Disclaimer: I own nothing you would recognize.

Chapter Six: Thoughts, Fights, and Journals

After breakfast, Severus had many things to ponder. That insufferable know-it-all was able to keep him out of her mind, or at least to the extent that her thoughts would not reveal what he most wanted to know. Oh, he knew from the Potter brat exactly what she was trying to accomplish, but he wanted to see how. Her methods were crude, at best, but if refined she might prove to be an even better Occlumens than himself.

There was also the matter of Polyjuice. She successfully brewed it in her second year? The chit had only been twelve (she had actually been thirteen, her birthday falling nicely in September, after start of term, but he was unaware of that). If she was capable of such an advanced potion at that age, it was no wonder her essays were always so cut and dry. He had never challenged her. Despite the given that he should not challenge her, as word would definitely get back to the Dark Lord, he lamented that she was bored with the current curriculum.

Here was a student that he could cultivate into an innovative future Potions Mistress, the only one with the potential in all his fifteen years teaching at Hogwarts, and he dare not. Severus did not know whether to be more frustrated that he could not because of his position as a Death Eater and Order spy, or if it was because the one student that had potential in his chosen field was the Gryffindor chit and best friend of Harry bloodyPotter. Granger was impressive and meticulous in her brewing technique, and the thoughts he had read in her mind and Potter's mind these past two Occlumency sessions proved that she could be imaginative.

How should he nurture her mind? Yes, she was an annoying little brat, but if she could excel in potions and if she could perfect the potion she was working on, she would be an asset to him. Her ideas were impressive, just from what he gleaned from Potter's memories. Severus wondered if he should change the lesson plans and challenge the students to be innovative. No, that would result in disaster. He shuddered to think of what accident Longbottom would conjure up if he suggested they try to improve original recipes.

The Granger girl, she was different. Already, she was inventing a complex potion, one that she would need help on. Still, the fact she thought of it at all was astounding to Severus. The Headmaster was right; he needed to earn her trust.

Could he? Could he be someone he was not to gain the Gryffindor chit's trust? He could tell that he had her respect and admiration, but he doubted she trusted him enough to share her research. If she had, she would have already come to him. He wished he could plunder her mind, but her raw talent for practically everything was too strong. Severus sighed; it would not do to forcethe girl to cooperate. Honey would draw her in more than vitriol, although perhaps simple interest in her work and private praise would do the trick.

If he stopped insulting her suddenly, she would suspect. Shrewdness was one of her qualities and she, like Potter, was quick to raise her suspicions, but she was always uncannily correct.

He had their detention that evening to look forward to. Severus did not know yet if he was going to have her try more Occlumency or play out a regular detention. Simply bitter about the Polyjuice potion, he had wanted her to suffer and worry all day about what she was facing. Her crestfallen face when she opened his owl had been priceless. Perhaps, though, she could assist in brewing. Poppy did require him to restock her supplies completely before next weeks' Quidditch tryouts.

The more he mulled it over, the more he found himself liking the idea. She would be challenged, because Poppy's number one priority was Dreamless Sleep, and that was not a simple potion to brew. A smirk grew on his face and his thin lips threatened to twitch into a smile. It had been a long time indeed that he had worked with a competent brewer privately for something relatively innocuous.

No, he could not think that he would enjoy the prospect of brewing with the Gryffindor chit. If the Dark Lord ever took him by surprise his cover could be blown. Dumbledore had told him implicitly that Miss Granger was to receive extra instruction, but he had to dislike it. It was for both of their sakes. Such a talent could not be wasted, though, and he doubted that she would yearn to study under him long if he did not act a modicum more kind.

Severus struggled with himself. He did not want to have more secrets to keep from the Dark Lord, but if Hermione Granger had any hope of completing that potion he had seen in Potter's mind, he had to help her. She was intelligent, but there was no way a fifteen-year old could come up with a potion that complicated on her own.

He sighed. Poppy needed other potions than just Dreamless Sleep; Severus knew she also expected him to keep up her general healing potions. Though he loathed brewing simple potions such as the Essences of Dittany or Murtlap, he knew it needed to be done. Leaving his thoughts about Miss Granger behind, he moved from his office chair to his private storeroom, where he could gather up the murtlap tentacles and the dittany.

