Unlikely is an Understatement

- I've known flobberworms that are more interesting

- Do they whine about continually having to pretend they have the Inner Eye?

Snape shot a particularly venomous glare down the table in the direction of the poorly-hushed giggles. Trelawney struggled bravely onward in her monologue, acknowledging the interruption with only a sigh that seemed to indicate the magnitude of her suffering had jumped from merely long to interminable. The sigh went mostly ignored by the entire staff, as she had uttered one after each of Hooch's snores.

The staff, Snape noted, as he took another casual glance around, was locked in states of boredom from cross-eyed to comatose. Sybil had been speaking steadily in that fuzzy moth voice for at least twenty minutes, having begun with her difficulties in getting students to take Divination seriously, and expanding from there onto the intricacies of the subtle study of fortune-telling (Snape had had to bite his cheek sharply to keep from sneering), to the lack of respect for the art (and here she had focused her great buggy eyes on Minerva's impassively bored face). Currently she was whining about the cloudiness of late of her inner eye, and what this could augur for the future.

- Even Snape looks fit to kill.

- He hates staff meetings. Especially the monthly wrap-up.

- Don't we all? I don't know why we bother.

- Because when else can Minerva and Sinistra bicker over the Quidditch games?

Another burst of giggles was ineffectually stifled, startling Trelawney out of her meandering mental health checkup and Bill out of a deeply satisfying powernap. The entire staff table was moving, stretching, shifting to accommodate sleeping limbs. Sybil had sat down with ill grace, nose in the air, ignoring Hooch beside her who was mouthing devout thank-yous to the ceiling.

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would like to share your September assessment with us?" Snape asked coldly, that smooth smirk on his face. Writing notes under the table, honestly; could she not at least pretend for one meeting that she was an adult? Never mind the girl's interruption had been a blessing, she was still a) rude and immature, and b) Hermione Granger.

- Bloody Bastard!!

"Certainly sir," she replied, rising and pasting a cheery, yet vaguely malicious smile on her face. And a few paper shuffles for effect, then she grabbed eye contact with him and throttled it. "As you know, my first day here was...well, the best term is disastrous. Things have improved steadily, and the accidents are very, very infrequent."

"Lowest number of potions related accidents in twenty-five years," chipped in Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you, Poppy." Hermione tossed a genuine smile her way, breaking the eye contact with Snape momentarily before continuing. "There are of course, the few minor incidents of laxness and duplicity where homework is concerned, but they are easily dealt with. I believe someone else mentioned Miss MacCurdle? Indeed--"

"Is that all Miss Granger? Will you continue to waste our time, or do you have something of substance to contribute?" Snape interrupted. Hermione's face took on a decidedly stern look, and she leaned forward, both hands on the table.

"Well, sir, actually I did not wish to mention it before a room of our colleagues, but while your syllabi were extremely helpful for the first few weeks, I feel my students in the fourth form and above deserve more of a challenge," she said icily. Snape took the bait like a great greedy flounder.

"Challenge? Those curriculums are extremely difficult!" he snapped out, also rising to his feet.

"Well, I'm sure they were when you taught them," she replied coolly, hands moving from the table to her hips. Snape looked as if he'd been slapped, only for a moment though, as his face soon became very dark and sneering. Hermione went into a mental crouch.

"Any competent teacher would have found those to be sufficiently interesting and demanding for the older students," he hissed. Everyone in the staff room, even Sybil, was intensely interested in the brewing argument. Hermione leaped.

"In the fourth form and older, the students have learned and flawlessly performed everything on your syllabi up through November. Were we to continue at this exponential rate, I would have nothing to teach come April. I believe this more than demonstrates competency," she explained smoothly, and couldn't help throwing in a superior smirk. Beside her, Wreneth's grin became incandescent. The looks on the faces of her other colleagues was all she needed to go for the crowning glory. She went for the jugular. "I believe, sir, that it would be most beneficial to the students if I returned to teaching my original curriculum." Snape was perfectly still for a moment, not even breathing in his fury. Then, explosion.

