Chapter 5 - A Bad Day

Chapter 5

By the time the lunchtime break was finished, word had spread that the new girl was some kind of anti-social snob who did not want to mix with anyone. Hermione felt distinctly conspicuous as she walked down to the dungeons for her Potions class. With every step that she took, she was acutely aware of the stares of other students and the whispers of some dreadful wrong that she had done poor Lily Evans who had been nothing but nice to her.

Hermione gave herself some kind of cold comfort by thinking it was all for the best. She humoured herself by thinking that Dumbledore would admire her forbearance in the face of such total disdain.

Professor Slughorn's classroom was lighter than Hermione remembered it being. The answer was really quite simple; Snape had kept the high and narrow windows perpetually covered. Snape had liked it dark and dismal; Slughorn, on the other hand, did not. Professor Slughorn liked High Tea with his favourites. He liked luxuries and comfort. He liked his Potions room light and bright. The windows were bare and spotlessly clean, allowing long beams of light to stream into the room and lull the unsuspecting student into believing that it was warmer outside than it really was. Strangely, she had forgotten most of her year with Slughorn as Potions master, and deep down she feared that it could be because Harry had received so much attention in the class and she so little. It was a fear that she loathed to admit, but it had been a day for realisations, and she decided that she may as well add this to the collection.

Hermione had already decided that Potions was going to be her problem class. Professor Slughorn had known Dumbledore for a good many years, they were almost as old as each other, and Slughorn should know that Dumbledore didn't have a niece. And quite aside from that, Hermione had never particularly liked Professor Slughorn, and if he did believe the story about her being Dumbledore's niece, it could possibly be worse than if he thought the story a load of old bollocks.

When she stepped through the door, it was clear that he did not think it a load of old bollocks. The loathsome professor began to gush the moment she entered the classroom.

"Miss Granger!" Slughorn exclaimed with great joy. "I can't tell you how pleased I was when your uncle told me that you would be joining us! I am sure that you will find our little class most challenging."

Hermione suppressed a groan and wished that she were miles away.

Slughorn positively beamed at her, and then his quick eyes darted about the room. "Now where are we going to put you?"

Hermione cringed at the delight he displayed at the prospect of squeezing her in. She looked around at the surprisingly full class, and the, not so surprisingly, hostile expressions. Students aiming for Advanced Potions had been few and far between under Snape's regime, but this was not the case in Slughorn's classroom. Anyone with a vague inclination to the subject was allowed entry, and the room seemed crammed full of students wanting attention from the Potions master. She wondered if they were all his favourites or if many of them just hoped to have the privilege.

"Ahh, perfect!" he exclaimed. "There is a place available beside Severus!"

Hermione started so violently that she thought she might gag. A ripple of laughter ran through the classroom, but it was the look on Snape's face that caused Slughorn to fuss elaborately.

"Now, now, Severus, there is no need to look like that. I am sure that Miss Granger will prove to be a delightful companion."

Delightful companion or hag in a gown, Snape was obviously not going to take the prospect of sharing his desk with any kind of grace. He scowled and looked as though he might spit at her if she took another step closer.

Hermione attempted a smile and knew that it came out of a grimace. She didn't move, and in the end the professor had to physically edge her to the desk and urge her to set her cauldron up beside Snape's. Snape had other ideas however; he had already set his cauldron up in the middle of the desk and was not going to move it without being ordered to.

"Come along now, Severus. How do you expect Miss Granger to get her things set up if you don't make some effort to move your cauldron?"

Snape, who had no plans at all to be civil, flashed a look of pure venom at Hermione and then began moving his equipment with harsh, angry moves. He all but slammed his cauldron onto his side of the desk.

Hermione returned his scowl and didn't bother to thank him.

They were making a seeking potion, a complex mix that could be used to guide its owner to someone or something that they wanted to find. It was one of the few potions that was not imbibed, and when made correctly, it would resemble liquid mercury. It was also one of the most volatile potions in the school curriculum. The brewing process was a dangerous one, but once complete, it was stable and safe, and if made properly, it could last for a century or more, able to be used over and over again.

Slughorn explained that the potion would take at least three days to construct and another month for brewing and decanting. He was giving them a week to assemble the basic potion, apparently he expected mistakes to be made, something that Snape would never have allowed in his own classroom. Once he'd finished giving his instruction, he waddled over to his star pupil and leaned heavily on the work desk so that he could peer at Snape's work.

"I do wish that you wouldn't scribble all over your books, Severus," he said, shaking his head disparagingly. "It is dreadfully untidy, and who is going to hire someone who feels compelled to scrawl meaningless notes all over everything that they own?"

"No one, Professor," Snape muttered, sounding very much as though he was reciting some well read verse.

"No one is right," Slughorn continued, obviously pleased by his response. "You really are very clever, Severus, but you will never go far unless you do something to smooth out those rough edges."