Back to the tedium of not being able to research, he thought to himself.

***break***

Curled up on the couch with Harry and Ron, she was enjoying a normal afternoon where Voldemort had not been mentioned once. She had told them she would look over their essays for Transfiguration, and that was what she was doing. Harry's was surprisingly decent, even by her standards, that she pointed out very few flaws. Ron's was similar in content quality, but it was riddled with wrong spellings and - "Ron, must you really drip pumpkin juice all over your parchment?" she scowled, glaring at him. Really, one thought that he would take more care of his homework!

"Hermione!" he protested, then added, mumbling, "Least I did it before Sunday night."

She shot him another look. The boys still had no sense of responsibility, even after four entire school years! "Well, I've marked your mistakes in red ink like so," she pointed, "and written in additional information in violet." With a nod of her head, she handed the boys their scrolls back, and nestled back into the couch. She toyed with the idea of cuddling under Ron's arm, but knew she was by far not brave enough.

Some Gryffindor.

"Anyway, I've stretched out my fingers to the other students I think would be interested in our little defense lessons, and we have a good sized group! Harry, have you spoken to Dobby yet?" Hermione changed the subject from homework if only to keep her mind off Ron and how broad his shoulders had become. He certainly would be cozy – but she knew he did not like her that way. After all, he had just noticed that she was femalelast winter, and knowing Ron, she knew he had to have promptly forgotten.

"Er, about that," Harry said, looking away from her and twiddling his thumbs. Either the pointed look or the light shove she game him must have encouraged him to continue, because he met her eyes. She recognized that stubborn tilt of his chin and the defiant gleam in his eye. "I haven't, but honest! I was going to tonight! I thought all of us could maybe sneak to the kitchen for a nip of tea after your detention with Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," she gently admonished. "That sounds like it could be interesting, although I don't think the house elves like me much, save Dobby. At least heappreciated my knit hats and scarves." Her efforts to promote elfish welfare the year before had not gone as planned; in fact, because the elves did not cooperate very well. In fact, the last time she was in the kitchens and Dobby was not around, not one elf even spoke to her.

Ron chuckled and shook his head. She smacked him. "Oi!" he exclaimed. "That's not right! You know I told you they want to serve wizards, that Dobby's the oddball!" He had, indeed, but that did not mean that house elves should be treated like dirt when in service. They should be able to choose who they serve; choose kind wizards and witches, not people like Fudge or the Malfoys.

"We'll visit and maybe they've changed over the summer," Harry suggested, although the look on his face told that it was with false hope. "Oh, have you told Ron about that potion you've been trying to work on? How's that coming?"

"Wait, what potion?" Ron demanded at the same time Hermione shushed Harry and hastily cast a Silencing Sphere.

"Harry! It hasto be a secret!" she cried, "If Voldemort finds out, then we're doomed! I'd be the number one mark, not you!"

"Well, that's comforting," Harry muttered.

"Oi, I'm not a spy for He-Who-Voldemort," Ron shouted.

"Oh, do be quiet, the two of you. Yes, it has to be secret. If I am a mark, Voldemort would be quite happy with letting any Death Eater kill me. He probably wants to kill you himself, Harry, but well, he has to get to you first, and that's going to be rather hard now that Dumbledore knows that he is back," she explained. "And Ron, I know. I was talking about every other person here. Gossip travels."

"Oh."

"Anyway, Ronald, I'm trying to formulate a potion to protect and heal at the same time. One that, when drunk before battle, will render someone nearly impervious to both magical and physical damage. My Arithmancy and research has led me to a formula that I believe will protect but not heal anything other than pre-existing damage. The protection that it provides is not very strong, either. It might protect against a jelly-legs jinx, but definitely not against your sister's Bat Bogey hex," she informed Ron.

"Wow," he said, "You've gotten that far? You're brilliant, Hermione."

Taking that cue as encouragement, she launched into an in-depth explanation of her research. Three minutes later she realized her audience was observing her with glazed eyes and Ron might even have a little drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. They were utterly hopeless. She sighed and suggested they head to dinner so she had ample time to eat before she had to spend detention with Professor Snape.

