AUTHOR'S NOTE: Everyone, please be aware that there were some changes made to Chapter 6. If you read the version without the author's note at the top of the page, then you might want to skim back through it. Not a whole lot changed, but there were some scene expansions that will come into play later in the story.
Vicki 211 – You, of course, will be required to review the new and improved version of Chapter 6.
Chapter 7 – Learning
Every great endeavor, the kind that reshaped and redefined the world and peoples' perceptions, seemed to have its special headquarters where the rebellion was first planned, campaigns were made, future engagements were deliberated on, and successes and failures were meticulously picked over. The 1612 Goblin Rebellion had the dark and beer-stained tables of the Hog's Head Inn. The systematic teaching of magically gifted individuals had the establishment of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The war against Voldemort had the dilapidated and pixie-infested house at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. And S.N.O.R.T. had Hermione's four-poster, curtained bed. Once again, she found herself flat on her back staring up at the top of her canopy; Crookshanks curled up in a purring ball of ginger hair on her stomach.
Her original goals for S.N.O.R.T. had been fairly simple. Well, she wasn't sure she would call the Neville problem simple, but she found she was enjoying working with him. Colin too, now that he had joined them in their sessions. It was a challenge to work with them; a challenge that her own class work often times failed to give her.
It was her new agenda items that were causing her the most trouble now. She had a feeling that these two were probably more important than anything else she'd done so far. Each point presented its own unique problems. She wasn't quite sure about how to go about finding out what was wrong with Professor Snape. She had her suspicions about what might be causing his lack of appetite – she'd come to realize that he was under an enormous amount of stress, after all. In Hermione's, admittedly, limited experience stress either caused you to eat or stop eating. Or at least, that's what her Aunt Gwen had said when she'd gained forty pounds after her divorce.
If simple stress was putting him off his food, then there was any number of appetite enhancers she could use. Of course, getting those enhancers into his food and drink without being discovered, and subsequently expelled, would be another challenge. She worried though that his lack of appetite was less stress-induced and more medical in nature. He just didn't look well to her, especially now when she was really looking at him and not just seeing the 'greasy git,' as Ron liked to call him.
She was no Healer or Mediwitch. And even if she could find and perform the correct diagnostic charm, the possibly of Professor Snape catching her casting it was fairly high since she would have to be within a few feet of him. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if she made a diagnosis and it was wrong. She could end up poisoning him instead of helping him.
The insomnia, on the other hand, left her completely stumped. How did you make someone sleep if they didn't want to? Short of drugging Professor Snape senseless or knocking him out with a well-timed blow to the back of the head, she didn't have a clue. She knew there were several potions that could induce sleep, but again, getting them into his food or drink without detection would be extremely hard and the more powerful sleeping potions were not something you casually messed around with. The fact that the professor, an accomplished Potions master, didn't seem to be using potions to help him sleep, suggested that she too needed to find another solution to that problem.
She needed a plan, or at least a direction. Or better yet, she needed two plans, one to take care of the eating and one to take care of the insomnia issue. First things first, she thought, eliminate the easier things. Then tackle the harder things. She needed confirmation of her suspicions and there was really only one place to go for that confirmation. A list of what he was eating and what he wasn't would also be helpful. Then, she would return to the library, the other home of her little project.
Never one to put off a plan once she'd settled on her course of action, Hermione braved the bracing winds and warming afternoon sunlight of mid April to sit in the Quidditch stands with Harry and Ron during the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game that Friday. Hermione had decided that was the best time to approach Harry with her request. With everyone's concentration on the game, shouting as each side's Chasers maneuvered their way across the pitch; no one would pay any attention to them or their conversation.
What she had not counted on, however, was the Hufflepuff Quidditch team shedding their perpetual underdog status to prove to a completely disbelieving crowd that they did indeed know which end of their brooms pointed forward. Attempting to get, and hold, Harry's attention was proving harder than expected.
