DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.

Chapter 10: Examinations

Having relocated from Hogwarts to Grimmauld Place, Harry and Hermione threw all of their energy into making the potion. Ron traveled regularly back and forth between Grimmauld Place and The Burrow, lending a hand where he could and keeping them company.

He had arrived to stay for the weekend, and was helping himself to a generous portion of roast chicken in the kitchen when Neville stepped through the Floo, brushing a considerable amount of soot off of himself as he did so.

"Neville!" cried Hermione, rushing over to give him a hug. "Harry didn't tell me you'd be here this weekend!"

"I only just decided on it this morning. I've got your bindweed and eyebright. Sorry it took so long. Bindweed grows everywhere, but you can't harvest eyebright until the end of July at the earliest, or it won't work in a potion." He held up a grubby-looking bundle of fabric, through which a few green shoots and tangled-looking white roots were poking. "We've got to hurry, though. I need to extract the juice as soon as possible or it won't be as effective. Have you got a mortar and pestle?"

Hermione went to fetch it for him, and Ron gave Neville a bemused look. "I thought you said you were no good at Potions, Neville."

"This isn't Potions. This is Herbology."

"Since when does preparing ingredients for a potion not qualify as Potions?"

Hermione returned with a large stone mortar and pestle, setting them on the kitchen table and giving Ron a scathing look. "Don't push it, Ron, you'll make him nervous," she hissed out of the side of her mouth, so Neville couldn't hear. She suspected that he could be perfectly competent, if he was just left alone. Ron wasn't helping.

Neville set the package down on the table and opened it. It contained perfect specimens of both plants, and he tenderly picked up the eyebright, beginning to strip the leaves and flowers off the stem. He handled the plant delicately; the way he moved was almost graceful.

Once he had stripped the leaves and flowers, he scooped them into a pile and dropped it into the mortar. Seizing the pestle, he immediately began to pulverize them. A surprising amount of liquid quickly gathered in the bowl as he worked. Hermione picked up The Potioneer's Portfolio. It fell open to the page containing the Verus Ortus recipe, and she scanned the page quickly.

"We don't need much, only seven drops." Neville set the pestle down and they peered at the clear, greenish liquid his efforts had produced. "That'll be more than enough," she said, pulling out her wand and decanting the liquid into a small vial.

"You'll need to dry the bindweed for a few days before the roots will be ready to crush," said Neville, sitting down.

Ron finished polishing off his last piece of chicken and set the bone down on the edge of his plate, which Kreacher immediately seized and began to wash. "Well done, Neville," Ron said. "Hermione wasn't kidding, you really are brilliant at this sort of thing. I don't know what you like about it, but I'm sure glad you do."

Neville grinned. "Thanks. Now—I think it's about time you tell me exactly what you're trying to brew, isn't it?"

Before they could answer, Harry burst into the kitchen, carrying four letters and looking harried. "An owl's just arrived," he said, holding up the letters. "Snape's going to be here in an hour."

"What?" cried Ron, Neville and Hermione in unison. Harry dropped three of the envelopes (unopened) on the table. They were practically identical, all bearing the Hogwarts seal and addressed to the three of them at The Kitchen, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Harry's was the same, and he had pulled a sheet of parchment from it, crumpling it in his hand as he read aloud.

"Dear Mr. Potter: The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is delighted to be welcoming you as a student once more. It has come to our attention that, due to the unfortunate events of the past academic year, many students have experienced a disruption in the regular progression of their studies. As such, all students will be required to undergo comprehensive aptitude tests before textbooks and class schedules are assigned."

Harry paused to catch his breath. Ron and Neville were both beginning to look slightly green, and Hermione had clasped her hands, eyes wide.

"Prospective seventh year students will be examined by Professor Severus Snape. You may expect his arrival at precisely 3:30 p.m. on August 1." He threw the letter down on the table. "Kind of them to give us a bit of advance warning," he groused. "I haven't studied in over a year, what am I supposed to do in an exam?"

"Obviously they want to get an idea of how much you actually know," said Hermione sharply. She was pale, and her hands were still clasped together tightly. "I don't know what I'm going to do. What time is it, Harry?" she glanced at the clock and gave a little shriek. "Oh my God, it's already past two. What do you think he'll examine us on? They said comprehensive—do you think he'll expect us to have already read through the NEWT-level material?"