"I'm famished," Ron stated. Of course he was – Hermione did not know a time when that boy could not eat. "Good idea!" While she gathered her things up, both boys hopped up from where they were sitting. She was disappointed that she had no one to explain her theory or equations to. She did not know if Professor Vector was trustworthy or even in the Order, and Professor Snape was out. There was no way she would go to him with her private project even though he was to be trusted.

He was just an insensitive jerk.

As they walked to the Great Hall, Hermione pondered her project. Really, there was not anyone she could truly confide in. Harry and Ron were great friends, but when it came to matters of academia and research, they were really useless. Harry was great when it came to the practical application of knowledge, and Ron was a decent strategist but neither boy had intuition.

She mused that it could be that very reason that Professor Snape seemed to hate her so much in class. His scathing remarks on her essays certainly included that she was pedantic and vomited encyclopedic text. Hermione had been terrified that if she became innovative with her work he would hate her even more for thinking for herself. A small smile flitted across her lips as she thought what his reaction to her private potions journal would be. It had developed greatly since her second year.

Hermione still privately brewed in Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost had become a tentative friend, if only because Hermione could tolerate her tantrums and was reliable company. It was a decent arrangement – Hermione would brew, Myrtle would pretend to be in a horrible mood to keep everyone out. Every potion she brewed privately and every potion she enhanced went into her potions journal. It was quite extensive and consisted of four different thin tomes at the end of her previous year.

Grimmauld Place had been great for her private research, especially the library and the cellar which already had a small brewing station set up ostensibly so Professor Snape would feel more comfortable. He had, to her knowledge, never used it. Half an additional, thicker tome had joined her previous research as well as another slender tome half filled with her notes on her protection-healing potion. Oh yes, Professor Snape would definitely be flabbergasted that she actually was a rather innovative potions student.

They had arrived, and she noted that dinner would not be a quiet affair. Everyone was abuzz about the upcoming Quidditch Tryouts. Hermione, therefore, would be left to her thoughts as long as Ron did not decide to require her encouragement and admiration over his skills on a broomstick. Other students whispered about Umbridge's magic-less classes; in her observation Hermione even heard some students speculate that she was a Squib or simply that she was related to Snape.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class," she remembered – but would he not be irate to know that students were comparing him to that toad? She glanced up at the Head Table, where Professor Snape was glowering as usual, and saw with a little bit of apprehension that neither Professor McGonagall or the aforementioned toad were present.

"Where do you reckon Umbridge and McGonagall are?" Seamus asked from nearby, having just arrived himself.

"Dunno," one of the other Gryffindors replied. If Hermione believed in anything divination related, she would have said that she had a very bad feeling indeed.

The conversation turned to speculation as everyone ate. Hermione chased the food on her plate around with her fork, both nervous about her detention that evening and anxious over the two missing professors. What could it mean? She nibbled on a roll, her fork still absentmindedly following a pea around on her plate.

Just then, a commotion rose from the Entrance Hall. Students flocked to the open doors of the Great Hall, and a hush fell on those still sitting. From where she sat, Hermione could clearly hear the unmistakable accent of Professor McGonagall and the shrill, girly voice of the toad.

"Pardon me, Minerva, but what exactly are you insinuating?" Umbridge accused. Hermione could picture her indignant glare, the open-mouthed shock of being contradicted. She sounded almost as angry at the transfiguration professor as she had earlier that week with Harry.

Hermione smiled when she heard McGonagall retort. She sounded like the unflappable disciplinarian that Hermione knew and admired. "I am merely requesting that when it comes to my students you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices." How had McGonagall discovered the detention technique that Umbridge had used? Hermione noticed that Harry was giving her a questioning glance. She shrugged; she was just as clueless as him.

"So silly of me," the toad questioned, "but it sounds as if you're questioning my authority in my own classroom, Minerva." The two professors were carrying on in public, and Hermione wondered if it was purposeful on Umbridge's part to have brought the argument out where it would make a scene.

"Not at all, Dolores, merely your medieval methods." Harry snorted at that; her discipline was a brand of torture. The scar on his hand was still puckered and pink, despite the Dittany she had given him.

