Chapter 29 — The Road to Hell

A lifetime of learning to focus on her studies against all manner of distractions got Hermione through the Welcome Feast. She made polite conversation with those sitting around her. She acted appropriately indignant at everyone's shock at Dumbledore's plan to put Professor Snape in charge of Defence. She nodded at the appropriate times during the discussions about the Sorting Hat's song.

Her sense of duty and responsibility to Hogwarts and the Prefect's badge pinned to the front of her robe got her through seeing the new first years gathered up, herded to Gryffindor Tower and safely tucked into their new beds.

Sheer determination and a knotted fist — safely hidden in the folds of her robe — got her through the yearly ritual of getting settled into her room with Lavender and Parvati.

But now, right now, Hermione was focused on one goal: get to the safety of her four-poster bed and its drawn curtains.

It wasn't until she was cocooned within its dark interior with her silencing charms in place that she realised that she'd retreated to the shelter of S.N.O.R.T. headquarters. She dropped her head down onto her up-bent knees. "Bloody fucking hell."

She didn't even reprove herself for saying out loud the words that up until this point had been more or less contained safely in her head.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the first class of the morning. Hermione had barely swallowed down a few bites of dry toast, the food sitting like lead in her stomach. How was she going to face Snape? Would he know about her feelings? Would he be able to see it on her face? Hermione sucked in a breath. What if he performed Legilmancy on her and saw it?

"Hermione, are you all right? You've either chosen a really bad blush for your skin tone or you're looking very pale."

Lavender's mix of insult and concern surprised a startled laugh out of Hermione. It was just enough to bring her back into focus and let her more sensible nature kick in. I'm sure that the professor has had to deal with other girls having silly crushes on him. Even if he knew — and he probably doesn't — he's not going to call me out because regardless of how embarrassing it would be for me, it would be even more so for him. Deep breath, Hermione Jane. Don't you dare embarrass yourself.

"I'm fine, Lavender." She made sure to smile sweetly at the other girl. "I'm just not feeling all that well this morning. I'm sure it's nothing." She faked a small cough and then watched with amusement as Lavender stepped away and moved across the hall, although not too far, as the Slytherins were all currently propped up against the far wall.

Most of the Gryffindors were eyeing the Slytherins with the same kind of curiosity that small children usually reserved for bugs with lots of legs.

Not that Hermione much blamed her Housemates. The Slytherins weren't acting to their usual type — they'd gone silent, each and everyone one of them. Hermione, however, had the benefit of seeing the behavior before. She'd seen Snape do this — he retreated in silence and contemplation — calculating the odds and planning for future contingencies. That kind of calm, seemingly cold-blooded assessment was completely foreign to Gryffindors and the Slytherins were, to put it mildly, making the Gryffindors extremely nervous. Not the least of which was because they didn't know why the Slytherins were acting so odd.

Hermione strongly suspected that it was all related to the Sorting Hat's song and probably to some talk that Professor Snape had with his House after the Welcome Feast. In fact, she was a mite amused at her House's reaction. Unfortunately, amusement at her House was overlaid with worry. Soon, she knew, the Slytherins would come to a decision on their course of action. They wouldn't come to it en masse like the Gryffindors, or with declared consensus like the Ravenclaws. They'd do it quietly and individually, and they'd keep their own council with none the wiser as to their choices.

The Hat had said the Slytherins isolated themselves, their own actions putting them into spots where they saw no allies, only enemies. She shook her head. It was all such a waste. Just think of what all that cunning and planning could do when paired with a Hufflepuff's grounding sense of loyalty, a Ravenclaw to bounce ideas off of and argue with — she grinned to herself — and a Gryffindor to push and annoy them all past the planning stages and into the doing stages.

The door to the Defence classroom opened with a creaking of hinges that would have done any Muggle horror film proud, effectively cutting off her speculation about House politics. With the sound all her earlier nervousness about Snape flooded back. With no help for it, she followed the others inside.

