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H.J. Granger, Southwark, London.

That said, let us now turn our attention to the monkey. The following essay contains an exact and detailed analysis on how exactly the monkey benefits and grows from its experience in being trained to play the violin.

Hermione hurriedly turned to the next page, but found it blank, as were the following four pages of parchment. That exasperating man hadn't even bothered to append his valediction. It was completely unsigned. He'd spent the money to mail her blank paper rather than save himself an extra charge and just write, 'Nothing.' He truly was a wicked man and a brilliant teacher.

"Who are all these letters from?" her mother asked across the breakfast table, "friends from school?"

"Not hardly. Professor Snape sent me the answer to a conundrum."

"Your teacher took the time from his holiday to write to you? That is either very diligent, or highly unorthodox. I'm not sure what to think."

"I think both descriptions fit him. I wrote to him first, actually. I am not doing well in his class, no matter how hard I apply myself. I finally asked him what I was doing wrong."

"Oh, I see. So he took the time to explain?"

"Not exactly, no. Instead of answering my question, he asked me a riddle. This is the answer to the riddle, not my question."

"How strange."

"He's a very strange man, but I have the utmost respect for him when he is not making me tear at my hair."

Her mother gave her a long stare.

"I envy you, you know. I think your father might as well. I cannot tell you how much we enjoy your letters home. We both wish we were young again so we could go to this school with you."

Hermione grimaced, imagining her parents' reactions if they knew Hogwarts School for the Gifted were really Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"If you could start your life over, what would you do differently?" she asked her mother.

"I would be a man," her mother said with asperity. Then her face softened and her eyes lit with mischief. "Which would make your father and I a bit of a scandal, and we would have lost out on having you in our lives. No, as much as I do wish I had more of an opportunity to explore my dreams, I have no regrets when I look at the balance sheet." She smiled wistfully and then pinned her daughter with one of her looks. Since Hermione had come home, her mother had been giving her many of these same looks.

"Hermione, I want you to enjoy this school experience to the fullest. But please keep a level head. Understand that the world limits us in ways that are and always will be more difficult for our sex. It is so difficult to watch your intellect soar and know that it will be slapped down in time. Be mindful of this doom at all times. We are not allowed to achieve our dreams. There are only ever little tastes that can be cruel in the truths they show."

Her mother stood up rather abruptly and left the table to attend to her day's sewing.

Hermione got down from the carriage on legs that weren't sure they actually wanted to work. She stamped her feet a few times to get the blood circulating again and waited until her trunk was pulled off the back of a different carriage.

She grasped the handle and tapped it with her wand and in a commanding voice said, "Rota!" She ambled along the graveled drive, dragging her trunk along on its spelled-on wheels. She was thrilled to be able to use magic again. The weeks at home had been pleasant, but it had felt as if she'd been forced to leave a limb behind at school.

She passed Mr. Filch with his clipboard, gave her name, and headed into the castle. She saw her professor standing off to the side looking like he had already had more than enough of the returning students. She headed over to him, determined to turn his little jest back on him.

"Hello, Professor Snape. I'm very glad to see you again. Thank you, very much, for the gift of parchment. That was very thoughtful of you."

He looked down his nose at her as if she'd sprouted horns, but then his eyes sparked with hidden humor.

"Get out of my hallway, Miss Granger."

"Immediately, sir."

Hermione settled back into her routine of studying, doing research, keeping up with her Muggle education, so she could have something to write home about, and despairing over her Potions essays.

She sat in her chair, staring at her latest paper, as all the other first-year girls filed out of the room. Ever since she had returned to the school last January, her essays only ever contained two words in Professor Snape's hand: "Monkey Scribblings."

"Miss Granger, are you taking up permanent residence at that table, or will it be possible at all for me to leave so that I might attend lunch?"

Her head came up, and she saw her professor standing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose.

"Why do you do this to me?" she whispered around the tears trying to block her throat. "You must be aware that I asked Professor McGonagall to look over this last essay for me so she could tell me if I had done something wrong. I just don't understand. You never call on me when I know the answer. You never give me any supervision when I am working on a potion, and despite my best efforts, you continue to grade my work by some esoteric measure that you will not reveal. Why? You know how important this class is to me!"

"Lower your voice, Miss Granger." His own was low enough to slip under a door. "You do not want to use that tone with me."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"No, sir. I do not. It was merely a sign of how frustrated I am. My apologies." She stood up and gathered her book and parchment into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I made you late to lunch, sir."

