A Certain Amount of Sense

Chapter 4

True to his word, Professor Snape’s Potions class had dwindled considerably in number. Hermione recalled his speech in the beginning of last year, when he had pronounced that he would be taking “only the very best” for his N.E.W.T. class. Looking around, she realized that the class was so small that all four houses had been lumped together into one.

She recognized Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw sitting together, as well as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff. Parvati Patil, the only other Gryffindor in the class had chosen to sit with her twin sister, Padma. The four from last year’s D.A. all gave her a brief smile. She smiled back, relieved to see some familiar faces. She found it hard to suppress a groan, however, when she saw Draco Malfoy sitting alone in the front row. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to contend with Crabbe and Goyle anymore, she thought.

“Looks like the Mudblood’s all by her lonesome, now that Potty and the Weasel have left. Aww, you’re not scared, are you?” Draco said with his usual drawl.

“Shut it, Malfoy. Looks like you’re just as alone here too. Although I’m not surprised; the lot of you Slytherins are so thick I bet the only reason you’re here is because you’re the teacher’s pet.”

“Ha, if you must know, Granger, I got an O on my Potions’ O.W.L.,” sneered Draco.

It was a good thing Professor Snape entered the room at this moment because Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She had always assumed that Draco had gotten by in Potions because he was the teacher’s pet, but she also knew how objective the O.W.L.’s were. For him to have scored an Outstanding meant she had been wrong about him all of these years.

“Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to find a seat so that we may begin.” Snape voice was, if possible, colder than usual. After what had transpired yesterday morning in the library, Hermione had hoped that there might have been some sort of change in his demeanor, but realized pragmatically that that was as likely to happen as Malfoy offering to share his table with her.

Unfortunately, she realized the only seat left was the one next to Draco. Panicked, she looked at the Potions Master, but he had already turned to write on the chalkboard.

“Malfoy, I know you want to sit next to me as little as I do, so say something. He’ll listen to you!” hissed Hermione. Instead of replying, Draco just sat back and smirked.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor. Ten if you don’t sit down immediately, Miss Granger,” said Professor Snape without turning from the board.

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. There was nothing to be done about it however. Resigned, she sat down at the table, scooting her chair as far away from Malfoy as was possible. She bent down to take out her quill and parchment from her schoolbag and started to copy what was written on the board. After a few words, though, she could feel Malfoy watching her. She turned, eyes narrowed and ready to spit out some scathing retort, but the look he gave her stilled her tongue. He wasn’t just staring; he was leering. His eyes traveled slowly down her body and back up again. When he saw that she was watching him, he smiled again and licked his lips.

“My, my, the summer sure has treated you well, Granger. All grown up now, aren’t we?”

It was true. While all the other girls in her class had been growing and blossoming throughout the last few years, Hermione was what her parents called her, a “later bloomer.” She hadn’t really cared; studying and running around with Harry and Ron had preoccupied her time. But over the summer she had found that her blouses weren’t buttoning anymore over her chest. And when she had seen her two best friends again at the train station, they had both been staring at the region below her neck until she loudly repeated her greeting for the third time. It had been embarrassing then (and she still caught Ron looking at her down there sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, whereas Harry now resolutely never looked anywhere but straight into her eyes when he talked to her), but it was nothing compared to this.

Hermione couldn’t help it; she started to blush heavily, feeling hot all over. This was simply unacceptable, but she didn’t know what to do. Ask her anything from Hogwarts, A History, and she’d be fine. But how to react to unwanted sexual attention was something she had never studied in any of her textbooks.

She tried to ignore him, hoping the lack of response would make him desist. It only moved him to try harder, however. Suddenly, she felt something touch her one of her ankles.

Hermione gave a small gasp. Snape turned around and glared at her, but seeing nothing else the matter, he left it at that and continued to write the syllabus for the term.

Whatever had touched her was moving upwards to stroke her calves, sending sparks of electricity shooting up and down her spine. Hermione froze. What was wrong with her? Draco Malfoy, quite-possibly-Junior-Death-Eater-and-most-definitely-the-biggest-prat-in-school was playing footsies with her, and she was almost enjoying it. She could no longer concentrate on what Snape was saying; she couldn’t do anything other than focus on the lazy circles his foot was making on her right calf.

She heard his chair slide closer, and he snickered in her ear as he placed a hand on her bare knee.

“Do you like that, Mudblood?” he whispered.

Closing her eyes, Hermione could barely contain a moan. His hand, his hand! It was made of fire, and the flames were slowly consuming her, crawling up her thighs and….

“Miss Granger!” Her eyes snapped open and Draco’s hand retreated just as quickly. “Just because you received an Outstanding on your O.W.L’s doesn’t mean you have permission to sleep in my classroom. Another five points from Gryffindor.”

Once again, Hermione felt the urge to defend herself to Snape, but she saw him watching her, just waiting for an outburst. It was infuriating. But seeing as how she bloody well wasn’t going to tell the whole class, much less him, why she her eyes had been closed, she had to keep her mouth shut. If only looks could kill, there would have been no need for Avada Kedavra right then.

When he was satisfied that she would remain silent, Severus started his lesson.

“Today we will be attempting to brew Fake Phoenix Tears. Miss Turpin, what would the properties of this fluid be?”

“It-it acts like real phoenix tears?” stammered Lisa.

“Miss Turpin, if you expect to continue in this class, you will need learn how to answer my questions definitively and not with more questions. Mister Finch-Fletchley, what are real phoenix tears used for?”