"A REVIEW! MISS GRANGER, I SHALL PERSONALLY REVIEW YOUR TEACHING! THE FOURTH FORM AND OLDER!"

"And after I've passed, may I teach my curriculums?"

"IF YOU PASS! I WARN YOU, GIRL, YOUR RUSHED LESSONS WILL HAUNT YOU NOW!" he roared, and stalked out of the room, robes flaring out behind him. Hermione just grinned, and collapsed laughing into her chair.

"Well, that's it. You've better start refining those curriculums," Wreneth teased. The rest of the staff was shell-shocked, staring at the giggling girls.

"You've actually taught them that much, effectively?" Minerva asked disbelievingly. "Severus is spiteful, and I can promise you those students will need to remember as if they were taught yesterday to pass."

"Oh, Minerva, you would not believe what those students are capable of when Potions is taught with a bit of care. They shall all pass, every one!" Hermione shouted joyously. "I just hope he doesn't try to renege on his promise," she mused, suddenly feeling a little uncertain.

"Oh, don't fret, my dear. There are twelve witnesses here that will attest to his words," Flitwick interjected, giving Hermione a reassuring smile.

Snape was still in a dark mood the next morning, but the presence of students in the hall forced him to, if not be civil, at least contain his murderous rage. Hermione, armed with a cup of coffee and Wreneth, sat as far from him as she could at breakfast, and endeavored to avoid looking in his general direction at all costs. Caution, in this case, she felt, was indeed the better part of valor.

All her active ignoring of Snape left her completely surprised by the appearance of a note upon her toast. The owl that had brought the note was staring at her with a decidedly angry glare (partly because he felt she was unutterably stupid, and partly because his half-witted owner had named him Rosencrantz). Hermione retrieved her note, and fed Rosencrantz a piece of bacon that did not nearly make up for the injustice of life.

Miss Granger,

Your review will occur tomorrow. Wednesday will be allotted for in class observation. Thursday will be a day of practical testing for all your classes. The subject matter shall be of my choice, per my syllabi through November.

Severus Snape

Silently, she showed the note to Wreneth, and continued to work through her breakfast, nodding her head in response to something Bill was saying.

"Will you be ready on such short notice? The bastard barely gives you any time to warn the kids!"

"I do believe so. They don't really need the warning. They are prepared enough to be able to tackle this. I have faith in them." She turned suddenly to the older woman with a beseeching look that made her look vaguely childish. "Wreneth, could we go for a quick walk before classes?"

It wasn't until they were alone in the Muggle Studies classroom that Hermione began to open up. They sat on top of the student desks, and kicked their heels in the air as though they were fourteen again. Wreneth settled herself leaning back on her elbows; Hermione remained ramrod straight.

"I wanted to thank you, Wren. A month ago, I would've been so scared of having him testing me like this. I just...what with the wandless lessons, and, well...everything," she sighed, and raised her arms wide in a futile attempt to encompass the enormity of her gratitude.

"You had it in you all the time, kiddo," Wreneth answered lazily, rolling her head back to look at the ceiling.

"Maybe. But, well, just at the beginning there, I didn't have the confidence to stand up to him. He always was the weak point in my career as a student. Things haven't changed much," snorted Hermione, and leaned back as Wreneth did, if a bit more stiffly.

"Ah, but they have. Look at the way you tricked him at his own game yesterday. Your strapping young male friends will be fit to die of laughing when they hear it. Classes are starting soon," Wren said, and hopped off the desk, brushing imaginary dust off. Hermione followed and headed for the door, straightening her skirt.

"Hermione," Wreneth called as the girl reached for the handle, "thank you for trusting, and not judging." A brilliant smile was flashed in response, and the door was opened. "And, honestly, use the Floo, or you'll be late."

