She had never seen anything like it before. An exquisite vase of gold and red simmering on its pedestal; it ached to be touched. As she gently extended her hand she was vaguely aware of the sound of hurried footsteps echoing in the corridor.

"Do not touch that, Miss Granger," a voice commanded.

But the pull was so strong she barely paused. Basking in its almost ethereal glow, she made to stroke its impossibly smooth sides.

The pounding of footsteps was nearer, the voice more urgent.

"I said, do NOT touch that!"

Her hand was grasped the moment she made her first exquisite contact.

And then there was the all too familiar pulling at her navel and the plunge into darkness accompanied, unusually, by a fairly violent expletive that seemed aimed in her direction.

Landing with an ignominious thud on mercifully soft ground, she was just about to congratulate herself on such an expert landing when she was promptly bowled over by a black-robed man approximately twice her weight. They rolled clumsily for a minute, accompanied by said vase until they regained both their footings and their composures.

"I said 'DO NOT TOUCH THAT', Miss Granger!" Snape panted. "Why do students think I say things like that? Do you think I am an art lover? DO NOT TOUCH THAT! How hard can it be?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said meekly eyeing the now rather plain looking vase on the ground between them. "I just couldn't help myself."

"Could you not sense that it was a portkey? Can you not you feel it? See it? It has portkey written all over it in large shiny letters. I can never understand how students fall for these things, surely it's obvious."

"Greasy git," she mumbled under her breath.

"Pardon," he flashed.

"I said," she said distinctly, "that you have a GIFT. A gift for detecting portkeys and perhaps you should not be so harsh on those of us who have not."

He glared at her for an instant and then seemed to recover himself. "Do you know where we are, Miss Granger?"

"Ahh, no. Should I?"

"Apparently not."

"It's a trap, isn't it?" She was working her way up to full panic. "A trap by him; He-who-will-not-be-named. He's trying to get to Harry through me, isn't he?"

"Are you quite finished?" He drawled, cutting her off mid-stride.

She paused, teary eyed and breathless.

"What is it about you Gryffindors that makes you think you are the center of the universe? Do you think the Dark Lord brought himself back from the brink of death just to play sport with you? Don't you think, just perhaps, that rebuilding his old force to full strength before taking on a formidable enemy might take precedence over, say, for example, sending you on… a… little…trip?"

The lecture petered out with a hiss and he paused to let his wisdom sink in before continuing in a more reasonable manner.

"This portkey, Miss Granger, is a little practical joke that a certain one of my charges saw fit to place in an out-of-bounds area."

"I'm sorry, almost none of that made any sense at all."

He sighed wearily. "Miss Granger, what DO Gryffindors do for recreation? Fun if you will?"

"Study, read…."

"Other Gryffindors."

"Oh, well wizard chess I suppose, the odd bizarre transformation, quidditch…why?"

"Well, in the more intellectually stimulating world of Slytherin, we set little mind puzzles for one another. Sort of, defines the pecking order, if you will. The old portkey," he waved his bony hand in the general direction of the vase, "is a simple one, usually aimed at the unwary first year but the rules are the same for all: in Slytherin territory only. This little treasure was placed in a Gryffindor corridor expressly against the rules of the game."

"Was it Malfoy?" she asked keenly.

"No it wasn't!" He was getting exasperated; "More Gryffindor logic! Do you know how many students there are in Slytherin? You do realise that there are people with whom you are not personally acquainted who still manage to exist none-the-less."

"Yes." Her response was unnecessary and dangerously tearful.

"This is getting us nowhere," he snapped, "I haven't been caught by one of these since I was in first year, and then only once. There was a standard chant to find the path to the exit portkey, if I recall."

He stood for a moment, lost in thought. Then he pulled out his wand and held it loosely between his thumb and forefinger allowing it to swing freely. Slowly he began a low chant Hermione could not recognise, circling slowly. He stopped abruptly.

"Oh damn. Nice touch; but damn. I am going to kill that boy when I get back," he mumbled to himself.

"What is it, sir?" she asked.

"What?" he said distractedly. "Oh, one of the nicer add-on extras to a portkey puzzle is to slowly drain the victim of energy; magical and otherwise. The more spells you do, the weaker you become, the more physical exertion, the weaker you become, the longer you stay trapped, the weaker you become. The idea is you are less able to cause permanent damage to the perpetrator when you get out. The good news, for you, Miss Granger, is the stronger you are, the faster your energy goes. You never lose it all because the loss slows as you grow weaker."

"Is it permanent?"

"Not usually." Then he added in a dangerous tone; "not if the student wishes to graduate."

He strode off. "Do not touch anything and try not to exert yourself."