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CHAPTER 14 — The Beginning of the End



Severus went from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, though it would have been hard to tell, had anyone been watching. No telltale jerk of his body gave him away, nor did his breathing change from the deep and even breaths of a deeply-asleep man. The only outward sign of his sudden change in status was a subtle tightening of the long muscles in his legs and shoulders; a tenseness that spoke of tightly-leashed power held at the knife's edge of release.

The soft chink that had awakened him sounded again. This time he recognized the delicate sound of china and the soft barefoot shuffle he associated with Rink. He was in his rooms. He was in his bed. He was safe. With that realization, he gradually relaxed back into the warmth of his covers.

Eyes half-lidded, a frown marred the line of his forehead as he noted that he was no longer wearing the soft linen shirt and wool trousers he'd laid down in, but rather his long, concealing grey nightshirt. He must have fallen into a deep sleep after he'd laid down and Rink had changed his clothes. Odd that he didn't remember that. He was a extremely light sleeper, when he did sleep, and even house-elf magic wasn't enough to keep him from waking when Rink took his duties to heart.

Severus shifted enough to see the ticking clock hanging on the wall. The old-fashioned hands showed nothing but the time. As far as Severus was concerned, clocks should show the time, not where you were, or if you were late or some other bit of nonsense; it was one of the reasons he took a bit of pride in deliberately sabotaging the teacher's clock in Albus' rooms. His clock showed it to be a little after six o'clock in the morning. How was that possible? He'd laid down sometime around one in the morning after sending Albus on his way, which meant he'd slept for almost five straight hours. Frown deepening, he tried to remember the last time he'd slept for that long, uninterrupted, without the aid of Dreamless Sleep.

As realization hit him, the frown changed into a long-suffering scowl. The tea! Damn Albus!What had the old man put in his drink to knock him out? Or had it been some subtle spell that he'd been too preoccupied to notice? He'd long ago made his peace with Albus and considered the older man a mixture of mentor, confidant, and friend, but the man's infernal meddling drove him to distraction. Severus was firmly convinced that it was only the long-held respect in which he held the older man that kept him from strangling the most powerful wizard known in the wizarding world with his own beard. And wouldn't that make a lovely cover story for the The Daily Prophet?

Shaking his head with a discontented grumble, he threw back the heavy silk duvet with more force than was absolutely necessary. Rising, he headed for his bath. He would confront Albus later, when he had the time. The old coot would not get away with drugging him, nor would he listen to Albus' standard 'for your own good, my boy' speech. Unfortunately, that confrontation would have to wait; now he had to prepare for the morning's sixth-year N.E.W.T. Potions class. Then there were the special arrangements that would need to be made for Miss Granger's detention that evening after dinner.

Padding into the bath on bare feet, he waved a careless hand towards the faucets, satisfied at the sudden sound of rushing water. As steam began to swirl up into the cooler air of the room, Severus' thoughts swung back to Albus and his underhanded ways. Severushuffed out breath. As if one night of uninterrupted sleep was somehow going to change his circumstances. Although, he would admit, if only to himself, that he had obviously needed the sleep, for he felt both well-rested and sharper this morning than he had in weeks. Nor was he suffering from the usual morning-after lethargy that normally accompanied those nights when he did succumb to the lure of sleep and indulged in the Dreamless Sleep potion.

Pulling his grey cotton nightshirt over his head, he shivered slightly as the cool air slid over his body. Eyes averted from the mirror that hung over the sink, Severus turned his mind to the possible potion that Albus had slipped him.Hermione entered the Potions classroom with a mixture of cold dread and giddy anticipation. In fact, the meeting of those two opposites had her stomach so tied in knots, she'd been unable to eat anything at breakfast and had to force herself to drink her pumpkin juice.

For once, Hogwarts gossip had worked in her favor, her friends believing that she was just nervous about seeing Professor Snape in class again after making a complete spectacle of herself. They hadn't questioned her lack of appetite or her obvious nervousness.

Neville had even come over and offered consoling words. She'd almost spit out her juice when the boy whose Boggart was Professor Snape told her that Professor Snape wasn't all bad and that she should just relax. Relax. Professor Granger-Snape must have been making an even greater impression on Neville than she'd originally thought. Not that it was helping her.

But then, she certainly couldn't tell her friends that relaxing was out of the question because last night she'd let a house-elf magic her into Professor Snape's rooms, and weren't they a nice set of rooms, where she'd replaced his standard Hogwarts sheets with special, home-made sheets. Sheets that she'd made. Sheets that she'd made with magic that had left her loopy and . . . and . . .

Oh, dear God.

Sitting down in her seat, she swallowed hard against the rising nausea and she tried to calm herself. Focusing on pulling out her potions kit, she arranged everything she'd need for that day's lesson on her desk. Cauldron. Check. I'm calm. Potions kit. Check. It will all be fine. Homework. Check. Very calm even.

Hermione dropped her head down into her hands. Who was she kidding?

What if he knew? Had he slept on the sheets? What if he'd seen the sigil? Did he have a good night's sleep? What if he'd figured out someone had been in his rooms? Would good sleep improve his temper and demeanor? What if he'd figured out that she was the one?

I'm going to be sick.

Heart pounding, Hermione worked herself up into a right tizzy, the nail of one thumb being bitten down to the quick as her thoughts spiraled out into ever-increasing circles of conjecture and paranoia.

It was little wonder that when the back door to the classroom was flung open with a resounding Bang! to admit a darkly scowling Potions master, that Hermione both jumped in her seat and let out a high-pitched, somewhat strangled yelp.

Professor Snape didn't break his determined stride or even look in her direction as he snapped, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for disturbing my class."

With those long familiar words, Hermione's nerves melted away just like . . . well, magic. Focusing on the potion the Professor was writing on the blackboard, Hermione fought to keep the wholly inappropriate grin off her face. Students who'd just lost ten points for their House did not grin. But she had at least one of her answers: no, she hadn't been discovered.

She had to wonder at his grumpy-as-usual attitude though. Had the sheets not worked? Her grin slipped a little. She'd have to talk to Rink to find out what had really happened.

Putting aside her curiosity, for the time being at least, she turned her attention to class.Leaning into his desk, Professor Snape watched his advanced sixth-year class file out. The Slytherins were still snickering and laughing, secure in their knowledge that the most horrid teacher in Hogwarts' history was on their side. They felt safe in the knowledge that as long as they were under his protection, no punishment would come their way. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs went out as a group, opting for the safety-in-numbers approach.

Longbottom, remarkably enough, chose to walk out of the room on his own, his head held high, although one hand clenched tight around his book bag while the other seemed to be patting gently against something within the bag. That had better not be the boy's familiar, Severus thought. If he caught Longbottom bringing that toad to his class again, he'd turn the boy into a fly and feed him to the amphibian.

With Longbottom gone, that left Potter and Weasley, who were carrying on a soft-voiced conversation while waiting patiently for Miss Granger to gather her books and papers together.

Overall, it had been a rather successful class, only ruined by his still simmering anger at Albus' underhanded tricks in dosing him. He still couldn't decide if he was angrier at the fact that Albus had slipped him something or the fact that Severus hadn't caught him at it. He did admit, though grudgingly, that having a full night's sleep made his little bit of teaching hell moderately acceptable. Eighty percent of the class had managed to brew more or less satisfactory potions, no one had died, and he'd managed with just a few words and a sneer to rile the Gryffindors to fever pitch. He had no doubt that he and Minerva would be having polite words that evening. There was just one dark spot on his otherwise bright morning.

Hermione Granger.

Snape had years of taunting Gryffindors under his belt. He was an expert at reading the signs of their impotent rage andfrustration — clenched hands, gritted teeth, flushed faces, and eyes that glittered with suppressed tears. He'd been particularly creative today, a good night's sleep doing wonders for his wit, and Granger, out of all her House, gave him no more than small smiles and worried frowns. In fact, if he were to name the look, he would say that it was almost the look that Albus normally gave him, a somewhat muddied mixture of fondness, indulgence, and concern.

He'd hit new heights of acidic vitriol in today's lesson in an effort to get the girl to react and he'd barely garnered a response. The indulgent half-worried smile she'd worn through his last rant had completely discomfited him to the point where he'd finally just left them alone to brew the assignment. Once again he was confronted with the mystery that was Hermione Granger . . . a mystery that he was determined to solve. This evening's detention was going to be most entertaining.Hermione gathered her books together into a neat pile in front of her, as she let her friends' chatter wash over her, listening with half an ear to Harry and Ron discuss the chances of Hufflepuff passing Gryffindor in the House rankings. Slytherin, this year, was in a dismal third place. Hufflepuff, however, was only a few points shy of Gryffindor. Anything could happen in these last days.

Thoughts on Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and House points evaporated as Professor Snape appeared in front of her. "Miss Granger, remain. Weasley, Potter, go."

Professor Snape's gaze never left her own as he dismissed the boys with casual indifference, as if they weren't worth summoning even his usual derision.

