Chapter 28 — Back to Hogwarts

Severus watched Granger step forward. After suffering, with limited patience, through his convalesce and her care, he knew that look in her eyes. She was intent on helping — probably had the intent to fluff his pillows. Again. Enough is enough.

"Granger, if you take another step towards my pillows, I'll hex you, with or without a wand, where you stand."

That stopped her, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction as he took in her stunned expression. He was even more amused when her expression went from stunned to annoyed, her mouth set in a line of compressed irritation reminiscent of Minerva's. But he wasn't going to be dissuaded by the disapproval of one young woman, his temporary keeper or not.

"I'm getting up. I'm getting dressed. I'm going down the stairs." He allowed himself a small grimace of annoyance, and added, "That last will, in all probability, require your assistance."

That he was being summarily dictatorial and asking for her help all in the same breath didn't much bother him. She'd fuss, and disapprove of his actions, but he knew she'd help, if just so he didn't fall down the stairs like a great sack of potatoes and cause himself more harm. Guilt, as he knew, was a highly effective motivator for doing things one disagreed with.

"Sir, Healer Alverez –"

"Is not here," he interrupted.

Reluctant as he was to explain himself to anyone, he stifled the urge to snap at her. She'd been tolerable — more than tolerable, if he was honest with himself — during his confinement. "Term will begin in little more than a week. Preparations must be made because I will be at the Welcoming Feast."

"But your magic," she protested.

He scowled, feeling again the loss of his abilities. Here at Grimmauld Place the loss hadn't been felt as keenly, but at Hogwarts it could get him or others killed. There was no help for it though. To not be at the Welcoming Feast would be to admit to weakness that WOULD get him killed far quicker than the loss of that magic. At least he would still be able to teach his classes with none the wiser.

"I do not have the luxury of time to wait for the full restoration of my abilities. Preparations for the beginning of term can not be delayed further." He eyed her speculatively. He'd already admitted that her presence had been tolerable. Would it hurt to continue his closer association with her? It did, after all, provide him better opportunity to teach her. He would also feel better about requesting her assistance if he was providing something of equal exchange back to her.

"Granger, I realise that your involvement in my well-being was forced upon you under less than voluntary circumstances. However, with my return to Hogwarts, without full use of my magic, I will be at a disadvantage." He paused, wondering if she'd take the bait he dangled in front of her without him actually having to ask for her assistance. He felt a curl of pleasure when she didn't disappoint.

"Oh, I'd be happy to help you, sir. I suppose it would be hard to handle some of your potions ingredients without access to your magic."

"Yes, quite," he agreed, with something that he hoped resembled a welcoming expression. "To that end, you will help me get up and out of here."

From her expression, she realised she'd just backed herself into a corner. She'd agreed to help him with the things he had to do. Now she couldn't just protest when the things that needed to be done went against the requirements keeping him confined in the room. Her eyes were narrowed again in annoyance. Good gods, I love Gryffindors and their overweening sense of self.

"Healer Alverez –" she began again and then stopped to eye him speculatively. "I understand that there are things that you must accomplish for the new term, but Healer Alverez was adamant about the further damage that you could do to yourself."

Severus waved his hand negligently. He existed in the now and believing that he would survive the coming confrontation between Potter and the Dark Lord was a hope even he wouldn't set himself up for. Severus knew he had only to survive to the battle itself, and with Granger's magical assistance, that could be assured. It was apparent, though, that some concession would have to be made as a sop to her bleeding-heart tendencies. Carefully not acknowledging the unfamiliar feeling of warmth beneath his breastbone at the idea that those tendencies where focused on him, Severus set about laying the foundation of the next phase of their working relationship.

"Rink!"

When the elf appeared, Severus began snapping out orders. "Elf, return to Hogwarts. Bring me several changes of clothing and my lesson plans. That will be the black binder in the first drawer of my desk." He fixed Rink with a steady glare. "I trust that you will know better than to touch anything else."

There was an almost unnoticeable pause as Rink hesitated at the instructions, the house-elf's ears flicking in Granger's direction.

Dropping his voice to an almost whisper, he said, "Now."

