perfection

[1]

There was something in that book.

She clutched it at mealtimes, scribbling in it with a small, narrow quill. Every time someone asked her, she would snap it shut and mutter something about "Research. Potions, spells, that sort." Undoubtedly there were more protective enchantments on it than the walls of Hogwarts, and so despite his curiosity, Snape left it alone. He had been on the receiving end of enough of her hexes to admit that the Granger girl was, perhaps, moderately capable at spellcasting.

But it almost didn't matter, because there was something in that book.

Being trapped in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place over the holidays was maddening. All around him, festivities were in full swing, complete with mistletoe and spiked eggnog. Unless the creamy beverage was spiked with Bloodroot potion he wasn't drinking it, and no matter how often the moony-eyed Lovegood creature assured him that Nargles were not, in fact, deadly, he wasn't taking any chances. The house was simply too small for thirty people, all of whom were in despicably cheerful moods since the snow was falling, and wasn't that just lovely?

He was bored. Unspeakably bored. Snape sniffed noisily and turned a page in his book. At the moment, more than half of the rowdy bunch were outside, making snow angels or having a snowball fight or doing whatever idiots did in the snow, while Mrs. Weasley and Tonks were having a sip of tea in the kitchen.

Scritch-scratch, scratchy-scritch-scritch.

The Potion Master's dark eyes flicked upwards, full of bad temper.

She was jackknifed into a corner, writing in that ridiculous book with that narrow black quill. Why it was bothering him so much he couldn't tell—perhaps it was because she had been acting quite oddly around everyone, skittish almost, and now she was completely absorbed in her "research". He hated to admit it, but her presence was marginally less irritating than anyone else in the house. At least the Granger girl occasionally had an intelligent, original thought of her own, and not just something she parroted from a book.

Scratch, scratch, scritch.

He'd had enough. "What. Are you. Doing."

"Research," she answered, biting the end of her quill and barely looking up.

"On what, Miss Granger?"

Her cheeks flushed and she snapped the book shut. "It's none of your business, that's what, Professor. And if I'm bothering you so much why didn't you just ask me to move to a different room?"

The young woman stormed out, her nose in the air. Snape eyed the book in her hand.

There was something in it.

And he was going to find out what.

It proved to be unsurprisingly problematic over the next few days. Snape, well-versed in subterfuge, skulked around the house with more malevolence than ever, growling at people who asked him questions and arching an imperious, deadly brow at those who smiled. The Granger girl was hardly ever separated from the book, either locking it in her room or tucking it under her arm; and despite his new yuletide project, he wouldn't stoop to breaking into a girl's room. Merlin, he wasn't that desperate.

He had tried to prod her into different activities, hoping she'd leave the book behind, but in a flash she'd run upstairs for a jumper, or simply tap the book with her wand and it would vanish to who-knows-where. Snape was confident in his abilities to dismantle the girl's wards, but only if she left the bloody book alone. He couldn't simply ask to see the book. Nor could he take it away without a crowd of people descending on him, and then the plan would be spoilt.

Oh good God, was he bored. Plotting to overthrow a twenty-something witch in order to steal her diary. What had he come to?

And then she just…fell asleep.

It was nearly midnight, and the fire was burning quite low and the lurid Christmas tree looking almost fetching in the dark. He had been pretending to read a Potions journal, but got too caught up in the pretending and when he finally emerged, Snape realized Miss Granger had fallen asleep.

The book was unguarded and lay on her lap, closed, with the quill marking her page. Her bushy hair was falling in her eyes and the quill was leaving a small, drippy stain on the arm of the wing-back chair. He pounced to his feet and cast a Silencing charm, ensuring the girl would stay asleep. Her hand wasn't even on the book.

Honestly, it was a bit anti-climactic.

Tapping the book experimentally with his wand, he disabled two or three of the more minor wards. As expected, there were at least ten layers of enchantments, all growing in strength and effectiveness until he could finally reach out and grab the book without suffering either purple hair, a nasty rash, green toe-fungus, or a hideous, disfiguring pattern of acne that no doubt spelled something rude on one's forehead.

He plucked the book off her lap and leafed through it, taking care with the thin, crisp pages. Rows and rows of neat, almost militant writing filled nearly half the book, and he checked the most recent entry.

Neville Longbottom

Pros:

-Kind
-Brave
-Compassionate
-Even-tempered
-Not likely to blab

Cons:

-Unavailable

Snape blinked. What kind of list was this? Slowly, he leafed through the book, looking at long entries of people with lists beneath their names. Nearly all of them were currently in the house, and he realized almost immediately that they were all men.

Sirius Black

Pros:

-VERY attractive
-Gentle (?)
-Makes me laugh

Cons:

-Harry
-Volatile/unreliable
-May not take this seriously
-May take this too seriously

Beneath many of them she had scrawled tightly written notes. Sirius could work, she wrote carefully, although he might tell Harry and it would spoil everything. He sees Harry too often as well, it may damage their relationship. Don't want him to remember me that much—would make things awkward.

He turned another page.

Snape

The Potion professor blinked.

Written in a bold, underlined type was just the word NO.

Snape was still working out whether or not to be offended or relieved when he suddenly felt a hex hit him like a sledgehammer, smacking him squarely in the chest and sending him flying backwards onto the hearthrug. Instincts clicked into place and even though the wind had been knocked straight out of him, he flicked his wand and sent an answering curse back towards his opponent.

