense the air of excitement around her, but she appeared slightly nervous. Unsure of herself, she took her seat at one of the tables nearest the teacher’s desk, and sat quietly.

Observing her from his seat, Snape turned many things over in his mind. His eyes narrowed as she looked as though she was going to speak, but she silenced herself before he had the opportunity. It appeared as though she, too, was considering something. Again, a motion to say something – and again, silence.

Suddenly, with all intents and purposes to startle the eager pupil before him, Snape stood abruptly from his desk, slamming his hands onto the counter and pushing his chair back from him, all in one swift movement. Hermione reacted as he had wanted; she jumped, slightly frazzled, and then gestured to stand as well.

“Stay seated, Miss Granger.” The first words of the afternoon. She obeyed him, staring intently, waiting to learn. “I presume that following our brief meeting Friday evening, you have considered our arrangement and decided to continue?” He paused, barely enough to allow her to nod, and continued. “Very well. This is not going to be at all easy, Granger. Nor is it going to be particularly entertaining… for me.” He added sneeringly. “Our afternoon sessions will, most certainly, be more of a nuisance to me than anything, but even I cannot deny a brilliant mind, let alone one which desires a broader expanse of knowledge in my particular field. A wizard who appreciates potions is a rarity, these days – most of your peers would much prefer the ridiculous wand-waving of charms and transfiguration, or the uselessness” – he emphasized the word strongly – “of divination." (To this, Hermione scowled as well - she had dropped divination in her third year and never regretted it.) "Unlike those subjects, potions requires patience, discipline… a certain diligence that a subject such as ancient runes does not require. Potion brewing, in and of itself, shall ultimately benefit you more in the future than perhaps, say, arithmancy. While the spells taught both in charms and transfiguration will also prove useful, there is nothing that will be quite as valuable as knowledge in potions.

“In these lessons, I will teach you how to brew the more difficult concoctions – potions you would not learn in class. You will learn how to cure poison, mend wounds, restore life in nearly every terminal wizard… you will also perfect the craft of creating the simplest of draughts. When you are through here, I expect that you will have the aptitude to enter the world an extremely capable potions mistress.

“Only if you are able to handle it,” the last sentence was nearly a challenge.

Hermione nodded vigorously. She didn’t know what to say, and so she said nothing. Snape sneered, “So, what are you waiting for? There is an advanced potions textbook on the back shelf. Open to page one hundred and seventy-three, and begin there. Any questions, I will be at my desk, grading papers.”

Eagerly, Hermione hurried to the back of the room. She spotted the thick book Snape had mentioned, and she snatched it off the shelf and carried it to a desk. Opening to the designated page, she stared at the instructions. It was a recipe for Polyjuice Potion.

Surely, he’s mocking me. She thought, staring up at him. He knows about our experience with it, he must. We stole so many ingredients from his stores our second year… he must know. I know he knows.

Regardless of her suspicion, Hermione looked for jars that he may have set out for her. Sure enough, there was a desk close to his office that had several vials on it. She moved towards it, and set to work.

By the time the dinner bell had sounded, Snape had been hovering around Hermione, watching her progress. She brewed with confidence, despite the Potions Master’s watchful eye. He said nothing, which she took as a positive thing; at least he found no faults in what she was doing.

“You may leave, Miss Granger,” came his voice suddenly, and Hermione jumped slightly. “There is nothing left for you to do, for now.”

Hermione nodded. “Do you want me to clean up?”

“That’s unnecessary. You, of all students, should know that Polyjuice Potion has to simmer, what with your second year rendezvous.” And there it was; he was referring to her experience with the Polyjuice, his voice as icy and mean as always.

She flushed and started to gather her things for lack of anything else to do in the awkward silence. When all her belongings were back in her book bag, she turned to Snape.

“I want to… thank you,” she began, unsure. “For your acceptance. I’m truly grateful to have this opportunity to work with you.”

Snape waved her graciousness off, and, not in the least disheartened by his gesture, she turned and closed the door behind her.
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Matters of the Heart