Chapter Three

Hermione had never thought of Advanced Ancient Runes as a particularly distressing class. She had also never gone to said class in her fifth-year school skirt and shirt. Both of which she had shrunk while attempting to use her parents' washing machine during last year's summer holiday.

She had awoken the morning after her first Potions tutorial with a renewed sense of purpose. She had been single for far too long, and as Viktor was overseas playing the Chudley Cannons in the International Quidditch Final Qualifiers, she realized she would have to resort to delving into the shallow gene pool that made up the Hogwarts student body.

Hence her revealing outfit.

She had skipped breakfast. It just wouldn't do to have Harry or Ron laughing at her, and that thought alone made the notion of going to class on an empty stomach more than acceptable in her opinion.

So, she grabbed a glass of water from the pitcher in the common room...always cold, thanks to her friends, the house-elves...and proceeded to her first class, Advanced Ancient Runes. Nothing. Not one look, not even from Cormac, who had taken to leering at her like a hyena eyeing a blood-rare steak as of late.

Halfway through the class, they divided into pairs. Hermione, as usual, paired with Parvati.

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati whispered after Professor Babbling had set a list of equations for the class to work out. "What's with the outfit?"

Hermione let her hair fall forward, obscuring her face in hopes of hiding her blush. "Laundry accident. Stupid machine's on the fritz," Hermione lied beautifully. "I knew I should have just done a cleansing spell like the rest of you... Must be my Muggle upbringing."

"Oh," was Parvati's only response.

"Hey, Hermione," Cormac called softly from behind once Parvati had risen from her seat and approached the teacher's desk to ask a question.

"Hmmm?" Hermione replied absently, spinning around to face him whilst chewing on her quill.

"Are you going to Slughorn's party on Saturday?" he whispered, leaning forward.

"Huh?" she answered blankly, blinking at him. "Uh...yeah, I guess so...probably."

"Great. So do you think Ginny will be there?" He smiled.

She furrowed her brow, looking at him oddly. "Why?"

"Just wondering," he replied innocently.

"Uh...yeah, I guess so..."

"Great, then I'll meet you two in the common room at eight," he said before going back to his runes. He looked as pleased as a pig in shit as he started to hum softly to himself. Turning around to face the board, she shook her head. What was that about?

Hermione had a free period after Runes, and she spent it studying alone in the library, thinking. Her skirt was halfway up her thighs, and her shirt was so tight that she could see the outline of her white lace bra pressed up against the cotton from the inside. And still, no one had noticed her.

She could have sworn she'd seen McLaggen staring at her, but he had just wanted to know if Ginny was going to Slughorn's party on Saturday. She sighed loudly. So much for seduction.

At the end of her free hour, she packed up her books and headed downstairs. Her next stop would be lunch, to which she nearly sprinted, as she was close to passing out from the hunger pains caused by skipping breakfast.

She shuffled over to the Gryffindor lunch table, and Ron literally squeezed the egg salad out of his sandwich when he saw her approach him and take her seat.

"What are you on about?" he asked, glaring at her.

"I don't know what you mean, Ronald," she answered, picking up an apple from a centered bowl and examining it closely. Apparently she had managed to catch someone's attention, even if it was her somewhat daft best friend.

"What's with the outfit? Who're you trying to impress?" he asked, spooning the littered egg back into his sandwich with his bare fingers. He then proceeded to wipe his pants and replace his hands around the messy ration, taking a ridiculous bite and chewing with his mouth open.

Hermione grimaced at his poor table manners. Ron was looking at her expectantly, and she shook off her offended frown and did her best to answer him without dry-heaving.

"I am not trying to impress anyone, not that it is any of your business," Hermione replied, taking a bite of her apple as Harry took a seat next to Ron. This was certainly not the reaction she had expected. Ron didn't seem impressed, rather, angry at her audacity.

"What are you two on about now?" Harry asked crossly.

"Hermione's dressed like a bloody vixen!" Ron shouted.

Hermione nearly choked on her bit of apple and managed to disguise it as a snort. She was chuckling madly. Harry looked at Ron as if he was Confunded, and Ron's face grew redder with each passing second. Vixen. That was certainly not something that she had been called before...

"Go on," Ron said nastily. "Show him. Stand up. He'll agree." He waited, his egg sandwich, amazingly, lying forgotten on the plate before him.

"Agree to what?" Hermione asked with a furrowed brow.

"Agree that you look like a SLUT," Ron replied at the top of his lungs.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, the bit of apple that she hadn't swallowed falling dully onto her plate. Harry's eyes widened in alarm as he looked from one friend to the other. The moment seemed suspended...frozen in time. She felt every eye in the room on her. There was a sickening silence, during which everyone around her stopped and stared, trying to discern what she was wearing from her obscured seated position.

Hermione's face was as red as Ron's hair, and she found herself unable to form a proper response through the haze of her anger.

