An Unlikely Conversation

by snarkyroxy

Summary: When Hermione walks out of Divination class in her third year, she is caught by a teacher wandering the empty corridors of the school… and not just any teacher, but Professor Snape. Attempting to explain why she is out in the middle of class, the conversation that ensues is most unexpected.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to borrow them and play with them.

Author's Note: I started writing this one-shot over two years ago, and finally decided to finish it, polish it up and post it. Given the timeline and Hermione's POV, there are many things we now know from canon that I've overlooked on the assumption she didn't know them at that time. As the title says, it's unlikely… but it's fun to play 'what if'.

Many thanks to indigofeathers for beta reading!

"Fine. I give up. I'm leaving!"

Hermione Granger walked aimlessly through the deserted hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was an hour until lunch, and all the other students were still in class.

She would be, too, but for the fact she had just walked out. Quit, a little voice inside her head corrected, and she blinked quickly in an effort to hold back her tears.

Hermione Granger had never quit anything in her life before. Ever since she had been a young child, if she had started something, she had always, always finished it, whether it was a simple game, a difficult third grade maths problem or a two-thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. No matter how frustrated she became, she always worked out the solution in the end.

Since learning she was a witch and coming to Hogwarts almost three years ago, she had become even more determined never to give up on anything.

Despite what people said, there was prejudice against Muggle-borns in the wizarding world, and she would be damned if she would let any pure-blood witch or wizard better her and blame it on her heritage.

True, she had a natural talent for spells and charms, and an excellent memory for remembering them, but she still studied twice as hard as any other student in her year. She was taking more elective subjects than anyone, thanks to the Time-Turner, and she was determined to prove herself adept in all of them.

Unbeknownst to Professor McGonagall, she had also been using the Time-Turner for extra study time after dinner, and extra hours of sleep as well. The past seven months were starting to take a toll on her, and she was snatching extra minutes in bed wherever possible. The tension in the castle, with Sirius Black still on the loose, wasn't helping either. Harry was too preoccupied with his anti-Dementor lessons to notice his friend's exhaustion and Ron, though they had repaired their friendship after arguments earlier in the year, had his own problem to worry about, too.

She had never enjoyed Divination, right from the first lesson. Trelawney was an old fraud and obviously completely crazy as well. After all, spending years staring into empty tea cups and crystal balls would be enough to drive anyone mad, not to mention the cloud of incense hanging about the room, so thick one could cut it with a knife.

Still, she was upset with herself for giving up on something, and for failing where she could see others excelling. Lavender and Parvati, her Gryffindor roommates, had earned the House over a hundred points in Divination. Hermione had yet to receive a single point, or even a well done. She had been shocked almost to the point of tears when the batty teacher had labelled her as one of the most Mundane students she had ever taught.

She'd never been told she wasn't good at something before. She had never been not good at something before. And she hated it.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked around to see where she was. In her desire to get as far away from the North Tower as possible, she discovered she had walked all the way to the dungeons. She'd just passed the portrait that hid the Slytherin common room and was now standing at a four-way junction of passages.

Left would take her past the Potions classroom and eventually back to the Entrance Hall. In front of her seemed to be a short corridor finishing in a dead end. Looking right, she saw a corridor she'd never noticed before. It was quite long, but she could see a short flight of stairs leading upwards at the far end, and at the top of them, a wooden door set with clear glass panes. Through the glass, she could see sunlight and a hint of green.

That's what I need, she thought. Fresh air and a chance to clear her head. Hermione set off down the corridor, and as she progressed she noticed three or four solid wooden doors in the otherwise bare stone walls. Suddenly, one of the doors opened with a bang and she found herself face to face with Professor Snape. Her eyes widened and she took an involuntary step backwards.

"Miss Granger," he said in a dangerously soft voice. "What are you doing down here, and in the middle of class, no less?"

"I, uh... I, well..." she faltered, trying to think of something that sounded at least half-legitimate. "I got lost."

