Chapter nine: Insufferable

Harry decided that, as he was meant to go out again with the Headmaster on Friday, he'd wait until then to bring up the subject of the Headmaster's possible upcoming demise.

Hermione couldn't lie; the thought of Dumbledore no longer being around was disturbingly frightening. She might not agree with all that the elder man did, but she knew it would be a great blow to the light, to the Order, should Dumbledore die. He was the head of the fight, the general for their side. Without him they'd be… lost. Utterly and completely lost.

'Poor Harry,' Hermione couldn't help but think. How much worse must her friend be feeling? Harry depended on Dumbledore in ways that she and Ron and most other people couldn't understand.

But, she reminded herself rationally, there was no point in troubling themselves over something that wasn't certain. Although that conversation between Snape and Dumbledore that Harry heard left little doubt, even for Hermione's careful judgment.

But Snape refusing to ease the Headmaster's suffering? That was rather spiteful, even for Snape's standards. He was a most accomplished Potions master; it couldn't be that difficult for him to brew something for his employer. Even if it were as complicated as the Wolfbane, surely it would still be worth the trouble.

Perhaps Snape was simply in a bad mood. Ron tended to shout out terrible things he didn't mean when in a fit of temper. If Harry had been told the same way Snape had learned about the Headmaster's possible death, she imagined he'd react angrily as well. He too might lash out at the Headmaster for leaving him when he most needed him. Harry might, just as Snape had done, insult him, yell at him, have a tantrum. In fact, that might be the true reason Harry wanted to wait until the end of the week before the confrontation. He needed time to calm down, to put things in perspective.

Thinking of it that way, Hermione pitied the Potions Master, though once again, she couldn't be sure that had been the way of it. She was working off too much assumption and not enough fact. Well, if there was one thing Hermione Granger could do, it was research. But it wasn't as if there was a book in the library about the confidences between the Hogwarts Headmaster and Potions Master. Well, she wasn't unobservant either. Who, excluding perhaps Dumbledore, saw more of Snape than she? She couldn't be so brazen as to ask outright, but she should be able to glean something during her time spent with him.

In a surprising coincidence, the silver sickle grew warm against her chest. She, Ron and Harry had long since retreated to the warmth of the castle and Gryffindor common room, and neither was stunned when she rose and said there was work to be done.

She quickly returned to her room, closing the curtains surrounding her bed and pulled out her necklace.

No date or time was indicated, which meant she was to go to the dungeons as soon as possible.

On a Sunday afternoon? Hermione frowned and retrieved the Marauder's map. Getting there would be difficult. Students wandered about the castle on days like this, too cold to go outside but not wanting to stay cooped up in their common rooms. And of course, those who lingered in the dungeons were predominantly Slytherin.

She could use the map to try to avoid most of them, but it would be difficult. Plus, she didn't want to bring it back into Snape's reach. The Potions master would surely steal it back again. She could ask Harry for the invisibility cloak, but she ran the same risk of losing it to the professor, and all things considered, the cloak would be a greater loss than the Marauder's map.

She could take secret passages most of the way there, but getting into the dungeon classroom unseen would be the difficult part.

She could chance it, of course. And if she were questioned could say that she was off to ask the professor for help on an essay or something.

By luck alone, she met no one coming down.

"You took the map," he said by way of greeting.

"Yes, but I gave it back," she said. "Harry hadn't even noticed it'd gone." Actually, she hadn't yet returned it to Harry, but the professor didn't need to know that.

He scowled at her but said nothing else about it. "Haliwinkle is a lunar ingredient. They must be collected the night of the full moon. That's tonight."

She huffed indignantly at this. Of course she knew when the bloody full moon was. He ignored her and carried on.

"The anishotsy seeds need to be added at midnight. Can I be assured that you will not bungle the whole endeavour if I leave you to tend to it on your own?"

"Certainly, sir."