Snape muttered another well practiced reply and bowed his head so that his dark, oily hair fell forward and obscured his face, but not before Hermione saw him roll his eyes.

Slughorn then slithered his way to Hermione's side of the desk and peered at the collection of ingredients that she had selected from the store cupboard. Before he could make comment, however, Hermione excused herself, pleading a need to get something else. The truth was that she didn't want to sit there while the professor waxed lyrical about her famous uncle and about how such an illustrious connection would ensure that she would be powerful as well. Hermione had no desire for invitations to afternoon teas or late suppers. She conveniently forgot that she had enjoyed them when she had first been invited to the few he had given during her sixth year; she could only think back on them with abhorrence. And aside from that abhorrence, it was quite clear who his favourite was in this room – rough edges and all.

Once Slughorn had moved on to dote on Lily, Hermione returned to the desk and began laying out her equipment and preparing her ingredients. She hadn't progressed far when she had a quick look around the room: one that gave her pause to think. Students wandered to and from the store cupboard at will while Hermione had retrieved everything at once. Snape had also ensured that he had everything he required before he began. In fact, she was uncomfortably aware that their workspaces looked remarkably similar. In Snape's future classroom, wandering about was not tolerated. Snape had a strict way of working: one that he ensured everyone who passed through his classes adhered to. It struck her suddenly that he had managed to influence more than a generation of potions makers to be highly organised in their work practises simply because he was. She felt the slightest surge of begrudging respect for him and instantly quashed it.

It also struck her that she had never seen Snape make a potion before. He had certainly made them while a professor at the school, but never in front of his students. She watched him now, and she was surprised at how quickly he worked. While others were still reading their instructions, he was already well into creating his potion. She suspected that he was no longer ignoring her, but was now so lost in a world of his own that he'd forgotten that she was there at all. He also did not follow the instructions given in their textbook. If the book said to chop and he didn't agree, he would change it with a swift stroke of his quill and then do as he thought best. He would use his fingers instead of a pestle, the heel of his hand instead of a flat-bladed knife, and at one point he even used his elbow to crush lacewing flies. It was as though he thought the very process a tactile experience, and she had to wonder what he would have thought of someone doing the same thing in his classroom. Slughorn obviously thought the practise was perfectly fine; he stopped by once more, shook his head as though astonished by the brilliance, and left Snape to his own devices.

After a while, Hermione realised that she was woefully behind with her own potion and that Slughorn had left the classroom, causing the level of chatter to rise around the room.

"Hey, it looks like Snivellus has himself a girlfriend!"

Hermione swung around and glared at the culprit sitting smugly at the back of the room. Sirius Black was sitting with a pretty blonde who giggled and stared adoringly at him. Hermione sneered and snorted with derision. She had to wonder why he never married; it certainly wasn't for lack of women falling over themselves to be with him. Then again, with such temptation available, perhaps he saw no need to tie himself to one woman. And as she thought back on it, she remembered that he would have been very young when he was sent to Azkaban, perhaps he hadn't had time to marry. She turned back to her cauldron, deciding that ignoring Sirius and his giggling friend was more constructive than allowing herself to get angry about being their object of ridicule, or to lament his eventual fate.

While the chatter swelled around her, she took the opportunity to hurry along the progress of her potion. She soon had a bubbling concoction that smelled overwhelmingly of sulphur and had turned a murky shade of green which, according to the textbook, meant the potion was entering its most volatile stage. Beside her, Snape added something to his cauldron and absently swirled his wand to stir. He read the book, and she noticed that he frowned and looked into the bubbling pot, and then he scrawled something along the border of the page.

Something flew past Hermione's ear and landed squarely in the centre of the desk. She stared at it, a rock or shell of some sort, wrapped in wet parchment. She resisted the urge to turn back and glare again, deciding that she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. She wanted desperately to scream at Sirius to not be so childish and ridiculous, but she hardened her jaw and continued with the potion. Snape, it seemed, hadn't even noticed that something had almost hit one of them.

And then another one came flying from the back of the class, hitting her cauldron in the side and causing it to rock dangerously on its stand. The murky green potion sloshed around, splashing over the side of the pot and splattering across the desk. Hermione's eyes widened as a thin stream of liquid trickled from Hermione's cauldron to the burner beneath Snape's, and as it ignited, they both took a step back from the desk.

Hermione turned back to see Sirius bite his lip.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hit yours."

As though hitting Snape's was going to be any better. She pointed her wand at the flames shooting back towards her pot and was horrified when the spell to extinguish the fire didn't work.

