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A Matter of Honor Book 3: Love and Honor Chapter 5: Class Begins She hadn't had a chance to talk to Snape that night. Once the feast was over, the Heads of House left to meet with their Prefects and see that the new students were stowed away safely. The next morning, she was too anxious to worry about Snape. Taking her corner seat, Remus said, "You're positively green, Hermione. Just tell yourself that it can't turn out to be as bad as you expect it to be." She nodded, though he had been joking, and reached for the toast.
She'd arrived in her classroom early, of course. She set her books on the desk--her office was adjacent, through a door at her right--and smoothed her skirt. It was incredible how difficult it had been to choose what to wear (very little makeup, her hair pulled back from her face--that part was easy). At Mywoods, when she wasn't in uniform, she had been very casual: jeans, T-shirts and sweaters, an occasional skirt when she went someplace special with Greg and Bill. She'd bought several things (too many things, she told herself) as she prepared for Hogwarts, but though she'd worn pants and jeans that summer (one Saturday, Snape had raised an eyebrow to the ceiling at the Chudley Cannons T-shirt Ron had bought her for Christmas their seventh year), now she had to look professional. She'd chosen a long, straight, black skirt in a tweed material, not too heavy, and a white starched blouse with a matching black vest and a black tie. She'd thought, in a giddy moment just after midnight, that she still had her Gryffindor tie, but had seen reason in the light of morning. Her robes allowed her freedom of movement; she'd chosen ones similar to those of Madam Hooch (and Snape, she thought with a smile, though she was sure she'd never get as much effect out of hers), as opposed to the fuller, heavier robes Minerva always wore. She'd hesitated over her choice of shoes as well. Though she was tempted to wear her adored Doc Marten boots--the skirt was long enough that few people would notice--she decided for the regulation oxfords over her black tights instead. Maybe after a month or two, she'd be brave enough to try the boots… As the students began to arrive, Hermione stopped thinking about her footwear and turned to the blackboard, writing her name in large letters. It was, certainly, a cheesy thing to do, but it gave her hands an occupation. (Though for a moment, she thought she'd spelled her own name wrong.) She turned, nodding to the students in the front row (Hufflepuffs, of course; the Slytherins would congregate towards the back), and moved to the podium as the remaining students found their places. And with that perhaps inauspicious beginning, Hermione Granger became a teacher.
"PEEVES!" Hermione screeched, as the poltergeist swept through her classroom, raining water everywhere. She didn't want to think where that water had come from, but couldn't repress the thought of Moaning Myrtle and the girls' restroom just down the hall. "Come on, calm down. I know Professor Flitwick will have taught you the charm to dry up this water by now…" She managed to get her third years to help her clean up the mess, but by the time they had finished and she'd gotten them back into their seats and focused on her, the bell rang and class was over. "Remember, your equations are due at the start of next class period," she called, as they headed out the door. She turned to gather her things with a sigh. "Looks like you've had some excitement," Remus said from the doorway as he dodged the last exiting Ravenclaw. "I'll say," Hermione agreed. "Peeves paid us another visit." She wasn't smiling. "You should tell McGonagall…" he began, but she interrupted him. "I have." He watched her pack her bag in silence, then prodded, "so…why does Peeves have you so irritated?" She sighed, put her bag on the desk, and sat down. He moved to lean against a desk on the front row. "It's not really Peeves," she began. "I don't know--for the most part, I really, really enjoy teaching. My students are great…for the most part. Once you get to the fifth year, they've made a choice to continue in the subject, and it's difficult enough that they have to pay attention. And the sixth and seventh years especially are just grand. The third years are fine too, since they're too scared they're going to fail their new subjects to be any bother." "It's those fourth years that get you every time," Remus smiled. Now she smiled back. "They fall into two categories. Either they want to show the new teacher how much they know, or they've decided that they know more than the new teacher. Either way, the new teacher gets tired of corralling them into some semblance of a discussion. I've taken to lecturing for more of the class period than I intended to, and last Wednesday I wound up assigning equations for the last half of class because I just couldn't take it anymore." He laughed, and she joined in after a moment. "And," she added, "none of them--except for the seventh years, who are trying to finish things up until the bell rings--will stay in their seat to listen to my reminders at the end of class. What happened to waiting for the teacher's permission to charge out of the room?" Remus grinned, "Well, I seem to remember you and your friends being fairly speedy at times." Hermione laughed. "I know, I know." She looked up at him. "It's weird to be on this side of the desk."
One afternoon the following week, Remus and Hermione were grading papers in the staff room for a change of scenery. Snape had arrived after his last class of the day, escaping from the fumes of the most recent potion gone awry. Remus had levitated in a table from an unused classroom, and he and Hermione were seated at it; Snape was in a chair near the window, reading. Though they worked, for the most part, in silence, occasionally one of the graders would have a comment for the other. At one point, Hermione muttered, "Oh, good grief." Remus looked up. She sighed, "I never should have said I would give partial credit on homework equations. Not only does it mean I can't simply check the final answer when I'm in a hurry, but some of them aren't even bothering to work to the ends of the problems." "Let me guess, fourth years?" Remus asked. "Got it in one. Well, Mr. Prichard," she spoke to the writer of the incomplete equations, "I guess you think that a forty-five percent is better than a zero. Won't you be surprised on your next exam." "Arthur Prichard?" Snape's voice purred from the corner. Hermione turned her head. "Yes," she said, "fourth-year Slytherin." Snape scowled. "I'm amazed, Miss Granger, that he didn't finish his assignment." Hermione expected some snide remark about Slytherin students and her own, obvious error in instruction. ("Where did that come from?" she thought with a start.) "After all," Snape drawled, "he was working so diligently on it in my class yesterday. Shall I have a word with Mr. Prichard? Another word, that is?" Hermione shook her head. "No, Professor, that won't be necessary. I'll be having a word with Mr. Prichard myself. It will do me no good to have the Slytherin Three decide that I've gone to their Head of House for help because I can't handle them myself." She turned back to her parchments, and didn't see Snape's smile.
"Sorry I'm late," Hermione called as she burst into the Potions classroom one Monday afternoon. She breezed past the cauldron on the front table and unlocked her workroom door to retrieve her notes. As she came back out, Snape was smirking at her from his office door. "What?" she asked, a frown of confusion on her face. "I was going to remind you that I can't take points off for your tardiness anymore, Professor Granger, but you look like you would prefer that I skip that joke." She didn't smile as she set her notes down on the table and began to flip through them forcefully. "Is…something the matter?" Snape asked, still amused. Hermione took a deep breath. "No, not really. I'm late because I've spent the entire last class period--which I'm supposed to have free, I might add--talking to a student from my afternoon class. She is a sweet girl, and works so hard. But any time I hand back an assignment, I know that I'll have to spend at least five minutes explaining each point that I took off. She never contests her scores--and she always makes an A--but she has to understand exactly what she did wrong." She was still flipping through her notes, and didn't notice the look on Snape's face. "And the thing is, she'd already driven me crazy in class because she would not stop raising her hand. Of course nobody else tried to answer a single question. When I'd ask something, they'd just all look at her." She lost her train of thought as Snape began to chuckle. The sound itself was enough to flummox her--she had never heard Snape laugh anything but a cutting, derisive "ha!"--but when she'd realized what she'd said, and why he was laughing, she flushed crimson, and not out of embarrassment. "I'm thrilled that I can offer you so much amusement, even when I'm no longer in your class," she snarled. "My apologies, Miss Granger. It's just that…I was wondering how long it would take you to meet a student like yourself." She rolled her eyes and sighed, refusing to look at him.
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