Snape nodded once, and began to extol things she already knew. How exactly to add the seeds, what pace and how many times she would likely need to turn it. Honestly, it was as if he believed she hadn't learned anything at all from his lessons, if he felt the need to tell her such simples as those.

"I tell you, Miss Granger, as a reminder," he said. "I don't want you, in your conceit, to miss a small but crucial element."

Hermione gasped in outrage. "You were using Legilimency!"

"It's your own fault it you let people into your mind."

She had been about to argue that she'd only had one lesson, but decided not to voice the disputation, assuming that he'd only mock her for it. He was bitter about the map, no doubt, she should expect a bit of unpleasantness.

A bit more unpleasantness, she edited.

Smirking with a thought, she brought to her memory last week, when Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had been discussing 'female problems' in gross detail.

As she had hoped, the smirk caught his attention and she felt him press into her mind to find out why she was so smug.

He quickly withdrew in disgust, glowering at her, most unimpressed.

"It's your own fault, rummaging around in other people's minds," she told him, mimicking the tone he'd used on her not a moment before.

"You did that on purpose," he said, though in a rather more curious tone than she had expected.

She didn't answer him. Admitting it, she felt, would goad him more than she intended.

To her surprise, however, he said, "Do it again."

"What?" she asked, astounded.

"I dislike repeating myself, Granger. If you can't follow directions, then—"

"Again, all right. Let me think of something."

This time she tried to show a less offensive scene. The one she chose was of coming home for Christmas in her first year. Her parents greeting her at King's Cross, the wonderful meal they'd cooked, drinking hot cider by the tiny fire in the sitting room.

Then it changed. Instead it was of descending into the pit of Devil's Snare, then she was peeping around a corner with a mirror for fear of meeting the eyes of the basilisk, of that terrifying ride astride Buckbeak with Sirius and Harry, then Viktor was trying to take her for a broom ride, then he was kissing her.

"Stop it!" she cried as the memories kept being dragged forth.

"Make me!" he demanded cruelly, grabbing her chin so she couldn't even look away. Closing her eyes seemed equally impossible at this moment.

Now she, Harry and Ron were sitting in the boys' room at Grimmauld place, talking and plotting to go behind the Order's back and…

No.

Her knees buckled, and she fell back, her vision momentarily blacked out. She knew she wasn't unconscious because she was acutely aware of cold and unsympathetic stones beneath her, not only that but her back had landed on a step, not on even ground. It jarred painfully, as did the throbbing ache in her head.

With one hand pressed to her forehead, she pushed herself up to a sitting position with the other, long enough to glare hatefully at the man who stood over her trying to be imposing. Well, it was rather imposing but she was too annoyed to care.

She knew now how Harry must have felt. It was her fervent wish that he was out gathering haliwinkles all night and didn't get any sleep and was in a horrible mood the next day.

Actually, no, she didn't wish him any more hardships than already suffered through, but she did want to pull his ear, really hard, until he apologised.

Since there was very little chance of either of those two things happening, she lifted her chin.

"One more go, then?" she challenged. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. They'd play dirty.

He exhaled in a powerful snort through those sizable nostrils of his, and grabbed her by the elbow and lifted her rather forcefully to her feet.

She met him glare for glare, and when he took her chin in his hand this time, she made no move to escape him.

She'd give him a show, if that's what he wanted.

Hermione was under the seats at the Quidditch Pitch, carefully, she eased up beneath the Potions Master and set his robes on fire. Then she was quickly and easily solving his logic puzzle to get to the Philosopher's stone. Then she was stealing ingredients to make Polyjuice from his personal stores. Next, she was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, watching him as his attire suddenly changed from the austere teaching robes to Neville's Grandmother's ensemble, complete with vulture hat. Then she was knocking him out cold in the Shrieking Shack. Next she and Harry were sneaking back in time to help free Sirius using Buckbeak.