Her cauldron ignited, and the panicked thought of 'this is not good' raced through her head. Snape took another step back as Hermione tried again to put the fire out. She realised far too late that the cauldron was going to explode and that she had no real time to run. While she wanted to shriek, 'Dear God, I'm going to die in a Potions accident,' the classroom erupted into cries of panic and the sound of students running for the door. Hermione stood transfixed in horror as the potion began to spark and pop, and she had to wonder just why she wasn't moving. She needed to run. She needed to do something. It was as though time had stood still and she with it.

Then someone grabbed her arm and pulled her down hard to the floor, and she found herself under the desk and face to face with Severus Snape. Above them, something exploded, and they both covered their heads with their hands. Hermione hissed harshly under her breath, and she muttered half a curse on Sirius and his entire family line. She had never had a cauldron explode, she'd never expected to have a cauldron explode, and she'd certainly never expected to be cowering under a table with Severus Snape and hoping that the room wouldn't burn down with her in it.

A sharp cry alerted her to the fact that there was someone else in the room, and one look found Lily crouched beneath her own desk, waving frantically to get their attention.

Snape moved around Hermione and stared back at Lily and then to the door.

"What do we do now?" Lily called.

"Crawl," he called back and gestured to the door.

It seemed logical, but above them, the heat had caused almost every other cauldron in the classroom to burst into flame, and molten hot potion was dripping from the desks and the walls. Lily was not looking entirely thrilled at the prospect of trying to crawl though it all, and she shrank back under the bench.

"If we don't crawl," Snape told her, "there won't be much left of us to find."

"Professor Slughorn will be back soon," Lily cried desperately.

"It's Double Potions, Lily."

When she didn't move, Snape swore softly and pulled his hood over his head. Then to Hermione's astonishment, he began to crawl over to Lily. So not only did he not want to sit next to her but he was also quite happy to leave her behind in a burning classroom!

Then he stopped, turned his hooded head back to her and rolled his eyes. "Well?" he hissed. "Are you coming, or are you going to sit there like a gormless twit?"

There he was, eighteen at most and already referring to her as a twit.

"What happened?" Lily demanded when they finally reached her.

"Her cauldron exploded," Snape sneered.

"Sirius Black threw something at it!" Hermione protested, her voice rising to shrillness.

Snape looked unimpressed.

"He was aiming at you!"

"Perhaps we should try and get out of here," Lily reasoned, possibly realising that they could start arguing at any moment and that having boiling potion spilling on her was preferable to listening to them.

They began to crawl towards the door, using each workbench along the way as shelter. Hermione gagged as she crawled, the smoke and fumes causing her to feel faint. By the time they reached the door, it was only her bloody mindedness keeping her going.

Once outside the classroom, she seemed to recover, but she lost all sense of decorum as she stood and saw Sirius Black laughing over the carnage he had caused.

"Do you have no idea that you could have killed us?" she screeched as soon as she could stand. "Jesus fucking Christ, what kind of fucking moronic idiot are you?"

Sirius opened and closed his mouth to protest, but evidently the idea that a girl could speak with such a foul mouth had never occurred to him. Under her questioning glare, he stuttered, and finally he managed, "I didn't mean to hit your cauldron."

"Well, you did fucking hit it!" she cried. "And it wouldn't have mattered if you had hit your mark. The result would have been the same! Did you listen to Slughorn? Did you bother reading the 'Highly Explosive' warning in your textbook? Are you really the thick-headed prick you currently appear to be?"

Around her, the students had fallen to silence and were gaping at her in shock. She straightened her singed robes and attempted to smooth her hair.

"Has someone gone to get Professor Slughorn?" Lily asked, breaking the silence but sounding a little hollow.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Bertha's gone to get him," a boy replied. He was still looking at Hermione as though she were some kind of harpy.

They fell back to silence again, and they stayed that way until the unmistakable sounds of Slughorn bustling down the hall way drew their attention.

"Oh! Oh dear! What has happened?" He drew a large globe from his pocket and threw it into the classroom. It burst and a shower of white powder settled over the room, dousing the flames and covering everything in sight.

"What has happened?" Slughorn asked again, angrier this time, and he looked around at the crowd of students, determined to find a culprit. When he saw Hermione, Lily and Snape standing there covered in soot and festering potion, he paled and began shaking his head so violently that his chins wobbled with a slapping sound around his face. "No!" he cried. "No, no, no, no, no! Professor Dumbledore assured me that you were an accomplished potions maker! This will not do at all!"

"It's not my fault!" Hermione protested. "Someone knocked my cauldron over!"

Slughorn was not listening; instead he was fawning over his protégé to ensure that he wasn't damaged in any way.

"Black did it," Snape said in the same quiet voice that he reserved for moments when he really wanted people to listen. "He threw something at my cauldron." Snape smirked and his black eyes narrowed. "He missed."

"Is this true, Mr. Black?" Slughorn asked, but his tone had already convicted Sirius of the crime. When Sirius didn't deny it, Slughorn went on, angrier than Hermione had ever seen him. "Very well then, detention, Mr. Black, and one hundred points from Gryffindor!"

