Chapter 28- Attack of the Evil Feather Duster

They were halfway through a mostly-silent repast when Minerva knocked on the main door of the suite. Carrying a luscious traveling cloak made of raw silk the colour of malachite, and hair plaited into an elaborate coronet of braids, the Headmistress appeared as Hermione had never seen her before; still regal in bearing, but unmistakably a woman- and a very handsome one at that.

Professor Snape's expression showed the first hint of emotion since their encounter in the Great Hall. His tone was sardonic, if sincere, when he spoke. "You have always looked exceptionally lovely in green, Minerva."

"As if I would allow any juvenile House nonsense to dictate my sartorial choices." Her reply was equally dry, but her gaze was warm and humorous. "Far be it from me to suggest you wear a colour as gauche as scarlet, but I do recall a recent occasion when a rather Ravenclaw shade of blue appeared particularly flattering on you, Severus."

"I, regularly wear a colour other than black? That would be gilding the lily a bit much, don't you think? Besides which, I imagine the sight of me in something other than my normal attire would cause much of wizarding Britain to expire from the sheer shock of it."

Hermione was startled at the words as much as his delivery. Sarcastic as they were, they contained no bitterness. Moreover, the ease in which the Headmistress and Potions Master were bantering back and forth was a distinct change from what she had seen of their previous interactions. Their meeting this morning must have gone quite a bit better than expected. Interesting...

"May I infer from the way you are dressed that my Apprentice and I interrupted something important last night?" asked Professor Snape slyly.

For a moment, the woman's face was supremely feline. "Infer all you would like, but you'll not get an answer to that particular question from me." With that comment, Minerva's face resumed more normal lines. "I've just been floo'd by Alan Briggs, the Head of Curse Breaking at St. Mungo's; two patients were brought in earlier today after being stuck down by some sort of enchanted feather duster. A local Healer apparently muddied things further by giving the pair some rather questionable combinations of healing draughts. As Richard Brightbrook has been singing your praises, and it was proposed that perhaps you might be able to assist."

"Was it now? In what capacity?"

"Briggs inquired if your contract with Hogwarts prohibited you from serving as a independent consultant with St. Mungo's."

"And is it?" Professor Snape inquired with a raised brow.

"No, it's not, as you well know."

He looked down at his half-empty tumbler of brandy ruefully. "Well, then... It appears that I am off to see a man about a feather duster." For the first time since the Headmistress had knocked, he glanced Hermione's direction. "My apologies; it appears that only one of us will be enjoying any further libations this evening."

"No worries," Hermione responded, feeling both relieved that he was leaving and unsettled by all that was being left unsaid. "I'm not sure how much longer I'll be awake anyway. Between the food and the brandy, my bed is singing quite the clarion call."

He gave her a short nod before turning back to Minerva. "Are you headed out yourself?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then if you've no objections, I'll walk with you to the gate." Reaching for a set of summer robes hanging by the door, he shot Hermione a veiled look over his shoulder, "By all means, help yourself to the brandy in my absence, especially if it might help you sleep."

Reaching for the decanter, she gave him a small smile in return. "You don't have to offer twice. Pity it's as habit forming as Dreamless Sleep."

Minerva spoke from the doorway. "Sometime tomorrow I would like to sit down and plan out some matters with the two of you." Addressing Hermione directly, she continued. "Among other things, I would like to set up a schedule for your N.E.W.T.s."

"Right," Hermione said, feeling a sudden curl of nerves at the thought of taking her examinations after being so long out of the classroom. Oh, god... the amount of revising that I'm going to have to do...

"I need to get started brewing the infirmary stock tomorrow. Would it be possible to meet first thing in the morning?" Professor Snape asked crisply.

"That works well enough for me," the Headmistress answered. "Hermione?"

It was her turn to look ruefully at the glass in her hand. "I've no problem with that. Worse comes to worst, I'll just start off the morning with a shot of Sober-Up in my tea."

Minerva chucked a little at that. "It wouldn't be the first time a meeting started in such a fashion. Especially not at this august institution."