Her jaw popped as he thrust her chin away. He was breathing heavily and so was she, but Hermione suspected he was doing it to control his temper. She was doing it to control her exhilaration. He thought he was so much better than her and so she'd showed him many of her secret personal triumphs over him. She had certainly had control over that encounter. She had chosen which memories he saw. However, reason told her that if Snape hadn't been curious as to what the next memory would be, had he been bored and wanted to see something else, he probably could have forced her mind all the same. She had simply used his curiosity to lure him to where she wanted him to be.

Sirius had used Snape's curiosity to lead him on too once upon a time, except Snape wasn't in danger of dying this time. After another moment she felt guilty for purposefully goading him, for letting him get to her and for retaliating so childishly. That wasn't very respectful, nor was it the way to win her any more instruction from him.

"I apologise sir," she said. Snape's head whipped around and fixed her with a suspicious glare, as if her saying sorry was just the second phase of a plan to anger him. "I shouldn't have done that. You made me lose my temper and I acted badly. It was disrespectful and I apologise."

After this speech she realised her jaw hurt, but she wasn't about to open it wide like a fish to try to stretch it out and get it back into place. Just one good pop was all she needed, but she couldn't do that in front of him. She wanted him to take her apology seriously, and if she started making ridiculous faces at him, he'd take her for mocking him.

"Forgive me?" she asked tentatively.

He scrutinised her thoroughly, but he didn't try to enter her mind. "Get out," he said lowly.

"But weren't we going to brew–?"

"I said out, Granger."

"Yes, sir."

She ought to have known he wouldn't forgive her. His resentment, like his pride, was implacable.

.

"Told you she'd be here," said Ron proudly, only to be hushed by a disapproving Madam Pince.

"What is it?" she asked as Harry and Ron took seats next to her. She'd taken refuge in the usual place after that day's encounter with the Potions Master.

"Nothing," said Ron shrugging, pulling out books from his bag and setting them out on the table. "Sunday afternoon, so we thought we'd better get started on our homework."

"I applaud your initiative," Hermione said drily.

"Better not or Madame Pince will kick you out," said Harry, with a mock reproving look. "No clapping in the library!"

All three started laughing at the impersonation and got shushed by Madame Pince all the same. They fell silent for a moment, before giggling quietly among themselves.

Hermione had, of course, already finished her work, but she was doing a bit of extra research on something she'd come across while preparing for her Charms essay. The reference, while obscure, had been found easily enough. In its (rather scattered and non-alphabetised) bibliography, it mentioned another very promising sounding text, which, to her dismay, was located in the Restricted Section. No amount of her (admittedly limited) charm had succeeded in persuading the stern librarian to let her look for it without a signed note.

So Hermione had to content herself with the current volume, which was descriptive enough about the theory, but still left her a bit wanting as to the practical side of things.

It was almost an unspoken agreement that the three of them wouldn't mention what they had discussed that morning about the Headmaster. They would all wait until Harry spoke to him that coming Friday. Until then, they wouldn't mention death, curses, or Horcruxes.

Not to each other, at any rate. Hermione would probably mention all three next time she spoke to Professor Snape, but not necessarily in relation to the Headmaster. If what Harry saw in the pensieve was anything to go by, she doubted it was the professor's favourite topic of conversation.

The afternoon passed peacefully in this quiet employment, she'd occasionally check Harry's or Ron's essays for mistakes but in general they seemed (perhaps uncharacteristically) willing to do their own work. Not too long before dinner, Ginny came in and, seeing them, came over to their table.

"Hey, Ginny," greeted Harry with a smile. Ginny smiled back.

"Hallo, all." She plopped her things down next to Harry and took a seat. "Common room's a mad-house."

"Oh?" Hermione enquired politely, but not taking her eyes off the page she was reading. She did, however, open her mouth wide to pop her jaw yet again. She felt the need to do it every 20 minutes or so.

"What happened?" added Ron.

"Some of the fourth years managed to get a hold of Fred and George's latest Wheezes."