Trying for the third time, Hermione put a little more emphasis into her voice, cringing as even to her own ears she sounded suspiciously like Molly Weasley getting after the twins. "Harry!"
Harry spared Hermione a quick glance before his attention swung back to the game. "What's up, Hermione?"
Finally, she thought. Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. "I wanted to know if I could borrow your Map and Cloak for the next couple of days. I need to do-"
She was cut off from her well developed covered story as Harry, along with almost everyone else in the stands, jumped to their feet in a screaming, yelling, mass as the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the Snitch in a gravity and death defying maneuver that made Hermione's stomach clench, ending the game in a surprise upset that had everyone around her talking in animated tones.
"Bloody hell, Harry, did you see that catch?" Ron shook his head in amazement. "Hufflepuff. Never would have suspected it from them. They keep playing like this and they'll have a real shot at the Cup this year."
Before she knew it, the crowd of students around her had carried Hermione away from her two friends. Making growing noises of frustration, she fought her way to the side of the crowd milling around at the bottom of the stand. Going up on her toes in an effort to see over the heads of taller students, she finally spotted Ron's distinctive red hair and dove back into the crowd, fighting her way across.
"There you are, Hermione. Wondered where you'd disappeared to," Ron said as she suddenly appeared before them. Pulling her in between himself and Harry, Ron used his greater bulk to clear an easier path through their fellow students. Students, she absently noted, who were still taking about Hufflepuff's surprising upset of Ravenclaw. She really didn't get the wizarding world's fascination with Quidditch.
"So what were you trying to ask back there, Hermione?" Harry asked, when they fell in beside Ron, the crush of student bodies lessening a bit as the crowd dispersed.
Feeling the need for caution, she did a quick scan to make sure that no one seemed overly interested in their conversation. "I was wondering if I could borrow your Map and Cloak for a couple of days."
Ron sent a light punch into Harry's shoulder. "What do you want to bet it has something to do with homework?"
Hermione affected an air of wounded dignity and launched into her cover. "I have some additional research I need to do on a project I'm working on." Hermione scowled at both of them, but let them draw their own conclusions from her truthful, but vague, reply. If she were caught, it would be better if the two of them could deny any knowledge later of what she was doing.
Harry slung a friendly arm across Hermione's shoulders. "Don't let Ron bother you, Hermione." Harry turned a teasing grin on Ron. "Besides, everyone knows that Ron could do with a little extra research on his schoolwork. He's just jealous of your dedication."
Ron, of course, reacted predictably and aimed a swat at Harry's head. "I'm not jealous!"
Harry ducked the swing and with a whoop of laughter, the chase was on; Harry darting nimbly through the thinning crowd of students, Seeker's reflexes as good on the ground as in the air, while Ron ploughed straight through the middle, scattering students in his way like a Bludger going through a line of Chasers.
Hermione, left alone once again, merely shook her head and muttered the phrase of millions of women the world over, Muggle and Witch alike – "Boys."
Wednesday afternoon found Hermione as close to a nervous breakdown as she could get and not be throwing hexes at her two roommates who were currently discussing the pros and cons of dating Ravenclaws.
Seated at her desk on the other side of the room, Hermione stared down at her weekly planner in something that was a mix between horror and absolute panic. She had a Potions essay due the next day that was only half-written. There was a report due in Transfiguration the day after. A creeping Schisandra vine waiting on her and her pruning sheers in Greenhouse Three. Chapter 18 still needed to be re-read for Care of Magical Creatures. Her pre-class Potions discussion with Neville was scheduled for tonight and Colin was still having problems with his potions. She was worried about Harry, and she and Ron still had to hold their intervention to figure out what was up with The Boy Who Lived. She was becoming increasing preoccupied with worrying about Professor Snape and her plans for him, plans that had been temporarily put on hold the last couple of days due to schoolwork, and – she glanced down at her watch – she had a four foot Charms essay due in approximately 22 hours.
