AUTHOR'S NOTE: This took a tad longer than usual, and for that I apologize. Originally there would have been more snippets of the various Professors' reaction to our dearest sentient Boggart, but it was stupid and repetitive and far less interesting than the Snape scene, so in the end I extended that one to being the main subplot of this chapter.

Chapter XI: The Snape Situation

Ron and most of the others had left for a week-long holiday after the Feast — including Harry, whom the Weasleys had invited to spend the week at the Burrow. He hadn't gotten permission from his official guardians, of course, but he managed to slip onto the Express with his Invisibility Cloak and a little help from Fred and George, and the adults had all pretended not to notice his absence was at all irregular (which Hermione guessed must have been Professor Dumbledore's doing). The Centaurs were long gone, of course, and even the Professors and Hagrid were making themselves scarce. The bottom line was that Hermione practically at the Castle to herself to help the Boggart fine-tune his human disguise, socialize with the Basilisk and look for the Elvish Common Room.

Finally, she obtained an appointment with Professor Dumbledore on Friday afternoon. The guardian of the Spiraling Stairway (which had materialized on the fifth floor this time) was of course no longer the Golden Griffin. Who knew where that oddball had gone after his encounter with Hermione's lot in the Corridor? Though she thought she'd spotted him at the Christmas Feast, briefly. Either way, a massive stone gargoyle in the likeness of a boar stood in the Griffin's old spot.

"Good morning, sir or madam, we have an appointment," the Boggart-Boy said briskly, taking every opportunity to practice the everyday things of human life.

The Boar, who looked rather bored, as a matter of fact, stepped aside while mumbling something like "C'm'rite'in".

Hermione led the way, firmly holding her Boggart friend's childlike hand.

Dumbledore was seated in his bright lavender armchair, his desk buried under scrolls upon scrolls of important-looking parchment. The Sorting Hat was napping, as were most of the Portraits, except for the old bald fellow, Headmaster Dippet, who was still annoying Headmaster Phineas Black with gossip.

The current, flesh-and-blood Headmaster greeted them warmly and motioned for them to sit down.

"Miss Granger!" he said. "It's always a pleasure. Could I press you to a sherbet lemon? And you, Mr…"

"I'll take the sherbet lemon, thank you!" interrupted the Boggart, greedily reaching for the sweet.

"Oh, so you are capable of eating as well?" remarked Dumbledore. "Gracious me, I hadn't expected such a thing of a being such as yourself…"

"Oh yes, Professor," Hermione began to explain, "it was one of the things we tested — he can eat just about anything, in fact — he doesn't need to , mind you — he doesn't even gain any weight from it, I rather suspect the food is Vanished as soon as it enters his body —"

"Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, gently but commandingly, "Lady Ravenclaw may have said that wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure, but do not forget that even her House Ghost is known for the rarity of her speech. There is, as they say, virtue in silence."

"Oh… forgive me," she apologized.

Damn her and her babbling. Everything was just so interesting.

"Now," Dumbledore began, "I understand that your friend seeks to study with you in good old Hogwarts…?"

The Boggart nodded enthusiastically.

"A worthy wish no doubt. And how may I call you?"

"We have agreed on Maximilian as a first name, sir," answered Maximilian, looking at the bowl of lemon drops on Dumbledore's desk, "but I am not sure which last name to take. Although… now that I think about it… perhaps 'Sweets'?"

"May I perhaps suggest Candy instead?" improved the old wizard. "A touch of americanism might be welcome… after all, 'transfer student' does seem like the most plausible cover story to give you, young Maximilian, should any inquiring mind look too closely into your case."

"I like it a lot, sir!" thanked Maximilian Candy, the Boggart, discreetly taking another sherbet lemon from the bowl. "So then… you do approve of me studying here?"

"Mr Candy!" protested Dumbledore, mock-outraged at the idea that he might not have. "I have made it my motto as Headmaster that help shall always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it, and you definitely fall into that category, I believe. I would be failing my, if I may say so, impeccable career as Headmaster if I refused."

"Oh thank you, thank you, Professor!" said Maximilian, and Hermione doubled down on the gratitude.

"One more thing… if you don't mind —" said Hermione afterwards. "Might it be possible for Maximilian to attend in the same year and House as myself?"

"Year, you say? Would he not fall behind?" asked Dumbledore quizzically.