From the sharp intakes of breath behind her, she knew that the Professor's attitude had its desired effect. Hermione also had no doubt that Professor Snape knew how Ron and Harry would react as well as she did. Knowing that points were about to be taken if she didn't do something, Hermione spun sharply in her seat, fixing both boys with a stern look. Seeing the mulish look on Harry's face and the shock of red that was suffusing Ron's neck and ears, Hermione knew she'd caught them both just in time.

She shook her head sharply at her stalwart defenders and both boys wilted, although Harry sent a last dark look over her shoulder in Professor Snape's direction. "Go on guys, I'll catch up with you at lunch. I do have to discuss my detention with Professor Snape."

From the glaresaimed in the professor's direction as they walked off, it was nosecret that both boys thoughtthat the detention was unfair. Hermione, on the other hand, rather thought a single detention was getting off easy. Ron and Harry hadn't heard what she'd said, notjust once, but twice, about his eyelashes.Not that she had any intention of ever telling them. That was a secret she was fully planning on taking to her grave.

As Ron and Harry reluctantly left the room, Hermione focused back on her professor who had been watching the by-play between the three of them with one brow cocked up at an amused angle.

Best, she decided, to get her apologies out now before they discussed her upcoming detention. However, Hermione found that face-to-face with her professor, her well-rehearsed apologies had fled and left her floundering. "Sir, I — "

Where did she start? She had so much to apologize for. She began again. "I wanted to apologize for Tuesday, sir. I was not in my right mind. I don't clearly remember everything that happened during the day; some of it is sort of gray and fuzzy, but what I do remember of my behavior is inexcusable."

Professor Snape didn't say anything, and as the silence grew Hermione fought the urge to fidget under his stare. When he finally spoke, she almost sighed in relief.

"You had no idea of the danger you placed yourself in, did you?"

She slumped slightly in her seat. "No, sir."

As Professor Snape cocked his head slightly to one side, Hermione got the feeling that she was being studied and evaluated. It was a peculiar feeling to have the regard of those depthless eyes trained fully on her. "You know now?" he finally asked when he seemed satisfied with his perusal.

"Ron and Ginny explained," she said, grimacing slightly at the word. When Professor Snape said nothing, she took that as permission to continue. "It never occurred to me that exercising my magic could in any way be harmful. I've done advanced magic before with no side effects." As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed slightly. That was probably not something she should have said.

"Yes, precocious, aren't you?" he commented, with just enough mockery that Hermione winced. She'd never met anyone who could puncture an ego with such surgical precision as Professor Snape. You never even felt the blade until you looked down and discovered you were bleeding.

Then abruptly his whole demeanor seemed to change. He was no less intimidating as he stood in front of her, his air of unyielding displeasure still radiated off of him, from his scowling black brows, to his crossed arms and down to his planted stance. He still looked solid, immovable and dangerous. Yet, to her eyes, he looked changed. The closest thing she could compare it to was as if a previously guarded room had just dropped its wards. The room remained the same, but was suddenly accessible.

Then again, maybe she'd just been studying this man too long, looking for the little nuances of his character and finding what she wanted to find, seeing things that weren't really there. Maybe she was as mental as Ron had always claimed.

"What do you want from me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione wasn't sure what surprised her more — his question or the way he asked it. His question had been civil; his manner curious and touched with just a hint of weariness.

Then again, she thought, maybe, just maybe, she was right about seeing things in this confusing man.

"I . . ." She stumbled over the words, not sure exactly what he expected her to say. She'd never really thought about wanting anything from him. She'd been so focused lately on what she could give to him. Of course, he didn't know that. From his point of view, she supposed he would think she was after something from him.

"Want, Miss Granger," he continued when she faltered. "It is a simple concept. For most of this past year, you have sought me out in some form or fashion. I am neither stupid nor blind. You have deliberately placed yourself in my path. You have modified your behavior in my classroom. You have even gone so far as to coach Longbottom, outside of my class, into what will be a passably acceptable grade this year. What. Do. You. Want?"

In that next moment, Hermione took another step toward adulthood. "May I think about your question, sir?"

Amazingly enough, Snape nodded. "Very well, you may have your time to think. We will see if you make adequate use of that time or not."

Then that shift of perspective seemed to reverse, and Hermione was once again looking at Professor Snape rather than Severus Snape. She wasn't sure how she knew, but the knowledge was there.

"I originally, Miss Granger, had your detention set for immediately after dinner this evening. That has now changed. You will meet me at the front door immediately following your last class of the day. You will remain in your uniform and bring your traveling cloak."

Her curiosity was definitely piqued. Occasionally Professor Snape sent students out onto the grounds or the edge of the Dark Forest to gather ingredients but those detentions were usually conducted under Hagrid's care. She'd never heard of an outside detention being held by Professor Snape.

"What is the nature of the detention, sir?"

He scowled at her. "You will find out in due course. Now, you mentioned a moment ago that you had brewed advanced potions with no detrimental effects."

"Yes, sir."

While what Hermione had mentally dubbed 'Snape's wards' where still very much in effect, at her respectful tone, he seemed to relax somewhat again. He was, at least, continuing in a more normal tone of voice, the biting edge of his words moderated to mere annoyance levels. "The differences between your previous experiences and the incident this week is most profound. In the case of you brewing the Polyjuice — and yes, Miss Granger, I am well aware of all your experiences with that particular potion — you brewed over an extended period of time. In addition, while a complicated potion in regards to timing and ingredients, the potion itself is not complicated. It does not require great amounts of magic to create. I also believe you cast a Protego as a fifth-year?"

Wondering how he'd known that, Hermione nodded and then added in a verbal, "Yes, sir."

"Again, Miss Granger, a single incantation. In order for you to suffer the magical depletion that you did, you would have had to cast yourspell over many concurrent days and to keep casting for an extended length of time." He paused, and then added, "I'm going to guess that the charm that brought you to the sorry state in which I found you was a protection charm of some sort."

Hermione jerked and turned wide, startled eyes back up to her professor's face. "How did you know?"

Professor Snape, who up until this point has been standing in front of her desk, turned and walked over to his own desk. He leaned back against its bulk, much the same way she did when she was in Professor Granger-Snape mode. "I know, Miss Granger, because Unforgivables and powerful protection charms always use up the most magic within a person." He paused again, fixing her with a raised brow. "And for much the same reason," he finally added.

He stopped again and looked at her expectantly. "What might a reason be, Miss Granger?"

A thrill went through her, both at the new knowledge he was offering and the fact that he was asking for her input. Oh, dear God, he was asking her. He was asking. Her. Hermione Granger. Professor Severus 'I hate Gryffindors' Snape was asking her to answer a question. This was . . . it was . . . better than Christmas. Better than chocolate.

Hermione straightened up in her seat, and as had become her habit of late, she tucked her fingers beneath her legs to remind her to keep her hands down. But even without her hand raised, there was no mistaking the sudden energy that charged her frame. The creation of the magical sheets had taught her the answer to this one. "You have to mean them," she answered. "Not just say you mean them, or that you want to mean them, but really mean them."

She paused and closed her eyes to better remember the magic that she'd channeled while creating the sheets and sigil. She remembered her thoughts and desires to make Professor Snape's life easier; to protect and guard him from all that life would throw against him. Opening her eyes she gave her professor a small smile. "Half-hearted efforts won't get results. You have to be willing to put everything you are into it, to invest yourself into the spell."

"Adequate." His response was fairly neutral, but Hermione got the impression he was pleased with her answer.

"Children, Miss Granger, are not taught these types of spells until the end of their Seventh year for numerous reasons. You are one of the oldest in your class, a circumstance that worked in your favor in this instance. You were lucky, Miss Granger. And while Gryffindors seem to believe that luck is forever on their side, She is a rather fickle and unreliable savior and should not be counted on."

"But beyond the danger of overtaxing yourself, how could that be dangerous?"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, how very disappointing. You are not thinking. Again, I might add. I told you that there were two common types of spells that required significant investiture from the spellcaster."

Then it hit her. "Oh. Unforgivables. You have to be willing to put your heart and soul . . . " She trailed off, her thought uncompleted as her mind raced ahead to the implications of what Professor Snape had just revealed. In making the sheets, Hermione had invested herself in their making. She could remember the warmth of the old magic as is upheld her, sustained her and ultimately worked through her. She couldn't imagine what harm she'd have done to herself, to the basic fundamental core that made her Hermione, her very soul, if the magic and power she'd invited into herself had been evil, had been designed to hurt or kill.

Hermione shuddered at the thought. Someone touched with that kind of magic would forever bear the scars. Focusing once more on the teacher watching her warily, she knew something else that she and Ron and Harry had only speculated about. Professor Snape had cast them. She didn't know how many or how often or under what circumstances, but she could almost see the wounds. In that moment, instead of being frightened or repulsed, she was impressed by his strength of will. He really had walked in the darkest of places. But to have the strength to come back out again . . . she had no words for that.Severus waited, watching as the girl processed the information he'd just given her. He noted how expressive her face was, her thoughts and emotions displayed for everyone to see. Miss Granger's pleasure at his conversing with her was easy to read in her body language and sparkling eyes, though even now he couldn't fathom why his regard was so important to her.