Hermione looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality, and Hermione realised to an extent, his chosen persona, upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.1

Harry, Hermione noted with a pang, seemed particularly fascinated with the picture depicting the Killing Curse. Her skin pricked and crawled every time Harry's eyes reflected the vile green flash. Unlike Potions class where Professor Snape stormed in from the back of the room after everyone was seated, Snape stood, legs braced and arms crossed across his chest, at the front of room, waiting on them.

Hermione cursed her own traitorous heart as it skipped a beat. Ridiculous! You do not think he looks fierce and powerful, she firmly told herself as she took her seat. He looks- Now that she was really looking at him, she thought he looked tired and pale. Two weeks and he'd already undone all the good his forced rest had done for him.

Now she had to wonder, was Snape's wide-legged stance to make him look tall and commanding, or was it more to keep him from falling over? And how was he planning on carrying out being the Defence teacher when his magic was, for the most part, still out of his reach?

Snape continued to stare at them even after they were all seated; his expression a faint sneer. In the seat in front of her, she saw the lean muscles across Harry's shoulders tense as he shifted in his seat. Snape finally broke the tension building in the room. "You have the distinct, and rather dubious, honour of being the worst prepared Defence Against the Dark Arts students to ever face your final year at Hogwarts."

That pronouncement set most of the Gryffindor's backs up, especially those that had been part of Dumbledore's Army. Snape continued as if he were oblivious to the frowns and scowls of his students.

"You have, from your first year, been taught by a traitor, an idiot, a liar, an imposter, a toad and a fool."

Hermione ran down the list in her head, the traitor was Quirrell and she could see where he could have been considered a traitor by either side. The idiot was Lockhart and needed no further explanation. She wasn't sure she agreed with Remus Lupin as a liar, even though he had, technically, withheld certain truths from them all — truths that could have saved a lot of heartache and trouble if he'd just explained to others what he knew and suspected.

The imposter was Moody, of course. Had Harry's fall into the Dark Arts begun with those demonstrations of the Unforgivables? Had this been brewing that long? It was an unsettling thought.

Umbridge was the toad, and Hermione couldn't say that she had much objection to that description of the obnoxious woman. Fool, though, she felt was a little strong for Professor Blevins. The poor wizard had tried, but being even older than Dumbledore, he'd had a rather appalling tendency to fall asleep during class.

"It is my job" — Snape gave them all a small smirk — "and I assure you, my pleasure, to remedy that distressing lack in your education to date. To that end, the first twelve weeks of class will be an intensive review of everything you should have learned in the last six years. We will devote two weeks to each year before moving onto the next."

That's how he's going to do it. Twelve weeks of remedial study would give him the time to completely heal his magic. Clever, she thought. It gives him the time he needs, and gives us the lessons we need.

"You will study, you will learn, and you will remember your lessons. This will be an accelerated learning experience. There will be no tolerance for whinging, impertinence, or slacking. If you do not believe you can handle this class, I suggest you get up and leave now."

He stopped and surveyed the room. Several students were looking a little nervous, while Neville, Hermione noticed, had a fierce grip on something in his pocket. No one moved.

After a moment, Snape nodded.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."1

Snape moved to walk slowly across the front of the room. All eyes watched him. "It is also" — he paused — "seductive. The Siren's song enticed sailors to their doom. The Erkling uses its laughter to draw its preferred prey, children, to it. The Hinkypunk uses a bobbing light to lure the unwary into swamps; curiosity being the downfall of more than one witch or wizard. Dark Creatures, however, are but the physical manifestations of Dark Magic's intent. They are also the easiest to combat — knowledge of the creature and its weaknesses, a few spells, blessings and counter-curses, and you are free."

Snape gave them all a slow smile, trailing a single finger under the first of the paintings lining the wall. Goosebumps raced up Hermione's arms and across her neck, raising the hairs and sending a small shiver down her spine. Seductive or terrifying, she really didn't want to examine her reaction too closely for fear it would be one rather than the other.