Neville looked like he was going to be sick. Ron had his head buried in his hands. "Oh, Harry!" Hermione hissed suddenly. "We've got to clear all this up before he gets here!"

Ron's head snapped up and Harry stared at Hermione, and then at the potion ingredients scattered throughout the kitchen. "I didn't even think of that. Quick, everyone, help me get this put out of the way. We can stow it in Sirius' room. Surely he isn't going to want to go into any of the bedrooms."

By the time they had any incriminating evidence put away and had cleared up the last of their lunch dishes, it was twenty minutes past three. Hermione sat back down at the kitchen table with a grim look and began pulling textbooks from her small bag, barricading herself in behind a pile of them and muttering distractedly. Neville, too, sat down, biting his fingernails. Occasionally he glanced at Hermione and her growing pile of books, looking a little more nauseated each time.

At three twenty-nine, a loud knock sounded on the door. Hermione jumped, looking up from her books with wide, frightened eyes. Neville whimpered softly, and Ron backed quickly into a corner. "Kreacher," said Harry in a choked voice, "would you answer the door please?"

"Kreacher is happy to do master Harry's bidding," said the house-elf with a delighted simper, and he ran down the long hallway to open the door. They listened in silence as the heavy door swung open and Professor Snape stepped over the threshold. Harry and Hermione had, with Arthur Weasley's help, gotten rid of the dusty specter of Albus Dumbledore that had been haunting the front hallway. She suddenly felt a wild sense of regret over doing so as Snape walked, unimpeded, towards the kitchen.

The kitchen door opened again, and Kreacher scurried in, closely followed by Professor Snape.

Hermione had not spoken to him since their confrontation in the hospital wing, and over a month had passed. He was still thiner than usual, but otherwise he looked exactly as he always did. His hair, parted down the middle, hung heavily on either side of his face, and his black eyes glinted with malicious pleasure as he observed their looks of apprehension.

He produced a sheaf of parchment and glanced down at it, then slowly looked up and studied each of them in turn. "Longbottom," he said with a sneer. "You first. I'd prefer to have the worst over with as soon as possible. Although—" He raised one eyebrow, looking from Neville to Ron and then to Harry, his lip curling nastily—"worst is certainly a very relative term in this instance."

Neville stood up. His face was paper white and his hands were shaking visibly as he pulled his wand from the sleeve of his robes. "I'm r-ready, sir," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Potter," Snape said brusquely, "I will require the use of a room. I believe the library should prove adequate."

"Oh, right," said Harry. "Sure. You remember how to get there?"

Snape sneered disdainfully, his eyes sweeping the kitchen with dislike. It had improved vastly since Harry had won Kreacher over, but clearly not enough to please the Potions master. "Indeed," he said maliciously. "No need to direct me, Potter. Longbottom," he snapped. "Say goodbye to your friends. You won't be allowed to see them again until I've examined everyone in turn. I wouldn't want anybody cheating."

"Good luck, Neville," Hermione whispered bracingly. He didn't seem to hear her.

When Snape and Neville had left, she pushed a pile of books over towards Harry and Ron. "You're both bigger idiots than I thought if you don't study while you can," she scolded, and immediately buried herself in Numerology and Gramatica.

An hour passed before Kreacher arrived and informed Ron that Snape was waiting for him in the library. Another hour passed, and Harry went next. Hermione forced herself to stop and make a cup of tea before she studied any more. She put the kettle on the stove and then grabbed another book, leaning against the counter and reading it intently while she waited for the water to boil.

0 0 0

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping that the ache there would dissipate before it became any more severe. He should have known better than to attempt these examinations when he had no analgesic potions on his person. Longbottom had muddled through the exam with surprisingly satisfactory results, all things considered, but the boy was so anxious that it seemed impossible for him to sit still and not fidget. Merely being in the same room with him was exhausting, and Severus had not yet regained his former energy.

Weasley had not been much better. In some distant part of his mind, Severus was glad to know that he had not lost his powers of intimidation. However, as his head began to throb painfully, he found himself wishing that they did not find him quite as frightening as they seemed to do.

"Weasley, you have faced Death Eaters far worse than I and, I am told, acquitted yourself well enough to not be entirely ashamed," he finally snarled. "Show a little backbone. It's an exam, not a torture session."