The toad was on the defensive now, and Hermione was surprised to hear her voice so low and dangerous. Normally the witch sounded innocuous, although everyone was certain by now that she was dangerous despite overtly pink appearances. "I am sorry, dear, but to question my practices is to question the Ministry, and by extension, the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty."

"Disloyalty?"

Hermione's concerns were then answered. There was a reason that Umbridge was making this a public spectacle. It was to assert authority over the other professors even if none had been given. She was aware that things would get even more tense in the days to come, and it had only been the first week. The first week!

"Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared," Umbridge sniffed. She turned on her heel and stalked back up the stairs. Yes, she was certainly trying to assert her authority. Evil hag, Hermione thought to herself.

The distraction of that argument – discussion – between the two professors had killed what little appetite she had, so she surveyed the rest of the student population. Whispers of speculation had turned to whispers of incredulity. No one had ever spoken to Professor McGonagall that way before and gotten away with it, some said. The Slytherins looked smug. The Gryffindors were worried. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were stunned.

Hermione herself knew that the next weekend, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, something would have to be done. The students would have to take Hogwarts into their own hands, and the Gryffindor trio would head it up.

***break***

Apprehension controlled her as she knocked on the Potions classroom door at the prescribed time. Her motions were hesitant, reluctant. Certainly the man would make her life hell just because he could. He did not answer immediately, and she felt her anticipation build along with the knot in her throat.

When the door swung open, her jaw dropped. Professor Snape was in trousers and shirtsleeves. Gone were the billowing black robes of earlier that day. His trousers were black. They normally were, from what was visible through his robes. It was the shirt that shocked her completely. It was white. The sleeves were short.

His forearms were well muscled and not at all bony like they had assumed, though why she had ever thought he was a skinny sack of bones before she hadn't a clue. He had broad shoulders – perhaps not as broad as Ron's were, but definitely broad. The white of the shirt made his skin look less yellow and more of a healthy, but fair, tone.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "It is not polite to stare. Do come in and cease gaping like a fish." His cold tone took away the shock. Despite his different appearance, he was still her Potions Professor and a heartless bastard. She gathered her composure and strode purposefully into the classroom, aware that he shut the door behind her and that she was completely alone with him.

The thought terrified her more than she care admit.

She turned to face him, trying her best to keep her face neutral and not gape like a fish. "Well, well, Miss Granger. Your second detention of the term, and it hasn't even been a week," he growled with a sneer. "Andyou, a prefect!" Hermione felt her cheeks heat; certainly, the man was a git.

He paused and stared down his nose at her. She did her best to look properly chided. "I apologize for my cheek, sir," she murmured, not daring to speak louder for she worried her voice might break. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Professor Snape did not speak the spell aloud, rather she heard in her head the incantation. Wordless magic – her first exposure other than a child's wild magic. She was momentarily awed, but did her best to keep him out of her thoughts.

You tricky bastard, her thoughts screamed at him and she could have sworn she heard him laugh. The train of memories started.

D'ya think Umbridge is related to Snape? That was a hapless Hufflepuff sixth year, Hermione did not know him.

Her astonishment at his attire.

Umbridge asserting her authority.

Her inner smile as she completely blocked him off; replaced by an image of a Cheshire cat. She kept that image. The fur remained unruffled, the smile stayed and he could not break through. She would need how to make her blocks less obvious but for now, it sufficed.

Cheshire cat.

Cheshire cat.

She felt him push forward and the Cheshire cat batted at him. Hermione gasped and wrenched her eyes away at the unfettered rage he felt towards her block.

"Adequate," he growled, "but very rudimentary and unrefined."

Hermione suspected that 'adequate' was the best compliment she would ever hear from someone as hard to please as Professor Snape, so she gave him a small smile. "Thank you, sir," she said, and was unsurprised to see a scowl on his face.

"You will need to learn to make your blocks less obvious, to conjure false memories without the haze of tampering on them, essentially, to make your mind appear completely open without it actually being open," he sneered. "Do you think the Dark Lord would be stopped by a grinning feline? No, he would slay the damn thing and destroy your mind for impertinence. All while laughing."