"But, Professor, one hundred points!" For the first time, Sirius looked upset by what had happened.

"Yes, Mr. Black, one hundred points! In all my years of teaching, I've never had an entire classroom burn down! Now, all of you, to the library for the rest of the lesson!"

He drew Hermione aside before she could leave, stopping her in her tracks and guiding her to the doorway of the classroom.

"Miss Granger," he said uneasily, "I am wondering if Potions is perhaps not the right subject for you."

"Professor?"

"Exploding cauldrons are not usually part of our advanced classes."

"But it wasn't my fault! Sirius Black threw something at my cauldron and knocked it over. How is that my fault?"

"It isn't, Miss Granger, but these sorts of incidents should not happen."

"What? Sirius Black acts like an arse, and I get thrown out of the class?"

"I am not throwing you out of the class, Miss Granger."

"Oh, of course not, you would just like me to quit."

"I am just questioning how much you can enjoy the class, given the ... disruption ... your presence seems to cause."

"My presence?" Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She wanted to slap the professor's jowls. "He was aiming for Snape!"

"Miss Granger ..."

"I'm not leaving the class," she told him harshly. "This is not my fault. Perhaps if you spent more time teaching your students and less time planning intimate suppers for them, accidents like this wouldn't happen!"

She didn't give him a chance to reply. She turned on her heel and walked away, wanting only to find her chambers and acquaint herself with her bed.

*************

Sirius was waiting at the top of the stairs when Hermione emerged from the dungeons, and in her soot-covered state, she was in no mood to see him. She set her jaw and kept walking, even as he fell easily in beside her.

"I really didn't mean to hit your cauldron," he said, producing a winning smile that he obviously hoped would soften her. "I was aiming for Snape's head."

"So you've proved yourself a poor shot," Hermione replied, not bothering to break stride.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were Dumbledore's niece?" He looked at her quizzically. "When I met you yesterday, you didn't mention it."

"I didn't see the point."

"Lily says that you have your own room. She thinks Professor Dumbledore is playing favourites."

"Isn't that what Slughorn does every day?"

"He doesn't give his favourites their own room."

"I daresay he would if he could."

Sirius nodded, as though conceding the point. "Rosa says you're a right cow," he continued.

"She's probably right."

"You don't mind?"

Of course she did, but she wasn't going to let him know that. The truth was that being known as a right cow was going to keep people away, and if she kept people away, she stood a better chance of following Dumbledore's orders. "People speak as they find," she said. "I'm sure Rosa has every reason to think me a cow."

"Why don't you come to the common room?" he asked. "A group of us were going to practise our Patronus Charms for tomorrow."

"No thank you."

They began to climb the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, and Hermione wished that her room was further from it.

"If you don't want to study, we can always talk."

"Why?" Hermione demanded, stopping at last. "Why do you want to talk to me? What is there to talk about? You have advised me that someone thinks I resemble a cow, and you caused my cauldron to burn down the Potions room. What makes you think I want to know you at all?"

"I thought you might want to make friends. We're in the same house after all."

"Yes, well, I am sure there are ample girls in your house who are more than happy to 'talk' to you, but I am not interested."

Sirius' face hardened considerably, and Hermione wagered that he was silently agreeing with Rosa's assessment of her. Under any other circumstances, she would have wanted to know him and all his friends, but it was impossible. And given the disaster of her day, she wanted nothing more than for him to leave her alone.

"If that's the way you feel," he said. He had folded his arms across his chest and was looking surly. "I'm sure you'll have no problem not making friends."

As she turned and continued up the stairs, his voice followed her.

"But it can be a pretty lonely place."

***********

The private chamber that Dumbledore had provided for her was far more than she had expected. What she thought would be a tiny space, with room enough for a narrow bed and a trunk, turned out to be a spacious room that had probably once belonged to a teacher. The large wooden bed was heaped with comfortable looking blankets and quilts, and there was a fireplace, two soft looking armchairs and a desk for study. Further inspection revealed a little bathroom with a toilet and bathtub and even a fresh supply of towels. It was probably modest by most standards, but provided more luxury than she'd had in months.

At the end of the bed, a trunk sat opened and was filled with an assortment of clothes and books that Dumbledore had decided should be hers. They were things that should have made her feel at home, but only served to make her feel more alone. A fresh set of school robes, scarf and tie were placed on top, and underneath she found some long, white cotton nightgowns and what had to be Professor McGonagall's idea of casual clothing. The toiletries that she had found for her use in the hospital wing had been placed in the little bathroom, and she thought that perhaps she should have a bath.