She stared at him as if she'd like nothing better than to pick up her butter knife and plunge it straight into his cornea...and she could have...and her eyes darted quickly to Harry. He, too, was apparently at a loss for words. His mouth was flapping up and down like a fish taking in water, and his eyes were snapping back and forth between the two of them.

Her rage still mounting, Hermione slammed her hands down on the table, lifting slightly from her seat, her volatile parting words perched on the tip of her tongue.

A strong hand landed on her shoulder, holding her steadfast to her seat. Her eyes snapped up to glare at the person who would dare limit her movement at a time such as this. Ginny was standing behind her, glowering angrily at her brother.

"Ron, you fucking jerk!" Ginny whispered loudly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ron gave her a warning look, which Ginny naturally ignored. "You're an idiot, and it won't work!"

Lingering anger aside, Hermione found herself looking up at her long-haired companion. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny answered, her eyes never leaving Ron. "He's jealous, 'Mione. He had lab with Cormac last period, and he was bragging about how both of you are going to Slughorn's party on Saturday. He thinks we're all trying to exclude him by getting ourselves invited to the Slug Club parties."

Ron looked furious. "No, I'm..."

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Ginny interrupted harshly.

Hermione turned back to Ron, her eyes ablaze. She spoke calmly, despite the rage she felt in the pit of her stomach. "If I ever hear you speak about me like that again, to my face or behind my back, I'll hex you in a way that will guarantee your brothers the sole right to further your family's lineage."

Ron looked confused, though whether it was by her words or her anger, she couldn't be sure.

She extracted herself from the table and made her way out of the Great Hall, Ginny hot on her heels.

"'Mione... 'Mione, wait up." Ginny puffed, running to catch up with her.

Hermione waited until she was far enough down the corridor that they wouldn't be heard, then stopped and turned to the female Weasley.

"'Mione, are you okay?" Ginny looked nervous.

"No, I'm not okay, Ginny. Your brother just called me a slut in front of half the student body."

"He's just jealous," she replied, shaking her head. "He's an idiot."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "You're right about that."

"Come on," Ginny said with a smile. "Let's go grab something in the kitchens."

Hermione shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm going to go up to the library for a bit."

Ginny nodded and patted her on the shoulder, then walked back into the dining hall. She glanced back when she reached the door, only to find an empty hallway behind her.

Hermione made her way up to the fourth floor library, a deep scowl etched on her face. She was on her way to check out the book that Snape had assigned her, but all she could think about was that she was sick of school, sick of Ron, and sick of men altogeth..."

Smack!

Hermione collided with something tall and dark, knocking her backward onto her rear and causing her to drop her schoolbooks.

"Watch where you are going, Granger!" Snape snapped irritably.

Hermione leaned to the side and massaged her aching hip, wincing when she touched a spot that would later develop a deep bruise.

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied through clenched teeth.

When her professor didn't answer her, she looked up, only to see him staring avidly at the library door. She arched a brow at the man, wondering why he was neither scowling at her nor leaving her presence.

"Prof..."

"Kindly right yourself, Miss Granger," Snape interrupted quickly, eyes averted.

She had no idea what he was on about. She looked around and saw that her books were strewn about her, one of her slip-on Mary Janes was leaning unsteadily against the stone wall to her right, and her skirt...she blushed. Her skirt was flipped inside out and resting on her abdomen, exposing her cotton panties completely. She quickly smoothed it down and pushed herself back up onto her feet.

"Sorry, sir," she mumbled.

Snape made an effort at a half side-glance, and seeing that her skirt was now concealing what it was meant to cover, he looked down his nose at her.

"See that you are more careful next time," he said in a deep voice, sweeping off down the corridor.

As she watched him disappear down the stony staircase, robes whipping wildly behind him as he went, she wondered if that had been a blush she'd seen before he'd departed. She bent down and picked up her schoolbooks, tossing her left Mary Jane on top of the pile. When she was properly seated in her sanctuary of literature, she slipped her shoe back on her foot, smiling broadly. That had definitely been a blush on his cheeks. At least her efforts weren't lost on everyone.

***

"You're mad!" she heard a female voice bellow beyond the portrait hole.

Hermione paused mid-sentence, her half-spoken, "Dilligrout," dying on her lips before she'd finished the word. She pressed an ear up against the portrait of the Fat Lady, eliciting an indignant huff of, "I never!" from the painted woman.

"No, I'm not. Think about it. She was obviously with him last night," Ron said, his voice unmistakable.

Hermione froze. If he was referring to her, then he knew that she had been in Professor Snape's office the night before...but, how?

More importantly, if everyone knew of her extra lessons, Snape would surely discontinue her tutelage. It was time to do some damage control.

"Dilligrout," Hermione muttered.

"About time," the Fat Lady mumbled irritably.

The portrait hole swung quickly inward, and Hermione stepped over the threshold into the common room. Ginny's head whipped around at the sound, her eyes widening in what Hermione was sure was either horror or embarrassment when she saw who had just entered the room.

Ginny swallowed hard. "'Mion..."