Ron had muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'says you,' but it was too indistinct for Severus to be sure. Still, he straightened up a little and managed to answer the rest of the exam questions without too much cringing. By the time he'd demonstrated competence with the aguamenti charm and transfigured a book into a tortoise (albeit a rather flat, square one), he was practically acting confident.

Severus had dismissed him and sent Kreacher to fetch Harry. He was not looking forward to the next examination. It would be his first meeting with the boy since the night of the battle. He suspected that Harry would have something sentimental to say, and he would have been in no mood for it even if his head had not been pounding.

The door opened and Harry walked in, wand in hand. He was standing very straight, and his tension was so obvious that even Longbottom would have picked up on it without effort. It didn't take a Legilimens to know that Harry was uncomfortable around him.

He picked up his sheaf of parchment once again, glancing at it with a bored expression. "Harry Potter," he said, infusing the name with all of his habitual venom. "Your performance in this examination will determine your class placement at Hogwarts this year. I note in your file that you had expressed the ambition to become an Auror. Is this still the case?" He lifted one eyebrow.

Harry hesitated. "I believe so, sir, yes," he said.

"In that case, I will be examining you in the subjects required for that discipline: Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures. The examination will be primarily theoretical in nature, as the Board of Governors did not feel it was prudent to hold extended practical examinations off of school property."

"I'm ready," Harry said. Severus lifted his eyebrow.

"Indeed. We will begin, then. How many exceptions are there to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?"

Again, Harry hesitated for a moment. "Five."

"Explain the nature of the exceptions and name three of them."

"Exceptions to Gamp's law are—well, they're things that can't be magically created from nothing."

"An acceptable, if clumsy explanation. Three of the five, Potter."

"Er… food is definitely one. And love. And—" Harry screwed up his face. "Human life?"

"Are you asking, Potter, or are you providing me with an answer?"

The boy's face went red. "That's my answer, sir. Food, love, and life are three things that can't be created ex nihilo by magic."

Snape scowled and scratched a check mark beside the question on Harry's examination sheet. "Explain the theory behind the Animagus transformation and how it is affected by external stimuli such as the Polyjuice potion," he snapped.

Harry blanched. He clearly had not revisited Minerva's lectures on human transfiguration since leaving Hogwarts. Severus smiled maliciously. "Come now, Potter. Surely you of all people ought to be acquainted with the mechanics of that particular transfiguration."

It was satisfying to watch the boy sweat, although perhaps not quite as satisfying as it had been in the past. He scowled as Harry continued to fidget in silence.

"Potter, if you can't answer the question, say so," he bit out. "I am not in a humor to make any allowances for you, and we have a great deal of material to cover."

"The… the fundamental theory is no different from standard transfigurations. Becoming an Animagus is so much more difficult because it is much harder to exercise full control over your own body than over another object. Self-control is the hardest type of control to wield. The effect of most potions is not altered unless they are administered while the witch or wizard is in their Animagus form, when the results are unpredictable and often dangerous." Harry burst out, looking surprised at his own ability to pull the information from his memory.

Severus scowled, making another check on the parchment.

Nearly an hour later, they reached the final question. Severus drew a horizontal line beside it to mark half-credit and then set the parchment down. "As you well know, I do not give partial credit on my examinations. However," he said, with some distaste. "The school has elected to do so, to your great good fortune. You will receive an owl within one week, notifying you as to your class placement and textbook assignments. Wand away. You may go"

Harry obediently returned his wand to his back pocket and turned to leave. He'd reached the door before Severus stopped him. "Potter!" He said abruptly.

Harry turned, surprised. "Yes, sir?"

"You left this in my possession and I did not have an opportunity to return it to you." Severus produced Harry's photo album from within his robes and held it out to him gingerly, looking as though he preferred not to be in direct contact with it any longer than he had to.

"Oh. I see. Did you…did you enjoy it, sir?"

"Mr. Potter, I will say this once and once only. My personal life is not your concern beyond what I choose to reveal to you in my own time. I will not tolerate questions about it. I showed you only what I felt was necessary to explain my loyalties when it became clear that I had no other choice. Do not make the foolish mistake of interpreting it as a sign that you may take liberties with me that you previously could not." His voice was icy cold, and he thrust the book at Harry again, glaring fiercely.