The headache that had started in Dumbledore's office, and which had escalated in the potions disaster, now began to pound inside her skull, and she sank onto the bed with a groan. She was also beginning to feel weak again, the same way that she had the day before, but she hoped that this time it would be due to the difficulty of her day. She decided to make herself some tea, hoping that it would make herself feel better. There was a kettle and a few rusting cauldrons near the fireplace, and when she opened the ancient side board, she found a motley assortment of old china cups, but once she had managed to light the fire, she had to sit down without bothering to prepare herself anything. The feeling of wellness that she had experienced that morning was now well and truly gone, and Hermione felt a little panicked as she entertained the idea that she may have done herself permanent damage.

The day had not been good by anyone's standards. While she had ultimately succeeded in making sure that she made no friends, she certainly didn't feel any happiness about her success. She had managed to make herself repellent to everyone, including her teachers. She wished that Dumbledore would allow her to take her meals in her room as well. Then she could cut herself as much as possible whilst still being the student he wanted her to be.

A knock at her door drew her from her misery for a moment, and then she remembered her aching head and body. She groaned softly and forced herself out of the comfortable chair, no doubt the person at the door would be Dumbledore or perhaps Professor McGonagall enquiring about her day. She could tell them that she felt ill, and perhaps they would fuss over her and fetch Madam Pomfrey. For some reason the thought of someone taking care of her was wonderfully comforting.

But as she pulled the door open, she did not find either professor on the other side. Instead she found the one person she would never have expected to pay her a visit. Severus Snape was standing nervously in the hall, fully aware that he was in Gryffindor territory.

Hermione's grip on the door tightened, and she felt her knuckles turn white.

"What do you want?" she rasped harshly.

He scowled, perhaps expecting some other reception. He had removed his black school robes and was left in a slightly yellowing shirt and his Slytherin tie. His trousers, like his robes, were slightly too short, despite having the hem let down, and his skinny ankles were covered in crumpled grey socks that disappeared into scuffed black school shoes. He ran his hand through his greasy hair, forcing it back and revealing his pale face in full. Hermione was once again struck by just how young he looked; he also looked remarkably surly given that he had come to her door and was yet to say a word.

"Well," she demanded.

"Potions," he said at last.

"What?"

"Are you going to leave the class?"

Hermione glared at him. Was he so desperate to get his desk back that he'd decided to come and make sure she would go?

"I have no plans to quit," she said with open hostility.

"Professor Slughorn is going to test you to see how advanced your Potions knowledge is. If you fail, he'll tell Professor Dumbledore that you can't stay in the class."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she looked at him in disbelief. "You're joking!"

"He's not happy about what happened today."

"Well, it's hardly my fault. Is he planning to test Sirius as well?"

"No," Snape replied blandly.

"So why are you here? Come to gloat?" She couldn't believe that she was going to have to sit a test. Potions was fast becoming more trouble than it was worth. Given that she was not going to see the year out, dropping the subject was beginning to sound like a good idea.

"I can help you pass it," he said.

She reeled with shock. "And why would you do that?"

The slightest of smiles touched his lips. "Well, you're no friend of Sirius Black, and it can't hurt to have someone else who thinks he's a fucking moronic idiot in the class."

The situation could not get much worse. Somehow she had managed to repel the people she really did care about, and in doing so, she had one of the people to whom she harboured true ill will here at her door offering to help her.

"I don't need your help," she said unkindly. "I am a perfectly competent potions maker, and I'm sure I'll be able to pass his test."

"Your potion should not have exploded," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Your potion shouldn't have exploded at the point you were up to. It was only just turning green; it shouldn't have become explosive until it was bright green. You added the lacewing flies too early, and the Gilori berries were pulped, not juiced. Had you taken more care your cauldron would have burned, but it wouldn't have exploded, and the classroom wouldn't have burnt down."

"Impossible! I worked to the letter of the book!"

"Perhaps you did, but the books aren't always right."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Memories of the Half-Blood Prince's old Potions book were still raw in her mind, and she wasn't convinced that following the instructions in her own textbook wouldn't achieve the same result – eventually. After everything that had happened, and if she was honest, her humiliation at having Harry best her at Potions for a year, she was determined not to accept any tips that Snape could offer her. She decided to put her faith in the books she had always trusted. The official books. "I see," she said. "The textbooks are wrong? All of these students have been making this potion incorrectly for years then? But you, of course, are right?"

"Yes," he said in the same bland tone he'd used before, as though he wasn't boasting, just stating a fact.

"The potion would have worked," she insisted.

"You would have passed," he admitted. "You did what everyone else did. The difference is that when the potion is made properly, it will last for more than a century. Yours would have diminished within a year."

"As I would have passed, I think I'll take my own counsel on the subject. I don't need your help."

He looked her up and down, clearly reassessing his opinion of her. "As you wish," he said in a snide way, and then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her to close the door and shake her head in amazement at his visit.