Rink jumped in a suitably satisfactory manner and reached up to tug — though not to twist, Severus noted — one ear. Giving a nod, he disappeared.

He turned that same soft tone on Granger and was gratified to see her react as well. "Impertinence from house-elves, your influence no doubt."

He snorted softly at her attempted look of innocence — only Hufflepuffs would pull that off with any semblance of sincerity.

He really should stop the girl from loitering about in his room with Rink. Actually, he really should stop the girl from loitering about in his room, period. Not only did it skirt the line of impropriety but she was becoming far too comfortable in his presence, not to mention he was becoming comfortable in hers, a realisation that did make him uncomfortable.

Best send her on her way as well. It was about time he had a little privacy. "Head down to the Floo and contact Professor Dumbledore. Inform him that plans will need to be formulated. Tell him to bring Healer Alverez for a final evaluation." He made an abrupt shooing gesture. "Out."

The door closed behind the girl and Severus drew in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. Alone at last. With no prying eyes to watch him, he climbed laboriously to his feet, swaying slightly as he stood. Another deep breath and exhalation and he steadied. Not so difficult, after all, he thought with some satisfaction.

A few slow turns around the room disabused him of that notion. This was going to be more difficult than he first imagined. Knowing it was best to know his limitations now before a surprise got him killed, he started poking and prodding at his injures, starting with his shoulder, until cold sweat was beading along his forehead.

Acceptable, he finally decided. He had pain potions in his office that even Arrosa didn't normally have access to. They would suffice. They would have to suffice.

Too many things were demanding his attention. After his enforced contact with the Order, the Dark Lord would expect answers soon to the issue of the Order's success through the summer. He and Dumbledore would have to discuss what details should be passed along. It was probably safe enough to share the house-elf defence. As the elves were bound only to Hogwarts and by extension the Headmaster, whoever controlled the school controlled the elves. The Dark Lord could neither counter nor subvert that.

A sudden thought slid an icy tendril down his spine: if the Dark Lord controlled the school, or established his own puppet-Headmaster . . . Severus shuddered as that possible future unfolded before him, his mind seeing the possibilities and consequences of such an outcome. He, as a tenured professor, would be the most likely to be installed as Headmaster under the Dark Lord's rule and to protect their lives and the Order's long-term goals he'd be forced to install favoured Death Eaters in the school. Hogwarts would become a student's worst nightmare as pure-blood rhetoric and inter-House rivalries were left to run rampant.

He would have to speak to Dumbledore. That scenario could not be allowed to happen. The Order had to maintain control of Hogwarts and the elves. But the house-elves were only part of his problems. Plans needed to be made for those of his House who were still ambivalent about the coming conflict. Potions for the Order, and for the school itself, would need to be prepared. Weasley would need to be brought around and that couldn't be rushed. Potter — he grimaced at the name — had to be saved from his own pigheaded arrogance.

And somehow, someway, the wizarding world had to be saved from utter destruction.

He took another deep breath and let it out on a strangled laugh . . . a piece of cake, as the Muggles would say.

On a mission, Hermione wasted no time in heading for the library's fireplace. This was the only fireplace that was connected to the Floo network, and several layers of heavy wards and protections spells ensured that only certain connections could be made and only certain individuals could use its pathways.

Having used the Floo several times during Snape's convalescence, Hermione was adept at summoning the headmaster. Using the house-elves would have been quicker, but Professor Dumbledore had stated he wanted their concentration focused on listening to Order members and Muggle families in distress, not shuttling people around.

She gave friendly smiles to several Order members who were gathered in the library and one somewhat cool nod of greeting to Moody. She had not forgiven him his treatment of Professor Snape. Moody returned her nod; he hadn't forgiven her endangering the Order with her reckless dash to save Professor Snape.

Kneeling down and throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, Hermione waited a moment for the fire to turn green. "Professor Dumbledore's quarters. Hogwarts," she stated firmly. Once the low flames had flared up, she called loudly, "Professor Dumbledore? Sir, are you there?"

Intensely aware of the curious stares at her back, Hermione called again. "Professor Dumbledore?"