He continued to regard her closely as her eyes slipped closed. He could tell she was replaying her experiences with her charm. As awe, wonder and delight played across her face, he had to wonder exactly what charm she'd been attempting. He was also not going to ask. His best guess would be some type of advanced protection charm for Potter. To ask her for the information could possibly discourage her. He scowled at that thought. He hated having to walk the fine line between preparing Harry Potter for the coming confrontation with the Dark Lord and protecting the boy and his friends from their own attempts at preparation.

Then the girl made the leap to the Unforgivables. Her eyes wide, she stared at him. There was horror there, as he would expect as the realization of just what he was and what he was capable of finally sunk into her mind. What he didn't expect was the look of open admiration that lit her face seconds later.

In fact, truth be told, that expression made him very uncomfortable. Pulling his teaching robes tighter about his body, he stood up to his full height. "Think on that, Miss Granger, and remember you are to meet me at the front doors immediately after the last class of the day. You are dismissed." Spinning on his heel, he retreated to his office, slamming the door behind him.Later than evening, Severus waited with barely-concealed impatience. Glancing up at the great clock that hung in the entry hall he noted that the girl had almost fifteen minutes left before their appointed meeting time. Severus was early and had no one to blame except himself for his impatience. Well, he supposed he could blame the Headmaster, as he'd expected his meeting with Albus to last longer that it had.

Crafty old bastard, to make his denials about drugging the tea last night and then hustling Severus off to Miss Granger's detention so that Severus couldn't continue to question him. And deny it Albus had. In fact, it was a quite the masterful performance, much better than the last innocent act he'd given for Severus when the Potions master's name had somehow ended up on the Hogsmeade chaperone list. Albus had actually been believable this time. Not that Severus actually believed him.

Hearing the light tapping of shoes on stone overhead, Severus automatically stepped further back into the shadowed alcove in which he stood. From his position he could see Granger standing on the second floor landing, the stair leading downward having just shifted away. A slight smirk lifted one corner of his lips. The girl would not be able to get down the stairs before their set meeting time, which meant that she would earn a points deduction for being late. His amusement was petty, he knew, but upsetting the point balances were one of his few enjoyments in life. Everyone thought he picked only on the Gryffindors.Truth was, he just made their point deduction more obvious and vocal to keep up appearances. He took an equal number of points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, he was just sneakier about it.

Then he saw a most extraordinary thing, something he'd never seen happen with a student. The stairs that had just swung away, with a rumble of grinding stone, swung back into place at Miss Granger's feet.

He heard her words of thanks to both the stairs and the castle, though both were faint at this distance. Her delighted laugh however, carried bright and clear across the open space of the entryway. It looked as is Miss Granger had figured out that the castle was borderline sentient. The girl had gone beyond just recognition though and was actively interacting with the building. His smirk turned into a small, genuine smile. She'd figured out one of the castle's secrets. His opinion of her rose another small notch. It would seem that perhaps he'd been correct in his estimation of her potential, even if the girl had a deplorable lack in her own safety.

The sense of satisfaction did not show when he stepped from concealment.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she greeted with a broad smile, the same open and honest smile she'd been greeting him with since the beginning of the year. A smile that invariably made him think that she was up to something. Time had proven that she wasn't, but even still, his first reaction was to doubt. Doubting was easier and infinitely safer in the long run.

He could see that as instructed, she carried her traveling cloak neatly folded over one arm. He could also see the bright curiosity shining in her eyes. Other students came to him with dread weighing down their steps. This one came to detention practically vibrating in place with her pent-up need to ask him questions. Questions he wasn't ready to indulge her in just yet, although he gave her points, if only mentally, for containing her enthusiasm. That she had learned a modicum of restraint in the last year inclined her further in his favor.

"Put on your cloak and follow me." Without waiting to see if she complied with his order, Severus spun on one heel and headed out the great doors that marked the entrance to Hogwarts. Keeping his pace fast, but manageable for Granger, who even now he could hear hurrying up behind him, he headed towards the gates that guarded the Hogwarts property.

Stepping beyond the gates, he turned, watching as Miss Granger caught up with him, her breathing a little accelerated, although he wasn't sure if that was due to the fast walk or from her obvious excitement at this undertaking.

"Come here, Miss Granger, and take my hand."

Satisfaction mixed with a sense of that same discomfort he'd felt early in his classroom filled him as she took his hand with neither hesitation nor fear, though her eyes widened in surprise. He pulled her closer to him so she stood in front of him, back to his front. His hand, still clasped firmly around hers, anchored her against him. "We will be Apparating in tandem. The ride is rougher than a solo Apparition and many find the experience unsettling." He allowed the sneer she couldn't see to sound in his voice as he added, "When we reach our destination, do try to refrain from getting sick on my boots."

As Severus felt her stiffen in his arms with righteous indignation, he Apparated them.Hermione thought that Apparition with Professor Snape would be much like the jump she'd made with Rink. She'd barely noticed when Rink had moved the two of them from her bed to Professor Snape's rooms and back again. She quickly discovered how wrong she was. Her vision went black as great pressure surrounded her, pressing in on her ribs, stifling the breath within her lungs until the need for air became a resounding scream in her head. It was as if she was being squeezed out of one of her parents' tubes of toothpaste. At the point she thought she couldn't take any more, it was over. She fought to take in great gasps of smoggy tasting air as waves of nausea swept over her. Sagging into the arm wrapped across her ribs, she was ever so thankful for its unwavering strength.

She did not, after all, lose her lunch but it was a close thing. Thank God, Professor Snape had changed their leave time to before dinner; she didn't think she could have done that on a full stomach. Thoroughly embarrassed by her reaction to her first Apparition, she fought to get herself back under control. She was cognizant enough though to notice that Professor Snape did not withdraw his support until she had swallowed back the bile and stood steady on her feet once again.

As soon as she found her balance, he dropped her hand and stepped away. No longer concerned with keeping her lunch down, Hermione took an opportunity to look around her. She was surprised to find herself looking up into the dirty marble façade of St. Mungo's. She turned a confused expression to her teacher. "St. Mungo's, sir?"

"Consequences, Miss Granger." Drawing himself up to his full height, he headed towards the door. As if it was an afterthought, he tossed over her shoulder, "Now, come along. You have dawdled long enough."

Dawdled! She had not been dawdling. Fuming, she pressed her lips together and stormed off towards the steps, passing Snape in her furious rush. She was halfway up before she realized that she'd just been neatly played. She knew he used his words to both deflect from his actions and throw people off balance. He'd been nice to her after the Apparition and then deliberately made her angry. And she'd fallen for it.

Bugger it all! Blast the man to hell and back again. Blushing at her own thoughts, Hermione diverted the new part of her that seemed to be gaining quite the affinity for swearing. Before she graduated, she was going to have the mouth of a sailor, and it was going to be his fault.

Tamping down on her temper, Hermione slowed as she neared the top of the broad steps. Grasping one of the bronze door handles, she started to pull the door open, fully intending to hold the door open for her professor and bow him through with all the courtly manners she could summon up. Turning slightly, she fixed a pleasant smile on her face as she gave a small half-bow to her professor. "After you, sir." Sneaky-arsed Slytherin. He won't catch me again.

Manners fell by the wayside as Professor Snape ignored the front doors, and her, and upon reaching the top step, turned right to step behind one of the broad pilasters that supported the roof overhang. "Leave the door, Miss Granger and come this way."

Feeling stupid, once again, Hermione bit back her sigh and followed Snape. She had just stepped behind the column when a doorway shimmered into view.

Now she was really confused and feeling even stupider, when Professor Snape, with a broad smirk, mimicked her own aborted earlier efforts and bowed her through the doorway with all the aplomb and genteel manners of a Regency gentleman.

Face flaming, Hermione stepped through the doorway, took two steps and stopped. She was in an open foyer that reminded Hermione vaguely of the reception area at her parent's dental practice. There was even a witch sitting behind a large desk that blocked passage to the corridor beyond. This was nothing like what she remembered from her first visit to St. Mungo's when Nagini had bitten Mr. Weasley. Hearing the door swing shut behind her, Hermione waited for her professor, unsure of exactly where she was supposed to go. She was surprised when Professor Snape stepped past her and towards the witch who waved them past her with barely a glance in their direction.

Professor Snape led her into a long corridor with doors branching off at irregular intervals. She could hear a muted hum of activity coming from behind the doors as they passed each one but her silent guide did not stop, nor deign to explain what was going on behind the doors. But Hermione had the distinct impression that he did know what was going on behind each door.

Occasionally, they passed others in the hallways. Each time, Professor Snape would greet the person with a nod. To Hermione's growing amazement, people returned Professor Snape's nod with respectful greetings of their own. It didn't take her long to figure out that Professor Snape walked these hallways with all the surety that he walked the Hogwarts halls. Curiosity nibbled at her, but she knew better than to ask the questions she longed to voice. She'd find out their mission when, and only when, Professor Snape decided.

