Disclaimer: The following characters are probably JKR's. Unless they look suspiciously like something not of her books, then they are mine.

Bugger, what am I rambling about?

Just ignore me and read :)

16 November

Breakfast

Why can't I be normal? Why must I go doing things I will regret? Whywhywhy, Hermione-in-the-future (as I plan to look back at this later with wise eyes. I have read that if you recount things in present tense, as if it's happening at the moment, you remember things clearly), am I so spineless to let my own mind walk all over to me?

It all started this morning. Before breakfast, Minerva—remember her?—asked me to check on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and report back to her how they are doing.

'Our team is doing well,' I tell her. I know, don't fall over from all the details and imagery.

It was at breakfast and she raises her eyebrows over her tea. After a very noisy sip, she asks, 'Who are our strong players?'

'Edna Brynes and Sylvia Patterson.'

Her eyes go huge. 'The new ones? The second years?'

I nod. 'The very ones. I saw Slytherin but they don't stand a chance.'

Really?' a voice that is undeniably not Minerva's asks sardonically.

Ok, even though I recognised his voice, and would anywhere, it still doesn't keep me from leaping out of my skin, nearly knocking over my cup of tea.

I turn to see Snape taking a seat next to me, smirking arrogantly.

Let me point out that up until this time, Snape hasn't said more than seven words to me since I took over for the now late Professor Binns. And those words?

'Teaching isn't as easy as you think.' This is what he said my first day.

There is a reason it's always Minerva and not Snape greeting the first years.

So, needless to say, I am quite taken aback that he is now talking to me. However, my mouth still seems to be able to function through the shock.

'Oh?'

That was smooth… comes my inner voice, just on time. Unlike most people, I tend to have a bit of inner commentary. I mean, she never shuts up. Always puts in her two Knuts. Sometimes, she takes control over my mouth and says things. When I am blurting out facts, that's her.

Snape nods crisply. 'Alas, Miss Granger, I too looked in on the practices. And while I will admit Gryffindor has picked up its speed and your chasers are fair, the rest of the lot is… mediocre.'

'Mediocre?' demands a voice. 'Your house is as slow as trolls!'

Wait.

That's me!

I am not talking to Snape like this!

Yes, you are… mocks my inner voice.

YOU! You shut up this instant!

Silly, I am you. You are obviously mad to be talking to yourself like this.

I am not mad! You just need to keep your trap shut!

And you need to pay attention to what Snape is saying. Unless you want to look like an idiot.

I listen to her, only to not look like a prat.

'… And your Seeker has the reflexes of Hagrid over there,' Snape sneers, jerking his head in the half-giant's direction.

Hagrid accidentally crushes a mug in his oversized hands. 'Woops,' he says, turning cherry-red. 'Don' know me own stren'.'

I turn my attention back to Snape. He is using those dark, dark eyes to search mine, obviously for reference to my embarrassment or fury. Ok, I am mad at him for insulting my friend, but I won't say anything.

'Did we watch the same team practice?' I hear myself ask, my mouth clearly betraying me.

I said I wasn't going to say anything!

You didn't say a word; I did!

Maybe I am schizophrenic. Maybe this voice is just me going mad. Yet, she's been there my entire life. I was never called mad.

Well, Ron did a few times, but that was because I liked to study.

Snape's eyebrows shoot up. 'We were; I assure you. And your team doesn't stand a chance.'

'Really?' comes my voice, the tone a clear indication that my IC was up to something. And I have a feeling I know what it was.

Oh, Merlin…

'Yes,' Snape replies cockily, having no idea what is brewing in my mind. 'Miss Granger, really.'

I feel my lips curve into a smirk. 'Would you care to make a wager on that?'

Nononononono!

There is no doubt that he is clearly amused as he cocks one eyebrow and drawls, 'Haven't you been taught what happens when you bet a Slytherin?'

Yes! Yes, we have, and do you know what happens? We lose if we bet a Slytherin. Want to know why? Because a Slytherin never moves into a wager, they could possibly lose!

Oh, sod off.

I can't believe I have just been told to sod off by my own mind!

Oh, wait, yes I can. She is quite abusive.

'I am a grown women, Professor.' 'I' inform Snape.

'So I've noticed.'