"Save it, Ginny," she interrupted, her eyes snapping to Ron's. "And just what precisely were the two of you talking about?" She took up an aggressive stance, hands on hips, legs shoulder-width apart.

"Nothing," Ginny interrupted again, but Hermione held up a hand, silencing the younger witch.

"Well?" Hermione asked again, staring daggers at Ron.

Ginny was looking particularly nervous, her eyes darting back and forth between her friend and her brother like a mouse caught between two cats. The female Weasley's hands were clasped together in front of her, and she was rubbing them together as though she held and invisible towel that she couldn't quite wring out.

Ron was giving Hermione a defensive look, much like a toddler who had been caught in a lie.

"Where were you last night?" Ron finally spoke up.

"Ron! That is none of your business," Ginny said sharply.

"No, it isn't," Hermione added coolly, crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

"Well, you weren't here," Ron continued. "And Ginny said you weren't in the girls' dorms during your free period..."

"I just said that I didn't see her in the dorms," Ginny cut in quickly. "That doesn't mean that she wasn't in her room!"

"I think we all know whose room she was in," Ron said nastily, his eyes staring into Hermione's as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, quite baffled. Why Ron would be so concerned that she was taking extra lessons was beyond her comprehension.

"I'm leaving," Ron spat, storming past Hermione and out the portrait hole.

Hermione looked at Ginny, confused.

"He thinks you were with McLaggen," Ginny said in defeat, plopping down into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace.

"What?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"I told him that it was none of his business who you were with," Ginny replied, looking up at her friend hopefully.

"Why on earth would he think I was with Cormac last night?" Hermione asked, taking the seat next to Ginny.

"Oh," Ginny responded, slapping the arm of her chair in mild annoyance, "because you weren't at breakfast this morning, and you're always at breakfast, and then McLaggen was bragging about going to the party with you on Saturday..."

"But he asked me about you!" Hermione interrupted loudly.

"Yeah, well, he asked me about you, so I really don't know what to make of any of it," Ginny said, attempting to coax Crookshanks out of his corner by the fire. The half-Kneazle merely grinned and shut his eyes, much too interested in a kitty catnap to be bothered with Ginny's snapping fingers.

Hermione ran through the current conversation in her mind. Whatever Cormac was up to, she didn't like it. Whether he was interested in her or her friend, he had done the wrong thing by playing both sides of the fence. And why on earth would he tell Ron that he was going to Slughorn's party with her? As far as she knew, Cormac hated Ron, and vice-versa.

"So that's it?" Hermione said finally, catching her familiar's eye and motioning toward Ginny with her neck. The shaggy beast reluctantly rose from his spot on the carpet, stretched, and made his way toward the redhead. "That's why he thought I'd spent the night in Cormac's room?"

"Not totally," Ginny said, scooping Crookshanks up delightedly. "He asked if you were in the library this morning after first period, and I told him that I thought you were because I couldn't find you in your room. Oh!" she added abruptly, halting her scratching of Crookshanks' ear, eliciting an irritated growl from the cat. "Oh, you can wait a second," she said to the feline in mock irritation.

Ginny reached into her jumper pocket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment, then held it out across the gap between the two girls' chairs.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, taking the proffered note and unraveling it.

"It's from Professor Snape," she replied absently, cooing Crookshanks into a submissive belly-up position.

"Oh," Hermione answered blankly. Her lessons were private, and it wouldn't do to have to explain herself to Ginny. Judging by the content look on both the redhead's and her kitty cohort's faces, she didn't think that her presence would be missed. "I'm just going to head up to bed. Just send Crooks up when you're done, okay?"

Ginny nodded distractedly, her eyes on the cat as she playfully batted his paws.

Hermione reached her room and kicked off her shoes, taking an Indian-style seated position on her bed. Her roommates were nowhere in sight, and so she opened the letter as soon as she found a comfortable position in which to read it.

Scanning it quickly, she realized that the note was not from Snape at all. Apparently, he was just the courier.

Dear Miss Granger,

I am quite eager to hear how your lessons are proceeding with Professor Snape. If you can manage to find the time before your evening rounds, I would be delighted if you could stop by my office. Shall we say 8 o'clock?

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I have a craving for Acid Pops this week.

Hermione glanced over at the alarm clock on Parvati's nightstand. Shit. It was already quarter past nine. She stuffed the note in her skirt pocket and ran down the girls' dormitory steps two stairs at a time.

"Acid Pops," she stated clearly as she approached the gargoyle.

She ascended the spiraling staircase, skipping every other step despite the lack of necessity in doing so. When she reached the top, she pushed open the door to Dumbledore's office and entered quickly, her apology already forming itself on the tip of her tongue. Hermione never got the chance to utter it. She and the Headmaster were not alone.

"I mean it, Albus! I will not..." Snape stopped mid-sentence, his head whipping around sharply to Hermione.

"Don't you knock?" Snape said sorely, glaring at her and crossing his arms over his chest irritably.