The morning of the classroom review dawned cold and gray, with persistent clouds that threatened to hang over the castle out of spite. The Potions classroom was silent as the dull light touched upon the spotless desks, spotless cauldrons, and spotless things in jars on shelves. Hermione Granger had woken at four that morning, and had been cleaning ever since. Even now the light drifted over her, nervously organizing her desk, shaking slightly after her third cup of coffee.

Eventually there was nothing left on her desk to shift about anxiously, and she settled in the chair behind it. Sitting caused unattractive wrinkles in her skirt and robes. Now standing, she smoothed her hand over the front of her long skirt. She'd spent far too much time this morning deciding what to wear, trying skirts of lengths varying from floor to knee, then casting them off in favor of dress pants, then deciding that neither looked good with her shirt. It had been an ordeal she was not inclined to repeat.

Time ticked by agonizingly slowly, and (though she was loathe to do so) Hermione went round and lit the candles. Another fifteen minutes wended its way by. Alphabetizing the unmentionables in jars, how could she have forgotten? How could she do it, though, as she couldn't put a name to most? Breakfast was just started. The smells of warm food floated down even to here. Nausea welled up in her stomach. Breakfast would be nearly over. Surprising, really that Snape wasn't there yet.

The door creaked open. Think of the devil. He glided in silently, ignoring her presence as he called a chair and seated himself unobtrusively in the corner. Hermione buried the urge to talk to him, and instead translated her energy into writing potion ingredients on the board. Students, Ravenclaw fifth years, were filing in, chatting a bit as they took their seats. None acknowledged the visitor; Alvin Willis did not even shiver as he sat down beside Snape, and was gifted with a nasty sneer.

Hmm, a very clever cloaking spell indeed, for Hermione could still see him quite clearly. When the last student had entered (perfectly on time, she noted gleefully), she turned neatly and stepped forward towards the class. They were silent, and attentive, instantly. Textbooks lay on every desk, along with quills and parchment.

"Today will be a practical day. You may put away your textbooks," she said, waiting for the sudden flurry of movement to subside. "Now, who can tell me which potion we are brewing?" Several hands sprang up in response, and she nodded at a short blond boy in the front row.

"A Confusion Potion," he replied.

"Two points to Ravenclaw, Mr. Kirkpatrick. Can anyone tell me the properties and effect? Yes, Miss Akers," Hermione called, encouraging the student with a hint of a smile.

"Odorless and light blue in color; depending on dosage, affects the perceptions of the drinker, due mostly to the inclusion of Amanita Muscaria, which have hallucinogenic properties," she answered precisely. The rest of the class was busy noting these facts down beside the ingredients they'd listed. A glance in Snape's direction showed an annoyed sneer on his face as he furiously scribbled notes. The sudden resemblance to Professor Umbridge's inspections was so startlingly funny that Hermione nearly burst into giggles.

"Take two more points for your house, Miss Akers," she recovered smoothly, and desperately hoped she'd kept the amusement from her voice. "You should have plenty of time to brew this particular potion in the remainder of the period, as well as test. The dosage is low enough that your perceptions will be altered only mildly, and for a very short amount of time. However, for those of you who have a class next period, there is also an antidote...begin," she said sharply, and watched as the students sprang to their feet and gathered the stores. Many came back with extra supplies that were clearly intended for brewing the antidote.

After fifteen minutes of watching from the front of the class, Hermione proceeded to go up and down the rows, checking colors and consistencies, and answering the odd question. She watched carefully as ingredients were added, for though students had to test even incorrectly brewed potions, she would never let them try one that was dangerous. Ever since that first disastrous day she had been hyperaware of her student's work while brewing. Alice Adelbert's antidote would most likely turn her face blue. Jim Perkins' would leave him smelling like rotten eggs. Marcia Golden would need a stronger antidote, judging by how many mushrooms she'd added.

"Testing time," she called, and watched as they carefully ladled out the dosage they had calculated given their weight. Those who had prepared antidotes measured out those as well. As a group they ingested the potion. Hermione cast a nervous eye over towards Snape. She had nearly forgotten him sitting so quietly there in the intensity of monitoring the students. He was watching them with a stern eye, mouth firmly fixed in a cruel frown. Please, please let them all be right, she prayed.