Severus Snape had wanted to help her pass a Potions test. In a matter of years, he'd be calling her a know-it-all and ignoring her as best he could.

She made her way to her bed and lay down. On the little table beside it, she found a pile of things that had been in her robes from when she'd first arrived. Her dirty underwear had, thankfully, been laundered and folded, as had her socks. Even her tampons and crumpled packet of travel tissues were neatly laid out, but the real treasure lay in two battered photographs that had seen better days: one of her parents and the other of Harry and Ron. She looked at both images with such affection that she could have cried.

She had been gone for more than a day, and as she looked at the picture of Ron and Harry, she began to fret over them. What were they doing? Were they frantic? Had they waited for her, hoping she would reappear? Had they expected her to catch up the time and come running out of the forest, cursing her own stupidity? Then again, was that exactly what had happened? Dumbledore would get her back, of that she was certain, so perhaps she had come running out of the forest with such a tale as this to tell.

Yet there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. What if they couldn't send her back? What if the Hermione who went to meet Harry and Ron was a woman in her late thirties who had lived her life sequestered away from the world? Could that possibly be her fate?

No. It would never happen that way. Dumbledore was capable of more things than any other wizard alive; he would get her back to her friends. Harry was a powerful wizard, he had cunning and luck on his side, but she hated to think that he could die from something that her knowledge could have possibly helped to prevent. Added to that fear was the fact that she didn't belong here, and her aching body was now ensuring that she knew it. While she had no fear that Madam Pomfrey could set her to rights, she had to wonder just how long she could last before the aches and pains moved beyond Madam Pomfrey's abilities.

What if she never recovered, regardless of what time she was in?

She pulled herself from such morbid thoughts. She had always been the one who was in control, the smart one whom everyone could turn to for her knowledge and abilities. Now here she was, terribly out of control and lost in a time that was not hers. Under it all, she was afraid; afraid that she would always be sick; afraid that she may go mad; afraid that she would never get back; afraid that she would be alone for the rest of her life. Logic told her that she had every right to be this way. She had endured what no one else had, and she had done herself no end of harm. If these things were not reason enough to be out of control and afraid, what else could be?

Hermione was startled by a knock at the door. Dumbledore called her name through the wood, and she reluctantly got up from the bed and let him in.

"You opened the door," he said, sounding delighted. "After your day today, I thought I should call out so that you knew it was me. That way you could have the choice of pretending that you weren't here."

"And why would I not want to talk to you?"

"I believe you burnt down Professor Slughorn's classroom. I was sure you were cursing me for making you go through it all."

"Oh, I am, I assure you."

He looked a little concerned. "You look pale," he said. "Are you not well?"

"I'm fine," she lied, despite knowing that it was pointless lying to him.

He didn't flinch; instead he gestured to the room and asked if he could come in.

"Oh, yes, of course." She stepped aside and allowed him entry.

"I trust the room is to your liking."

"Yes, it's lovely. I didn't expect something so large. I thought it would be just a little space with a bed in it."

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head at the very notion. "Miss Granger, it is a very big castle, and I believe that you have gone through quite enough to warrant something above a broom cupboard."

She shuffled uncomfortably, thinking of Harry's early years, and then she went to the chairs in front of the fire. She didn't want to collapse into bed with Dumbledore watching. It would only panic him, so she sank, once again, into one of the squishy armchairs.

Dumbledore watched her and then took the chair beside her. "You would be surprised at how easy it was to find this little room for you. No sooner had I thought of it, than this room appeared. It was most convenient."

"Like the Room of Requirement then?"

"Exactly like the Room of Requirement," Dumbledore laughed. "And if you know about the Room of Requirement, then I can assume that you have very little regards for the rules in your own time."

Far from looking disturbed by the thought of a group of rule-breakers in his future, Dumbledore looked thoroughly delighted.

"Sometimes circumstances make following the rules impossible," Hermione said in her own, and Harry's, defence.

"I have no doubt," he agreed. "Now, what are you going to do about your little problem with Potions?"

"What? I don't have a problem with Potions! I was fine until some twit knocked my cauldron over, and then Slughorn carried on as though it was my bloody fault! You should have heard him, ranting as though I was some great clumsy troll, disturbing his little angels ..."

"Professor Slughorn," Dumbledore said, reminding her of how to address her teacher. "Yes, he informed me of the ... accident. He wants you to sit test, to see how much you know."

"To see how much I know?" Hermione was up and pacing then, her brow furrowed at the implication of stupidity on her part. "He is determined to prove that I am some no talent twit."

"He hardly wants to do such a thing ..."

"Oh, yes, he does!" she cried. "He already thinks it, and he's probably all mortified because he had me in his perfect little classroom ... and he made me sit next to Snape! " She turned on Dumbledore, her fists clenched by her side. "He put me next to the one person in the room that they wanted to throw things at. If I wasn't beside him, whatever they threw would have just bounced off the back of his greasy head, and nothing would have happened!"