This time the professor's disembodied head appeared. "Miss Granger, to what do I owe this call?"

Hermione noted that the Headmaster's tone was still rather formal. While it had seemed that Professor Dumbledore had forgiven her for initiating the Order's security breach with Healer Alverez, he no longer interacted with her in the dotty, light-hearted manner of before. If she'd been asked to name it, she would almost say that he dealt with her warily.

Remembering the people that were listening in on this conversation, she said only, "It's Professor Snape, sir. He's sent Rink, his house-elf, off to Hogwarts to get his lesson plans. He's also asked to speak to you and has asked for Healer Alverez."

Hermione stifled a grin as she watched Professor Dumbledore's lips thin down in tight annoyance at the Healer's name. But, beyond that small facial clue, Dumbledore kept his thoughts well hidden behind a serene façade.

"Very well, Miss Granger. I suppose Severus is right and it's time to begin preparations for the new term. Please inform him that I will be there soon." He paused, and then added, "With Healer Alverez."

Hermione began to nod, but the Headmaster had already disappeared.

Hermione found the next two weeks busy ones at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore was shut up in Snape's room almost constantly and Hermione rarely caught sight of Snape. When it seemed that Snape had free time, hers was taken up with other duties as the professor had Rink bring back various herbs and potion ingredients that Hermione could chop, sort or prepare in advance.

Oddly enough, Ron, of all people, seemed to be spending more time with Snape than she was, as she'd seen him coming from Snape's room several times with his chessboard tucked up under his arm.

All in all, it left Hermione feelings out-of-sorts. Her worry about Snape began to increase the closer the new term came. She knew the toll the coming the term would take on him and with Snape forcing himself up, an action she heartily disapproved of, even her duties as nurse and provider of food were terminated. Her only recourse in making sure he took his meals was making sure that Rink kept food flowing into the room.

Hermione's only bright spot was her talks with Professor Vector. The professor had set Hermione on an aggressive reading course designed to give her a broader foundation in arithmantic theory. Hermione's afternoons were spent with Professor Vector, being quizzed about what she was reading, forcing Hermione to defend her thoughts and conclusions.

Hermione had found herself spending long hours in unused rooms at Grimmauld Place, reading her books and watching the lazily spinning matrix of probabilities that Vector's equations had created.

There was something about the matrix that drew her attention. She was fascinated by the ordered chaos that it represented; how each variable interacted with and impacted the whole. She found she could spend long minutes just staring into its heart, as if she could almostsee all the myriad possibilities contained within it.

Of course, at that point, she usually rolled her eyes, called herself a moony nitwit and got back to her reading.

Focusing her attention on the scenery passing outside the train compartment window, Hermione resisted the urge to throw something at her companions. Throwing things in anger, she'd been reliably told when she'd been five, and had thrown a wooden block at Billy Madison's head, was not acceptable behavior for proper young ladies.

Five years old and precocious, Hermione had absorbed the lesson of permissible behavior with solemn attention. She'd also never told a soul that lady-like or not, she'd savored the memory of little Billy's shocked expression for years to come, long after the sting of his taunts had faded.

At this point, however, if any three people deserved to have wooden blocks chucked at their heads, it was the idiots sitting across from her.

Ginny, fresh from another angry row with Harry, was staring morosely out of the Hogwarts' Express window. Her eyes were dry but red-rimmed, her freckles standing out in bright relief against her wan and frozen expression. On one hand, Hermione felt for Ginny. The younger woman was in love with Harry and wanted to help Harry in any way she could. This was a sentiment that Hermione understood very well. She had only to think of her efforts with S.N.O.R.T. to know exactly where Ginny was coming from.

On the other hand, though, Harry didn't want help. He didn't want Ginny involved. He didn't want how Ginny made him feel vulnerable in a time and situation when feeling vulnerable was the last thing that Harry needed. If I can understand that, why can't Ginny? Doesn't she realise that the harder she pushes, the faster Harry retreats?