"It is the Art, itself, which is the most dangerous and the most powerful. It gives power. Make no mistake about that. But that power has its price and that price WILL. BE. PAID."

Snape turned and looked directly at Harry. "Only the supremely stupid or arrogant think they are somehow immune."

Harry shot straight up in his seat, back rigid. "Isn't magic about intention?" Harry shot back snidely. "A good intent –"

Snape cut him off with another smile. "A good intent? Ah, the old saw about the end justifying the means. Yes, intent has quite a lot to do with magic. With intent, Mr Potter, I can turn a jinx into a hex or a hex into a curse. I can make two potions using the same ingredients — one will heal, one will kill." Snape gave Harry a rather obvious pitying look.

Hermione expected the Slytherins to snicker and laugh as was their usual response to confrontations between Snape and the Gryffindors. The Slytherins weren't laughing. She risked a quick glance around the room. All eyes were riveted on Snape and Harry.

"That is what good intentions will get you. There are no good intentions when you play with the Dark Arts, Mr Potter. In fact, I'll give you another quote that rings closer to the truth: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions." Snape's eyes swept the room. "And if you want to play, and make no mistake, there are those who are more than willing to play, then you must also be willing to face the cost."

Snape turned, and then gazed back over his shoulder, making the gesture look almost like an afterthought. "And Mr Potter . . . ten points from Gryffindor and detention with Mr. Filch. Immediately after dinner." Snape's lips quirked up in a small, chilly smile. "You were warned, Mr Potter. Impertinence will not be tolerated in this class."

Harry's face was turning dark red but Ron had hold of Harry's arm, his grip so tight Hermione could see Ron's knuckles turning white. Ron was vigorously shaking his head. After a tense moment, Harry bared his teeth at Snape's back in a silent snarl but finally settled back down into his seat.

Hermione let out the breath she was holding. They are going to kill each other long before Voldemort ever enters the picture.

"Now, to the rest of you . . . study the Dark Arts. Learn them. Dabble in them if you must. I really don't care. What I do care about in this class is teaching you to defend yourself against them.

"Your defences," said Snape, a little louder, "must be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" — he indicated a few of them as he swept past — "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" — he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony — "feel the Dementor's Kiss" — a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall — "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" — a bloody mass upon ground.1

He gave them all a contemptuous look. "None of you are ready for that level of defence yet."

Snape returned to the front of the room to lean back against the lectern. "You will find, stacked in the back of the classroom, the properDefence Against the Dark Arts books that you should have been using for the last six years." He waved a hand. "Get a copy of each and begin reading the book for year one." He frowned at them. "Do not think to skim the text and simply read the captions under the pictures. You will be tested for each year. The consequences of failing to pass each year's material will not be pleasant."

As Snape returned to his own desk chair, the class moved to the back of the room where neat, orderly stacks of books awaited them, divided by year. Hermione found herself standing in queue awaiting her turn with Neville.

Neville gave her a somewhat wavering smile. "You know," Neville whispered, "I didn't think he could get any scarier than Potions class." Neville's eyes cut over to the picture of the witch shrieking in agony from the Cruciatus Curse. "I was wrong."

"Nonsense, Neville. You are quite good at Defence. You'll do just fine. Besides, Professor Snape was just trying-"

"I was just trying to do . . . what, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun sharply on her heel. Professor Snape was standing less than a foot in front of her. Dark eyes glinted in what looked to be maliciousness, but Hermione strongly suspected was vast amusement at her predicament. Self-preservation screamed, "Legilmens!" in her head and she dropped her eyes and tried very hard to think of nothing but thick, impenetrable London fog.

"Please, enlighten me, Miss Granger, and the rest of the class, as to what exactly I was trying to do."

Hermione flushed in embarrassment but kept her eyes firmly lowered. "Nothing, sir. I was just . . . nothing."