Harry took the book in both hands, not looking at it. Instead, his eyes were locked on his professor. His face looked strange, having an expression that Severus did not feel equal to interpreting. He considered using Legilimency to discover its cause, but before he could, Potter spoke:

"Sir, I wonder if I could… well, could I ask you a question?"

He narrowed his eyes, doubting that he was going to like whatever the question was. "Very well."

"Well, Professor—" Harry suddenly looked infinitely more nervous than he had at any point during his examinations. Every word seemed to be costing him a great effort. "Someone said to me…that is, someone suggested… that maybe… youmightbemyfather," he gasped, closing his eyes tightly. He seemed shocked by his own daring.

The words had spilled out in a jumble, but Severus had spent many years learning how to interpret the mumbles of embarrassed and frightened students. He paled.. He should have known, he realized, that rumors like that would begin to surface. Hogwarts was, in his estimation, a disgusting hotbed of hormones and emotions, and was a source for all manner of ridiculous 'romantic' ideas borne of those. But for those rumors to come from Lily's son...

"Potter," he hissed, making no effort to disguise his rage. "I believe I made it very clear to you a moment ago that I will not tolerate your prying into my personal life."

"Well it's… it's just that it's my life too, sir, and if you and my mum…"

"ENOUGH!" Roared Severus, drawing his wand and pointing it directly between Harry's eyes, righteous indignation burning through him such as he had rarely known before. He lowered his voice until it was no more than a deadly hiss. "You, Potter, are a fool. Get out of my sight."

Harry fled.

0 0 0

Hermione's turn to be examined had finally arrived. She carefully closed her textbooks, picked up her wand, and followed Kreacher to the library, her heart thudding uncomfortably. She had always experienced horrible test anxiety, and the past year had done little to increase her self-confidence. In spite of their ultimate success, their blunders in Godric's Hollow and at the Lovegood residence had shaken her deeply.

Professor Snape was standing at the window, his back turned to her. Although he had indeed grown very thin, his body seemed to project a wiry strength that she imagined would make him a force to be reckoned with. His wand was out and he was holding it behind his back, clutching it so tightly that his knuckles had gone completely bloodless.

"S-sir?" She asked hesitantly.

He immediately spun around, and she had to make a serious effort not to recoil. His face was twisted with rage and she wondered what idiotic thing Harry had done to cause it.

"Miss Granger," he said softly. She didn't move. She knew that tone of voice, and it was dangerous. "Sit."

"Your performance in this examination will determine your class placement at Hogwarts this year. I note that you received OWLs in every subject except for Divination. Which of these are you planning to pursue at NEWT level?" The words were rote, and he had obviously said variations on them a dozen times already to other students. His tone of voice, however, was frighteningly cold, even for him. She suddenly wondered if his anger was directed not at Harry but at her. He had been so unpleasant in the hospital wing and she hadn't seen him since. Was she foolish to expect that his irrational anger with her would have worn off?

"I—had hoped to continue with all of them," she whispered, struggling to overcome her sudden fear of him.

"I had hoped, Miss Granger, that by now you would have developed sufficient maturity to counteract your pathological need to show off," he sneered. "Clearly my optimism was ill-judged. Wand on the table, now."

She obeyed and he glared down at her. "I know you enjoy being a know-it-all, Miss Granger, but I have no desire to waste my time listening to your attempts at self-aggrandizement today. Keep your answers brief. Summarize Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, including the nature and number of its exceptions."

0 0 0

They made it halfway through the examination before she began crying.

He stopped halfway through a question, utterly nonplussed as the girl he considered almost endlessly resilient suddenly dissolved into hysterical tears in front of him. He felt a guilty prod from his conscience and knew that he'd been taking his anger with Harry out on her. He'd stopped paying attention to what he was saying as his mind wandered, seething over Harry's insinuation that his mother might have been an unfaithful woman. What had he said? He wasn't sure, but he knew it was something unpleasant.

"Miss Granger—" He hesitated, unsure of what to say. Other than Minerva McGonagall and Narcissa Malfoy, he rarely dealt with women, and neither of them was the crying type. His anger changed into discomfort as quickly and as thoroughly as if Minerva had transfigured it herself.

"I'm s-sorry, Professor Snape," she sobbed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I c-can't do it."