By the time she read down everything she had to do for the sixth time, horror and panic had turned into outright hyperventilating. Sitting back she sucked in a deep breath, trying to get control of herself before she went screaming from her room and out of the castle. This wasn't like her 3rd year when all she had to do was attend a few extra classes and keep up with the additional homework. The time turner hours had only been, at most, five extra hours a week.
What she was trying to do now was requiring more than five hours. This was spiraling out of control. Hermione had always prided herself on being a well-organized, I-can-juggle-any-schedule kind of individual. For the first time in her young life, she was coming to the realization that she couldn't do it all. Something had to give.
Breathe, she thought, panic won't get you anywhere.
Looking over her schedule, she looked at the things that were most important to her – Harry, Neville, Colin – and not as surprising as it would seem, Professor Snape.
Breathe.
It was an odd realization for her to think that for the first time in her life, her schoolwork did not come first. Not that it wasn't important, learning and knowledge would always rank highly with her. But the usual driving need of her school work seemed to be muted.
Breathe.
She felt rather hollow inside with the realization of what that meant and what was required; kind of stretched and a little confined all at the same time. She wondered if this was how a snake felt when it was time to shed its skin.
Breathe.
Hermione knew this feeling, had last felt it the day after her 11th birthday when the doorbell had rung to admit a strange, stern looking woman in a long, dark green cloak. She and her parents had had a long talk with Professor McGonagall that afternoon. That evening she'd gone upstairs and packed up her old toys and put away the stuffed animals of her childhood. Sitting down in her newly cleaned room, she'd opened Professor McGonagall's gift of Hogwarts: A History for the first time, accepting the new turn her life had just taken.
Breathe.
Now, like then, it hurt, but it didn't stop her from closing the three extra Charms references books scattered around her. The Charms essay didn't really need the extra references. She already had enough information to get the required four feet. Probably no more than four feet, but she thought maybe Professor Flitwick would enjoy shorter essays from her as much as Professor Snape did.
Breathe.
With only a small pang, she put away her Care of Magical Creatures book. Chapter 18 didn't really have to be re-read. If she forgot something in class, someone else could answer the question.
Breathe.
Resolving to attend to her plans for the next phase of S.N.O.R.T. that evening after meeting with Neville and Colin, Hermione focused her attention to writing her Charms essay.
As the minutes ticked by, her breathing grew easier.
"Worthless, absolutely bleedin' worthless."
The impassioned outburst from the far side of the Room of Requirements' version of the Potions classroom stopped the question and answer session going on between Neville and Hermione. Hermione raised a brow in a credible imitation of Professor Snape before she drawled, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Creevey, for language."
Colin had the grace to look marginally ashamed. "Yes, Professor Granger-Snape."
Hermione grimaced. Colin had picked up the nickname from Neville and no amount of asking, yelling, or threatening could make either one of them stop addressing her by the name.
Colin went back to peering disgustedly down into his cauldron. "It's just that I don't understand it," he said. "I followed the directions exactly. But this," he waved one hand at his cauldron, "is not burn salve."
Hermione came over and looked down into the cauldron as well. Grasping one edge, she tilted it slightly and watched the waxy looking sludge slide across the bottom. "Definitely not burn salve," she agreed.
Colin heaved a sigh. "The same thing happened to me in class last week. I swear I did exactly what the directions said. I double-checked everything and I still ended up with something that more resembled potato soup than a Rejuvenating Tonic. The burdock roots just never dissolved properly." Colin sat back down on his work stool with a dejected thump. "It's hopeless. I'm going to fail and my mum is going to kill me."
Hermione wasn't paying any attention to Colin's whining as she stared down at the misbrewed salve. Reaching in, she scooped up a fingerful of the sludge and rubbed it thoughtfully between her fingers. She could feel the chopped plantain leaves and the slightly gritty feel of the lavender blossoms. She lifted her fingers up to her nose and took a delicate sniff. The rich smell of peppermint and thyme rose up to meet her.
Watching Hermione's behavior with a bemused expression, Colin leaned in Neville's direction. "I tell you, Neville, it's the robes. They're taking her over," Colin's stage whispered to Neville. "She gets more and more like him every lesson."