Hm. Maybe he has a traitorous mind as well.

I feel myself lean toward him. 'If Gryffindor wins, you have to give our house fifty points.'

'Fifty,' he repeats flatly, his eyes glinting.

'To one student, in front of others, many others. You can't remove extra points from them later. Nor can you award your house more points to make up for it.'

Acknowledges Snape: 'You seem to have thought of everything.'

My IC responds, 'I know how Slytherins are able to slither out of things. I am not thick.'

I would disagree.

He puts a long finger on his eyebrow in thought. After a moment's speculation, he finally says, 'Fine. If Gryffindor wins, I will award your house fifty points—'

'In public.'

'In public,' He agrees. 'However, if your house does not win, then you must accompany me to the last dance lesson.'

My hand juts out and he takes it. 'Agreed.'

I should point out here, Hermione (from the future), lest you have forgotten, that Minerva decided that the only explanation for not many teacher's dancing at last year's ball was that the professors didn't know how to dance. So, she set up bimonthly lessons in Hogsmeade.

Though why he wanted that to be part of his wager, I didn't know. And it made me instantly suspicious.

Don't worry, assures my IC. He can't possibly lose.

Oh? How's that?

You saw the team! We can't lose. And the only way for Snape to win is if he paid the team to lose, and you know the Gryffindors won't do that.

Ok, she does have a point.

Of course.

And I would love to see the looks on the students' faces when he gives them the points.

There you go. I think you owe me an apology.

Lunch

Ok, just because I am trying to document everything for future reference, I must add that the game is today, just after lunch.

Classes have gone amazingly well. I had taught the affects of Magical wars on Muggle ones. Half of the class was awake. Which is a very large improvement from Professor Binns class.

Now I am seated between WIlhilemina and Prestia. The former is chatting animatedly to me about her recent trip to Ireland, where she encountered an actual leprocan.

'Little fellow was so cunning.' She takes an overly large bite of her pasta. 'As soon as I glanced away, he was gone! That's the thing with them. Rich things, a crossbreed of goblins and magical people.'

Ugh. I could have lived without knowing that.

That makes two of us.

Wilhilenina continues describing her new friend, whom was named Trevor. And then something odd happened.

Mashed Potatoes smack me lcear in the face. Just like that. All of a sudden, all I see is offwhite. And tried to inhale.

Memo to future self: don't inhale mashed potatoes as this is very painful. Even in the future, I am certain this memory has not escaped you. Unless you have blocked out it as the whole thing was tramatic. This is probably for the best.

Anyway, I just wiped it off with my hand (Gluck! It goes onto my plate.) and look around for the cause. Because even at a magical place such as Hogwarts, vegetables don't fly around randomly.

'Peeves!' shouts an angry voice next to me. Actually both voices on either side of me shout it.

I look up to see the offending poltiergiest floating over head, a glob of food hidden behind his back. It really isn't hidden since I can see through him. But I digress…

He cackles. 'Aw, does Hermy have a messy face?' He flies toward me. 'Let Peevesies wipe it off for you.'

I shove his hand away (I trust in the future I haven't forgotten that poltiergiests aren't like normal ghosts and have matter). 'Peeves, go away!'

This only causes me to inhale more potatoes.

Owwww…

While I am having a sneezing and coughing fit, Snape summons the Bloody Baron who then chases Peeves away.

Thank Merlin.

I am wiping off my face when I hear chuckling. About four people down, Snape has his hand over his mouth. You wouldn't know it was him except for the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Both my IC and I shoot him out worse glowering before returning to the food.

Gryffindor had better win.

Amen, Sister!

A/N: Well, I was reading Commentarius by BC Daily and a plot bunny began mating with an old plotbunny that has since been worn. Well, I dug a story out of my old notebook (And it took a while to dig! There are over fifty notebooks full of fanfics laying around!) and typed it up in diary format.

This was actually written preHBP so excuse it if there are continuity errors with it. It's a mad little thing, and the voice thing is sadly, what I go through. No, neither me nor Hermione are schizophrenic. It's just, we both have a very abusive voice in our heads.

Yeah, Hermy, NOW you have convinced them that you are sane.

See? There it is!

Well, sorry this A/N is so long but the story is probably going to be three chappies long. I welcome reviews!