"No, Professor," said the Boggart with a touch of pride. "Do not forget that I am a Boggart, that is to say a born mind-reader. With her permission, I plan to read Hermione Granger's stellar schoolwork right out of her brilliant mind and copy it into mine. I could, no doubt, do the same with your own knowledge… but that would be too much like cheating — I do so want to live and grow up just like a true wizard would."

"I see…" nodded Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Well, in that case, for you to begin as a Second Year student come next Monday might easily be arranged. However, the House placement is… simply not my call to make."

He directed a meaningful twinkle of his blue eyes to the Sorting Hat, who was humming his song's tune in his sleep.

With a sharp nod of understanding, Hermione called in Parseltongue:

{Sorting Hat? Sorting Hat!}

{Hmmm… What? What?} said the Hat in the same language, waking up in a start. {Oh!} "Oh! It's you, Miss Granger… what a delightful surprise! And there you are, Albus — and — and… by Jove. Who might you be?"

"A Boggart, sir," said the false boy, nodding in respect. "My new name is Maximilian Candy, and I wish to be sorted, please."

"Oh-oh-oh…" chuckled the Hat. "A Boggart named Candy who wants to be Sorted. Bwahah. Bwahahahah! You did this, didn't you, Miss Grang-hahahahAHAHAHAHAAaaaah!…"

"He's always like that," Hermione told Maximilian, who was obviously wondering if he'd done something wrong.

"Aaah…" the Hat calmed down, and he would have swept a tear off had he had tears in the first place. "Right. Right. Well then, let's do this, Mr… heheh. Mr Candy."

Maximilian gently picked up the old ragged hat and set it on his head. It almost dropped down over his eyes, and Maximilian instinctively responded by inflating his cranium a bit so that the Hat would fit.

The result were a bit disturbing-looking, in Dumbledore and Hermione's opinion.

After a few minutes of silent debating, the Hat called out:

"Fine, fine! GRYFFINDOR! You friend drives a hard bargain, Miss Granger!"

Hermione and Dumbledore clapped politely as Maximilian took off the Hat and set it back down on its shelf.

"Well, I think that takes care of that," concluded Dumbledore with a twinkle, scribbling a few notes on a blank scroll.

"Good-bye, Professor!" said Hermione as she headed out. "And thank you for everything!"

She was out of their sight, but yet far enough not to hear, when the Boggart lingering behind her asked Dumbledore in the most innocent tone imaginable:

"By the way, Professor… who was she, the pale girl?"

Realizing this was probably a private conversation, she swiftly walked out, refusing to hear anymore. She was a virtuous Gryffindor, not some sort of… of Snape.


Ah yes, Snape. Monday — the day she was reunited with Harry and Ron and Ginny and Luna and Neville, and also Maximilian's first-ever day of class — Monday went swimmingly. But with Tuesday came Potions Class. And with Potions Class came Professor Snape.

Snape was looming around the Cauldrons, as usual. He'd written instructions on the board and told them to get to it already, all as usual. He hadn't bothered with such pesky conveniences as a roll-call, again as usual.

They were preparing a Shrinking Solution. Harry didn't quite know how to brew the potion, but he had a general idea. Ron was working with him — that was to say that for the most part he stayed by Harry's side and chatted as the other boy half-heartedly stirred the greenish liquid and dropped strange ingredients into it.

Draco Malfoy was sitting back contentedly as his two henchmen (Hermione had see him, they had ridiculous names, something like Lobster and Boil) stirred his cauldron for him at his commands. Hermione supposed it wasn't that bad, since Draco was at least paying attention enough to give them accurate orders… but it still painted a very vivid, very obnoxious picture of smug upper-class laziness.

As far as she could tell, both her friends and the Slytherins' potions were correct, if not at all was still quite an achievement given that this was actually a Third-Year Potion; Snape was obviously just in a bad mood and wanted to have a reason to yell on some students to work off his nerves (despicable, that man).

The same praise could not be given to poor Neville, who had paired up with Sally-Anne Perks. Professor Snape was staring at his bubbly orange potion, almost hypnotically, and this made the poor boy shiver and shake, so much so that he couldn't stir properly, and thus the Potion kept getting worse and worse.

Hermione would have helped, truly she would, but she was quite busy with her own potion, not to mention her rather peculiar partner Maximilian.

"Orange, Longbottom," said Snape suddenly, ladling some of Neville's brew up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Did you not hear me say, quite plainly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I tell you that a dash of leech juice would suffice?"