"Breakfast then, say, at eight?" Professor Snape inquired. After affirmatives from the two women, he swept his robes on, and stepped through the door. "Good." Proffering his arm to the Headmistress, he gave a Hermione a final nod.

"An enchanted feather duster..?" Hermione heard him say incredulously as the two disappeared into the hallway. Topping off her glass, Hermione rose and replaced the lid on the decanter. Walking a tad unsteadily towards her rooms, she pondered the day's happenings.

It could have gone far worse, especially given the way the day had started. She had been expecting things to get ugly, truth be told, and had been prepared to grovel; instead she had been met with a curious blankness. He hadn't raged, they hadn't fought... and she had not been able to read a single emotion in his expression when he'd found her in the Great Hall, or during their truncated meal. Hermione wasn't sure if she was scared by his reaction- or lack thereof- or if she was relieved that they had resorted to the inanity of polite civilities. They would have to properly have it out, however; she had too many questions to just leave everything unsaid.

Reaching her rooms, she shut the door behind her with a quiet thump, and toed off her trainers. Peering down at the tumbler full of amber liquid still clutched in her hand, Hermione debated the wisdom of having a second glass. She wasn't in the mood to get pissed, but all the same, she wanted nothing more than to slide into oblivion and stay there for a good long while. And the brandy was rather lovely... With a sigh, she tipped the glass back and emptied it. Gasping at the corresponding fire that sprung to life in her stomach, she entered her bedroom. Shucking off her jeans and shirt, she flopped down on her bed, enjoying the pleasant haze that filled her vision. With a final sigh, Hermione unhooked her bra and pulled the covers up. Later, she thought through the fog of excellent brandy. I'll think about it all later.


She awoke at half-past six in great need of toothbrush, and to an exceedingly displeased Crookshanks. Her familiar glared at her, fuzzy and flat face a bare inch from her own, claws gently flexing on her bare chest.

"I forgot to feed you last night, didn't I?" she asked, and Crooks gave her a final glare before leaping to the floor and marching militantly to the door. Hermione sat up with a muffled groan, pushing the mass of lank curls away from her face. She wasn't hung over, precisely, but neither was she feeling particularly refreshed. Well, at least I didn't dream. Or rather, I don't remember any dreams. That's one positive.

Pulling her robe on, she made her way to the kitchenette and poured her cat an extra scoop of kibble as an apology. Looking around her rooms, she took in the signs of disarray: half-unpacked boxes scattered about, the broken remains of several plates by the far wall, and messy pile of trainers by the door. One week back, and you've already managed to complicate matters quite nicely.

But the self-pitying thought sounded off, even in the jumble of her own mind. She was tired of feeling scared, of pushing things away. If there had been one good thing that had come from the previous days events, it was that knowledge that she had confronted some of her demons, and hadn't broken; she hadn't even fallen to pieces. It had not been pleasant, but Hermione felt a sense of profound relief at having taken the first step in reclaiming her life and past.

So, she thought experimentally, is your new motto 'Carpe Diem?' At least it makes a hell of lot more sense than 'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus'... Letting sleeping dragons lie hasn't worked out so well, so perhaps it's time for a change. With a quick flick, and non-verbal incantation, she repaired the plates; watching them flawlessly knit back together was almost as satisfying as breaking them. Carpe Diem it is, then.

With that resolution made, she went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Snape was standing with his back to her, preparing French toast and sausage. His movements were surgically precise, and he had all of his ingredients laid out in a proper mize en place like the Potions Master that he was. Hermione recalled suddenly that French toast was the Headmistress' favourite breakfast, and it struck her anew how little she understood the man before her. The soothingly domestic- and rather sentimental- behaviour did not fit at all with his public persona; that he apparently shared the same sort of mothering trait as Molly Weasley was not something that she would have ever pegged. But then, did you ever really know him in the first place?

On the heels of that thought came another: had there ever been a time that he had been free to act as he had wished? To show favour and emotion without fear of it being used against him? While she was not naive enough to rework him into some sort of Byronic hero, she wondered at how much of his loathsome behaviour during her childhood had been an act, and what had been in truth. His actions over the last six months had shown her that he was capable of not being a complete bastard when he so desired; this morning would be a good test of just what the limits of his temper were.

