Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Rowling does.

Krirobe: Enjoy!

Chapter One: "A Botched Adventure"- Interlude in Book 6

Straightening the collar of my black robes with the Hogwarts crest colored crimson and gold stamped on the breast, I briefly surveyed my appearance at the vanity table in front of my four-poster bed. Other things today, though, were more important that morning than my usual sighing disappointment over my frizzy hair and dull brown eyes (I sighed anyway out of habit). Other things like the pilfering I had planned for that day.

Nervous excitement boiled in my stomach, which made me keep asking myself whether or not I needed to use the toilet. It would be very terrible for my bladder to complain while I was on an adventure by myself. Terrible enough that I did try to "unload" multiple times that morning without success. Of course, I would never say anything of that nature to anyone even if it is natural enough. It's very bad to talk about in any kind of company, after all.

I waved goodbye to Lavender and Parvati who were loudly twittering and crowding around one vanity table. I knew they never really saw or minded when I left, but I did it anyway (also out of habit).

I slung my books over my shoulder and hoped that the boys would not be up this early to meet me in the Great Hall so that I could rehearse my plan in my mind without being interrupted by banal Quidditch talk. As expected, they weren't there. Why I even worried, I have no idea.

I was one of the first to arrive and settle down for breakfast, which suited me perfectly. I saw a few of my second-year housemates and made a point to sit as far away from them as possible. That day, it was not only because I am an anti-social bookworm who seeks quiet refuge for my compulsive study habits—which I will only ever admit to myself—but it was also because I had a secret, which is a thing that I often do not get to have.

So, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table from my clustered second-year house-mates, I spread raspberry marmalade on a piece of toast, plopped it down onto my plate, and forgot its existence for the next ten minutes in favor of the mystery that was presently burning a rather large hole in my pocket.

This mystery had everything to do with a piece of paper Ron accidentally found in the library last year in the art section. I will never know what he was doing there. He gave it to me sometime last year, expecting me to resolve his piqued curiosity about the list of ingredients on it by staying up days and nights researching while he and Harry played Wizard's Chess. I felt a bit used, but he knows that I enjoy it when anyone recognizes my superior intelligence. He scratches my back, I scratch his, never mind that I scratch for days and days…

So, I end up with baggy eyes, an addiction to highly caffeinated tea, and some answers a month later, and Ron and Harry have, of course, forgotten all about the Pomegranate. That's my pet name for this piece of paper. You would name a piece of paper, too, if you were lost within its arcane mysteries for weeks on end, too. Anyway, the mystery which had enraptured Ron and Harry for about three days until it evaporated like liquid Nitrogen exposed to room temperature became my obsession.

I was resolved to wait to examine for about the thousandth time the Pomegranate. Very resolved. The seconds passed. I glanced around the room. Immature second-years and a few Hufflepuffs and Slytherins peopled the room. I looked up the room at the professors. Professor Snape looked positively livid and Professor Flitwick positively short. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening. No one would even notice if I discreetly (adoringly, ardently, lovingly), momentarily peeked at a very un-extraordinary piece of raggedy paper (I apologize most profusely, Masterpiece beyond the Bounds of Fantasy, my other pet name for it). And if the Hufflepuffs noticed… well, I can easily threaten their... friends' lives. The second-years are too dense to imagine anything. Ditto for the Slytherins.

With this reasoning, I whipped the Pomegranate out and plastered it to my face, a picture of a pomegranate (I am not totally illogical, pretty much the opposite) facing the multitudes gathered for breakfast. Ok, I admit I misestimated the number of people in the room. But you would be blind to a hundred people if the most brilliant thing you ever came across was sitting in your pocket, too.

Knowing I was on the brink of discovery after a year of paper-cuts and puzzling, I mouthed as I read the spidery hand-writing. It read:

Set table with incense, preferably Lignum Aloes

9 drops of honey from Borage

Allum

9 leaves of the Buxus Suffruticosa

5 grams of evenly shredded Vervain

2 milliliters of liquefied Angelica

Touchstone (for frame)

If gold, use Quicksilver and Brimst.

Brokenfeld-"Stone found in the eagle's nest was recommended by the Akhaians in the extraction." How to implement stone?

I know, absolutely, mind-bogglingly brilliant!