"Lost?" he sneered. "The all-knowing Gryffindor can't even find her way to–" he paused and glanced at the books in her arms, "the North Tower. My, my, we are a long way from home, aren't we?"

Under any other circumstances, she would have overlooked his stinging remarks. She was used to them, after three years in his class. Perhaps it was the pressure of taking too many subjects, lack of sleep or the hurt of being insulted by yet another teacher. At least Trelawney had reason to criticise her. She really wasn't any good at Divination.

At any other time, she would have taken Snape's taunt in her stride, but not this time; not today.

"Why do you always have to do that?" she whispered, swiping angrily at the tears that had started to fall again. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her crying; it would only encourage him.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, taking a step closer so he was towering over her.

"Why are you so horrible to me?" she said, raising her head and meeting his dark glare. "What did I ever do to make you hate me? Is it because I'm friends with Harry, or because I'm a– a Mudblood?"

Surprisingly, he looked startled for a moment, before recovering and appearing the think the matter over. A nasty smirk appeared at the corners of his mouth.

"I am the Head of Slytherin, Miss Granger, and you are a Gryffindor," he said, speaking the last word as though he had a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.

"That's it?" she asked, disbelieving.

"I don't believe I need any other reason, and I'm certainly not required to explain myself to you." He paused. "Now, let's see. Out of class fifty-five minutes before lunch, so I think we'll make it fifty-five points from Gryffindor."

"I'm not out of class!" she exclaimed. "I don't have one."

He raised one eyebrow and regarded her silently, waiting for an explanation. He was the last person she wanted to explain herself to, but it didn't appear that she had a choice. Turning on his heel, he pushed open the wooden door through which he had first appeared and beckoned her to follow him inside. Sighing inwardly, she complied, and as he closed the door behind them, she gazed around what appeared to be his office.

Well, another office, to be exact. She knew there was a small room next to the Potions classroom where he sometimes marked essays while overseeing detentions. This must be his private office.

"Sit," he said. He waited while she lowered her bag to the floor, hesitantly set the pile of books in her arms on the corner of the desk, and sat in the straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

Reclining in his own, more comfortable chair, he prompted, "Explain."

She hesitated, trying to think of the best way to do so. Whatever she said, he would undoubtedly have some cutting remark about her finally realising she wasn't good at everything. She may as well tell him the truth.

"I quit Divination."

Whatever reaction she'd expected from him, what he did came as a complete and utter shock.

He laughed.

Not a cruel, mocking laugh; a genuine, good-natured chuckle.

She couldn't believe her ears. Or her eyes. He looked like a completely different person when he laughed. He looked… almost agreeable.

"Well," he said after a minute, "I can't imagine that to be any loss. The subject is a waste of time and an excuse for most students to skive off real work. There are perhaps one or two students in a decade who truly have the Sight, and even then, Sybil Trelawney is the last person I would recommend aiding them to hone their skills in the art."

Hermione stared at him. She'd never heard him speak so frankly before, and was pleasantly surprised she wasn't the only person in the school who thought Trelawney was completely useless.

"I just don't see how sitting there staring at tea leaves for hours can possibly tell anyone about the future," she added, suddenly feeling as though she could actually talk to her professor, person to person… not superior to subordinate.

"No," Snape agreed with a nod. "Very little of the subject is applicable in the real world."

"Very little?" she snorted in a way quite reminiscent of her teacher. "You mean she's actually made a prediction that has come true?"

A strange look came over Snape's face for a moment, before he answered, "Just one."

Despite her curious nature, something in her professor's tone made Hermione hesitate to ask exactly what that prediction had been. It was oddly refreshing to be having a civilised conversation with a man she'd never consider capable of civility before, and she didn't want to ask questions that might change his mood.

"So," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "you've yet to explain exactly what has you so upset? Given the opinion you've just expressed on the subject, I hardly think quitting Divination is cause for such distress."