"Good morning," she said quietly, unsure if the peace of the previous night would hold.

He half-turned and gave her an opaque glance over the length of the kitchen, spatula in hand. "And good morning to you." Turning back to the hob, he flipped a piece of toast over with practiced ease. "How is your ankle? I did not inquire last night."

She stared at his back, trying to puzzle out his body language. "It's fine. Looks far worse than it feels. Can I help with anything?"

His look was mild yet dismissive. "No need. I have everything under control."

Hermione was struck anew at the curious blankness in his expression; taking in what she could see of familiarly furrowed brow and veiled countenance it suddenly occurred to her that he must be occluding. So he's not comfortable with any of this either. Do I push the issue, or wait?

Wait, she thought with grim humour. Have some more coffee, and then proceed with the carpe diem.

Availing herself to the coffee laid out, she sat down at the kitchen table. "So, should housewitches everywhere start to fear their feather dusters?"

Snape snorted lightly. "Alas, the feather duster only played a supporting role in yesterday's shenanigans. The enchantment on it had been sufficiently warped to make it impossible for the user to do anything other than endlessly dust once it was handled." Flipping a perfectly golden slice of French toast, he went on. "Not much of challenge to break the enchantment's hold, but combine that situation with rather large infestation of doxies, poorly made doxycide, and an apprentice Healer mucking about, you have a very different situation altogether. The couple in question were in the middle of intense series of hallucinations, and were accordingly hexing everything in sight."

Intrigued, Hermione asked, "What did you do?"

A hint of smugness crept through his mask. "I stunned the lot of them, and then shoved bezoars down their throats. Whilst my solution was lacking in both finesse and a certain element of mystery, it was effective, and most important of all, immediate."

"You stunned them?" Hermione repeated, having expected something complicated, or at the very least, potions-based.

"Yes, I did," he said with a nonchalant shrug, body loosening further. "Unlike the Healers, there is nothing in my Oath of Mastery that says anything about 'first, do no harm'."

She couldn't help but laugh into her coffee cup. "That was a rather... daring act of chutzpah, being that you were in the middle of St. Mungo's."

"I prefer to think of it as more of a reflection of my personal panache, rather than any sort of chutzpah."

"Nonetheless..." she responded dryly. "Do you think that they will ask you back?"

Again, he shrugged. "Don't know. Don't really care."

"So why did you go in the first place?" Hermione asked, having wondered at his willingness the night before.

Placing two fresh pieces of French toast onto a plate, Snape began to fuss over the browning sausage methodically. "Because I wanted to, and it amused me to do so." His tone had lost the trace of levity that had been animating it, and the words did not invite further questioning.

Hermione bit back a sigh, weighing the pros and cons of pressing matters. On one level, she understood and even appreciated his desire to create space between the two of them given what had happened; on the other hand, she was not going to spend the next several years trying to tease meaning and understanding out from his cryptic body language and occasional tell. She had no clue how they stood, or even if he was mad at her, and she was not going to try at guessing what was going on beneath his still waters. Batten down the hatches, for carpe diem it is...

"Are we going to discuss any of the events of the last two days?" Hermione asked crisply, not wanting her nerves to show.

"I thought we had," Professor Snape said, the barest hint of ire implicit in his reply.

She was relieved by that hint of temper; Hermione could work with anger, but there was no negotiating if he shut her out. "We talked around matters, yes. But we did not discuss what happened, nor where we stand currently."

"And do we need to?" he intoned punctiliously.

"I don't think that we need a blow-by-blow replay, but I would like to discuss several other things."

Professor Snape gave a insouciant wave of his free hand- clearly meaning for her to go on with it- and deliberately kept his back to her as he worked over the hob. She felt her own irritation spike with his play at indifference, and took a calming breath before she spoke. I'll be damned if I have this conversation to his back. If he was serious about wanting to be friends, then he's going to have to learn to face things- literally, as well as metaphorically. I am not going to dance around him, or his temper.

"Would you turn around, please?" Hermione requested softy.

