Better than me? | Hermione Granger x Reader (GXG) (UNDER EDITING)

|| 8. Potions (UN-EDITED)

The question found its way to Y/N, Snape's gaze resting upon her. With nonchalant aplomb, she propped her hand atop the table,  "A sleeping potion, Draught of Living Death" she replied.

Simultaneously, Hermione's hand reached for the skies, an eager testament to her thirst for knowledge. Draco and his lackeys, true to form, erupted in chuckles, their mirth like a chorus of mocking bells. Aurora, ever an amused observer, cast a sidelong look towards Y/N, a blend of support and mischief twinkling in her gaze.

"Well then, Mr. Potter," Snape pressed on, a challenge lacing his words, "Should I ask you to direct me to a bezoar, where would your search lead you?" Hermione's hand, an ever-eager presence, remained lofted in the air, ignored by Snape's dismissive demeanor.

Nonchalantly, Y/N's hand joined the fray, resting upon the table's surface as if she were casually offering her expertise. Meanwhile, Hermione's hand reached the zenith of its extension, a testament to her unwavering determination to contribute. 

 "I don't know, sir." 

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Severus Snape's voice sliced through the air like a blade, the question he posed hanging heavily, a challenge that demanded a response. Hermione surged from her seat with an abruptness that bespoke her eagerness. Her hand shot skyward, an arrow of knowledge reaching its zenith, her fingertips grazing the chamber's ceiling.

"Pity," Snape's sneer followed, dripping with sarcasm, the words a subtle strike aimed at Harry's non-compliance.

"It seems," he taunted, "that not everything bows before the altar of fame." The silence held for a breath, the pause pregnant with implications. His gaze then pivoted with a feral grace, like a predator scanning the field, fixing on the boy seated beside Hermione. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Potter?"

"Clearly, Hermione knows. Seems a pity not to ask her." Harry's retort, delivered with a hint of defiance, sliced through the tension, as he dared to challenge Snape's taunt. 

The room quivered with suppressed laughter, a wave of amusement rippling through the ranks of the students. Snape, the orchestrator of this intellectual theater, seized control once more, his footsteps measured and deliberate as he moved towards Y/N and Harry. The very air seemed to grow taut as he drew near, a palpable tension encasing the duo like a shroud.

The meeting of gazes between Y/N and Snape was electric, a silent challenge and an unspoken exchange of wills. As Snape leaned over the table, his presence loomed like an ominous specter, his intent clear: to provoke submission.

"Put down your hand, you silly girl!" his command resonated with the weight of his displeasure. Hermione's hand descended with reluctant obedience, a concession to Snape's demand.

With a sneer etched into his features, Snape resumed his pedagogical role. "To enlighten you, Potter, Crimson," he declared, a sense of condescension lacing his tone. Y/N's stare, once defiant, hardened further in response. 

"Your answer, while correct, lacks nuance. Asphodel and wormwood, when united, birth a sleeping potion of such potency that it earns the moniker 'Draught of the Living Death'," he spat, the words delivered with a venom that underlined their gravity.

Severus Snape's knowledge flowed like an ancient river, coursing onward. "In the realm of antidotes, a bezoar is a life-saving gem, extracted from the belly of a goat, capable of countering a multitude of poisons." His tone remained as icy and authoritative as ever. "Monkshood and wolfsbane," Snape continued, "aliases of the same botanical entity, also known as aconite."

The tension in the room intensified, Harry's gaze sharpening into a glare that sought to pierce the veil of Snape's demeanor. The professor's lips parted, his voice carrying an almost theatrical inflection. 

"Now," he declared, "Why, pray tell, are you not committing this to parchment?" The exasperation in his voice was mirrored in the frenzied rustling of pages as students scrambled to document the knowledge that had been unveiled.

"And Gryffindors," Snape's voice rang out, like a judge delivering a verdict, as he assumed his seat and reached for his quill, "shall experience a deduction of five points from your houses, a penalty for your classmate's audacity." 

His words were like stones cast into the waters of the classroom, causing ripples of discontent that emanated from the Gryffindor table. "Meanwhile, Ravenclaws," his gaze flickered, "shall forfeit a solitary point." Y/N's lips quirked in a subtle scoff, her defiance undiminished. The room emitted a collective groan of frustration, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws united in their resentment, casting daggers of reproach towards Y/N and Harry.

"Fucking arse."

TO BE CONTINUED...