It was as the end of her seventh year drew to a close that she began taking walks at night. She knew she didn't have much longer at the school she had grown to love, and wanted to savor every minute that remained. Besides, as the nights grew warmer she found herself squirming beneath the sheets, sleeping fitfully when she finally did doze off. Ironic, that the only thing that could calm her nerves on those nights, and steady her breaths to an even rhythm until she slumbered, was listening to his voice inside her head. Why him? But before she asked the question, the answer was already there. Had she ever heard a more soothing voice?
As a first year, that voice had scared and excited her, the vowels and consonants spilling gracefully off of his tongue to weave and hiss their way around the classroom. Now, his voice to her was reassuring. Familiar and smooth.
She never saw him breath. One word rolled right into the next until he chose to stop time with one of his famous dramatic pauses. All of her classmates averted their gazes when he chose to do so. By their seventh year, few of the students were still as scared of their professor as they once were, but most were still wary of being singled out and picked on by the potions master.
She was the only one who didn't look away. She had abandoned her foolish hand waving long ago, and now instead just calmly met his dark eyes with her own warm brown ones. The first time she did this she swore she caught a twinkling in her professor's eyes, not unlike the one that danced merrily in Dumbledore's. 'Go ahead, call on me,' her even stare said, 'we both know that I have the answer.'
'Yes,' he thought, 'yes indeed you do'. She had grown dignified, he thought. Elegant, even. He watched her, sometimes, while pretending to grade papers. Of course, he kept an eye on all of the students during potions lab; safety required that he do so. Although he told himself at the beginning that it was a necessity that his attention linger longer on her lab bench, due to the ever impending blunderings of her lab partner, Neville, in time he admitted that this was no longer the case. She was a talented student, and he had watched over the years, as she learned to quickly and efficiently correct Longbottom's mistakes before Neville himself realized there was anything wrong. He knew he should change the seating arrangements, that Longbottom would never learn anything this way, but he couldn't bring himself to give up the pleasure of watching her work her magic.
It was a rare student that came through Hogwarts having the skills of deduction and quick calculating mind required to bring the complex potions they brewed in seventh year back to perfection from the ruins that someone like Longbottom sent them to. He marveled at this, allowing himself a moment of whimsy as he wondered if she might somehow, with her calculating mind and swift graceful hands, restore him to some semblance of normalcy as she did the brewing potions. If I were brewing this particular potion, he thought darkly, I'd toss it away and start fresh. But Miss Granger...Hermione. She might just be stubborn enough to see it through.
At this, he chuckled quietly, a sound that did not escape her notice.
He had been watching her from the shadows as she slipped off her shoes, trailing each set of bare toes through the water at the lake's edge. He often came down to the lake at night, to escape the oppressive silence of the dungeons at night. Here, the whispering leaves and rippling water kept him in good company.
He knew she had heard him by the way her shoulders tensed. For a moment, his heartbeat quickened. 'Please just ignore it,' he thought at her, 'it was only a raven, waking from a troublesome dream.'
He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, and thought he might be off the hook for that moment, relaxing as he watched her rich brown curls waver in the breeze. Funny how the tables suddenly turn and he is the nervous schoolboy, hoping not to be caught out after curfew.
Then, without turning toward him, her voice, quiet but confident rings out through the cool air.
"Good evening, Professor."
As a first year, that voice had scared and excited her, the vowels and consonants spilling gracefully off of his tongue to weave and hiss their way around the classroom. Now, his voice to her was reassuring. Familiar and smooth.
She never saw him breath. One word rolled right into the next until he chose to stop time with one of his famous dramatic pauses. All of her classmates averted their gazes when he chose to do so. By their seventh year, few of the students were still as scared of their professor as they once were, but most were still wary of being singled out and picked on by the potions master.
She was the only one who didn't look away. She had abandoned her foolish hand waving long ago, and now instead just calmly met his dark eyes with her own warm brown ones. The first time she did this she swore she caught a twinkling in her professor's eyes, not unlike the one that danced merrily in Dumbledore's. 'Go ahead, call on me,' her even stare said, 'we both know that I have the answer.'
'Yes,' he thought, 'yes indeed you do'. She had grown dignified, he thought. Elegant, even. He watched her, sometimes, while pretending to grade papers. Of course, he kept an eye on all of the students during potions lab; safety required that he do so. Although he told himself at the beginning that it was a necessity that his attention linger longer on her lab bench, due to the ever impending blunderings of her lab partner, Neville, in time he admitted that this was no longer the case. She was a talented student, and he had watched over the years, as she learned to quickly and efficiently correct Longbottom's mistakes before Neville himself realized there was anything wrong. He knew he should change the seating arrangements, that Longbottom would never learn anything this way, but he couldn't bring himself to give up the pleasure of watching her work her magic.
It was a rare student that came through Hogwarts having the skills of deduction and quick calculating mind required to bring the complex potions they brewed in seventh year back to perfection from the ruins that someone like Longbottom sent them to. He marveled at this, allowing himself a moment of whimsy as he wondered if she might somehow, with her calculating mind and swift graceful hands, restore him to some semblance of normalcy as she did the brewing potions. If I were brewing this particular potion, he thought darkly, I'd toss it away and start fresh. But Miss Granger...Hermione. She might just be stubborn enough to see it through.
At this, he chuckled quietly, a sound that did not escape her notice.
He had been watching her from the shadows as she slipped off her shoes, trailing each set of bare toes through the water at the lake's edge. He often came down to the lake at night, to escape the oppressive silence of the dungeons at night. Here, the whispering leaves and rippling water kept him in good company.
He knew she had heard him by the way her shoulders tensed. For a moment, his heartbeat quickened. 'Please just ignore it,' he thought at her, 'it was only a raven, waking from a troublesome dream.'
He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, and thought he might be off the hook for that moment, relaxing as he watched her rich brown curls waver in the breeze. Funny how the tables suddenly turn and he is the nervous schoolboy, hoping not to be caught out after curfew.
Then, without turning toward him, her voice, quiet but confident rings out through the cool air.
"Good evening, Professor."