He was right. Walking out of class was only the most recent in a seemingly endless stream of problems, worries and failures. Considering his words, it occurred to Hermione that perhaps he would understand her dilemma; of all her teachers, he was the one who valued precision and perfection the most. With that thought, and with only a moment of hesitation, she suddenly found herself telling him everything, pouring her heart out to the harshest, most unpleasant teacher in the school.

She told him what had happened in Divination that day, and how hurt she'd been when Trelawney had labelled her Mundane in front of the whole class. She didn't see herself as Mundane, just logical. Then, she found herself telling him how hard she had worked to fit in since coming to Hogwarts, intent on proving herself worthy of a place in the school. She hated not being good at something, and not being able to better herself at it with a few extra hours of study. Like flying lessons in her first year, Divination had very little use for textbooks.

Snape, for his part, didn't interrupt her tirade. He simply sat, leaning slightly forwards with his hands steepled under his chin and his elbows resting on the desk.

"I don't know why I ever chose such a woolly subject," she finished unhappily. "I suppose I just wanted to try everything."

Appraising her silently, Snape waved his wand and conjured a teapot and two cups on the desk between them.

"Milk?" he asked, then smirked at her incredulous expression as she nodded.

"Honestly, Miss Granger, what did you expect me to do? Make myself a cup and have you for dessert?"

Her eyes widened. Did he just make a joke?

"Despite what I may appear to you and your friends, Miss Granger," he continued, adding milk to both teacups and pushing one cup across the desk towards her, "I am a Head of House. I am quite capable of listening to and sorting out adolescent problems."

She'd never really thought about it before, but it made sense. Had she imagined the Slytherin students didn't have the same worries as others? Or had she just assumed Snape was the same cruel, sarcastic teacher to them as he was to the rest of the students? She already knew that wasn't true in Potions, but she'd never thought how they might interact with their Head of House beyond the classroom.

Professor McGonagall always had an open door for her own students, and Hermione had been to her many times over the past three years with worries and concerns. She fleetingly wondered why she hadn't gone to McGonagall now… but she knew the answer even as she thought about it. She didn't want the older witch to be disappointed in her. Hermione would have to speak to McGonagall eventually, of course; it wouldn't do for her teacher to hear about the incident in Divination from Trelawney, or worse, other students. For the time being, though, she was surprised to find herself content speaking with Snape, instead.

She took a sip of tea and was surprised to find it wasn't plain black, but black with a hint of some sort of spice. Cinnamon, perhaps. Or cloves. She couldn't quite tell. Whatever it was, it was nice; she could almost feel a calming warmth spread through her body as she swallowed the hot liquid.

Hermione wondered what Harry and Ron would say when she told them where she'd found herself after leaving Divination. Tea with Professor Snape? She almost laughed aloud; they'd never believe her.

"Something amusing, Miss Granger?"

She looked up to see him leaning back in his chair, cradling his own teacup in both hands.

"I was just wondering what Harry and Ron would think if they knew where I'd been," she said, noticing how his face darkened slightly when she mentioned Harry's name.

"I should imagine they'd think you'd gone completely mad," he said. "However, I'm sure they will sympathise when you inform them you have detention tonight after dinner."

"Detention!" she exclaimed. "But sir, I-"

"No arguments, Miss Granger," said Snape in a tone clearly indicating his decision was final. "Regardless whether I may understand and sympathise with your predicament, you were still wandering out of bounds while those responsible for your safety believed you were in class. Upon leaving Divination, you should have gone straight to your own Head of House to inform her of what had happened."

"I know I should have," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir."

"You will be when you see the size of the barrel of toads legs you'll be pickling tonight."

She stared at him indignantly, unsure how to respond to the amused but not nasty glint in his eyes. Finally, she shook her head, conceding defeat.

"You're horrible, sir," she murmured, though she didn't entirely mean it. He could be cruel and nasty, but she had seen today he could also be agreeable and surprising easy to talk to.