Chastened, her smile disappeared. Apparently, 'adequate' was not as much of a compliment as she had thought. "Yes, sir," she agreed. He was right, after all. Although she doubted that she would face Voldemort that day, if she did, her defense was pretty lousy. She would not make it out with any of her secrets intact, least of all the one that he was teaching Harry Occlumency.

After a pregnant pause, she summoned her Gryffindor courage and ventured, "Sir, is my detention for more Occlumency or do you have another task for me?"

"We will be brewing," he simply said.

"Oh."

She dare not meet his eyes again, so she swept her eyes over the room. Alright, so if she was to brew, she would require a cauldron. He had not provided one. Wait, had he said 'we'? He had. She knew he had. Shirtsleeves and trousers suddenly made sense. She usually brewed with her robes off if she thought she could get away with it.

"Which potion, sir?" she inquired out of curiosity. The room was bare of everything except desks; there was nothing to clue her in. Hermione was getting tired of his silence; except for his speech about her Occlumency being too blatantly obvious and therefore pathetic, he had barely spoken. His face was inscrutable. Hermione hated him for belittling her despite the fact that she had made progress in a difficult magic.

"One you probably have not brewed before," he spat. "Regrettably, the Headmaster ordered me to cater to your specific advanced brewing level. I don't believe you are quite at the level he thinks, given that your essays are incredibly lacking original thought, textbook answers. While those might be acceptable in History of Magic..." he trailed off and simply glowered at her.

She wanted to snicker. It was the same snide comment he'd been using as an insult for the past several years. If he couldn't get any more creative than that, he deserved to be told the same thing. Still, he was in an utterly foul mood and she was not about to try his nerves by being flippant. "Alright, sir," she replied. Hermione was excited to brew something a little more difficult – and with him! She would be brewing with the master; she could not wait to learn a few of his techniques!

"Come, this way," he directed, striding towards the door to his office. "We will be brewing in a more private classroom that is more aptly set up to avoid cross-contamination from previous brewing sessions." He tossed her a wicked look. "The general classroom is not so; explosions are more frequent in such a dismal setting."

"But sir?"

"None but the most inept students could cause any of the potions we brew in the average curriculum; this lab is set up to teach the NEWT students should they be...talented...enough to move on past normal level potions," he explained. "I have not used it for students in over ten years."

Great, she thought to herself, a room no one knows to exist, alone with the brooding and dark Severus Snape. Ron and Harry would have kittens if they knew that he was taking her to some unknown room in the castle, a private room. Still, she was excited over the prospect of brewing a more complicated potion.

They arrived at his office and he opened the door she had previously assumed led to private quarters. It opened into a small brewing space outfitted for four or five people, although only one station was set up. She eyed the ingredients he had set out. "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I have brewed Dreamless Sleep before," she said.

***break***

"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I have brewed Dreamless Sleep before.He almost let his jaw drop as she adopted a meek expression and nervously nibbled on her lower lip, but contained himself. "Pray tell, when did you brew this and how?" he growled at her. His eyes narrowed and he detected a small flinch in her own eyes when she saw his expression.

"Uh...this summer, at Grimmauld Place. They set up a laboratory in the cellar and I had a small workbench in my own room for simpler recipes," she muttered quickly, "Remus picked up the ingredients I needed."

"Indeed," he drawled. "As you are so familiar with this particular brew, you will modify it. Enhance it with what is already in this room."

She nodded and lit the fire under the cauldron. Severus watched as the Granger girl divested of her outer robes, leaving her in a loose cotton blouse and her school skirt. If he had not been casually dressed, he would have reprimanded her. As it was, he let her slide though he did consider giving her a hard time just for the fun of it.

The girl had surprised him earlier with her surprisingly swift and powerful Occlumency shield. That damn cat had just smiled at him and batted him away. Surely, he could have pushed past it but he knew that doing so would have injured her mind, caused a nosebleed, and destroyed her innate talent in mind magic. It also would have ruined any chance of convincing her to trust him – not that his attitude towards her was helping that case at all.

