The Passion According to H. G.

It was the first potions lesson after the test, and everybody was eager to know whether Snape had marked the tests yet. However, he made no mention of them, merely instructed the students to brew a potion that would induce forgetfulness.
“Not that any of you need it,” he muttered, “Seeing that nothing seems to penetrate your thick skulls, no matter how often it is repeated.”
At this, he looked especially at poor Ron.
“But, sir,” Ron blurted out, “Haven’t you forgotten something too? Aren’t we supposed to get our tests back?”
“Are you criticising my working methods, Mr Weasley?” Snape asked icily.
“N-no, sir.” Ron yelped.
“Then I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself.” Snape’s voice was menacing, yet all Hermione heard was his beautifully precise pronunciation, “Let this be a reminder.”
With that, he swiftly approached Ron, which meant approaching Hermione too, and hit him over the head with the considerably heavy black book he held in his hand. Hermione was torn between sympathy for Ron and, she realised, envy. Surely, it wasn’t very pleasant to be hit over the head with a book. But still. Snape never touched her, he merely reproached her. Touching her would at least be a kind of increased attention…
She couldn’t concentrate on brewing the relatively simple potion. She was worried about her test result, despite being sure she’d got all of her answers right. The fear was irrational, tinged with anticipation. She needed to see Snape’s comments on her test, that neat handwriting of his, as straight as his back, leaning neither to the left nor to the right, but decorated with the occasional bold dash. She needed to know how bad it was this time. She needed to torture herself by reading his cruel remarks over and over.
“For your information, this cauldron is too hot.” Snape’s voice was calmly hammering in the point with every syllable, “Another three minutes at this temperature, and the potion will be spoilt.”
It was her work he was talking about, though he wasn’t speaking to her, he was speaking to the girl she’d teamed up with.
“Though I suppose it’s unfair to your classmates to give you that piece of advice.” he added nonchalantly.
At last, he looked at her, a quick glance from the corner of his eye before he walked away, his black cloak billowing. She forgot to do something about the potion, just stood there with her mouth ajar until her partner nudged her.
“I know he’s bad, but there’s no need to be paralysed with fear.” the girl whispered.
Hermione was afraid Snape had heard, that he indeed heard everything, and it made her glare at her mate. The girl thought she’d offended Hermione through her casual remark about being paralysed, since Hermione had once been paralysed by a basilisk.
“I’m sorry! I forgot!” she said quickly.
“Nevermind.” Hermione replied, her thoughts already elsewhere.
Her thoughts already on how disappointed, or triumphant, or both, Snape would be if she indeed failed to make the potion. She cast a cooling spell on the cauldron, hoping it wouldn’t be too late.
She did indeed manage to salvage the potion, though just barely. When Snape made his round, deciding which potions would do and not, he reluctantly accepted it, not failing to mention that it was thanks to his aid. Then he went and sat behind his desk as the students cleaned up and collected their things.
“Miss Granger.” he said when everybody was about to leave.
“Yes, sir?” she replied, hardly daring to look at him.
“There is something I need to discuss with you, if you have a few minutes to spare in your undoubtedly busy schedule.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
She blushed hard. What was going on? Snape never made her stay after class! She never gave him reason too. She took some time wiping off her desk and putting her books back into her bag, made it last until all of the other students had left the room. Then she went up to him, all the while staring at the floor. It was so humiliating, being asked to stay after class in front of everybody! She knew a Slytherin or two who would no doubt use it as proof that she, Hermione Granger, had lost her grip and was no longer the teacher’s pet she had used to be. That is, every teacher’s pet except professor Snape’s, of course. If Snape had a pet it was that slippery Draco Malfoy, and even him he treated with contempt. Hermione suspected he only felt obliged to favour Draco because Draco was a Slytherin, and that he did it mostly to annoy the Gryffindors in general and Harry in particular.
“You know what this is about, don’t you, Miss Granger?” Snape asked as she stood before his desk.
“No, sir.” she admitted.
“It’s about the test you took last week, Miss Granger.” He put emphasis on every word, as if this would make her understand what it was he wanted to discuss with her.
She didn’t reply, just waited for him to go on, her knees trembling.
“You do realise that all of your answers were copied straight out of The Potion Maker’s Handbook, and – perhaps you though I wouldn’t notice this – a few other books as well?”
As he spoke, a pile of books appeared out of thin air and dropped to the desk in front of her with a loud thud. She recognised everything she had read in preparation for the test.
“Yes, sir.” she replied, her mouth dry.
“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the matter.” Snape remarked in his most fearsome voice.
“I’m afraid not, professor. If my answers are identical to the textbooks, then surely that must mean they are correct?”
She bit her tongue. That kind of talking back was bound to irritate the professor even more.
“Do you know what plagiarism is, Miss Granger?” he asked and raised one eyebrow in the superior way that annoyed her so, annoyed her and something else, she-knew-not-what, “Clearly not. An ambitious student like yourself. How disappointing.”
Of course she knew what plagiarism was: stealing texts and trying to pass them off as your own. She didn’t see what that had to do with her, or with the potions test, though.
“Unfortunately for you, Miss Granger, I do. And unlike some teachers, who for some reason seem to think different rules apply to you, I will not tolerate plagiarised answers to my tests.”
Hermione was fighting back the tears. She knew this was wrong, it must be wrong! Surely plagiarism didn’t apply to tests? Not unless you cheated and brought the book with you to copy it, and Snape didn’t seem to think she had done so. Simply memorising parts out of books couldn’t possibly be wrong, could it? After all, wasn’t that what tests were all about – memorising knowledge?
“Do you have anything to say to your defence, Miss Granger?” Snape asked coldly.
Oh, she had plenty of things she wanted to say! But it was useless. You didn’t argue with Snape. Better to just submit to the punishment he saw fit, and pray that he didn’t take too many points from Gryffindor because of her. She hung her head in silence.
“Wise girl.” Snape remarked.