"I prefer to think of it as strict," he said with a frown. "In addition to teaching our specific subjects, it is the role of the teachers here to help mould the first-year children who enter this school into the seventh-year adults who leave. The world is neither fair nor forgiving, Miss Granger, and young adults who have been handed everything they desire on a silver platter will not survive on their own."

She considered his explanation; it was logical. Of all her teachers, he was the one for whom good was never good enough; no matter how hard one tried, he always expected more. Even after only three of her seven years at the school, she had learnt in Potions class the world was far from fair, and sometimes even hard work wouldn't get one what they wanted. He did sometimes take it too far, though, in her opinion.

"I see what you're saying, sir," she said. "But can you honestly say you don't treat some of us more harshly than others? Take Harry, for example. You cut him down right from our first day. You never gave him a chance to respect you and what you're trying to teach us; you made him hate you from the start."

"Some require harsher treatment in order to develop resilience and learn to stand up for themselves," he countered, again frowning at the mention of Harry's name again.

She shook her head. "Harry doesn't need that, sir. You don't understand what he goes through every day, the burden on his shoulders, what he has to live with."

"I understand better than you could possibly imagine, Miss Granger," he said.

She huffed disbelievingly. "What could you possibly understand about Harry's situation? It's not enough that his whole family was killed by Voldemort, but now the man who betrayed them is trying to kill him!"

He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair.

"Do not utter that name in my presence again," he hissed.

"Why?" she asked defiantly. "He's dead. What are you afraid of?"

"He is not dead."

She stared at him in confusion.

"Of course he is. He died when he tried to kill Harry twelve years ago. I know he tried to return two years ago, and again last year, but he didn't. There might be some small part of him out there somewhere in the world, but he can't return to his body."

"So sure of that, are you?" he countered, returning to his seat.

"It's been too long," she said, uncomfortably aware of what the wizarding world would be like for her and the many others with Muggle parentage if Voldemort did return. "If there was a way he could come back, he'd have done it by now."

"Perhaps," Snape said coolly. "Or perhaps he is determined to regain his full strength before revealing himself this time. For all we know, the Dark Lord may be simply biding his time."

"I wish you wouldn't call him that," she murmured.

"Why?" he asked, mimicking her earlier defiance.

"I read somewhere that's what his followers called him."

"Old habits die hard, Miss Granger."

Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened in disbelief. Had he just said he was…

This time it was Hermione's turn to stand quickly, shoving her teacup on the desk with a clatter and backing away. His mild expression only increased her fear.

"That's… that's not possible," she whispered.

"Anything is possible, Miss Granger," he said softly. "Only someone who was once a member of the Dark Lord's circle would address him so."

"But... it–" she stammered. "Wait– what do you mean, was once?"

He smiled grimly and nodded.

"Well done," he said. "Not many to hear such a revelation would have the presence of mind to consider exactly what I'd said."

He gestured for her to sit again, but she stood, eyeing him warily.

"Miss Granger," he began with a sigh, "there are many things about the rise and fall of the Dark Lord that are not written in the history books… things that, if he does return, may play a vital role in destroying him once and for all. Sit, if you wish me to go on."

She returned reluctantly to her seat, struggling with the barrage of conflicting information. As with any problem Hermione was faced with, she tried to put everything together, but there were far too many gaps. Had the professor been a supporter of Voldemort? But surely the Headmaster wouldn't allow a former Death Eater to teach the students… let alone give him the position of Head of House. He might not be liked by students outside his own House, but Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers trusted him.

What part of his history was unwritten, unknown by most people?

"First," he said after a long moment of consideration, "your word that you will not discuss this once you leave this room. Much of what I am about to discuss is public record, should anyone care to look, however that does not mean I wish for it to be common knowledge around this school. I will trust your word rather than a wand oath, but believe me when I say I will know if you have broken my trust."

Hermione nodded, pinned by the intensity of his dark eyes. At that moment, it seemed to her he could see right into her mind, and would indeed know if she revealed their conversation to anyone.

She watched with a mixture of fascination and fear as he pulled up the left sleeve of his robes and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt underneath.