She risked a small smirk of her own at the black-clad back leading her deeper in the hospital, confident that contrary to first-year stories, the Potions master didn't really have eyes in the back of his head. She'd show him that she'd learned the lesson of patience . . . or, at least, a good imitation of patience.

Still they wound deeper into the building, going up flights of stairs, and once taking what she was fairly sure was the wizarding equivalent of an elevator. They finally slowed to a stop at the base of a broad staircase that appeared at the end of one corridor. At the top of the short flight of stairs, a plump witch with short, curly grey hair and a wide smile stood, beaming down at them from her vantage point.

"Severus, welcome back." The woman's smile grew larger. "And right on time, too."

Hermione was startled to see her professor sketch the woman an elegant half-bow. "As usual," he answered, with the air of someone delivering the punch line of a long-standing joke between friends.

Hermione stared, not sure if she was more shocked at this kind, grandmotherly-looking witch who was joking with her professor, or at her professor who was joking back. It was the kind of thing that made one doubt all the truths that one held about the world.

Her world quickly righted itself as joking professor transformed back into prickly potions teacher. "Manners, girl," he snapped. "And quit gaping like a landing fish." The rebuke did its intended job and Hermione snapped her jaw shut.

Coming down the stairs the woman stopped in front of them, extending her hand in Hermione's direction. "Welcome to St. Mungo's, Miss Granger."

At the woman's use of her name, Hermione cut a quick look over to her professor. The Healer obviously caught the look. "Don't fret, dear. Severus has told me of your brush with magical depletion. Now, I'll want to give you a quick once-over myself."

Professor Snape sniffed disdainfully behind her. "Not that you don't trust myself or Madam Pomfrey in our diagnosis or treatment."

The Healer continued as if Professor Snape hadn't interrupted. "After your check up, we'll get to work in the ward."

Again Hermione cut a look over her shoulder to her professor.

He gave her a regal incline of his head that practically screamed, 'you are a peon but I'm deigning to address you.' "Work, Miss Granger. This is, after all, your detention. Healer Alveres runs the Spell Damage Ward. I thought you might benefit from seeing exactly where you almost landed yourself."Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot up, right foot down. They were almost there. Almost home. She'd never imagined that the walk from the gates that marked the edge of the Hogwarts' grounds to the front door was so long. Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot up, right foot down. What had the Founders been thinking when they made it so far away? Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot —

"Stop for a moment, Miss Granger."

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was stop, not now, when the lights of the castle were so close. She was dead on her feet and any thoughts she'd ever had about being a Healer had been well and truly destroyed. She was hungry. Whatever the house-elves at St. Mungo's were doing, keeping the cafeteria in edible food wasn't one of their duties. She was mentally drained. If St. Mungo's was about learning the consequences, then this was quite possibly the most informative detention she'd ever had. A shudder worked itself down her spine as she remembered some of the things she'd seen. To top it all off, her school robes were covered in things that Hermione was fairly positive the house-elves would never be able to get out and there was something vile squishing in her left shoe.

To make matters worse, as an under-aged student, she was not allowed to perform magic off of Hogwarts and Professor Snape had not bothered to Evanesco her uniform for her. She was fairly positive that he was ignoring her sorry current state, and smell, on purpose. She, however, was refusing to let it anger her. A condition she noticed that seem to irk him in turn.

It was no wonder the Headmaster always seemed to be faintly amused when he dealt with Professor Snape, even when the professor was being a right horrid git. It was like playing a silent game of one-upmanship — whoever broke first, was the loser. There was also no doubt that Hermione had lost most of the rounds of play today. She was an amateur playing against a master of the game and she'd lost her composure and her temper way to many times.

Determined to do better, she forced a smile and swallowed the tiny sigh that wanted to escape. Coming to a halt, she turned to face Professor Snape. "Sir?"

She didn't even have time to wonder at his actions before his wand was in his hand and she felt magic tingling along her skin. Glancing down, she noticed that most, but not all, of the questionable stains on her clothing were gone. She took a deep breath and realized she smelled better too. The forced smile turned into a genuine one. "Thank you, sir."

Professor Snape stared at her thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "You did not embarrass me this evening." He gave her a small nod and then started walking again.

Hermione gazed at his retreating back. That had almost sounded like a 'well done.' Feeling a surge of energy, Hermione skipped a few steps to catch up with her professor. Falling in behind him, she let herself bask in his praise. She had no doubt that it was praise. Maybe not praise by the standards of any of her other teachers, but by the standards of Severus Snape, it was high praise indeed.

Over the next few days between studying for her end of term exams and classes, Hermione pondered the question Professor Snape had asked her: what did she want from him?

Finally, feeling as if she was getting nowhere and with the Hogwarts Express leaving tomorrow, Hermione realized she was out of time. So she did what she'd done in every other aspect of S.N.O.R.T. when it came time to make decisions. She retreated to S.N.O.R.T. headquarters, better known as her four-poster bed. She pulled the curtains closed, set the wards and silencing charms, laid back against the pillows, and stared up into her canopy. It was time for some serious thinking.

Twelve hours, some serious thinking, one bottle of ink, and two scrolls of paper later found Hermione standing before the door to Professor Snape's office. This time, thankfully, the pixies jousting in her stomach were from nerves and not dread. The time for dread was past — exams had been taken, trunks had been packed and all that was left was to tell Professor Snape what she wanted, before boarding the Hogwarts Express for home.

She'd thought long and hard about his question to her. She'd come up with a dozen responses to his question — everything from the childishly simple 'she didn't want anything from him,' to the completely outlandish "I want to know all your secrets.'

She smirked a little at that one. She'd entertained herself during her all-night thinking vigil with imagining Professor Snape's face to some of her more extravagant answers.

She was jerked from her mental ramblings when the door in front of her was jerked open. "Are you going to stand there until your train leaves, or were you actually planning on knocking anytime soon?"

Hermione couldn't help it. She grinned at him and then quickly attempted to wipe it from her face at his answering scowl. "I'd like to come in, sir."

His scowl still firmly in place, Professor Snape stepped backwards, allowing her to enter. She settled into her usual chair across from his desk and waited until he was seated.

He wasted no time on pleasantries. "Well, get on with it," he said, gesturing with one hand. "Tell me how much you enjoyed my teaching this year, how you hope that next year will be just as grand. Leave your yearly parting gift in the corner and be off with you."

Hermione glanced into the corner in question and realized that a small stack of gifts was piled up haphazardly behind the door, most bearing bows in Slytherin green and silver.

"I don't have a parting gift, sir. I came to answer your question."

His attention, which had been more focused on a stack of papers on his desk, turned to her. "Continue, Miss Granger."

Now she did have his full attention and once again, that unwavering stare made her nervous. Gripping the edge of her seat, she forced herself to give the answer she'd finally decided on in the wee hours of the morning. "I suspect that, for good or ill, there are a lot of people who want things from you. Things you aren't in any position to deny, even if you wanted to."

She paused, trying to gauge his reaction to her words, but Professor Snape's face was an expressionless mask. Swallowing hard, she continued. "I don't want to be one of those people, sir. I don't want to demand anything from you. Yet, I find that I do wish something, but only if you are willing."

She'd gotten to the hardest part. Hoping for the best, she pushed on. "I want to know what you know. I want to understand . . . well, everything."

"You want to understand everything," he repeated.

She couldn't decide if what she heard in his voice was disbelief or derision.

She flushed, a bit embarrassed. "You're thinking me a know-it-all again. You've given me a lot of think about this year, Professor Snape. And I have realized that knowing and understanding isn't always the same thing, you know. I want to understand. I think you can teach me that."

"Mr. Weasley is pureblood, he could answer any questions you have about the wizarding world."

She gave a shake of her head. "Ron can only explain so much. Ron is smart." At Snape's raised eyebrows, she added, "A lot smarter than most give him credit for. His gift is seeing the obvious that everyone else misses. He can cut straight to the heart of the matter. What Ron doesn't get is the subtleties."

"For subtleties, Miss Granger, you would do better to look to a Slytherin than a Gryffindor."

She sighed. "You know, I'm getting tired of everything always coming back to our Houses. But basically, you're correct. While Ron is a pureblood, he can't tell me why Malfoy hates me. He can't tell me why Salazar Slytherin, all those years ago, broke up a friendship and walked away from a school he co-founded and obviously loved. And over what? Muggle-borns. Are we really that dangerous? Have times not changed?"

"Is that all you wish to understand, the ideological thinking behind most pure-blood rhetoric?"

"No, sir. That isn't even the tip of the proverbial iceberg."

He was studying her again, tapping one finger against his lips as he did so. She tried hard not to fidget under his regard. His words, when he spoke were not what she was expecting.