“They heal whatever they touch, sir.”

“That is correct. Two points to Hufflepuff. For this reason, wizards have been trying to duplicate this panacea for ages but without success. The closest they have been able to come is the potion you will be making today. Mister Malfoy, can you tell me in what aspect the Fake Phoenix Tears are deficient?”

“Yes sir. While the real phoenix tears are able to heal all types of injuries, physical and magical, the Fake Tears can only heal those that are physical in nature.”

“Very good, Mister Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin.”

Hermione and Parvati were used to the wanton display of favoritism in Potions class when it came to the Slytherins, but it seemed the five other students were not. They heard a few grumbles from their classmates, but the glare that Snape gave them suppressed any possible challenges to his authority.

“The reason you have not been taught this potion as of yet, is because of the extreme caution you will need with two of the ingredients. The first is Chlorus, a poisonous gas.” With a flick of his wand, a large glass bottle appeared on his desk. Inside swirled a green-tinged mist. “One breath of this most noxious fume and Madam Pomfrey will have to scrape out what’s left of your lungs.” He paused for effect. “Natrium,” another swish and a round dish appeared beside the bottle, “has the distinct property of bursting into flames upon contact with either the air or water. For this reason, it always stored in oil, and you will have to be very careful in cutting and using it. Because of the limited supply, you will be working with your desk partner on this potion. The instructions are in your textbook on page forty-five. You have one hour; I suggest you begin now.”

Before Malfoy could say or do anything, Hermione jumped out of her seat using the pretext of wanting to start the potion as soon as possible. She was the first to the store cupboard and spent her time there, slowly gathering the ingredients listed. Last were the Chlorus and Natrium. Parvati was already cautiously siphoning off an aliquot of the green gas into a sealed round flask so she turned her attention to the Natrium. It was sitting in a high-walled dish filled with thick, clear oil. Funny, how such an innocuous looking slab of soft metal could in reality be so dangerous. She picked up the scalpel laying next to the dish and carefully made an incision. Without warning, a pale hand wrapped around hers as a warm voice breathed into her ear.

“Let me help you with that, Granger.”

Hermione jerked away in response and succeeded in knocking over the dish. In horror, she watched it fall to the ground and break. The oil began to spread across the floor, and the Natrium began to catch fire. There were screams of panic as students jumped back from the flames and bumped into one another, knocking over desks and chairs. Snape was there in an instant with his wand ready.

“Flamus Conglacio!” As soon as he saw that the flames had indeed been rendered harmless, he spun around to face Hermione.

“Miss Granger, that was the only source of Natrium we had! Did I not just inform you how dangerous and rare that ingredient is? I have had enough of you disrupting my class today! Twenty points and detention tonight, in my office.

“Seeing as how you have succeeded in preventing the rest of your classmates from making today’s assignment, homework tonight will be a full report on the history and making of Fake Phoenix Tears, including safety procedures in regards to Natrium.” There was a collective groan from the class. Hermione was too ashamed to look anyone in the eyes. She felt tears threatening to form. It was so unfair!

“Well, what are you lot waiting for? Class dismissed. Miss Granger, stay behind so we may discuss your detention.”

As her classmates hurried to pack and leave, Hermione remained by his desk, staring at the chunks of Natrium that were safely burning themselves out. A thousand emotions were rolling through her, mirroring the ever-changing orange flames. She was shaking and clenching her hands so tightly that the test tube she had been holding cracked. Blood was starting to drip from the cut in her hand, but she didn’t notice.

It wasn’t until Snape reached for her hand that she looked up with a sharp intake of breath. The professor was gently uncurling her fist, and a look of concern was evident in his face. His voice was much softer now that only the two of them remained in the room.

“Miss Granger, please. I need to check your hand. Don’t move. I’ll need to remove the glass shards, but it may hurt.” Even now, especially now, he dared not look her in the eyes.

Tears traveled down her face as she silently watched the Potions Master kneeling before her and carefully inspecting her hand. With nothing else to latch onto, he became the focus of all her emotions. It was too bewildering; it was more than she could handle. Before she knew what she was doing, her uninjured hand was raised, and she slapped her teacher hard across the cheek.

***

The blow had stunned Severus. He watched in shock as she ran out of the classroom; she was gone before he could react. Tenderly, he reached for his jaw. It was still sore and stung horribly.

Slowly, he picked himself up, careful not to cut himself on any of the broken pieces of glass. As he began to clean up the mess on the floor with a few simple spells, he thought about what had just happened.

The only explanation he could come up with for Hermione’s violent reaction was that she could not bear his touch. He had been slapped before, by other women, but for similar reasons. It ate at him, because he knew he should not have touched her, should have sent her straight to hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to take care of. But the sight of the blood and the lost look on her face had made him act on instinct. All he had wanted to do at that point was comfort her.

It was hopeless, he thought. Somehow, the girl had gotten under his skin. And the only way he knew to protect himself, and her as well, was to isolate himself from her. Sighing, he sat down at his desk and reached for a quill. He wrote a quick note, reread it, folded it, and sealed it with wax. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared immediately.

“Yes, Professor Snape? How can Bompwee be serving you sir?”

“Please give this to Miss Granger. That is all.”

The house elf accepted the note and disappeared as quickly as he had come, leaving the Potions Master alone in his room so that no one heard his sudden gasp of pain.