Ever since the troll incident, Harry and Ron had been much more friendly to Hermione, having finally accepted the "stuck-up know-it-all" as one of them. Hermione had taken the opportunity to pressure Ron into learning the levitation charm since, as she told him, "What would Professor Flitwick say if you can't levitate a feather when you've supposedly levitated a club?"

Hermione learned a number of things from talking to them, including the existence of a small inconspicuously wrapped package that someone attempted to steal from Gringotts, but didn't succeed as it had been removed by Hagrid and Harry that same day. This was the bait for Dumbledore's trap, she supposed. For whom, she wasn't sure. From the Gringotts break-in, it seemed that the object was sought after by a relatively skilled wizard. But not too strong, she'd expect, if Harry was supposed to compete with him. This was only the practice run. Surely Professor Dumbledore wouldn't expose the prophesy child to something or someone he had little chance of surviving against.

It seemed that Harry and Ron had taken the bait as well. They told her that they'd noticed the trapdoor, and had arrived at the conclusion that the dog was guarding something. They did not seem inclined to go back and find out what it was, at least not yet.

But that quickly changed when one day when Snape had made the mistake of changing his bandage in the staff room, thus permitting Harry to see the reason for his limp since Halloween.

Harry, understandably, ran back telling them that Snape was evil and trying to steal whatever the three-headed dog was guarding.

Hermione had persuaded them to at least not appear to be suspicious, lest they get themselves into trouble. Besides, she reminded them, what protection could they offer the mysterious object that the dog could not?

Meanwhile, her own suspicion for Quirrell grew. Like Snape, Quirrell had been left alone when all the teachers went down to the dungeon to look for the troll. Supposing the troll really did make it from the dungeon to the second floor in the short time it took for Quirrell to faint and for the rest of the staff to run downstairs, what were the chances that they'd so completely missed each other that no one heard or smelled anything?

Moreover, her portrait self said he'd seen no troll at any point that day, nor did he see Quirrell.

It now seemed likely that Quirrell let the troll into the castle as a distraction. To buy himself time to investigate the third floor corridor? Or something else?

This raised another point. Why bother with a troll at all? Whatever Quirrell needed to do on Halloween was no more risky to do at night. Was he somehow incapacitated then?

Hermione was one to take her own advice. As far as Quirrell was concerned, she was just an obedient student who listened politely in class, handed in detailed essays and never made any trouble. She would be the last person he needed to watch out for. Though, Hermione wondered if Dumbledore knew, and if this was why he hired Quirrell in the first place. Was Quirrell meant to be Harry's "test"? Or perhaps he'd thought Quirrell needed watching? Quirrell took a year-long sabbatical and came back drastically different. Perhaps Dumbledore was interested in something he'd done or encountered during his travels?

Portrait Salazar hadn't thought much of Quirrell until now, meaning that if there had been anything worth noting in Quirrell's past, Dumbledore didn't let him hear it. Portrait Godric, Rowena and Helga didn't know much about the once bright, if a little bookish, student either. They were still very much in the dark.

On the subject of Dumbledore, Hermione observed him peering at Harry from the high table on more than one occasion. His gaze was, as her portrait self described, sharp and penetrating. She couldn't say whether he was employing legilimency (and she'd set up a partial occulumency shield just in case), though the headmaster could probably do a fine job without it as well. He must've heard all the reports about Harry's adventures. What did he think of the boy's progress?

But on the surface at least, Hermione thought, life at Hogwarts was as usual. The bulk of the Gryffindor population was excitedly discussing their upcoming Quidditch game with the Slytherins, as well as their new Seeker. Lavender and Parvarti told her dreamily about a Hufflepuff third-year, Cedric Diggory, who they found rather handsome. Ron was teaching Harry to play chess and ignoring his Potion essay, now that he knew Hermione would be there to help him finish it anyways. This she greatly disapproved of, though there was only so much she could do. They didn't all have to become potion experts, after all.

