A/N: A little late than I had hoped. My computer decided to install 159 updates (not exaggerating) and then I had to overnight a celebrity's underwear. Ah, the perks of the hotel industry.

I was a little worried at first that this story wasn't well received but it seems as though you all enjoyed the first part? Whose coin are you hoping shows up?

Chapter Two

…No.

…No.

…Definitely not.

…Hmm, maybe, but I don't know where to find one.

It was midmorning about a week after Hermione had found the Fountain of Erised. Each day, it seemed, she would collect a handful or two of the coins to bring back to her room and evaluate.

Since the recent coins were on the surface, she was careful to take the top layers, though a few had gotten mixed in from when she had originally reached into the fountain.

Most of the wishes were not anything she could help with. The person in question was either gone for the summer, or passed on, or the wish wasn't something she could accomplish.

Getting Gilderoy Lockhart to shag a student was not going to happen, for example. And she wasn't about to assist in organizing a threesome for anyone. She couldn't help a past student with their exams, and she couldn't bring someone's dog back to life.

However, many were wishes she could fulfill and those she kept aside and placed in a small satchel. She thought about putting up some protective spells to ward against intruders but decided it was really unnecessary. There were a grand total of maybe ten people in the castle at any given time. She was the only female student, and the spells would just cause more attention than they were worth. An unassuming bag sitting on her shelf was much less likely to be discovered.

Periodically, she would take out the coins and contemplate them. She would arrange them in order according to their monetary worth, and then she would rearrange them by date. It was when she sorted them again by the age of the wisher that she knew she just needed to make up her mind and get started with her plan.

And so she did.

She arranged the coins into short term and long term. Some things were going to be easy to do. In fact, she was surprised some of these were even in here. If the wisher had just told someone about their wish, it easily would have been granted.

Oh well. The job just fell to her.

~~HGSS~~

A change had come over the already obnoxious and impertinent Miss Granger.

Previously, when he would glower in her direction or speak with her, she would shy away, chastised. She never did anything to call his attention —outside of raising her incessant hand.

Now, it seemed she was everywhere. Professor Snape swore that when they entered the castle, duplicates must have been made of both her and the Longbottom boy.

But at least the boy fled in his presence. Not true of the girl.

The professor frowned as he looked at his morning meal. Was it so much to ask for a quiet summer in the castle before the dunderheads returned?

Since he was a boy, Severus Snape had rarely had peace and quiet. Oh, he'd had peace. And other times, he'd had quiet. They just never had coincided.

As a child, even though he was the only one, his father had made enough racket to satisfy even the Weasley brood. There was never a tranquil time in the Snape home. He did not often think of those times, preferring them to be dead and gone with both of his parents.

Then came Hogwarts. Where was one to find peace or quiet in a dorm full of boys? Even Slytherin ones. He had been a loner, to be sure, but that did not mean he could escape the clamor of the people around him. And with the tormenting that came from, well, everyone, but especially the group of four from Gryffindor, even the library or his favorite tree by the lake had been no escape. It was then he could find quiet, but again, no peace. He had to be as on his toes as he was when his father came home from the pub, for a curse could hurt and hinder just as much as a fist would.

And then came the "Voldemort Years."

Once he took the Dark Mark, he knew then that his life would still be ruled by others. At any time, he could be summoned before his Lord and must be willing to set anything aside. Again, quiet, on occasion, but no peace.

And then there was the death of the Potters. Of Lily. From then on, any hope of peace was shattered, and quiet was too. Thrust into a double life, he also added "Professor" to his title. He didn't mind being back in the familiar walls of the castle and away from the home which held so little for him. Eventually, he also became Head of Slytherin, further dashing his hopes for solitude. Now, at anytime, the Headmaster, or Mistress, or the Dark Lord, or a student, could come asking for him, and they frequently did. After Voldemort's first fall, he had had a few years of relative peace, but even that was often broken by the shenanigans of the students.

And then came The End. The fall of Voldemort. He was released from two of his bindings, and the summer was ahead of him. He could quite possibly spend eight glorious weeks with no one but himself for company. He could brew any potion, without the worry of interruption at a crucial stage. He could pick up a book and read it cover to cover in one sitting. He could put away the heavy robes he wore to encourage his intimidating demeanor.

He wouldn't have to make small talk with those intellectually beneath himself or answer questions from irritating students. Hell, he could walk the halls in his bathrobe if he so chose, as there would be no one else where he traversed.

And then, with that simple hello, his dream was shattered.

Like nails on a chalkboard, her voice scraped against his cerebrum. And when she informed him of Longbottom as well, he just about snapped that she might as well round up all of her little friends for a jolly get -together in his chambers, since his summer just went to hell in a hand basket anyway.

Hmm. Perhaps that suggestion wasn't too off the mark. He could suggest something in a room —far away from his own. Provide plenty of libations and with an advanced Alohomora cast on the door—

"Professor?" came the call with a firm knock on his door.

He didn't answer.

"Professor?" the girl tried again. "I know you're in there! The portrait told me."

Blast. He knew he should have replaced the bloody thing. It was much too acquiescing.