"You are providing for your disciples a show of wisdom without the reality. For acquiring by your means much information unaided by instruction, they will appear to possess much knowledge, while, in fact, they will, for the most part, know nothing at all; and, moreover, be disagreeable people to deal with, as having become wise in their own conceit, instead of truly wise."

Something in the way he said the words made her think he was quoting something. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face.

"Socrates, Miss Granger, and a definition that I think fits you well."

She thought back over the words — appear to possess much knowledge, while in fact, they will, for the most part, know nothing at all. She supposed that from his point of view, that really had been her during her time at Hogwarts.

The moment of truth was here. "Will you teach me?"

"I will consider it."

Ch 15 New Beginnings

 

Author's Note: Hello faithful (and new) readers. FFN has put in place a new policy that forbids authors from responding to reviews inside of individual chapters. So, I'm going to start responding to reviews via the new email link. Just so you know, I may not respond to everyone, but I'll try to respond to as many people as I can. It will probably be done much as I've been doing though, meaning that I'll be more likely to respond if you ask a question or make some telling point or another, or if you make me laugh. And just so you know . . . you guys rock with the reviews. Thanks, Caeria

Thanks to Potion Mistress for helping me the wayward commas, dropped words and other assorted mistakes.Chapter 15 — New Beginnings

Severus turned onto his side and opened his eyes. They felt scratchy and bruised; he had no doubt that if he were to look into a mirror that they would be bloodshot.

He shuddered, despite the warm blanket that covered him. He'd had one of his more graphic nightmares and could smell the acrid scent of his own fear and sweat clinging to him. There would be no more sleep this night. Throwing back the covers, he turned and sat on the edge of bed. Rubbing at his temples, he wondered if he had any of his headache potion left — not that the last dose had done any good. The headache he'd laid down with still pounded a dull rhythm behind his eyes.

The window against the far wall showed only the deepest black beyond its dirty panes. He glanced at the old-fashioned, wind-up alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. Its battered tin face showed two fourteen in the morning. It would seem that his sleeping patterns had returned to normal with a vengeance. Those last days in the castle, when sleep had come quickly, had made him decidedly uneasy. Now, after two days in his own home, normality had returned, and whatever potion or spell Albus had afflicted him with had worn off. It was almost comforting in a way. He was not quite ready for his death, and those nights of dreamless, peaceful sleep had put him too much in mind of the grave.

Getting to his feet, he padded across the threadbare carpet of his room, stripping off his nightshirt as he went. Dropping it haphazardly onto the wooden floor, he stepped naked into the bathroom. First, he needed a shower to wash the stink of the nightmare away. Then, maybe, he would work on the salve sent to him by Healer Eddington. He sighed as he remembered what else he had to do today. It was no wonder he'd had that particular nightmare. With summer here, and Hogwarts closed, Severus was no longer under the supposed watchful eye of the Headmaster. The Dark Lord would expect more of his time and participation. It was time to step back down into the murkier depths of wizarding society.Hermione flipped over onto her stomach and buried her hands beneath the pillow, bumping her fingers against her wand. Straightening her legs, she stretched her toes down towards the end of her bed and let out a wide yawn. Her first week back from Hogwarts had been spent making the rounds of her relatives, telling highly-edited stories of her school year, and having lie-ins every morning. It was her own secret luxury that she rarely got to indulge in while at school.

Cracking open one eye, she peered at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. Half-past nine in the morning. Oh yeah, having a lie-in was a wonderful thing. Letting out a contented sigh, she spared a thought for Professor Snape and hoped that he, too, was having a good lie-in on his new sheets.

Hmmm, maybe another thirty minutes, then I'll get up. Closing her eyes, she was just starting to doze back off when a terrified scream came from downstairs. Hermione bolted upright, visions of Dementors and Death Eaters attacking the house filling her mind with fear. Grabbing up her wand, Hermione tore through her room. Running down the stairs, she barreled through the living room and into the kitchen, wand drawn and a hex formed on her lips.

Expecting to be confronted with Voldemort's followers and a fight for her life, Hermione froze at the scene in front of her. Paulina Granger, all five-foot-five of her, was standing defiant and ready for battle, her back against the stove. Her upraised hand held a cast-iron skillet, primed and ready to be swung.

Her mother's target was . . .

"Rink?"

Rink didn't move from where he crouched on the floor, both arms curled protectively over his bald head. If anything, he seemed to curl even further into himself when Hermione called his name.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Paulina snapped, her eyes never leaving the creature in the middle of her kitchen. "What is that thing?"

Uh, oh.

Trying to catch her breath and calm her frantically beating heart, Hermione let out a shuddering exhale. Visions of Death Eaters and Voldemort slowly faded from her mind. The underlying fear remained though, as she'd just had a taste of how vulnerable her parents were to attack.

Gathering her somewhat scattered wits around her, Hermione focused back on the issue at hand. "Mum, you can put down the pan now."

At her daughter's words, Paulina lowered the skillet slightly. She did not, however, set it back down on the stove.

Hermione still couldn't believe Rink was in her kitchen. What was the elf doing here? Glancing at her mum, who was still holding onto the skillet, Hermione went over to Rink. As she sank to her knees, Rink prostrated himself on the floor, his rather long nose touching the glazed tiles.

"Rink is sorry. Rink will punish himself most severely. Rink only wanted to find Hermy. Rink did not mean to frighten."

If Rink wasn't so absolutely pitiful looking, Hermione might have been tempted to a laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. Running her hand along Rink's shaking back, she tried to calm him down. "Rink, there will be no punishing. You're fine. My mum's fine. We just weren't expecting you."

Rink, however, was ignoring all attempts at consolation and his shaking had turned into great heaving sobs of distress. Unsure of what to do at this point, Hermione turned to her mother. "Mum, you remember me telling you about the house-elves and S.P.E.W.?" At her mother's nod of confirmation, Hermione said, "This is Rink. He's a house-elf and a friend of mine."

At Hermione's use of the word friend, Rink's sobs changed pitch. Between every other sniffling sob, Hermione could hear him muttering. "Friend, Young Miss calls Rink friend. What does Rink do? Rink frightens Young Miss' Line Matriarch. Rink is a bad elf."

Seeing that the once-frightening creature was now a puddle of misery in the middle of her kitchen floor, Paulina finally put down the skillet and took a step closer. "That's an elf?" she asked, her tone dubious. "Not at all what I had pictured when I read Lord of the Rings all those years ago."

Hermione quirked a small smile. She had gotten her love of books and reading from her mother, but where Hermione preferred non-fiction, her mother enjoyed just the opposite. In fact, Paulina Granger, with countless fiction and fantasy books under her belt, had understood the implications of Hermione being a witch long before Hermione herself had.

"House-elf, mum. And if I'm interpreting the wails and muttering correctly, he's rather upset that he scared you."

At this point, Rink warbled, "Rink is a bad elf," in such a pitiful, tear-choked voice that both Paulina and Hermione winced. That was all it took though for the practicality of motherhood to kick in. Hermione had, after all, inherited her bossiness from her mother as well.

Paulina clapped her hands loudly. "Enough! Hermione, Rink, both of you, up off the floor."

Hermione scrambled to her feet and was somewhat startled to see Rink climb to his feet as well. Paulina took one look at her daughter and planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Hermione Granger, you are running around the house in your nightclothes. Get upstairs, get dressed, and then get back down here."

Hermione, heading for the door, heard her mother continue, "Now, Rink, is it? I don't know how you run things at that magic school, but this is my kitchen. There will be no punishments and no more hysterics."

Hermione missed whatever Rink said in return as she raced back upstairs to her room. After a speedy change of clothes, Hermione came back down to the kitchen to find a completely unexpected sight: Rink was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, his bare feet swinging a good five inches above the floor. In front of him were a glass of orange juice and a plate of jam-smeared toast. Rink had a confused and somewhat startled look on his face, but was dutifully eating the breakfast before him. Her mother, meanwhile, was drinking in Rink's form like she was taking mental pictures.

As Hermione caught her mother's eyes, Paulina grinned. "An elf in my kitchen."

Hermione shook her head in bemusement. Other Muggle mothers, she was sure, would be screaming about now. Hers was delighted.

"Mum, do you mind if I talk to Rink? Maybe find out why he's here?"

Wiping her hands with a dishrag, Paulina nodded. With a last glance at Rink, Paulina left to head into the living room.

Pulling out a chair from the table, Hermione sat beside Rink, setting her wand on the table in front of them. Not exactly sure where to start in asking her questions, Hermione decided on the easiest conversation first. "Rink, you don't have to eat the breakfast if you don't want to."

Rink looked at her with eyes even wider than normal. "Rink must eat. House Matriarch made Rink food and said to eat. She is not Rink's House Line, but Rink will not disobey."

Hermione pondered that a moment and then decided that it wasn't the easy conversation. House Matriarch? House Line? Definitely questions for another time and place.

Time to try the other conversation. "Why are you here?"

Rink pulled his knees up into the chair, so he was curled into a small ball. His voice was small and full of misery when he answered Hermione's question. "The Master left Hogwarts. No students, no teachers. Rink begged the Master to take Rink."