"That's probably more due to Fred and George's ingenuity than the fourth years'," Hermione put in disapprovingly.

"Ah, come off it, Hermione," said Harry teasingly. "You know you love them."

"They certainly love you," Ginny added, grinning much like the twins themselves would.

True, Fred and George Weasley did love Hermione in their own way. They used her to test their prototype products. They didn't test them on her, thankfully, but they used her reactions as a gauge for the worthiness of their latest Wheeze. If Hermione wasn't sufficiently outraged by it, it wasn't worthy to put on their shelves. They constantly praised her for being 'indispensable' and even offered her a small wage. (A commission for each time they'd startled her near to death or infuriated her near to tears with their latest gag.) She, of course, refused this. 'Mum's no good,' they'd explained. 'She's outraged by everything.'

Hermione would never ever admit this to anyone, especially to Fred and George themselves, but she really did admire the twins. She only wished they'd put their talents towards something more noble, like the Ministry's Experimental Charms department. Fred had teased her, saying that he would woo her himself, but he didn't want to make 'ickle Ronnikins' angry. At the time she'd flushed with embarrassment and hope, but so far 'ickle Ronnikins' didn't seem to be making any sort of move. She glanced over at the red head in question. His face was scrunched up in confusion as he tried to write his essay.

She sighed and returned to her own work, wondering if Fred had been wrong.

SS

She couldn't block her mind, but she could bring forth other memories she wanted him to see. That skill was at the heart of his own ability to deceive the Dark Lord. However, throwing distracting memories to the fore would only distract for so long. Eventually, they would fail without being able to block off other more damning ones. Granger still couldn't hide her mind.

Not surprising, she'd only been practicing for a short time, but time was of the essence. Potter didn't realise that without Dumbledore to protect him, without Hogwarts, he barely stood a chance. If he didn't learn to Occlude soon…

As if his thoughts had been heard, the Dark Mark on his arm burned with his master's summons.

"They nearly have the Ministry, Headmaster," Severus reported when he returned late that night.

"I feared so," said the Headmaster gravely.

"They are waiting for Draco's attempt before they take-over." That's as close as he would come to saying 'They are waiting until you are out of the picture.'

Dumbledore, of course, understood. "I suspected as much. Are you prepared for that eventuality?"

Meaning; was he ready to fully immerse himself back into the Death Eaters, instead of the comfortable distance the castle and cover as Dumbledore's Potions teacher afforded?

No, not in the slightest.

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Thank you, Severus," Albus said, patting his hand. "I know this won't be easy for you." An understatement, if ever there was one. "But I trust you, dear boy."

Severus nodded, unable to reply to this, and swept out of the room.

.

Damn.

He'd forgotten that he'd told Granger to add the seeds. Had he not been summoned, he would already be out there now collecting Haliwinkle.

She was just finishing up when he entered.

"Back already?" she asked in surprise, though she was smiling. The way she was wiping off knives and putting them away gave Severus the bizarre sensation of having come home after work to a wife busy in the kitchen.

He shook away that ridiculous image and groused, "Haven't yet gone." He walked up behind her, leaning over to inspect the potion. She turned her head up her face to him.

"Well? Did I manage not to bungle it up too badly?" she asked rather tartly.

"Adequate, Granger," he said before striding off to collect his bag.

How soon would Draco try? How long did the Ministry have before complete take-over? When would Hogwarts fall into the Dark Lord's hands? When would he have to leave the castle and become a full Death Eater again? How longer before he was forced to kill the only person who truly trusted him?

Severus, once again, felt so very alone, the pressure of the enormity of his terrible task weighing on him. But he would do it. He had to do it, for lack of anyone else equal to the task.

"So why the late start?" Granger asked. Right. The girl was still there.

"Something else came up," he answered, belatedly thinking that he should have just said, 'none of your business.'