Harry was sitting grim-faced, his jaw set in a stubborn, rather mule-ish expression. He was steadfastly not looking at Ginny, Ron or Hermione, his gaze fixed on the floor of the train compartment. Hermione had attempted to feel sorry for him, and the mess he was in with Ginny, but found that her usual stock of compassion had all but evaporated.

Ron, torn between sticking up for his sister and standing up for his best friend, was huddled between the silent Ginny and the equally silent Harry. Every so often he threw beseeching glances in Hermione's direction but damned if she knew what to do. Actually, I know exactly what I need to do.

Standing abruptly, she felt all eyes turn to her.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

Smoothing down her school robe and flicking imaginary dust from her sleeve, Hermione graced Ron with a smile. "I'm going to see about transfiguring some wooden blocks."

At Ron's confused expression, she suppressed a sigh. "I'm going to patrol the train." She took a step and then decided to take pity on Ron. "As Head Boy, it wouldn't hurt for you to make a round of the train as well and make sure all the new firsties have got changed."

Ron's eyes widened and he sneaked a quick glance between Ginny and Harry. For all of two seconds he looked undecided and then he too was standing. "Good idea," he agreed, before bolting for the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes but headed out after him. Behind her, the sullen silence continued. Good God, I miss Snape and his quiet little room, she thought.

"Hermione!"

The not-quite-a-yell of her name caught Hermione's attention over the noise and crush of several hundred students milling their way through the wide-open front doors of Hogwarts. She tensed for a moment before realising that the person who called her was not Ron, Harry or Ginny. She'd fled earlier from the Express and taken the first Thestral-drawn carriage she'd come to. She'd been on her way before the others had even got off the train.

Of course, it wasn't like she could run far from them or that she even really wanted to. They were her friends, and she did feel slightly guilty for ditching them, but she'd just needed a little time to herself. She knew that they would all end up in the same place anyway — the Great Hall, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table where they had sat for the last six years.

Stepping slightly out of the queue headed towards the Great Hall, Hermione looked around trying to catch the person who'd called her.

She finally spotted Colin. The younger boy was jumping up and down and waving his arms. She gave a chuff of laughter. Subtlety, thy name is Gryffindor. Grin still on her face, she forced herself against the flow of the crowd and headed towards the younger boy.

Eager hands grasped one of hers and pumped her arm. "Hermione! I wanted to tell you first thing. I passed; got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Mum and Dad were so impressed. Are you going to teach the class again this year? Please say you will. Cor, I don't think I'll do half as well without you."

"Colin-"

"Oh, say you will, Hermione. It'd mean an awful lot to me. You make it so much easier to understand."

Hermione felt her face flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. "I don't know, Colin. I really hadn't planned-"

Again she was interrupted before she could finish her sentence, Colin's enthusiasm riding roughshod over any protests.

"Thanks, Hermione. I knew we could count on you."

"We!" she said in alarm, a sinking feeling starting in her stomach.

Colin grinned happily at her. "I saw Neville earlier and he's dead keen to join back up as well. Said it was the best grade he's ever received in Potions. Oh, and Denis wants to join this year's class." Colin frowned suddenly in concern. "You could do all three levels, couldn't you? It'd be a right shame if Denis missed out."

The sinking feeling in her stomach became one more akin to drowning.

Then in typical exuberant manner, Colin switched topics entirely, leaving Hermione to wonder if this was how Ron and Harry sometimes felt when talking with her.

"Oh, and Hermione, do you know anything about house-elves?"

That drowning feeling intensified, she could almost see the water rising.

"A house-elf showed up in mum's kitchen one day." Colin continued with a laugh, "You should have heard mum scream. But then he was going on about being from Hogwarts and there to protect us and how we had to call his name if –" Colin's voice dropped to a harsh whisper — "if You-Know-Who's Death Eaters showed up."

Colin's voice returned to normal. "Said his name was Hod. What kind of name is Hod? I thought all the house-elves had names like Dobby and Molly and Twinky and Zinky? Who names a house-elf, Hod?" Colin gave himself a slight shake. "But anyway, do you know anything about the elves? Because I figured, and I told mum, and Denis completely agreed with me, that if there was anyone who would know about the house-elves, it would be you."