He didn't respond as she left the classroom.

Severus had a blinding headache by the time he reached the Headmaster's office to attend the staff meeting. The tension in the castle had been growing worse since the new term had started, and everything centered around the object being protected by the school. Even he had to admit that every precaution had been taken, but the feeling of unease continued to grow.

"Good evening, Severus." Minerva handed him a cup of tea as they waited for the Headmaster to appear. "You look like you could use this."

"Thank you. I certainly could."

He looked around the room, and his eyes settled one more time on Quirrell, and he felt the hairs pricking on his arms. He thought it the height of stupidity that Dumbledore had included the poncy fop in his protections. None of the teachers knew how to get past the others' wards, but Quirrell's? A troll? Really? What was he thinking? Especially after the incident on Halloween. A pair of first years had taken one down. One would think that the Defense professor would have come up with a something that would actually defend against a Dark Art. He'd tried to have words with him about that, in fact, but the fool had actually fainted.

Snape still had his suspicions about him, but the Headmaster refused to hear them.

As he always did.

There was a wrongness about Quirrell, just as there was a wrongness about the boy. What was the good of keeping a Death Eater on a leash all these years if the man was going to ignore his advice and cautions once the Golden Child finally arrived? Trying to keep an eye on the Potter brat was increasingly difficult, but necessary. Whatever was going on...and Dumbledore never could be bothered explaining anything in a complete manner...Snape knew it centered around the willful little glory-seeker. It was almost as if the Headmaster only went through the motions of seeing to the boy's safety, while secretly encouraging his worst traits.

"While we are waiting on Albus's leisure, I was wondering if I could speak to you about a student," Minerva murmured.

"Of course."

"It's Miss Granger."

"Oh? What about her?"

"Why are you grading her so harshly?"

"Why do I ever grade harshly?"

"Severus, I hardly think Miss Granger needs to be encouraged to work harder. In fact, I worry about her constitution."

"Why? Has she been ill?"

"Have you even taken a look at the girl lately? She's at her end. And it's because of you. What on earth are you on about with this 'monkey scribbling' nonsense?"

He sighed and pinched his brow. "Minerva, I have my reasons."

"I know you do. But I just want you to take another look at the child. She's under too much strain. She has no leisure activities, no social life, nothing but her studies. It's not natural."

"Surely you are overstating the case. "

"Take a look at her, Severus. She is quite possibly the brightest student in her entire year. She is also a socially awkward student with no friends who compensates by throwing herself into her studies in a competitive manner that is unhealthy. She is developing a fixation on proving herself better than those who demean her. Think about that, Severus. And think about who else you know that was like that as a child. How well did things turn out for that person?"

Severus turned his head to stare at her so fast that he had to shake his hair back out of his face.

"How dare you..." He was so full of fury that he couldn't even catch his breath to finish the sentence. He jumped up from his seat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. That's when he realized he'd been set up. Oh, not by everyone, but certainly by the usual clique, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall and Vector. They had obviously been talking about this student for a while and labeled him as the problem. As ever. Always. To hell with them. He set his teacup on the table and stormed out of the office.

To hell with Dumbledore as well.

Severus sat at his desk slashing red ink all over the miserable pile of parchments before him, stopping only for the occasional sip of wine. He finished the last stack and then pulled out his grade book and opened it up. Tapping his wand on the stack of essays, he then tapped it on the book and sat back, scrubbing his hand down his face. He drained the last of his glass and, with a flick, cleaned it and returned it to the shelf. He stood up, gathered his robes around him and lifted the book to see if there were any irregularities before putting it away. Upon occasion he had been known to get the spell wrong when tired.

He blinked as he looked at the page. Setting the book down again, he snatched up the pile of essays and began flipping through them. He repeated the procedure and then looked about his desk and on the floor. He stepped back and pulled his wand out again.

"Accio Granger's essay!"

Nothing.

It wasn't here.

She hadn't turned one in.

His head came up, and he looked beyond his office door at his classroom, as if he could see her sitting at her seat. His brows snapped down in anger and his face filled with fury. So. This was his payback for caring.

He snapped his ledger closed and put it away before setting out on his nightly rounds. Woe betide any student caught out after curfew tonight.

