2. Challenge

A/N: So sorry this is a day late. I was socialising and gossiping with a girlfriend, and you know how important that is, right?

2. The Challenge

'Honest differences are often a healthy sign of progress ~ Mahatma Ghandi'

Hermione was pacing. She was really trying not to, but every time she tried to sit, her leg started to jiggle. Pacing was preferable to jiggling, but even that was annoying her no end.

It was all Snape's fault, of course. Perhaps if he had been more reasonable towards her in the past, or even showed her the same respect he paid to his other colleagues, she wouldn't have been suspicious, but given his recent record, Hermione could only surmise he had an ulterior motive for agreeing to Minerva's request, and she would have to stay on her mettle around him.

She glanced at her watch and jumped at the sharp knock on the door. Bugger Snape and his anal timekeeping. She smoothed her hair away from her face and took a deep breath before opening the outer door to her office. It was made all the more awkward when she suddenly remembered that during the war years this had been his office. His robes billowed in contempt as he strode in past her and sat in the chair before her desk, telling her clearly that he hadn't forgotten this, either. Hermione slowly let the breath go, and turned to Snape with false calm.

'Come in, Professor Snape, make yourself comfortable.' She didn't bother to glance at him as she made her way to her desk, but when she finally sat and looked up at him, his face was a pale mask. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, and crossed his arms. What went on behind the façade she would never know, but it was clear he didn't want to be here any more than she wanted him to be.

'I know you don't really want to help me, Professor, so why don't we make this simple?' She sounded braver than she felt, and when Snape didn't respond but just continued to look at her blankly, she decided to plough on regardless. 'Rather than wasting your time, you could just let Minerva know that there is no risk attached and allow Miss Gilroy to help me.'

Snape's eyes narrowed further. 'And what would happen if a mishap did take place and Miss Gilroy was injured? Are you prepared to explain to Minerva that, in your wisdom, you chose to overlook her direct instruction and risk a student, rather than spend any amount of time with me?' he said slowly.

'That's not why I'm suggesting it!' Hermione looked at Snape in horror. 'I would be more than happy to have your help, Professor. Your knowledge and skills far surpass my own and I could only wish to gain Mastery to your high standards. However, you have made it clear from the start that you don't rate me as a teacher, or as a person. I was trying to make both of our lives a lot easier!'

Snape looked away from her, hiding his face with his dark hair, and shifted in his seat before her. Hermione smirked inwardly. She hadn't changed any of the furniture in the office, and Snape was sitting in the same chair that countless of students had endured during his infamous detentions. 'Not quite so comfortable now', she thought.

The silence grew between them, and Hermione gathered together the copies of her research, finally making a decision.

'Fine,' she said resignedly. 'You win. Here are my notes. You can read through them if you want to, I don't care either way. I intend to carry out the first run next Friday after classes.' Hermione stood and pushed her chair back, walked over to Snape and handed him the pile of parchments. She didn't look back at him as she slipped through the back door into her quarters.

***

Severus was still sitting in the uncomfortable chair five minutes after Granger had left. He hadn't even given a thought to the parchments he was holding, but was looking at the shelf behind what had once been his desk. It was actually still his desk by rights. He had found it in an old junk shop as a teenager, and his mother had bought it for him as a present. It had sat in the house in Spinner's End until he started teaching, and he had brought it with him after his mother died. It was his one tie to his life before the Dark Lord, an anchor to the old Severus Snape. He had never been happy, but back then he did at least have hope. He pondered vaguely the chances of Granger giving it back to him, but the way things were between them didn't make for cordial gift-giving. He was more likely to be hexed in the back, and he knew he probably deserved it.

His eyes drifted back up to the shelf. Instead of the jars and bottles holding nondescript specimens he had kept to put the fear of Medusa into the students, Granger had a row of photographs. They were all Muggle, the still faces smiling out from a moment captured in time. He stood to get a closer look. The first was a photograph of a child with mousey hair, caught in bunches fastened with bright pink bobbles. She had a gap in her toothy smile and was sitting beside a large, tabby cat. Given Granger's obsession with felines, he assumed it was this childhood pet that gave the image pride of place. He didn't think she would have kept the picture of her teeth, and he grimaced as he remembered his cruel comment he'd made in her 4th year. He had been particularly cruel that day, and he felt his stomach roil at the memory.