There was the staticky sound of a spell hitting a shield, and he looked up to see an enraged Hermione Granger towering over him, pointing her wand at his nose.

He had been through two Wizarding wars. He had fought off the likes of Voldemort, Death Eaters, and Dumbledore alike. And yet he still felt an icicle of fear flicker through him, seeing those dark brown eyes so full of hate and shock—hell hath no fury like a young woman who's just discovered her old professor was lecherously reading her diary.

He shuddered. God, he was bored.

All of a sudden, he realized she was on the floor, and looked down at her. She was stiff as a board and looking at him with that same furious expression, although completely petrified. His wand was still in his hand—he had cast the hex without so much as a thought.

"What is this, Granger?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, right."

A flick of his wand. And then –

"Professor Severus Snape, you give me that back right now!" Hermione shrieked, scrambling for her wand. Snape trapped it under the toe of his boot and raised her book to eye level.

"'Draco Malfoy, pros, attractive, excellent at spell work, clean hands' – really, Granger, clean hands? You list that among the qualities of a person?" Snape asked.

"I needed at least three," she spat back at him, huffing a cloud of frizzy hair out of her eyes. "And it was all I could think of. Stop reading, please! Give it back!"

"Rubbish, I'm just getting to the good part," he replied dryly, "You've got at least thirty cons on this list for Draco, my, my…I see your precious Potter and Weasley friends aren't in here?"

"Please, Professor, just give me the book."

"Don't fancy them, I suppose?"

"If you don't give me that book I'll scream, I swear I will!"

"There's a Silencing Charm, stupid girl, I also notice there's no mention of any married men in this book. Tell me, are you constructing a breeding list of some kind? Perhaps searching for the proper pedigree to round out your resume?"

There was a beat of silence.

He peered over the top of the book.

She was on her knees, looking as though she might cry, scream, or possibly do both. Finally, she thrust her chin upwards and looked at him defiantly, dark brown eyes narrowed. "It's none of your business what I'm doing with that list. It's purely for my own entertainment. Give me back my wand, and my book, or I'll…I'll…"

"You'll what?" Snape asked, but after a moment he kicked her wand back towards her.

The Granger girl took a deep, shuddering breath, and then picked up the wand. Holding out her hand, palm upturned, she glared at him. "Book. Now."

He held it back, well out of her reach. "Not until you tell me what this is all about. I also notice my name's in here—not planning a list of potential murders, I hope?"

"If I was, you'd be first on the list." She snapped.

After a long moment of silence, she finally said, "If I tell you, and I even hear you breathing a word to someone else, so help me I will hunt you down and curse you until every one of your appendages turns green and falls off. Then I will stick them back on you in a random order. Do you understand?"

Surprisingly, he did. "Quite."

She cocked an eyebrow, clearly trying for a display of aggression. "I'd like to lose my virginity before Christmas. Succumbing to loads of hormonal rot isn't high on my priorities, so I thought I'd make a list and narrow it all down. I don't expect you to understand."

Three things occurred to Snape, more or less simultaneously.

One was the very strong urge to laugh, loudly and hysterically. Here was a young woman (how old was she again? Twenty one? Twenty two?) who had literally been through hell and back, and was now constructing a kind of list of men who could possibly deflower her. He flashed back powerfully on grading all of her essays, of how she had always overcompensated and piled on far too much information, overthinking and rethinking until nearly everything was perfect. It was completely absurd and yet, somehow, it fit.

Two was the rather despairing knowledge that the girl had a book full of men's names, nearly all of whom would probably hex their own bollocks off for a chance to shag Hermione Granger. When he had been her age, coming up with that kind of list would be nearly impossible. In fact, completely impossible—at that stage in his life, before the power and the glory, women weren't exactly queuing up to take a chance with him.

The third and final thought, and the one that lingered the longest and disturbed him the most, was that he felt almost…sympathetic. Or perhaps a kind of kinship. He knew the feeling of trying to construct the perfect situation, the perfect life, to match the fantasy in one's head.

He took a seat and said calmly, "Well, if that's the case, I hardly think Draco would be a suitable choice. He'd never let you live it down, although I imagine marrying a Malfoy could have some unexpected bonuses politically."

She blinked.

"Er…well, yes. And I'm not looking for marriage. That's why Ron and Harry aren't on the list, because…you know."

"They're friends," Snape said, smiling coldly, "and it would be awkward."

"Exactly," Hermione took a seat, seeming relieved. "So I was trying to think of people who would...not treat it with too much ceremony and dignity, but also not just throw me against the wall, either. And yet someone I didn't have to see every minute of the day to remind me."

"Go to a pub, you'll find a decent man," Snape suggested. "If not, try a different pub."

She opened the book and leafed through it, seeming excited, her cheeks flushing pink. "I thought of that, but there's so many unknown factors. Besides, being who I am—friend of Harry's, you know—it would be hard to find a Wizard who didn't know who I was. Or, at least, didn't care. And I'd also like someone without too much baggage—it's so hard to find someone like that in a pub. And there'd be so much planning to do beforehand, naturally. Too many risks, ultimately."

"What," Snape asked after a long moment, "are you exactly looking for?"

Her eyes sparkled cheerfully. "Perfection, of course."

Something that popped into my head and made me laugh. Haven't written any Sevmione, so I thought I'd start. -fyrelark