She halted her steps, mortified that she had just intruded on a private meeting between her professor and the Headmaster. Snape seemed livid, and it did not appear as if it had anything to do with her unannounced entry into the conversation.

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore cut in politely. "Miss Granger is here by my invitation." He turned a kind eye to Hermione. "Fashionably late, Miss Granger?"

"I'm so sorry, sirs," Hermione answered immediately, shaking her head in apology. "I didn't mean to..."

"Apologies are not necessary, Miss Granger. Your entry is quite well-timed. Professor Snape was just leaving."

Snape's eyes snapped from Hermione's to Dumbledore's, his eyes narrowed in anger at the elder man. She wondered if they had been discussing their tutoring sessions. Perhaps Snape didn't want to continue spending his free time furthering her education. She shook her head. She was probably just being paranoid.

"We will continue this discussion at a later time, Severus," Dumbledore said, leaving no room for argument. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..."

Snape uncrossed his arms and did an about-face toward the door, his robes whipping wildly around him. As he exited the entryway to Dumbledore's office, she couldn't help but wonder if he charmed them to billow like that...

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, waving a hand at the seat opposite him.

She turned her head back to face the Headmaster and complied, settling in the same chair in which she had sat during their last meeting.

"Now," Dumbledore proceeded, holding out his signature bowl of lemon drops to Hermione, which she waved off politely. "Professor Snape tells me you had your first lesson last night. How did it go?" The elder man rested his elbows on his desk and folded his hands under his chin in a pyramid shape, awaiting her answer with a smile.

"Very well, sir. I've managed to learn a lot even in our first session," she answered truthfully.

"Excellent, excellent," the Headmaster answered, reclining back in his seat.

Hermione paused, wondering whether or not she should ask the question that had been on her mind since entering the room. Resignedly, she decided she had to know.

"Sir, if Professor Snape doesn't want to...that is, if the situation of our sessions is inconveniencing him in any way, I would be more than willing to end them," she said nervously, hoping that the portrait of Arthur Shiverbalm wasn't monitoring their conversation. What she really didn't need right now was a comment from a two-dimensional figure regarding her lack of tact.

Dumbledore eyed her intensely, his eyes, as always, seeming to take in more than they gave away.

"Do you wish to end your arrangement with Professor Snape?" he asked seriously.

"No," she nearly shouted, causing several of the dozing portraits to glare at her, then roll over crossly and go back to sleep. "I just don't want to force him into doing anything that he doesn't want to."

Dumbledore's eyes were boring into hers again, and it was all Hermione could do not to look away under his scrutinizing gaze. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair once again. He removed his glasses and began to massage the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"No, Miss Granger, no one, least of all myself, wishes to see that happen."

He replaced his spectacles on his face and turned to her again, sporting a wan smile. "As it were, I happen to know that Severus does not mind tutoring you. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. He has informed me that it is a relief to teach a student who actually wishes to be taught."

Hermione beamed at the comment, reaching out for a lemon drop. She was halfway to the bowl before she remembered that she detested the syrupy sweets.

"I would like to ask you not to repeat that to Professor Snape, if you wouldn't mind. I assume an explanation for that request is not necessary?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, knowing full well that Snape would never willingly admit that he liked any aspect of his job.

"I'm sorry to cut our meeting so short, Miss Granger, but it is getting rather late, and I am not as young as I used to be..."

Hermione smiled her acknowledgement. "I'm sorry for being so late. I only just got your note."

Dumbledore rose from his desk, walking toward the door. "Quite all right, my dear. Would you mind doing me one small favor?" His caterpillar eyebrows rose up his forehead.

"Of course, sir," she answered immediately.

Dumbledore waved his wand toward his desk, and a small, rolled piece of parchment, much like the one she had received that evening, flew off of it and into his hand. He handed the note to Hermione and proceeded to open the door for her.

"Would you mind giving that to Harry for me, please?" he said kindly.

She nodded, shoving the note in her pocket.

"Thank you, my dear. Goodnight," Dumbledore said, clearly attempting to stifle a yawn.

"Goodnight, Professor."

Hermione began a slow trek to her room, checking the hallways of the castle in her wake. After a quick stop at the library to check out 1001 Cures for Common Skin Ailments and Clearly You Should Read Me, she was on her way back to her dorm room. Though the Headmaster had eased her fears about Snape's interest in their tutoring project, she still had quite a bit to think on.

Her instructor had been to the point of fuming when she had walked into the room, consequently interrupting the men's conversation. She wondered what had pushed the professor over his ever-dwindling boiling point.

"Dilligrout," she said for the umpteenth time that day as she entered the portrait hole. She looked around the common room, searching for Crookshanks. Unable to spot him, she made her way up the dormitory steps, stopping briefly at Ginny's open door. Either Ginny was having an incredibly bad hair day, or that reddish fluff ball on top of her head was Hermione's feline familiar.

"Traitor," she whispered, shaking her head.