The second picture was of a couple who were obviously Granger's parents. She had inherited Mrs Granger's hair, and Severus grunted at the irony that they were both so genetically linked to their mothers. The last photograph was of an older Granger with her parents, and Severus narrowed his eyes as he took in the witch's strained smile and dark shadows beneath her eyes. She had to have been a student when it was taken, and already the toll of the war had been showing. Severus sighed to himself. So many young lives were affected, and he often chose to forget that Granger was one of them. He knew deep down that he shouldn't be so hard on her, but every time he saw her, he was reminded of everything he was trying so hard to forget. He was starting to get maudlin. With a shake, he left the office without a backward glance. If he was to read yet another essay written by Hermione Granger, he would need a comfortable seat and plenty of Firewhisky.

***

Hermione was in her quarters, marking papers and absently scratching Crookshanks between his ears as he lounged on the sofa beside her. Like her outer office, she had hardly changed anything since taking her post, and the set of rooms that came with her job were bare and functional. Horace Slughorn had never used these rooms, preferring more spacious quarters with a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. It had been one of his stipulations to Dumbledore before he agreed to return to Hogwarts that fateful year. It was ironic that Snape now had Slughorn's old rooms, because although she could have moved the furniture around, or exchanged the battered leather chair by the fireplace for a newer one, for some reason it reassured Hermione to know this was how Snape had lived during his own tenure.

The fire in the grate was the only sound as it cracked and spat out the occasional burning cinder, and the peace and quiet would usually have relaxed Hermione and given her space to think, but not this night. Her head was full of her project and the probability that she would have to run the trials with Professor Snape. It had the potential for disaster written all over it. She wondered how far he had got through her research, because she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to resist but to read it straight away. With a sigh, Hermione gave Crookshanks one final rub of an ear and put the pile of marking on the table beside her. Stretching, she stood and walked over to the small desk she had purloined from the Room of Hidden Things. It was dark mahogany, sturdy and plain with a lockable drawer to the front. It was the only bit of furniture she had added, but it was small and discreet enough not to raise any questions should she have guests. Her life's work was locked in the desk. Her Mastery project, along with other research she had started but not given further time to, and the contract from the Ministry Auror Office that she hadn't signed yet. Hermione shuddered slightly as she began to dismantle the wards on the desk and thought ruefully that she probably should be less suspicious. The problem was that since the end of the war, Hermione had become less the brave Gryffindor hero, and more a timid lion cub. She had tried to curb it, but even the sight of a student withdrawing their wand made her flinch and cold shivers run down her spine. The desk unlocked with a gentle click. She ignored everything but her Mastery research, pulling the file from the desk and locking and warding it again securely. Clutching her research to her chest, she waved her wand to extinguish the fire and the candles in the wall sconces, and retired to the bedroom to reread her work yet again.

***

Severus Snape put down his empty glass and pulled his glasses from his face. He ran a hand through his long, black hair and frowned down at the page before him. He was never in doubt that Hermione Granger was an extraordinarily intelligent witch, but this research had totally blown him away. He was mightily impressed and more than a bit frustrated. Teaching Potions at Hogwarts was no place for a mind like hers.

He shuffled through the parchment and read through her list of ingredients again. At first glance it could be passed off as simply Polyjuice, something the witch could probably brew in her sleep. But the addition of pine needles to extend the efficacy was inspired. Tests would need to be carried out to ensure the time span, but the possibilities were endless. Add in the Transfiguration and Personality charms, and Hermione Granger could well have invented something that could be used as an effective tool in the right hands. Snape groaned as he realised the enormity of the project he was holding, and his hand started to tremble. This was the kind of secret weapon the Dark Lord could have only dreamed of, and the thought of it falling into the wrong hands made Snape feel weak.

He whistled softly, and a small Screech Owl fluttered to him from the perch in the corner. He scrawled a hasty note, rolled it tightly and hooked it onto the owl's leg.

'Thank You, Rufus. As quick as you can, please,' he murmured. He watched as the owl flew through the part open window, and hoped he was worrying needlessly.