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November 1

Miss Hermione Granger

c/o Hogwarts

Dear Miss Granger;

I am concerned that you are not concentrating on your studies as much as you should. Therefore, I deem it appropriate to cover your prudent financial expenses, until your education is complete. In return, you shall cease your night-time activities, reading all hours of the night, and being ill prepared. I do not want to see my investment in your education wasted. Not getting adequate sleep is doing you harm, and it should cease. A caveat to this additional stipend is that you discontinue your job, as I perceive it is interfering with your primary purpose of attendance. In response to your questions of personal nature, I assure you that, should you need advice on life, you should not hesitate to ask, if worthy of response, I shall do so.

Sincerely,

Mr. Smith

Hermione crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. The edges curled up and the parchment blackened, the flames licking at it greedily. Hermione watched as it shriveled, succumbing to the flames. As it burned, and her tears were burning hot in her eyes along with it, yet the tears refused to fall. Her heart contracted into a tight ball of ache.

Hermione grabbed her handkerchief out of her inner pocket and wiped surreptitiously at her eyes and nose. Other students in her house were oblivious to her distress. A few feet away at a heavily-scarred mahogany table a pair of second years were involved in a competitive game of checkers, while others were gathered in happily-gossiping groups. No one noticed the pinched pale features of Hermione Granger. The fire consumed the remnants of the letter, only ash remained.

The worst part was, she reflected, was that her dear daddy long legs was right. This was her NEWT year, after all, and she really did need to study and pass with exceptional grades. That she had even been given a scholarship was unprecedented. She felt it was her responsibility to blaze a path that other bright witches could follow. No matter what her feelings about working, she wasn't about to ruin her opportunity by falling behind as she had in arithmancy.

With a sigh she gathered her books and random pieces of parchment strewn about her and carried them up to her dormitory. She paused in front of the looking glass and picked critically at her hair. By the end of the day it was always half-undone; stray wisps escaped, defying the carefully plaited hair style of the morning. There was no time to fix it. It would have to do.

Hermione still had to go to work this evening. At the very least she owed the professor an explanation. She made her way back down the stairs and into the common room.

"Hey, Hermione," Ginny called from across the room. she, and Seamus we settled near the fire on adjoining armchairs. "Come join us. We're about to go over our quidditch practice and see where we can improve!" He patted the cushion near him in invitation. They both were quite sweaty, hair, dripping with sweat, was plastered to his Seamus's head. Grimy rivulets where sweat and dirt had mixed ran down the side of his face. Hermione could smell the odor rolling of them both from her position at the bottom of the stairs. She scrunched up her nose to the offensive smell.

"No thanks, you both know quidditch isn't my thing." She replied, trying to sound regretful. Ginny grinned at her anyway. " It may not be, but you know tactics from being friends with my brother." She mopped her brow with her sleeve and made room for her at the table. "I just need your ideas on this one move, come see it." Hermione dropped her bag next to the table and looked at the diagram Ginny indicated, the lines showed movement of a specific play. Even though it wasn't her strong point, she watched it repeat a few times. She stopped the play mid repeat, and showed her where it was wrong. She remembered it afterall, Ginny vanished the ink, redrew the line the way Hermione said the play should flow, and re- animated it. Now the quaffle seemed to flow seamlessy between the chasers, and it looked right. Ginny was relieved, she just needed that help for a minute. "It's too bad you don't play, with a mind like yours, we could dominate, but, not everyone is good on a broom, I guess." She started drawing out the next play, and Hermione interrupted. "I'm just on my way to work with professor Snape. You know, the job you I had got from the notice board." Ginny realized that any more help was not going to be forthcoming and nodded her acceptance.

"Suit yourself. Hey, mum wants to know if she can expect you for Christmas. You will come, won't you?" she asked somewhat hopefully. She knew that Hermione liked to spend the holidays with her folks, and that after the war things were different for her.

Hermione looked at Ginny, and tried to determine if she was asking because she thought that Hermione was dating her brother, or asking because she was a friend. After a quick moment, of thinking of the holidays, and how bleak it was likely to be, no one to celebrate it with, no home to return to, Hermione felt utterly alone. Taking a deep breath, and fighting the lump in her throat, she answered Ginny.

"Tell your mum that I'd love to." With a hurried glance at her watch, Hermione continued, "I've got to run or I'll be late."

She made her way to the portrait hole to choruses of "See you." Hermione quickened her pace across the room, out the portrait hole, and down the steps, her robes swirling about her in her haste. She reached the potions preparatory lab just a few minutes after seven.

Severus Snape looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps. He was surprised that Hermione had come after the letter he had sent earlier.

Typical Griffindor, he grimaced to himself. He schooled his features into his normal unfriendly countenance. Hermione opened the door to the classroom, and entered quickly at the sight of Snape already at the met the flat eyes of her professor. There was no welcoming gleam that she had come to expect. Her steps faltered. "Good evening, Professor." She said.

"Miss Granger." he responded flatly. He turned his back on her, stripping tender leaves from a long woody stem. Hermione had busied herself laying the freshly stripped leaves on their drying racks. This had been one of the routing tasks after a night of gathering. "I wasn't expecting you tonight," he ventured after awhile. Her hands stilled. What was he saying? Why wasn't he expecting her tonight? Her shoulders stiffened. "I'm sorry sir, what do you mean?"

"I've received a letter. Apparently, a certain school governor prefers you focus on your studies, therefore, you will no longer be working for me." His voice was flat as he relayed this information. His hands continued stripping the leaves, working methodically from base to tip of each stalk. "So, this is it?" Hermione's voice broke. The tears that had threatened earlier began to course down her cheeks, her heart beating painfully against her ribcage. Not one to mince words Severus Snape replied, "I think it best." Hermione, eyes downcast, never noticed the look of sadness that crossed his features for the briefest moment as the words slid from between his thin lips. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She turned disbelieving eyes on her professor. His back was stiff, and he was not looking at her. Hermione did all she could think of to do at that moment. She fled. Severus Snape watched her go. He really was an arse sometimes.