As she tucked herself into bed, she wondered if making herself up the next morning would even be worth the effort. After all of her primping that past morning, she had only been noticed as anything more than alive by one...possibly two members of the opposite sex. She rolled her eyes in the darkness. There was no point in thinking about it this late at night. She would simply decide in the morning. She pulled out the books that she had just checked out from the library. After a few moments of comfort-seeking and a whispered "Lumos," she was well on her way to reading herself to sleep.

***

The remainder of the week brought much progress on the dating front. Though she had not been asked out by anyone as of the following Wednesday, she had in fact been noticed by many sixth-year and even some seventh-year boys. Men, she chastised herself. They were of age, they were (presumably) sexually active, and so they were men, not boys.

She couldn't quite convince herself of the argument.

She had taken to once again wearing her regular school skirt, but she kept the tighter shirt as a component in her ensemble. The lines of the smaller blouse were flattering, and it tended to bunch a bit less than the ones she had bought that past summer from Madam Malkin's.

The only snag in her plans had been Saturday night. She had attended Professor Slughorn's Slug Club meeting as planned, but Cormac had not been enamored with Ginny as Hermione had hoped. He spent most of the night following Hermione around like a lost puppy dog. Not that Ginny minded, as it were. She took to giving Hermione amused looks whenever Cormac's head was turned. Twit.

Wednesday evening brought a much-anticipated Potions lesson to Hermione. She made her way down to the dungeons and rapped lightly on Snape's office door. To her surprise, the door swung open of its own accord.

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione called to Snape, who was seated, as before, behind his desk.

She had been more prompt with her arrival this week, and the clock struck eight at the exact moment she finished her greeting.

Snape tucked his papers away in one of his desk drawers and walked briskly into his Potions lab, sans greeting. Familiar with the drill after the previous week, Hermione followed him, her equipment in tow, heading straight for the far end of the room.

"The third table again, yes," Snape said, motioning with his neck toward the same table she had used the week before. "I wish you to brew the Draught of Living Death again, yes, Miss Granger," he added when she opened her mouth to speak, "without directions. Now," he motioned to a notebook he had laid out on the table for her, "I want you to document your process. Show your work...all of it."

Hermione nodded, extracting her materials and arranging her ingredients in silence. She brewed the potion just the same as she had the week before, this time pausing when she reached the halfway point. She noted the potion's appropriate blackcurrant colour in her notebook and raised her head to find Snape.

She nearly jumped when she saw him sitting lightly on the first table, feet barely touching the floor, watching her with an amused look on her face.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but had forgotten the question that she had intended to ask. After a few seconds' thought, she put down her quill and smoothed out her robes lightly, looking down at her notebook and pointing to her notes with her index finger.

"Sir, the potion calls for the sopophorous bean next, but isn't this where I should add the bubotuber pus?"

Snape's eyebrow nearly receded into his hairline, and he stood to his full height and uncrossed his arms, staring at her with a shocked look on his face.

He looked at her intensely, studying her. "Why would you add bubotuber pus to a recipe for Draught of Living Death?"

It was all Hermione could do to keep herself from grinning ear to ear. He was trying to intimidate her, but it wouldn't work. She knew she was right...she had looked it up herself in the library earlier that day.

"Because, sir," she proceeded confidently, "it will keep the colour clear after bottling, thus extending its shelf life."

He continued to play his little game, looking at her as if she were a dim pixie attempting a geometry equation. "You do realize that bubotuber pus is used to treat acne, not as a restorative?" he stated incredulously.

Her smile grew. "Exactly, sir. The pus of a bubotuber, as discovered by Sacharissa Tugwood in the nineteenth century, not only reduces the size of the pimple, but also the redness. In fact, it dilutes the colour completely." His frown finally eased, and she let her smile grow marginally. "Personally," she continued, "I would just use Visene, but seeing as I don't have any with me here at school..."

Now he really was looking at her as if she had three heads.

"Umm... a Muggle remedy for red eyes, sir."

"Of course," he said, though he still looked a bit confused by the term. "Where did you read about bubotuber pus being used as a colour vanishing alternative?"

"I didn't," she said, shrugging her shoulders and unstopping her vial of bubotuber pus. "I knew that I had to find a way to turn the potion clear. Not an easy task, by the way," she added, measuring a few drops of her newest ingredient with her Potions scale. "So I checked out a couple of books from the library. The properties of bubotuber pus were in 1001 Cures for Common Skin Ailments. I read Potions of the South Pacific. It was interesting, but not as informative as the first. The ingredient they suggested was far too volatile for my tastes. I also checked out Clearly You Should Read Me, but the title was quite misleading. I have no idea what it was doing in the Potions section."

Brow furrowed, she sucked the pus into a dropper, placed it aside and began her stirs, afterwards wiping down her ladle and placing it gently on the table next to her cauldron. When she finally looked up, Snape was still watching her peculiarly. To be honest, it was making her a bit uncomfortable.