That put his back up, and when he swivelled, Hermione saw several small flashes of the Professor Snape from her youth; the hard, glittering black eyes and neatly checked rage all set off the deeply-held alarm bells. But she was determined to not back away from the conversation, recalling what her mother had always said about negotiating new relationships- "Always start the way you mean to go on."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm not looking to turn this into an interrogation, nor am I seeking to change your mind about matters. I just... I need to know that you aren't horribly mad at me, or failing that, that we are still going to be able to work together without things turning... uncomfortable." Hermione stopped talking, the betraying heat of a blush beginning to creep up her face.

The normal noises of the kitchen suddenly seemed overly loud; the pop of fat in the sausage pan provided an apt soundtrack to Hermione's internal monologue. Talk about moving from the frying pan to the fire, she thought.

For his part, Professor Snape merely gave her an assessing glance before speaking. "I'm not mad at you." He almost sounded somewhat baffled at her question.

"Right," Hermione replied, wondering how she was going to phrase her thoughts without sounding like a total nutter. "It's just that, despite having known you since I was eleven, I don't actually know you. I don't have the faintest clue as to what you are thinking most of the time, and I can't even begin to guess at your motivations. And if I keep making assumptions... well, you know the old saying about what happens when you assume..."

She trailed off again, and the gulf between them suddenly seemed wider than the Channel. "Like yesterday. I was expecting you to be mad, but you say you're not. Okay, but what does that mean? Did the other night preclude a friendship between us, or are we fine?"

"Do you think that a friendship between us is now impossible?" He put the spatula down carefully, and some of the pique faded from his countenance as he stared at her.

"No, I don't. But I haven't the faintest idea what you are thinking, and I need something to work with. Is any of this making sense to you, or am I just digging a bigger hole?"

"I'd recommend that you put the shovel down, yes," he said evenly. "But I think I understand what you are trying to say. Past experiences can not be a guide for either of us, given how much things have changed." He tipped his head back for a long moment, eyes focusing on the far view of the lake out the windows. "I'm not angry at you Hermione; if anything, I am unhappy with my own actions. When I said I was certain that I would cock things up, I did not think to mean that in a literal sense." The words were spoken with the lightest patina of self-directed sarcasm, and the mild joke reassured her more than the actual words themselves.

"It wasn't all your fault..." Hermione started to say before Snape interrupted.

"Perhaps not, but of the two of us, I would wager that I have far more understanding of the linkages between fighting and desire. I should have know better than to allow events to progress as they did."

She nodded, seeing his point but not conceding entirely. "And I should have done a better job of respecting your boundaries. I just..." she stopped then, wondering if she should go further. "I just wasn't expecting... that."

"Likewise," he admitted.

"So," she said, "...we agree to do better, and move on?"

"Yes," he responded. "But allow me to reiterate this one more time: I can be friends. I cannot, and will not be anything else. I don't do... those sort of relationships." Again, his final words were said with barest hint of sarcasm, but this time, his eyes were rather harder and the statement lacked any sense of levity.

"I understand, and will respect your wishes," she replied formally, not daring to push things any further.

"Good," he said, as the sound of heeled footsteps came from the internal hallway announcing the Headmistress' arrival. Hermione realized that she had not heard the outer door open, and wondered how much of their conversation the older woman had overheard.

When Minerva entered, it was with a blank face and in her usual attire. From the raised eyebrow that Snape gave her, it was clear that he had been thinking along the same lines as Hermione. But if Minerva had been eavesdropping, she made no acknowledgement of it in her greeting.

"Good morning," she said, and her smile grew when she saw the offerings on the kitchen table. "I was hoping that you would make French toast, Severus. One of these days you will have to provide the house elves with the recipe. The Hogwarts recipe is lovely, but not quite as good as yours."

"It's a long-cherished Snape family secret," he replied sardonically. "Better for my job security that I don't."

Turning to Hermione, the Headmistress spoke. "I am glad to see that you appear none the worse for wear. No need for Sober-Up, then?"

Hermione chuckled. "No, none. I wouldn't go so far to say that I'm bright-eyed or bushy-tailed, but I'll do."

"Bushy-haired, perhaps," Snape muttered in faux-whisper.