And, unsurprisingly--or rather, miraculously, if you were Snape--they all were. Marcia Golden was suffering a bit more, true, but nothing so bad that it was a major failure. Relief sweeping through her, Hermione walked up and down the aisles, gently directing those who had brewed antidotes on drinking them. By the end students were gathering their bags and weaving in the general direction of the door. Those whose antidotes had worked were guiding some of the less fortunate.

Hermione wiped down the board, and nearly released a sigh of relief before she remembered that Snape was still lurking in the room. Any time that may have been given to fretting over his opinion of the class or of her teaching was swept away by the incoming tide of Hufflepuff third years.

The constant rush of students throughout the day took her mind off of that brooding presence. Only occasionally would she catch a glimpse of him, of his expressions at the time. Earlier in the day she had made eye contact, and faltered in the middle of her lecture, to a combined Gryffindor-Slytherin class, no less. His face, at that one moment, had been neither annoyed, nor sneering, nor superior, nor smirking, nor any of the other range of expressions she associated with him. It had unnerved her wholly.

Lunch came and went, and Snape had slipped out and into the classroom before she had realized it. Hermione thought it best to take her own lunch in her office, and spent a blissful hour reading Wuthering Heights and munching on a cheese sandwich and apple. The end of the day was tiresome, with a Gryffindor-Slytherin seventh year double Potions lecture (thank God it wasn't a practical, she rejoiced). Other than some choice bits of Mister Rhys Thrope's delusions of Slytherin wit--she had even caught Snape sniggering at the atrocious one-liners--the class went smoothly. Snape slipped out for dinner along with the students, apparently invoking a complete cloaking spell, for when she returned to her desk in the empty classroom, she found a large white envelope with her name printed in his unique script.

"Screw dinner," she said aloud to no one, picking up the envelope, and shoving it in among her other papers. Screw dinner, screw grading. There was a nice bottle of whiskey and a brooding Heathcliff waiting in her study to keep her company tonight.

The note had contained a short message concerning what to prepare in advance for his test. Hermione did not wake so early to prepare on this morning, instead taking a leisurely time just before and during breakfast to attend to the instructions he'd left her. She could have made him get his own materials together, but that something in his face from the lecture jumpstarted a little courtesy.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Snape said. From just behind her ear. She leaped in surprise, scattering powdered wormwood all over the workbench.

"That's highly rude!" she snapped, and glared at him; with a smirk and wave of his wand he cleaned up the mess, and took the bottle from her hands. Leaving the ingredients, he walked over to the desk and admired it with a proprietary air.

"Accio chair. Miss Granger, if you would please seat yourself. I would suggest retrieving some grading or similar to amuse yourself with today," he said, gesturing at the chair he'd called over to sit beside the desk. Still glaring she retreated to her office, leaning heavily against the closed door and counting backwards from ten. Ah, well, maybe from fifteen. Twenty, then.

When she returned, a sheaf of essays in hand and Bronte under her arm, Snape was already seated at her desk, initiating the menacing, scowling glare she remembered so well from her student days. Already the sixth-year Hufflepuffs were flowing in, just a little early, and noticing with looks of horror that Professor Snape appeared to have returned to teach. Instantly the classroom settled and went silent; the air was practically humming with nervous energy.

"Today will be a practical examination. You have the entire period to brew these two potions correctly," he barked, and waved towards the board where the names of two potions appeared. "Bring vials stopped and labeled with your name, year and house to the desk at the end." Snape paused for dramatic effect, catching the eyes of a few wary students. "Begin," he drawled softly, and leaned back into his chair almost lazily as the students leapt to attention and headed for the stores.