Her "Oh," in reply sounded far too understanding to Severus' ear. That, in conjunction with her sympathetic expression made it seem as if she knew that he'd been summoned. She was a clever girl, of course she'd come to that conclusion. Curse her eyes. He didn't want her sympathy.

Although, it was rare indeed for anyone to show him that kind of consideration...

Still, that didn't mean he wanted it. He was fine on his own; better left to his own devices. He neither needed nor wanted company.

He was marching to the door when he stopped and turned to her. "Well? Do you want to harvest Haliwinkles or don't you?" he snapped.

Her eyes lit up and she hastily magicked the things away before hurrying towards him. She looked up at him like an eager puppy about to go for a walk. He could almost see her tail wagging in excitement.

He growled at her but it did nothing to diminish her smile. Giving up, he took off down the corridor. A part of him hoped they would run into Argus on the way up; then he would be able to say he caught her out after curfew. He'd then be able to assign the insufferable girl detention as a punishment for tagging along on a harvesting trip when she wasn't wanted.

He heard that uneven shuffling step that belonged to the ever limping Argus Filch with evil relish.

"Evening, Professor Snape."

Severus nodded politely. "Argus."

"Quiet night. No misbehaving students today."

Severus clenched his teeth. Clearly Argus hadn't seen Granger, which meant either she was remarkably good at hiding or… "Apparently not," he ground out, feeling an invisible hand touch his arm.

Damn the girl and twice damn that cloak!

"Right then. Good night, Professor."

"Argus."

Severus walked on, wanting to shake off that invisible hand on his arm but he didn't, because he liked the idea of an invisible presence following him from an unknown location even less. It made the hairs in the back of his neck prickle just thinking about it.

Her grip on his arm tightened when they continued up even more stairs. "Why are we going up, and not out onto the grounds?" she whispered.

He didn't answer, but kept climbing, all the way up to one of the old Astronomy towers no longer in use. Even though it was completely dark and Granger hidden under an invisibility cloak, he could veritably see her expression of shock when he said "Accio brooms."

"We're fl.. flying?"

"Clearly."

"But can't we just apparate?" she asked desperately.

"I know it goes against your nature, but do refrain from asking questions. We are flying, and that's the end of it," he said, shoving a broom in her direction. By the feel of it, he'd punched her in the shoulder with it.

During the following silence he mounted his broom and waited for her to do the same.

"They know when we apparate, don't they?" she asked in quietly.

Severus clenched his teeth and said nothing.

"And floo. That's why we have to fly. They have control over the Department of Magical Transportation, haven't they?"

'Magical Transport and nearly everything else,' he did not add aloud. Again, he was grudgingly impressed by how quickly her mind jumped to the correct conclusion.

"Miss Granger, you will keep your unfounded assumptions to yourself." They didn't want word to get around and have a castle-full of panicked students to deal with. The only non-Death Eaters who knew that information were Dumbledore and whomever the Headmaster had deigned to take into his confidence. He couldn't let her think she had been correct.

"I understand, sir." Once again, her tone of voice was all too knowing, and he doubted his belittling 'assumption' remark had had its desired effect.

HG

By letting her come, he was acknowledging that he didn't think her completely incompetent. Hermione didn't want to undo that hard-earned impression by exposing herself with her flying phobia. So, she straddled her broom, closed her eyes and thought of England, so to speak.

She was determined not to show him this weakness, (a feat made easier by the invisibility cloak hiding her terrified expression). So, she pushed off the ground as she'd been taught in first year flying lessons, and tried to simultaneously keep both her broom and stomach steady. She only half succeeded on both counts.

'Oh god, oh god, oh god…" she repeated, nearly panicking when Snape set off so quickly and at such a steep incline. She had no choice but to follow.

She did her best not to look down.

It took two hours to get there, and she had been near hyperventilating the entire time. Her hands clutched the broom handle so tightly her knuckles were white. If she thought she would grow used to it, and it would be easier in time, she'd been wrong. It was a nightmare from start to finish.

