Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Used to waking early, Hermione was a morning person, but chasing the dawn was not a pastime she was eager to embrace. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Checking her watch, it was only 5:15 A.M.

Approximately forty-five students were in the Great Hall, trying to stay awake, but losing the battle. Hermione spied Justin at the Hufflepuff table, leaning against one his mates, eyes closed, head drooping forward.

Unsuccessful in stifling another yawn, she offered a small wave to Imelda Collins, a seventh-year Gryffindor. Imelda gave a dull smile as she sat next to the younger girl.

“Do you know what’s going on?” the waifish brunette whispered.

“This is not the time for idle chit-chat. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione felt the blackness of his silhouette seep into her before she heard his silky, baritone bark.

A knot of tension coiled between the blades of her shoulders as she feigned interest in a worn divot etched into the wood of the table. The thumbnail size groove appeared as if a student or students had dug into the sturdy oak over a period of time. Wispy scratches and cracks trailed the length of the polished wood. Idly, Hermione traced the nonsensical and destinationless route with her fingertips.

Seconds ticked by. He smelt of lemon and crisp parchment. Her tongue darted from between her lips to moisten them; fingers stilled their traveling.

Was he waiting for her reaction?

Did he expect her to react?

“Sorry, Professor Snape.”

“For what, Miss Granger, are you apologizing?” When Hermione turned to face Snape, that damned eyebrow was raised, mocking her.

“Miss Collins caused the loss of house points. Or has your over-indulged self importance and desperate need to be accepted at any cost addled that know-it-all brain of yours?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink in anger.

“Pathetic,” he spat. “Five points for displaying traits indicative of your House.”

Oh, how she wanted slap that self-satisfied smirk from his face.

The ruddy bastard.

Silently, she nodded in acquiescence to his authority.

Snape turned on his heel and made his way to the Hufflepuff table, no doubt to deduct points from Justin for nodding off.

“Sorry, Hermione.” Imelda mouthed, patting her arm in sympathy.

Hermione gave her a watery smile.

“Professors… students… I am glad to see you all here, in body, if not quite in mind yet,” the headmaster said, taking in the bleary-eyed and half-asleep students. A few nervous chuckles followed his jest.

“Professor McGonagall and I believe there are some lessons that cannot be learned in a classroom setting and are best approached from a more a hands on, practical application point of view.”

The deputy headmistress cleared her throat. “As the headmaster was saying, we, as your mentors and educators, believe it is your best interest, as N.E.W .T.-level students, to be gifted with the experience to expand your knowledge outside of a classroom setting. Each of you…” she appraised the sixth- and seventh-years gathered “will benefit under the tutelage of a professor in whose subject you excel or need a bit of one on one time to perfect your skills as future graduates of this establishment.”

There were a few groans and gripes concerning the addition to their already full workload schedules, but the students recognized the charade for what it was. It was no accident that every person in this room, aside from the teachers, were Muggle-born students. They were not safe, and for the time being, Hogwarts provided the only haven for protection and defense. The sand, though, was quickly slipping through the hourglass.

"When your name is called, your assigned professor will be waiting for you. Your assignment is to be completed by the end of the day.”

McGonagall read through the list: Justin had been sorted with Professor Sprout and Imelda with Professor Vector. Students began a queue, each chatting amongst themselves, discussing the syllabus that appeared in front of them once they were called.

Hermione and a boy from Ravenclaw, of whose name she could not remember were the last two to be called forward. The Ravenclaw, Connor, shuffled his way to the small group of students who were milling about Hagrid, who was excitedly rambling on about the newborn unicorn foal.

Finally, it was her turn. The scroll appeared before her. She removed the ribbon that bound the parchment and unfurled the syllabus. Quickly, she scanned the page. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes darting to Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, and back to the scroll.

“Quiet down, please,” Dumbledore spoke, calling the room to order. “Students, now that you all have your assigned task and professor, you may be excused.”

Group by group, students filed out of the Great Hall.

Severus observed her through narrowed eyes; Granger would begin to catch flies if she didn’t close her mouth.

Damn the headmaster for this.

Damn his pathetic excuse of an existence.

And damn the fucking witch who held fast to the idealistic and naive view that goodness was an endowed trait, whose virgin eyes were awestruck and enraptured by the bleak, dark night.

“Surely, Miss Granger, as a sixth-year, you are capable of reading a simple piece of paper?”

“Yes, Professor,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I was simply expecting to be placed with either Professors McGonagall or Flitwick—”

“But did you not hear your esteemed Head of House?” the Potions master interrupted.

“Students are to be placed with a professor in whose subject they excel or in which they lack proficiency.”

The condescending git was treating her like some… some… dunderheaded first-year.

“As of late, your performance in Potions would just marginally grade a “T.”

Indignation coursed through her. “Well, if my skills in Potions are sub-par, then perhaps fault should lie with the instructor for not properly performing to task.”

“Miss Granger, am I to understand that you are questioning my ability to impart the knowledge of my? field of expertise upon these lack-wit, uninspired, miscreants?” Snape queried, his aura of aloofness in place.

“Why, professor, I didn’t mean to imply that I was questioning your ability. I was stating a fact.” Hermione quipped, hands firmly planted on her hips.

“Miss Granger,” he bent low, his lips close enough to graze her ear, “I can assure you that my abilities are not lacking in any way, shape, or form,” he breathed.

The richness of his voice flooded her body with warmth. Swallowing to quench her suddenly dry mouth, she looked up at him. “Why do you enjoy goading me?” Her breath coming in small pants, his body, lean, so close, taut and strong. She felt heady.

“Because I can.” Severus straightened. “Come along, there is work to be done.”

His long strides carried him from the Hall, robes billowing elegantly behind him, leaving a stunned Miss Granger in his wake.

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A/N: I'm back and promise not to abandon this story, though to be blunt writer's block and RL suck at times. As always with heartfelt appreciation for all the encouragement, my wonderful beta SeverusLovesUs, you rock! To all my readers and reviews, hang tight it's going to be a helluva ride.