The students worked quietly through the period, sneaking the occasional glances up at the imposing form of the Headmaster, and the far more comforting sight of their usual potions professor. Snape said nary a word throughout the entire exercise, merely leaning back in his chair, hands clasped, eyes focused on some point far away. Hermione was dividing her time between watching to make sure no one bollixed up too badly, trying to correct the second-year essays, and sneaking glances at Snape.

When the classroom had finally emptied, and there was a row of glass vials on the desk, Snape stirred, moving as though waking from a deep sleep. For an unguarded second he glanced at Hermione, before dropping a full sneer into place. Still without speaking he cast a small enchantment on the bottles, carefully scrutinizing them.

"Well, Miss Granger," his voice broke loudly into the quiet, "not a single utter failure, though there are four of questionable stability and two that may produce some undesired side effects when ingested." He paused for a moment, pointedly not looking at her. "This is your free-period, no?"

"Yes, sir," she responded curtly, and turned immediately back to her marking. Hermione was, all things considered, rather proud of her students' performance, despite the tone of Snape's assessment. They sat in silence for another few minutes, Hermione working away industriously at her marking, and desperately trying to ignore any looks Snape might be throwing her way. Sighing, he finally stood and headed in the direction of her office.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called, head snapping up from her work fast enough to simulate whiplash.

"I had thought you were actively ignoring me. Pity to stop now," he replied.

"Why are you going to my office?" she inquired fussily.

"Reading material," Snape said simply, and stepped through the door.

"Help yourself then," Hermione mumbled bitterly.

"Oh, I intend to."

He returned holding a large theoretical Potions text, and settled himself again in front of the desk.

"Why aren't you out doing something in this period off?" she asked, marking a large red x through some point or other. No response.

"Think I'll tamper with the results?"

Again, silence.

"Afraid--"

"Miss Granger, when one is trying to read, it is common practice to refrain from besieging them with questions," he interrupted snarkily without once looking up from the book.

The other classes came and went in much the manner of the first, though word had gotten around by now that Snape had stepped in to test potions. He varied between subjecting them to written tests or practical examinations, but did not sweep down the aisles in classic fashion, or even say a word beyond the bare first address.

When he finally stormed off to dinner (robes billowing as of old), Hermione found herself once again unable to summon the necessary enthusiasm for dinner with screaming children and curious adults. Picking up Wuthering Heights she stole away again to the privacy of her quarters.

Snape also chose to make his appearance at dinner a short one. He could not endure for long the alternately glowering and inquisitive looks Wreneth kept shooting him, as well as the daggers Minerva was vainly attempting to stare at him. Dining conditions like this made food positively inedible.

He swirled away as soon as he could and hid in his personal secret laboratory. The warm--but not fuzzy--feeling he'd contracted from teaching again was beginning to fade, and he traitorously wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible. This required not thinking about the fact that Hermione "Pain-in-the-Arse" Granger apparently had lived up to her outrageous claims. Damn and blast her. He'd have to allow her to teach her own bloody curriculums.

Not that that was the problem. The problem was having to quietly eat his words and admit defeat to the chit of a girl. Why had he ever wished her to have more confidence? Give her that, and she starts raising hell! In a petulant fit he tossed the examination papers out into a corner of the lab table. He would go over them more thoroughly later. For now though...

Infinitely more carefully he removed another sheaf of papers from his robes. When he'd gone in to find a book, he had seen them on her desk. Perhaps the first cursory glance had been an invasion of privacy. But the second time? They practically jumped on his eyeballs and screamed, "Read me!" So he'd carefully stowed the neat pile underneath his robes, and left another pile of blank parchments in its place.

He emerged from the little laboratory, checking carefully that no one was anywhere in his personal quarters. The papers were again stowed beneath his shirt. Slowly he poured a glass of wine, removed his heavy robes, and sank into his favorite chair by the fire. Then, feeling all too much like a guilty child for his own peace of mind, he pulled out the stack of notes and smoothed down the first page.

Contentment and Euphoria potions create these feelings due to affecting, or possibly even creating serotonin...

Severus Snape sipped the wine while he read, and unconsciously smiled.