It was with overwhelming relief that she began the descent onto what looked like misty moorland. The moment she touched down, she dropped her broom, stumbled a few steps away, and vomited.

So much for not showing him any weakness.

He might not have seen the display but she didn't doubt that he'd heard it.

She cleaned up the mess and herself as best she could before removing the cloak. He was inspecting her with his arms crossed disapproving over his chest.

"I don't much care for heights," she explained feebly. "Or flying," she added even more quietly. She was still a bit shaky but every passing moment her feet were on solid ground, the better she continued to feel. Then she spotted it. "Haliwinkle!"

SS

"Haliwinkle!" And just like that, her discomfort vanished and she was once again the eager puppy.

"Don't do anything until I tell you," he commanded. "There is a certain way it must be done and I won't have you ruining ingredients with your… enthusiasm."

"Right."

"You are, under no circumstances whatever, to light your wand, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

They only bloomed in the light of the full moon, any other light would make it wilt right away.

"Watch carefully."

He demonstrated several times the precise method of first removing the leaves, then the bud, then the stem, and the proper way to pack it away.

Severus watched her do it, and while she wasn't as efficient about it as he was, she didn't make any mistakes, for all that her hands shook slightly. So he let her continue as he went about his own harvesting.

"Professor!"

For the third time that evening, he stopped what he was doing to see whatever it was this time that Granger had found and wanted to show him.

"Is there something growing on this one? Is it a parasite or something else? Should I put it in with the others?"

Frowning curiously, he plucked it out of her hand to examine it more thoroughly. Frustrated by the inadequate light, he put that piece aside for later inspection, careful to keep it separate from the others lest it contaminate them.

"We'll look into it later," he told her. "Keep searching."

She nodded and went off again, staying in sight as he'd told her.

Half an hour later he heard her swear loudly. Surprised at hearing foul language from her he looked up, and saw what had caused the outburst. A spot of light in the distance approached through the fog.

"Stay there, I'll lead it away," she whispered, and quickly rose and hurried toward the light that would ruin all the remaining haliwinkle.

Severus' first reaction was to tell her to stay back and let him handle it but really, hinkypunks were covered in third year, and weren't very dangerous at all. Granger was more than capable of dealing with it so he left her to it, hoping that its faux-lantern light hadn't spoiled anything.

He continued working.

Half an hour later he stopped, realising that Granger had not yet returned. Standing slowly (with small pops of protest from abused joints) he looked around for signs of either girl or hinkypunk.

He saw neither. He couldn't light his wand to look for her nor could he send a patronus. Grumbling to himself about silly girls who get lost in moors, he started off in the direction she'd gone.

A disobliging cloud passed overhead, blocking out what little light there was. Severus swore under his breath, not only unable to see Granger, but his own footing as well.

"Damn it." What he wouldn't give for the hand of glory now.

The cloud blew past and once again light spilled over the heath. He finally saw her, quite a distance away, slowly making her way back. Annoyed that he'd been taken away from his work for nothing, he returned to gathering haliwinkles with a speed fuelled by frustration. It was only later, when she returned with a simple greeting of "Back, sir," that he reflected how much more annoying it would have been if she really had gone off and gotten herself hurt. That would have wasted even more time in the end.

"I used a shrouding spell so it wouldn't destroy any more specimens then charmed it to a tree. It'll wear off once it gets light. Took a while to find one. Not many trees out here, are there?"

"No, indeed," he groused. "Now I suggest you get back to work."

"Of course, sir."

.

"You're a very good flyer, Professor," Granger remarked, almost enviously after emptying her stomach once again when they landed back at Hogwarts. "Don't think I'll ever quite get the hang of it. Can't stand it, really."

"Considering the company you keep, Miss Granger, one would think you'd have a better appreciation."

"I do, but as a spectator only."

"So you like to watch, then?"