At Rink's downcast demeanor, Hermione guessed the professor's answer. "Professor Snape told you to stay at Hogwarts."

Rink nodded. "Said Rink belonged at Hogwarts. Master would not listen when Rink said Rink belongs with Master of Potions." The elf seemed to hunch even further down into himself. "Master has no house-elves. No elves to care, or cook for him." Rink's voice dropped into a scandalized whisper. "Master has no elves to clean for him."

Hermione realized exactly what that meant. "Without you there to change the bed linens, he won't have access to the sheets. He'll fall back into his insomnia." Hermione strangled the urge to curse.

"Master thinks the School Master made him sleep."

Hermione frowned slightly in confusion before deciphering the sometimes tangled titles that the elves seemed so fond of. "School Master? Oh, you mean Headmaster Dumbledore."

Rink nodded again.

That surprised Hermione. She'd asked Rink after her first Potions class if Professor Snape had slept well, but after that, between studying and exams, she'd let the topic slip. She should have known better. Nothing was ever easy with Severus Snape. "You mean that Professor Snape thinks the Headmaster did something?"

As the elf hesitated, Hermione prodded him a little. "Come on, Rink, we are in this together. Hermy does not plan on letting anything bad hurt Professor Snape." Her reassurances did the trick.

"Master slept well the first night, but thought School Master had magicked him."

"Let me guess, Professor Snape became suspicious." Hermione stood abruptly and started pacing across the small kitchen, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Then she groaned. "Bloody hell, I should have thought of that. Of course, he'd become suspicious if all of a sudden he started sleeping well. So what did he do then?"

"Master worked more and walked the castle halls. Master did not go to his bed."

Hermione continued her pacing as she thought out loud. "Okay, that makes sense. He's suspicious of sleeping, so he avoids lying down. Even when the man is not trying to be difficult, he's difficult." Plopping back down into her chair, Hermione rested her forehead against the tabletop. "Professor Snape hasn't even really agreed to teach me yet and I'm already tired of thinking."

Rink, in shared misery, thumped his forehead down against the tabletop, as well."Wake up, Hermione."

Hermione opened sleep blurred eyes to see her mum and dad standing in her room at the foot of the bed. Her father was looking bemused while her mum looked . . . actually, Hermione had no idea how to explain the look on her mother's face.

From the washed-out light just starting to seep in under her blinds, she guessed it was still very early in the morning. Her sluggish brain took a few seconds longer to put together the clues, but eventually it recognized that her parents were both dressed to leave for work, identical white lab coats clean and crisp. The question was: why were they still here and waking her up?

"Wha' the matter?" she asked around a jaw-popping yawn.

"I think you'd better come with us, dear."

Something in her mum's voice banished the remains of sleep. Hermione got out of bed, her parents' strange behavior prompting her to grab her wand. Following them down the short hallway that led to the stairs, Hermione started cautiously down.

Halfway down, as the main living area came into view, Hermione stopped in confusion. The living room had been transformed, or more accurately, it had been cleaned. It wasn't that Paulina Granger was a messy housekeeper, but she was a professional working woman. After a long day at the office, neither of the Doctors Granger was much interested in cleaning. So the house had always been neat, if somewhat cluttered and lived-in.

Now it was spotless. Every surface was dusted; the books in the floor-to-ceiling cases flanking the fireplace were neatly arranged. The wood floors gleamed in the pale, early morning light coming in through the windows and Hermione could smell the lemon-oil polish that had been used on them.

Taking a few more steps down, Hermione stopped at the first floor landing. She glanced over to shoulder at her mum and dad.

Paulina still had that strange expression on her face. "The kitchen is the same way," she said. "When I went down this morning to fix breakfast for your father and me before heading out to work, I found a fresh carafe of coffee, fruit, cereal and what looks to be homemade bread, laid out on the table." Her mum fidgeted a bit with the edge of her lab coat before asking, "Did you do this?"

Hermione sighed. "No, it wasn't me." But I have a good idea of who did it.

Going down the rest of the stairs, Hermione went into the middle of the room. She wasn't even sure this would work for her, but she had a sneaky suspicion that someone was waiting for her to call. She raised her voice and said firmly, "Rink."

A few seconds later, a grinning house-elf appeared before her. There was no missing the pleased look on his face.

Hermione heard her father, who had not met Rink the previous day, gasp in surprise. She was rather pleased that except for that one startled intake of breath, her parents were taking Rink's sudden appearance in stride. HA! a small part of her crowed in triumph. Take that, all you pure-blooded wizard snobs, who don't think Muggles can understand or accept magic.

Dropping down heavily onto the couch, Hermione tried to ignore the fact that she was still in her pajamas. She had no doubt her hair was sticking up all over her head. It was way too early to be having this conversation. "Rink, did you clean the house?"

Rink bobbed on his toes in obvious delight. "Rink was very happy to help family of Young Miss." Rink executed a short bow in the direction of Hermione's parents who were still standing on the landing. "Rink was very bad to scare Mother of Miss." Rink's ears wilted a bit as he added mournfully, "Rink has no one to serve at the castle."

And really, what could Hermione say to that?

And so the next three weeks of summer went, with almost daily visits from Rink, who'd taken to coming in early and cleaning the Granger's house before everyone else was up. After some initial protests from Paulina, and Hermione's explanation that it made Rink happy since he couldn't take care of Professor Snape, the Doctors Granger quickly settled into the luxury of having a freshly-made breakfast and hot coffee waiting for them before they left for the office, and the ability to come home to a sparkling clean house.

Hermione tried not to feel guilty about S.P.E.W.

Soon enough, the midpoint of her summer break was reached. This summer, as in years past, Hermione was going to spend the rest of the time with her friends at Grimmauld Place. In preparation, Hermione and Rink had several discussions about how he could not follow her. In fact, Hermione wasn't sure that Rink could follow her to Grimmauld since the Black house was still hidden by a Fidelius Charm. She didn't want to take the chance, though. House-elf magic seemed to be somewhat of an unknown, but still very powerful force. When Dobby had been freed from the Malfoys, Harry had said that Lucius Malfoy had almost been afraid of Dobby.

So Hermione found herself packed up with Crookshanks in his carrier and her trunk at her feet while she waited for the Knight Bus to take her to the Burrow where she'd meet up with Ron and Harry before they all relocated to the Black house.

She wondered, as she waited, if she'd see Professor Snape at Grimmauld Place, and if he'd have an answer for her.The appearance of Professor McGonagall at the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place that afternoon caused a bit of a stir. For all that the Black house was Order headquarters, there were surprisingly few guests. The Inner Circle of the Order met only when the occasion merited it, the thought being that the less contact between key Order members, the less likely Voldemort's spies would be able to gather information on Order members and activities.

McGonagall's presence lent an almost party air to the old house since she was the first guest that the current residents of the Black house had seen in over a week. News from 'outside' was always welcome, especially since Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were pretty much confined to the house for their own safety, restrictions that Harry, in particular, chafed at. There was, after all, only so much one could do when confined indoors. Hermione was using the time to needle the others into finishing their summer coursework. Ginny had already finished hers. The two boys still had work to do.

That the well-respected Head of Gryffindor arrived with the much less well-respected Head of Slytherin was the only damper on the whole affair. Although, truth be told, Hermione was rather happy to see him. Or, it was the only damper until Professor McGonagall pulled out three scrolls bound with multicolored ribbons.

"Since owls aren't allowed delivery to Grimmauld Place because of the Fidelius, I thought I would deliver your grades to you personally." McGonagall pinned each of them with a stern eye. "Please be respectful of each other."

Ron's audible gulp as he took the scroll offered to him made Hermione smile reassuring at her friend when he cast a nervous glance back at her and Harry. Ron twisted the scroll between his hands, as he made a motion with his head at the doorway. "I'll . . . um . . . yeah, I'll just go upstairs."

As Ron headed out the door, Hermione cast a glance at Professor Snape who stood quietly in the far corner of the study. She knew Ron was worried about his Potions grade. He needed a passing grade in Professor Snape's class in order to apply for Auror training post-graduation. If he didn't make it, she knew he would be devastated. However, she could read nothing in Professor Snape's expression except impatience.

McGonagall gave Harry his next with an encouraging smile. "I'm very proud of you, Harry," she said quietly. Harry took his scroll and also headed for the door. Hermione knew he would probably head out to the overgrown gardens in the back of Grimmauld Place. It had become a quiet retreat, of sorts, for him.

Then it was her turn. Hermione knew she'd done well, yet she could never quell that faint feeling of nervousness that always gripped her before the big reveal.

This time there was something in the way that Professor McGonagall was looking at her that ratcheted up her normal pre-score nervousness into true fear — a fear that sat cold and heavy in the pit of her stomach. Have I failed something?

McGonagall was no longer smiling benignly as she handed Hermione her scroll. Instead, she wore the strict, no-nonsense mask that was usually only seen when she was forced to deduct points from her own House. "If you feel the need to . . . talk, Miss Granger, I will be here, along with Professor Snape, at Grimmauld for the rest of the day." With a small nod, Professor McGonagall left the study.