Neville clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise of his laughter. It was even funnier since Neville tended to agree with Colin's assessment.
Hermione, who had been ignoring her companions' conversion, abruptly snapped her head up. "Colin, do you know how to make Rash Relief?"
Colin looked at her curiously. "Sure, it's a first year potion. It only has four ingredients."
Hermione put a classic Snape smirk on her face. "Brew it."
Colin shrugged. It was an easy enough potion. "Okay."
Hermione's smirk blossomed into a decidedly evil grin. "Brew it six times, Colin."
"Six?" Colin questioned in outrage. "Whatever for?"
Adopting her best Snape attitude, Hermione pinned him with a glamoured black stare. "Because I said to. Oh, and Mr. Creevey, five points from Gryffindor for lack of respect to your teacher."
Seeing Neville grinning behind Hermione, Colin wisely shut his mouth and set to work.
Hermione watched Colin intently as he made his third potion. The first attempt had provided a perfect Rash Relief potion. The second was as useless as his attempted burn salve. She'd watched him from start to finish each time, and Colin was right, he'd done everything correctly. He'd brewed his second attempt with no noticeable difference from his first, yet one worked, one didn't. She was missing a variable.
"Done," Colin called, as he plopped back down on his stool. He peered down into his cauldron before glancing back up at Hermione. "This one worked." Colin took in her hunched shoulders and tight expression. "Again?"
"Again, Colin," Hermione confirmed.
Colin heaved an exaggerated sigh but picked up his cutting blade without comment.
Neville, having finished his additional reading assigned to him by Hermione, wandered over to where Hermione was leaning against Snape's desk, watching Colin's progress. "Harry used to have this problem with his potions, you know."
Hermione frowned a bit at that. "He did? I don't remember that."
Neville shifted his heavy bookbag from his shoulder down to the floor and leaned back against Snape's desk as well. He always felt slightly wicked when he did things like that here in this Potions classroom. It was certainly nothing that he'd ever be able to do in the real Potions class, at least not if he didn't want Professor Snape to turn him into Potions ingredients. "It didn't happen often; and only in the beginning, first and second year. Not as much as Colin, but it would happen."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing, it just went away."
Hermione spared a glance towards Neville. "Nothing just goes away."
Neville shrugged before gathering up his things to leave. "What can I tell you; it did."
With Neville gone, Hermione refocused her attention on Colin and his brewing, and under her watchful eye Colin's fourth and fifth potions came out beautifully. The six was a dismal failure, once again failing to coalesce into a proper potion.
"Can I go now?" Coin was tired and it was showing in both the slump of his shoulders and the whine in his voice.
"Go on, Colin," Hermione said, waving a hand absently in his direction; her attention still centered on the six identical cauldrons lined up on the table in front of her.
Colin, sensing freedom, wasted no time before bolting towards the door, not even minding when she took five points off for running in her classroom.
Hermione was tired, the extra time taken with Colin's potions had put her behind schedule, but she had one more thing she had to accomplish today before she could seek her well-earned rest. Harry would want the Cloak and Map back soon. She needed to get everything she could accomplished while she had the tools she needed. And putting off this last chore wasn't going to make it any easier.
Whispering "Mischief Managed," she folded up the now innocent looking Marauders' Map and stuffed it in her robe pocket. Using both Map and Invisibility Cloak together had gotten her safely past Professor McGonagall and Filch in their patrolling rounds. The bubble identifying Professor Snape, she had noted, was safely parked in Dumbledore's office, one less person she had to worry about catching her out this late past curfew.
Tickling the pear that opened the portrait door, Hermione slid into the kitchens. Making sure the door shut completely behind her, she turned around to find herself under the wide-eyed scrutiny of two dozen or so house-elves. The fact that she was still wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak made the situation even stranger since it was obvious that they could see her.