Then he held out his arm to her across the desk, inner forearm upturned.

She leant forward involuntarily, staring at the shape tattooed into his skin; it was an image she'd seen only in books about Voldemort's reign of terror. But it wasn't black like the crude illustration in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. In fact, from a distance, it would barely have been discernable if not for the paleness of Snape's skin.

"Am I right to assume there's more to this than what I'm seeing, sir?" she asked. Ever logical, she knew he would never reveal such a thing without an explanation forthcoming.

"There is much more, Miss Granger," he said as he withdrew his arm and folded his sleeve down again.

"If you were to spend a good deal of time researching the events around the Dark Lord's demise," he eventually continued, "I'm certain you would uncover various references to myself. You would discover that I was a Death Eater, that I studied Potions and the Dark Arts with a European Master who was tried and convicted as a Death Eater after the Dark Lord's defeat, and that I, too, stood trial at that time. You would learn that Albus Dumbledore testified on my behalf and I was released without charge."

Hermione relaxed minutely. Even knowing there had to be an explanation for his presence at Hogwarts now, she was relieved to actually hear him say it.

"If you were to delve deeper and actually read the transcripts of the trial, you'd learn that I joined the ranks of the Death Eaters very soon after leaving Hogwarts as a student, but was no longer loyal to him by the time he went after the Potters. In time, I came to understand the monumental mistake I had made in pledging myself to the Dark Lord, and sought to make amends. Others had tried to leave his service and been killed, so Dumbledore offered me the only way out that would not result in my immediate death – become a spy for him and work within the Dark Lord's own ranks to bring him down. It was a sound deception; the Dark Lord believed I had played on Dumbledore's sympathies to secure a most useful position of trust with the opposing side."

"You were spying for both sides," Hermione concluded quietly, her respect for the man sitting across from her increasing a notch.

"Indeed," he affirmed. "The difference was in the information I provided. I told Dumbledore everything – for all I knew, the smallest detail may prove to be of utmost significance. The Dark Lord, on the other hand, was given minimal information – correct information, mind you, for it would have been my life if I had lied to him. He believed me when I explained it would take time to be fully trusted by the other side, and that it would be time before the information I was able to bring him would be significant or useful. It never came to that, though; ten months later, the Dark Lord went after the Potters and was destroyed. I believe you know that part of this story?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"There's little else to say, then," he continued. "I, along with many other Death Eaters, was captured and put on trial. Dumbledore revealed the truth of my allegiances to the Wizengamot and I was released."

"Weren't there other Death Eaters – I mean, real Death Eaters – who were also released, sir?" she questioned. "Didn't they find out what you'd done?"

"Many men and women I knew to be Death Eaters were set free following the Dark Lord's demise," Snape said. "Many claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse, forced to commit atrocities in the Dark Lord's service. And there were those who were forced, but the Ministry couldn't tell who had been under the curse and who was simply using it as a convenient excuse to evade Azkaban. Those who did escape conviction believed I had done exactly the same thing – lied to save myself – and with Albus Dumbledore prepared to vouch for me, I had the soundest defence of them all."

"To them, it just looked liked you'd chosen the winning side."

"Exactly," he said with a nod. "And if the Dark Lord does return, and I'm required to return to my duties within his ranks, chances are I will be able to make him believe I have been simply biding my time, remaining in the good favour of Dumbledore while I wait for my true master – so he thinks – to return."

She watched him fearfully, a cold feeling creeping back into her stomach at the strange calmness with which he spoke of Voldemort's return.

"You really believe he's coming back?"

Her question hung in the air as he closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was something reflected in their depths that Hermione had never seen before; fear.

"I have seldom been more certain of anything in my life, Miss Granger," he said heavily. "I do not know where, or how, but I feel it is inevitable."

"Because of your arm?" she pressed. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand. How can you be so certain?"