Oh, God, she'd failed something. The fear turned to lead in her stomach. I've failed. She never failed. Yet, her Head of House had just offered the opportunity to talk, if she needed it.

Oh, God.

Ignoring her dour Potions master, who had taken out a book and was seated next to the one grimy window in the room, Hermione retreated across the room until she could sit down in the faded wingback chair next to the cold hearth. She had no doubt that Professor Snape was watching her, even though his eyes were downcast to the book in his hand. She didn't know why he wasn't leaving like Professor McGonagall had, but she wasn't going to embarrass herself in front of him. If she had any hope of him agreeing to teach her, then she had to show that she could take bad news like an adult.

With a trembling hand, she broke the Hogwarts seal and untied the colored ribbons representing each of the four Houses. Taking a deep breath, she unfurled the parchment. As she did so, a gold velvet bag that had been miniaturized, magically regrew to normal size and slid down into her lap. Ignoring the bag and its contents, Hermione focused instead on the overdone calligraphy printed on the vellum.

Ancient Runes . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Arithmancy . . . . . . . . . .Outstanding

Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Care of Magical Creatures. . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Charms . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . . . . . . . . Exceeds Expectations

Herbology . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

History of Magic . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Potions . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Transfiguration . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding

Running her eyes over the list again, she frowned in confusion. She'd passed. She'd passed everything. Well, she could have done a bit better in Defense. She didn't understand. Thinking there was some mistake, Hermione started to flip to the second page of the scroll when she was startled by a great yodeling yell that sounded suspiciously like Ron. The sudden pounding of footsteps overhead and the down the stairs confirmed it was Ron. Two seconds later, Mrs. Black, awakened by Ron's yell, started her screeching. Between Ron and the portrait, it sounded as if the house were full of banshees.

Hermione glanced over to Professor Snape. The scowl and contemptuous curl of his upper lip did not reassure her. However, her professor did not seem troubled. He'd not even drawn his wand. Unsure if she should be concerned with the yelling or not, Hermione tucked her scroll and the velvet bag into the side of the chair and headed for the door. Before she got there, the door flew open and Ron ran into the room, picked her up in his arms, and twirled her around, grinning like a madman. "I did it! I did it! It's mine!"

By this time the other residents of Grimmauld, made up almost exclusively of the Weasleys, had gathered in the study doorway, drawn by Ron's gleeful shouts and the screeching of Mrs. Black's portrait. Mrs. Weasley saved Hermione from her spinning. "Ronald Weasley, put Hermione down this instant and stop that yelling. What is the meaning of this? You've disturbed the whole house. We'll be listening to Mrs. Bl—"

Ron, grinning unrepentantly from ear to ear, held up the gold badge clasped in his hand. The sight of the Head Boy badge stopped Mrs. Weasley in her tracks.

Eyes wide, Molly reached out to take the medal. "Head Boy? You made Head Boy? Oh, Ron!" Molly proceeded to pull Ron into a rib-cracking embrace.

In that moment, Hermione felt cold realization wash down over her. She knew why McGonagall had offered to talk with her. Retreating from the backslapping and congratulatory crowd of redheads, she quietly returned to her chair and picked up the velvet pouch. Pulling the drawstring open, she tipped the badge out into her palm. There in her palm, incised into cold metal was the word PREFECT, not HEAD GIRL. Closing her eyes, she gave into the disappointment for a moment, but only for a moment.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked around and found Professor Snape watching her with interest. A year ago, she would have expected to see malicious glee on his face. A year ago, she might have interpreted the expression he now wore in just that way. Now, she interpreted that keen regard as evaluating. Determined to show him that she was an adult, she graced him with small smile while tucking the badge into her pocket. His answering nod sent a warm feeling of pride through her. Gaining his respect had become very important to her. Schooling her features into something she hoped resembled best wishes, she went to rejoin the rejoicing Ron.

Someone had closed the door, drowning out Mrs. Black who continued to scream in shrill tones. The occasional BLOOD TRAITOR! and MUDBLOOD FILTH! could be heard faintly through the door, but no one was paying her any mind.

As soon as Hermione rejoined the group, Ron had her around the waist again. This time, she only made one spin before he put her down again. "Hermione, isn't this great! You and me, Head Boy and Head Girl. It'll be a great seventh year."

Smiling at her friend's exuberance, Hermione made sure none of her own disappointment sounded in her voice. After all, Ron and Harry had been making jokes about her getting the Head Girl's badge ever since first year. "I didn't get Head Girl, Ron."

At Ron's suddenly shocked expression, as well as the quiet that descended on the rest of group, Hermione faltered a bit. Old habits came to her rescue as she added, "Besides, if you'd actually read the copy of Hogwarts: A History I got you for your birthday, you'd know that the school policies were changed some years ago so that the Head Boy and Head Girl are always from different Houses. It was considered to be more fair and equitable that way."

Ron was staring at Hermione in shock, and she could feel the eyes of the others in the room on her as well. It was an uncomfortable feeling and she fought to keep her composure against the disappointment that still sat like heavy lead in her stomach. In one uncharitable moment, she wished that Ron would just let the subject drop. She wasn't to get her wish though as Ron sputtered in outrage on her behalf.

"But . . . but, then who did get the Head Girl badge?"

The question wasn't really directed towards any one person, but Snape answered, his deep voice cutting across the excited babble on the other side of the room. "Hannah Abbott."

Silence met his words, until Harry, pushing his way through the crowd of Weasleys, hissed, "You bastard!"

Only Hermione's quick grab to Ron's wrist stopped him from going to Harry's side. Not sure how to diffuse the situation, Hermione could only watch as Harry advanced on Snape. "You voted against Hermione, just because she's my friend."

Snape crossed his arms across his chest, his perceived indifference to Harry's accusation, fueling the anger that was starting to fill the room. Hermione wondered, in that moment, if she was the only one to see Snape palm his wand with that seemingly nonchalant move.

The professor flicked a condescending gaze over Harry from the tips of his grubby, too-large trainers, up to his unruly hair. The cold, thin smile that graced his lips was filled with such scorn that Professor Snape couldn't have ignited Harry's temper more even if he'd spit at him. He sneered, disdain dripping from every word, "Not everything in the wizarding world revolves around you, Potter, although, I'm sure you find that hard to believe. In any event, you are only partially correct, though I did vote against Miss Granger receiving the Head Girl's badge."

With an inarticulate snarl of fury, Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Snape's chest.

The sight of the drawn wand roused Hermione from her stunned surprise at how quickly the situation had gone tits up. "Harry, no!" Hermione yelled.

Harry, eyes glazed and hand starting to tremble with his barely controlled rage, didn't hear her. His focus was solely on Professor Snape. Everyone in the room held their breaths, unsure if moving or saying anything would set off the conflagration that was building in front of them.

Snape had the audacity to chuckle. It was, Hermione noted, a deep sound. If the devil laughed, he'd sound like that. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. Professor Snape took a step forward until his chest just touched the tip of Harry's wand. When he spoke, his voice had dropped down to almost a whisper, soft and silky. "Go ahead, Mr. Potter, cast your curse. What will it be, hmm? The Entrail Expelling Curse? Or perhaps Crucio? Or maybe, you want to jump straight to Avada Kedavra?" Snape smiled, crooked teeth bared in a shark-like grin. "Go on, cast it. I'm unarmed. I won't stop you. I'll even help you sound it out. Aaa vaa — "

At that point, Minerva McGonagall came back into the room. "Harry Potter," she snapped, taking in the scene in a rush, "withdraw your wand this instant."

For an eternal second Harry did nothing. Finally, he took a shuddering breath. When he spoke, his voice had a strangled quality to it. "He –"

McGonagall cut him off sharply. "I don't care what Professor Snape may have said or done. You are the one pointing a wand at an unarmed man. You are also an under-aged wizard. If you cast a spell now, Professor Dumbledore will have no recourse but to expel you from Hogwarts. Lower your wand, NOW!"

Harry reluctantly lowered his wand, though murder still shone brightly in his eyes as he glared at Snape.

Molly took that moment to step forward, forced good cheer attempting to diffuse the situation. Briskly and efficiently, she shooed her family out of the study, quizzing Ron and Harry about what dishes they wanted for the celebratory feast that would soon be spread out across the battered kitchen table.

Only Hermione and Professors McGonagall and Snape remained in the room.

Professor McGonagall was glaring at Professor Snape, her lips pinched tightly together. Snape, meanwhile, had settled back down again into his chair and seemed unperturbed by the whole affair. Hermione didn't understand how he could be so blasé about it. She was still shaking and she hadn't been the one with a wand pointed at her chest. Her emotions were in a whirl — disappointment at not getting Head Girl, anger at Harry, anger at Snape, terror at what Harry had almost done and a very real fear that in those few tense moments that Harry was going to kill Professor Snape.

"Severus Snape, what did you do?" McGonagall hissed, very reminiscent of her feline Animagus form.