Colin blinked at her expectantly, as if he was just waiting for her to spill forth the wisdom of the wizarding world in regard to house-elves to him at that very moment.

Hermione's mouth opened and then snapped shut as she felt one of those drowning waves crash over her head. How do I get myself into these things? "Colin-"

"Hermione!" A firm clap on her shoulder sent Hermione staggering a bit. "Oops. Sorry about that."

Hermione turned so that Neville could join them, her eyes widening in surprise as she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "Good Lord, Neville. You've grown at least four inches."

Neville grinned and patted his stomach. "And put on at least a stone." His grin widened. "Gran says I'm a big, clumsy lout." He shrugged good-naturedly. "Haven't quite settled into my skin yet. But, did Colin tell you? About my Potions grade? You are going to help us again this year, aren't you?"

Faced with both sets of pleading eyes, Hermione threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll set up class again and let you know when I'm ready."

Colin and Neville both thanked her profusely before Neville steered them towards the Great Hall and the rapidly diminishing queue of students. "Come on, then. Let's eat, I'm hungry."

Hermione made her way down the Gryffindor table before squeezing into the place saved for her by Ron and Harry. It seemed both boys were over their sulk and were avidly chatting with Dean Thomas. Hermione did a quick scan for Ginny and found her commiserating with a group of her own age-mates further down the table. Satisfied that Ginny wasn't alone, Hermione turned back to her own companions and their conversation.

The topic this year was, unsurprisingly, the same as it was almost every year. "I don't see any new faces up there," Dean said, jerking his head in the direction of the High Table.

"I suppose," Ron answered, "that the new DADA professor could just be late. They might be showing up later. Maybe Professor Dumbledore will teach it. He defeated Grindelwald, he's got to know something about Defence against the Dark Arts."

Harry's expression was dubious. "You don't suppose-"

"The Git? No. Dumbledore wouldn't."

Ron's response was more speculative than Dean's vehement denial. "He wouldn't, would he?"

Libby, sitting on the other side of Dean, added, "But I've heard that Snape asks every year and Dumbledore always turns him down because he doesn't trust him. With You-Know-Who back," — she nodded at Harry — "the Headmaster would never trust Snape."

Hermione bristled and cut into the conversation. "Professor Snape is a Hogwarts professor of many years and I'm sure has earned the Headmaster's trust. He-"

She was interrupted by Dumbledore clinking a fork against a goblet, the sound magically enhanced to carry through the room.

As the rustling and whispers quieted down, Dumbledore stood, his colourful peacock-hued robes a bright beacon of colour amongst the somber black of professorial and student robes. He stood for a long moment in the silence until many from the younger years began to fidget. His voice, soft and raspy with age, yet unmistakably strong, caused many in the Hall to jump when he finally spoke.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts." His faded blue gaze swept the Hall. "Customarily I make these announcements after the Sorting of the new first years. This year, I thought to address those of you returning to these hallowed halls before the Sorting. I'll skip the usual admonishments concerning contraband items and the Forbidden Forest, for you all should be well aware of those. So, to give you the announcement I'm sure you are all most interested in: Professor Snape will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione heard several gasps of dismay as the headmaster made his pronouncement, most notably from the Gryffindor table. The headmaster, however, continued on as if he had not heard them.

"I will be teaching Potions for the first few weeks of term until Professor Horace Slughorn can join us. Professor Slughorn has agreed to come out of retirement to lend us his expertise."

Hermione heard someone further down the table ask, "Slughorn, anybody every heard of this Slughorn?"

Beside her Harry gave a sharp laugh. "Well, this year will be a switch. I might get a decent grade in Potions, but I'll fail Defence."

Dumbledore raised a hand and the whispers and comments faded away to silence. "Finally, I wish to say this to you: these are trying times in the wizarding world. We stand today on the edge of a precipice, while beneath our feet our world crumbles. Honour, loyalty, courage, integrity, love . . . these words which once meant so much, are but dust in the mouths of men who have sacrificed their souls to hate.