As she prepared her ingredients and followed the instruction page that he had set out regarding the potion, he stepped closer to her. He scowled. She was not enhancing it at all! The ingredients were prepared exactly as the recipe specified. She worked quietly, and although she was not doing anything other than what written word told her to do, she was quite graceful in her movements.

It was not a time-consuming potion, but it was a potion that required precise timing. Even though she did everything correctly, he could not help but feel disappointment. She was not innovative and did not have the ability to think outside the box – how would she ever complete that potion he had seen in Potter's mind? He wondered if it was his presence that stifled her.

Thirty minutes later, she had added in all the ingredients that he had laid out and did nothing differently from what he had written down. Everything had been done to the letter, and the potion was in a ten minute simmer phase before it would be done. He backed away from her. This was a terrible let down. He had always grated and then ground the valerian root instead of mincing it. It released the properties better and toned down the addictive qualities.

She bent down to rummage through her bag. Her arm disappeared deeper into it; so the chit had learned Undetectable Extending Charms. Severus had heard her charmwork was good, but he had not realized just how advanced in her subject matter she was. It was no wonder she always looked bored with the rest of her little group; she had to far surpass them in any subject.

Such intelligence was lonely. He knew that well. He was ostracized for his own study tendencies from the very beginning, his poverty, and his general lack of charm. He suspected it would have been similar for her but for Potter and Weasley, and even their company was suspect.

The thunk of glass on wood caught his attention, and he focused on her again just in time to see her pour a carefully measured amount of red powder into the cauldron. It hissed, sputtered, spat, and then settled. His face had settled into a look of alarm, and his body had tensed. If it exploded he was ready to throw them both to the floor and sacrifice his life for her dumb mistake.

Nothing happened except for he was confronted with a very smug, smiling Granger chit.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, "I told you to use what you were provided with!" He was livid with rage that she had endangered them both. Even though nothing happened, he had never managed to add something safely to the Dreamless Sleep potion – the cauldron always melted.

"I've done this before, after carefully examining the properties of each ingredient and using arithmantic equations to ascertain the most likely outcome," she retorted, and then added, "The instruction was clearly what was in this room, and my bag and its contents are in the room, sir."

He glowered at her and considered roaring at her for her cheek. Instead, he hissed, "10 points for your cheek, Miss Granger." Severus could not believe that she was acting saucy and brave towards him. So smug – it was like she was waiting to show him up with her knowledge! "What didyou do to it?"

"Powdered baku claws have a stabilizing effect on what is otherwise an addictive potion and they allow the subconscious to differentiate between wanted and unwanted dreams. When doing other research, I read that Muggles believe the baku eats bad dreams if someone is lucky enough to tame it. Although baku claws are traditionally used in more advanced versions of a Calming Draught, I was curious to see if they would have an effect on a potion dealing directly with dreams. It was for Harry, you see," she finished bashfully. The girl was smart enough to realize that going into Potter's personal life was a terrible idea.

He was gobsmacked. Flabbergasted – how had he never thought of that? No matter, it was obvious that eventually she might save them all with her potion. "What other Potions have you fiddled with?" he asked in a softer, more interested tone. She was only fifteenand already was changing potions with her own, innovative ideas more than he ever did before he obtained his Mastery. Severus steeled himself. There was no way he would let her slip through the cracks and be a no one.

He had to gain her trust. Severus had to help her finish that potion she was working on. He had to.

***break***

Her breath caught. She was certain he was going to kill her for disobeying, for applying cheek when she should not, but she was just so proud at showing him up. Hermione just could not help it. Her Gryffindor brashness took that opportunity to show, and even when his face grew stormy and his eyes glinted with glacial temperatures she could not help her saucy smile.

Professor Snape asked her to share her other enhanced potions. She squeaked. "Um."

"Well?" he barked. That cinched it.

"I can bring you my journals tomorrow, if you'd like, sir," Hermione said, still proud that he – the dungeon bat – was actually, finally, taking an interest in her work.

***break***

Journals? His mind reeled. This fifteen year old girl, this little Gryffindor chit, the walking encyclopedia had potions journals. The girl whose essays reeked of textbook vomit, the girl whose pedantic unimaginative classwork left him doubting her intelligence for four previous years, had been experimenting in secret.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he drawled with an affected sneer. He did not want it going too far into her head. "You may drop them off after breakfast in my office. That will be all for today."

