A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! There was just a lot going on and this story sort of fell to the wayside. I'll try to be better in the future.

Speak to any first year and they would unanimously agree that the coldest and most unwelcoming place in all of Hogwarts were its dungeons. They would most likely continue on to say that this was undoubtedly due to the dungeons' main occupant: the dungeon bat, the greasy git of a Potions Master himself, Professor Snape. And directly after such an announcement of detestation for the Potions Master from these unaware first years, you would be introduced to one Mirelle Le Noir.

And she would not be happy.

Mirelle, the pale-as-a-ghost fourth year Slytherin, was the first and only Slytherin in her family, something she was quite proud of. In fact, she was beyond proud of being a Slytherin in general; she loved the reputation, she loved the status. She loved her House… specifically, her head of House.

Indeed, Mirelle had idolized the Potions Master for as long as she had been in Hogwarts. More than idolized, really. Even she was inclined to agree that she was rather infatuated with the man. Unfortunately, he hadn't seemed to notice her adoration of him. As a matter of fact, the only time he really seemed to notice her at all was when she went out of her way to make him.

Which was exactly what she was doing now. She'd hiked up her skirt and placed herself in clear view of her Professor. He, however, did not seem to mind at all—or, rather, hadn't even noticed. That seemed to be the problem with him. That was the problem with men in general, really; completely, utterly, oblivious.

It was difficult and rather unsavory to lump her beloved Professor in with the rest of the male population, but to do so was a much easier fact to swallow than the other option: he simply did not care about her or her advances. So, oblivious he was. He had to be, really. To this day, she could remember the first words from his mouth to ever grace her ears: "I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper…in death."

Yes, to this day the line had the same effect on her as it first did. She'd sat in total awe of him as soon as he'd begun to speak, been on the edge of her seat for his next word, jumped at the harshness in his voice when he'd snapped at Potter. She was completely enamored by his rough, gritty personality.

And, since she had exhausted all other options, it was high time to get a little more…abrupt.

Within arm's reach, on the other side of the desk that Mirelle had oh-so-carefully positioned herself on, sat a cauldron, Pewter, size 12, the standard cauldron. Virtually unbreakable (however, easily melted, as she had learned from several years of having Potions with the Gryffindors), they were also very loud when they fell to the stone floor of the dungeons. She couldn't help but smirk. 'Even a first year Hufflepuff couldn't ignore this,' she thought, flicking the cauldron off of the desk.

Her Professor snapped to attention as the clang rang through his classroom, and he followed the cauldron with his eyes as it rolled to a stop in front of his desk. By the time Professor Snape glanced back up at Mirelle, she'd already feigned total shock, clapping a hand over her open mouth.

"Oh, Professor!" she gasped, "I'm so sorry! All these classes with the Gryffindors must be having a terrible effect on me…—let me get that for you!" Snickering softly to herself, she hopped from her perch and practically bounced over to where the cauldron had come to a stop. Turning her back to him, she wondered briefly if he shared a fondness for silver and green like the rest of his House (if so, she'd certainly dressed for the occasion). Mirelle took a quick breath and curled her lip up in a smirk as she bent over, imagining him approaching her, touching her, calling her "Mirelle" instead of "Miss Le Noir"…

And then the door banged open.

Undoubtedly the sudden noise startled Mirelle far more than it did Professor Snape (who, unbeknownst to Mirelle, had not moved from marking his papers), and she stumbled forward slightly. Fuming, she grimaced, and turned on her heel toward the door to berate whoever dared to barge in on her.

"Professor-Snape-I'm-so-sorry-to-interrupt-but-Mirelle-is-needed-urgently-at-the-hospital-wing!" And whoosh, the next thing she knew, Mirelle was stumbling out of the Potions classroom and into the wall.

"What. Were. You. THINKING!" There was an exasperated sigh. "And for Merlin's sake pull your skirt down!"

Mirelle took a deep, meant-to-be-calming breath and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Arisande, do you know how many times you've interrupted me?"