"What?" she said rather rudely, immediately regretting her lapse in thought when Snape's eyes narrowed in her direction.

"Tongue, Miss Granger," was all he said before stepping away from his table and joining her across the room.

She looked up at him as he took his place beside her, waiting for his approval before continuing with her experimentation.

"Show me," he said, nodding toward the cauldron.

She flashed him a brilliant smile and picked up the dropper, squeezing the pus gently into the potion and allowing it to dissolve of its own accord.

"Now, the final stirs..." she said softly, mostly to herself. When she had finished stirring, the potion turned clear, as it had the week before. Snape removed an empty jar from Hermione's Potions kit and used a clean dropper to move some of the final product into it. Hermione held her breath as he capped the container, willing it to stay clear.

Sixty seconds later, Hermione was out of breath, and the potion was still clear. Snape nodded and placed the sealed jar on the table next to the cauldron.

"Very good," Snape said unemotionally.

Hermione thought her jaw was going to have a bruise on it from hitting the floor. Snape...Professor Severus Snape, Black Bat of the Dungeons...had just paid her a compliment.

"We are going to move on to something a bit more difficult next week," Snape said, moving away from the table. "You'll want to bring your dragon skin gloves."

Hermione nodded and began packing up her belongings. By the time she had finished, Snape had silently retreated to his office.

"Next Wednesday, eight o'clock?" she asked, pausing at the door to the hallway.

"Yes," he said absently, scribbling something on another lengthy piece of parchment.

She exited through the door, halting suddenly when he called to her.

"Dragon skin gloves," he shouted through the open door. She nodded, though he couldn't possibly have seen from his angle, and continued on her way back to her dorm. All in all, she couldn't have imagined a better lesson.

***

The week crept by uneventfully. She had successfully managed to avoid Ron at meals by arriving early for breakfast and late for lunch and dinner. The downside to that arrangement was that almost no one arrived for breakfast before seven o'clock, and she subsequently found herself eating alone with Neville Longbottom and Cormac McLaggen...not the ideal start to her mornings, but she found them to be the lesser of two evils.

Her Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons had begun to intensify in nature. She was now able to perform nonverbal spells without conscious thought, and Snape had started pairing her with Pansy Parkinson to allow them to advance while the rest of the class caught up. Neville, unsurprisingly, was the worst in the class at nonverbal spell work. If she were honest with herself, she really thought that his lack of ability was holding the rest of the class back. Pity, as she found him to be such a kind and gentle person. His daily tongue-lashings, courtesy of Snape, were costing Gryffindor some serious points...the result of which was Neville's increasing isolation from his peers. Gryffindor generosity aside, none of them took kindly to losing points due to Neville's lack of concentration in Snape's presence.

Hermione most likely would have offered to tutor Neville on the subject, if it weren't for her already crowded schedule, one that included some very important extracurricular lessons with said Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

She made her way down to the Dungeons at quarter to eight, pausing briefly to check each classroom along the way. A light was coming from the room at the bottom of the dungeons stairs, six doors prior to the entrance of Snape's office. Hermione paused, listening for the sound of a pupil in a tutoring session with a professor. She heard nothing. The glow emitting from the partially open door was not strong enough to have been coming from a torch, and so she assumed someone was finding their way by wand light.

Approaching the area slowly, she paused on the outskirts of the threshold, listening intensely. Again, silence. Pushing open the door with a slow and steady hand, she dipped her head into the aperture.

Before she could sense anything amiss, a wand was at her throat. A muffled squeak escaped her lips, and she felt a callused hand cover her mouth and a second rip her into the room in a half-circle.

"I suppose that officially designates Miss Parkinson as the star pupil of your class."

Hermione sighed in relief. For once, the sound of Snape's voice sneaking up behind her was a welcome occurrence. He released her, silently calling to life the torches in the room.

"I thought there was a student in here unauthorized! You scared me," she said, her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage.

"And I believed an intruder was attempting to break into my private quarters," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. "You are early."

She glanced around the room, noting that it was quite unremarkable aside from some antique shackles and cages that must have dated back to the sixteenth century, at least.

"Not this room," Snape snorted. "Through there," he said, pointing at a wooden door on the far side of the den. "This is Dungeon Number Five."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, taking another glance around the room. "I've read about this room in Hogwarts, a History."

"How surprising," Snape said, rolling his eyes. She shot him a withering glare.

"They used to torture students in here during Merlin's time. It's rather unsettling," she finished, eyeing the shackles warily.

"Precisely," Snape answered.

He turned to the door, holding it open. Hermione continued to stare at the shackles on the wall, her eyes traveling up to the thumb-cuffs hanging low from the ceiling. "Spooky..." she said softly.

"I haven't got all night," he snapped irritably.

His harsh tone startled her from her reverie, and she quickly followed him out of the chilling den.

"Take out your equipment," he said, sweeping into the usual laboratory through his office. "I presume you have remembered your dragon skin gloves?"

"Yes, sir," she said, digging them out of her school bag and waving them once in the air.