"I thought not. Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, and you can share Mr Potter's detention." He turned to stride up to the front of the room, robes swirling in his wake. Just before he reached the lectern, he stopped. He spoke but didn't bother to turn back around. "No," he said, a considering tone in his voice. "Not with Mr Potter. Your detention will be with me." Snape continued walking.

Several sympathetic glances were thrown her way. Detention with Mr Filch or detention with Snape, she knew that her classmates counted her punishment as the worse of the two.

It was relief to flee from Defence class and head for Arthimancy. Snape caused her head to be in too much of a jumble. She was annoyed with him for giving her detention, even if it was as she suspected, an easy way to meet with her without arousing suspicions. He made her palms sweat and her heart to do funny little leaps whenever he got too close. That definitely perturbed her. And then she was angry, justifiably she felt, at Snape for baiting Harry. Needless to say, her emotions were in a complete knot.

The floor that housed the Arthimancy classroom was blessedly free of students and Hermione slowed her steps to soak in the peace. Hearing quick footsteps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, fingertips resting lightly on her wand. Students by themselves in any corridor were always prime targets for Peeves, or pranks or anything else.

Blaise Zabini was hurrying towards her. She caught her breath, unsure in that moment whether to relax her guard or not, but Zabini only threw her a mild glance as he stepped around her and entered the Arthimancy classroom. Guess he's still deciding on which way he'll go, she thought, as she followed him in.

As Arthimancy was an elective and few students took the advanced seventh year class, Hermione found the Arthimancy classroom quiet, with only herself, Zabini, two Ravenclaws — Randolph Burrows and Lisa Turpin, and a Hufflepuff named Mimi Catalan, taking up the desks.

"Granger, Zabini," Burrows greeted each with a nod as they took their seats. "I hear you Gryffindors and Slytherins had Defence with Professor Snape first thing this morning and that you lot" — Burrow nodded again towards Hermione — "have already lost fifteen House points and got two detentions.

Zabini rolled his eyes in derision. "Hogwarts gossip. Faster than any spell ever invented."

Burrows threw him an unrepentant grin. "Oh, come on. Was it really as bad as all that?"

Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin, shrugged and gave them the truth. "It was pretty much like Potions but without cauldrons."

Zabini snorted at her assessment, but didn't disagree.

Burrows groaned. "Bugger. No offense to your Head of House, Zabini, but I was hoping that with him getting the Defence position, he'd mellow somewhat."

Mimi Catalan, in that crisp, no-nonsense tone that Hufflepuffs all seemed to acquire, said, "Professor Snape does not mellow. Professor Snape simply is . . . Snape, regardless of what he teaches."

"Ah, good. You're all here," Professor's Vector said when she breezed into the classroom, effectively halting any further discussions of Professor Snape. She perched herself on one corner of a student desk and gave them all a broad smile. "It's good to see you all here, doing our part for fostering goodwill and inter-House relationships."

"Will goodwill be on the NEWTS?" Zabini asked dryly.

Vector quirked a smile. "Five points for cheek, Mr. Zabini. And yes, it will be on the NEWTS." Vector clapped her hands together and rose. "Now, because this class is so small, it allows for more individual pursuits. I typically structure the seventh year class around personal long-term projects. You'll be working independently. I'll need you to provide me with a prospective proposal, submitted with an appropriate outline. If your proposal meets with my approval, I'll help you set up your Arthimancy research project. This project will be set in such a way that you will go through the process from beginning to end — proposal, historical research and precedents, your theory, calculations, results and final write up."

"Will inter-disciplinary studies be allowed?" Lisa Turpin asked.

"Yes. Cross-studies will mostly certainly be allowed as that is how Arthimancy is most often used in the practical sense. Miss Turpin, I know that you are already working with Professor Flitwick on some advanced Charm work. I've got some books that I think you'll be interested in that utilize Arthimancy to develop new charms. And Miss Catalan has some remarkable ideas involving Potions that I understand Professor Snape was highly impressed with. You might check with him and his schedule to see if he'd be willing to review some of your work later in the project. He may not be teaching Potions this year, but he's a keen eye and has an almost intuitive sense when it comes to Potions."