"Hogwarts has long stood as a bastion of hope and learning. The dark days in which we find ourselves offer us a challenge: do we quietly surrender to the darkness or do we make a stand for the light? Many people will tell you that you, as students, are too young to be involved, too young to be drawn into this conflict. I tell you now, that you, each of you, are at the heart of this conflict. You decide the future of the wizarding world and so each of you must answer the question for yourselves and ultimately you must live with the decision you make.

"The time of that decision is coming soon. Be prepared to make your choice."

The headmaster's somber words seemed to almost echo in the silence of the hall, everyone stunned at the stark words. Hermione noticed many people turning to look anxiously at their fellow students. Many of those looks were focused on Harry and the Slytherin table.

Whispers started up again, the sound seeming to swirl around the room, only to be cut off as the headmaster again raised his hand. "Professor McGonagall, if you would?"

At her cue, Professor McGonagall led a ragged queue of eleven year olds up to the stool placed before the assembled students. Hermione thought that there looked to be fewer of them than in previous years. She had to wonder how many parents had sent their children off to magical schools abroad rather than risk keeping their children in Britain. She didn't get a chance to wonder for long as the Sorting Hat launched into its new song.

Another school year has begun,

And summer warmth is fading.

So huddle in this autumn chill-

I shall not keep you waiting.

Already forest leaves have died.

The days grow ever shorter.

And now a heavy task befalls

Your trusty student sorter.

By now you all have realised

The purpose of this song-

To tell you how the Founders

Never really got along.

Hermione's attention had started to wander, but as the Sorting Hat ended its last stanza her attention snapped back to the front of the room. Did the Hat just say . . . .

From the Ravenclaw table Hermione heard Luna Lovegood's distinctive voice. "Well, that's new and different."

Oblivious to the shocked focus of the entire room, the Sorting Hat continued its song, a resigned bitterness underlying the words. In that moment, the Hat reminded her rather strongly of Professor Snape.

The point, of course, to make each House

Suspicious of the others.

To foment rivalry and scorn

Between sisters and brothers.

For when you set your sights upon

Pursuit of points and praise,

You moderate your mischief,

And the sorts of hell you raise.

The teachers all depend on me

To help them keep control

By separating those who might

Unite in impish goals.

But if you listen well tonight,

To my poor song disjointed,

You'll soon discern the way in which

This plan may be avoided.

Professor McGonagall, eyes narrowed and lips pinched together, reached forward as if to snatch the Hat from the stool. The Hat twisted, the folds and wrinkles that made up its face coming together to glare right back at the professor, regardless of the fact that the hat didn't even have eyes. Without missing a beat, the Hat sang another verse.

The story of the Hogwarts four

May end in tragedy,

But years did pass in peace and joy

And schoolwide harmony.

Slowly McGonagall's arm lowered and the Hat finally twisted back around to 'face' the Hall once more, its tip lifting and straightening almost as if it was standing to attention, its spine stiff and straight. Its voice got louder as it launched into the next verse.

The trouble is that each of them

Believed in different laws,

And while they knew their greatest strengths,

They never knew their flaws.

This verse caused a rippled murmur of unease to flow through the students.

"Can it say things like that?" Lavender whispered. Obviously it could, as another verse began.

So when I say that Ravenclaws

Are swift and erudite,

Their reticence to get involved

Impedes important fights.

At the Head table, Professor Flitwick jumped to his feet in obvious indignation. Hermione's attention swung back to the Hat. She could guess what was coming. The Hat, once again, swiveled around to stare at Professor McGonagall in what Hermione could only deem as a challenge.

And Gryffindor, whose bravery

Embodied that fine goal,

Placed winning at all costs above

His honour and his soul.

Most of the older Gryffindors were on their feet now as well. Hissed denials and catcalls sounded around her, but the song continued.

The friendship of a Hufflepuff

Is valued for its strength.

But badger grudges equal it,

Surpassing it in length.

A swift glance towards Professor Sprout and back to the Hufflepuff table confirmed that they, at least, were taking this chastisement under semi-better grace. Hermione even caught several thoughtful nods among the group as if the Hat was just confirming something they already knew about themselves.