"Do try to calm down, Hermione."

"I am a decent potions maker! I was top of my class for Merlin's sake!"

"I'm sure you were ..."

"You don't believe me?" she cried.

"Of course I do, Hermione, but you are upset and you need to calm yourself. You have been through more in the last two days than most people go through in a lifetime, and you have every right to be emotional. I would normally be happy to let you take it all out on me, but at the moment you are not doing yourself any good."

She closed her eyes. He was probably right, she felt sick and faint, and even her mind felt drained. She couldn't help but think that she was going mad. She felt her temperature rise so suddenly that she had no chance to settle herself. Her eyes snapped open in panic, and she stumbled, reaching her hand out for something to steady herself. Dumbledore was with her instantly, catching her before she fell in a heap on the floor.

"You'll do yourself damage," he said gently.

"I've already done it," she murmured.

"To bed, I think," Dumbledore told her, guiding her to her bed and ignoring her protests that she was fine.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said quietly.

"Madam Pomfrey was afraid that you may have a relapse. I'll go and get her and you get yourself into bed."

"How often is this going to happen?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore admitted. "I am hoping that this will be the last of it, but of course I am no Healer. Madam Pomfrey needs to see you to determine how well you are recovering."

She laughed bitterly at how unreassuring he was. In truth she wanted to lie down and sleep. She could imagine sleeping for days and days. Dumbledore took his leave, promising to return with Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible. Once he was gone, she dragged the cotton nightgown from the trunk and changed her clothes before crawling into the comfortable bed.

Sleep was not going to come easily, however. Her head throbbed and her stomach churned, and she rolled onto her side, wanting to vomit.

A knock at the door relieved her momentarily as she cried for Dumbledore to enter with Madam Pomfrey and some relief from her current malady. It was not Dumbledore who peered around the door however; it was Lily Evans, who started with alarm upon seeing Hermione looking so ill.

"You're unwell?" she asked, hurrying over to Hermione in the bed.

Hermione wanted to say that she was fine. She had no idea why Lily would come to her room; she would never have thought that she could have so many visitors, especially given her performance that day. But Lily was there, and Hermione had no way to deter her. She mumbled something that even she could not determine and then gagged, realising that she was going to be sick then and there. She sat up, frantic to find something to vomit into. Lily found an old cauldron near the fire and thrust it into Hermione's lap.

"Do you know what it is?" Lily asked as Hermione wretched uncontrollably. "Something you ate?"

"No ... it's fine ..." Hermione spat into the cauldron and lifted her head. "Dumbledore has gone to get Madam Pomfrey ... She knows how to fix it."

Lily looked helpless for a moment and tried to rub Hermione's back in a soothing way. "God, you are warm! I'll get a damp cloth."

Hermione managed to mumble a 'thank you' while Lily rushed to the little bathroom in search of a towel. She hadn't made it back before Hermione began to vomit unceremoniously into the cauldron.

Lily wrinkled her nose a little in disgust, but she moved forward and gently pulled Hermione's hair back and placed the damp cloth over the back of her neck.

"Oh, God," Hermione moaned, "I haven't felt this bad since Harry, Ron and I got into the Dursleys' sherry."

Lily laughed uncertainly and tried to be friendly. "Are Harry and Ron friends of yours from Beauxbatons?" she asked.

"Lord, no." Hermione coughed and lifted her head again. "I think Ron would like it though ... all those girls ..." She stopped and frowned at herself. She wasn't supposed to be talking about Harry and Ron.

"Do you get into the Dursleys' sherry often then?" Lily continued, still trying to make her feel better.

Oh, God, if she knew who I was talking about, she'd think her son is some kind of drunk, and he's not a drunk, he's lovely.

"I'm so sorry," she spluttered, gripping the cauldron.

"No, I understand," Lily said.

"You really don't understand," Hermione said tearfully. "You really don't"

"I'm sure you'll be fine. Madam Pomfrey is excellent; she will make you feel much better."

Hermione took a deep breath and calmed herself. She pulled the damp towel from around her neck and wiped her face with it before dumping it into the cauldron.

"I'm sorry," she said stiffly, setting the cauldron aside. "I shouldn't have subjected you to that."

"It's hardly your fault," Lily replied. "Everyone gets sick." She frowned a little. "Do you get sick often?"

The answer was more complex than she could ever know. No, Hermione did not get sick often. In fact, she was remarkably healthy, but this was no cold or stomach complaint that could be fixed with a quick brew and a spell in bed. How did she explain that she had all but liquefied her insides with a journey back through time that should have killed her? Oh, and by the way, Harry is your son, and yes, he got drunk on your sister's cooking sherry and spewed all over her agapanthuses.