They were, she also noted, staring at her in a decidedly unfriendly manner, or at least as unfriendly as a house-elf ever could. Except for Dobby, of course, who was looking at her like she was the most wonderful thing that he'd seen all day. Pulling the cloak off, she ran a hand through her hair to try to put some order to the messed up curls. Being the focus of all those eyes made Hermione rather self-conscious, but she ignored the stares, squared her shoulders and headed over to where Dobby was watching over a huge bubbling cauldron of what smelled like vegetable soup.
"Welcome, Miss Hermione, Harry Potter's friend. What can Dobby be getting for Miss?"
"I was hoping to get some help from the house-elves on a project I'm working on." Hermione took another look around the kitchen at all the faces that stared back at her in varying mixtures of fear and suspicion. It was obvious that her previous efforts with house-elf rights weren't going to work in her favor.
Dobby caught her watching his fellow elves. "Elves not understanding freedom. They is afraid. Afraid Miss is giving them clothes."
Hermione noticed several elves near them shudder as Dobby said the dreaded c-word. She wanted to . . . but no, she was here for Professor Snape. She needed to pick her battles and right now the professor was it. If she lost ground with the house-elves -- and truthfully, had she ever really gained any? -- it just couldn't be helped.
Deciding that the best method for her to use would be the quickest and easiest, Hermione climbed up onto the closest kitchen table. Dobby squeaked out a scandalized "Miss!" as she stood up.
"Everyone, please, can I have your attention for a moment," she said, pitching her voice to carry to the far corners of the great kitchen. "I am Hermione Granger. And while I don't know most of you, I understand that you all know me -- by both name and reputation. I've come here today to ask for your help, help that only the house-elves can provide. I know that our relationship in the past hasn't been all that great, and because of that, I don't really have much right to ask for your assistance. But I'm going to ask anyway." Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to say this next part. "In fact, I need your help so much that I'm willing to make a deal with you. If you will agree to help me, I PROMISE I will not attempt to provide clothing to any Hogwarts house-elf unless specifically asked to do so by that elf as a means to release them from service. No more hidden clothes, no more knitted elf hats, no more socks."
Officially renouncing her desire to see all the house-elves properly clothed had a profound effect on the room. From her vantage point atop of the trestle table, she could see the ripple of excitement her words had caused as it spread through the gathered crowd. She had a feeling that within minutes every elf in Hogwarts would know of her capitulation.
Climbing down from the table, Hermione was greeted with the first taste of what her surrender meant. She was no sooner on the ground than a dozen elves were clustered around her –- elves that a minute earlier wouldn't have come within 10 feet of her – offering tea, pumpkin juice, biscuits, a nice slice of chocolate cake, anything she could possibly want, even a chair for the gracious Miss.
With the efficiency they were legendary for, Hermione quickly found herself seated at the table with a cup of hot chamomile tea and a plate of her favorite lemon biscuits, while anxious eyes watched her for approval.
Lifting a biscuit, she bit into it and made a great show of savoring the taste. Finishing it, she took a small sip of tea, perfectly sweetened with just the right amount of honey, exactly as she liked it. "This is excellent," she said. "I thank you all." A dozen sighs of pleasure answered her polite words.
"What does Miss want with house-elves?" The voice, as it carried from the back of the crowd, was old and creaky.
The small group of elves immediately around Hermione broke apart revealing an aged house-elf wearing a large, faded green towel wrapped toga-like around its skinny body.
Hermione had the impression of great age, a feeling that was enhanced when the other elves backed away in obvious deference. Manners drilled into her since she was a child kicked in and Hermione stood. "Won't you please sit down?" she offered, gesturing to the table and its other chair. Around her she heard various gasps and whispered comments – "Miss asking Lonny to sit," "Miss treating Lonny as equal."
"Young Miss is kind to elves," the old house elf said, though in such a way that Hermione got the distinct impression that wasn't necessarily a good thing.
Well, they were just going to have to get over it because she wasn't going to give up being polite. "The house-elves," she said, "work very hard with little appreciation. It costs me nothing to be polite and kind."
