Hermione was beyond excited.

She had finished the last of the basic potions the previous Friday and spent half the weekend in her personal laboratory, brewing for her personal needs for the next year. Severus had promised to begin working with her on more advanced potions today, starting with Wolfsbane. The full moon was only a week away and he'd promised that she could work on the potion alongside him as he worked on Remus' brew.

As a result, Hermione entered the Great Hall with a bounce in her step that morning. She plopped down next to Neville and began to fill her plate with a full English breakfast before she noticed that her friend seemed to be in a similar state of barely-contained excitement.

"What's got you so perky this morning?" she asked.

Neville grinned at her. "You've just missed the owls and I've just had an owl from my boyfriend. He's decided to move to Hogsmeade a bit earlier than expected. He's taking the apartment above the new shop tomorrow and wants to meet up at day's end for a drink."

"That's wonderful, Nev!" Hermione said, throwing her arms around her friend in an impulsive hug. "I know you've missed each other. His last floo call was so full of you I thought I was going to puke."

Neville blushed and stabbed at his eggs with a bit more force than necessary. "Yeah, well…" he paused. "Um, what did he say?"

Hermione grinned and speared a piece of melon. "Hmm. I could tell you, or I could let you stew in your curiosity for a bit longer." She hummed to herself as she chewed her breakfast, seemingly content to torture her friend.

"Come on, 'Mione!" Neville whined good naturedly. "I'd tell you what he said about you if you were dating."

"I shudder to think," she said dryly. "Well, there was something about you being the best kisser, which let me tell you was a bit of an insult to me - oh, shut your mouth Nev, you know we kissed once." She stabbed another piece of fruit and chewed contemplatively. "He also said that you wrote him the sweetest letters, that he hoped you were getting some sun this summer because you'd look good with a tan, and something about dirt under your nails being endearing. I won't even try to understand that one," she finished with a mock shudder.

Neville's blush deepened and he smiled down at his toast points. "He really said all that?" her friend asked softly.

Hermione nodded. "And much, much more that I won't repeat. He's completely besotted, Nev. And I'm thrilled for both of you."

Neville glanced at her with a shy smile. "Thanks, Hermione. I've like him for ages, you know, but I always thought that he'd, well," he made a flailing gesture with one hand, "and you'd. You know."

"Marry and have lots of babies?"

Neville nodded.

Hermione shrugged. "I thought so too, until that kiss. He's just...he's Ron. He's one of the two people I love most in this world, but I knew right away I couldn't be with him like that. I'm just glad he figured it out too, before we hurt each other. I'd hate to lose my best friend."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. He always asks after you in his letters."

"Letters?" Hermione asked. "As in, plural? Gods, Neville, it must be love. Do you know how much I had to badger him just to get him to send me a letter each summer?" She poked at him to punctuate her teasing. She was amazed as Neville turned an even deeper shade of red. At this rate he'd be able to successfully camouflage himself against the Gryffindor banner.

"It's only been a few weeks," he mumbled.

Hermione realized that she was on the verge of teasing Neville into apoplexy and subsided. "Seriously, Nev. I'm happy for you both. You're lucky to have each other."

Neville shot her a grateful glance and smiled before returning to his breakfast. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. "So why're you in such a great mood this morning? More mystery flowers from your admirer?"

"I did get some, yes, but that's not why I'm happy. Severus has me brewing Wolfsbane today." Her voice wrapped around the potion with awe.

He laughed. "Aw, that's great. I feel the same way every time Pomona introduces me to a new species of plant. We're starting on the night-blooming orchids this week. Should be fun."

Hermione grinned at her friend and sipped her tea. "We really are the worst swots aren't we."

"Absolutely." Neville grinned and clinked his mug against hers in swotty solidarity.

✿HG/SS✿

"Have you separated the dragonfly thoraxes into segments, Hermione?"

"Yes. Glass bowl, next to the powdered doxy eggs."