By now, it was generally accepted that Hermione always knew something about everything, because she would've read about it somewhere. The very useful impression was fuelled by her frequent visits to the library and the stack of advanced titles she carried in her arms. "Sally's a Gryffindor, but she really belongs in Ravenclaw," she'd heard them say when they introduce her sometimes.

Hermione just smiled, accepting the compliment. Now that she was excused for being knowledgeable, maybe she could get away with saying a few more things here and there. Despite the plan to watch, learn, and then act, it was still ridiculously annoying to have to sit around twiddling her thumbs when there was something obviously wrong all around.

At the least she should be justified in finally doing something about the oh-so-infamous house Slytherin of dark arts, evil, and bigots...

Blaise Zabini was not doing well on his Potion essay, not well at all.

His mother had been owling him to tell him that she expected him to get high scores in Potion, as it was her best subject at Beauxbaton. She had no idea, he thought gloomily, what kind of mental grilling Professor Snape was subjecting them to.

She'd scoffed when he told her this. "Nonsense! They all say Professor Snape favours you Slytherins! You're just not trying hard enough."

Well yeah, but it didn't mean they all automatically got high marks! That kind of treatment was bestowed upon Malfoy and Malfoy only. The rest of them may be exempt from detentions, but only just. In everything else, Slytherins had to struggle as much as the rest of the school.

In class, he had a lifeline, and he'd congratulated himself on being among the first to spot it. He'd noticed that the potion of the mudblood girl in the first row, Granger, was always turning out perfectly. It changed colour and bubbled exactly as the book said it would. It didn't take a genius to see that her brewing was far better than the rest of the class, including Malfoy's. Heck, even Snape couldn't find a fault in it!

So he'd carefully watched her cut up her ingredients and imitated, dropping things into his cauldron exactly when she did it. This paid off, as the mark on his potion samples rose from an "Unsatisfactory" to "Exceed Expectations".

On the homework assignments, though, he was on his own. His housemates were not very keen on helping each other, nor very keen on doing honest work. They sometime forget, Blaise thought as he skimmed through rows of books in the library for anything that would help him fill five pages of parchment, that ultimately they needed to actually learn the material to amount to anything. They couldn't cling to the coattails of their ancestors forever! Well, perhaps Malfoy could. The rest of them were wealthy, but they weren't exactly rolling in gold.

There was someone further down the row. Granger. Perhaps she would be willing to help him? He hadn't called her a mudblood yet, had he? And he hadn't laughed too loudly when Malfoy stole Longbottom's Rememberall, had he? There was no reason why she should be mad at him.

'What am I thinking? Granger's a mudblood and a Gryffindor!' He couldn't just ask her to help him with Potions! He would be betraying his house! But on the other hand, he really was desperate...

No, Blaise told himself, this was resourcefulness. Wasn't it Slytherin to make use of anything they could get their hands on? Wouldn't it be Slytherin to take advantage of Granger's intelligence?

He nervously glanced left and right. There was not a soul in sight. So far, so good.

Gulping, he discreetly shuffled closer toward her. She didn't notice him yet, or she would've ran away. He was in control of the situation. So far, so good.

"Erm, Granger?" Blaise blurted out. No, that didn't sound right. He had to seem nice. What was her first name again? "Her... Hermy-inini?"

Oh no, that wasn't how Snape pronounced it. He'd gotten it wrong, didn't he?

Granger turned. "Call me Sally," she smiled (?) "All my friends do. It's much easier."

Sally? That would be much safer than Granger, should they be overheard. He would start calling her Sally. Or better yet, "Can I call you Sal?"

A certain un-Gryffindorish gleam flashed in her eyes, but he must've imagined it. "Certainly. How may I help you, Blaise?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could explain to me how the Draught of Living Death works..." Blaise tried not to look too eager. He couldn't believe how well this was going!

"Of course," She smiled brightly, "The Draught of Living Death is a potent sleep potion that works by inhibiting a particular part of your mind..."

He was saved! Blaise though as he sat down next to Sal and picked up his quill to write. Perhaps having a muggleborn friend wouldn't be so bad after all.