Three

Summary: Neville, Snape and Hermione return to Hogwarts after the summer. Some things have changed in the post-Voldemort world – how do they cope? (Response to prompt 12 on the Potter Place Fall Challenge Prompt List.)

A/N: Huge, enormous, massive thanks and homage to Subversa for her tireless encouragement and meticulous beta-reading.

Chapter 3

After leaving Ron to think over her discovery of his preferences, Hermione had gone to mull over her own. She fetched a quill and parchment, found herself a quiet, sunny spot overlooking the lake, and – being a methodical young woman – started making lists. She wrote down four headings: "What I want (long term)"; "What I want (short term)"; "What I want to do (long term)"; "What I want to do (short term)". Then she set herself to the hard task of honest self-examination. Over the next few days, she took the parchment out of her bag at odd moments between classes, and even once during class when a particularly brilliant notion struck her, mostly to add something or occasionally to cross off an item that she felt, on further reflection, didn't really fulfil her requirements. At the end of the week, she reviewed her lists. Some of her resolutions, such as "Don't spend every waking moment studying", or "Don't turn in a three-foot essay when eighteen inches will do", were (relatively) easy to implement – all they required was a little discipline, which she had in bucketloads. Others, like "Don't be so anal over-disciplined", were harder. Many of the rest, such as "Enjoy being a girl", seemed to point in one rather unexpected direction. This could be fun, she thought, as well as worthwhile, and started planning her campaign.

The Saturday in question, Hermione began. She borrowed the Marauders' Map from Harry and spent a large part of the morning studying it, following the meandering path of one particular dot, which seemed to be mainly intent on avoiding company rather than going anywhere specific. Eventually, it drifted towards the part of the castle Hermione had half-expected it to visit, a part that was not yet fully reconstructed and therefore largely deserted. She tucked the map into her trunk, exited her dorm and the common room, and then ran as fast as she could. At all costs, she had to be there first if this was to work.

Severus Snape could have kidded himself that he was patrolling, but as he was neither on duty nor aiming at any corridors where malefactors usually lurked, it didn't hold water. He was just wandering aimlessly, passing time until he could stop passing time and go to bed. He decided to go and have a look at some of the recent repairs. Surely there would be some entertainment value to goading Minerva about shoddy workmanship, or bad taste. Up three flights of stairs; along a short passage; down another staircase and round the corner into a long, bright corridor lined on one side with arched windows. The corridor was devoid of decoration apart from a pair of Muggle denim jeans encasing a very shapely female posterior, the rest of the female in question hanging out of the window presumably enjoying the sunshine. From his perspective, the view was more pleasing than most things he had seen since the start of term, so rather than obeying his first impulse to sneak away unobserved, he stayed to watch. The woman shifted her weight. Really, she had the best rear end he had ever seen: by no means large, but well-rounded and firm. Good grief! What was wrong with him? He must be going deranged with boredom if he could be so easily distracted. He turned to go, but the woman heard him and straightened.

It was Miss Granger of all people. She looked... different. The jeans sat snugly on her hips, but not as snugly as the small t-shirt encasing her torso and pert breasts – get a grip, man! – which were – Merlin! – heaving slightly with her breath. Her eyes were very bright, her cheeks becomingly flushed, her wild hair twisted on top of her head and held in place by her wand thrust through the knot, exposing a slender, elegant neck.... Shit! Must get out of here.

"Hello, Professor." She smiled.

Bugger, bugger, bugger. Now he'd be obliged to converse, if only a little, before escaping with his credibility hopefully intact. Deep breath, assume the mask, cold voice...

"Miss Granger, what are you doing in this part of the castle? Alone, too. Won't your little friends be missing you?"

"Not really. Ron's probably still asleep, and Harry may not be sleeping, but he's almost certainly in bed. I'd be a little de trop in either case, I feel. The common room is full of noisy children, so I came here for some peace and quiet." She hadn't missed the indrawn breath, and couldn't resist a saucy smirk, though she turned quickly to resume looking out of the window.

Snape raised his eyebrows and looked suspiciously down his long nose, knowing very well that there was no view worth the name from this side of the castle. The pause stretched a little too long. He gave in – any conversation might be better than the terse one-liners he'd been getting (and giving) most of the time.

"What are you staring at?"

"I'm not staring – I'm ogling," she corrected him. "Lustfully," she added demurely.

Hermione stepped aside a fraction, inviting him to look out of the window. She was too close, he thought, catching the floral fragrance of her hair, but hadn't taken the thought much further when he saw what she had been looking at.

"All I can see is Mr Longbottom, digging," he said coolly, masking his surprise.

"Exactly," she answered dreamily.

"How, exactly," he echoed sarcastically, "does Neville Longbottom qualify as worthy of ogling?"

"Haven't you noticed?" She paused. "You really haven't noticed, have you, sir? Neville's gorgeous!"

"Is he?" with another disdainful glance.

"Yes, sir, look more closely: the height, the lean face and body, the broad shoulders and narrow hips, the taut muscles under tanned skin, the tight arse, the kind eyes and shy smile... Oh, yes, he's right at the top of the scale," she sighed.

Snape was looking again, trying to see what she was describing, but at the last word, he turned his dark eyes back to her.

"Scale?"

"Oh lord, yes – girls have been grading men on the scale for ever!"

"Enlighten me," he invited, curious in spite of himself.

"Well, on the lower end you might have the toads and flobberworms; it rises through the fairly normal blokes, and then we get to the hunks, film stars, gods and..." She looked back at Neville and spoke in reverent tones: "Knitting Pattern Man."

Snape choked on a laugh, but seeing she was apparently serious, he looked the question.

"Oh, yes," she continued. "The very apogee of male perfection as measured on the Scale: perfect physically, also kind, understanding, considerate, and willing to wear a badly-knitted jumper – everything a girl could want. That's what Neville has become. He doesn't know it yet, either, and that's what makes him doubly irresistible. Poor thing, he thinks he's hiding out there in the vegetable gardens, but just look!"

She gestured out of the window. Snape leaned past her, scenting her fragrance again, and saw faces peering from numerous windows in the castle walls. Creevey's lens glinted in some bushes. Apparently Miss Granger was in the right of it; he was a little disappointed that she should share the same tastes as all the other girls at Hogwarts – he had thought her more discriminating – but remembering her appearance when he had chanced upon her, he realised that she was just as mesmerised as the rest. He glanced once more at the unlikely object of all that passion, not really seeing it himself, but feeling a vague discontent, all the same. He was startled when she asked, a propos of nothing, "How's your fresh start coming, sir?"

"Just fine," he snapped.

Her face fell at the rebuff.

"I'll leave you to your... activities, Miss Granger," he said, making to leave. He stopped. "Out of interest, where would I fit on your famous Scale?" Even in his own ears, it was a pathetic attempt to sound nonchalant.

"You, sir?" She studied him. "You are completely off the Scale, Professor Snape," she said enigmatically. He left.

Hermione conjured a cushion and sank to the floor with her face buried in it, smothering the giggles which she finally allowed to overwhelm her.

A/N: Knitting Pattern Man borrowed with thanks from the scriptwriters of the TV comedy series "Coupling".