"Miss Granger, I hope you are not trying to suggest that you are intellectually incapable of answering these questions. You will not find me a sympathetic listener if that is the case."

His voice, if not his words, seemed to call her back to herself and she wiped her eyes quickly. Belatedly, he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her. The disbelieving look she gave him as she accepted it made him feel, if it was possible, even more uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid I owe you an apology," he muttered, attempting to say the words with some semblance of good grace. "I allowed my…displeasure…over a situation entirely unrelated to you to get the better of me, and I am afraid I have been taking it out on you. I see it has distressed you, and I beg your pardon"

Her mouth fell open slightly. She was staring at him as though he had flobberworms crawling out of his ears. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, wishing that she would say something. He found it horribly ironic that, given the many times he had hoped fervently for her to be silent, he now hoped just as fervently that she would speak.

"I—forgive you, sir?" She whispered. He studied her face carefully. Apparently his apology had shocked her out of her hysteria—in which case, he decided, it had done exactly what it ought.

"Do you think you will be able to continue with the examination at this point, Miss Granger, or do you require a rest?" He asked sardonically, sitting down for the first time since she had entered the room and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think I can continue, sir." She seemed to sit a little straighter and he nodded in satisfaction.

"I expected no less of you, Miss Granger. Now then: describe the appearance and effect of the potion known as Amortentia."

To his surprise, she blushed. "Amortentia is generally considered to be the most potent love potion in the world, sir. It is most recognizable by its mother-of-pearl sheen and the fact that its steam rises in spirals. Its true smell is unknown, because no two people smell the same thing."

"Indeed," he said. Something about her face made him think that she'd smelled it before. Of course, he thought dryly, Slughorn always did enjoy putting on a show. He wondered what she'd smelled, and then wondered what on earth could have induced him to ask such a question about a student, even if it were only in his mind. He jerked his head irritably, as though to shake the thought away. She flinched, and he sighed. He had expected to deal with many emotionally vulnerable students in the upcoming year, but somehow he had not anticipated that Hermione Granger would be one of them.

His headache was definitely growing worse. Grumpily, he asked himself why insults that she had heard from him a thousand times had suddenly affected her so much.

He couldn't come up with an answer he liked. Deciding to ignore it, he repeated the last question.

0 0 0

Due to the sheer number of subjects they needed to cover, it took nearly another hour to complete her examination. But he had finally put down the sheet of parchment on which he was marking her scores, and said: "Miss Granger, you will receive an owl within one week, notifying you as to your class placement and textbook assignments."

She slumped in relief. Some part of her had been expecting and fearing that he would tell her that her test results had disqualified her from returning to school. Not rational, Hermione Granger, she told herself in disgust. Grow up.

She waited, but her dismissal didn't come. Eventually, she chanced a look at him. His eyes were locked on her face, and he looked deeply thoughtful. He stood that way for so long that eventually she wondered if maybe she was expected to simply get up and leave without a dismissal.

Finally, he spoke: "Miss Granger, before you go, I believe I owe you one more apology." He sounded horribly uncomfortable. Unsure of what to say, she bit her lower lip, chewing on it and waiting for him to continue.

"More appropriately, I believe I owe you my… gratitude." His discomfort seemed to grow even more. "Although I cannot pretend to enjoy being in your debt, I have been made aware that you played a role in my recovery. You have my appreciation," he said stiffly.

She stared up at him in complete surprise. "You're welcome, but I hardly did anything, sir. I only made sure that someone brought you back to Madame Pomfrey."

He appeared to be about to say something else, but then thought better of it. He gave her a long, piercing look, and she wondered uncomfortably if he was using Legilimency on her. She had no idea what it would feel like, but after Harry's horror stories, she didn't entirely trust him to stay out of her mind.

"You may go, Miss Granger." She stood up and slipped her wand into her sleeve. Not looking at her, he spoke again: "In case you are wondering, you will need to purchase the second volume of Confronting the Faceless. I expect my seventh-year students to be familiar with the text at the beginning of class.

She felt her jaw drop. "I—sir? I didn't think…I thought I'm not supposed to know exam results until next week. Are you saying I placed in your class?"

He merely raised one eyebrow. "I believe I told you that you were free to go."

He sat unmoving for several long moments after she left, lost in thought.

Author's Notes: Once again, a HUGE thank you to everybody who's left reviews. I appreciate it a lot!