She nodded and went for the door without another word. That infernal smile was still on her face, and it irritated him enough to add one more thing.

"Have you ever formulated your ownpotion?"

The girl froze.

"No. I have not. Goodnight, Professor Snape."

Without turning back to look at him, she left. He knew why. This was going to be more fun than he thought it would be, getting the potion out of her without telling her he knew. The Gryffindor princess lied to him.

Gryffindors had no subtlety; the Headmaster would surely have Severus come clean within a heartbeat. That would give her no cause to trust him with her brainchild. He knew that personally. Unless she trusted him implicitly with any of her work, she was not going to share something that important with him. Unless she told him about it herself, she would not accept his help. No, this had to be done carefully.

Now that he knew just how innovative with potions she was, he was determined to foster that potential. It very well could be what Albus had said cryptically to him over the summer: Potter might not be the deciding point of the war.

Severus had a feeling that the war would be decided by a bushy-haired Muggleborn that all the enemy looked down upon and underestimated. She had even fooled him and it pained him to admit that the girl was going to have more pressure on her than she could ever imagine. Not even he was involved with Voldemort in his fifth year; that had not come until later, not until his parents had been killed, not until Lily had started dating James bloody Potter.

Now, in her fifth year, the fate of Wizarding Britain rested on her shoulders, for surely the forces of Voldemort would crush them all even if the Dark Lord fell. The Death Eaters, dark forces, and sympathizers were many, and the resistance few. Oh, how the school children that Albus was preparing for such a devastating war would pale to know just how extensive the army they were up against was. Perish the thought – they were all Gryffindors.

Potter and his friends would charge recklessly into the fray without a thought and endanger them all.

Severus realized that he was staring at the modified Dreamless Sleep potion with something akin to Lockhart's spacy gaze. It disconcerted him and he quickly blinked. He would have to finish up the work here and retire. It was with a heavy heart and a sombre expression that he decanted the now-raspberry potion, cleaned the cauldron, and brewed a batch of his own version so that Poppy would have two choices.

Despite the importance the young Miss Granger had for them all, Severus could not help but feel excited that he might have found a suitable apprentice after all these years. Merlin, there was a reason for teaching if he could occasionally even have a glimpse of talent. Now, more than ever, though, he could not afford a misstep among his less than savory acquaintances. Now, more than ever, he had to be on top of his Occlumency shields.

He would have to be chagrined about his continued teaching of Granger instead of delighted at her talents. Severus sighed. It had been over fifteen years and he was tired of playing the game. After this was all over it would be nice to have an apprentice. Once he could stop being so dreadful to everyone around him, he would take on an apprentice. At one point he had considered Draco, if only because of the connection they shared.

Now, though, even though he still did not like the wench, he thought he would ask Miss Granger. In a different world, he would. In this one, he never would, not officially, and only unofficially under feigned duress and pressure from Albus. It was simply too dangerous otherwise.

Severus needed alcohol.

Author's Note: Yeah, it's at the end this time. I figured I'd add it here so not to give anything away in the chapter. Logan – my son, I don't know if I've shared his name before – is teething, so this chapter has taken forever to write. I apologize. I hope I have met your expectations. I certainly have exceeded mine; this chapter is ridiculously long compared to my other ones. And it's all in the course of a few hours, but I thought it all was very important. Don't worry, Sev isn't going to go all soft on Hermione and they definitely aren't going to develop any sort of trust or even a camaraderie for several more chapters at least. The next few are going to include: High Inquisitor, Severus reviewing Hermione's potions journals, the first DA meeting, Umbridge's first forays into inquisition. Our two fated lovebirds aren't really going to see each other outside of regular class for at least six or seven more chapters. Maybe less, depending what I shove into each one. But there's going to be a lot of wordage in between now and their next private meeting. Thank you to my reviewers =] I love you guys and I continue for you and for those who put my story on updates. The next few months, I'll still be updating fairly irregularly but thank you so much for sticking with me! It means a lot. Now review!