"You dare criticise my hair? You, of all people..." Hermione let her voice trail off in disbelief. True, his hair no longer was the lank and greasy veil of her memory, but still... her hair wasn't the bushy tangle of yesteryear either. "Pot meets kettle, Professor."

"I am the kettle and you are the pot, Granger. Do get the order correct." Snagging several of the plates, he began to dish up the breakfast. "Now, shall we eat, or merely allow my all of my excellent work to go cold?"


"So," Minerva asked, pulling out a quill and parchment. "How many N.E.W.T.s do you intended to take, Hermione?"

She took a deep breath. "To start with? Potions, obviously, along with Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Eventually, I'd like to go for Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic, but I need to be realistic about the work involved, especially as my mastery is more important at this point."

"What, no Muggle Studies?" Snape said slyly. "You are the Muggle Studies Professor, after all."

"A Ph.D and eight years living solely as a Muggle should more than suffice," she shot back.

"There now, Severus. No need to needle your apprentice; it's not as if you took Muggle Studies yourself," Minerva interjected.

"How many N.E.W.T.s did the both of you take?" Hermione asked, curious.

The Headmistress grimaced. "Alas, I only took Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Ancient Runes and History of Magic. In my day, it was considered rather bad form for women to take the upper level courses in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures or Arithmancy. I did received top marks in everything that I took, however."

Hermione turned her gaze to Snape, who answered the question readily enough. "I took everything but Divination and Muggle Studies."

"And how did you do?" Hermione asked, wondering if she could do some needling of her own.

"I earned O's in all but Charms and Care of Magical Creatures."

"Problems with a spot of foolish wand waving, huh?" Hermione said with false sympathy, remembering his speech on the first day of Potions.

"Not quite."

Minerva laughed, and gave Snape a teasing glance. "Will you tell the story, Severus, or should I?"

"If you wish to waste you time talking, rather than eating, by all means..."

"I believe you had Professor Kettleburn your first several years of Care of Magical Creatures, did you not?" Minerva asked Hermione.

"Yes, I did."

"Then you will remember that he was..."

"Reckless," Snape put in. "Foolhardy. Rash. Imprudent... I can provide other adjectives if you so require."

"Much like Hagrid," the Headmistress continued, unruffled, "Silvanus was rather passionate about his subject, and had a rather unique teaching style."

Snape shook a fork loaded with sausage at the woman, and mimicked her tone. "Much like Hagrid, Silvanus had no compunction in exposing his students to irreparable harm all in the name of 'learning'. After all, he was missing most of his limbs, and was able to live without significant issue. Why would it matter if a student was similarly affected?"

"Have you decided to tell the story, then?" Minerva asked him, spearing another piece of French toast.

He ignored her sarcasm and kept speaking. "Care of Magical Creatures was the exam before Charms; I had just successfully finished with my practical section when Kettleburn released a... what on earth would you call a large group of fire crabs?"

"As fire crabs are more closely related to turtles than actual crustaceans, I used the term 'bale' in my accident report." Minerva murmured.

"Right. So Kettleburn released a bale of angry fire crabs into the testing area- constant vigilance apparently being the byword of the day- and they proceeded to set the area, as well as the majority of Gryffindors present, ablaze."

"They were not set 'ablaze', Severus. Badly scorched, perhaps, but not set ablaze. And I'll have you remember that quite of few Slytherins were also rather singed. Oddly enough, the Hufflepuffs were all to a man unharmed," Minerva marvelled dryly.

"A fact owing to Kettleburn being a Hufflepuff himself, I am sure." Snape remarked.

"And did you escape unharmed?" Hermione asked.

"No, I did not." He put his fork down with a firm clink.

"Your actions were rather gallant, Severus. Foolhardy, perhaps... one could even go as far as to say imprudent, but it was gallant behaviour, nonetheless." Minerva's smile was playful, if sincere.

"One of my housemates was deathly afraid of fire, and I hastened her exit of the area. In doing so, I was burned."

"What he is not telling you, Hermione," Minerva stated, "...was that he jumped onto a Thestral, and managed to fly the creature over the pen, and snatched the girl- Lucy Malstrome, was it not?- off the ground without landing, or causing the poor Thestral any harm."

