The Potions Master

Chapter One
Detention in the Dungeon

“Harry, when are you going to learn that you can’t put these things off till the night before?” Sixteen-year-old Hermione Granger glared across the table at Harry Potter, who did his best to look properly ashamed.

“I know, Hermione,” He said, “but we’ve been getting ready for the Quiddich match against Slytherin. I’ve barely had time to sleep, much less work on this bloody essay.” Harry looked disgustedly at the parchment in front of him. It was supposed to be a 13-inch essay on the proper use of potions in the treatment of wounds from Muggle weapons. Harry had two inches so far, and it was mostly just a listing of different kinds of Muggle weapons.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “Give me that,” she said, snatching the parchment away from him. She began writing furiously, stopping occasionally to consult one of the huge books that always seemed to be piled around her.

* * *

“Hand in your essays,” ordered Professor Snape, eyeing the class with mistrust, “then open your books to page 426 and begin working on the Porpheria Potion.” Collecting the essays, he sat down and began grading them. Twenty minutes into the class, he stopped suddenly and lay down his quill.

“Miss Granger,” he barked. Hermione jumped and looked up from her textbook. “Come here.”

Hermione made her way toward the large, dark oak desk at the front of the room. Stopping in front of it, she looked down at Professor Snape with trepidation, wringing her hands.

“Yes, sir?” she said, her voice quavering.

“I know you’ve been helping Potter with his work,” hissed the man, pushing a lock of his dark, greasy hair out of his eyes. “Detention, Friday, eight o’clock.”

Hermione nodded, fighting back tears, and headed back to her desk. “This is all your fault!” she whispered to Harry.

* * *

Hermione knocked timidly on the door to the Potion Master’s office. She looked over her shoulder nervously. The dungeon looked very different when it was full of students measuring ingredients, stirring potions, spilling things. Now, it was dark, empty, echoing. It was almost creepy.

After a moment, the door creaked open. “Come in, Miss Granger,” she heard from inside. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, she slipped inside and closed it behind her. She looked around the office curiously. No one she knew had ever been in this office before. It was surprisingly cozy. Two overstuffed red armchairs sat by the fireplace with a small table between them. A study desk took up one corner and was piled with books and parchments. Several doors led to what Hermione presumed were storage rooms. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Hermione wandered over to one and read a few of the titles. They were called things like “Generalities of Vampiric Studies,” “Advanced Studies in Polynomial Mathematics,” and “The Biomechanics of Wandless Magic.” Hermione was impressed. She hadn’t realized that Snape had any interests outside of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

One of the doors at the rear of the room opened and Hermione jumped away from the bookcase, flushing guiltily. Professor Snape walked in carrying a pile of books with a cauldron balanced on top. His elbow hit the door jamb and the cauldron wobbled. Hermione rushed forward and took it before it fell.

“Thank you,” he said, setting the books on the desk, “you can just set that on the floor.” She laid the cauldron on the floor by the desk.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting heavily in one of the armchairs. Hermione realized that he wasn’t wearing his teacher’s robes. She had never seen him in Muggle clothes before. He looked shockingly normal in grey tweed pants, a black polo shirt, and black Oxfords. He was fairly muscular, a fact which wasn’t evident under his billowing robes.

She perched on the edge of the chair timidly, uncertain of what to do. She had never had detention before, but this was certainly nothing like the detentions Harry and Ron had described.

Snape pulled his wand out of the holster on his hip and conjured a silver tea set onto the table between them. “Tea?” he offered. She accepted a cup and sipped it daintily. “So,” he said, sitting back with his tea, “why do you let Harry and Ron get away with not doing their homework?”

In her nervousness, she barely registered the fact that he had used their first names. “They – they’re my friends, sir,” she stuttered, “I can’t let them fail.”

“Hermione,” Snape said, surprisingly kindly, “you’re not doing them any favors. They have to learn these things for themselves.”

“Sir,” she protested, “they are learning! You’re just so hard on them – “ she stopped, flustered.

Snape sighed. “I can’t really talk about it, but just trust me when I say that I have a very good reason for behaving the way I do.”

She looked at him oddly, but let the subject drop. The two sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their tea, before she mustered the courage to speak again. “Professor Snape, were you – did you – am I supposed to be completing a task of some kind?”

“Hermione,” he said, setting down his cup and leaning forward, “you’re not here as punishment. I just wanted to talk to you in a relaxed environment. You seem to be a very tense person. I thought it would help if you had someone to talk to outside of Gryffindor. While we’re here, I don’t want you to think of me as a teacher, I want you to think of me as a friend. You may call me Severus.”

Hermione’s mind was spinning. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined Professor Snape being nice to her, much less offering to be her friend.

“Alright…Severus,” she said, smiling wanly at him, “do you often invite students here?”

“No, I’ve never done this before,” he said, staring into the fire as he spoke, “there’s just something about you. I sensed that you needed something, something I could give you.”

Hermione looked up at her teacher, his face in profile, bathed in the warm orange glow of the fire. She had never before noticed how handsome he was. His full lips and strong jaw were intensely alluring. Something about him made her trust him. Taking a deep breath, she began talking. She told him about trying to maintain her grades, helping her friends, and the failure of S.P.E.W. She talked about how all her classmates were dating, while she had never been asked out on a date. She even told him about her unrequited feelings for Ron and how he didn’t even think of her as a girl.

By the time she had finished talking it was close to 10pm. Snape had said little, interjecting only occasionally to ask a question or offer a suggestion. Hermione was exhausted and her voice was scratchy. She hadn’t realized how badly she had needed to talk about things.

Snape saw how tired she was and stood. Taking her hand, he helped her stand. Without releasing her hand, he said, “Things will not change between us in class. Remember, I have a good reason for my actions. You’re welcome to come down here whenever you need someone to talk to, but I do ask that you tell no one of this, for both our sakes.”

“I understand, Severus,” said Hermione, squeezing his hand briefly before darting out the door.

She headed straight for Gryffindor Tower, as it was nearly curfew. When she arrived, Harry and Ron immediately pounced on her.

“What did he make you do?” Ron demanded, delighted at the idea of good-girl Hermione being punished.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “did you have to do lines?”

“What?” said Hermione, distracted, “Oh, yes…lines. I’m tired, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Poor Hermione,” said Harry, watching her ascend the stairs wearily, “Snape must have been really hard on her.”