Snape told the firmly shut door, "Go away, Granger."

"But, sir, I just have a quick question."

"None of your questions are ever brief, Miss Granger, and regardless of their content, I don't care to hear them. Go find someone who gives a damn."

Hermione stood on the other side of the thick oak door, exasperated. She tried a different tactic, one that had often worked with both her father and her male friends.

"Sir? Professor Snape? I really need your help, and you are the only one I can come to. You're brilliant in Potions. No one I know can rival you, and I know with certainty you are the only one who can help. I need you, sir. Anyone else would just be a pathetic imitation. Please?"

She grimaced at the pleading note in her voice, even if what she had said was true. Hermione Granger wasn't one to beg, and she didn't usually try to manipulate, but when in Rome…

The door creaked open.

Popping her head inside, she saw her professor sitting in a comfortable-looking chair. Though he wasn't wearing his robes, he was still wearing his scowl, complete with crossed arms. "Well, spit it out, stupid girl. I haven't got all day."

"What else are you doing?" asked Hermione, curious.

"That is none of your concern! If you have just come to inquire about my affairs, please see yourself to the door, and I don't care if it hits you on the way out." He didn't bother telling her that his important to-do list contained a good book and a possible nap this afternoon.

Snape reached as though to pick up said book and close the conversation.

"No!" said Hermione emphatically. "I didn't mean to pry. I just, well, I, um, see, I'm—"

"Your allotted time is rapidly diminishing in the face of your eloquence, Miss Granger."

Fighting a blush, she managed to stammer out her request. "Well, I'm working on some research over the summer on the side, and I was sort of hoping, and you don't have to of course, but IwanttolearntheWolfsbanepotion."

My, but she was a cheeky wretch. "The Wolfsbane? And why, in Merlin's name, would I let you assist in such a complicated potion?"

"Because I'm good at following directions. And I don't mind the grunt work, even the seven hours of observation to see if the color changes, leaving you free to do something else. And you'd know where I'd be so you wouldn't have to worry about running into me. Sir."

Damn. She had a good point.

"And why do you wish to learn this particular potion? Gnawing at you, is it? The fact that there is something you don't know?"

She gave him a glare to match his own. "I want to learn it so that when some student snaps and kills you, the rest of us won't be stuck with a murderous werewolf. And you yourself said that when it comes to Potions, the more we learn, the better off we are, since each is not merely a recipe but a ritual unto itself to be experienced and savored."

He gave her a surprised look, both for her cheek and her exact repetition of his lecture. "I will commence brewing tonight, Miss Granger. Six sharp, be in my office. Wear something comfortable. It's going to be a long night —for you," he added, satisfied that his sleep would not be interrupted once again by brewing to help that idiotic, spineless, poor excuse for a werewolf. He had never relished being forced to help him after him and his friend got away with such bullying in school. Now, it could be someone else's problem.

Startled that he didn't berate her for her outburst, she left his chambers.

~~HGSS~~

Hermione spent all afternoon reading what she could on the Wolfsbane potion.

Snape assumed she would do just that and enjoyed freely traipsing the grounds and castle. Even Longbottom was nowhere to be found.

Even though Hermione was rereading books she had already read at some point during her school career, the knowledge she had gained as a seventh year, being back under Snape's tutelage and after having her mind broadened by the teachings of the Half-Blood Prince, she found she was forming new ideas and theories about ways to alter the Wolfsbane potion.

Which was exactly her intent.

While Hermione had already fulfilled some of the smaller wishes —it was no trouble at all to bake some fresh banana bread for Professor Flitwick, nor was it hard to send Ginny the book on dating famous wizards —there was one long term wish that had caught her eye.

Remus J. Lupin. May 25th, 1995 —I wish the parents wouldn't know of my condition.

Hermione had held this coin in her hand. A shiny gold Galleon.

There was nothing to be done about the populace knowing about his…condition, as he called it. He had been ostracized by the community, forced to lay low in Grimmauld Place with Sirius until his passing. Now he shared the home with Tonks and Harry, but he still wasn't free to come and go as he wished without the stares and the whispers.

Hermione knew that feeling. If there was a way to erase the prejudice about her birth, she would do it in a heartbeat. Of course, now that she was part of the fabled trio who had eradicated Voldemort, her blood status was no longer in question. But she doubted that was true for the other witches and wizards of less than "pure" upbringing. She didn't wish to change, she was proud of her Muggle heritage. But the naïve and biased opinions she could do without.

And so, Hermione wanted to dedicate her free time to doing something for Remus. While a full cure was farfetched, she hoped for maybe an alteration to give him easier or less pronounced transformations.

She read the books cover to cover, skipped through to the relevant areas and jotted down notes in her neat cursive writing with her purple gel pen.

There were advantages to not being in school. Leaving the quill and inkwell in her room was one of them.

Admiring her pen for a moment, she quickly went back to work away the hours.

~~HGSS~~

Five minutes to six found her nervously pacing outside of her professor's door.

