Reminiscences

* * *

Down the corridor, Draco heard the ringing, hollow echoes of elephants' footsteps. He grimaced at the thought of Crabbe and Goyle coming up to him and interrupting his blissful reverie. For he was in the middle of a beautiful fantasy, picturing the morning's reunion with his beloved: watching her silently from a distance, the sensuality oozing from her every movement arousing the instant quickening of his heartbeat and pulse.

Ignoring the loud, raucous cries of Crabbe and Goyle to wait up for him, Draco continued strolling forward, lost in the fragments of his imagination.

* * *

Hermione and Draco reached the door of the Potions classroom at the same instant. Instinctively, the latter stepped aside to let her pass.

"Thank you," she murmured, the icy formality of her words cutting him like a crimson thread through salted ice, as the soft hem of her robe brushed against his knee like the touch of a phoenix's feather on bare skin as she glided past, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on something in the distance with an intensity almost palpable.

Compelled, his eyes followed hers, as he tried his utmost best to disregard the heat rising to his cheeks, and his gaze rested momentarily on a slender yet imposing figure silhouetted by the shadow he cast on the blackboard.

Severus Snape. The Potions master.

And immediately he understood why she'd seemed practically immune to his little gestures proffering friendship (and a hint of something more). He thought he'd been too subtle in expressing himself, but apparently she wouldn't have noticed - or cared - if he'd been more explicit.

"Draco, are you paying attention?"

Hearing the reprimand of his Potions and House master delivered in a voice harsh yet husky, Draco snapped to attention, but not before casting one last longing yet regretful glance at she who was now staring at him, her chestnut orbs tinged with silent reproach.

* * *

"For the rest of this term the class will be involved in a major project concerning the crafting and treating of the Iridescent Crystal, one of which each of you will possess and hopefully treasure for the rest of your days. Now can somebody tell me what is an --- "

Before the end of the sentence, a hand was already up in the air.

"Miss Granger?"

Her eyes were soft, even misty, as she answered. "A legend, steeped in history, shrouded in mystery, which surrounds the most intriguing of jewels, dictates the accordance of special powers to the wearer of the Crystal, following its treatment in a potion --- "

"That will do, Miss Granger," Snape snapped, as if taking revenge for her earlier interruption.

Hermione, flustered, stopped in mid-sentence and sat down, oblivious to the admiring glances of the students around her.

* * *

As Snape continued his lengthy explanations regarding the composition of the Iridescent Potion, Hermione, who had done weeks of research in preparation for the topic, demanded of herself, for the thousandth time, exactly what had sparked off her long-drawn infatuation with her Potions professor, incidentally a Death Eater and someone who so blatantly despised her and other Gryffindors, not least her best friend, Harry.

Perhaps it was precisely because of that - Hermione wasn't used to being disliked, especially not by her elders, people she looked up to, and perhaps her indignation at being treated thus had manifested itself as a desire, a craving for affection, which somehow translated into the full force of love. Perhaps it was her ingrained sense of respect for wisdom and learning, and the fact that, as far as she was concerned, Severus Snape was the embodiment of these qualities. And many more too, Hermione thought dreamily, a smile settling on her face, unbidden, like a beautiful rainbow spreading across the sky, as she lost herself in Snape's sleek yet muscular frame and his dark, serious eyes.

* * *