Severus's eyes never stopped moving as he watched his students' hands, waiting for one to make a mistake. His years of practice made him able to prevent the worst disaster, even while his mind was a thousand miles away. Today, all he could think about was the creature reported to be drinking Unicorn blood in the forest. The mind recoiled from the thought. It had to be some sort of creature. What madness would force a man to such lengths? He'd questioned Draco on the matter after his disastrous detention, but as usual, the boy was useless.

He came back to himself just as he saw Padma Patil about to add the wrong amount of liverwort to her cauldron. "Planning on giving someone a nosebleed, Miss Patil? Five points from Ravenclaw for not obeying instructions."

He looked about at the shocked faces in the room, scowling. Ravenclaw rarely lost points. They rarely earned them either. Not that they cared, they never pulled their heads out of their books long enough to notice. Which reminded him...

He'd been so busy thinking about the ramifications of having such a monstrous creature so close to the school he had quite forgotten Miss Granger. He walked over to the table she shared with Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff of the highest order.

As always, her hands moved with precision and her potion looked to be perfect. He loomed over the table, waiting to be noticed, but she was completely absorbed in her work. Miss Jones had nearly shaken herself apart before Miss Granger took note of her classmate's plight and looked to see what the issue was. When she saw him, her eyes widened with curiosity and... sadness.

"Miss Granger, where is your essay from last week?"

"I didn't write one, sir."

"And the purpose of this willful disregard of your responsibility?"

"I hardly saw the purpose of writing it, sir. I could put in several hours on it and get a failing grade, or I could put in several hours on my other courses and get the same failing grade. Sir. Surely, even you can see the logic."

The class went silent at this casual insult, and she looked around as if wondering why they had taken exception.

"If there is no purpose in doing your assignments, then there is hardly a purpose for doing classwork, either." He pulled out his wand and Vanished her potion. "You are dismissed, Miss Granger. I expect to see you at eight o'clock tonight for detention."

He'd anticipated shock, or indignity, even tears, or offended sensibilities. What he hadn't anticipated was resignation and... disappointment. She was disappointed in him.

He spun away from her and headed back to the front of the room as she packed up her things and left the class.

He spent the dinner hour pushing a carrot from one end of his plate to the other, finally looking at Hermione Granger and seeing what the other teachers had been seeing all along.

When he had seen enough, he left the table in a hurry.

He was pacing the floor of his classroom when she finally arrived. He pulled out his watch and checked, only to see she was precisely on time.

"Miss Granger, leave your satchel there and sit here." He pointed to the table in front of his desk. Fresh parchment, ink and quill were there, along with a closed wooden box.

Once she was seated, she folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him. He took in the pinched cheeks, the pallid complexion and the sunken, bruised eyes. How long had she been like this? Damn that Potter brat for taking up all of his recent thoughts and leaving none left for any other student.

"Miss Granger, I am not a man to coddle students. I am not one to sing praises, offer flattery, or hold hands. I don't waste time supervising students that have demonstrated that they need none. I don't call on the same student over and over when I need the others to learn to think for themselves. I have a deep and abiding belief that one only truly learns when one struggles for the truth on their own. What good would it do for me to hand out a test, along with the answer sheet?"

"None, sir."

"Precisely, Miss Granger."

"However, it has come to my attention that perhaps I have judged you wrongly, and therefore, might have done you a disservice."

He watched as her eyes flared with hope. It angered him.

"I thought, perhaps, that you were exceptional. I was close to believing, as your other teachers already do, that you might actually be the brightest witch we have seen in any number of years. I perceived your only flaw as being a dependency on the words of acknowledged experts, and no understanding of how to use your own intuition. I thought you were above average."

He watched the slow horror spread across her face.

"Did I?" He placed his hand on the desk and leaned down to look in her tired, sad eyes. "Did I judge you wrongly?"

He watched as her eyes reddened and realized she was willing herself not to cry. He reveled in the moment he saw her anger spring to life. He contained his smirk when he saw her chin tilt up and her jaw clench.

"No, sir. You were not wrong."

"Then prove it. Before you is a test. Listen and follow my instructions to the letter, and you shall pass. I want you to write an essay on what is in this box. You may not open the box. Begin."

He spun away from the table and retreated to his own chair and turned his attention to his grading.

"May I ask you a question, sir?"

"You may."

"Are you making fun of me?"