"Well! It's not like it's my fault—"

"Seventeen! Seventeen times now! Any time I remotely get close to talking with him—"

"Oh rubbish! Flashing your knickers at him is NOT 'talking'! And you act like you'd even stand a chance with the bat—"

"Of course I would! I'm Mirelle Le Noi—"

"Yes, yes we know who you are! It's about time you get over this 'crush' thing," Arisande blanched at the word, "and move on to something more realistic, like helping me help Hermione here!"

"Who the hell's Hermione?"

Arisande hopped to her left and yanked forward the bushy-haired fourth-year who'd been cowering against the dungeon wall. "Hermione, meet Mirelle Le Noir! She's my best friend!" Arisande suddenly pounced on Mirelle and squeezed her tightly around the middle (something Mirelle was not pleased about) and squealed "And together, we're going to help you get Draco as your very own!"

"Wait, wait, what?" Mirelle wrenched herself out of Arisande's grasp and brushed herself off indignantly. "Hermione? The Gryffindor Draco nabbed with that Densaugeo hex?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Why the HELL would she like him? That's absolutely ridiculous!" Mirelle tossed her head and crossed her arms. "For Merlin's sake he hit her with a hex and laughed about it!"

Arisande gaped. "It's not like he MEANT to hit her! He was aiming for Harry!"

"I don't care who he was aiming for, all I know is if I was hit by a hex I'd go after the little wanker. And you call my liking Snape pathetic! There's no WAY I'm going to help some little Gryffindor with her pathetic little bad boy crush—"

"Well, I really don't see much of a difference between that and your crush on Snape—"

"—I mean honestly, how pathetic is that? I bet she's never even TALKED to him. It's almost as bad as your crush on Ced—"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Arisande finally shouted, clenching her fists and stomping. "I don't care what you would do or why she likes him but she does and I'm helping her and so are you AND THAT'S FINAL!"

And with that, Arisande swept from the dungeons, muttering indignantly to herself.

Mirelle snorted, tossing her hair. "Of all the things she could have learned from me, she takes that." She glanced over at Hermione, whose jaw had dropped to the floor and eyes had widened. Mirelle rolled her eyes. "Come on," she stepped behind Hermione and started marching her forward, "it's not all that bad."

Hermione wasn't sure what she had gotten herself into. She was sitting on the sink top in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, staring at the two very different girls who had brought her there and the ghostly girl who seemed all too thrilled to be a part of whatever was going on. And frankly, she was beginning to regret ever agreeing to…whatever this was.

"Honestly, Hermione," Arisande pouted. She had been staring at Hermione's eyebrows for quite some time now looking positively peeved. She pulled Hermione's forehead taut. "Your eyebrows are all wrong."

Hermione scowled. "How can they be wrong?"

"Very easily; mine were too when I met her," Mirelle quipped.

"Erm…how did you two meet, anyway?" Hermione had been wondering this for the past hour. Arisande and Mirelle seemed about as opposite as two girls could get.

Arisande grinned widely and took a deep breath, preparing to launch into what Hermione was sure to be a longwinded and well-rehearsed recounting of the girls' friendship. "Well, it was the beginning of second year and—"

"I was sitting in a dark corner, all by my lonesome, in total peace and quiet," she sighed, "and then Arisande saw me, decided I was "too lonely," she air quoted this, "and she hasn't shut up since."

"Well!" Arisande huffed, frowning deeply at Mirelle. Turning back to Hermione, she shook her head. "It wasn't exactly like that, I assure you. I mean…that is sort of the gist of it, but she made it seem like—"

"See what I mean?" Mirelle said flatly.

"Never mind how we met, then!" Arisande sent her a withering glare and turned to Hermione once again. "I'm going to write my Grandmamma tonight and have her send everything I need. I'll have to grow your eyebrows out, so there's that. Then there are the basics, foundation and blush and whatnot. Are you happy with your eyelash length? I could have her send me—"

"What are you planning on doing to me, exactly?" Hermione said cautiously. She felt her stomach twist at the smile that spread across Arisande's face.

"Oh, just you wait!"