"No!" Hermione Granger exclaimed, "I can't! Isn't there any other way? Do we really need to do this?"

"Need I remind you," Severus Snape drawled, "of Weasley's... fickleness? If we don't do... this, how long do you think he'll wait before he turns against you – again?"

"No," Hermione insisted stubbornly, gesturing for emphasis. "No. I can't do it. I just can't. I have not got the ability –"

Snape raised an eyebrow, silencing her. "My, my... the insufferable know-it-all admitting she can't do something as simple as... this?"

"That's right, Snape," Hermione sneered. "Dunderheaded Gryffindor here, or have you forgotten already?"

Snape glared at her. "Never refer to yourself again as one of those... idiots," he sneered, "again. As it so happens," he continued, "I happen to know you do possess the predisposition. Is your... best friend... not convinced you are currently disemboweling a barrel full of horned toads?"

"That's because Harry trusts me!" Hermione protested. "This is – this is different!"

"Oh?" Snape inquired silkily. "And is our dimwitted sidekick not even less intelligent than Mr. Potter?"

"Ronald's not an idiot!" Hermione exclaimed. "Okay," she conceded, at a look from Snape, "not that much of an idiot. He'll notice – he's got to –"

"How long did it take him to even notice your gender," Snape questioned, "when you are clearly such a desirable little witch?"

Hermione flushed becomingly. That accursed eyebrow twitch got her every time – and the bastard knew it. "Fine," she huffed, "I refuse to do it. I put up with his slothful habits day and night. I comforted him when he whinged on and on about losing that pathetic rat. I even put up with his mockery of S.P.E.W.! But I'm drawing the line. I can't do it. I won't do it. And I can't believe you actually want me to do it!"

"Want you to do it? And here I thought you possessed at least a modicum of intelligence."

"Really, Severus," Hermione said, "you say the sweetest things. Are you sure you don't secretly yearn to see me –"

Snape laid a thin, pale finger across her lips, effectively silencing her. "For the love of Merlin," he said, "don't even insinuate –" He paused to collect himself. "Fine," he said, "I will do it."

"You?!"

"You doubt my abilities? Am I not the most valuable spy the Order has ever had?" Snape boasted arrogantly.

Hermione rolled her eyes indulgently. "Of course you are," she flattered. "But this task is – ahem – of a different caliber."

It was Snape's turn to roll his eyes. "What do you think happens at the Dark Lord's revels? Tea and chitchat? I've bloody slept with Bellatrix Lestrange," he reminded Hermione, making her turn slightly green.

"Okay," she conceded, "but I still don't see how –"

"Did you, or did you not, brew polyjuice successfully in your second year?"

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked, reddening. "I see. Well... thank you ever so much! I can't tell you how much I appreciate – "

"Oh, I can think of a few ways," Snape said suggestively, drawing her toward his bedroom.

Later, back in Gryffindor Tower, a very grateful (and relaxed) Hermione idly wondered whether Ron Weasley would literally explode or simply go catatonic if he ever found out he'd thrown over Lavender Brown to make out with his most-hated Professor.