The old elf shook its head, a faint look of disapproval on its wrinkled face. "Not doing for appreciation or money or clothes." He gave her a pointed look, "Is honor in serving."
Hermione had doubts about that, especially when those served treated the servants with contempt and abuse. She couldn't help her own bias from creeping into her response. "It is an honor to serve when those who are served do not abuse the privilege gifted to them."
Again there was a shake of a winkled old head. "Young Miss is seeing more than witch or wizard for long time, but Miss not understanding what Miss sees. When mother caring for sick child, is she needing appreciation? When father showing child how to hold wand first time, showing for money?"
Hermione didn't know how to answer that. Actually, she'd never really thought about it that way. The elf was suggesting a reason for their servitude that was vastly different from anything she'd expected. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.
Now she got a nod of approval. "Young Miss thinks. Is what young Miss does." Topic seemly at a close, it snapped its fingers and a small, low stool appeared behind it. Gathering its towel-toga up with great dignity, the elf sat down. "How is Lonny and house-elves to help Miss?"
Remembering the listening device she'd found in the library and her thoughts about how the elves and pictures probably reported directly to the Headmaster, Hermione was careful about what she said. It wasn't that her actions were confidential or that she thought the Headmaster would disapprove of them, but, for some reason, she felt that it would be best if kept a secret. "First, I'd like to ask that you keep this quiet – just between us. It's not dangerous or illegal," she was quick to point out, "but I'd like to keep what I'm doing anonymous from everyone."
The previous look of disapproval came back. "Elves not allowing young Misses and Masters harm. Elves not playing tricks."
Hermione realized that the head elf probably thought she wanted their assistance to play some kind of prank on another student. They probably got requests to help with those sorts of things a lot, especially with their ability to move about the castle unseen. "I mean no harm to anyone. In fact, I'm trying to . . . well, I guess you could say I'm trying to fix a harm that I see happening." It was then that Hermione was hit with sudden inspiration. "I wish to serve," she said quietly and with as much sincerity as she could muster.
Around her, the elves that had returned to their kitchen chores stopped. Whispers quickly rose up around her again.
Wise old eyes studied her shrewdly, giving Hermione the weird sensation that she was seated with the house-elf version of Dumbledore. "Young Miss wishing to serve?"
Nodding her head slowly, Hermione answered affirmatively. "Professor Snape is sick." She frowned slightly, "Or maybe not sick. I'm not sure. But he isn't sleeping and he isn't eating right. I want to help him, but I don't know exactly how yet. I do know that I can't help him without your assistance. And if I do help him, he can't know." Going back to what the elf had said earlier, she continued, "He won't appreciate my help" – that's the truth a snide part of her thought – "and he certainly won't pay me. And somehow I don't see Professor Snape ever offering me clothes." Although he did give her his teaching robes that night in the hallway, but the elves didn't need to know that, as it would just make things harder to explain.
Lonny blinked huge eyes and reached up to tug on one wrinkled bat-like ear. "Does young Miss not think elves doing their job for Master of Potions?"
Hermione, having visions of house elves ironing their ears en masse, was quick to jump in. "No!" she said. "I think the house-elves are doing a wonderful job. You always do a wonderful job. It's just that Professor Snape is" – she had to pick her words carefully here – "more difficult to take care of than others." That sentiment sounded rather lame, and very much understated even to her, but Lonny seemed to agree with her.
"And young Miss is wishing to serve Master of Potions?"
"Yes."
Lonny reached up and pulled on his? – her? – its? ear again. Turning to the side, it said firmly, "Rink." A few seconds later a house-elf appeared beside Lonny with a faint pop.
The elf, whose name Hermione guessed was Rink, bobbed low in a bow to Lonny before bestowing another on Hermione.
Lonny pointed a long finger at Rink. "Rink serving Master of Potions in all things."
Hermione felt a thrill of excitement go through her. Rink was just the elf she needed to talk with.