Snape nodded as he stirred the brass cauldron in front of him in alternating sets of three clockwise and anticlockwise turns. "Excellent. You should begin preparing the bupleurum stamens. We'll need thirteen and a half grams. Keep them well away from the powdered eggs; too easy to cross contaminate with the pollen. We'll be ready for stage four in a quarter hour."

Hermione moved across her mentor's private lab to the far bench and took the bupleurum flowers out of stasis. She picked up a pair of tweezers and began carefully separating the tiny stamens from the each of the small blossoms, taking care not to inhale any of the pollen lest she sneeze and scatter her work across her workspace.

"Tell me, Hermione, what are the properties of Bupleurum."

"Bupleurum chinense is a flowering root of the Asterid clade, distantly related to potatoes, eggplants, and fennel. It is Asian in origin and has long been used in traditional herbal remedies in the East to treat menstrual problems, loss of appetite, or chills and fever."

"Yes. And what is its use in Wolfsbane?"

"It combines with Scutellaria, commonly known as Skullcap - another relative of bupleurum - to repress chills and fevers. We add it at the seventh stage of brewing in alternating half-gram increments, incorporating with twelve anticlockwise stirs at just below boiling point." She spoke in rhythm to the clicking of her tweezers.

"A verbatim repetition of the text if I ever heard one, but accurate. Why is the potion kept below boiling point?"

Hermione thought a moment; that part wasn't in the text. "Well, the billywig stings are highly acidic when combined with troll mucus, so it would be in part to keep the compound solution from becoming unnecessarily agitated, but…"

Snape switched the glass stirring rod for copper, never breaking rhythm. "You're on the right track, Hermione. Continue the thought."

"But the skullcap and bupleurum mixture would neutralize the acidity as they're both basic. So it would half to be to prevent the pollens from clumping like cornstarch in a curry."

Snape nodded in approval. "Both assertions were correct, actually. The pollens would partially neutralize the acidity of the stings and mucus, but we aren't using a large enough quantity to stabilize all the acid. Clumping is a secondary concern. We cannot use one of those muggle china caps with this potion; aluminum or steel would render the troll mucus inert."

"I suppose cheese cloth wouldn't be porous enough," Hermione stated.

"Correct. I'm ready for the doxy eggs now."

Hermione dropped the the powdered eggs into the solution, one 3/7th tablespoonful every seventeen seconds as Snape continued to stir.

"How long until we move to stage six, Hermione?"

She glanced at the clock. "One hour and thirty-seven minutes, or four hours and three minutes from moonrise," she stated with certainty.

"Correct. Shall we break for tea?" Snape moved away from the cauldron and gestured toward the door to his sitting room.

Hermione dabbed at her forehead with her handkerchief. "Thank you, yes."

"You'll get used to the heat. What kind of tea would you prefer?"

She shrugged. "Surprise me. As long as it's wet and strong, I'll be happy."

Snape chuckled. "We'll have to work on that."

Hermione blushed. She knew that as a Potions Mistress in-training, she should have definite opinions on tea, but she couldn't really be arsed to care. She'd grown up in a household that believed in disposable bags of tea dust, and she still turned to Typhoo whenever she felt homesick and in need of comfort.

Then again , she mused, I could get used to that smell. She watched as Snape placed a tea tray on the table near the hearth. The tea smelled absolutely wonderful. "Oh, that does smell lovely."

Snape smirked. "I think we should use tea time as an excuse to fine tune your olfactory senses." He removed the lid from the pot and allowed the steam to waft in front of her face. "What do you smell, Hermione?"

She sniffed delicately before answering. "Black tea. I'm not sure what kind. Vanilla and some kind of fruit...not cherry. Pomegranate?"

Her mentor nodded his approval. "Not bad for a first try. What we are drinking is Monks Blend, which is Ceylon tea infused with vanilla and grenadine. It's a favorite for the afternoon. I prefer an Assam blend in the mornings." He replaced the lid on the pot to allow it to finish steeping.