"It took several passes," he groused, "and I had to hang off the blasted thing so far that I wrenched my back on top of getting burns all over my arms."

Hermione suddenly had vision of Snape swooping through apocalyptic flames on the back of a Thestral, his black robes and hair billowing. "Gallant, indeed," she repeated, the mental imagery making her stomach tighten in unwilling appreciation.

"Gallant it may have been, but it brought me no favours; by the time I convinced the Thestral to land and returned to the Castle, I had but five minutes before the Charms exam, and Poppy had run out of burn paste. Thus, I walked into the Great Hall covered in a mixture of honey and acemannan. I got through the written section with a minimum of fuss..."

"Although not mess, if I remember correctly," Minerva said.

"You try writing with a quill when covered with honey. I was fine until the practical portion, when my oh so sweet exterior attracted the... fruits, shall we say, of my fellow students labours. After being mobbed by first butterflies, then bees, and finally a flock of birds, I vanished the lot of them and walked out."

"You vanished everything, Severus. Not just the birds and the butterflies, but all of the desks and chairs. Even the exam equipment... everything but the people in the Hall were just gone."

He shrugged. "Which should have fully demonstrated my abilities at Charms, but alas, the proctors did not see it that way." He glanced over to Hermione. "As I did not complete the fourth section of the exam, I only received an acceptable."

"I always wondered why you walked out," Minerva said. "I knew that Charms was never one of your favourite subjects, but you always were quite the perfectionist when it came to marks."

Snape was silent for a moment, and his voice was rather stiff when he finally responded. "It was not purely an accident that I was continually... accosted by various creatures. As ever, Potter and his little band of merry men were more than happy to take advantage of my misfortune for a bit of sport. It was walk out or hex them; the night before, I had signed my apprenticeship contact with Géroux, so leaving mattered little in the grand scheme of things."

Minerva looked surprised at his last admission. "I had not realized that... matters were decided so early on."

Again, silence filled the room, and Hermione found herself struggling to parse out the undercurrents of the conversation. Snape and the Headmistress were eyeing each other with wary curiosity, gazes communicating as much as the carefully worded statements.

"It was decided in my sixth year." Snape said softly. "The Dark Lord was the only one to show any interest in my future, and Lucius was more than eager to sponsor me. He arranged terms with Géroux; by Christmas of my seventh year the details had been ironed out, and it was just a matter waiting for graduation and the exams."

Minerva only nodded, a look of intense regret clouding her features. For her part, Hermione was afraid to to breathe deeply, lest she draw any attention to herself. It was obvious that two professors were speaking of the conditions leading to Snape's taking the Dark Mark, and she fairly burned with questions; never had she heard any of that particular backstory.

The Headmistress appeared to share some of those same questions. She opened her mouth as if to ask something, but clearly had second thoughts, and abruptly looked down at her empty plate. Snape read her expression well enough, however, to answer the unasked query. "I took the Mark the day after graduation, and was on my way to France the day after that to start my apprenticeship."

Minerva met his gaze again, but appeared slightly nauseated. "I wish it could have been different, Severus. Truly, I do."

He shrugged, the motion more uncomfortable than nonchalant. "I made the choices I did. I suppose if you want to look for silver linings, some can be found. We survived, did we not?" He turned then, and gave Hermione an arch look. "And here we are, nominally discussing my very own apprentice."

"Indeed we are," the Headmistress said briskly, accepting the change of topic. "Hermione, it would simply not do for you to take your N.E.W.T.s with the rest of students. Accordingly, we can do one of two things: either have you take them at the end of the year privatively, or spread them out over the course of the next year or so. I can prevail on the examiners to come every two months until you've completed the courses you deem necessary."

Hermione thought about the options, but the choice was easy. "I would prefer to spread them out. It would be easier revising for one class rather than seven, especially with a teaching load on top of our project."

"Excellent. That would have been my choice as well. I will send the seventh year syllabuses to you in the next week, and you can decide what exam you would like to begin with." Minerva made several notes on her parchment. "Now, Severus, have the two of you discussed the order and timeline for the apprenticeship? I am not familiar with all of the requirements for Potions."