Unable to tear my eyes away, even after reading through the memorized words twice, I started to whisper to myself, forcing the words through my trembling. "I should have realized before two months ago that this potion required a more sophisticated procedure than mere stirring as the lack of instructions implied. Now, I've ended up wasting all my galleons on Angelica!"

You see, earlier in the year, I had searched Professor Slughorn's closet for Angelica, but his supply was almost gone and not nearly enough for the experiment. Then, I realized two weeks ago, I would need to venture into Professor Snape's personal storeroom that was no longer conveniently adjoined to his classroom (why did he have to achieve his Lifetime-worthy dream of becoming DADA professor this year?), but was located somewhere in the far recesses of the dungeons.

I nervously gulped down some hot pumpkin cider. As I neatly put the Pomegranate back in its hiding place, I saw Professor Snape agitatedly stroll (disregard the oxymoron, it somehow accurately describes something no one else but the professor can do) out of the Great Hall, looking strangely blanched in the face. I was reminded that I was about to trespass his domain in an hour.

Panic grasped my lungs for a moment before I forced myself to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I reasoned that I had procured the Marauders' Map beforehand with Harry's permission and had thoroughly gone over my scheme a thousand times. I coerced the corners of my lips to turn upwards into a cat-got-the-cream smile. However, I still had to suppress a wayward shiver at the thought of another exploration of the dungeons—the dank, dark, depressing, dangerous, decrepit dungeons—and being caught by the resident bat.

Determined to get some food in my stomach despite the nausea at the idea of getting caught, I stuffed the Pomegranate away and bit into my toast. A wave of female titters heralded Harry and Ron's arrival a few gulps of pumpkin cider later. They mysteriously got popular this year, which was another thing to explore on my "List of Things that Puzzle Me" after I figured out the Pomegranate.

Harry dropped the disguised Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook onto the table across from me. I looked at it disdainfully as Ron shoved some fruit into his mouth and expectorated a hearty good morning at me.

I said waspishly, "Why are you still lugging that malicious thing around, especially after what happened with Malfoy? You should have just turned it in to Professor Snape. Maybe then you would be able to participate in the match." And, I confess, I would again be number one, top of the heap, queen of academia as is my rightful place if he discarded that really smart thing. Just for the record, my aversion to the book has nothing to do with my problem handling someone being better than I am. Not one bit.

Harry stared at me incredulously. "What? I'd probably be hauled to the front of the Great Hall and be horsewhipped with all of Hogwarts watching on. And then where would I be in Potions? And you know they'd still not let me play. Can we not argue over the Half-Blood Prince right now?"

"He's right, Hermione. Just let it go. For the morning, at least," pleaded Ron.

I grumbled into submission. I would get absolutely nowhere with them about work ethic and honesty.

Polishing off my toast, I conversed with the boys for the rest of the morning, forgetting about the Half-Blood Prince and how he (or she) could have helped me with the theory involved behind the potion and my own bitterness over the probable ease with which it would have come to him (or her).

Instead, I watched Ron console Harry, and Ron laugh at Dean's joke, and Ron slobber Pumpkin Juice down his shirt, and Ron flinch at Lavender's entrance, and Ron crinkle his brow over the Transfiguration assignment due today, and Ron intone 'Hermione' in that froggy-morning voice of his. I sighed.

"... do you think, Hermione?" Ron looked at me expectantly from across the table. Um, I think you say my name like an absolute dreamboat. Nope, I will definitely never admit that either.

I bluffed righteously, "You've known since third year what I've thought about that, Ron." I added an eye-roll for effect, too. I am convinced that I would be an amazing actress if I was at all concerned over my looks.

Ron looked at me blankly. "How? It's only just happened." He just has no appreciation for the arts. If he did, he would have been convinced without needlessly arguing with me. Boys.

I cringed as I felt Harry's knowing smile, and I quickly said, "Similar circumstances, of course."

After a moment of thought, Ron nodded with supreme understanding. He replied, "Oh, I see."

I knew I could act. If only Harry believed that tidbit, too.