"I'll admit I'm a bad Brit. I don't really know good tea from bad, just that I don't like the bitterness of the PG Tips mum buys when she can't get Typhoo."

That rumbling chuckle sounded from Snape's chest again. "You're not a 'bad Brit.' I'd say you're fairly typical. Almost everyone drinks coffee these days."

She laughed at that. "It's true. I can't drink it, though. It makes me feel sick."

Snape nodded. "I have a similar reaction. Ah, this should be ready now. Milk?"

"Please." She watched as he poured a small sploosh of milk into her cup, set the strainer on top, and poured the tea over the top. He added a lump of sugar at Hermione's nod.

"Well now I'm just confused," she said, stirring the sugar into her brew. "Mum always said to put the milk in last."

Her tea partner shrugged. "It depends. You said your mum buys teabags?" He waited for her nod. "Then putting the milk in last is the better choice, otherwise the milk would cool the teabag and your cup won't brew properly. As I make my tea in the pot, pouring the milk in first allows it to heat more evenly when I pour the tea in and the milk solids won't clump." He shrugged again at her blank look. "It tastes better."

Hermione took a sip of her tea. She honestly couldn't taste a difference. "Alright."

"It also prevents milk scum from forming on top."

She smiled this time, sipping again. "Alright."

Snape sighed, pouring his own tea (with milk) and stirring in two lumps of sugar. "We'll make a tea connoisseur of you yet, Granger. It'll be good nose training for you."

"Whatever you say, Master Snape!" she replied with a cheeky grin.

Snape waved his wand and set a CD playing. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair as Dave Brubeck's "Blue Rondo à la Turk" started playing in the room. "You have good taste in music," she said after a moment.

"You like jazz?"

"I like a lot of different styles of music," she corrected, "including jazz. My father loves jazz. On weekends when I was home from school he'd take me with him into Belgravia. There's a club there where people go to smoke cigars, drink whiskey and listen to jazz. Some of my best memories are going there with Dad. He'd sip his drink and I'd have a lemonade, and we'd listen to whomever was on the stage that night. He's not much of a talker, Dad."

"You enjoyed going to a smell cigar club with your father when you were a teenager?"

She tilted her head at him in confusion. "Yes?"

"Hermione, each day you simply reaffirm my belief that you're a very odd duck."

"Well, thanks. I think." She finished her tea and set it the cup and saucer down on the table, leaning back in chair once again. "I like your sitting room. It feels very well lived in."

He snorted before finishing his own tea and pouring another cup. "You mean shabby."

"No, I mean well lived in. It's comfortable. The kind of place where you want to take your shoes off and curl up with a book for a few hours."

"That was the general idea when I arranged it." He paused for a moment, considering her. "You can take your shoes off if you want, I suppose."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks. I don't know how you do it, standing for hours on end. Your feet must kill you each night."

"Cushioning charms in my boots. And you become accustomed over time." He leaned back in his chair with his tea, closing his eyes to enjoy the music.

Hermione did the same, resting her hands in her lap. Within a few minutes, she was dozing quietly.

Snape rose and looked at his sleeping apprentice. A quick glance at the clock told him they had about twenty minutes before they needed to be back in the lab, and he needed Hermione very much awake for the next step of the brewing process. With a slightly wicked smirk, he exchanged the jazz compilation for another disc, then took care to raise the volume of the little machine.

Hermione sat straight up in her chair when Robert Plant started wailing out the opening notes of "Immigrant Song" at a volume that could only be described as deafening.

"I'm awake I'm awake!" she shrieked, hands flying to her ears. Snape managed to reduce the volume before doubling over in a fit of laughter.

"Not funny," she grumbled, drawing her robes around herself.

"Surely you don't begrudge me a little fun, Granger," Snape said, reigning in his laughter.

"Since when does Professor Snape enjoy pranks?" she asked, rubbing at her ringing left ear.