Hermione refused to label the short flare of fire in her as jealousy.

Vector continued. "So, yes, do make the project your own. I will be acting more as a mentor and director for your projects, ensuring that each possesses the complexity that will provide you with the most solid arthimantical experience.

"As such, this class is very much about working as an individual. We will use the class time set down as meeting times. However, I often find that I do my best work whenever inspiration strikes me, which truth be told, always seems to be around two in the morning. While you won't be allowed to wander the hallways after hours, the classroom, and my office, will be open to you to use during student hours. Any questions?"

Vector gave them another smile when there were no questions. "Excellent. Then I suggest you all head out to wherever you do your best thinking and start coming up with some initial proposals. We'll discuss them tomorrow. Final selection will be this Friday."

Everyone gathered up their things, but as Hermione was heading out, the professor called, "Miss Granger, might I have a word before you go, please?"

The rest of the day was a blur of classes and dinner merely a stopover before Hermione once again found herself outside the Defence classroom. Her confused feelings for Snape had cooled during the day but finding herself outside of the classroom door just brought it all back bubbling to the surface.

She was smart enough to know, though, that stomping into the room like an unruly five-year old wouldn't get her anywhere. She paced the length of corridor outside the door, wrestling with her thoughts. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

She took a turn and headed back towards the door. She raised her hand to knock, paused, and then spun around, heading back down the hallway again.

This is ridiculous.

That didn't stop her feet from making two more circuits of the hallway. Again, she raised her hand to knock. The door swung open.

"Is there a reason you seem to be always lurking outside my doors, Miss Granger?" Before she could answer, he shook his head. "Never mind." He stepped back from the doorway and gestured sharply for her to come inside.

Hermione stepped inside and sat down stiffly at the desk she'd been at earlier in the day, unsure if this really was to be detention or if her guess about Snape wanting to speak with her was correct. Snape took his own chair at the head of the room. They sat silently for a minute, staring at each other.

"You're angry," he said after a moment. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Her first instinct was to lie, but she thought better of it. "Yes."

Oddly enough, Snape's posture relaxed at that, the harsh lines on his face smoothing out. "How refreshing."

At her stunned expression, he laughed outright. "I annoy people, Miss Granger. I make them angry. I take a certain amount of pride in that ability, actually. It is, I have found, a delightful way to put people off their guard."

She thought of Harry this afternoon. "You make people angry but you don't give them a change to fight back. Or, at least, not students."

He shrugged. "Of course not. Allowing mere students to speak their mind . . . why Miss Granger, that way lays total anarchy."

Hermione's stomach gave a happy swoop. He's teasing me, she thought with amazement, right before she decided that was crazy and he was mocking her instead.

"But, here is your chance," he continued. He spread his arms, indicating the empty room. "Well, go on, get it off your chest."

When she hesitated, he added, "Granger, I have had the fortune, or misfortune depending on how one looks at it, to have been associated with Minerva McGonagall for some twenty-five odd years. I know well the expression on a Gryffindor's face when you have something to say but are trying desperately not to actually say it. While in the past, I've found it eminently entertaining to clock Professor McGonagall on how long she can hold out, tonight I simply don't have the patience to outwait you." He made a small flourish with his hand, "So out with it."

She eyed him for a moment. "I can speak frankly?"

He chuffed out a breath. "I have told you that you may speak and ask what questions you wish. Although I do suggest you remember my warning about making sure you really want the answers first."

She was up and out of her chair before she knew it. "I don't know how to deal with you," she said sharply. "At Grimmauld Place you were . . . it was . . . " She ran her hands up into her hair and let out an inarticulate groan of frustration.

He let out a deep-throated chuckle that had her insides doing loops and swirls again. She firmly squashed that reaction.