"No, you didn't, you just wrote it down in your awful shorthand on the board," muttered Hermione for herself; thankfully, Professor Snape hadn't heard her and continued:

"Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to apply yourself properly to the art of Potions in the future."

Neville was pink, trembling, on the verge of tears. Maximilian turned his attention to him for a flicker of an instant and then told Hermione in a whisper:

"His fear has shifted again. It has turned back to Snape from Max."

"We've got to do something!" said Hermione. "It'd take an expert, or at least me, to set the Potion right at this point, Sally-Anne can't possibly manage it, and whatever Neville's got is sure to be poisonous to toads…"

Steeling himself, Maximilian nodded, and, before Hermione could say any more, he said loudly to Snape:

"Professor, do not drag an innocent toad into it. If you want a test subject, I will be happy to drink some of Neville's Potion. I assure you, it is a nonstandard variation, but no less efficient than the version you are used to."

"Ridiculous." spat Snape.

Maximilian had a recoil at the hated word, but he took a deep breath and walked forward to Neville's cauldron.

"The Shrinking Solution is meant to shrink its user whilst also reverting them to a younger state, I understand?" he said while ladling up a portion of Potion.

"Don't be an idiot…" protested Snape, "…whatever your name is! Put this down, you'll kill yourself! Even if it were correctly prepared, the Solution wouldn't even be ready!…"

But Maximilian was already greedily swallowing Neville's orange potion.

Snape seemed about to try and reach for the Bezoar on his desk when the false boy's body began shrinking and shifting. A moment later, his form had melted into that of a baby still wearing Maximilian's now much-too-big robes and wizard's hat.

"Well, professor?" said Maximilian in a squeaky baby voice.

Neville couldn't believe his own eyes.

Snape's looked like they were about to burst out of his skull.

"Agh…ahghh…"

Meanwhile, Hermione almost couldn't fight back her laughter.

The panting Snape noticed this and jumped at the opportunity to find his figurative footing.

"Right! Miss Granger! Nothing about this is funny! Thirty points from Gryffindor! And you,… what's-your-name, forty points from whatever your House is for your foolishness! You were lucky, you brat, not clever!"

Snape handed Maximilian an antidote to get him back to normal, and then told everyone to go back to what they were doing.

Hermione was fuming at the considerable loss in points. So he couldn't take a joke, could he. Well now it was personal between her and one Severus Snape.


At the next Potions Class, they were preparing a draught meant to heal a kneazle from vermicious nosepox. Harry had made a show of not having the faintest idea what a kneazle, or a vermicious nosepox, was, and Snape had docked Gryffindor ten points.

Harry and Ron, Draco and his goons, and Neville and Sally-Anne had once again paired up, as had Hermione and Maximilian.

Noticing the latter, Snape said:

"Ah… there you are, Mr Candy. Professor Dumbledore told me of your… circumstances. Well, I would lament that you seem to be just as much of a brazen dunderhead as your house-mates… but at least, if our friendly neighborhood know-it-all chose you as her partner two times over, you cannot be entirely useless at potions brewing. There may be a flicker of hope for you yet."

{Don't answer, Maximilian,} Hermione hissed to her angered friend, who had learned Parseltongue along with the rest of Hermione's magical knowledge. {By his standards, this is a compliment.}

"Miss Granger!" snarled Snape, turning back around to face her once more. "There will be absolutely no hissing in this room! Thirty points from Gryffindor!"

"You'll regret this," Hermione answered icily, looking at Snape right in the eye. "I will find something, and you will regret every point you ever took, every punishment you unrightfully gave out, every sadistic threat you made."

"WHAT?" blurted Snape, his sallow face gaining quite the purple complexion. "How dare you-!? Five hundred points from Gryffindor!"

"I am Hermione Jean Granger. Some of my dearest friends are a millennium-old Basilisk and the Vanquisher of Voldemort. I got O-s on every single exam I took last year. Trust me. I will find a way."

Bragging and gloating was, actually, a lot of fun in the right circumstances. She now understood Draco Malfoy just a bit more.

The class had mostly abandoned their potions to witness the events unfolding in front of them.

"Hahah. Hahahah. Hah. Heheh. No. Nuhuh." laughed Snape nervously, losing his composure. "FIFTEEN THOUSAND POINTS FROM-"

"Slytherin," finished Hermione.