88

Flinching at the loud pounding of my heart and the echo of my footsteps on the cold stone floor of the dungeons, I felt the sweat bead on the back of my neck and trickle beneath my constricting collar down my tense spine. Despite the knowledge that Professor Snape was busy teaching fifth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, information that I had taken pains to pull out of Ginny, I couldn't help jumping at every suspicious shadow lurking down the long, winding corridor. The poor lighting did not improve matters.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes, I reached the entrance to Professor Snape's stores, which happened to be a painting of a woebegone woman under a cypress tree. Brushing aside the painting's entreaties for the husband she lost to the upper floor hussy painted in the Victorian era ("what a stodgy period! Look at her! She's covered from her double chins to her thick ankles in layers of unbecoming lace! What Orpheus sees in a social whore like her, especially when he has me, a toga-wearing goddess…"), I whispered, "The Sands of Time."

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I let it out when the wife of Orpheus shot me a nasty look and swung the portal open. Fortunately, the Marauder's Map gave passwords to teachers' private rooms, too.

"I can't begin to imagine the atrocities and crimes the Marauders committed against teachers in their day with this information. They must have been practically criminal!" I grimaced at the idea. I then nonchalantly proceeded to invade and pick my way through my professor's private sanctum, searching his collection of ingredients he had painstakingly gathered over a period of what must have been years.

The closet wasn't as large as, say, the Gryffindor common room, but it did seem to be about the size of my old bedroom at home with my parents. In any case, this job wasn't going to be quick, but it was going to be possible to find Angelica within an hour if I worked hard, which I was very good at doing like everything else under the sun. Divination is in the stars, not under the sun, and its existence is questionable so don't even start with me.

My heart stopped racing as my mind preoccupied itself. Stuffing the Marauders' Map in my pocket, I set to work.

At times in between my intent hunt for Angelica, I would notice the few knick knacks other than ingredients that were stored in here. Behind some jars which contained some sort of intestine, there was a picture of who I assumed was Snape's mother. I observed the woman for a little, and then put her down. I sympathized with her unibrow issue. Her aspirations for actor-hood must have been shot down just as my own were.

When I stumbled upon some more of those montages to the dark arts which were hanging in Professor Snape's classroom, I nearly shrieked. Hurriedly, I turned them away from my line of sight before my upchuck reflex became insurmountable. I also discovered a box of a paltry amount of letters written to Snape by someone whose initials were RAB with a few by Dumbledore interspersed throughout. I wouldn't allow myself to summon up a proper amount of intrusiveness to pry into Snape's personal correspondence, so I let them be, getting on with my search for Angelica. If only I knew his system, this would be so much easier.

"Here it is," I exclaimed after a little over an hour of searching. Smiling with success, I extracted a pouch from my robes and pinched some Angelica into it. As I was turning to leave, a glint of something behind the Angelica caught my eye. Puzzling over how anything could shine in this consuming darkness, I turned back around to investigate.

Behind the jar of Angelica there was a solid piece of rectangular gold that extended above and below the shelf. I couldn't see the ends of it, I assumed, because other shelves were blocking it. I squinted at it, examining the engraving on it of an elegant bird with its wings spread in flight. I stretched out my fingers to rub the multiple layers of dust off.

I jumped, hastily pulling my fingers back from the curiosity, when I heard a dark voice behind me.

"Have I taken a wrong turn, Miss. Granger, in the corridors that have been my home for over a decade," spoke a tall shadow near the entrance, "or have I found a student, Miss. Granger, sniffing around in my private rooms? Please, Miss. Granger, I am at a loss. Your supreme intelligence should be capable of informing me as to which is the correct answer." Professor Snape lingered on the edge of the shadows.

Without giving me any time whatsoever to form an answer between my quivering lips, the Head of Slytherin ploughed unfairly on while idly dangling his wand between his thumb and middle finger. "Miss. Granger, as you have failed to give me an answer of your know-it-all caliber, fifty points from Gryffindor. I have yet to hear an answer. Another fifty. Your housemates must be clamoring upstairs. One hundred points have just whizzed down the tube. Seems like Slytherin will be in the lead. I am sincerely grateful to you, Miss. Granger, for your signature Gryffindor arrogance and foolhardiness, your disrespect for authority, and your stupidity." Professor Snape almost growled the last word, sneering down his long, crooked nose at me. I started trembling in fear long before he finished his speech. That wand hanging from his fingertips was very ominous for me indeed.