"There," she said and pointed a finger at him. "That. You can't laugh at me." At his expression, she amended, "You can't laugh at me like that. You were absolutely horrid to Harry in class today. You were terrible to me in class today. I expect that. I'm used to that. But then you go and laugh like I'm included in the joke rather than being the joke, and I don't know how to react."

His head tilted to one side and he rubbed the edge of his thumb against his bottom lip. "Did you know that your hair produces electric-blue sparks when you're agitated?"

Hermione clamped down on the un-ladylike word that almost left her lips. "It's been mentioned," she finally ground out after a long pause.

"Hmm." He studied her a moment longer and then asked, "Feel better?"

She took a deep breath. Oddly enough, she did. "Yes."

He chuckled again. She suspected it was probably deliberate this time.

"Good. Because my behavior is not likely to change. My actions are always calculated for one audience or another." He studied her for a moment. "The relationship between mentor and student necessitates some changes in my behavior towards you. By the very nature of what I'm trying to teach you, I need you to be comfortable speaking your mind." His eyes sharpened. "Although I suggest you remember that I am, and remain, your teacher," he warned. "Outside of meeting with you privately, my demeanor remains."

"Fair enough, but Harry-"

"I have neither the time, nor the inclination to coddle Potter."

She let some of her frustration out, her words sharper than she would have ever been brave enough to say in the past. "Isn't there some middle ground between coddling and poking him with a sharp stick?"

"The Dark Lord will do far more than just poke him. He will skewer him and roast him over an open pit."

Hermione winced at that mental image.

He gave her a remarkably sympathetic look, for Snape. "It is not fair. It, in all probability, is not the best course of action to take with Potter. However, the mold has been set and can not be recast." Snape's expression flickered, with something almost like regret, but it was gone before she could really tell what she'd seen. "I will play the role in which I have been cast. Potter, though he knows it not, will play his. And, take this as you will, I do believe that it will, in the end, force Mr Weasley to play his role sooner than expected."

She wandered back to her desk and slid into her chair. "What about me? What role do I play?"

"The better question is: what roles? In the triumvirate that is you, Potter and Weasley, you play the role of intellect and reason. To the Order, well, I suggest you speak with Professor Vector about that one. To me, you are my student. To yourself," he shrugged, "is not that why you asked me to teach you, so that you could define your own role and not have it thrust upon you? Although, if you are speaking as to which role you are playing by being here, now, you are here because I need your assistance."

"Are you going to give me detention every time you need help?"

That got her that small curve of his lower lip that signified a true smile. "No. Any need for further assistance will pass through Professor Vector. However, do not think that will remove you from the possibility of detention. Order will, of course, be maintained in my class."

"Of course," she agreed, just as dryly. "What can I help you with?" she asked, thinking that he needed some kind of magical assistance.

"As a Muggle you are familiar with the concept of the mobile phone?"

That was not what she had been expecting. "Sir?"

"Mobile telephones. I am familiar with a broad range of Muggle devices. But I need more specific information on how they are used and their capabilities. The Dark Lord wants to know how his plans have been thwarted recently. I cannot give him the knowledge of the house-elves."

"Why-" she started, but then realised the problem. "He'd have access to house-elves himself through people like the Malfoys and others." Her eyes widened as she thought through the consequences. "He would use them to devastating effect."

He gave her a small inclination of his head. "Precisely. The elves make such an excellent secret weapon because for most of wizarding society, they are beneath notice. Even households with elves rarely see them. To expose them to the Dark Lord's scrutiny would bring us to ruin. So, in order to keep one secret we will create another and give the Dark Lord a potentially lesser weapon — one that explains why the Muggle-borns and Muggles have been using it to such an effect recently. Portkeys work on a timing principle — the designated time arrives, the Portkey goes off and anyone or anything attached to it goes along for the ride."

Hermione saw where he was going. "Telephones work on the principle of calling someone else at any time or from any where. If the Portkey magic was keyed to a number, then even those without magic could use it. And the elves would be safe and we can still use them for emergencies."