"I've never not enjoyed pranks," he said, sobering slightly. "But I've had to spend the last twenty years watching others have all the fun. Because, as you so rightly stated, Evil Professor Snape doesn't enjoy pranks, he enjoys bullying. I can tell you, the day the Weasley twins arrived at Hogwarts was one of the best in my career to date."

"You know, Severus, I don't think I know you at all," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Is this what I have in store for me for the next six years."

"Hermione, I think you can safely say that what you know of me could fill a thimble. And as for the latter...yes. I've been given my very own apprentice to torture. You can hardly expect me not to indulge. Now come along. Wolfsbane, stage seven awaits."

The bewildered witch rose to follow the billowing robes out of the room.

✿HG/SS✿

Dinner that night was a slightly more crowded affair than it had been in weeks past as more teachers arrived at Hogwarts from their summer homes. Hermione sank into her chair gratefully, refusing the offer of wine in favor of a glass of water.

"Goodness, Hermione. You look exhausted. Whatever have you had her doing, Severus?" Minerva commented.

"We brewed Wolfsbane today, Minerva. We've been at it since just after breakfast and I'm afraid my apprentice hasn't quite built up the stamina of a true brewer yet."

"There's no need to be insulting, Severus." Pomona commented, reaching her hand out to finger the bouquet at the center of the table. "Another one of yours, dear?" she asked.

Hermione nodded as Snape responded. "It wasn't meant as an insult Pomona. Hermione is an apprentice. She needs to build up her tolerances for extended brewing sessions and Wolfsbane, as you know, is a particularly onerous potion to brew. She did well enough for a first run."

"Alright Severus, no need to be tetchy," the elder witch responded, admiring the bouquet further. "Another lovely specimen in this one. Too bad the stasis renders its pollen inert."

Hermione looked more closely at the bouquet and frowned. "I'm sorry, Pomona. Which?" Her brain was sluggishly plowing through her herbological knowledge and coming up short.

"Remind me to start working with you on rare flowers, dear. Severus, this one might be of use to you still. The petals are useful, I think."

"And the leaves," Snape said, agreeing. "Yes, I can use these. If you don't mind, Hermione?"

She waved her hand to indicate her assent, watching as Snape carefully extracted a half dozen slim flowers from the very center of the bouquet. He quickly shrank the blossoms and deposited them into a small specimen jar before secreting it away in his robes.

Hermione leaned toward Neville. "What exactly were those?"

"Ghost flower," he replied, serving himself some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. "Indian, I think. They're pretty rare."

"They're creepy looking. All white and, I dunno. Spindly."

"Wow, your vocabulary really goes when you're tired. The last ones were white too, right?"

She furrowed her brow. "No, yesterday's bouquet was all blues."

"The rare flowers, I meant. From last week. They were white too."

Hermione thought back. She was having trouble remembering her last name, much less what flowers were sent to her last week. "Huh. I guess you're right. Weird. I wonder where he's getting them. I mean, they're rare, right? It's not like your average florist will have them on hand. We don't even have these in the greenhouses."

"Probably a private supplier. Maybe a personal garden. There are lots of rare flower collectors in pureblood circles. It was a pretty big hobby in the 19th century, and a lot of families still maintain the old gardens."

"Leave it to you to know something about everything floral, Neville," Hermione said with a smirk.

He shrugged. "D'you fancy a pint down down in Hogsmeade tonight? We haven't left Hogwarts in over a week."

She forced her eyes open and applied herself to her food. "Not tonight, I think. I'm too tired. I'm probably going to have a bath and then, assuming I don't drown, crawl into bed. We have to finish the Wolfsbane tomorrow, and it's another all-day process. Can I take a rain check?"

"Sure, 'Mione. Come out with Ron and me this weekend, yeah? We'll try to get Harry and Ginny to come too. Maybe Luna."

"You know where Luna goes, so goes Draco, right?"

"That's fine as long as he isn't a git," he snarked.

Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice. "Oh, Neville. It's Draco. He's always a git."