First Day of the Term

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Chapter 3- First Day of the Term

The morning had gone smoothly thus far. So smoothly in fact, that Severus was worried an even bigger evil than a melted cauldron, or a minor explosion, would bare its ugly face by the end of the day. Never had he had a first day of term go like this. The Creevey kid had not done anything to injure himself. First-years were following his rules exactly, beyond expectations. The other students were behaving themselves as well, unlike the days of the Malfoy/Potter feuds where arguments in class were endless.

Even the Transfiguration class he sat in on that morning, during his free period, had gone off much better than he had expected.

Alright, not much better. It went perfectly. He couldn't have possibly conducted a more organized and informational lecture than she had, nor lead a more painless practical portion of a class. Granger's control of the students was impeccable as well, even if her style of control was a bit different. Where he controlled his students by the sheer dominance of his presence, Granger ruled with a soft, but strict hand that still seemed to command some ounce of respect from her students. Besides that, the students knew well enough who she was and that she was his friend. She had once known the only person who could defeat the Dark Lord. She had fought by his side. She had wept when he was interred into the soft ground.

Professor Granger was a hero, and each and every child in that class looked upon her with doe-eyed wonder.

Perhaps that would change in the future. But he still had an uncanny feeling that she would rise above and beyond his expectations. Though he had had his doubts about her ability to handle this task, he should have known that Hermione Granger would not let her duties as a teacher fritter away. She had probably read every Transfiguration book she could get her hands on, and practiced spells until her eyes were blurry. Her mirror had probably heard her lectures many times over.

Much to his chagrin, there was really no doubt about it. Hermione Granger would be staying at Hogwarts for some time to come, especially if that observed class had been any indication.

He would only admit it begrudgingly, though. Granger was well qualified for this.

Bloody hell.

Watching her teach the class from the back of the room had struck something in him, some sense of pride deep within. It was strange at first, the little niggling voice of approval. But when she had looked at him and offered him that Cheshire smile, it firmly planted an innate smugness in his mind.

Perhaps this was what some Muggle families felt when they learned that their son or daughter was magical. Or what parents felt if their child had received some excellent mark or award at school. It truly satisfied him to know that, in some part (though she would probably never ever admit to it) he had helped her become the educator she was. Sure, she had other fine examples of professors through her years. But he had a very distinct feeling, through certain nuances of her teaching style, that he had been one of the select few she used as a model for effective teaching.

He left the class in some of the highest spirits he had ever been in, truthfully, looking forward to the rest of the day. He knew, academically anyway, that having a brighter disposition would make one's life much simpler. But he had never had the opportunity to test the hypothesis until now.

It worked, even though he was only feeling a small bit better than normal, and his outward actions had not changed. If anything, his new happiness had only converted itself to a stronger presence of arrogance and self-importance. Some might have noticed it in his eyes or in the way he carried himself. But he certainly did not want to abandon his old ways. His old ways meant no one would want to be friendly with him. He would not form attachments.

It was just the way he liked things.

Severus swept through the halls, up from the dungeons and to the Great Hall for lunch, a few second-years cowering in his wake. He smirked at their reaction and continued on toward the Head Table, his seat waiting for him. While seats were not assigned, everyone knew that his seat was next to McGonagall. It was just the way things were done. He was pleased to find that neither of the new professors had forgotten this. Granger sat beside Tonks and Remus, talking animatedly about something, most likely their classes. Krum was nowhere to be seen, and he was thankful for that, though he didn't know why. He just was.

He still did not know how Tonks and Remus had come together. Age should have been a concern, if Lupin's werewolf status was not enough to end a relationship before it even began. Tonks, a Black by birth, though shunned for her impurities, was a New Age witch with bubblegum pink hair. She wore Weird Sisters shirts and denim jeans. Remus, when not transformed, wore shabby robes and sweater vests. Tonks appreciated strict discipline, especially in the Dark Arts. Remus only wanted everyone to like him. They could not be more different from the other. But he supposed it proved that opposites attract and seemed to last.

Sitting in his seat, he reached for the pumpkin juice. He looked out at the students milling about and talking to their friends about the first half of their classes that day.

"I thought Hermione would be easier than Professor McGonagall," said one fifth-year Gryffindor, one who had known Hermione when she was a fifth-year herself.

"How much do we get?" asked a Hufflepuff, who had not yet had their double class with Ravenclaw.

The fifth-year sighed. "A foot of parchment on the Switching Spell."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," the Hufflepuff responded. "It will only take awhile to finish."

Typical.

"How have your classes been today, Professor?"

It took Severus a moment to realize he was being spoken to, but even longer to comprehend that it was Hermione Granger who was speaking to him from across the table.

"Unbelievably dull," he replied.

She looked at the hourglass full of rubies and then back at him. "It must have been. Only a negative ten points from Gryffindor."

He could not believe that she was trying to make polite conversation with him, not after the way she had snapped at him the evening before. Wasn't she embarrassed at all about running into him after her little "exchange" with Krum?