"Very good."

She gave him a grin at the praise and began to explain everything she knew of telephones and mobile phones, and in the end, she even told him about walkie-talkies. And all the while she wondered how this would affect the wizarding world. She knew the wizarding wireless had come from a magical modification of radio. What would wizarding society do with the idea of the mobile and wasn't it just these sorts of changes that was one of the reasons that wizards were so afraid of Muggle and Muggle-born influence?

"Enough," he finally said.

He got up, stretched, and walked over to a small bookcase against the wall. She noticed the small shuffle in his normally smooth, gliding step. "Are you keeping up with your medications and salves?"

"Are you sure that a career in Arthimancy is what you really want? You nag almost as well as Healer Alverez."

She took the rebuke as a compliment. "Good."

He returned from the bookcase carrying two small books and something square. "These are for you," he said, setting down the books on her desk, and placing the object in her hand.

Hermione stared at the square of mirrored glass in her hand. Frowning slightly, she looked up. Snape was staring back at her in amusement.

Gesturing slightly with the hand holding the mirror, she indicated her confusion.

Slender fingers deftly plucked the mirror from her palm. "To our early conversation about roles, Miss Granger. Know thyself."

He turned the mirror so she could see her reflection. "Knowing that you do something is not enough. You must know why you do the things you do." He tilted the mirror, causing her image to shift and flash. "Why are you the bossy, annoying individual you are? Your other teachers believe you enjoy knowledge for its own sake. I disagree. If you learned for learning's sake, you would have been a Ravenclaw.

"Knowledge is power. That is a Slytherin precept. Yet you are not Slytherin. You've demonstrated rather fierce loyalty to Mr Potter." One corner of his mouth lifted. "Even going so far as to attempt to take me to task for my dealings with him. Some would call that a singularly Hufflepuff trait. As for Gryffindor . . . why are you a Gryffindor, Granger? In every instance where fool-hardy bravery should have ruled, it has been your cunning, your curiosity, or your tenacity that have stood you in good stead. Do you even know why you are in the House you are in? What makes you, you?"

He handed back the mirror. "A worthy question to ponder, don't you agree?"

For an instant, Hermione felt a flash of fear, thinking that he knew about her attraction. Snape had no idea how close he was to the question Hermione had been asking herself for the last day. A worthy question, indeed.

"The mirror is neither magical nor special. I have, however, found that when asking questions of yourself, it helps if you can actually see the individual you are questioning. You might find the process of soul-searching rather enlightening."

She glanced at her reflection and made a face. She wasn't sure she could stand any more hidden depths in her subconscious but she gave Snape a small smile and thanked him for the mirror.

"My second gift is not a gift. I fully expect that once you are done with them, you will return the books to me."

Hermione wiped her fingers on her robes before reaching for the books he held out to her, a gesture he seemed to appreciate, as he gave her a small nod.

"These are my personal books. The first one covers critical thinking. The second is a study of some of the darker individuals in wizarding history — people that will not necessarily be covered in Professor Binn's History of Magic class. I will expect you to treat the books with the respect they are due."

"I'll read them immediately, sir."

"You will do no such thing. You will read them as they should be read. Slowly, while you think about the concepts and ideas presented. They are not to be consumed, but rather savored."

She picked up the books and stowed them safely into her bag.

"Now, go away. I have work to do."

Hermione almost laughed at that abrupt and exceedingly rude dismissal. She had no doubt that when Severus Snape looked in the mirror, he knew himself very well. With an amused shake of her head, she gathered her things and headed out.

Severus watched the door close silently behind Granger as she exited the classroom. He let out a soft sigh. She was so . . . enthusiastic. Had he ever been that young? That excited about life? About anything? And the nerve of the girl, attempting to take him to task about Potter. Even Albus had long given up on that front.

Sweet Merlin, but she made him feel old and tired.

Hermione stared up into the canopy of her bed. It was going to be long year.

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