His voice lost its silky quality as he railed. "Now I demand to know what you are doing in my personal things, things which have nothing to do with my students, especially with juvenile delinquents!"

I cringed, unable to speak in the face of his passionate anger, much less admit to any wrongdoing. The professor had turned into a monster. It just was not safe to say I was in the wrong.

The man opposite me made a show of deadening his rage. He quietly snarled from the shadows, "Come closer, Miss. Granger. Closer." I could do nothing but obey, his fury pummeling any attempt at audacity. I shuffled forward. I was so scared, but also strangely captivated.

He leaned down surprising me when I was less than a meter away. His lank, black hair brushed my wet cheek. Enunciating every word, he hissed, "Did you want to steal from me? Did you think I wouldn't notice your filth marring my personal space? Or, Miss. Granger, did you want to know my secrets, just like your friend Potter?"

While vainly trying to push the truth of my visit out of my mind, I absentmindedly noted that he breathed heavily. His overwhelming presence and his reputed skill in occlumency blocked my meager abilities in dissembling, though. Honesty was, really, the most inconvenient virtue, I meditated laughingly, almost forgetting the situation at hand.

He straightened quickly and stared at me in bewilderment. His hands went to pat his robes down his sides, almost self-consciously it seemed. I wondered at his odd behavior for a second before he glared at me again. Oh right. He is angry and scary. My feelings abruptly changed back to fear. I could tell Professor Snape was back to sadistically relishing my fear after that very disconcertingly strange moment.

Getting weary of waiting for an answer while I was absorbed in my thoughts, Snape said, "Would you prefer it if I invaded your mind and sought the answer for myself or if you volunteered the information of your own free will?"

I quickly mumbled, "I needed some ingredients, sir."

"So you thought it would be alright to steal? We will discuss this with your Head of House. She will be so disappointed in her star pupil, wouldn't you say, Miss Granger?" He beckoned me forward, out into the corridors. I followed him.

"Two of her prize students, two of the Golden Trio, defeated by their impulsive greed and envy. Such a tragedy. I can't say I expected much from either of you, but it is such a shame. The headmaster will, of course, be involved. Expulsion is a likely avenue of punishment we may have to take unless Professor Dumbledore lets his favoritism rule over him again, which I very much doubt," mused Snape from ahead of me.

I felt stricken. The idea of expulsion was terrifying. School was my life. I cried, "Sir, please, I'll do anything. Please don't tell Professor McGonagall. I just needed to know something. It was just an experiment. I promise to clean cauldrons by hand for the rest of the year. I promise to write however many essays you want me to write. Please." My voice cracked in despair. Just as I began to plan on how I was going to be top of the school I would be transferring to (if any school would accept me, that is), Professor Snape surprised me.

Professor Snape spun on me. "Anything? Are you sure about that, Miss Granger?" Hot coal black eyes bored into mine. "Fine, this will be our secret. You will serve detention from now until next Saturday at seven sharp every night in my classroom. That will be your punishment."

My smile of relief disappeared at his next statement.

"But that will not be all I require from you. When the time comes, I will ask you for a favor, and you won't be able to refuse. Agreed?"

Without hesitation, I nodded my head. I would do anything to stay at Hogwarts.

"Good. Until tonight."

Professor Snape strode away, back into the dungeons. I did not at all mind that he didn't return my hearty farewell. After all, I just got out of a potentially nasty scrape, and he apparently forgot to confiscate the Angelica. I felt torn between feeling fortunate and feeling nauseatingly out of Professor Snape's good opinion, not that I ever was in it. Well, I will just have to be even more perfect from now on. Of course, perfection never worked on him.

Maybe I could get the secret password to his room, find his pensieve, and destroy any record of this incident... Or maybe I should just ask the Headmaster if I could convince the Sorting Hat to place me in Slytherin. That would go over much better.

end of chapter one

A/N: This is a revised version. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the old version. And thanks for reading! This is my first time writing somewhat humorous fiction in the first person, and I would love to get some feedback. I also just finished reading a lot of first-person fics, and you can probably tell I've been influenced by them (hopefully for the better). Anyway... Please be true and review! (I definitely had too much Blockbuster when I was young)