Professor Snape shrugged one shoulder and leaned back further in the chair. "Potter's sidekick asked who received the Head Girl badge. I answered. I also informed him that I voted against Miss Granger receiving the position."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed down to slits. "What else did you say?" she ground out. "Harry would not have pulled his wand on you for just that!"

"Unfortunately, for him and the wizarding world at large, he did precisely that," Snape spat in return, his own expression of bored indifference finally cracking.

Hermione wondered if her teachers even realized that she was still in the room. She was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. This was not an argument that she should be privy to. Yet, her own sense of fair play wouldn't let her stay silent. She had the uncomfortable realization that Professor Snape had been accused of being at fault too many times with no one to stand for him. This, now, was everything that she'd wanted to accomplish with S.N.O.R.T.

Taking a step towards the two arguing teachers, Hermione said, just loud enough to cut across their yelling, "It's the truth, Professor McGonagall."

The professor whirled around, the hem of her robe swirling around her feet at her sudden movement. "Miss Granger!"

The surprise in McGonagall's voice confirmed Hermione's suspicion that her Transfiguration professor had forgotten her presence in the room. However, it wasn't the surprise in McGonagall's voice that caught Hermione's attention. It was the fleeting look that had crossed Professor Snape's face at her words of defense. She would almost label it pleased astonishment. Hermione felt the old anger stir. No one should be astonished at having someone come to their defense.

In an effort to keep her composure, Hermione held tight to that flare of anger as she continued. "Professor Snape didn't do anything. Ron was excited about being named Head Boy. He thought I was Head Girl. When I told them I didn't get the position, Harry assumed that it was because Professor Snape kept me from getting the position to get back at Harry."

Hermione might have laughed at the dismayed and somewhat stricken expression that crossed McGonagall's face, except that the look told her that Professor Snape had not lied to Harry about voting against her. Still, she was determined to handle her disappointment with dignity. She continued as if she hadn't seen Professor McGonagall's reaction.

"I do not believe that Professor Snape would use his authority in such a manner. If he voted against me then I'm sure that he had valid and logical reasons."

"I told you, Minerva," Professor Snape said, his voice holding a certain amount of smugness.

Minerva whirled back around and fixed an accusing glare on Snape. "Very well, Severus, you were indeed correct." The older witch seemed to deflate, her shoulders and spine losing their rigid cast. The look she gave Professor Snape was now more exasperated than angry. "Please see to Miss Granger, Severus, if you would, and I will go find Harry."

Hermione was startled to actually see Professor Snape roll his eyes. "Oh, yes, go find precious Potter before he does something rash. It would be so unlike the boy, after all."

It seemed that even Professor McGonagall didn't know how to offer a retort to that and with only a muffled harrumph, she headed out of the room.

This left Hermione staring across the room at her professor. She said the first thing that came to mind. "What did you tell Professor McGonagall?"

Surprisingly, he answered her, while watching her reaction. "I told her that you would neither cry nor wail at not getting the Head Girl badge. I told her that you would look for the reasons behind the actions."

Hermione didn't know quite how to take his approving tone, so she took refuge in her next question. "Did you really vote against me?"

Again, he answered the question. "Yes, I did, although you being Potter's friend had nothing to do with it."

Struggling hard to keep the hurt out of her voice, she asked, "Then why?"

Professor Snape motioned her to sit back down. When she'd done so, he considered her a moment over steepled fingers. She knew his mannerisms well enough by now to know that whatever he was about to say or do, had been given careful thought and that even now he was weighing his words with care.

"You have told me that you wish to learn to think. You tell me why."

She faltered then and he could see her confusion. Taking a modicum of pity on her, he began for her. "How are the Head Boy and Girl chosen?"

Hogwarts: A History proved its worth once again. "Names are nominated by the teachers and a vote is cast among the House Heads. The Headmaster has the deciding vote in case of a tie."

"And on what criteria are nominations made?"

"Academics, Leadership, Personality, and . . ." She paused a moment to think. "Integrity," she said at last.

Professor Snape gave her a nod of satisfaction. "Now," he said, "tell me why I would have voted against you."

Thankfully, he could see that she was taking his words seriously. In this instant, he did not mean to be cruel, but thinking critically meant seeing oneself without the lens of ego.

"I am the highest academically ranked student in my year."

He was pleased that she said this with a quiet assurance and not boastful pride. It was another sign of her maturity and that he wasn't wasting his time on her. When he made no comment, she continued.

"But, I'm not exactly popular."

He made of noise of contempt. "Popularity is not part of the criteria."

She worried at her bottom lip as she thought. "But approachability is. It's part of the personality aspect. Harry and Ron are my only close friends. I mean, I'm friendly with others in my year, but not all that close," she hesitated, and then continued. "I think I intimidate many of my classmates."

He snorted at that statement. "Those you do not intimidate, you scare."

At her startled expression, he elaborated. "Not deliberately, I'm sure. But scare them you do. You have little patience for those less gifted or determined than yourself. This lack of patience comes across as both rudeness and bossiness."

He caught her staring at him and scowled at her. He needed no Legilmency to know her thoughts. "Yes, Miss Granger, an affliction I also share. However, we are not talking about my shortcomings. The question is, can you see a homesick, Hufflepuff, first-year coming to you for comfort? Better yet, can you see a Slytherin coming to you for any reason?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Honesty with oneself is a hard thing to learn. Now, turn the problem around. Look at it from a different perspective. Why did we choose Miss Abbott and Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione thought for a moment before she began her answer, trying to see Hannah and Ron from a professor's perspective. "Hannah is Hufflepuff. Anyone needing a shoulder will feel comfortable going to her. Her grades are solid; not spectacular, but good. She's outgoing, friendly and has a lot of friends across the Houses."

Snape flicked his fingers dismissively. "Look beyond the obvious, girl. Why is she a good choice considering the times we live in?"

Then Hermione understood, and felt somewhat saddened that the war against Voldemort was influencing even the choice of Head Boy and Head Girl. "Hannah's not pure-blood, but she's from a respected, long-standing, wizarding family. Death Eaters killed her mother this past year." Hermione paused then, unsure if she should continue, but Professor Snape seemed unaffected by her words. Had he been there the night Hannah's mother was killed? I'll probably never know. I'm not sure I want to know. Her gaze locked with her professor's, Hermione continued. "Hannah's a symbol that no one is safe, that it isn't just Muggles or Muggle-borns."

"And what of Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione dropped her gaze back down to the lap and thought about Ron for a moment for looking back up. "Ron's grades aren't all that great but he's your average student. Everyone in the school knows him because of Quidditch and being Harry's friend." She gave her professor a half-smile. "Ron is fun-loving. He's a pure-blood, so even though he's friends with me and Harry, the Slytherins and other pure-bloods would feel comfortable going to him, yet at the same time he does not believe in the pure-blood stance. He is a living example of another choice."

She fell silent, thinking about Ron and Hannah. They were good choices, but she could still feel the sting of her own disappointment. Later she would have to try to explain things to Ron and Harry. The memory of Harry standing with wand drawn flickered before her. Even in defending this man before her, she wasn't about to stop her defense of her friends.

"They think you were unarmed earlier. You weren't. I saw you palm your wand," she accused.

One black brow swept up in response to her statement. "And yet Potter didn't know that. He was prepared to curse what he believed to be an unarmed opponent."

Struggling to make sense of it all, Hermione defended her friend. "Harry wouldn't have done it."

Professor Snape's lips twisted into a sneer. "Are you so sure of that, Miss Granger? Are you so very sure that he wouldn't try to use the anger so readily available to him? That he wouldn't take the easy way out? Dark Magic, Miss Granger, is so tempting because it is so very easy. Anger, pain, revenge, hate — they are all there, right at our fingertips. So easy to call and use. So very hard to turn away from once you've tasted that easy power."

Hermione shivered at what she heard in his voice. He was speaking from personal knowledge. "Harry will defeat Volde-" she started to say Voldemort, but changed it as she saw her professor stiffen — "the Dark Lord, he won't become him."

"Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"

"You push and taunt him. If you don't want him to give in to his anger, why do you goad him?"

"Because no one else will," he snapped. "If the boy is to break, and shatter the wizarding world with him, I would prefer to know before the fateful hour when Potter stands before the Dark Lord."

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide in sudden understanding. "You don't believe he can win," she said, her voice rising in disbelief.

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly very tired. "As Potter is now, with his mind and emotions in turmoil, no, I do not believe he can win."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly feeling very small. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you not ask me to teach you?"

Her eyes rose to meet his, completely shocked at his words. She barely got out a stammered "Y-Yes."

"Well then, Miss Granger, unlike some, I do not believe that ignorance is bliss. In order for a person to think for him or herself, they must have the ability to deduce and reason. You cannot think, girl, unless you know the facts and what you really face."

Hermione was stunned. He was going to teach her. "I-I don't know what to say," she finally stammered.

He smirked at her. "The typical response is thank you."


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