"Young Miss," Lonny said to Rink, "thinking Master of Potions not well. Young Miss wishing to serve the Master. Young Miss saying Master not sleeping or eating."
Rink's small shoulders along with his ears slumped in abject misery. Hermione was horrified to see tears well up its eyes. "Rink is sorry. Rink will stuff head in oven. Rink will iron ears." The elf gave a large sob of despair before darting to the table where Hermione sat. Before she could react, Rink bashed his head down against the tabletop. "Rink has failed Master of Potions," the little elf wailed loudly before again bringing his head down hard again against the wooden table. "Rink must be punished."
As stunned as she was, Hermione was still up and out of her chair before Rink could bring his head down on the table for a third time. She wrapped her arms around the elf's body in order to prevent further damage. With Rink trying to get close to the table and Hermione trying to get them away from the table, it wasn't long before they both hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Rink, using his new proximity to the ground, now tried to beat his head against the flagstone floor. Hermione tightened her hold on the elf and rolled onto her back holding the elf tightly against her middle. "Stop that immediately!" she yelled. Either he wasn't listening or didn't hear her because small, hard-soled bare feet continued to kick at her shins as he struggled.
"Rink, you is hurting young Miss." At Lonny's disapproving words, Rink immediately stilled.
Hoping to head off another round of self-recriminations and punishment, Hermione kept her arms tight around Rink as she said, "I'm not hurt, just a little winded. There is no harm done." Cautiously she released her arms, but Rink appeared to have calmed down. Sitting up, she gently lifted him from her lap.
Lonny was looking at Rink with a stern expression that reminded Hermione of a disappointed Dumbledore. "Young Miss is saying right about Master of Potions?" Lonny asked.
Rink nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again, although thankfully he didn't seem inclined towards self-violence. "Rink is seeing plate after meals. Master eats some, but not eating all. Rink is leaving tea and Master's favorite biscuits in rooms. When Rink returns, tea is being cold and biscuits untouched."
"Rink, what about his sleeping habits?" Hermione asked gently.
Rink's ears drooped further down in obvious dejection. "Rink seeing many, many nights where Master not sleeping or sleeping little." Rink twisted his hands together. "Rink shouldn't say. Master will be most angry."
Lonny indicated Hermione. "Young Miss wishing to serve Master of Potions. Young Miss knows Master unhappy. Tell what Rink knows."
Rink's voice lowered. "When Master sleeps, Master cries out. Many dark dreams Master has."
End Chapter 7
The reviews:
Alex25 – There are a few other stories out there with similar themes already, although they mostly have Hermione finding Snape when he is coming back from a Revel and has been hurt in some way. As for Hermione being in character . . . I'm trying my hardest to keep everyone as close to canon as possible while still having them grow as characters in the story. We will see if I can keep it up.
Skyeseeker – Thanks for letting me know you liked the Hermione/Snape confrontation. I went back and forth a lot when deciding on how to write that scene. Glad to hear it worked for you and for letting me know you are in for the long haul. Hopefully, it will be an interesting ride.
Linda – Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this story. There might be times when a chapter takes a little longer toget outbut eachchapter should go up every 2-3 weeks, Life permitting. And Hermione will be seeing even more sides of Snape as the fic goes on.
Vertigo – LOL. Yes, even teachers are human, but I don't think most students see them as human. They are very one-dimensional to most students. Students don't tend to think about teachers having feelings or lives outside of the classroom. That is the point I have to get her past.
Gillia Koruca – Yes, it will eventually be a Severus/Hermione fic. There is no mailing list, but you can have FFN notify you when I've updated the story through Email Alerts.
Vanityfair – Snape would be very unamused at being Hermione's pet project. As for if he will ever find out . . . you'll just have to wait and see.
Everyone else – Once again, I want to thank everyone for the time and effort that it took to write in the reviews. I greatly enjoyed each and every one of them. You guys have asked a lot of insightful questions and raised some valid points concerning the story that hopefully will be covered during the story.You guys rock!