It would be rude to knock too early. He would expect her to be punctual. But, if she waited too long before she knocked, she wouldn't be punctual; she'd end up being late. Did he want her to knock right at six or was he expecting her to be inside and ready to work at six? Was three to the hour an acceptable compromise?

The sound of the door jerking open snapped her out of her worries.

"For the love of Circe, girl. Get in here. I can hear you fretting from my lab."

"I don't fret!" proclaimed Hermione, even as she was calming herself down.

Snape ignored her and took in her appearance. Hair tied back, good. If it wasn't, he would have turned her back on her heels.

Sensible Muggle sneakers, fine.

No robes, also fine. Soft cotton pants, good. The tank top left something to be desire —because he certainly wasn't looking at the heaving bodice of a mere girl as she soothed her fright, the soft round breasts not tempting him in the slightest —but overall, her choices were satisfactory.

Hermione stood there as his eyes roamed over her body. She felt him start with her feet and work his way up until she had to cross her arms over her chest. "Are you ready, Professor?" she snapped.

"Merely making sure you are, Miss Granger. After you."

With a wave of his wand, a door slid open revealing his personal lab. Hermione hadn't known until that day that he had one, but it made sense. The ingredients and materials suitable for first years would be far inferior to the demands of a Potions Master.

Hours passed in relative silence as Hermione pondered when, exactly, to start questioning him. She hoped proving her competence would butter him up a little.

She didn't know that just holding her tongue was putting him in a better mood.

Near midnight, the potion reached its stable stage. It would now have to rest for the next seven hours. Hopefully, no color change would occur, and the blue smoke would waft off the potion at the end of the rest.

"Sir?"" she tentatively asked.

"Hmm?" Snape questioned, without even looking up from the formula.

"Have you ever tried to alter the Wolfsbane?"

Snape's eye's snapped to hers. "Of course I have, you daft little–"

He made himself calm down before continuing. She had been of assistance and he might wish to use her again in the future. No use in offending the non-hired help. With a deep breath, he continued.

"Just who do you think you are talking to? Your little friends had my Potions book from when I was younger than you are now, Miss Granger, and if I find a way to cure the damned wolf, then I may never have to set my eyes upon his ragged form again."

"Sorry. What have you tried?"

Without a word, he walked up to a bookshelf and threw a large book at her. She barely caught it before it smacked into her. With a sharp look at him, she laid the book on the counter and began to read.

As he tidied the area and put away the vials and containers, Hermione quickly scanned through the book in his familiar scrawl. "Have you tried lavender?"

"What?"

"Lavender. To counteract the harsh qualities of the rest of the potion. Perhaps if it mimics' the natural equilib–"

" Dammit, Granger, don't you think if it is something as simple as that, that it would have been done already? Of course lavender has been tried!"

She frowned at him. "But it isn't in your book."

"Stupid, blind, insolent twit!" He snatched the book from her. "It's right here! Right after…"

But it wasn't there. Incensed, Snape flipped through the book front to back, then back to front for good measure.

He had never recorded trying lavender. He must have thought about it but forgot to actually try it amongst all of his other trials.

"Fine. Put in lavender. And when this whole bloody mess is rendered unusable, it is you who will provide the replacement ingredients and brew. Alone!"

With a dramatic slam of the door, he left Hermione in silence, her eyes wide and form still as she watched him go.

With a slight tremor in her hand, she added a sprig of crushed lavender.

~~HGSS~~

To his credit, he did not kill Hermione Granger in the week that followed. Even if she did sorely deserve it.

Lupin had come up to his chambers the day after the full moon in a barely controlled state of shock, blubbering something about his transformation. Obviously, something had gone awry, and he knew who was to blame.

After forcing a Calming Draught down the wolf's throat, he managed to get the story out of him.

Lupin had never transformed.

Snape immediately left the bumbling man and when he found Hermione, docilely working on her book revision, he very nearly grabbed her by her ear like an errant child. He settled for her arm and nearly dragged her —complete with kicking and screaming —into his office. Tossing her into a chair, he demanded answers.

"What did you do?"

"Just what I said I was going to!" Hermione yelled back at him.

"Tell me, Hermione! Just what exactly did you do?!"

It was then she noticed Remus was in the office, looking relatively unscathed.

"It worked then? Tell me, did it work, Remus?"

The man nodded, and Hermione squealed with joy and hugged him around his shoulders. They held each other laughing, until they remembered Snape, who was standing alone, barely controlling his temper.

"A sprig. That was it. I just added a spring of lavender after you left. We did it, sir."

She gave him the same smile that she had given Remus, but thankfully, she managed not to try and physically assault him.

~~HGSS~~

The Daily Prophet headline the next morning read "New Snape-Granger Wolfsbane cures Remus Lupin!"

He had no idea why his name even appeared in the title. He had nothing to do with it. Just then, Granger came to where he sat alone at the High Table.

"I couldn't have done it without you, sir. It was your trials that told me what was left to try. I'm sure you would have gotten it. Sometimes, it's just hard to see the forest for the trees."

Hermione left the Great Hall with a spring in her step and a smile on her face, leaving her seething professor behind as he crumbled the edges of the paper in his hands.

It was good to be a Godmother.