Snape rose and walked over the side-table that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, and fetched a spiral bound notebook. Flipping it open to the middle section, he said, "We've not discussed things in detail, no, but I've made up some preliminary plans. Essentially, the first year's work would be primarily focused on in-depth reading, language acquisition, and returning Hermione to N.E.W.T. level work. Year two I've slated for potion identification and development, and the third year starting to preparing for the Mastery Examination and thesis."

Minerva looked thoughtful. "That doesn't sound much different than my Mastery. Why then are there so few Potions Masters, especially as compared to Transfiguration, or even Charms?"

"More people are interested in Transfiguration and Charms, for one thing. As a result, there are fewer Masters, and thus few chances for new people to join the field. Moreover, a high percentage of apprentices fail their practical exams or are otherwise not approved by a Quorum of the active Masters." Seemingly changing tack, he turned to Hermione and asked, "What do you think is the difference between a competent Potions Brewer, and Master?"

"The obvious answer would be that one merely makes potions, while the other also develops them," she responded.

"Simplistically put, but yes, that is true. The better answer to that question, however, lays in the origins of Potions as a field of specialization." Snape said, switching neatly into lecture mode. To her surprise, Hermione saw that the Headmistress appeared interested what Snape had to say.

"Can you name the three main branches of Potions?" he asked Minerva.

"Healing, alchemy and poisons," she replied after a pause.

"Five points to Gryffindor." At his smirk, Minerva merely rolled her eyes and gave him a dirty look. Unchastened, Snape went on. "At various times in the last fifteen hundred years, each of those three branches has taken supremacy over the others in terms of innovation and popularity; when alchemy was at the forefront, for example, great strides were made in using transfiguration to aid potion making. To excel at Potions, one must not just have a firm grasp on how those various waves changed the conventional methods and ingredients used, but also understand each of three branches as separate specialisations. A Potions Master must balance an encyclopedic memory with a streak of creativity in order to wade through what has been done to produce something new."

He turned to Hermione, suddenly serious. "You've always had that encyclopedic memory, but as student you lacked that creativity. You relied on instructions from the book entirely too much, rather than trusting your knowledge to guide you into better work. By contrast, Fred and George Weasley had all the creative genius one could wish for, but relied on instinct rather than concrete knowledge of methods and ingredients. As a result, they went through quite a bit of trial and error in order to successfully tweak known formulas into working products. They were both very good brewers, but lacked the foundation to step up into something more."

Flipping open his notebook, he explained, "The main reason most apprentices fail their mastery examinations is because they just don't have the depth of knowledge required. Just to access the foundational research, you typically need to be fluent in at least three languages, although five would be better." He gave an impatient wave. "In addition to demonstrating a thorough understanding of each of the specialisations, you also need a strong background in Herbology and transfiguration... I could go on, but really, the best way to break this all down is to start creating a schedule."

Hermione reached into her bag and took out her day planner, a pen and several coloured highlighters. "Let's start with planning out the languages then..."


Author's Postscript: Welcome back, lovely readers! It was not my intent to go so long without updating (or, truthfully, writing) but life- and the wonderful summer weather- conspired to keep me away from the computer. Alas, my summer holiday is finished, it has rained more often than not, and I suddenly find that my writer's block has disappeared.

Many hugs to my wonderful beta, Muggle Jane. Despite being AWOL for over a month, she jumped right back in with nary an issue or complaint. My thanks as well to all those who either left comments or sent me PM's of encouragement- Brightki, KEZZ-1, Dentelle, viola1701e, .sir, Smithback, Cate Tyler, 123hereigo456, Arya Ruh, LoveInTheBattleField, Majerus, Luna de Papel, S, and believerofmajick- you all rock!

Several small notes- the wonderful Luna de Papel wrote the 250th review, and chose the one-shot option. It should be fun, as it involves locking our favorite friends into a closet for an extend period of time. I'm also writing something for the SSHG Gift Exchange, so I'll alternating between writing between these three things.

Finally, I know I promised some Draco, but this chapter ended up being much longer than I'd expected... so Draco got pushed back a chapter.

Next Up: Things. I can promise you that things will happen. What things, you ask? Damned if I know...