He sighed. "You understand the Mark was used as a means for the Dark Lord to summon us to him?" At Hermione's nod, he continued, "When the Dark Lord was destroyed almost thirteen years ago," he began, "his Mark burnt black into my skin, more painful than any summons I had ever received from him. After a few hours, it faded, until even the faintest outline was no longer visible. Over the last few years, the outline seems to have reappeared – faint, yes, but it's there. I can think of no other explanation than that he is regaining strength and will attempt to return and finish what he was unable to do before."

"Harry," she whispered.

Snape nodded, his expression dark and unreadable.

The certainty with which he spoke of Voldemort's return frightened her far more than when she had thought for a brief moment she'd been sitting in the room with a Death Eater. The knowledge that it was Harry whom Voldemort would be after was even more disturbing, and when coupled with the events of this year, all the more real. Perhaps Sirius Black, one of Voldemort's most loyal supporters, was acting on his master's orders, trying to finish off Harry while Voldemort was still too weak to do so himself.

"If you were… a Death Eater back then," she spoke aloud, "you must have known Sirius Black."

"Another name you would do well not to speak in my presence," he growled, and this time, Hermione took his words to heart.

After another moment of silence, she ventured, "It's hard to grasp… most of the wizarding world is so certain he's gone for good, and yet you're so sure he'll return. Does Professor Dumbledore agree?"

"He does," Snape said shortly. "He never believed the Dark Lord was completely destroyed."

"It's a wonder more people aren't concerned he'll come back," Hermione murmured.

"The public are naïve," he said harshly. "They do not have all the facts, nor do they seek answers. They do not wish to know what might happen if the Dark Lord returns; they will simply look to Potter – after all, he was the only one who managed to defeat the Dark Lord before… it will be expected of him to do it again."

"Nobody knows how he did it, though, least of all him," Hermione said. "They can't expect him to–"

"Oh, but they do, Miss Granger," Snape cut her off. "If – when – the Dark Lord returns, they will expect Potter to lead the charge, so to speak, to save the wizarding world once again. I, on the other hand, am not inclined to entrust my life into the hands of a reckless child."

"Reckless?" Hermione's eyes flashed indignantly. "That's not fair, sir. Just because you don't like him–"

"Rest assured, Miss Granger," Snape cut her off, "this has nothing to do with my dislike for your friend. No matter what delusions the general public may have for the Boy-Who-Lived, he is still a child – immature and prone to acting without thinking. And believe me, I know the consequences of such actions."

At her brief look of confusion, he gestured to the mark on his arm, now hidden by his sleeve.

"This is possibly the best example of why acting on a whim is never a good idea. Feelings tend to cloud ones judgement, Miss Granger, and lead us to making decisions we will often regret, given more time to think on them. Twice now since coming to this school, Potter's actions have very nearly caused not only his own death, but also endangered the lives of his friends and others. Retrieving the Philosopher's Stone, entering the Chamber of Secrets… next time, he may not be so lucky as to come out unscathed."

"Give him some credit, sir," she said. "It wasn't just dumb luck that got him out of those situations."

"No," Snape conceded, "however, the help of his friends, of the Headmaster, of others, may not always be at hand when he decides to charge in and save the day. If your Mr Potter continues to act on impulse, the repercussions for himself and others will be severe. His temperament is not unlike his father's, and though James Potter's death was in no way his own fault, other irresponsible incidents in his youth showed the dangers of acting without thought of consequence."

As much as Hermione hated hearing Snape run down her friend, she had to admit there was some truth to what he was saying. How many times had she been frustrated and angry at both Harry and Ron for being stupid, acting before thinking and not considering what impact their actions might have on others? It was disturbing… no, terrifying… to think that such seemingly insignificant things could evolve into something far more serious. What if Voldemort did return – really return – and Harry rushed into a confrontation the same way he had rushed into the Chamber of Secrets? His intentions might be to save lives, but he could lose his own, and endanger countless others, in the process.