"Very well. Instructions are on the board."

She glanced up at the mobile chalkboard that stood in front of a row of shelved books, studying the directions quickly. She had the right idea, and it was a good thing because as soon as she bent to pick up her Potions kit, he waved his wand toward the directions, and they instantly disappeared.

He looked up at her, signature smirk in place. "You may begin."

The Awakening Solution was a particularly tricky potion, but not something beyond Hermione's capabilities. One of the Everlasting Elixirs, the potion caused its drinker to awaken instantly from any state of rest, no matter how deep a sleep the person may be in. Its most common use was to rouse injured victims from comas.

The process was a detailed one and would take her just under two hours to complete. She uncapped her wartcap powder, used a quick, "Aguamenti," to fill her cauldron with a water base, and lit a fire beneath the metal tub.

Snape had taken to standing behind her again, though she found it less unsettling now that she had been expecting it. She handled her ingredients carefully, measuring all her doses twice before adding them to the concoction.

Approximately one hour into her brewing, a streak of orange fire caught her eye from the doorway to the laboratory. She smiled. She'd always loved Fawkes...he was such a beautiful bird...

Snape made for the entryway, buying Fawkes off with an owl treat that he miraculously produced from an inner pocket of his robe. He extracted a small scroll from the phoenix's talons and proceeded to read the note over carefully as soon as the phoenix had left, his eyes narrowing as he neared the end of it.

"Bloody ridiculous," he bit out softly, walking back into his office, his eyes never leaving the note.

Hermione returned to her potion, determined to finish it before the end of the evening. There were a few minor ingredients to add before the next major one, but the latter needed to be cut first, as it would have to be added quickly after the others. The potion required aconite...freshly cut. She had never worked with aconite in its natural form before, but she knew it to be quite sensitive during cutting. One false move would ruin the plant for good, and she didn't have a spare stick with her should she waste the first. After putting on her dragon skin gloves...the plant burned horribly if touched by bare skin...she grabbed her silver dagger from her bag, placing it on the table. She carefully studied the anatomy of the volatile plant before attempting to dissect it for her own purposes.

Seven perpendicular cuts, the instructions had read. She unraveled the plant from its plastic covering, allowing it to roll gracefully onto the cutting board

She worked slowly, meticulously, until at last she had finished.

Seven perfect slices, she thought to herself happily.

She placed the aconite strands on the table by her ladle before removing her gloves, afterwards proceeding to add the essence of clove and fluxweed to her brew. She began stirring carefully, counting the clockwise stirs before switching directions. A few more turns and she could add the bicorn parts...

"Do not rush your stirring."

The unexpected voice from behind made her jump, and she almost spilled the contents of her cauldron all over the table. She stumbled, the chunky heel of one of her shoes turning on its side, causing her foot to bend beneath her ankle. She grabbed blindly at the air around her, one hand forming a fist around the front of Snape's robes, the other landing flatly on the table.

An instant, burning pain shot through her unbent hand, eliciting a strangled scream from her throat. Snape's eyes widened, his brows furrowed downward, searching for the source of her discomfort.

When he saw the tips of the aconite slices sticking out from under her flattened palm, he scooped her up immediately, one hand holding her under her bent knees, the other wrapped around her back, positioning her forward against his chest.

The pain was excruciating. She was at the point of passing out by the time he got her to a sink. He had carried her into the open storage cupboard, through the locked door at the back of it, and into a new and unfamiliar room lined with sinks, tubs, showers and unlabeled potions.

He placed her gently on a rackety cot in the center of the room, grabbing her arm roughly at the elbow and examining the inside of her hand closely.

"Keep it open," he said as he turned away from her and made his way toward a tall shelf of bottles and jars. As if drawn to it like a magnet, he found the intended solution immediately, quickly whipped around and made his way back to the cot.

"It burns!" she shouted at him. "You have to put water on it."

"No water. It will take longer to heal and leave a scar," he said quickly as he unscrewed the lid to the jar he had just grabbed. The purple paste smelled like rotten eggs, and Hermione scrunched her nose up in disapproval.

"What is it?" she asked as he scooped a huge dollop of the solution onto his bare fingers.

"Burn-healing paste."

"Burn-healing paste is orange," she said immediately.

"It's my own adaptation now stop-moving-and-shut-up!" he answered in one quick breath.

She did as he instructed, cringing at the initial feeling of the paste making contact with her skin. He massaged the balm into her hand, his eyes glued to the process.

Moments later the pain had subsided, and she found herself unable to look away from his face while he massaged her palm. He was transfixed with her injury and she with him. She had seen him brew a couple of times, and he had always been the same way when he worked...a picture of perfect concentration. She watched his face as his eyes narrowed and widened, tracking the wound to make sure it was healing properly. His brow was furrowed the entire time, and she found herself counting the tiny lines on his forehead, wondering how someone so young could possess the age wrinkles of someone who had lived a long and full existence.