His head snapped up, and he was shocked to see she was even paler and more hurt-looking than before.

"Why on earth would I lower myself to that level, Miss Granger?"

"I have no idea. You told me once that it was beneath you to hate a child, but everyone can plainly see that you hold an abiding hatred for Harry Potter. Most people suspect you of trying to kill him during the first Quidditch match of the season. I don't know what to think. I have defended you at every turn. I have entreated people to look at both sides of the issue. I have lost my chance at friendship because I held your words to my heart, above and beyond my own need. And now, I am forced to sit here and write an essay about what is in a box that I am not allowed to open! Why are you toying with me, sir!"

He had to struggle past the rage trying to cloud his mind. Always with that thrice-damned Potter. How DARE anyone think he would have tried to harm that little gobshite. He wished to hell that James Potter's spawn would fuck off back to where he'd crawled from. He took a deep breath and stood up and walked back to the table. He again placed his hands on it and leaned into her face.

"I am not toying with you. I am not having a jest at your expense. I am trying to get you over the hurdle that will keep you from realizing your full potential!" He hadn't even realized he'd started yelling until he saw her jump.

"But how on earth am I supposed to..."

"Use your head! I cannot tell you! You must figure it out for yourself, or it's meaningless!"

She took several deep breaths and then gave him a look of such imploring need he almost started screaming again until she said, "You believe I can do this thing."

He sighed. "Yes." He straightened up and went back to his chair and sat down heavily.

He watched as she picked up the quill and stared at the box as if a demon might jump out.

He silently willed her to make the leap. Gods, she had parents that loved her, he'd met them, surely they had given her presents? He'd never been given a present in his life, but even he knew the first thing you did was shake the bloody thing. Perhaps she'd never been allowed to. Perhaps the wall she needed to break through had been too firmly cemented into place by the strange in-between status of her culture. Her place in society. Not low enough to be free of the strictures, as he'd been, not high enough to receive any of the benefits that would have compensated for the lack. Perhaps her ilk was simply paralyzed into an inability to think for themselves, always relying on others they respected to do it for them. It was utterly foreign to him. But she hadn't grown up with the absolute lack of trust he had. She still believed there were people out there that would tell her the truth. Snape knew there weren't.

He was still staring at her when her head came up and her eyes widened.

"I cannot open the box."

"No."

Her eyes took on a spark that had been missing for weeks and he hadn't noticed. "But I'm allowed to touch the box, aren't I?"

He almost sagged with relief. "Yes."

The spark ignited into a fire, and she grinned in a most un-childlike, almost piratical manner. It was most disturbing, even if it was entirely welcome.

She reached out and lifted the wooden box.

He turned his mind to his grading.

He lost himself in the puerile scribblings of minds too ignorant or too disinterested in the subject matter to make a decent show of things, with the sound of shaking and thumping and the 'hrrrms' of pondering going on in the background.

He lost track of time.

A polite cough disturbed him, and he looked up to see Miss Granger standing before him, her cheeks flushed with pride and excitement.

"Yes?"

She wordlessly handed him her parchment.

He took it from her and read.

'Based on my observations and manipulations of the box, along with auditory clues, I can say with a certainty that the object in the box is smaller than nine inches in length. It is approximately an inch narrower than the interior width of the box, and it is approximately four inches thinner than the height of the box.

'It is my belief that the box contains a book.

He placed the paper down on his desk and said, "Bring me the box, Miss Granger."

When she returned to his desk, she held the box out to him, but he gestured for her to continue holding it.

"What if you are wrong, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed hard and tilted her little Gryffindor chin up. "Then I am wrong."

"Exactly," he said quietly. "But you learned from trying, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Open the box, Miss Granger. The content is yours to keep."

She placed the box on his desk and opened the latch, lifting the lid. She smiled and reached inside and pulled out a copy of A Beginner's Guide to Healing Spells.

She looked at him and beamed. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank yourself, Miss Granger. You earned it. There is knowledge in the world that you can only get by using your own mind. You ask so many questions, and yet when it comes to the texts, you question nothing. All the books in the library were written by humans, Miss Granger. Not gods. You must discern truth based on your own experience."

He picked up his quill again.

"Your detention is over. I expect your essay on my desk in two days. Your grade will reflect its tardiness."

"Yes, sir."

"You may leave."

He went back to his grading before she'd even left the room.