Harry and Ron always rolled their eyes when she tried to put a dampener on their after-curfew excursions or foolhardy expeditions beyond the school's walls. They encouraged her to 'let go', to 'live a little', to 'take a risk'. On more than once occasion, she'd given in. Nothing had ever gone seriously wrong… but it seemed more foolish than ever now, and she made a promise to herself to try to stand up to them more often and not let them lead her astray. Her only concern was how she could impress the seriousness of the situation on Harry without him laughing her off, and also without betraying the trust Snape had shown in her through their conversation today.

"I believe you understand what I'm saying?" Snape's voice broke the silence, and Hermione shook herself from her thoughts.

"I do, sir," she said. "I… but I won't deny I'm still a little confused. I appreciate everything you've told me, and that you would trust me with such information. I understand how it relates to Harry, too… I just don't know what I can do about it."

"You're his friend, Miss Granger. If anyone can talk him out of acting foolishly next time a situation arises, you can. I've learnt over my years at Hogwarts that Gryffindor bravery often borders on recklessness, but you exhibit very little of the latter."

"I try to follow the rules as much as I can, sir," she said.

"It's not just about following rules, Miss Granger," he replied. "It's about common sense, as well. You've done your fair share of rule-breaking during your time here so far – mind you, not as much as your friends – but there has usually been some common sense behind your decision to push the boundaries of those rules… the troll incident in your first year aside."

She flushed and looked away. It wasn't worth telling him she really hadn't gone looking for the creature. That would only lead to him wanting an explanation for what had really happened, and despite her new-found respect for Professor Snape, he was the last person to whom she'd admit to blubbering in the toilets over her lack of friends.

At that moment, a clock somewhere behind her began to chime; glancing around, Hermione's eyes fell on an old grandfather clock against the far wall and saw it was one o'clock. She'd been talking with Professor Snape for over an hour, and lunch-time was almost over.

"You'd better be on your way, Miss Granger," he said, standing and vanishing the teacups and pot with a wave of his hand. "With any luck, you'll make it up the Great Hall in time to eat a bite before your afternoon class."

"Yes, sir," she said, standing and retrieving her pile of books from the corner of the desk and her bag from the floor beside her chair. Hesitating a moment, she wondered if that had been her dismissal and she should leave. Her answer came a moment later when Snape strode past her, opened the door, and waited for her to exit.

As she stepped out into the corridor, she turned.

"Thank you, sir."

He inclined his head slightly, but his face was again schooled into that unreadable expression he wore so often.

"Sir," she began again, hesitantly, "may I speak with you again… about what we've talked about today, if… if the need arises?"

Hours before, she would never have considered voluntarily speaking to the stern Potions master about anything. Not even a query about a Potions essay would have seen her asking him questions outside of class time. Now, though, after their discussion, she suddenly saw him as much more of a person, not just a teacher. His advice had been sound and sincere, and though she knew he disliked Harry very much, he had still been willing to offer suggestions that may very well save her friend's life in the future.

"Miss Granger, your first point of contact should always be your Head of House," he said. "Professor McGonagall should be able to resolve any issue you feel you need assistance with."

Hermione nodded wordlessly. He was right, of course. He had the students of his own House to assist; he couldn't very well put other students, who had their own Head of Houses to speak with, before his own Slytherins. Perhaps an unexpected opportunity would arise where they would find themselves conversing again.

She hoped so.

As she turned to head back up the corridor towards the main dungeon hallway and the stairs to the rest of the castle, he called to her.

"Miss Granger, do not forget your detention. Eight o'clock sharp tonight in the Potions classroom. I suggest you bring gloves."

She glanced back just in time to see him disappearing into his office again; she could have sworn she heard a quiet chuckle before the door closed behind him.

finite

Author's Note: I tried to match the date of Hermione leaving Divination as closely as possible to canon. Trelawney states in their first lesson, "around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever". According to the HP Lexicon, the Trio's third year at Hogwarts was 1993-94, and Easter Sunday in 1994 fell on April 3. Hermione quitting Divination was the last event in the book prior to the Easter holidays, so I'm assuming she quit the class on Thursday, March 31 – the last day of classes before the Easter break.