Eventually he stopped rubbing, pulled himself upright and looked at her intensely.

"Well?" he asked seriously.

She had no idea what had changed, but suddenly the sound of his voice nearly took her breath away. She could barely find it within her abilities to look at her hand, smile and nod.

"Idiot!" he shouted suddenly, wrenching her painfully back into reality. "I told you to wear gloves!"

He moved across the room to one of the open sinks and washed his hands, rubbing them together harshly in presumable frustration. She watched in silence, unsure of how to answer him when he was teetering on the edge between irritated and furious. When he had finished, he grabbed the towel off the edge of the sink and turned to face her, drying his hands roughly.

"Well?" he snapped.

"I did wear gloves," she said anxiously, suddenly finding herself capable of human speech. "I had taken them off to add the fluxweed and..."

"You should never even look at aconite unless your hands are adequately protected!" he interrupted loudly, his voice echoing off of the high-rise ceiling.

"You startled me..."

"Shit happens!" he interrupted again, his choice of words shocking her into silence.

She sat with her head hung low, eyes fixed on her own dangling feet. She could feel the tears threatening to spill over her lids and fought furiously against them. Now was not the time to show immaturity. Her lessons could very well be on the line. Hell, I've probably already lost them..., she thought regretfully.

The subsequent silence was deafening, and it seemed to draw out over several long, excruciating minutes. The lapse in conversation gave her the time she needed to ward off her tears, and once her eyes were suitably dry, she lifted her head bravely to face him.

He was staring at her...he had probably been doing so the entire time. She wondered what the meaning was behind it.

He made his way over to her and stopped just within reaching distance, the towel still held limply in his left fist.

"Hold out your hand," he said quietly, and she complied, lifting and positioning her hand palm-up.

He didn't touch it, but examined it closely, bending so far forward that she was sure he would have a purple smudge on his nose by the time he rose back up.

"It will be fine," he said, moving back over to the sink and tossing the towel in the wooden hamper next to it.

He turned around and studied her again, and this time she held his gaze as he did so. Several seconds passed, and he eventually broke the silence.

"At what stage were you in your potion?"

As if of its own accord, the answer leapt from her lips. "I had just added the fluxweed and was about to complete my stirs before adding the aconite." She glanced quickly at her hand and back again.

"What were your counts?" he asked, his face unrevealing.

"Sixteen clockwise, seven anticlockwise, and two additional of each that I didn't get the chance to complete," she replied robotically.

He was silent for a moment and looked as if he were calculating something in his mind.

"How did you know in which order to conduct your stirs?" he asked, leaning back against the sink.

The relaxation in his stance eased her tension, and she found her own demeanor a bit more reposed as she answered him. "You wrote it on the board, sir."

"Yes-yes─" he said, rolling his wrist impatiently. "How did you remember it?"

She smiled. "I remember everything, sir. I have eidetic memory."

He looked at her curiously for several seconds, his mouth not quite a frown, not quite a smile. Eventually, he crossed his arms over his chest and smirked.

"Of course you do," he replied, looking as if he had just found the final piece of a puzzle he had been trying to solve his entire life.

Another pause and he continued, "What would you have done next, seeing as the potion is now ruined?"

She suppressed a smile. "The seven strands of aconite were the next ingredient. They must be left to simmer, unstirred, for twenty-five minutes. Then, sixteen clockwise and anticlockwise stirs, alternating equally between each, and then an infusion of bundimun secretion to rid the final product of any unnecessary residual ingredients."

"Bundimun secretion was not on the board," he replied, his features unchanging.

"I know," she answered, shrugging her shoulders.

He proceeded to turn around and wash the sink out in silence, drying his hands on a new towel and tossing that one carelessly into the hamper as he did with the first.

"Come," he ordered, craning his neck toward the door. She followed him out through the storage room and back into the laboratory and proceeded to, unbidden, clean her work station. Snape watched her in silence, his demeanor unrevealing.

When she had finished cleaning and packing up, she strode to the door of the laboratory and held back, glancing up at him. He was still in his former position at the first table, leaning lightly against it with his backside, arms crossed in a relaxed fashion across his midsection.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, referring to his earlier assistance.

He nodded stiffly, extracting his hand from beneath his arm and holding out a small vial of blue liquid. "This," he said, "is a proper vat of Awakening Solution. Study it."

She took the bottle gently from him, placing it carefully in her robe pocket.

"Does this mean I am to return on Wednesday, Professor?" she asked cautiously.

"No," he replied firmly, and her face instantly fell.

"Be here on Tuesday night at eight o'clock," he added authoritatively. "The next potion must be brewed in two parts, and they must be done consecutively. You will need to return on Wednesday as well."

She smiled brightly, a colossal weight lifting from her shoulders. "Thank you, sir."

"Miss Granger," he called when she was halfway across his office.

She shuffled back to the door, holding on to the frame with her uninjured hand and peering back into the room.

"Bring...your...gloves," he said, arching a brow.

She smiled at him before turning and leaving the room.