"It's a ... condition," she said, deciding that it would be better to be hostile. "It's nothing to worry over."

Lily sat uncertainly on the edge of the bed and looked perturbed by the sudden change in Hermione's tone. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot somehow. I know I should have been more attentive at breakfast. I'm Head Girl, and the last thing you need when you start a new school is a Head Girl who is more interested in talking about boys than looking after you.

She thought it was her fault? Did she have no idea that she had no faults?

"I am really sorry," Hermione said, feeling as though she could fall into a stupor. "You didn't offend me. It's just that I'm not going to be here for very long, and Dumbled ... my uncle ... wanted me to attend the school while I'm here. I don't want to make friends and then leave again ..."

"I see. Well ..." Lily stared at her. "That makes no sense at all."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Then perhaps I don't want to make friends for personal reasons of my own."

"That is all well and good, but life can be very hard if you are determined to go through it alone."

"Ah, yes, well, Sirius Black did tell me that life could be very lonely here. I seem to recall he said it just after he propositioned me."

For the first time Lily's saintly demeanour slipped, and she actually swore under her breath. "I beg you; please don't let Sirius be the one who sets the example for the rest of the school. He can really be very sweet – once he knows he doesn't stand an iceberg's chance in hell of getting anywhere with you."

"And there I was thinking he was a bit of a bully."

"You're talking about what happened in Potions? He doesn't get along with Severus ..." Lily looked troubled and she sighed quietly. "It's complex. They don't like each other, they never have, but Severus gives as good as he gets."

"Why do you call him Severus?" Hermione asked impulsively. "I mean, everyone else calls him Snivellus."

"I don't think that ridiculing his name is particularly constructive."

"Is he your friend?"

"No." Lily sighed again. "When we were first years, we were friends of sorts. We have a falling out, but we've learned to respect each other since."

Hermione wanted to tell her that Snape did not respect her in any way. He thought her nothing more than a filthy Mudblood who deserved to die at the hands of his foul master.

"Potions was a disaster," Lily said with a wry smile.

"I know." Hermione threw herself back in the bed. "Professor Slughorn wants me to sit an aptitude test." She laughed at the absurdity of it. "And Snape turned up here, offering to help me pass it."

"Severus offered to help you?" Lily asked, clearly surprised by it. "Severus offered to help you with Potions?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"It's just ... well, he doesn't do that sort of thing. I think the only other person he's ever offered to help with anything was Florence."

"Florence? Your friend Florence?"

Lily nodded. "She ran a mile, silly girl."

"Why would she be silly to say no to him?" Hermione asked. "Maybe she didn't like him."

"Yes, but it wasn't as though he was proposing marriage. He offered to help her with Arithmancy. I'm assuming you said no to his offer then?"

"Yes."

"Then you're an idiot," Lily said bluntly. "He's a genius with Potions. He's better than Professor Slughorn, and Professor Slughorn knows it. If he offered to help you pass it, then perhaps you should accept him."

"And what kind of a teacher do you think he'd make?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

"I have no idea," Lily said, and then she smiled mischievously. "But if you really want to piss Professor Slughorn off, you could pass the test and pass it with the help of his favourite student."

Hermione had to admire the sudden flash of vindictiveness. "Why do you think I'd fail the test?" she asked. "I was top of my class for Potions."

"Does it really matter?" Lily asked. "If the objective is to get under Professor Slughorn's skin, you'd achieve it admirably if you had Severus on your side."

Hermione chuckled. It really was a tempting thought, although it was entirely out of the question. She disliked Slughorn, but her hatred of Snape ran deeper, and she did not need help to pass Slughorn's test.

She didn't hear the door open, but Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were noisy enough to announce themselves as they entered the room. Madam Pomfrey was berating Dumbledore for sending Hermione to classes before she was well enough to go. She seemed to forget that she had told Hermione that she was well enough to leave the hospital wing.

Dumbledore, upon seeing Lily sitting at Hermione's bedside, looked surprised and, Hermione thought, sought to separate them. "Miss Evans, I see you are helping my niece settle in.'

"Hermione wasn't well, Professor," Lily said, getting to her feet respectfully.

"Don't make yourself uneasy, my dear. I am sure that Hermione is very grateful for your attention."

"I am," Hermione said quickly. "Thank you."

"Now," Dumbledore said happily, "I believe that Madam Pomfrey is keen to see her patient, so I must ask you to away."

Lily took her leave, giving Hermione an uncertain smile and bowing her head as she closed the door. When she was gone, Hermione turned her eyes to Dumbledore as Madam Pomfrey began to fuss.

"She is going to be hard to deter," Hermione told him, but from the smile that Dumbledore gave her, she had to wonder if that was exactly what he'd hoped for.

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Note: Thanks to Southern Witch and Ellie for Betaing