"Absolutely," she replied, wholly oblivious to the innuendo. "Don't tell Harry or Ron or Viktor you got me on a broom. They've been trying for years to get me to fly."

He rolled his eyes. "Your secret is safe."

She smiled. "I know." She handed him the samples she'd collected. "You go on down, I think I'll stay up here for a while." She turned her face away to face the east, where the sun was beginning to make its ascent. She covered her mouth as she yawned, her jaw making a very odd popping sound as she did.

Another sleepless night, he thought as he descended the many staircases to go back to the dungeons. He needed to store the ingredients before breakfast.

HG

She yawned all through breakfast, and even put her head down during history of magic.

"You all right, Mione?" Ron asked, shaking her shoulder gently.

"What?" She lifted her head, startled. "Oh, yes," she said rubbing her eyes.

"Well, liven up then!" said Ron, nudging her with an elbow. "Notes won't take themselves."

"Rita Skeeter didn't seem to have that problem," Harry griped. He was in a sour mood after reading yet another horrid article, not about Harry, she was keeping to her word about that lest Hermione turn her in for being an illegal animagus, but about the Ministry itself.

Shaking the sleep away from her head, she took back up her quill and did her best to pay attention to wheezy professor Binns.

The Cauldron Convention of 1835, introduced the current legal standards for cauldron bottoms… This was a benchmark in regulatory measures in wizard business and…

Had that been a parasite on the Haliwinkle? And why had he let her come along to begin with?

At the time she'd been so pleased she hadn't questioned it, but now she couldn't help but wonder.

He definitely hadn't wanted her along before. What had changed? Perhaps, having such a late start, he'd conceded that twice the people would get it done in half the time?

Or perhaps…

It wasn't that much of a stretch to believe that even Snape desired a bit of company sometimes, especially after a horrid Death Eater meeting. He might not admit it, but he was human after all. No man is an island. But Hermione had to admit that if he wanted company, she probably wouldn't be his first choice. But beggars can't be choosers, she supposed.

Thinking of Snape as a beggar made her quite unhappy, for some reason. Such a proud man brought so low.

Yes, Hermione was aware that she was probably painting the man as something different than what he was, but he gave her so little to go on she had to do the rest herself.

Despite him being a perfect beast most times, she found herself wanting to help him in any way she could. He was clearly unhappy, he didn't bother hiding that fact. He displayed his surly attitude for all the world to see. But she was determined to see him as a person. As such, she couldn't help but asking questions that she had very little chance of learning the answers.

.

"Miss Granger, if you will kindly refrain from falling asleep in my class," said Professor Snape in a deadly quiet tone that afternoon. "Perhaps you should curtail whatever activities that prevent you from getting decent sleep at night."

"I wasn't asleep," she said, jerking to an upright position. It was true, she hadn't been asleep, but she was in danger of nodding off. She was bloody exhausted. How he could swoop about like that after having gotten absolutely no sleep the night before she didn't know. She had been inclined to think of his remark as an insult at first, but then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and took it as him acknowledging that he understood the reason why she was tired, but gently (as gentle as Snape could be, at any rate) reminding her despite being up all night gathering ingredients, it still wouldn't do to fall asleep in class.

And he was absolutely right.

"Then you won't mind telling me what I just said about—"

"Leaping toadstools?" she finished for him. "That if the stalk is sliced vertically, the effects will be the opposite than when sliced horizontally?"

He frowned at her, and before moving on, he growled under his breath, "Insufferable little know-it-all."

She grinned, for some reason not hurt by the insult this time. If he'd wanted to demean her in front of the class, he would have said it aloud for all to hear, so he must have simply been congratulating her on getting the correct answer in his own Snape-ish fashion.

Yes, she thought. Things were much more pleasant if one decided to believe the best of people. Granted, during these dark times it wasn't safe to believe the best of everyone, but Dumbledore trusted Snape.

And so did she.