"SLYTHERIN?" screamed the overgrown bat in outrage. "NEVER!"

"Too late for that, my good sir," smirked Hermione.

Harry and Ron were for some reason still working on their potion, but found the time to chuckle. Some Slytherins had gotten it too, but their reaction was notably less joyful.

To set Snape's mind at ease, Hermione clarified:

"You just said 'Fifteen thousand points from Slytherin'. Sir."

"I did not say Fifteen thousand points from Slytherin! I did NOT!"

"Actually, sir, you just did it again," Hermione pointed out.

"Why you! I doesn't count! You TRICKED me!"

"Did I indeed?" said Hermione, not missing a beat. "Why, for a mere Gryffindor to have tricked the Head of Slytherin, that is an achievement worthy of at least twenty thousand points to Gryffindor, wouldn't you say?"

"Twenty thousand points? TO GRYFFINDOR!?"

"Why thank you, Professor!"

"ARRRGGGGH!"

"Oh dear," said Hermione with an overacted air of concern, "it seems that poor Professor Snape's nerves have given out. Why, do my eyes trick me? I believe you, Ron and Harry, happen by pure chance to have brewed a Sleeping Potion instead of a Nosepox Remedy! …Thank you, Harry. Now Professor, just drink this, everything's going to be alright."

"Wh-no! Wh-wh… grglglll…"

It had all been arranged very carefully. The 'faulty' potion of Harry and Ron had worked just as expected, and, the moment Snape was out cold, Hermione tapped the window — carefully, ever so carefully. This was the signal awaited by Hedwig, who immediately flew off in search of Professor Dumbledore. She bore a petition, signed by most of Gryffindor House, several Hufflepuffs, and a couple of Ravenclaw (chiefly Luna Lovegood). It requested (and that was a rule which Hogwarts should always have had in the first place) a limit be put in place over how many points a given Professor could give or take in a single month (although the Headmaster could trump that rule if needed). The limit was set at one thousand points of a month; without being too restrictive, it was low enough that even if Snape awarded Slytherin the whole quota every chance he got, he couldn't possibly get the House of the Cunning's point-count out of the negatives before the end of the year.


There was much rejoicing in the Gryffindor Common Room that night. Some older students had slipped in several bottles of what Hermione hoped was only butterbeer, and people were dancing in euphoria around an ablaze caricature of 'old Bat-head'. Hermione and her friends were naturally the guests of honor of the party… including Maximilian, who, thanks to the popularity of his own prank at the previous lesson (and it had been a prank, there was no longer any doubt in anyone's mind on that point), could definitely put aside any worries about being accepted by his new House.

Strutting about in oversized regal garb, Fred and George Weasley made an appearance in the middle of the feast. Beaming, they held out most-swords (which, to Hermione's delight, had been transfigured to resemble the legendary Sword of Gryffindor, a clever nod to History that had surely been intended for her). With the dull blade of the weapons, they patted her, Harry, Ron and Maximilian on their shoulders.

"We hereby dub thee," they spoke in unison, "Knights of the Most Noble Order of the Junior Marauders. Rise, Sir Scarhead, Sir Gulper, Sir Ronniekins… and, of course, Lady Macbrains!"

Angry hoots rang out above their head. Hedwig was flying in circles, looking downright murderous. At Harry's beckon, she flew down and perched herself on the tip of Fred's sword.

"Oh, hm, fine. I doth dub thee, owl… Lady Mailbox."

Lady Mailbox chirped her approval, and, with a very noble air, went to perch herself on the candelabra.

The ceremony was over, and cheering exploded.

Peeves and the Metal Monkey were guests of honor who congratulated the newly-knighted pranksters by tugging n their hair and robes and (in Peeves' case) singing silly songs.

Nearly-Headless Nick, also present, seemed to be enjoying himself, chasing Peeves all through the room to shut him up.

Neville's fear of Snape and made way for boundless mirth.

Even the Portraits were laughing to tears, repeating the tale of the momentous Potions Class to each other over and over.

In the confusion, no one paid any mind to an unassuming tabby cat with strange glass-like markings around its eyes. It tried fruitlessly to get Hermione's attention, failed to do so, and eventually seemed to give up. Throughout the rest of the evening, it could be seen lying by the fireplace, lapping up some cream it had been given by Seamus Finnigan and watching the proceedings with an air of warm approval.