"You need not worry, Miss Granger," he assured. "I am sure I'll find a way to deduct more before the sun sets."

She nodded, resigned to this comment. She knew that he treated the other houses unfairly when it came to punishments, and above all else intensely disliked Gryffindors. His prejudices had only been amplified through the years, of course. And Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had become regular offenders. Hermione had also been known to be on the receiving end of his prejudices plenty of times, because of who she chose to associate with, or because of the way she handled herself in class. She knew that it was futile to disagree with the way he doled out consequences.

Then she asked the question. "So, Professor, do I pass your test?"

He looked at her and met her brown eyes. Hope filled her eyes, obviously anticipating that he would say she had passed his test, despite the fact that there was also a hint of challenge there. She was daring him to say that she had not. But he knew Hermione Granger better than she thought he did. All she wanted was assurance that all the work she had done preparing for this wasn't for naught. Like him. Truth be told, they were both very insecure creatures. Granger hid her insecurities with her pretentious, ever-flapping mouth, and he hid his with his snarky attitude.

When he did not answer, a small, extremely pleasant smile found her lips, and she turned back to the conversation going on beside her. Severus sighed to himself and looked out at the students again. Despite his pride for what he had seen earlier, he could not tell her exactly what he thought of her lesson.

The question was: Why, exactly?

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"Professor Snape!"

He spun around at the call from across the entrance hall. Lunch had finished, and he was moving back toward his dungeons at top speed. Anything to get away from Minerva's incessant questions about the new Transfiguration professor. If he had to listen to her gloat one more time about how she had been right, he did not know what he would do exactly, but it would not be good. He stopped when he saw that it was Hermione, waiting for her to catch up to him before he started his descent to the dungeons again. She fell into step beside him, having to take two just to keep up with his one, but she did it easily.

"What do you need, Miss Granger?" he questioned.

"I was wondering if I could possibly steal some hellebore syrup," she said.

Snape stopped suddenly, a student that had been following too closely behind them almost colliding with his back. "Funny you should use the word 'steal,' Miss Granger."

"I thought you might enjoy it," she replied. "But I am beyond stealing, by definition. That is, now."

He pursed his lips together, trying to repress a sneer. Normally, they would start out the conversation just barely courteously, but quickly escalate to such a point that he would wish he could hex her into oblivion. This time, though, it had started out civilly, and even friendly, and he strangely found he preferred it this way. He got along well enough with the other professors on a surface level. He should do the same with her. However, relaxing enough to do that, with a former student he could barely stand for so many years, was incredibly taxing on him. It had become such a habit to berate her, he almost felt as though he needed to be angry with her just to communicate.

Do something to make me angry, Granger.

"What are you concocting?" he questioned.

"A Peace Draught," she answered and chewed on her bottom lip, as though worried he would deny her the ingredient. "Your sitting in on my class did not help my anxiety at all."

He wanted to smile at that, so badly. But he trained his face to an expression of impassiveness. "I'm sure that Poppy has some made up."

"I know she does," Hermione said, "but I prefer to do things myself."

"Why do you not ask for help when you need it?"

"I do not need help making a simple Peace Draught, sir," she said.

For a moment, he saw a flash of the insufferable bushy-haired, know-it-all peek out from beneath her smoother, more cultured appearance. The usage of "sir" only made that young witch more visible.

He grumbled, "Your normal detention time, then, Miss Granger."

She scoffed at him for a moment and shook her head, turned on her heel and headed back in the direction of her class. Watching her go, he let out another long breath. What was it about her that just made his ire rise insurmountably? For so long he had been able to play a double agent, keeping his secrets from everyone. He had trained himself to never let his emotions, any emotion, happiness, anger, grief, flare to such extremes as they did when around Hermione Granger.

What was it about her that affected him so much?

Minerva stopped her for a moment, a large smile plastered on the Headmistress' face. Hermione accepted her praises without any difficulty, her chest puffing with haughtiness as they continued. When Minerva was finished and excused herself to go back to her office, Hermione's face lit up even brighter than it had been before. Now she knew exactly what he thought. He had told Minerva everything that had happened during the class he sat in on. While he had not thought what he said was extremely flattering (he always managed to somehow put a negative twist on everything), apparently the way Minerva had explained it, it was extremely gratifying to Hermione.

But then, of course, he supposed any recognition of her talents, coming from his mouth, might have caused her to light up like she had.

That was when he realized he was still standing there, watching her closely. Students made a wide path around him, for safety's sake. But some were watching his reactions, and that just would not do. He made to turn around, but her eyes caught his for just a moment longer. She smiled again, her teeth perfectly white and straight and so beautiful. This smile was different, though, than all the others she had afforded him. It was not one that gave the slightest hint of gloating or showing off or intellectual superiority. It was a true smile, a smile that lifted his spirits a degree higher. It was a smile that would have made any other man stop in their tracks and take a second look.

He did not take the second look, though. Even if he had wanted to, he could not. He was late for class, and that would not do on the first day of a term.