But the Hat wasn't done yet and everyone waited to hear what it would say about the one House not yet mentioned.

And Slytherin ambition,

Which is feared as it's respected,

Too often isolates the House

And leaves it unprotected.

Hermione blinked and shot a look at Professor Snape. The professor seemed content enough with the Hat's pronouncement. The Slytherin table, taking their cues from their Head of House, remained seated and quiet.

It's vital that you understand

So we may all unite.

The time has come to pool our strengths

And face the coming fight.

The Lord of Dark is rising-

His apparent goal dominion

Yet Ministers attribute this

To "difference of opinion."

While Hogwarts unity

Will be essential, we need more.

We all must be prepared for this

Inevitable war.

There, for the first time in four years of singing about the Houses uniting, the Sorting Hat named the very thing that wizarding society was trying to hide from. The Sorting Hat had even said the words more plainly that Dumbledore. It was enough to shock those still whispering into silence and those still standing to once again take their seats.

The right path's not the smoothest,

And precarious as a rule,

But must be taken to ensure

Survival of the school.

It's crucial that you set yourselves

To this important task:

Seek answers to the questions

That you never thought to ask.

And learn your lessons well, this year,

Not just for learning's sake.

The end of term exams won't be

The toughest tests you'll take.

So in this year of study,

Look for allies with new eyes.

Your best support may come from those

Whose virtues are disguised.

Hermione's breath caught at that last line and her gaze swept back up to Snape. Was the Hat hinting at his true loyalties? Did the Hat even know his true loyalties?

Look not upon acquaintances

With eyes, but with the mind.

Lest prejudice and pettiness

Conspire to make you blind.

And if you are confounded

By this song I've sung for all,

Come by the Headmaster's abode-

My shelf's there on the wall.

So set me down upon your head

Without concern or fear.

I'll shout to all the House you're in,

But whisper in your ear.

Hermione felt the chill run down her spine as the Hat finished. Both Professor Snape and Dumbledore looked grim and Professor Vector's fingers were rapidly spinning what Hermione knew to be a piece of chalk. Silence stretched around them.

"Appleton, Harriet."

Professor McGonagall's calling of the first name seemed to shake the room and whispers once around rustled around the hall. Hermione paid scant attention to the calling of names, her attention focused on her professors. She clapped only when the others around her clapped.

"Atoll, Greg."

Professor Vector had put away her chalk and was discussing something the Muggle Studies professor; her head tilted to one side as she listened. Occasionally, Vector would lift her wand and sketch some lines that glittered briefly in the air before dissolving. The other professor would say something and Vector would sketch again.

"Barnett, Melissa."

Hermione made a mental note to ask the professor how she did that, before her eyes swung to the other end of the table, where Professor Snape sat as if all the doom of the world rested on his black-clad shoulders.

"Caldwell, Andrew."

Snape glowered out at the Great Hall, his eyes sweeping from one House table to another. Hermione noticed several students flinching beneath the weight of his stare.

"Caldwell, Peter."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he got to the Gryffindor table but no sign of recognition or approval warmed his chill gaze as his eyes swept over her.

"Dingle, Fergus."

Hermione thoroughly squashed the bubble of hurt that rose at his seeming indifference. Fool! Idiot! she castigated herself. Next you'll be whinging that he's ignoring you and not giving you big smiles of welcome. As if he'd be thinking about you after everything the Sorting Hat just said. Just because you've hardly seen the man in the last two weeks is no reason to start acting like some lovelorn puppy with a crush.

Hermione choked.

"Donahue, Meris."

Hermione coughed and tried to breathe. No air. She coughed again. Struggling to breathe she reached blindly for Harry, her hand scrabbling for purchase against his arm. Coughing hard she pulled in great gulps of air as everyone sitting around her turned to stare in her direction.

Hermione's vision went blurry with tears. Dimly she heard Professor McGonagall's voice over the roaring in her ears.

"Effingham, Efram."

She heard Ron say something but couldn't make out what he was saying. It didn't really matter.

What could possibly matter next to the realisation that I have a crush on Professor Snape?

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